The Glovemaker's Daughter

by Leah Fleming

  Picture if you will how Good Hope grew from that first clearing into the prosperous township it is today. The elders decided to build one main street at right angles to the river and then another broad track along the riverbank that led to some of the smaller houses built closer to the water’s edge. Farms and homesteads pushed further out into the forest but down town were a cluster of little trading posts, a forge, a weaving shed and a baking oven. This took years of toil and determination that we would live independent of others except in relation to Friends in neighbouring townships. The temporary shelter became the spot on which the present meeting house stands with a field set by as a burial ground. I am describing this to explain that what happened over the years was confined to our community, though I reckon we were not alone in having troubles.

  Caleb Gibbons, who had charge of the river boat, bought barrels of molasses spirit shipped in from Barbados on his trips to the city; a firewater he sold to native men, making them noisy and quarrelsome. The issue was raised at a monthly meeting, where Jacob argued that this was not the best use of Caleb’s time. But he shrugged off the criticism, saying that the profit he could make could benefit the poor within our community, the widows and the old people dependent now on others to survive.

  Two weeks later Caleb returned with four black-faced men whom he had purchased on the dock to help with heavy work. He said they were Christian men and willing to work, but Jacob suggested they were slaves and we did not hold with such transactions. Because of this dispute, Caleb and his family left, taking his men with him, and he refused to return the river boat.

  Without river transport we would be sorely tested as the track south through the forest took so long. So the meeting decided to approach the local natives to secure another boat. But to do this a gathering must be prepared so that the tribe closest to us would feel honoured by our request and feel suitably rewarded.

  ‘I don’t want my bairns mixing with savages,’ Mary whispered. ‘Better to live apart and not have dealings with them. How do we know they can be trusted?’

  What could I reply about our tawny-skinned neighbours who drifted in and out of sight when we were at our chores? Surely it was better to treat them with courtesy. After all, we were the strangers here, newly encroaching on their terrain and I was curious to meet them face to face. If Jacob’s assurances were true we had nothing to fear, but much to learn from them if we were to survive the harshness of the coming months.

  24

  One afternoon Mary sent me out with the boys to collect as many nuts and berries as we could find, acorns, beech nuts, huckleberries, raspberries, anything that could be dried or stored for the pot. By now I knew the path into the forest and as we ventured further in I always left markers to find our way out again. Sam and George loved these expeditions, stuffing themselves with far more berries that I ever brought home in my basket.

  It was peaceful walking along the now flattened path, listening to the bird calls high up in the canopy. The leaves were beginning to turn from dull green to the most magnificent spectacle of flame colours so we wandered further than I might have done on my own. We came to a clearing of light and berry bushes and dived into our task with relish. It was then I had a feeling we were not alone and were being watched from the shadows and my heart thudded with fear.

  We had heard terrible tales of settlers being taken captive, scalped or tortured, of children being led away never to be seen again so I shouted to Sam and George to stay in sight. I was ready to retrace our steps but there were so many luscious clumps and we had hardly done justice to them. I was their guardian first and foremost so I shouted ‘Time to go!’

  They were picking raspberries with scarlet lips and cheeks. Then Sam pointed to a drupe of red berries as deep as holly berries and darted to grab them for himself.

  Suddenly a woman’s voice yelled ‘Mata. Mata!’ Out of the shadows a half-naked woman was pointing at the berries, shaking her head and rubbing her stomach. The sight of her stopped Sam in his tracks.

  We were all staring at her tawny skin, her exposed breasts half hidden behind rows of brightly coloured shell beads. Around her loins she wore a skirt fringed and beaded but on her back cradled in a stiff board was a chubby baby who grinned at us.

  ‘We must thank the lady,’ I said bowing my head. She had saved Sam from sickness or worse. We stood staring at each other unsure what to do next. She was the first of the Lenni-Lenape women I had encountered close enough to read her dark eyes. ‘We thank thee.’ I offered her some of the berries we had collected but she held up her hand and pointed to another patch hidden from our sight at first. ‘Min, Min.’

  There was a cluster of purple huckleberries that we had missed. I smiled and bowed again. I pointed to my chest. ‘I am Joy’ and held out my hand. I gestured to the boys. ‘Sam and George.’ I think she understood because she nodded and with her hand pointed to her own breasts. ‘Apatooquay.’ It was a mouthful to repeat but I managed ‘Tookay?’. She laughed at my effort.

  Together we picked in silence. The boys were stunned by her presence especially when she hung the cradle board by its straps onto a branch of a tree so the baby could inspect all that was going on before it fell asleep. What a sensible way of carrying it, I thought.

  When we had finished gathering she pulled out some corn from her bag and sprinkled it around the bushes as if to make an offering for all we had collected. Then she was gone as silently as she came and we sauntered home with a basket full of berries. Sam rushed ahead of us to spill the beans of our strange meeting.

  ‘What’s this about you and some squaw?’ Mary was waiting for an explanation, her eyes wide with fear.

  ‘She saved Sam from eating some poisonous berries. She had her baby strapped to her back and her name is Tookay, I think.’

  ‘Sam says she were naked. I can’t have him seeing such things at his age.’

  ‘Her breasts were loose to feed the baby. She wore beads and a skirt made of fine skin. Her hair was braided and looped back with a shell pin. We owe her thanks.’

  ‘Be that as it may, in future, you keep clear of Indian camps. If I’d known there’d be danger.’

  ‘We were the danger ourselves in not knowing what is safe to pick and what is not. It’s an easy mistake for anyone to make, especially a child. Our children must be taught to recognise safe berries and mushrooms and roots. I shall bring it up at meeting, happen. I’m glad she came to our rescue.’

  ‘The Lord looks after his own. He has not sent us this far to poison ourselves. The less we have to do with them savages, the better.’

  I knew Mary had had a scare but it irked me that her mind was so shuttered from the light of new knowledge.

  I spoke to Jacob after First Day Meeting the following week and told him about the dangers of gathering berries in ignorance. I suggested we be given instruction on native plants and their uses. I told him of Tookay’s kindness and how we couldn’t share our thoughts.

  ‘It’s all in hand,’ he smiled ‘We have invited the local chief and his elders to come and sit with us in peace. There’s a Swedish settler who can converse with them and he will interpret for us. We want to know how they make those dug-out boats on the river. We have gifts to offer in return.’

  The gathering took place in the clearing down by the river’s edge. Our township lined up as if it were First Day in bonnets and tall hats to greet the guests who were rowing towards us in a line of boats.

  A tall man emerged from the first boat dressed in skins, no longer bare-chested as the weather was chilly and the wind whipped our skirts. He wore a cloak decorated with quills and feathers and his clothes were decorated with beads of all the colours of the rainbow. Behind him came other men and boys with shaven heads and feathers in a band. The women followed behind. To my relief the women also wore shirts and cloaks and I soon spotted Tookay who caught my eye and nodded.

  Sven Aldersen stepped forward to greet the chief and take him to meet the elders waiting in their tall ha
ts. There was an exchange of gifts and a lot of nodding while Sven explained what the citizens of Good Hope wanted from the tribe.

  I wanted Mary to meet Tookay to see how wrong she was about her but Mary hung back with the other women, fussing around the food bench and not catching my eye.

  What a contrast we must make in our drab-coloured clothes against their decorated fancy work. All the colours of the forest were in their dyes and patterns, the sea in the shells around their necks and the sky in the eagle feathers and plumes. They were wearing their finery in honour of the occasion. What must they think of our sombre apparel?

  I was curious to know more of their customs and way of living. They had lived on this land for a thousand years or more. Now we were making demands, needing to know how to survive in this territory. Our houses were half-built, the land hardly cleared enough to sustain us. We had transplanted ourselves halfway across the world and our own roots were fragile and barely planted. How would we prosper? Not for the first time did I wonder just what purpose our coming had served; but then I recalled my schoolteacher’s death at the hands of our persecutors and the trials of my own parents. Here we would be free to live in our own way.

  Yet I sensed we would not always live by the river’s edge. As families grew and settled and demanded more acres to farm and build, we would push these peoples further into the forest and wilderness. How would they respond to this invasion?

  When the formalities were ended, platters of pies and meat were handed round. I noticed the Lenape ate little of our offerings. I made my way with a huckleberry pie to Tookay. ‘Min, Min’ I said and she replied through Sven when I offered my thanks for her kind action in the forest.’

  ‘They were only moon berries. The boy would have gripes in his belly. Perhaps Miss Joy would like to bring her boys to see their village one day.’ I nodded but explained that they were not my sons. ‘I would love to visit your family. I would be honoured.’

  ‘She says come soon before the snows cut off the trails.’ Sven added.

  ‘I’ll try,’ I replied, knowing I would need permission to make this journey from the elders and ask leave from the farm. I would not be allowed to go alone.

  Jacob called a week later to inform the Emsworths that there was to be a return friendship visit to the Lenape camp and would they give me leave to accompany them with gifts from the women’s meeting. There was talk of starting up a school for the Indian children so they might mix more with the settlers and learn English. The purchase of a dug-out boat was almost complete in order to carry trading goods back and forth to the city.

  I offered some of my woollen cloth to encourage the native women to cover themselves in our presence. The basket of gifts we garnered was mostly cast off linen caps and baby rings and rattles, nothing of any value but it was a gesture of friendship.

  The party set off one bright autumn morning along the river path admiring the spectacle of gold and flame-coloured leaves. We trudged up the trail for a few miles until we saw smoke rising and smelt fish grilling on a fire and realised we were close.

  Along the path were rows of gardens filled with vegetables and roots. Women bent over their hoes standing up to stare at our white faces and strange clothes. There were round huts dotted at intervals around the edge of the settlement with smoke coming out of the roof. We were now gathering a crowd of curious onlookers as we entered a clearing of open land with larger squarer huts built on three sides. In the middle was one hall-like building covered in bark and thatch. This was their meeting place and we were ushered forward into the hall.

  It was smoky and dark but there was a pleasant scent of tobacco spice in the air. The fire burned in the middle but along three sides was a raised platform on which a row of elderly men with pipes and much feathered finery sat cross-legged. I recognised the chief who had visited us. A brave stepped forward, handsome, straight-backed and light skinned, who had a good understanding of English. I found out he was Tookay’s brother and he introduced us to each man in turn.

  Then he pointed me to the door where a young girl beckoned me towards an oblong hut where Tookay was waiting at the door with a shy smile, holding her baby on her hip. ‘My sister,’ he added as we greeted one another. It was not going to be easy to share our thoughts in words neither of us could understand.

  Her house had the same raised platform on which were scattered thick skin rugs and walls lined with tightly woven grass mats. All her utensils were stored under the platform in a neat array of bowls and pots. Everything was strange to my eyes and the scent of pine needles and cedar shavings cleansed the air far better than in our cabin in the town.

  I offered the basket of gifts and tried to mime what each was for. She fingered the cloth with interest examining how it was woven with approval. I showed her it would make a skirt or shirt but she shook her head. ‘Mata.’ She pointed to the bed of rugs.

  ‘Ah, a blanket?’ I asked

  She nodded and smiled. ‘Wanishi.’ That was a thank-you word I did know. It was a start, but a slow one and tiring trying to concentrate without an interpreter, being watched by a series of her friends who came to view the strange white woman in her cloak.

  Then to my relief, her brother spoke English and came to help me out. Tookay had so many questions. ‘Did I have a man and if not, why not . . . as I was old?’

  I tried to explain how Seekers did not marry so young but waited for permission to marry one of their Lord’s choosing. She roared with laughter and told the blushing young interpreter: ‘We choose who we have by our side and if he is lazy or does not hunt well and provide then we put his belongings out of the hut and he must leave.’

  I asked about her baby’s name.

  ‘Baby has no name yet for he is still in the hands of the Creator and may be taken from me as He wishes. We wait until he is four or five and know he is destined for this life before we give him his true name in a ceremony. It is a name chosen by those who know him. My name means White Deer. The deer is my special animal that guides me and I can run as fast as the wind.’

  How could I explain we had no namegiving ceremony and perhaps it was a discourtesy to the Giver of Life not to do so. I hated Rejoice, it being such a challenging name, hard to live up to every day. It spoke of being ever joyful and the giving of thanks. A plain Bible name would have suited me well.

  ‘Alakwi,’ she sighed, getting the gist of some of this. We lived in two different worlds but there was something even then that bound us together in friendship. I decided to learn as many Lenape words as I could so we could talk a little more.

  We returned to the square where there was a feast of vegetables and fish in a stewpot and a corn dish laced with tree syrup that was like honey to the tongue. When it was time to leave I wanted to invite White Deer to my cabin but knew it wasn’t mine to offer. I was an indentured servant for four years and Mary did not want any mixing between us. All this I confided to Jacob on our trek back to Good Hope.

  ‘It is better to leave them to their own ways, Joy. They have strange beliefs in so far as men are subjected to the women of their clan. On marriage he takes her tribe as his own and the older women select the chief from among their own. The word of the womenfolk is law, I gather. This is not what our Bible teaches us.’

  ‘More’s the pity,’ I quipped but he didn’t see the humour. ‘Are we not all equal in the sight of the Lord? We believe we are guided by the inner light but they call it the Creator Spirit in all things.’

  ‘That’s not the same and can be misunderstood. We must teach them to read and write in our language. Then our trading and meetings will be more profitable. I fear most of the time we do not understand each other at all, especially on the subject of owning land.’

  ‘How’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘They think that land belongs to no one but the Creator who gave it to us. It makes negotiations difficult.’

  ‘But we bought land. There are deeds to prove it,’ I added, puzzled.

  ‘They signed awa
y the deeds but not the right to roam over our territory to hunt and fish and that’s not going to go down well once farmers are established. No one wants Lenape chasing deer over their crops. I see a whole heap of trouble ahead. All the fences and barriers we put up will be misunderstood unless we can sit down and thrash things out.’

  We walked in silence after this debate. I knew the Emsworths had the right to a hundred acres of cleared land with a chance to buy more later. Mary would be afeared by men tramping over her fields in search of game or harvesting on their own patches. Sharing this new land was going to be more complicated than any of us thought and I hoped it would not lead to trouble as Jacob feared.

  25

  Nothing prepared me for that first winter. It was like the worst Yorkshire winter on the moors and then a whole heap more; such a cruel time for man and beast when the branches of the trees snapped with the weight of the snow and icicles hung like daggers from the roof of the cabin. The driving blizzard blew through the cracks in the clapboard walls even though we had plastered them over with mud and straw. Our supply of dry wood dwindled, for the fire grate was our only warmth. How I wished we had a supply of White Deer’s bearskin rugs. Our quilts did not give enough warmth as I shivered close to the children of a night to give them some of my body heat. We were cut off from our neighbours by feet of snow and drifts that towered up like steeples.

  Mary was near her time and lumbered about knowing that I alone might be there to help her in the birthing. At least I knew what would happen, but we prayed that Joseph would reach Rebecca Hindley, our neighbour, when the pains began, leaving me free to see to the children; but alas it was not to be.

  Mary woke as her waters broke and began her labour as Joseph tried to dig his way out across the yard to summon help. Soon he was exhausted with tunnelling through the drifts and returned. We all had to endure her suffering as she struggled to bring new life into the world. It seemed like hour upon hour before she was delivered but sadly to no avail for the baby was born asleep, cold and lifeless. It took not one breath however hard I slapped it. I thought then of White Deer’s words on that first visit about how the Creator often took the weaker children to himself. Joseph wept at the loss of another son. ‘He is with the Lord’ was all he could tell the children. I held the tiny mite in my arms so Mary could see how beautiful he looked but she howled and howled until her throat was dry and I spooned berry cordial into her lips to revive her. Joseph removed his son out of the cabin, I know not where but out of danger from wolves and coyotes.