Her Match, Her Mate, Her Master

by Vanessa Brooks

  The babe regarded her solemnly with large, dark, expressive eyes.

  “Goodness! Where on earth have you sprung from?” she spoke aloud, hoping for some response but the baby continued to regard her with an unblinking stare.

  She pondered. She could put the child back, hoping that his parents were nearby, watching, and come back in a little while to see if he had gone, but she was concerned about the stream being so close by to where the baby was hidden, she worried he might crawl to the stream and drown. Finally, she decided it was a risk she would have to take—after all, the babe had not attempted to move from the hidey hole in which she’d found him.

  Parting the bushes, she placed the baby back onto the ground and the child began to wail. She steeled herself to walk away then turned to glance back. The baby was crawling toward her.

  “Oh no,” she muttered and returned to pick him up.

  As soon as she held him in her arms he leant forward and buried his face into the hollow of her neck. His fat little arms reached up, grabbing fistfuls of her hair. In an instinctive rush of tenderness, she hugged the little body to her and patted the small back. “Hush there, little one,” she soothed as she walked up and down the side of the stream, looking around for signs of the child’s protectors.

  After a few moments, she came to a decision. She absolutely refused to leave such a small baby outside, all alone and unprotected. If the parents of this child wanted him back, they could come to the cabin and ask for him. With her rather cumbersome load of a baby on one hip and the washing basket on the other, she made her way slowly back into the welcoming warmth of her small home.

  Dropping the basket into a corner, she turned her attention to the child. First, she attempted to disentangle the child’s hands from her hair in order to place him on the bed but like a small leech, he clung to her fiercely. She gave up and, ‘wearing’ the baby, she poured out a small cup of milk.

  She sat in one of the wooden rocking chairs and pulled the shawl from the back of the chair to wrap it around the pair of them. After a minute or two, the child relaxed his hold. Letting go of her hair, he slid down into Linnet’s lap. She crooned gently, offering the milk, holding it up to the babe’s lips.

  The child drank thirstily, finishing the cup and wailing for more. “All right, fear not, there’s plenty more, hush now,” she soothed. After a second cup of milk, the child plugged in a small thumb then snuggled against Linnet, rapidly falling asleep. She gazed down at the small, round face with its sweep of long lashes and was choked with emotion; how endearing, how trusting.

  She lifted the sleeping child to the bed and laid him in the middle, well away from the edge, tucking the shawl tightly around the baby. Straightening up, she put a hand to the small of her back, massaging the ache that sitting in a cramped position with the child had caused.

  She looked down at the sleeping babe and realised she didn’t know for certain what sex it was. Carefully, so as not to wake the child, she lifted the tunic. Definitely a boy and one with no napkin, which was perhaps not a problem for a native child but a huge one for her!

  She remembered the pile of extra bedding that Sarah had insisted she bring and ran to the chest at the foot of their bed. Flinging up the lid, she pulled out the oldest and softest blanket she could find. She tore it into as many napkin type squares as the blanket’s size allowed and ended up with eight decent-sized squares and a couple of oblong pieces. She swaddled the babe’s nether regions with one of the improvised napkins, covered him up warmly, and left him to sleep.

  By the time the child awoke, she’d made porridge with oats for a meal. She had improvised toys, putting together a few safe household items onto a rug in one corner. She’d put a large pot of water on to heat for the babe’s bath. The tiny boy sat up and blinked owlishly at her from the bed.

  She hurried over to him, crooning baby-talk to soothe him. He watched her solemnly as she changed his makeshift napkin, which was soaked through. She dropped the soiled napkin into a pail.

  Feeding the baby was extremely difficult for Linnet, who had no previous experience of small children. She became quite flustered as he kept grabbing the spoon, tipping the contents on Linnet, the floor, or all down the front of himself. Eventually, he seemed to have eaten enough, so she deposited him on the floor while she went to set up a bath for him.

  She’d only taken a couple of minutes to organise the filling of the tin and yet, when she turned her attention back to the baby, there was mess everywhere. He’d found the basket of wet washing she had dumped in the corner on her return and pulled all the clothes out onto the floor, then crawled through them with a very dirty napkin, one which failed to contain the contents.

  She groaned, picking up the unsavoury little character. His face split into a huge grin as she bent down to him and he lifted his chubby little arms to her. Linnet’s heart missed a beat with a flood of tenderness. “You little darling,” she purred.

  Regardless of his disgusting state, she hugged him, and then quickly stripped off the offending garments, dropping them all into the napkin pail. “I shall be doing nothing but washing at this rate,” she muttered as she lowered him into the tub of warm water. The boy adored the warm bath and splashed, chuckling with glee.

  She was absolutely enchanted by him and played with him for a while before reluctantly turning her attention to clearing up the mess he’d made. The once clean washing from the basket now joined the overflowing pail of dirty clothing that she placed outside the cabin door to remove the pong of the soiled clothes from the room. When the cabin was straight, Linnet turned back to the tub and retrieved the child.

  She dried him in another of Sarah’s soft blankets and swaddled him in another makeshift napkin.

  “What can I dress you in?” she asked his owlish little face. He grinned, showing several small, even, pearly-white teeth. “Ah, bless, you have toothy-pegs,” she crooned. “Auntie Linnet must give you something harder than porridge for your breakfast to keep those little teeth nice and strong.”

  “Tong,” the child repeated happily.

  “Oh, you can talk.” Linnet was startled.

  “L-i-n-n-e-t” she said slowly and then repeated her name several times over but he gave no response. She reached for one of her clean chemises, popping it over his head. With the drawstring tightened, it would do for him to sleep in.

  “Ah well, come along, baby, let’s put you to bed.”

  She carried the babe and tucked him in on John’s side of the bed. After a moment’s consideration, she fetched another, thicker blanket, folded double to place beneath the child.

  “Net!” the baby called.

  She stopped what she was doing, delighted. “That’s right, darling, my name is Lin-net.”

  “N-n-itt,” replied the boy, “an da ka ga gwa,” he crowed and reached out, his fat little hands grabbing for her hair.

  “What does that mean, poppet? Hair. Come on, little man, say, hair.”

  “Ay-ah,” repeated the child obediently, “ayah.”

  She laughed and bent, kissing his plump golden cheek. “Go to sleep now, you little rascal.” She tucked him firmly into the bed. He plugged in a small thumb; his sooty lashes drooped with tiredness. Soon, he was fast asleep.

  As she stroked his forehead tenderly, she wondered where on earth he had sprung from. Hans had told them that there were no native settlements nearby. John had told her not to fear the local tribes since their only interest with them was in trade. It was impossible for a child this age to crawl or toddle any distance. He must have been brought here by someone; the question was, who? They could be outside right now, Linnet realised. Hastily, she went over to bar the door. She closed the shutters, barring those as well. “I wish John were here!” she whispered aloud. Shaking herself out of her reverie she set about making preparations for the morning. Making dough, she set it to rise overnight, then, exhausted by the day’s events, she fell onto the bed next to the sleeping child, promptly falling asleep herself.
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  Linnet awoke at dawn with a small fist lying in her face. She still felt exhausted. The child slept like a small crucified being, spread out like a star, forcing her to cling to the edge of the large bed. Sleeping with a small child was worse, she decided, than sleeping with a man. They both broke wind as frequently, true, a man snored and the babe snuffled. This little boy seemed to take up the entire bed, moving about the space restlessly all night long.

  Linnet spent the entire day clearing up after the child. As she struggled back up from the stream with the re-washed laundry, the little child toddled or crawled by her side, slowing down the process considerably. She eventually managed to peg the clothes on the washing line that John had rigged up for her. All day long, the child clung to her skirts as she moved about the business of her daily chores. By the end of the day, she was physically exhausted, yet she felt surprisingly content. She found to her amazement that she enjoyed household tasks. Looking after a small, demanding tyrant was a joy in itself and she found herself hoping that the parents of the babe would not come looking for their child just yet.

  For the first time since her marriage, she seriously considered the arrival of children and what might mean for their marriage, with the relentless hard work and lack of privacy, the constant demand on her time and attention. She wondered if John liked children, she supposed that she’d assumed that he wanted children. Linnet knew that however demanding looking after a child might be, she wanted a baby of her own.

  She gave the small boy the small wooden horse that Hans had carved for her to play with. He was delighted with it and crooned lovingly to it. The boy seemed to have a name for it, ‘Ko si.’

  Linnet taught him the word “horse,” he dutifully repeated it and then promptly returned to saying “Ko si.” He was now garbed in his original clothes, which Linnet had carefully washed and dried. She marvelled at the intricate bead work, the meticulously sewn quills and little feathers that decorated his tiny tunic. Whoever this child belonged to must love him very much indeed to have spent so much effort decorating his clothes this way, she surmised.

  Chapter 16

  John had a successful hunting trip; he’d stalked and shot a young stag, which would provide plenty of meat to last them for a while. He was unaware that his movements were being tracked. Breaking camp in the clearing of a forest, he packed and prepared to leave. Tightening the girth on Amber, he turned to collect his bedroll. When he straightened, he sucked in his breath. He was faced with three native braves.

  They were similarly clad in deerskin leggings, all bare-chested except one, who had a breast plate made of quills. This man was exceptionally tall and well-built. He sported a necklace of what looked like claws. All had shaved heads with a line of hair running from the front to back of their skulls, and their hair stood upright, not unlike some crested bird.

  John held out his palms to show he held no weapon. He nodded to them, stood still and waited. The large Indian raised his hand in greeting. He nodded at John, then he touched his eye and pointed to John, holding his hand down at knee height. John followed the pantomime and realised straight away these men were looking for something of a small height, possibly a dog or perhaps a child. They wanted to know if he had seen one. John shook his head. The native mimed hunger, rubbing his belly in circles as he gestured to the deer carcass. John nodded and patted the thigh of the animal, gesturing to the man to come forward and cut off a haunch for their use.

  It would have done him no good to have refused their request; he was outnumbered three to one.

  Meanwhile, Linnet had spent a much better night with her young charge. She’d decided to make the baby a bed in the tin bath, and he had snuggled down in there quite comfortably. Consequently, she had slept through the night, awaking refreshed. She’d just finished feeding the child his breakfast when she heard what she thought might be the approach of horses. Sure enough upon, opening the shutter to peek outside, she saw John dismounting from Amber. Delighted, she was about to run out and greet him when the boy gave an excited cry. She swept him up into her arms then stepped outside.

  She spotted them immediately: three native men. They sat silently mounted upon their horses, watching her with dark, unblinking stares.

  Instinctively, she clutched the child tighter, clasping him to her in a protective gesture that was not lost upon the natives watching her.

  She stood frozen to the spot as the child called to the natives in an excited babble. His small hand reached up and wound itself in Linnet’s loose hair, he bounced excitedly on her hip.

  Linnet spotted John by the fence, standing motionless where his horse was tied. If he was startled to see his wife emerge from their home carrying a small native child, he made no sign of it as he stared anxiously at her. She tried to smile at him to reassure him, but she felt too nervous to make the gesture.

  One of the men rode forward a few paces while the other two hung back. He stopped and waited. She glanced down at the child’s animated face. He was still bouncing up and down in her arms, oblivious to the tension surrounding him.

  Making a decision, she took a deep breath and walked up to the large, muscular native. His skin was a darker bronze than the child’s. His dark eyes betrayed nothing of his inner thoughts, let alone his intentions. His nose was slightly bent, as if it had been broken at some point. Bizarrely, his head was shaven, save for a middle strip of hair that ran from his forehead to neck. It appeared to be coloured with ochre paste, which caused the ruff of hair to stand stiffly. He wore a necklace of what looked like animal claws strung about his neck. One ear sported an earring of silver from which hung three small feathers.

  He stretched out his arms to take the child. She searched his face to assess his intentions but she could read nothing there, his expression was blank. She realised there was nothing else to do but to trust the child’s happy response at seeing this man. She shifted the boy toward the terrifying man. The babe suddenly grabbed her about the neck, snuggling his face into her shoulder, holding her hair tightly.

  Gently, she withdrew his arms then, kissing his cheek, swiftly handed him up to the native, who took him in a firm grasp. Holding him against his naked chest he smoothed the child’s hair back and spoke gently to him in a soft rumble. The child twisted in his arms and called to Linnet, “Ko si. Mi he wi!”

  She held up her palm to the Indian. “Wait, please, wait!” She ran inside quickly and came back clutching the carved wooden horse.

  The natives were in the process of turning their horses so she was forced to run alongside, stretching out a restraining hand to the large Indian as she held up the carved figurine. The child reached for it but managed to grab a fist full of her hair at the same time. The native Indian spoke sharply to the child but he clung on tightly and began to wail. With a swift movement, the Indian withdrew a dagger. Before she had time to register fear, he’d cut off the length of hair the child clutched. Man and horse moved swiftly away from her, the child waving the toy horse and a long gleaming rope of Linnet’s hair. A thin wail carried back on the breeze as the boy suddenly realised that Linnet was not attached to the hair he squeezed in his tiny fist.

  She stood still, staring into the distance long after the natives had disappeared, silent tears slipping unnoticed down her cheeks. She was startled out of her reverie by John, who had come up behind her. He placed his arms about her, holding her close, his chin resting atop her head. After a while he turned her around and led her indoors. There, he settled her into a rocking chair and bade her stay while he went to stable Amber.

  Making short work of un-tacking the horse, he settled her down, fed the animals and returned to the cabin. He found his wife sitting silently in the rocker. She appeared to be deep in thought. Hunkering beside her, he took her hand in his. “Where did you find the child?” he asked.

  Linnet told him the whole tale, John listened without comment. When she’d finished, he explained about his meeting with the three natives and of the mimed conversation. “Hans t
old us there were no natives living nearby; I wonder where those three braves came from?” he pondered. “I think, from their attire, they were Abenaki. We were lucky; they are the most warrior-like tribe in these parts. I had the shock of my life when I turned around and there they were, silent and watchful.”

  Linnet nodded. “I know, the baby was so quiet at first, not at all like any other children I have come across—mind you, I have had very little contact with babies.” She sighed. “He was so sweet. I am going to miss him so much!”

  John pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms about her, holding her close. He looked down into her miserable face. He hated what he had to do next, but she had disobeyed him once again and the consequence of her actions had put them both into grave peril. He set her from him and went to the bed, where he seated himself. He saw her watching him with a questioning intensity. “When I left here the other day, I told you not to leave the cabin, yet—”

  “If I’d stayed inside, that poor baby might very well have died!” she interrupted.

  “Regardless, you should have obeyed me and stayed put. You have put us both in peril because, once again, you did not listen to my instructions. Show me that you understand your error, prove to me that you have matured enough to accept punishment and come and place yourself over my knee and ask me for a spanking. Either that, or you may fetch your hairbrush. The choice is yours.”

  He could see the internal struggle as her emotions flitted across her face. He had to press his lips together to stop himself from smiling when she stamped her foot, glaring at him from across the room. Not so biddable then. He crooked his finger at her, eyebrow raised. He felt a sense of relief when at last she took a faltering step toward him, sidling closer, her hands behind her—already protecting her threatened derriere.