by Janet Cooper
"I took a course and learned how," she replied with pride.
"A course?" he asked.
She reddened. "Lessons."
"Even many Lenape women cannot read the stars. You have a valuable talent. If you use it to return, you not only disobey your father but place yourself in danger."
"That is my problem." She lifted her chin.
"Perhaps. Yet because of the love Benjamin Stone bears you, your reaction is selfish."
Sarah risked another quick glance. Wolf's face revealed little.
"By placing your life in danger, you will cause him pain and possibly put him in jeopardy."
His words rang true. Yet by leaving the tavern she might have left her gateway to the 21 Century. A feeling of sorrow and confusion filled her whole being. She didn’t know where she belonged. Wolf and Benjamin tied her to the 18th century but what about those she had left in her previous life?
* * * *
They rode for many miles with Sarah's body pressed against Wolf's. The English saddle made riding in front of him far more comfortable than with a western one, she thought. Even so, the slope of the saddle along with the sheer force of gravity forced her rear to press firmly against his crotch.
Every few minutes, Wolf shifted his position, giving her space. "Are you comfortable?" he asked.
"No." Her side-saddle position made her very uneasy. If she lifted one leg and straddled the stallion she would have a better grip and greater stability. The idea of moving terrified her, but if she did not move soon, she was sure she would fall off. Before her fear overcame her completely, she swung her right leg. The horse shied, and she tensed.
"Sarah, sit still and no sudden position changes," Wolf cautioned as he regained control of the stallion. "Keep your skirt down. Flapping material makes Amen apush nervous. If you moved this often when you rode, it's no wonder you fell off," he added.
She huffed, but before she could reply, he continued. "I thought you were afraid of horses?"
"I am, but I even more afraid of falling off and breaking a bone," she snapped. "Besides, I've never been on a horse without wearing pants." She blurted out the words, before remembering she was in the 18th Century.
"You ride astride and wore breeches?"
"Only when Father was not around," she said, fudging the truth. She shifted again, for the leather saddle had begun rubbing the back of her thighs.
"What are you doing now?" Wolf asked, adjusting his hold to her new position.
When her new position failed to help, she managed, even with her wrists tied to shove part of her chemise under her legs. She replied, sarcastically, "Trying to find a comfortable spot for the long ride."
"Will you please sit still?"
Ignoring his words, she wiggled again.
"Sarah."
"If I do not pad my legs, they will be rubbed raw from the saddle," she rebutted with annoyance.
He chuckled and changed the horse's gallop to a canter, making the ride more enjoyable.
Slowly, her anger faded. Although she disliked being separated from the tavern, her 'connection' with her other world, she had little choice. She would stay a few days at Long Meadow. When Wolf left to seek the soldiers, she would escape. She did not want to hurt Benjamin, but she must go back to the inn. Perhaps, she could hide in the tavern's barn.
With her future determined as best she could for the moment, she acknowledged as a historian, an irresistible and unique opportunity would soon be hers. One she should not ignore. Until the time was right, she would use the break to learn more about the Lenape. Having come to terms with her dilemma, Sarah focused on her next problem. The high-handed treatment she had received from Benjamin and Wolf still annoyed her. Their motives may have been pure, but no one kidnapped her without paying. Several ideas flowed through her mind. Her payback must please her as well as make Wolf uneasy.
Snuggling closer, if such was possible in the confined space, she said, "This is better."
Before long, she felt his body respond. She suppressed a self-satisfied smile. Even with his breechcloth and her double-layer of shift and petticoat, Sarah felt his growing desire. She enjoyed his discomfort and shifted with the wicked hope of increasing it.
"Sarah." Wolf's voice was tight as a bowstring. "If you move again, we will dismount."
Her initial fear of the horse had eased. She glanced over her shoulder with less concern, feigning innocence and surprise.
"That look cannot fool me. If we stop riding Amen apush, I might climb astride you."
Her eyes grew wide as she sought for words. She had meant to tease him, to make him pay for taking her from the tavern. But she had not thought about the results of her taunting.
"Perhaps, you would prefer the top. I will happily submit to a beautiful woman wrapping her legs around me and drawing my manhood inside her."
Sitting straight in the small, confined seat, Sarah arched her back. This action separated her from Wolf. He jostled nearer. Again, his hard shaft pressed against her buttocks. She inched forward, straining away from him. Her muscles screamed in protest. Refusing to ride in this uncomfortable position, she poked Wolf in the ribs with her elbow. "Thee wins. Now, move."
He chuckled and slid back, slightly.
She eased her hold on her taut body. How would he feel inside her? Shivers raced along her arms and a secret place deep inside her warmed then throbbed at the mere thought.
CHAPTER NINE
"NoX han." Little Turtle raced to greet his father.
After vaulting off his horse, Silver Wolf lifted the child and squeezed him.
Sarah, from her perch on top of the stallion, smiled at the picture.
The boy gave her a brief glance filled with distrust and dislike before centering his attention on Wolf. Little Turtle chattered to his father in Lenape.
"Ne gwis, you must speak English when Mistress Stone is with us," he said, setting his son on the ground.
"Kw sha' tai?" the boy replied.
Wolf turned back to Amen apush, raised his arms, and Sarah slid into them. "Mistress Stone does not understand Lenape that is why."
The lad mumbled under his breath.
When she had visited the plantation before, Little Turtle had snubbed her, actually been rude to her. She had attributed his coolness to the recent death of his grandfather. Her assumption appeared wrong, since his animosity still showed. Rejection by a child was a new and unpleasant experience for Sarah. Until now, she had believed she had a great relationship with children. Had she been fooling herself? She thought not.
After Wolf released her, he faced his son. Anger emanated from the lad's face. "It is discourteous to speak in our own language, when we have a guest who does not understand what we are saying."
"Do not insist," Sarah said, averse to causing a problem between father and son.
Wolf stared at her. "Lenape children obey their parents," he said sharply.
Sarah flushed, recalling her own deliberate disregard of Benjamin's request for her to leave the tavern.
"N' shin gi," the child said.
She had no idea what Little Turtle said, but the boy's tone bordered on obstinate.
Wolf glared at him. "Indeed, you will."
Lowering his head, Little Turtle muttered, "Yes, Father."
"Please carry Mistress Stone's …"
"Silver Wolf."
He looked toward her.
Unsure of the social niceties of the Lenape and not wanting to make a cultural mistake so early in her stay, Sarah stumbled over her words. "Could, is it permissible for Little Turtle to call me Sarah?"
"You wish this?" Wolf questioned.
"Yes. Please," she said, nodding her head. Perhaps the informality might help ease the situation between them.
"My son, please take Sarah and her bag to the room she used before."
The boy nodded, yet she sensed his resentment.
"I must find my grandfather and tell him I have returned. If you will excuse me, I will see you at dinner." He bowed
his head in a courtier manner, grabbed his horse's rein, and strode away.
Little Turtle glared at her.
Her first attempt at softening his opinion of her had obviously failed.
He grabbed her bedroll and headed off. For a six or seven year old, he moved fast. She hurried to keep up. What made his dislike of her so strong? Did being a woman have anything to do with his negative attitude? She wondered. Or did it compound his dislike? Did he see her as a threat to his relationship with his father? If she could explain to the boy that, although she admired Wolf, her life contained no place for involvement with a man from another century, would his animosity vanish? Perhaps, her white skin caused the problem? She had no idea what the child had been taught. Wolf, she knew, distrusted whites--nay, loathed them. Had he infected the boy with his prejudice?
Little Turtle held open the door to the house.
"Thank you," she said, pleased at his courtesy. As she walked by the child, she looked at his face. Resentment marred his expression. She must find a way to break the barrier. The idea startled her. Why should she care what one child thought? Her plans did not include a long stay at Long Meadow Plantation. She expected to leave as soon as she could.
Without a word, Little Turtle pushed past her and marched down the long hall to the steps at the opposite end. He hurried up the switchback stairs and reached the second floor passage before Sarah had even placed her foot on the second half of the split staircase. His less than gracious manner ate at her. She had not wanted to come. Wolf had kidnaped her. She would leave now if she could, for staying where she was unwelcome appealed to her not at all. Yet, she had no choice and resolved to overcome the child's animosity.
As she climbed the steps and strolled along the second floor hallway, an idea germinated. Sarah picked up her pace. As she entered the room she had occupied before, she smiled. "Little Turtle, can thou teach me to speak Lenape?"
He had dropped her bedroll on the floor in front of the four poster bed and stood near the door. "Why do you say thee and thou?" he asked, instead of answering her question.
His inquisitiveness formed the first crack in his armor, admittedly a hairline one. She took hope. Sarah vowed to chip at the opening. "My father and I follow the tenants of the Society of Friends. That religion teaches us that all people are children of the same God. By using thee and thou, we show our oneness with each other."
Little Turtle stared at her. "We call the Creator, Gishelamu-Kaong."
"Key-shay-la …"
"Key-shay-la-muh' ka-ong," the boy said, dividing the words phonetically.
Sarah repeated the name several times. "The name we call the Creator matters little to us for we believe there is only One God."
While he considered her comment, she asked again, "Will thou help me learn a few words of Lenape, please?"
"Kw sha' tai?" he asked.
She stared at him. The words sounded familiar.
"Kw sha' tai, means why?" he told her.
A smile touched her lips. She sensed the crack widening. "I wish to learn."
Distrust showed in his eyes. "How long do you stay?"
Unsure of when the area might be cleared of soldiers and when she might be able to return even if it wasn’t, she said, "Until it is safe to return."
"We need no white woman here. Since you will leave, you have no reason to learn our language." He turned on his heel and left.
Sarah sank into the rocking chair. "So much for a break in his armor," she mumbled to herself.
Unsure of what else to do, Sarah threw her pseudo knapsack on the bed and unrolled it. She found three sets of petticoats, short gowns, shifts, aprons but no caps, except the one on her head, and three sets of men's liners. The last pleased her, immensely. Wolf, obviously, had no idea that colonial women never wore such a garment. His experience came from knowing that Lenape women donned pants under their skirts. She rummaged further and found her hairbrush. The twig she used to clean her teeth, the mouth freshener and shampoo that she had blended had not been packed. Dang! Sarah especially missed the shampoo. While slicing all those apples, she had saved some skins, these she had combined, after a long search, with other basic ingredients. Now she would have to begin again.
After hanging her clothes on the wooden wall hooks, Sarah untied her cap's strings and yanked the confining garment off. She tugged at the braids that encircled her head. Once loose, she freed her twisted hair from its constrictions. Glaring at her hat, she thought, Oh, to be free of that hot, confining head piece. After combing her fingers through the kinky curls, she grabbed her brush, walked to the mahogany dressing table, sat on the wooden bench, and started working. Satisfied with the results, she cut a tie from her cap, pulled her hair behind her ears, wrapped the string about her ponytail and made a bow at the top. She delighted in the freedom her uncovered hair gave her. If anyone asked, she would say none of her hats had been packed. What about the one she had worn when she arrived? Throwing it on the floor, she stepped on the linen and mopped part of the woodwork. When she picked up the hat, she smiled. "Oh, dear. Look at the dirt. Too bad," she said aloud then twisted her head from side to side, enjoying the freedom. After tossing the soiled cap aside, Sarah grabbed her cloak and headed out.
As she strolled down the center hall, the front door opened. The silhouette of a tall man blocked most of the outside light. Her heart accelerated. "Silver Wolf."
"Nay, it is I, White Owl." He moved closer. "My grandson told me of your arrival. I bid you welcome."
"Thank you for allowing me to stay." She drew nearer so she might see his face.
He eyed her curiously. "Did you wish to go outside?"
She nodded. "I should like to see the plantation."
"I shall be your guide." He offered her his arm and helped her through the door and down the steps.
Glancing around the open area that lay between the house and the barn, she asked, "Where is everyone?"
"The men and young boys are hunting or fishing. The women are smoking and preparing the food for winter."
She took a deep breath. The smell of burning wood and the aroma of meat cooking teased her nose. "Should I help them?" she asked.
He patted her arm. "You are an honored guest. Our women would be offended if you worked."
Mixed feelings greeted these words. Although she had grown tired of physical work while at the tavern, the thought of nothing to do distressed her.
"Would you like to see what they are doing?" White Owl offered.
"Yes. Thank you.” She eagerly accepted.
They strolled to the other side of the barn in an amiable silence. The pleasant odors grew stronger. Soon they rounded the corner. Sarah saw women and girls working. Two older boys stood on the outskirts, their bows and quivers draped over their shoulders; in the center of the operation stood Wolf. Catching sight of them, he strode forward. When he drew near, he stopped and stared at her hair. Self-consciously, her hand went to her head. "Thee forgot to pack my caps," she said, putting the blame on him.
He surveyed her long flowing hair, but did not speak.
"The cap I wore here is dirty," she blurted out, blushing and trying to excuse her appearance.
"I am pleased that I did not pack your caps. Such beautiful hair should not be covered."
His words increased her flush, but his compliment made her heart swell with joy.
"Where are you going?" Wolf asked.
"Your grandfather volunteered to show me the plantation, I agreed happily." Boldly, she added, "Will thee walk with us?"
"If you are going in my direction, I will accompany you," he replied.
Unwilling to allow his qualifier to spoil the opportunity, she said, "Since I wish to see as much of Long Meadow as possible, thee select the way."
"We will start here.”
Sarah looked around. Carefully, she examined the area that she previously had only glimpsed. In a nearby field, two young teenagers tended the racks of meat that lay suspended over a large, recta
ngular bed of coals. The girls walked around the outside perimeter turning the slices with sticks and adding wood when necessary. Directly beside them, three women butchered meat. Deer, rabbits, and squirrels hung near.
White Owl introduced her. The women appeared to be about Sarah's age. All of them smiled shyly.
"Thou has quite a chore."
They nodded, but continued working.
Since Lenape seldom chatted, Sarah wondered how she could develop any type of friendship. Perhaps, her task would be easier with the two older women squatting off to the left. Each scrapped the inside of an animal skin. Sarah drew closer and asked the nearest one, "What doeth thou doing?"
The woman scraped as she spoke, "My son killed a bear. I will make a warm cape for my first born."
Sarah smiled her thanks. "And thou?" She turned her attention to the neighbor.
"The deer will be a part of my daughter's wedding outfit." She smiled shyly.
"When will the wedding be?"
"At the time of the Wolf Moon."
Looking at White Owl, then Wolf, Sarah heard the older Lenape say, "Our name for January."
As they walked on, Wolf said, "Our community divides the bones, meat, horns of each animal. The brave who makes the kill claims the fur."
"Since only men hunt, what would a widow or an unmarried woman do for a skin?"
"The leaders share with them. Also, they can trade."
"What could they trade?" Sarah asked. She had read about a bartering system, but the historian in her wanted to have the practice verified or refuted by an original source.
"Clay pots, baskets, jewelry and decorative objects …"
"Like the porcupine box I received?"
He nodded. "They bargain for their needs."
"Who made mine?"
"Quick Rabbit," Wolf said, in a very different tone.
"If she is about, I should like to meet her and thank her. The workmanship is beautiful, but to work with those quills must be rough on her hands." Sarah looked at her own fingers and shuttered.
"She is the woman I mentioned," Wolf said.
Sarah blanched. "The one the soldiers raped?"
Wolf nodded.
