by P. J. Dean
“Wid who? Weh dey gwine fin’ peoples like dem? How dey gwine lib?” She spoke with a quiet, but desperate will. “You got anuddah batch you razin up?”
“’Zina, what is this about?”
“Uh set up nights frettin’. Kindred and Joshua, uh know’um who hates dem, but who will lub dem? Ma heart, dey be. Will dey ebbuh meen dat ta sumbody else?” She started to cry softly. Dr. Twain bolted from his chair and hugged Rozina.
“’Zina, ’Zina, ’Zina.” He stood back, took both her hands and patted them. “They are unique, I know. There, there. Dry those tears. They will do fine. Why, who knows what strides the colonies will have made by the time they are grown?”
Rozina managed a sardonic laugh.
“Wut ebbuh dese ‘strides’ be, colluh folk gwine be part? Nebbuh! Not unless dese ‘strides’ need cleanin’ or cookin’.” She wiped her eyes with her apron. “So, wut iz yo’ plan fuh dem?”
Dr. Twain had had many a kitchen chat with Rozina, but never one as unnerving as this. All these years he thought his actions heralded his purpose. He just wanted a chance to do good instead of talking about doing good. He always thought of Rozina as a wise old aunt, the children as if they were his own. His own. His face lit up.
“’Zina, I have stumbled upon the plan you so dearly demand.” He squeezed her hands.
“Wut it be?” She peered at him with somber curiosity.
“Trust me, ’Zina, as you have these past six years. Stop your
fretting.” Dr. Twain sat down again. Smiling, he picked up his empty bowl and shoved it at Rozina. “Now, please, more spoon bread. I need to fortify myself to face Mrs. De Groot’s boils this morning.”
Chapter Two
Kindred struggled up the hill to the church. Joshua hadn’t even waited for her. She fumed inwardly. He knew she had to gather the herbs every morning. He could have at least waited for her she reasoned. As she rounded the corner to the back room, laughter
punctuated by boisterous shouts greeted her. She saw her brother already playing with their makeshift school’s newest pupil. A lanky boy, about Joshua’s age, he was tossing a ball to her brother. His black braids flapped in the breeze as he gracefully lobbed the ball between them. Kindred approached.
“Joshua, you were supposed to wait for me,” she puffed, out of breath.
“We were supposed to be here on time this morning, Kinny. To meet the new student.” He nodded in the Indian boy’s direction.
“But you know I have to get the herbs every morning. You could have waited! Can I play?” she asked. She stretched for the ball.
“Get here on time,” Joshua said, raising it above his head, out of her reach.
“I hate you sometimes, Joshua Twain! Let me play!” She lunged for the ball.
The Indian boy interceded. “You can play.” He wrested the ball from Joshua and handed it to Kindred.
She stuck her tongue out at Joshua who shook his head at her antics. “Thank you,” she replied. “I am Kindred. What is your name?” She looked at the boy closely. He had jet black eyes in a face the color of cinnamon. He wore a soft deerskin shirt, a breechclout, moccasins and leggings held together by leather laces.
“Lelaheo niyúkyats,” the boy answered in Oneida, the warmth of his huge smile in his voice. This little brown girl was feisty he noted. He liked her already.
“What?” Kindred asked.
“Excuse me, I forget my English. I am called Lelaheo. Now we all can play.”
Kindred beamed at him and tossed the ball high. The three squealed as they angled to catch the projectile. They stared as the ball lost momentum and began its plummet back to earth. Lelahelo shot straight up and snatched it from the air.
“That’s not fair!” Kindred protested, pouting.
Lelaheo scrambled away, looking over his shoulder as Kindred and Joshua chased him.
“You can not catch me!” Lelaheo bragged. He raced away, head down into the wind and collided with Reverend Harkness. The impact sent both to the grass.
“This is not what your people sent you here for,” Reverend Harkness said, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. The cleric got to his feet and shook the green blades from his black attire. Lelaheo clambered to his feet.
“I am sorry, Reverend Harkness. I did not see you. I ....”
Harkness waved his hand, terminating Lelaheo’s apology. “Obviously. It is time you all came in for today’s lesson.” He pointed to the church. “Move. Now.”
The children fell in line, the reverend bringing up the rear. Once inside, Kindred and Joshua took their seats on a bench in front of the slate board on the wall and pulled out their hornbooks. Reverend Harkness folded his hands behind him and cleared his throat loudly as he paced. “Our new pupil will introduce himself now.” Harkness crooked his finger at Lelaheo. “Front and center, young man.”
The boy walked to the slate board, turned and faced the class.
“I am called Lelaheo and I come from the village of Kanowalohale,” he pronounced proudly. “My nation is People of the Standing Stone; my clan is Bear clan.”
“I know where that place is, but why are you here?“ Kindred asked earnestly.
Joshua nudged his sister surreptitiously and spoke softly. “Not now, Kinny.”
“Well, I just wanted to know.” She glanced sideways at him and rolled her eyes.
“All right you two, please! You have interrupted our student’s narrative. Kindred. Do that again and ....”
“The people in my settlement are starving,” broke in Lelaheo. “My mother sent me to Reverend Harkness to survive.”
It was true. Hospitality as practiced by the Oneida, and all of the Haudenosaunee, was destroying them. Manners dictated that no guest be turned away. Prominent families, like Lelohelo’s, suffered the most from this custom. There was not enough food in Lelaheo’s longhouse for everyone, so his mother had sent him to Reverend Harkness to feed his body and his mind.
“Oh!” said Kindred. “Thank you for telling us.”
“You are very welcome,” said Lelaheo. Very welcome.”
“Resume your story, young man, resume it,” carped Reverend Harkness impatiently.
“My mother sent me here to live. She says she wants me to understand the ways of the white man so I will not perish.”
Kindred felt sad for him. “So people come and eat all your food?” Youthful bluntness fueled her words. “And your mother sent you here? What did your father have to say about that? You can come to our house and eat. We have plenty. Our Gramma’s a good cook.”
“Miss Twain, one more time and you will stand in the corner!”
“Reverend Harkness, I just wanted to ....”
“Enough, Miss Twain! Hold out your left hand. Palm up. Now!
Kindred froze, not knowing what was next. She unclasped her hands, which had been resting in her lap. She raised her left one.
From out of nowhere a straightedge flashed and left her with a stinging, red palm. The straightedge flashed again and delivered another hit. Kindred bit back tears and whimpered as Reverend Harkness landed a third blow.
Suddenly, Lelaheo rushed him, grappling with his right arm for possession of the ruler. “What do you think you are doing, child? How dare you!”
“Do not hit her anymore, Reverend,” Joshua pleaded.
“No more, Reverend Harkness. No more.” Lelaheo added, his tone commanding for a young boy’s.
“This is an outrage!” puffed the reverend, out of breath from trying to shake the boy from his arm. “You all will regret this!” He raised the ruler.
“No, Reverend, no!” Kindred screamed, springing to her feet . “It was my fault.”
****
Quiet reigned in the tiny school room now, except for the ticking of the clock. Reverend Harkness sat at his table, grading tests and preparing the next day’s lesson. The early afternoon sun light slashed blindingly across the room, landing on the empty student bench.
“Have you learned today’s lesson
yet, my rioting heathens?” barked Reverend Harkness without looking up from the hornbooks on the desk in front of him.
Silence permeated the room.
“Have you?” he repeated more emphatically.
“Yes,” a trio of voices replied in a tearful whisper.
Lelaheo, Joshua and Kindred each stood in a corner of the room. And had been there for hours with their badly beaten hands folded behind their backs.
****
“Uh’ll kill him! Who made him king? Hit my chillun and dat po’ lil injun chil’ he need sumbody kick him’own holy b’hin’. Leggo me!”
Rozina was half in and half out the kitchen door, being held firmly by Dr. Twain from behind, with Joshua and Kindred blocking her exit in front.
“We will heal, Gramma. We are fine. Please! You’ll make it worse.”
“Yaas uh will. Fuh him! Leggo me!”
“No, Rozina. Calm down! They will heal. I’ll see to that. You are not making it any better. They are using their hands to restrain you.”
“Oh!” Rozina stopped struggling. Dr. Twain and the children relinquished their hold. The doctor stepped back, taking Rozina with him into the kitchen. The children followed.
“Come here,” beckoned Dr. Twain to Kindred and Joshua. “Let me see those hands.” He pulled a chair out from the table, its legs scraping the floor. “Bring the lamp closer, ’Zina.” Rozina went to fetch the bull’s-eye brass lantern. “Children, put your hands out on the table.” It was not a pretty sight. Their palms were puffed and blood-red.
Kindred had mostly swelling and one abraded knuckle, poor Joshua had broken skin. The fatty bed right below his thumb on his right hand was lacerated and oozing. Rozina brought the lamp closer. She inspected them as closely as the doctor. In the bright light,
splotches of red were visible on Rozina’s clothing where Joshua had clutched her.
“No, oh, no. He gwine pay,” Rozina said under her breath.
“Ouch,” Joshua yelped as Dr. Twain manipulated the hand.
“Good! No broken bones. But the broken skin is bad enough. Infection could set in. What was the man thinking? What were you children thinking?” Dr. Twain shook his head. “All this over an interrupted introduction? I will speak with Reverend Harkness.”
“Oh. So now you gwine talk’um wid him. Wuffuh not me?” Rozina objected, the swinging of the lamp in her rigid grasp testimony of her anger.
“Because ’Zina, my old girl.” Douglas chuckled. “You would not talk with the Reverend. Only maim him. Or worse.”
“Yaas. Uh wud.”
“’Zina, please place the lamp on the table. Its swaying is giving me motion sickness. Also, please get a pan of water, some lamb’s ear, soap and the yellow basilicum ointment.” Joshua was crying now. Kindred started to hug him but paused because her hands stung so much. “Kindred, hold out your hands so I can see them. “Good. Good.
Even better. One abraded knuckle. Kindred, you will refrain from heavy chores for a week.” He patted Joshua’s forearm. “Longer for you Joshua.”
Rozina returned with the items.
“’Zina, take Kindred outside to wash her hands completely and apply the ointment. I’ll tend to Joshua. Do not forget a musket, ladies!”
“Yaas. Come on girl.” Rozina took the weapon by the door.
Outside while waiting for her granny to fill the water bucket from the well, Kindred saw a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. As she pointed toward the bushes with the musket, Lelaheo stumbled from the foliage.
“Lelaheo!” cried Kindred, placing the gun on the ground. The boy had suffered the worst of the reverend’s fury. Both hands had terribly lacerated knuckles.
“Kindred, Kindred,” he murmured, sinking to his knees. “Help.”
“Gramma, Gramma, look!” Kindred hurried to the boy and helped him up. “Lean on me. Lean on me. Do not use your hands.”
Kindred hauled Lelaheo over to Rozina.
“Po’ boy!” Rozina clucked her teeth. “Both of you put yo’ hands out. I’ll wash.”
Kindred stood behind a faltering Lelaheo. It was difficult, but she managed to slip her arms around his waist and propped her hands under his.
“You can wash us both this way, Gramma.”
Rozina gave her granddaughter the chunk of soap. As she slowly poured water from the wooden bucket, Kindred lathered up their hands.
“Owww!” Lelaheo yowled as Kindred worked the lather.
“I’m sorry. But we have to do this. Get all the dirt off.”
Lelaheo shifted and smiled at Kindred.
He leaned in and kissed her cheek.
“Oh, I am sorry. I do not understand.”
“Thank you very much.”
“Oh. It is no problem,” Kindred uttered, haltingly. “You are very, very welcome.”
She smiled and nodded, continued to clean their hands. Lelaheo winced, but didn’t mind it so much as he watched his new friend. Rozina sluiced away the blood-stained lather, the water drenching the soil at their feet.
Chapter Three
The week passed slowly and so did the healing. Dr. Twain schooled Kindred and Joshua at home. Dr. Twain paid several visits to the vicarage to tend to Lelaheo, or the newly christened Cassian Harkness, as he was now called by the Reverend. The boy almost received another beating when he objected to the cleric’s derision of the Haudenosaunee’s belief of how the world had been created. Contentious was the only way to describe Cassian’s relationship with the minister. On Douglas’ latest visit, he initiated conversation about it with the Reverend.
“Reverend, I hear you and Lelaheo are at odds.”
“His name is Cassian Harkness now,” the cleric corrected curtly, making his usual dismissive gesture with his hand. “I have given him a Christian name. Yes, he resists authority. Bible lessons everyday and he still clings to that absurd story of the Creation that his people believe in. That tale of Sky-world, Sky-woman and the most incredible
one, the creation of Earth upon a turtle’s back! He must learn humility.” He screwed his face up as if a bad smell wafted past him. “If he does not, how will he, or for that matter, Kindred and Joshua, function in civilized society if they cannot see logic and obey?” He
looked at the doctor, a hint of annoyance lingering in his eyes. “I have my work carved out for me. But my path is clear. God has chosen me to lead these … lost souls, and I shall.” The cleric stopped and inhaled a deep, self-satisfied breath.
Douglas’ eyebrows shot up in amazement and anger.
“Logic? Lost souls? ” remarked Doctor Twain. “I beg to differ. Lelaheo’s belief in how the world was created is no more absurd or logical than yours. As for your selection as their leader, God has not chosen you to lead these children anywhere.” His timbre was so ominous, he startled himself and cleared his throat slightly.
“Doctor Twain, your job is to heal, mine is to save and to set an example,” Reverend Harkness insisted shrilly, puffing out his chest at the insult.
The doctor chuckled low. He regarded the reverend with a sudden dislike. “I had forgotten why I have avoided following the tenets of any established religion. Thank you for reminding me. Save and lead, indeed! Where does the beating of those children fit into that mission?”
Harkness straightened his shoulders, pulling his carriage erect. “Doctor Twain, you are overstepping your bounds ....”
“No, Reverend, I am not. You have. In fact, I am taking that child home with me. Today.”
The doctor stomped past the cleric and walked into the hallway. He trod the narrow staircase leading to an attic room. He knocked and entered. Lelaheo was on his knees in a corner of the cramped, damp space. The boy looked around at his visitor.
“Doctor Twain! Shekóli! Hello!” strained the boy, his voice almost a cry.
“Shekóli, Leloheo! Boy, would you like to come live at Twainhaven?”
Joy danced in Lelaheo’s black eyes, but abated some when the scowling reverend loomed behind
the doctor in the doorway. Doctor Twain sensed the man behind him. “Pay him no mind, boy. Do you want to come live with us? Yes or no?”
Lelaheo got to his feet, and strolled directly to his bundle of personal belongings on a chair by a tiny window. He hoisted the pack over his shoulder and ambled over to Douglas.
“Yes, Doctor, yes. I am ready.”
“Come, then … Lelaheo.” Douglas wrapped his arm around the boy’s shoulder and guided him out the door. “I have a nice, cheerful room waiting for you.”
“Doctor, Doctor, you cannot just come in here and take that boy.”
“I can and I have. You, Reverend, have one less to save and lead. Good day.”
Once outside, the doctor helped Lelaheo with his possessions and they climbed up onto his horse. As they trotted away, Lelaheo shifted in the saddle for a parting view of Harkness.
“You are kidnapping him,” he yelled, standing in the vicarage’s doorway, shaking his fist. “What will I tell his people, Doctor?”
“That I delivered him,” Douglas retorted over his shoulder.
****
Lelaheo arrived at Twainhaven Hall to an impromptu welcoming committee.
Joshua ran out first. “Lelaheo, you visiting?” he asked, taking the reins from Dr. Twain as the pair dismounted.
“I am staying,” replied the smiling boy.
Rozina bustled out the front door. “Stan’? Iz dat right, Doctah Twain?”
“It is, ’Zina. You have another mouth to feed.”
“Uh dun’ min. He needs fattenin’ up. Come’yuh, chil’. Uh got sump’n fuh you now.”
Kindred bounded out the door.
“Lelaheo, you coming to live with us? We can have fun. And Gramma will feed you ’til you pop. Would you like that? What does your father think of this?”
Lelahelo skipped up the steps and into Rozina’s embrace. He viewed Kindred around the woman’s comforting frame.
