Black Eagle

by Gen Bailey

  “If I am so, then it is your making,” observed Marisa. She sighed and, extracting her hand from beneath Sarah’s, she placed her hands in her lap.

  Sarah said, “ ’Tis too bad that cultures are what they are. Your Sir Eagle is a fine figure of a man, and very devoted to you, I think.”

  “Yes, and I will take the memory of our night to the grave. But I am who I am.”

  Sarah nodded. “Do you think he will understand? ”

  “He will have to.”

  “Perhaps,” said Sarah, “he has a different idea about that than you do.”

  “Yes,” agreed Marisa, “I think he might. Sarah”—Marisa reached out to take Sarah’s hand in her own—“you will do your best to shelter me from him, won’t you? ”

  “Of course I will, but I understand now why you did what you did. After all, a little bit of John Rathburn goes a long way. He has kept a stern and unemotional eye on you, ensuring that you have had little contact with anyone else, except of course for me. And this is especially so with regards to the opposite sex. I believe he has overprotected you, and it seems to me that he has done his best to mold you into the image of what he believes you should be, little knowing that sooner or later, you would become your own person.”

  “Yes.”

  “He also withheld love from you. And this, when love is so very important.”

  Marisa nodded, not understanding why there was a knot in her throat.

  “I fear that the Iroquois Indians are right in one regard.”

  “Oh? ” said Marisa. “And what is that? ”

  “A person should be sovereign,” said Sarah. “Perhaps because God in Heaven created human beings in his own image, a person, then, was made to rule his own life.”

  Marisa frowned. “Is that what the Indians believe? ”

  “Yes, I do believe they do,” said Sarah. “Though I know little of them, of course. But as a governess, I have studied them a little, and I am aware that they have a form of government that owes its allegiance not to itself, but to the people.”

  “Truly? ”

  “Yes. ’Tis a far cry from England, I must say, where the people are expected to support and give allegiance to the king regardless of what he does, right or wrong.”

  “Are the Indians a little like the Greeks, then?” asked Marisa. “Have they managed to carve out a republic here in the wilderness? ”

  Sarah shook her head. “I truly don’t know. All I am aware of is that, in their view of it, no one can own another person. And I should say that the more I hear of it, the more I agree. Men and women were meant to run their own lives, not allow a monarch or anyone else, who little knows them personally, to make decisions for them.”

  “Indeed.”

  “So perhaps ’tis not so unusual that you would rebel against the ironclad hand of your guardian. Such sentiments seem to be caught upon wind of late.”

  “Yes,” said Marisa. “Thank you for trying to make sense of it. I’m glad that at least one person on the face of the earth understands.”

  “ ’Tis very easy to understand. Know also that I will do my best to protect you from a man who seems to admire you greatly.”

  Marisa looked away. She said, “That would all be very good, indeed.” She sat in silence for a moment, then said, “I wish my step-uncle had come to see us off.”

  “ ’Twas very ill of him not to do so, and were we still at the house, I would take the matter up with him.”

  “To your further detriment, I fear.”

  “Perhaps. But his behavior was reprehensible and someone needs to tell him so.”

  “I did try to see him before we left. Unfortunately, that required my confronting James, as well.”

  “Oh? ” Sarah glanced down into her lap.

  “James was long ago bought and paid for, Sarah. What possessed him to do what he did is beyond me, but I told him to his face that when I returned, if he had not brought himself up before the authorities of our church, and if he had not sought forgiveness from our Lord, I would go immediately and inform the deacon of our church as to what he did to you.”

  Sarah nodded, and the two women fell silent.

  “Well, Sarah,” said Marisa in due time, “I think that you can safely seek your bed. I shall join you shortly. But I fear I’m still too overwrought to come to bed yet.”

  “Yes, I understand. Yet, it is my duty to stay here, not do things to suit myself.”

  “It is also your duty to take care of yourself. My darling, Sarah, you look exhausted. Now go! I’ll be fine. It won’t be long before I, too, will seek my bed.”

  Sarah stifled another yawn. “If you are certain.”

  “Please,” Marisa shooed her off with the flick of her hand. “Go! I promise you that I will be fine.”

  Sarah nodded, and rising slightly, she placed her hand atop Marisa’s shoulder, and said, “The making of one more memory should not scandalize you overly much, but if you are certain you must return to Albany, it should be only one more memory.”

  Marisa frowned. “I have no intention of seeking Sir Eagle out in order to make one more memory.”

  “Perhaps not. But I think he does.” Sarah smiled. “After tonight, I will guard you well. Good night.”

  “Good night, Sarah,” said Marisa, and glancing in Black Eagle’s direction, she wondered if perhaps she should follow Sarah’s example and go to her bed this very minute.

  It might be safer. However, for the moment, her bed would remain cold.

  Ten

  The evening was turning cool, and though Marisa longed for a wrap, she stoutheartedly endured the crisp breeze. From her position on the inn’s porch, she could see that the evening star was becoming evident in the night sky. The moon was also rising, and it was extraordinary, being a large, orange orb just above the horizon.

  Marisa smiled in fascination of its beauty, and inhaled deeply. This was going to be an exceptional journey, she thought. Indeed, she felt privileged to simply be alive and to witness the panorama of nature, as it spread out its magnificence before her.

  Sarah had left, to go to their shared room, but Marisa had been quite truthful when she’d said that despite having no sleep the night before, she was far from tired. Indeed not.

  Arising from the stool, where she had been positioned for the past few hours, Marisa stepped toward the flying bridge. At present, the orange moon was reflected on the fast-running water, making the stream appear as if tiny orange jewels were bobbing to and fro within its waves.

  How she would love to step onto the bridge. To look down into the water and admire its sparkling grace. But was the bridge safe?

  It rocked slightly in the wind, but then wasn’t that the way of bridges that were simply tied down and moored to each side of the water? Surely it was safe enough.

  Besides, if it fell, all she would receive was a short dunking, since the bridge was not more than three feet above the water. Plus the stream itself was not deep.

  Why not do it? Especially because she might never have another chance.

  Stepping her foot onto the bridge, it took a moment to attain her balance, due to the bridge rocking back and forth. But within moments, she had conquered her fear, as well as having attained her balance, and she stepped farther out onto the swinging structure, about midway across.

  A warmer and kindlier breeze blew against her, pressing back the tendrils of her hair. It billowed at her dress, as well, causing the silky material to flutter back, accentuating her figure.

  The pure scent of the babbling stream beneath her and the pine-scented air caused her to inhale deeply.

  Ah, what a feeling. A part of her reached out to the environment, as a peace settled over her. She felt less confined here, freer, as if the woods themselves had coaxed her very thoughts to gain space and move away from her.

  It was a good feeling.

  A deeply masculine voice said, “How my heart sings to see you. You appear as though you belong in the heavens above us instead
of stepping here on the face of this earth.”

  She looked over her right shoulder to observe that it was, indeed, Sir Eagle, who had joined her, and who was standing on the shoreline of the creek. He was gazing at her with that look of admiration that she was beginning to appreciate greatly.

  She said, smiling at him, “Thank you, Sir Eagle. But I assure you that I belong here on this earth, same as you. At least until He decides to bring me home again.”

  Black Eagle nodded. “Then you do believe that there is a Creator of this earth and sky, a Maker of human beings? ”

  “Most definitely,” she said. “Did you think otherwise? ”

  “No, but an Indian mind cannot be certain how the English may view life. In many ways, the Mohawk and the English are alike, but often I find differences I cannot explain or understand.”

  “Differences? What differences are these? ”

  “Differences of the heart. The heart of the people, for He has created all people.”

  She sighed and carefully made her way back across the bridge to the shoreline. As soon as she had attained her footing on solid ground, she asked, “And what has caused this desire to delve into the Englishman’s heart, Sir Eagle? ”

  He paused slightly, then said, “I seek to understand you.”

  “Me? That is not so difficult a task, I fear.”

  “I disagree. But perhaps I should not try. Maybe these differences are between man and woman and not Mohawk and Englishman.” He turned to walk away.

  She started to follow him, but hesitated. Was that it? Was the man going to explain himself further or not?

  Apparently not. Watching his retreating figure, she knew a desire to call him back, but stopped herself short. It would be better to let the man go, better to not foster any attraction between them, even though she found she had more to say on the matter.

  Yet, she wondered about him. What did he mean? Differences between men and women? Eventually, she called out, “Wait.” When he didn’t respond or comply at once, she raised her voice slightly and commanded, “Sir Eagle, I have more to say on the matter. I order you to wait.”

  He turned halfway around, a slight grin pulling at his lips. He said, “There it is again. Your ordering me to do your will.”

  “I simply asked you to wait for me. Besides, I am accustomed to command, since I have that privilege.”

  “Privilege? ”

  “Yes, I am at liberty to command others. After all, ’tis natural. Certain people have special privilege and a right to expect others to do their will.” She swept forward, pacing toward one of the crude, wooden tables. “Such is the way of things,” she continued as she walked. “I did not make the rules. I simply follow them.”

  He stepped back toward her. “And who,” he asked, “gives these people special rights that others do not have? ”

  “Why the king of course.”

  “The king of England? ”

  “Naturally.”

  “Not the Creator, who made all men? ”

  She frowned. “Say what you mean.”

  “Did not the Creator make the king, as well as all human beings? Are we not all here in His image? And if this is so, then all people should have the same privileges, not simply a king.”

  She frowned. “Sir, what you are saying strikes at rebellion, and I cannot consider it. For, if all of us have the same privileges in the eye of the Creator, then the king would have no authority at all.”

  “But think, do your own Black Robes not teach that He favors no one man over another? ”

  She paused. Frowning, she said, “You have taken the concept too far, sir. If what you say were true, then we would all of us have the same intelligence, the same talents, the same beauty. This is easily disproved. Therefore, the Creator must favor some over others. Besides, most people are happy to have no responsibility, to do no more than to serve another.”

  Black Eagle shook his head. “I have not observed what you say. All people want the same things. They want to eat and be well, to marry and have a family, to watch their family grow and to help them along the way. Where are these people who are happy to have no life of their own, but live only to apply themselves to the will of another? ”

  “Sir, you confuse me. There are those who command and those who serve. It has always been so.”

  “It has not always been so. Not with my people. A man is not quite a man unless he is free to determine his own destiny.”

  She smirked. “This is easily contradicted, sir. If what you say is so, there would be no leaders. Are you telling me that you have no leaders?”

  “We have leaders, but a sachem amongst my people would never presume to tell another man how to live, or expect him to do no more with his life than serve the sachem. In my village, a man or a woman is free to make up his or her own mind about all matters concerning their own needs.” He stepped forward toward her. “Our chiefs meet in council, not to force people to do their will or command them, but rather to straighten out problems and determine how to serve the people better.”

  “How to serve? A leader, a mere servant? I find that hard to believe. How can a man be in charge of a group of people and not only not tell them what to do, but act toward them in no more capacity than a servant? How is anything to be done?”

  “We do much. Do you not have ample proof?”

  “What proof?”

  “We have fed the English and the Dutch when they were starving. Even the German was welcomed into our homes when his children were crying. We tend our fields, we protect our boundaries and our enemies fear us, for we are unequalled in war.”

  Marisa wasn’t certain what to say. Such thoughts were ideas she had never considered, and she wished to have more time to mull them over. However, when she didn’t respond, he went on to add, “All men are and ought to be free to determine what is best for themselves and their families.”

  She shook her head. “Yes, but sir, consider. If this were so, who then would cook the dinners? Who then would do the many menial jobs that need being done for any society to exist? It sounds like chaos to me.”

  “It is not chaos. You come to my village and see for yourself.”

  “I may do that one day. But not now. For now, it is my intention to reach Portsmouth, New Hampshire. That is quite enough for me. All I know is that there are those who rule and those who serve. And I am quite happy with the arrangement.”

  “Perhaps that is because you command. Tell me, do you consider yourself superior to me? Or perhaps to Miss Sarah because she is your maid? Do you think Miss Sarah would be happier waiting on others, or devoting her energies to making her own life?”

  “I . . .” Marisa was aware that she hesitated. She didn’t know how to respond to such radical thoughts, and she stammered, “I . . . I . . .”

  Picking up his musket, Black Eagle stepped toward her, and he said, “Although I realize that you may have been taught that some men exist to be subservient to another, and not to follow the path of their own lives, I do not agree. There are some things that cannot be taken from a man that make this impossible.”

  “Oh?” She scowled at him. “And what things are you speaking of, sir?”

  He paused directly in front of her. He said, “All men, regardless of who rules over who, will think his own thoughts, he will have his own opinions, and he will speak those opinions even if someone tries to keep him from doing so. These things cannot be taken from an individual. They are as much a part of who he is as the color of his skin, the blood that runs through his body. And there is one other thing that cannot be taken from a man,” he added, reaching out to run his fingers over the few wisps of hair that had escaped her coiffure, “and that is that he will love whomever he loves, regardless of what others might try to enforce on him.”

  “Perhaps. But these things you speak of are attributes of a king or a nobleman, not attributes of a simple man.”

  “Then perhaps we are all of us kings. Kings of our own lives.”

&n
bsp; Again, she snorted, “What sort of a land is this, where everyone in it is a king?”

  “It is the land of the Mohawk, the land of the Iroquois,” he said, as his fingers came down to run over the bare skin at her neckline.

  She sighed, then whispered, “I fear I still disagree, for I have seen that what I say is true. There are some men who have more intelligence than others, more ability. They were made to take command over others. It is natural.”

  “It is not natural.” He spoke slowly, softly, as though his words were pure seduction. “It is the symptom of a man who has been in too close a contact with the darker side of his character, and has weakened himself because of it.”

  She opened her mouth to disagree, but he held up his hand and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “A man might have more ability than another, but if he should give in to the impulse to command or enslave another because of that, he is doomed.”

  It was becoming apparent to her that they were speaking of one thing yet doing another, and to counteract the urge to throw herself into his arms, she took a step backward away from him. She said, “Did you say doomed, sir?”

  “I did.”

  “At risk of repeating myself, I dare to disagree.”

  Again, Black Eagle shook his head at her. He said, “Being able to foresee events and problems that others cannot envision gives a man only the right to help others to see. As our elders have taught us, he who would stoop to enslave, always becomes himself enslaved in the end. His destiny is forever damned.”

  She blew out her breath, perhaps to show him that she still disagreed, but instead, the motion came out as a sigh, and she swooned in toward him.

  He continued, “Perhaps the Creator made it so as a test of a man’s nature. But as our elders have often counseled, he who abuses his power over another is ruined, and from that moment on, is forever cursed. He might amass material things, but that is all he can, all he will ever have. His future, his soul is forever destroyed.”

  She gasped. Whether she liked it or not, Black Eagle had struck a chord with her; he might have been discussing her step-uncle . . . Her step-uncle had amassed material wealth, he commanded others, he destroyed others for profit. Was he forever doomed? Was she, since she had been raised under his roof, thinking much the same as he?