by Gen Bailey
Sarah gasped. “Surely, Mr. Thunder, you are not suggesting that—”
“It is a matter of fact. It is written in the sacred wampum—it is recorded in the memory of our elders.”
Sarah sat gaping at him, unable to muster a response.
“Because of this,” he continued, “to this day, when a white man whom we do not know enters our villages, we hide our women and children until we are certain of his intentions.”
Sarah paused, choosing her words. “You are right, sir,” she said. “I find that hard to believe.”
He didn’t answer. Rather, with a shrug, he went on quietly with his work.
But Sarah wouldn’t let it go, couldn’t let it go, and she said, “Mr. Thunder, are you telling me that good Christian men—”
“I did not say they were either good or Christian.”
“But—”
“In the two years I lived with the missionaries, I came to observe that there were two different kinds of people among the English: those that take and those that give. And the two do not mix. Those that take are not good, and they are not Christian.
“They do not live by the book that they tell the Indian and others to obey,” he continued. “They lie and they cheat. So much is this true, that our wisest men warn that if such people say a thing is so, it is the opposite. These kinds of men or women are few among the English, fortunately, but they give your race a bad name. Someday all the Indian Nations might blame your people for the injustices they suffer beneath the hand of these few—which would also be untruthful.”
“I’m sorry that you feel this way.”
“It is not a feeling. It is an observation.”
“Yes,” said Sarah, “so you have said. But, sir, are you implying that your society has no stragglers, no men who serve their own ends? ”
“No, all societies have such people. Perhaps the difference is in how a tribe treats a man who lies or serves his own ends. It is an Iroquois law that if a man is seen once to lie or to serve only himself or his family, the women of the tribe dismiss him from his seat on the council, or if he is not a council member, he is banished from the tribe. He is considered a thing of horror, and no child will even look upon his face. He is a disgrace.
“But this is not so among the English, who tend to believe the wagging tongue of the man who cannot and will not associate himself with anything but lies.”
Sarah became silent. Indeed, she realized that what this man said was very near true.
“Until the English find a way to show this man up for what he is, until they serve him real justice, he will leave a disgrace upon the graves of the innocent Englishman, who in his heart is a good, God-fearing Christian.”
Sarah stared down at her lap. In truth, she was stunned. Stunned because what this man said was too astute to be readily dismissed. She said, “I hope, sir, that your look into what the future holds for the Englishman is not an exact look.”
“I, too,” he said. “But I fear this will be as it is unless some force comes into the world to change it.”
Again, Sarah sat silently by, watching him.
At length, he changed the subject, and said, “Would you like to try to help me take the layer of fat from the skin? I could bring you here beside me, and guide you so that you could do it again if the need ever arose.”
And be that close to him?
She said, “No, sir, I believe not. I am still recovering, and I am happy watching you.”
He didn’t comment, though he did allow his glance to scan over her features. Silence again commenced between them.
While cutting up the meat into strips, he spoke, saying, “We will dry this meat over a smoky fire so that we can make a mixture that will nourish us on the trail.”
“And where will we be going, sir?”
“Either I will return you to your people, or if you have not recovered your memory by the time we are ready to leave, I will take you to my village.”
“To your village. Ah, yes, I do remember you saying as much to me.” Sarah’s stomach dropped. The prospect was frightening. However, if her memory didn’t return, there would be little option but to follow him. She said, “But we are not ready to go yet, are we? ”
“Not until you are up and able to walk on your own. And whichever path we take, whether to your village or to mine, we will need food. And since we will be traveling fast, it is best to prepare it now.”
Sarah nodded. “Then I will help you do it . . . tomorrow.” She grinned at him, and heaven be praised, he smiled right back.
Eight
It was only a few days later when, with the aid of the cane that White Thunder had fashioned for her, Sarah struggled up onto her feet and slowly, with one foot placed carefully after another, began to walk. Soon, within a matter of days, she was walking without aid. And though her muscles still spasmed with pain now and again, neither she nor White Thunder had dared to repeat the deep massage.
True to his word, White Thunder had concocted many meals’ worth of bone broth soups. As he offered the soup to her, along with the other foods he had in store, gradually the muscle contractions in her legs lessened.
It was liberating, she discovered, to be able to amble about again, and she realized a limited truth: Lack of movement created, to a greater or lesser degree, a sort of enslavement. Certainly it made one dependent on the goodwill of another.
Within days, Sarah could leave the cave on her own and though at first she was reluctant to venture too far, eventually she conquered her fear and strolled out farther and farther into the woods. As she became stronger, she realized that for all practical purposes she would be able to leave this place soon. Not yet, if only because her legs wouldn’t always obey her every command. But soon.
Where would she go? she wondered. What would she do? The worry hung over her like a dark cloud, since, to date, her past life still remained a mystery to her.
One factor had changed recently, however. It had started to rain, which was causing Sarah to stay close to the cave out of necessity. Along with the downpours came a coldness that had settled over the land. Even the autumn leaves, so bright only weeks ago, now hung dismally under an often-gray and threatening sky.
It happened late one afternoon, suddenly and without warning. One moment Sarah had been safe and warm in the cave, the next she had ventured out of it only to come face to face with a bear: a big, fully grown black bear.
Sarah froze.
The bear growled, stood up onto its hind legs and pawed at the air. Sarah was dwarfed by it. It howled again, the sound terrorizing. All at once, adrenaline and fear washed through her.
She remained frozen to the spot. Though the bear made no forward movement, it was close enough that the very air around her became scented with the animal.
Suddenly something changed and the bear came down on all fours and started toward her.
Sarah screamed.
Stunned at the noise, the bear stopped, and looking right and left, it pawed at the ground. Finally, bringing its attention back to her, the bear slowly, carefully, closed the distance between them.
“Put your arms up over your head and growl!” It was White Thunder. “Do it! Now!”
She did as White Thunder ordered. Raising her hands over her head, she opened her mouth and snarled at the bear.
As before, the bear stopped, sniffed at the air, gave her a cautious look, but plodded forward.
“Keep growling! Louder! Make your voice more savage!” ordered White Thunder, who was crouched atop a high ground next to the cave. “He’s tired and looking for a place to sleep. He may decide that you’re too much for him. Keep growling.”
Adrenaline pumped through her as, following White Thunder’s orders, she mustered up her loudest voice, as well as what she hoped was her most ferocious-looking face.
Again the bear hesitated, but hearing White Thunder, the bear finally took notice of him. Sensing that he was the greater danger of the two, it came up onto his hind legs
and growled at White Thunder, as though warning him away from his find.
When White Thunder did nothing but stare back at the bear and snarl at it, the bear came down again to all fours, and ignoring White Thunder for the moment, turned back to continue its path toward Sarah, as though by deed to say that she was the least likely to give him problems.
Step by step, the bear progressed dangerously close. All at once it rose again to its hind legs and roared at her, this time extending its sharp paws outward. Only one thought surfaced: She was dead. She was dinner. Never had the desire to own and have a gun in her hand been more prevalent than it was at this moment.
Suddenly White Thunder shot straight in front of her, placing himself directly between her and the bear. And if the bear was roaring and kicking up a fine noise, so, too, was White Thunder. Indeed, so loud was it that Sarah could hardly tell what was man and what was beast.
Then White Thunder did what was either the most courageous act she had ever witnessed—or the most reckless. He bent forward, sticking his face into the bear’s, which was only a few feet away, and he snarled and snapped as though he were the more dangerous creature.
The animal yowled right back at White Thunder, and so shrill was it, Sarah thought her eardrums might never mend. Then suddenly, White Thunder was yelling directions at her.
“Make noise!”
Without delay, Sarah screamed and clapped her hands.
“Now we back up,” he shouted at her, “so as to tell him we give him the cave. We are no threat. Slowly, we back up, all the while we make as much noise as possible.”
Though White Thunder was holding his gun pointed directly at the bear, Sarah knew it wouldn’t be protection enough against a head-on attack. After all, the musket had only one shot, the next shot requiring priming and reloading.
He took a step back. Sarah followed suit. Another step back, another and another.
The bear came down onto all fours again. It roared so loudly, Sarah wanted to run for cover. But it was impossible.
“If he starts toward us,” yelled White Thunder, “and paws at me, you are to turn and run—do you understand? Run downhill. A bear cannot easily follow if you go downhill. You are to run as fast as you can and don’t look back!”
“I won’t leave you!”
“You have no choice! I give you no choice! If I say run, you are to run! If I am to fight him, I cannot worry about you!”
Another step back, another and another.
Suddenly, the bear chose to take a leap toward them.
“Run!”
Sarah turned to do exactly as told, but her legs suddenly refused to move. What was she to do? Even taking painfully slow steps was impossible. It was as if she were suddenly crippled.
That’s when she spotted it. There inside the cave. Fire! Weren’t all animals afraid of fire?
The bear was already attacking White Thunder. She could hear their struggle, though because of the fear gripping her, she didn’t dare to look back. But her legs suddenly responded, and rushing back into the cave, she was able to pick up several of the sticks that were burning red-hot at their tips.
Without thinking of what she was about to do, she rushed out of the cave. Later in life, she would wonder where her courage and strength had come from on this day. Until this moment, she’d never been aware of being particularly brave. She could only thank the good Lord that when valor was necessary, it was lying dormant within her.
White Thunder was on the ground, the bear over him. She rushed at the bear with the fire.
“Shoo! Get out of here!” Her voice was piercing and loud. She waved the weapon at the bear and tried to get close enough to light its fur on fire.
But her attempts did almost nothing to the beast; its fur was too matted. Startled, the bear jumped back, allowing White Thunder a moment to bring up his musket and take careful aim.
BOOM!
White Thunder shot off a ball aimed straight into the eyeball of the bear.
It hit.
Still animated, the bear struggled forward. Had the shot served no purpose? White Thunder was reloading as fast as was humanly possible, and as she watched him struggle against time to prime his weapon and reload it, she wondered, was this it? Was life suddenly over? This easily?
Memories of her past instantaneously rushed through her mind. They came with no fanfare, no bells. Rather, they swamped her. Moments from her past flickered before her so quickly, she could barely take hold of them.
Indeed, so overwhelming was it, she rocked back on her feet.
Meanwhile, the battle with the bear was coming to a close. The animal took one final step forward, and fell over, dead.
Sarah watched it in horror, almost afraid to turn away from it, fearful that it might only be catching its breath. Even as she looked at it, she wondered: What damage had it done to White Thunder?
No sooner had the thought formed within her mind than she was struck with another truth. She cared for White Thunder. She honestly cared for this man.
She was breathing hard and fast, and she could hear White Thunder behind her, doing the same. At least, she thought, he was still alive.
Though out of breath, he called out to her, and said, “I told you to leave!”
“I could not do it, sir!” she cried. “You forget that my legs do not always obey me.”
At last she turned toward him. He was on the ground, his shirt torn with claw marks. There were several gashes on his chest and arms where the bear’s claws had found their mark. As Sarah caught her breath, she could only thank the good Lord that, because of the cool weather, White Thunder had worn a shirt this day.
But his clothing was blood-soaked, and was becoming more so by the minute.
“Look at what he’s done to you,” she said as she took several steps toward White Thunder, and came down on the ground beside him.
“They are scratches,” he said.
Then White Thunder did the unthinkable. He opened his arms to her and she went into them willingly, both of them uncaring that he was bleeding all over her.
“You saved my life,” she whispered.
“As you did mine.”
“You came to my defense. You jumped in front of me and confronted the beast head-on.”
“Of course I did. Did you expect me to leave you to fight a bear on your own?”
“I didn’t expect anything, sir. I . . . I thank you.” She paused significantly. Then a little shyly, she added, “I think also that my mistress will thank you as soon as I manage to find her again.”
He pushed her back from him and stared at her.
Tears were streaming down Sarah’s cheeks as she said, “It’s true. I have remembered my past life and who I am. It happened suddenly. I remembered everything.”
“This is good.” He was smiling.
“Yes, it is very good. I will tell you more about it later. But come, you are hurt and first I must do something about that.”
“I think I will need little attention. They are only scrapes,” he reiterated.
Sarah drew back to look at him. “I will be the judge of that. Come.”
Placing her arms about him, she helped him to his feet, taking a great deal of his weight upon her. Together they limped into the cave.
Using a piece of her torn-off petticoat that had been soaked in water, Sarah washed the blood from White Thunder’s arms and chest wounds. There was something very intimate about sitting with White Thunder as he reclined on his own bedding. But she ignored the feeling. She asked him, “Why did the bear not back down? Did he not understand that we were retreating?”
“He was threatened by me, and a bear’s temper is bad even in the best of circumstances. He must have been hungry, too, for he dared much to come after you. So even though we were retreating, he could not pass up the opportunity to place his brand upon me and at the same time have a tasty dinner.”
“Place his brand on you? ” She paused to look up at him in open astonishment. “He was t
rying to kill you.”
“And he might have done so had you not rushed in upon him and startled him into backing away.”
“He did not back away, sir.”
“No, but he was frightened enough to pause, giving me time to aim a shot.”
“Yes,” Sarah said as she resumed her work over him. “Thank the Lord you are a good shot.”
“Do not thank the Lord. Thank my uncles and my father, who taught me to shoot.”
“Aye, I shall do so. I will send them my praises, and the Lord, too, thank you very much.”
He grinned at her, then winced as she dabbed at a deeper cut on his arm.
She frowned. “You will need stitches there, sir, at least on this one cut that is deeper than the rest.”
He gazed down at the open wound on his arm. “Do you know how to do it?”
She shrugged. “I saw a doctor do it once. I think I might be able to sew it together, if I can find the right material to use as thread.”
“Sinew from the deer can be used once my wound is cleaned, and a piece of bone might be made into a point so as to poke holes in the skin to pull the thread through. Did you spit on it?”
“I beg your pardon? ”
“Did you spit on the wounds? ”
“Of course not, I know better than to—”
Bending over double, he spit onto the wounds himself, leaving Sarah to watch, gaping. She said, “There are germs in your mouth, sir.”
He grinned at her. “Nyoh, and there are other good things there, too.”
