by Fireheart
Directly ahead sat Fireheart, the bastard who had beat him, captured him. Fireheart stared at him without expression, and it was the blank look in his eyes that forced John’s heart to beat faster.
“Sit, John Burton,” the chief said in English.
John wanted to refuse, but he looked around him, and sat, his pulse racing with terror.
No one said a word after he sat. It was as if they were waiting for something. Or someone. Who? John wondered.
Then he heard the rustle of the door flap behind him, and felt the tension of the men seated in the room.
A commotion had him turning as the warrior who had brought him shoved another man into the wigwam. An Indian. A prisoner.
As the prisoner shouted in a tongue that was different from the sounds made by the Lenni Lenape, John knew that the man was Iroquois.
When the Iroquois was shoved to his knees and then instructed to sit beside him, John felt a bone-chilling horror.
The Lenape were here to decide their fate. He and the Iroquois were going to die.
She didn’t want to leave Little River, but there was nothing else she could do. Joanna, wasn’t foolish enough to think she could manage on her own. It had been different when she’d been escaping John and determined to return here.
Philadelphia was over a week’s journey away; she’d never make it that long through the wilderness without a guide to take her. And after her experiences with John, she wasn’t looking to find danger again.
It was her turn to help with the community cooking-pot. She sat outside on a rush mat, cutting chunks of deer meat into smaller pieces. When she had completed a bowlful, she rose and crossed the yard to dump the meat into the simmering broth. Then she went back to the mat to cut up more meat and some vegetables.
She wore her Lenape tunic for comfort. She had only two gowns that were decent enough to see her across the ocean. She had coin safeguarded in Philadelphia for her passage back to England, but she didn’t know if she would have enough for a new gown. She didn’t know if there would be time for garments to be made for her anyway, so she put on the tunic, which she loved, intending to enjoy her remaining moments within the village.
She was torn between her desire to stay and her desire to go. She had already said good-bye to Fireheart. Since that time there had been little talk between them but for a murmured greeting if they happened to pass by one another. The distance between her and Fireheart disturbed her greatly, but she didn’t end it for to do so would be foolish. He spent much of his time with Moon Dove, she imagined, although she herself hadn’t seen them together but for a few times.
As if her thought had conjured the maiden to taunt her, Moon Dove appeared, going to the kettle with her own offering of food. Joanna watched the girl dump a basket of shelled beans into the pot, then disappear from sight. Joanna suspected that Moon Dove had left to find other food items.
Joanna had tensed when she’d first seen her, and after Moon Dove left, her tension wouldn’t go away. I must leave!
It was during these times when she wanted to go most. When she watched Moon Dove, and envisioned the girl’s life with Fireheart. When she realized that she would never compare favorably to the lovely Lenape maiden with her beautiful dark eyes and honey-brown skin.
Then the feeling would pass, and she would enjoy the wonderful moments of village life. The quiet. The smiles and joy of the Lenape people. And she would think of the dark imposing structure that waited for her in England, and she wanted only to stay.
Stay. Go. It was an increasing battle within her that made her long for the arrival of Mortimer Grace. She wondered if she would ever be happy wherever she went, wherever she lived, or if life without Fireheart would make it impossible to enjoy happiness again.
Joanna went back to cutting the meat with misty eyes.
“Autumn Wind.”
She looked up, and smiled at her friend. “Little Blossom.” She grinned at the little girl Little Blossom held in her arms. “Would you like to sit for a while?” she asked.
Little Blossom glanced toward her wigwam briefly, then gave a nod. Joanna went inside Mary Wife’s wigwam for a rush mat, and returned to spread it on the ground for her friend. Little Blossom sat, and positioned her daughter next to her, then gave the child a toy to keep her busy while the friends talked. Joanna’s friend pulled up a basket of vegetables that awaited someone’s attention.
“The men are in council,” Little Blossom said as she started to cut up some squash. “They have brought in the Iroquois.” She hesitated. “And John Burton.”
Joanna looked up from her work. “John?”
Her friend nodded. “It is said that this day the prisoner’s fate will be determined.”
Shuddering, Joanna continued to chop meat. Until now, she’d managed to put John Burton out of mind for she hadn’t seen him. The Lenape had put him in a place where he couldn’t get free.
She tried not to think what the Lenape would do to the men. The Indians were a kind people, but they could be merciless to their enemies. The English didn’t understand how they could be so savage and cruel, but the Lenape were cruel only when it was justified.
As she continued to cut meat, Joanna had a distant memory of a man’s screams in the night. She recalled those wild shrieks, and a time when Mary refused to allow her to leave the wigwam. She’d been able to leave after the light of the new day had arrived, when everything was as it had been before the enemy had been taken and she’d been forced to stay inside.
Joanna didn’t know what had happened to the Indian who had screamed with pain that faraway night, but she could imagine if she tried. She simply chose not to. When the images came, she forced them away for she had never seen, and she believed her mind would make them greater than they truly were.
But the flash of memory showed John Burton as he had been before he’d come to America. He’d been a kind friend. A gentleman. She couldn’t help but think, remember, and imagine....
“So it is not only the Iroquois whose fate will be sealed this day,” she said.
“This is true,” Little Blossom replied. “The white man has been brought before the council with the enemy.”
“The white authorities should handle John Burton.”
“And who is going to take him there?” Little Blossom questioned. “You? Rising Bird? Which one of us would you want to endanger to bring John Burton to his own people? We are Lenni Lenape,” she continued. “John Burton is white. Which one will the white man believe? The savage, or the white man?”
“The Lenape are not savages!” Joanna said, immediately coming to the tribe’s defense.
Little Blossom’s expression softened. “I know you believe this, Autumn Wind, for you are truly one of us. But you know that the white man looks upon us as such.”
Joanna sighed. “Kihiila. They do. They are wrong, but they do. And you are right. The Lenape must see to the justice of John Burton. I would not trust John with a terrible beast.” When her friend looked at her questioningly, she added, “I’d not want John Burton to triumph over the beast so that we would all be in danger again.”
Little Blossom nodded solemnly, but there was a twinkle in her dark eyes. “Today, we start preparation for the Gawing. You will stay until then? Even if your white man guide comes, you will stay and celebrate our good harvest?”
Joanna stared at her full bowl of meat a long time before replying. “Little Blossom—”
“It begins three days from now, Autumn Wind,” her friend said. “Stay with us. Eat well. Say farewell with celebration not with death.”
Joanna smiled. Little Blossom referred to the last gathering they’d had, Wild Squirrel’s funeral. This upcoming feast would be a celebration of not only a good harvest but the coming of a new sachem, Fireheart.
Her heart tripped again as she thought of him. I should leave.
But she wanted to stay.
“I will stay,” she said, wondering if she wouldn’t live to regret her decision
.
“Good.”
And the two women worked side by side while the child Water Blossom played contentedly with her Indian doll. Joanna, glancing at the little girl, felt a small tinge of envy toward her friend for the love and life she had.
Chapter 26
The village was gathered in the Big House used for celebrations and ceremonies. The mood was festive. Guests had arrived from other tribes. All had come together for the Gawing, their annual time of worship. It was a time when the Lenape thanked the spirits for the summer and fall harvests, and for many things.
Joanna sat in the huge circle next to Mary and Woman with Eyes of Hawk. She, like the others, had dressed for this special occasion. After she had gone to the lake for her morning bath with the other women, she had put on a new doeskin kilt that Mary had given her. It was a bold move for Joanna, for she now appeared like the rest of the women, bare-breasted. Strangely enough, Joanna no longer felt self-conscious of her half-nudity.
Around her neck, Joanna wore jewelry given to her by her friend Little Blossom. When her hair had dried, she’d braided it in to one long plait, then rolled it up and secured it with an ah-see-pe-la-wan, a hair ornament made of slate. Next, she had painted the center part red as she had as a child, just as the other women had done on this day. She wore face powder made from finely ground dried corn, and her lips and cheeks were red, too, stained with berry juice that Mary had used as well.
She glanced over at her cousin, and smiled as their gazes met. This day she no longer felt like a young girl playing at being a woman. She was a woman true, and to the People, the Lenape, she was the Indian maiden Autumn Wind.
Food was being passed around from a table, bowls of hominy sweetened with tree-sugar, one of Joanna’s favorite Lenape dishes.
Young Lenape braves sat in a row with their drums and rattles, waiting for the cue that would start the music.
In the center of the structure was a huge pillar with a face carved into the wood, painted half-red and half-black. Each post that supported the house had face carvings. Joanna and her Lenape friends sat on dried sweet grass that had been spread out on the ground along each wall earlier by some of the village women.
Despite the warmth of the autumn night, fires had been lit in the two huge fire-pits at each end of the hall. The flames were fueled from the stack of logs brought in early by the men. The room smelled of food, wood-smoke, grass, and the bear grease that the Indians and Joanna used to coat the exposed areas of their bodies.
Fireheart, as chief, stepped out into the center between the two fire-pits. The shaman, Raven Wind, came forward to stand behind him.
Joanna’s heart started to race as she gazed longingly at Fireheart. When she became conscious of her cousin’s gaze, she pulled her emotions under control, and attempted to conceal her feelings.
The Gawing would take twelve days and nights. Joanna wondered how she would get through it while suffering with the pain of heartbreak.
I will endure, she thought. Because she had her whole life ahead of her, a life without Fireheart. If she didn’t learn to come to terms with it now, she would never learn to cope. And so she smiled, and attempted to enjoy herself as the drummers and rattlers began playing their song. Soon her smile felt genuine and her spirits lifted. The next twelve days would be filled with worship, food, games, music, and dancing. She would have a good time, or die trying.
“Good Lenape people,” Fireheart said loudly for all to hear. The music softened as he continued to speak. “Welcome! Welcome to the Gawing. This night we begin to celebrate our Lenape life. We start by giving thanks to Gishelamu-kong, the Creator. He has given us life, and we offer up this sacrifice of tobacco for him.”
With that, the shaman moved to one of the fire-pits, and lit a handful of dried tobacco leaves. Everyone watched with respect as the tobacco caught flame and burned. Raven Wing held up the burning tobacco for all to see; then he set it down on the dirt floor in the center of the room. As the tobacco continued to burn, the shaman began to chant.
“Oh, Creator, we thank you for all that you have given us. We thank you for our sons and daughters . . . for the blessings you have given us in this life. Listen to us, hear our song and our music. Know that we are grateful.”
Raven Wind shook his gourd rattle twice, then stepped back.
There were different ways for the Lenape to show their thanks and respect, Joanna knew. The words, the ceremony, might be different each year, but the sentiment and sincerity were the same.
Next, Fireheart, who had his face painted red and black, his hair unbound, and his head circled only with a feathered headband, addressed the gathering again. He spoke against a background of music while the drums and turtle-shell and gourd rattles played.
“During the Gawing, we will thank the manit’to for many things. We thank the spirits of the Three Sisters: Mother Corn, Mother Squash, and Mother Bean for they have provided us with food to nourish our bodies and keep us healthy. Thank you, Spirits of the Three Sisters, for the gifts you have given us. This year we have had a good harvest.”
Once again, Raven Wind lit an offering of tobacco leaves, and chanted a prayer as the leaves burned.
The prayers went on that way for a while with the subject of thanks being other manit’to, other spirits. There was the Spirit of the Wood that gave them the animals and the Spirit of the Sky that gave them the rain, the sun, and the wind. After a time, the prayers stopped. The villagers and guests left the Big House to continue the festivities outside.
There the games would start, and there would be many competitions. All night and day for the next twelve days, there would be feasting, prayers, games, and other activities. When the time finally drew to a close, the Lenape people would be exhausted, and the spirits would be appeased.
Unlike some of the Indians within the encampment, Joanna couldn’t stay awake for the long hours of the first night. She slipped away from the others once the community moved outside. The drums would continue all night, but she would sleep for the sound was comforting, and the drums were not war drums, but the music of peace.
As she undressed in the dark, slipping off her kilt and lying naked on her sleeping pallet, Joanna thought of the night with a great deal of satisfaction. She pulled up the beaver pelt to cover herself from the waist down. She had found something of her past self this night. She no longer felt immoral for baring her breasts and wearing only a kilt. She felt like an equal, a Lenape woman with light skin, but her fairness no longer seemed to matter.
Mary and Rising Bird would stay up all night, Joanna knew. The next night they would sleep, and perhaps she might try to stay awake. She could alternate nights of sleeping and wakefulness, depending on the activities or her physical state. She didn’t want to get too depleted for she wanted to be ready in case Mortimer Grace arrived to take her away.
The thought of her departure reminded her of John Burton and the last time she’d left the village. This time would be different. She’d be safe in the care of the tracker, and back in Philadelphia before the month turned cold.
She closed her eyes, and became conscious that she was a woman with her breasts bared above a beaver pelt. She was keenly aware of the soft plush fur against her abdomen and thighs.
Her senses were tingling and alive as her mind and body longed for Fireheart, remembering.
“Fireheart,” she whispered into the darkness of the wigwam. “Fireheart ...”
Her heartbeat seemed to echo the drums. Her breathing quickened, laboring as little fingers of sensation frissoned out from her spine titillating every throbbing inch of her. As she drifted off to sleep, she imagined the air on her breasts was Fireheart’s caress ... and the heat of the beaver pelt was actually Fireheart’s body warming her, covering her.
But only in her dreams did he make love to her again.
“Moon Dove,” the man whispered.
The maiden gasped. “Black Fox! You should not have followed me here!” She had left the public squa
re to enjoy the cool waters of the lake. The yard was full of activity as the villagers and guests gathered to watch tat-gusk, a game with hoops and spears. While the drums continued playing and the people watched the players, Moon Dove had slipped away unnoticed. She was tired. Last night she had stayed away from her sleeping mat, and now with the day late, she wanted only to sleep. But first she had wanted a few minutes alone.
Black Fox came out of the shadows and into the moonlight that lit the shoreline. Moon Dove, already waist-deep in the soothing water, caught her breath, and her skin flushed with heat as he approached her. “Why have you left the Gawing?” he asked.
“I wanted to be alone before I settled on my sleeping mat.”
“I wish to stay with you,” he said, his voice deep.
“Maata!”she cried. She was afraid to be alone with him, scared of her feelings for him, worried that she’d betray Fireheart. “You must go.”
“I will not stay long.” He came to her side, wading into the lake waters until he was next to her. “This man sees a woman who is not happy. She is as beautiful as the moon above, but there is no light in her eyes and no smile on her lips.” He turned her to face him, and touched her mouth with a fingertip. “Then she meets my gaze, and the fire in her eyes is a bright flame for this man to see.”
His touch raised the tiny hairs at the back of her neck. “Maata, Black Fox,” Moon Dove whispered. No!
“Why do you not tell the sachem that it is Black Fox you wish. Tell him that you will wed Black Fox, give him many daughters? Many sons?”
Moon Dove felt her cheeks heat. “You must not speak of this. I will marry Fireheart.”
“Because you wish it, or because Berry Tree has wanted it?” he asked stiffly.
“My mother wishes me only happiness,” she defended.
“Then why do you not tell her about me ... about us?”
