I gathered up my new-found treasures and put them in the basket with my other belongings. Since it was getting late, I decided I would set the trap, and stay there for the evening. I used some of the crumbs from the corn cake as bate, set my trap, and then busied myself sharpening the knife on a stone, in case I got lucky and caught something and needed the knife to skin it with. I used the hatchet to cut a space in the middle of a small branch to use as a handle for the knife, cutting a piece of material from my top cloth, to tie the handle snugly onto the end of the knife blade. I was very proud of my handy work, as I looked down at the crude knife in my hand.
Finally, before it got dark, I used the hatchet to cut off the ends of pine branches and placed them on top of the straps of the cot that was meant to hold a mattress. I laid one of my blankets over the pine branches and used the other to cover with. It was much like lying on the cot that belonged to Wolf, only Wolf was not there with his arm resting over my waist.
I was surprised at how well I slept. In the beginning, when I had followed Wolf to his village, I was always tired and my muscles ached from my constant walking, but now, my muscles were getting used to the activity, and they did not ache as they had back then. If I could just find more food, I should make it home without damaging myself or the baby. Then I wondered why I even worried about the baby? I had no intentions of raising it or even letting it survive.
By morning, I was anxious to go check my trap. To my delight, I had caught a small rabbit. I felt sorry for it having to give its life for me. Only I remembered the story about how the animals had given their lives to save the Lenape people. This small creature had given its life for me, so I gave a prayer of thanksgiving, and I tried not to dwell on it.
The other sad part, was Lenape’s did not eat rabbit because they believed the soul of Nanapush lived inside rabbits. I had to remind myself I was not a Lenape Indian. I wasn’t even an adopted Lenape Indian. I was a white girl, who had been living the life of a slave up until now. I was my own person. I did not have to follow those misguided customs, I told myself firmly.
Now all I had to do was find some flint, build a fire, and skin and clean the rabbit. I had eaten rabbit before and I knew even if Nanapush did dwell within that rabbit, he had sacrificed his life to keep me alive. So even Nanapush must be on my side, I smiled to myself. I knew how to skin a rabbit because Ben had brought us rabbit and other rodents many times before, that he had shot with his long gun, and I had watched him skin and clean the animals.
I threw the rabbit in with the rest of my belongings and headed down toward the stream, intent on finding flint. When I reached the stream, I stopped and stared. I remembered the place. It was where Wolf had kissed me for the first time. I sat down, and for reasons unknown to me, I started crying. Maybe I was crying over the dead rabbit. Or maybe I was just exhausted. It couldn’t possibly be the thought of Wolf’s lips on mine! I reached up and touched my lips, as though the kiss still remained there.
When I finally calmed my emotions, I began walking the stream, looking for any signs of pieces of flint that may have washed down from the flint deposits up river where the Lenape village was. It took several hours before I found a piece, but since I had been heading in the direction of home as I searched, I did not feel it was a waste of time.
At last, I could start a fire and cook my first meal! I knew how to use flint and steel to start a fire because that is how we started the fires in the hearth to cook our meals in our own home. I gathered some tinder and went to work scraping the knife against the flint until one of the sparks caught. Then I blew on it and worked at adding more fuel slowly until the flame licked out and took hold so I could add larger sticks and, eventually, chunks of dead branches I had collected and cut with the hatchet.
While the fire got established, I skinned the rabbit, rolled the fur up and wrapped it in large leaves and stuck it in my basket. Later, I could tan it and use the fur for something. If I got more to add to that pelt, I could probably make a pair of gloves, I thought, with pride building inside of me.
We had to spin our own wool and weave or knit our cloth when we couldn’t buy store-bought material from the trading posts. I had learned to do all three. Therefore, I was used to furnishing needed items when they were not available otherwise. I got to thinking about the sheep and the animals on our farm. I suppose they were probably taken by whoever came to retrieve the dead bodies from our house. I hoped that was all they had taken from our farm. After all, they had no way of knowing if my parents had been killed, or if they would try and return if they managed to escape unless the British soldiers had found their remains where the Lenape had left them. Only the Indians had been trying to evade the British and they probably covered their tracks and disposed of the corpses somehow. I would never know where my parents and Ben were laid to rest.
I idly wondered if I could retrieve my animals from whoever took them, come spring, after I had gotten rid of the baby? Once I let the authorities know I had returned, maybe they could discover who took over the care of our animals? That was too far ahead of me to worry about, though. Right now, I needed to survive and reach my family home.
The rabbit had been the best thing I had tasted in a long time. I thought Nanapush must be smiling on me. Perhaps he was letting me escape helping me to survive because he did not believe I was worthy of being a Lenape Indian like Wolf and his people. Maybe he wanted me to leave his tribe?
Even though Wolf’s family fed me well, catching and cooking my own food was something special. This was a feat that I had accomplished. I had been so hungry, I was about to eat grubs if I could find any. Now I knew I could take care of myself. Between spearing fish and catching things in my trap, I would not starve to death before I managed to get home.
Since I had come this way before, the landmarks were familiar to me, only everything brought back old memories. I thought about that frightened girl I had been when Wolf first captured me. I thought about what my mother had said to me before they ended up killing her. She had been right. What I was about to suffer at the hands of Wolf was something she would have had a hard time facing if she had known about it. Perhaps it would have been better if I had died as a baby. Now I would be haunted by the memories of what I had suffered, just witnessing my friends and relatives being tortured by the Lenape would linger with me forever. What I had suffered at the hand of Wolf was bitter sweat. I had not decided how I felt about it yet. I knew it would take a long time for me to forget Wolf, whether for better or worse.
The days started to melt into each other as I plodded onward. It was taking me longer than I had expected. The hot days started to turn cooler, and I knew fall was upon the air. Now the nights were cold, even when the days were warm. Sometimes there would be frost on my blanket when I woke. I started wearing the blanket over my shoulders to shelter me from the cold when the sun went down.
I managed to catch enough animals to survive on and supplemented that with fish, whenever I was able to spear one. I also dug roots that I knew were eatable, and cooked them, now that I had a fire. I would have cooked stinging nettle to eat, but I didn’t have a pot to put any water in to do so. I wrapped fiddle fern and mushrooms in leaves and laid them in the coals like I had watched the Indians do when they cooked their squash or corn. I spent hours taking pine nut out of pine cones to eat. I found a wild cherry tree and gorged myself on the fruit, then picked as much as I could reach, to put in my basket, by climbing out on the limber branches.
I was turning into a regular mountain man, I laughed to myself as my talents of survival grew with each passing day. I already had several pelts of rabbits, squirrels, opossums, and raccoons. I even managed to kill a snake with my hatchet and eat it. I kept the skin of the snake as well because I had seen how the Indians often used snake skin to adorn their winter clothes, moccasins, and hair.
When I was finally able to turn away from the stream, I knew I was only two days away from my home. I started getting excited and frightened at the
same time. What if there was nothing left there? What if the Indians had burned the house down? What if I had to find someone to take me in and it was revealed that I was carrying the child of an Indian? If any of that happened, I too would have wished I had died when I was a baby.
I had to keep a positive attitude. I did not want to believe that I had escaped for nothing and my future would be worse than it would have been if I remained with the Lenapes. Those were the longest two days of my life, with my heart racing one moment and standing still the next over worry of what I would find when I finally reached that long coveted homestead.
When the roof of my house came into view, I let my anxious breath out. At least the place still remained. I stood for a long relieved moment just looking at the house in the distance. I could feel the tears running down my cheeks, and my body shook with emotion as I looked down upon my childhood past in the shape of that beloved home.
I could see there were no animals in the field or pens which made my longed for approach feel a little empty. Of course there would be nothing there. I had prepared myself for that discovery, yet it still pained me to know all our stock was gone. I could not see into the barn, but I doubted if any animals remained there either. Finally, I headed toward the house and then I started running, my body out of control with my headlong flight back to my past. I could not wait to reach those familiar walls. When I came stumbling into the outer yard, I was surprised to see chickens pecking around the house, a strangely normal scene that was totally out of place, considering I didn’t believe the house was occupied. I worried that someone had moved into the house, and my heart started to fall. I called out, but no one answered. Perhaps the chickens were not worth taking since they could fend for themselves, I decided, with a feeling of hope. At least I would have eggs and chickens to eat, I smiled, as I came to the kitchen door.
I stood there, motionless, with my hand on the knob. I was afraid to open the door. I feared what I would find inside. I had to force myself to turn the handle, my fingers stiffly clutching the knob, turning my knuckles white. The click of its release echoed in my ear, almost like a gunshot, and I paused.
In my mind I could hear the Indians yapping, just before they forced open the door. The door casing was splintered where the lock gave way. I saw myself being placed into the cracker barrel and letting the lid fall over my head. I could hear the muffled sounds of people exclaiming when the marauders surrounded them. I could hear my mother praying for God to save us. I remembered the heat inside of the barrel as my breath filled it and it seemed like the air was harder to breath.
The creaking sound of the door falling open, interrupted the scene in my head. Dead quiet met my ears. I could see the room in disarray, left the way it had been after the savages had ransacked the place. Objects scattered on the floor, drawers left open and cupboard doors askew. Broken dishes that fell from the shelves when they took what they wanted, lay upon the floor. My eyes were riveted to the floor, where I remember my aunt and our friends were massacred. A puddle of dried blood remained on the floor, smeared by someone dragging the bodies through it.
I grabbed the door knob and slammed the door closed, turning to run to the barn. My heart was in my throat, pounding out of control. I felt as though I was being chased by those heathens. The very people I had been co-existing with for the last three months. I wasn’t ready to face that room or the memories it conjured up against my will. I wondered if I ever would be? Only if I remained, I would have to clean it up so I could use the kitchen to cook in. Not yet, though, I told myself. I was too tired and too emotional to dwell on it. I would sleep the night in the barn, and when I felt braver, I would try and enter the house again.
Our horses were gone, but the buggy remained, along with the wagon my father used to cart his furniture to his customers. The cow was gone, as well as the pig. The only animals remaining were the chickens and ducks. They had access to water at the duck pond, that was fed by a spring, so it was no surprise they were able to survive with grubs and grass grain to eat. The spring also furnished our house with water. I could see no sheep in the pasture, so they must have been taken too. Or maybe all the animals just wandered off, when there was no one there to care for them. However, the pastures were full of grass, and it seemed they would remain where they were raised, so I was certain they had been taken. I wondered if the British soldiers had taken them, or someone else?
I remembered the cellar, and left the barn to investigate, since the entrance to it was outside of the house. I lifted the heavy door and descended the steps. The lantern hung on its nail but I had no way of lighting it. I peered into the darkness only lighted by the open doorway that covered the steps. I could see enough to realize the food storage still remained, as far as I could tell, and I thanked God for that one small favor.
I went back out and lowered the door. I was too tired to think. I would make a bed in the straw with my blankets and decide what to do in the morning. By then, I hoped I would be brave enough to go into the house and take inventory of what was left for me to work with.
Sleep took a long time coming. This time, I dreamed that Wolf was making love to me. It was a pleasant dream and I didn’t want to wake from it. I realized I was missing Wolf, but I couldn’t understand why? He had not only murdered my family, but he had humiliated me the whole time I was with his people. Why did I even think about him? Why did he invade my dreams and make me miss the gentle side of him? I decided it must be because he had been the only person I had any interaction with after I was taken. He was the only person I knew, after everyone else had been taken from me.
When I woke up, I looked around me, a little startled. I thought perhaps I had been dreaming and I was still in the woods trying to find my way back home. I felt torn between the knowledge that I would have to find a way to survive here over the winter, and not wanting to remain where memories of what transpired there would continue to haunt me.
I decided I would enter the house at the front entrance and not go near the kitchen until I felt brave enough to deal with the memories and the task ahead of me. We seldom used the front entrance. That way we did not track anything into the parlor. I walked into the parlor, and slowly approached the pianoforte. It was a heavy upright affair and a scarf rested over the top of it, with a few of my mother’s figurines placed on it. For some reason, the Indians had not invaded this room, and it remained the way I had always remembered it.
The pianoforte had been my prized position, given to me by my father for my tenth birthday. He had it shipped in and I couldn’t believe he had gotten it for me. I sank down on the round stool, and started plunking out a melody on the keys. They sounded tinny and a little out of tune. The sound echoed off the empty walls filling me with remorse and happiness at the same time. Just placing my fingers on those keys seemed a miracle in itself. I rose from the stool and turned to face a mirror over the mantle. My reflection, a stranger to my eyes, glared back at me. I just stood and stared. I did not recognize myself any longer.
The girl that peered back at me, had a tangle of long auburn hair, covering darkly tanned shoulders. Freckles stood out over my nose, encouraged by my exposure to the sun. My face was smeared with dirt, and dark circles were under my eyes. I thought I had been eating good, but I was rather thin, which pronounced the paunch of my belly, where Wolf’s seed was growing. The material, stretched around my waist and over my breast, looked strange and indecent. I removed the cloth, and studied my body in the mirror.
I had been taught, it was considered indecent to even look at one’s nude body in a mirror. Now, I studied mine objectively, as though it belonged to someone else. This was how I looked when Wolf paraded me through his village. He had shown me off like a prize, and used me like a bitch dog. He probably wasn’t even attracted to me, like the Frenchman claimed he was. I could see nothing to be attracted to, as I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
I turned and raced upstairs to my room. I pulled a dress from my clothes press and pulle
d it over my head. Then I flounced onto my soft feather bed and stared at the ceiling. It felt strange to actually have clothes on. It was going to take time to get used to it. The dress actually felt somewhat confining.
After awhile, I pulled myself up from my familiar feather bed and wondered into my parent’s room. I fell upon the bed that my mother had shared with my father, and breathed in the scent of her on her goose-down pillow. It smelled of home-made soap and lavender water. Exactly how she smelled. I continued to breath in her scent, missing her more than I ever had before. My throat started to feel tight and I began crying. How was I going to survive here all by myself? I may stay alive, but I wouldn’t really be living, I thought. The sobs were wrenched from my body, causing it to shake uncontrollably. What was there to look forward to, I asked myself?
As I managed to gain control of my emotions, I went to the dresser and began to brush my hair with my mother’s brush, remembering how Wolf had combed her long hair attached to the hoop. Then I recalled how he had combed my hair as well. Tears were still streaking my face as I sat there, brushing my hair, counting the strokes. Mother always told me to brush my hair a hundred strokes before I braided it to go to bed. I lost count along the way, but continued brushing anyway.
I wanted to wash my face, but I would have to go into the kitchen to pump the water to do so. I wasn’t ready to return to it yet. Once the kitchen was put back in order, I could heat some water in the fireplace and pour it into the copper bathtub, washing the past off of me, the same way they made Jamie wash the old person off of him so he could become the Indian person they wanted him to become. I didn’t think I could ever wash the “Indian” off of me. It was too deeply imbedded and growing within me.
Across The River Page 7
