Afternoon passed to night, night to morning, and still they lay abed, surfacing only occasionally for sustenance. No one bothered them, not even when Black Eagle failed to show for the lacrosse game. Indeed, the morning hours of the next day found them awake, then snoozing, awake again, then more snoozing.
And still they loved. It was as though they both knew it might never last because of who they were, as if by unspoken yet mutual agreement, they would hoard their time now, even if it meant blocking out the rest of the world.
Black Eagle lay against her, and he was exhausted. But he would not leave his wife’s side. As long as she needed him, he would muster up the wherewithal to satisfy her…somehow.
It was Ahweyoh who was the first to mention that perhaps they might seek out the company of others. “I hear there is dancing at night during the festival.”
“There is.”
“Is it the sort of dancing that I can do?”
“I could teach you, or your sisters could. Are you wanting to attend?”
“Perhaps. Tell me, my husband, do you think we might have made a child last night?” She grinned at him.
His heart swelled. “I would be the happiest man on earth if we did, for I can think of no better joy than raising a family with my wife, she whom I love with all my being.”
“I want a child. Somehow a child is…permanent.”
He nodded. “Yes. A child is permanent. Perhaps a child might bridge our two worlds, as well. But I fear that this might not be good for the child. As soon as possible, we should find a safe place where we can stand together, if only for the sake of any children we might bring into the world.”
“What are you saying? That you fear for our future? Because if so, let me assure you again that I have never been happier.”
“It is not you I fear, but rather what the white people will do if they know you are here.”
She frowned. “Then we shall not let them know.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Nyoh. We should not let them know.”
She smiled. “I am so happy. It is hard for me to think seriously, although perhaps I should.”
However, though she might talk of seriousness, she yet giggled, and coming up on top of him, she tickled him on his ribs. But he didn’t laugh.
She frowned at him. “You should chuckle or at least smile. Aren’t you ticklish?”
“Of course I am. But I am a man. I can endure all kinds of torture.”
“Oh, can you? Then how about this kind of torture?” So saying, she slid down his chest, lower and lower over his belly and on downward until she was caressing and kissing the very essence of his masculinity.
He grunted, the sound low and deep in his throat. How had he ever come to be so lucky?
On that thought, he sighed. His last conscious reflection, before he surrendered himself to her charm, was to vow to himself that so long as he existed he would love and protect this woman. Forever he would give of himself to her, all his love, his loyalty, the crux of who and what he was.
If future times might become unbearable, they would survive. Indeed, they would survive.
The central fire was ablaze when Marisa and Black Eagle at last joined in with the rest of the festivities. The rhythmic beat of the drum was low and contagious, and people, old and young, were dancing. Many were singing, and the hum of talk and laughter filled the night air. The happiness of the people was a tangible thing, and it abounded around him. How could anything ever come to take this away?
It seemed impossible.
Black Eagle watched with delight as his wife caught and held her sister Laughing Maid’s eye. The two shared a smile.
It was good. Not only were these women sisters, they were friends.
Pretty Ribbon soon found them. This, too, was good.
The little girl’s devotion to Ahweyoh was pleasing. In truth, he owed the child his gratitude, for it was because of Pretty Ribbon that Ahweyoh’s transition to their village life had gone so smoothly. He would honor the girl in some way.
His wife bent toward Pretty Ribbon as the child grabbed hold of her hand, and she hugged the little girl. As she took the girl in her arms, he heard her say, “I love you.”
His heart swelled.
Pretty Ribbon grinned back at Ahweyoh. “I made something for you. Come and see!”
Though he didn’t wish to eavesdrop on their conversation, he would have been hard-pressed not to witness Ahweyoh nod her agreement. Soon, she stood to her feet and turned toward him. “I am going to see what Pretty Ribbon has for me.”
Black Eagle inclined his head. “Yes. Go. I will join the drumming and singing. I will be over there.” He indicated the drum with a flicking motion of his head, then smiled at her. “These songs are a part of who we Mohawk people are. When you have finished, if you would come and stand behind me as I sing, I would be honored.”
Ahweyoh beamed at him. “I will. I, too, would be honored.”
They shared a smile that was intimate, perhaps even passion filled, and then Ahweyoh turned to leave, the little girl still clutching her hand.
Black Eagle watched his wife for a while. Yet again, a sense of sadness invaded his heart. Why did he have a bad feeling about this? Why did he worry about their future so greatly? And why couldn’t he shake the feeling?
It was most likely nothing. Conceivably he worried needlessly. They were here. They were safe in his village.
At least for now, things were good. Maybe the drumming and singing would clear his mind.
He could only hope it would be so.
Pretty Ribbon half pulled, half led Marisa to the place where she had hidden a gift. It was in the opposite direction from where Black Eagle had indicated she would later find him. With a heartfelt look at him, she bid him adieu and willingly let herself be led by the child.
As Marisa passed by several women whom she knew, she acknowledged them with a greeting, which was joyfully returned.
“What have you made for me?” Marisa asked Pretty Ribbon.
“You will see. Come.”
“Yes, I’m coming.”
Pretty Ribbon dragged Marisa into the outskirts of the fire’s circle, leading her up onto a grassy knoll. It was pleasant here at the crown of the hill where the west wind blew up behind them, reminding her of the story of the Thunderer and Ahweyoh. Marisa smiled.
She gazed upward, and even the clouds and stars looked closer. As Marisa inhaled deeply, Pretty Ribbon said, “Here it is.”
Marisa bent down onto her haunches to see what was so important. It was hidden beneath a rock. Cautiously, she lifted the rock to find a folded-up piece of hemp parchment. Pictures were scribbled all over it.
“I drew it myself,” said Pretty Ribbon.
It was not exactly easy to see in the darkness, yet if Marisa squinted, she could discern certain qualities of the picture. It was a drawing of herself and Black Eagle, as seen from the eyes of a child. There he was, captured on parchment, a dark and handsome stick figure; there she was, a red-haired, pale stick figure. They were drawn holding hands. By her side was another, tinier stick figure. A dark-haired child with two braids.
“That’s me.” Pretty Ribbon indicated the tinier stick figure.
“Why it’s beautiful,” praised Marisa. “You are quite an artist. I love it.”
“It is yours. I made it for you.”
“You did? What a wonderful present. I will always treasure it. But where did you get this paper?”
“Oh, from him.” Pretty Ribbon pointed back into the crowd, but Marisa couldn’t see who it was she indicated.
“Who?”
Again Pretty Ribbon took Marisa’s hand. “I’ll show you.”
Before Marisa could think to object, Pretty Ribbon was pulling her back into the crowd, winding her way between the bigger adults, until she had brought Marisa face-to-face with a white man, one whom Marisa knew, though just barely. Sir William Johnson.
Shocked, Marisa stopped still.
At the insistent touch of the child, William Johnson spun around toward them. At first he barely acknowledged Marisa, and he turned his back on her. However, after only a few seconds, he swung back around.
Squinting and frowning at her, he said, “Lady Marisa? Be that who ye are?”
“Sir William. Yes, of course you would attend the festival. You are yourself Mohawk, are you not?”
“But what has happened to ye?”
“I live here now.”
“Here?” Adopted into the Mohawk Nation or not, he seemed taken aback.
“Yes, here. I had trouble on the way to New Hampshire,” she explained. “We were attacked, and I lost my maid to the falls, I fear. She was my best friend. I was rescued by a Mohawk man. I owe him my life. He brought me here.”
“I see.” Sir William nodded, yet it was clear he was lost in thought, for his gaze at her seemed distracted. “Then I shall rescue ye further. I shall take ye home.”
“Please no, Sir William. I am home, and I would beg you to forget you have seen me here. I have married into the tribe now, and I wish to remain. My old life is gone. But I have a new life here.”
Sir William remained silent for far too long. At length, he said, “I understand yer fascination with these people, for I share it with ye, lass. But I fear I canna let ye stay. Ye are a white woman.”
“Yes I am, and you have a Mohawk wife, who has left her people to stay with you.”
That Sir William seemed taken aback by her defense was a surprise, and they stared at each other for several more moments. “Ye dinna belong here,” he said after a while.
“Perhaps, but if your reasoning has to do with the color of my skin, then it is clear to me that you do not belong here either.”
“But, lass, I am a man.”
“Yes, obviously, and I am a woman.”
Their looks clashed. Then, as though resigned, Sir William said, “Touché. I forget the urges of youth sometimes. Stay by all means if ye must, Lady Marisa.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Yer secret is safe with me. But should ye ever desire to leave, ye have only to send me a note.”
“I will remember.” She glanced to her left, toward Black Eagle, where he sat amongst the other men, and caught his attention. Curiously, he looked up at her, then at Johnson, his gaze taking in Johnson’s hand on her shoulder. Even though there was a goodly distance between them, she could feel the heat of his regard.
Within only a matter of moments he had left his place at the drum and come up behind Marisa, where she heard him say, “Sir William, my heart is happy to see you. I think you have already met my wife.”
Sir William glanced between them. “Ye are her husband?”
“I am.”
“Aye, lass, ye couldn’t have done better. Black Eagle is like me own son, and it is good to see ye. It has been several moons. I fear I did not know ye had married.”
Black Eagle stepped forward, coming to her side. He smiled at his friend and placed his hand on Johnson’s shoulder. “I sent a runner to you. Did you not receive my message?”
“I did, son. But there is a war going on.”
“Nyoh.”
“I take it that ye are the brave who rescued this lady, then?”
“I am.”
Sir William nodded. “Ye realize that if this marriage is known, there will be trouble.”
“Nyoh.”
“Ye should let her come with me. I know ’twould tear ye apart. But ’tis best.”
“No!” Marisa said. “I do not wish to go.”
Her declaration was met with an uncomfortable silence, until at last Black Eagle said, “That is your answer, Sir William. I will not force my wife to do something she doesn’t wish to do.”
“Then I will try to keep this silent, son. I will do my best. But ye might be advised to go west. Ye are close to Albany here. Too close. Word will leak out eventually. There are traders in yer camp, and there will be more and more English who will come here as the war rages on around Mohawk land. Aye, if ye wish to be together, my advice would be to go west.”
“Nyuh-weh, thank you,” said Black Eagle. “I hope that your family is well. How is your sister, Catherine?”
“I am afraid she is missing her husband, who, if ye will remember, died at the Battle of Lake George.”
“I remember it well. I am grieved for your sister. It is true that women sometimes miss their husbands too much.”
Though it was evident to Marisa that the two men were close friends, neither seemed willing to negotiate their separate viewpoints as regards to her. However, the offering of an olive branch came from Black Eagle, when he said, “I would be honored if you would come to my home before you leave. I would like to make a feast for you, since you missed our wedding.”
“That would be a fine invitation, son,” said Johnson. “That would be a fine thing, indeed.”
Black Eagle nodded. “It will be done. My wife and I now go to prepare.”
As they turned to leave, Johnson smiled at them both.
“Yer to get her, man!”
“I cannot. My uncle forbids it. My only purpose in seeking you out, Sir Rathburn, is to inform you that your niece is in good health and is being well cared for, although apparently she lost her maid in an attack upon them. My uncle is aware you have offered a ransom for her return, and he begs you to release it and to ease your mind as to her fate. She is happy and wishes to remain where she is. Therefore, the bounty is unnecessary.”
“’Tis very necessary. Do ye think I am the sort of man to leave her with Indians? A lady?”
“It is her wish,” said Guy Johnson, Sir William’s nephew. “Perhaps in time Sir William or myself can convince her to leave the Indians and return home of her own free will, but if she does not wish to leave them, the Indians will defend her to a man.”
“Aye, of course. But perhaps if we sent an army to rescue her…”
“And lose the Mohawk alliance with the English in a time of war?”
“Aye. Aye.” John Rathburn frowned. “’Tis not yer problem. ’Tis mine.”
“I beg you, do not do anything foolish. We cannot risk turning the Mohawk against us. An army sent into their camp, regardless of the reason, will upset them. Simply take to heart that she is not dead, that she is well, alive and happy, and let your own heart rest in the knowledge.”
“Aye. I thank ye. Tell yer uncle that I appreciate his bringing this to my attention.”
Guy Johnson nodded. “And now if you will excuse me, there are other matters I must attend to.”
“By all means. By all means.”
The two men rose, shook hands, and Guy Johnson turned to leave the Rathburn study, perhaps to report to his uncle his success with the head of the Rathburn estate.
However, little did Guy Johnson know that when he departed, he left John Rathburn sitting at his desk, frowning, twiddling his thumbs and deep in thought.
The days had turned colder, the bright autumn leaves were falling in greater numbers than they had been only a few weeks prior, and the men were organizing hunting parties. Black Eagle was amongst them.
Winter was around the corner, and the time to hunt was now. As was typical, the men planned to be gone many months, since most of them would be traveling great distances. Some would go to the Ohio Valley; some would go north and east to Lake Champlain. Others might travel to the Susquehanna River in Pennsylvania and still others might traverse all the way up into Canada or to the Niagara Falls in the country of the Seneca. All told, their men would be away from the village for more time than Marisa liked to consider.
Parting for such an extended time period had been difficult for both Marisa and Black Eagle, and Marisa had begged to be taken with the men. But the way was too far and Marisa too inexperienced, and the fact that none of the other women would be accompanying their men on this trip made the likelihood of her going almost impossible. In the end, both Marisa and Black Eagle had decided it was better if she stay in the village, hard though it might be on them. Maybe next year she could accompany him when she was more accustomed to travel and when he might not be journeying so far.
She missed him terribly, of course, and even the steady work and the prattle of the other women couldn’t make up for his absence. Nights were the hardest. If not for Pretty Ribbon, who kept Marisa constant company, it would have been even harder.
Gradually, however, as Marisa became more accustomed to village life, the rhythm of the days seemed to flow one into the other, and life began to follow a pattern. Also, she was surrounded by family, who watched over her carefully and ensured she always had enough company.
But today there was excitement, for they were to leave the village and go out into the woods, nut gathering. The nuts would be ripe now, and they were needed to flavor many different foods. The oil from the butternut, for instance, was fed to babies; some nuts were soaked and pounded into flour, or boiled. Others went into the cornbread for flavor or were mixed into puddings. Nothing was wasted.
It was all new and interesting to Marisa, who hadn’t known the woods abounded with so much nutritious food. There were all sorts of nuts to be found—black walnuts, hazelnuts, acorns, butternuts, hickory and chestnuts. Indeed, the work would be long and intense, and most of the women and girls in the village would be gone from the village for several days. This included Marisa and her sisters.
“I like hazelnuts best of all,” said Pretty Ribbon as she skipped along beside Marisa. Equipped with bark baskets in hand, the women and two guards had already entered the woods. “What nut do you like best?”
“Hmmm, I think I like roasted chestnuts. Yes,” repeated Marisa, “it would be roasted chestnuts.”
“Oh, look!” Laughing Maid pointed. “Do you see? Over there, in the clearing—it’s the biggest walnut tree I have ever beheld. Let’s see if we can get there before the others find it, and let’s fill our baskets. There must be hundreds, maybe thousands of nuts in that one tree alone. Won’t our clan mother have great praise for us if we come home with all our baskets filled? And so soon.”
“Yes, let’s try.”
Pretty Ribbon wasn’t pleased, and she held back. “I think we should wait for the others.”
“Good,” argued Laughing Maid. “You wait for them. Tell them where we have gone.”
“I want you to wait with me.”
“Do not be such a child. You’ll be fine. Tell them where we’ve gone.”
Pretty Ribbon seemed mortified at the reprimand, and she nodded quietly.
“Don’t worry, Pretty Ribbon, we’ll be back in only a moment,” said Marisa soothingly, and the two elder sisters set off at a fast pace toward the walnut tree.
“There is always a contest amongst us to see who can gather the most nuts. I have never won. Maybe this time I will.”
“I’ll help you.” Marisa grinned. “I’ll fill up your basket first before mine.”
“No,” uttered Laughing Maid. “That would be cheating. The contest is won on your own merit or not at all.”
“Oh.” Marisa rocked back on her feet and exhaled. Never had she been amongst such honest and hardworking people. Invariably, given half a chance, she might yet lead her sisters astray. Luckily when her suggestions were a mite off-color for them—seeming right to her, but breaking some moral code for them—someone usually corrected her.
“Let’s hurry,” urged Laughing Maid.
But Marisa couldn’t respond. Suddenly they were surrounded by men. Too many of them. The bullies struck the two women from behind furiously and fast. One of the brutes hit Laughing Maid so hard that with a scream, she fell to the ground. Marisa’s cry split through the forest, but whoever these men were, they were fast, and stuffing a dirty handkerchief into her mouth and grabbing both her hands, one of the bullies picked her up and ran.
Marisa tried to scream again, but it was useless.
Who were these people? They weren’t Indians. She could smell the dirt and grease on their clothing, inhale the scent of their body odor. These men didn’t bathe often. They were definitely not Indians.
As her attacker jostled her on his shoulders, she wondered if any of the Indian guards would follow. They were only teenagers, since most of the men within warring age were away from the village. Plus, with a war on, most of the older teenagers were away, and what was left of the male population in the village were the old men and children.
Because of this, it was doubtful anyone would be able to put up a rescue party.
What was Black Eagle going to think?
Would he believe she had run away? Surely not. Pretty Ribbon would put his mind to rest on that account.
What would he do? Would he come after her? Would a runner be sent to tell him what had happened? And how long would it take for a runner to get to him, and for Black Eagle to respond?
Would he be required to save her yet again?
“Don’t worry, miss,” said her attacker. “We got ya.”
Oh, how she wanted to talk back to this bully, how she wished she could give this man a piece of her mind. But she was gagged, and her hands were bound. She could hardly swallow, let alone talk.
She was not left long to wonder who had stolen her. After running only a short distance, the man entered a camp of soldiers. But they weren’t British soldiers. They were the American militia.
The burly brute who had flung her over his shoulder dumped her on the ground not so gently, and getting up to her knees, she held her hands out in front of her. She was at once released. First things first, she smoothed her hands over her skirts, hiding her undergarments. Next to her was the man who must have been the “in-charge” of this group.
“Please excuse the roughness of the rescue, Lady Marisa,” he said, “but we had no choice. We had to steal you fast and leave with you fast. Name’s Brent. Cohn Brent. Our orders are to get you and return to Albany with you as quickly as possible.”
With her hands freed, she took the grimy handkerchief out of her mouth. “You didn’t have to hit Laughing Maid. I have no idea if she’s alive or not. Why did you do that?”
“Sorry, ma’am, but we have to work fast.”
“Well, I’m sorry to inform you of this, but I don’t wish to leave, thank you very much. So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll be leaving you now to go back to the Iroquois village. Goodness knows if you hurt my sister.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes, my Iroquois sister.”
“Don’t know nothing about no sister, but I can’t be letting you go, ma’am. There’s a reward on your head, and the next man might not be so polite. Can’t stay here either. We gotta be moving. I have my orders.” He nodded to the bully who had carried her here. “Get the lady, Coleman. We gotta get out. Fast. We’re leaving now.”
“I’m not going.”
“Sorry, ma’am, but you are. If I have to, I’ll bind and gag you again.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not going.”
“Coleman, get moving, over here. Now, I’ll need you to bind the lady, put her on the horse and tie her on. We’re leaving.”
Of course she didn’t have any chance of escape, but she wouldn’t have thought much of herself if she hadn’t tried. Without giving warning, she started running, back in the direction from which they had come.
But she was no physical match for these men, and she was unarmed. The bully named Coleman caught her easily, tied her up and set her on the horse. Thankfully, he didn’t stuff her mouth again with that horrible hanky.
And she really didn’t need him telling her, “It’s for your own good, miss,” to anger her.
Her reply was, “I am married. You remember that.”
And then they were away, moving quickly, heading in a direction toward Albany. When she screamed, they gagged her. When she pummeled her hands on the horse, they tied them onto her mount.
Her heart was breaking, her emotions were shattered and her will was frustrated. Looking back in the direction of the village, she made a vow. Somehow, in some way, she would go back there.