Chapter Sixteen: Seven Clans

Vendors, bearing their wares in little booths set up for the craft fair, covered the two acres on the northernmost part of the Gellermann land surrounding the church and convent grounds. Claire had a booth in which she displayed her brother’s dream catchers in addition to Native American jewelry she handcrafted herself. Claire had told Sam that the craft vendor’s entrance fees and ten percent of sales went directly to a local orphanage sponsored by the nuns. She had invited Samantha to come shopping and to keep her company for an hour or two. So, in the afternoon, after spending a few hours at the dig, Samantha asked Jes to drop her at the convent.

Wearing a bright red short set and a little purse not much bigger than her hand, hair fastened up in a high ponytail, Sam walked around the many booths. She hadn’t had lunch, so the first thing she did was purchase a corndog and soft drink.

At least a hundred other people walked the grounds with her, some obviously tourists with their “I love Pennsylvania” t-shirts and cameras strapped around their necks. Two nuns, dressed in full habit, walked past, licking caramel apples on sticks. A dozen or so children were present, half of whom ran wild among the grounds, another constantly pulling on his mother’s arm, another strapped in a sack to her father’s back, and two or three pushing awkwardly through the long-cut grass in strollers, slowing down the pedestrian traffic around them.

She saw many beautiful works of art as she searched for Sister Claire—paintings, sculptures, wind chimes, ceramic and wooden figurines, jewelry, tie-dyed shirts and dresses, handcrafted wooden furniture, leather belts and purses, and hand-painted birdhouses. After she finished her lunch, she chucked her stick and empty soda can into the garbage and stopped to look at the birdhouses. She was drawn to one resembling a little church.

“That one’s twenty-five,” the tiny old woman sitting in a lawn chair said suddenly.

Samantha hadn’t noticed her, hunched and sipping her lemonade through a straw, occasionally clicking her false teeth together.

“Did you make these?” Samantha asked.

The woman nodded. “Yes. You want to know how? I find old, discarded barn and fence wood. That’s right. My husband, he cuts the wood for me after I pencil on the patterns. I nail the pieces together, and then I paint them, and fix them up with different things I find at yard sales and such. The glass doorknob there for the perch on that one there you’re holding came from my mother’s house. It’s at least a hundred years old. Probably older.”

“Did your mother live around here?”

“Oh, yes. My family has been here for centuries.”

“This one is lovely. They all are, but I think I’d like this one.” She carried the little church to the table to pay.

 

Claire was thrilled with Samantha’s find. “That’s so pretty. You should display it inside, on a mantle, as a showpiece.”

Samantha plopped down on the empty chair across from her. “No, I think I’ll hang it in my backyard from one of the oaks outside our kitchen window. It’ll make a nice home for the hummingbirds that come to the feeder.”

“It’ll make a lovely home for them.”

Samantha looked over the birdhouse a moment longer, feeling satisfied, pleased. The house made her happy; she couldn’t explain why. She set it down on the grass beside her chair, nearly under the chair so it would be out of the way of shoppers.

“Oh, how gorgeous,” Samantha said looking over the pieces of jewelry displayed on the table. “You really made these pieces?”

Claire nodded. “I put a lot of love into them. It’s difficult to part with them, but it’s for a good cause.”

“This one’s beautiful.” Samantha pointed to a necklace, a kind of choker made of thin black wire. Smaller pieces of wire attached seven silver Concho shells across the band, and glued to each Concho was a flat, round deep blue stone thinly streaked with gold. “These aren’t turquoise, are they?”

“No. They’re lapis lazuli. The gold streaks are called pyrite, or fool’s gold. I mined them myself, down in some of the other caverns. I shape them into flat circles using an ancient rock rubbing technique, and then I polish them in a modern electronic tumbler. The silver pieces are from a dismantled Concho belt, and the wire I got at a local craft store, but the stones I found, shaped, and polished myself.”

“Other caverns?”

“Oh, yes. There are three other places on the Gellermann property.” Samantha’s eyes widened. “None with tombs. They were inhabited, but not used as catacombs, by our ancestors.”

“Do they contain artwork? Pictographs on the walls?”

“Yes. I’ll have to give you a tour sometime.” Then she whispered, “Maybe when you come for the powwow?”

Samantha nodded.

“And these seven stones represent the seven clans of our tribe.”

“Seven clans? What are they?” Samantha’s grandmother had never mentioned anything about clans.

“They are Bear, Wind, Earth, Hawk, Fish, Wolf, and Turtle.”

“Turtle?”

“Each clan is responsible for carrying out a specific duty for the tribe.” Claire pointed to the first stone. “The Bears are the medicine men and women. Children born of this clan learn how to use plants and herbs to heal sores and illnesses. They become our doctors and nurses and such.” She moved her finger to the second blue stone. “Those born of Wind learn to speak other languages so they can communicate with other tribes and people of other races. They become diplomats. Those who signed treaties with the early settlers were of the Wind.” She moved her finger again. “Those born of Earth oversee the farming and harvesting. Earth children study agriculture from the very beginning, and Earth adults make decisions about when to plant and where.” Claire moved her finger to the next stone of lapis lazuli. “Hawks oversee hunting. Hawk children learn all about game animals, tracking, and making and using weapons. Hawks are also responsible for making weapons for battle.” Claire looked up at Samantha. “Am I boring you?”

“No, not at all. Oh my gosh, please continue.”

But a man came to the booth to ask about a dream catcher. Samantha couldn’t resist sharing the fact that she owned one and that, when she hung it over her at night, she slept free of nightmares. “Whether or not the dream catcher has anything to do with it, I can’t say,” she added.

The man bought it. “You never know,” he said, leaving.

“Hmm, you’re pretty good! Maybe you should come to my craft fairs more often!”

Samantha laughed.

“Now where was I?”

“The hawks oversaw the hunting and making of weapons.”

“Oh, yes. But you speak in past tense. Modern-day hawks still do that.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. Some members of our tribe go on organized hunts throughout the year, depending on the season. And the meat is always used, never wasted.”

“Does the Mësingw still visit beforehand?”

Claire smiled. “Misink? Absolutely.” She lowered her voice. “You’ll meet him at the powwow, if you come.”

Samantha shivered, not so sure she wanted to meet him.

Claire placed her finger on the fifth stone. “Now, let’s see. The Fish make decisions about travel and relocating. In the old days, the Fish were much more important than they are now, but even today, we usually call one of the Fish for travel advice before making a long journey. Modern-day Fish become meteorologists, travel agents, tour guides, geographers, surveyors, and map makers. As a matter of fact, Tuki conferred with a Fish before going to Texas to see you and your colleagues.”

Samantha’s mouth dropped open. “Really? So is that why he drove?”

Claire nodded.

Samantha thought for a moment. “How many are there, today, in the tribe?”

“Just over two hundred.”

“No kidding? That’s amazing! I had no idea!”

“Yeah. Up until the mid-eighties, the tribe lived on the Gellermann land in the caverns and wigwams as they had for centuries. I don’t think most of them were even legal citizens of the U.S. They didn’t integrate into American society until they were forced to. Now we’re all spread out across New England.”

Samantha shook her head. “Wow. How interesting. Okay, what about this one?” She pointed to the sixth stone.

“That’s for the Wolf. Those born of the Wolf organize sports and games. Children born of the Wolf almost always become athletes, coaches, and referees. The Wolves are in charge of organizing the games we play when we meet bi-annually as a tribe. My and Tuki’s grandmother was a Wolf, so we have a little of the athletic tendencies in us.”

“But you aren’t Wolves?”

She shook her head. “We’re Turtles.”

“This last stone, right? What do Turtles do?”

“They are the overall leaders—the dudas, sachems, and chiefs. Dudas are women leaders and sachems are men. They are like the congress. The Turtles also bear the future chiefs of the tribe. You and Tuki and I are of the Turtle.”

This explained the turtle symbols she found on some of the artifacts. “How do you determine your clan? It’s not through the mother or father?”

“It’s through the mother except when it comes to the Turtle. When someone marries into the Turtle clan, their children are always Turtles. Being of Turtle blood is kind of like being born of royalty, but unlike the European concept. And Turtles are the only of the seven clans who are permitted to marry another from the same clan.”

“Brothers and sisters?”

“Oh, no. There is a certain distance required. I can’t remember. And it is always for the Bear to decide, for, in addition to medicine, the Bear is responsible for marriages, births, and deaths, when possible.”

Samantha’s brows lifted the instant the idea had come to her. “Would a Bear have been present at Tuki’s birth?”

“Of course.”

“Would he or she still be alive?”

“I don’t know. I can find out. Why?”

“I’m hoping to learn more about the death of Tuki’s mother.”

“She died in childbirth. I’m not sure what else there is to know.” She shifted in her chair—uncomfortably, Samantha thought—and turned her attention to rearranging the dream catchers.

 

In the end, Samantha bought the elegant choker, paying twice what Claire asked, reminding her it was for a good cause. She fingered the stones now, her arms against a sea of troubles, pretty sure she wouldn’t be sleeping much tonight.

They all dined together that evening for the first time in the nearly two weeks her team had been restoring the site. Mark said something about fate, about how knowing more about the lost tribe “just wasn’t meant to be,” especially when the DNA test had proved disappointing, though they said they knew Samantha couldn’t be related to every member of the Unikwëti.

Samantha replied sharply, “Democritus once said that fate is mostly but the echo of our character and passions, our mistakes and weaknesses.”

Tuki then said, much to her surprise, “But Epictetus warned us to remember that we are only actors in a play, which the manager directs.”

Samantha’s eyes bore into his as she, red-faced, added, “He also said not to tie a ship to a single anchor, nor life to a single hope. I’m afraid I’ve been guilty of doing that.” She immediately looked away, realizing the others were feeling uncomfortable.

Luckily, Brandon changed the subject and put everyone back at ease—everyone except she and Tuki.

So, after mulling for hours over what she might say or do to bring some kind of resolution to the bitter exchange between them, she finally left her bedroom, still wearing her white dinner dress and choker of lapis lazuli, and headed down the balcony corridor, her hand rubbing along the smooth cherry wood balustrade, toward Tukihëla’s room to say goodbye.

She approached his bedroom door, still unsure of herself. It was nearly ten o’clock. He might be asleep. This was a mistake, she thought. She was about to leave when his door opened.

Tuki took a step back when he saw her. “I didn’t hear you knock.”

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” She asked bravely.

He was wearing his blue cotton pajamas and no slippers. “I was just going downstairs to play.”

“To play?”

“Piano. It calms me.”

“Oh, well then…alright then…goodnight.” She turned back toward her room and then stopped, her heart pounding madly. “Can I come?” Heat spread through her as she realized she had spoken out loud.

“Um, that might reverse the calming effects.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry. Goodnight then.” She turned away once more biting into her bottom lip, staying back tears.

“Well, alright.”

She stopped and waited for him, without looking at him. He was letting her come out of charity, which hurt her feelings, but not enough to prevent her from following him down the stairs and into the conservatory. As they neared the end of the stairs, she asked, “Did you study Epictetus?”

“Greeks and Romans 101. All Harvard students have to take it.”

“Oh. I had an eighth grade English teacher, Mr. Griffin, who liked to quote the Greeks a lot. Epictetus was his favorite.” She followed him into the room. “Where should I sit?” she asked after he had turned on a dim lamp near the entrance.

“Anywhere. It doesn’t matter.”

The grand piano was situated at the far end of the room, facing out of the corner toward the center. Ornamental chairs of carved cherry wood with red velvet upholstered seats lined all four taupe walls except for a red chenille couch in front of the great window on the right wall and a taupe velvet chaise lounge sofa, directly in front of the piano.

She crossed the hardwood floor to a chaise lounge in front of the piano, where she’d be out of Tuki’s view as he played.

He clicked on another light in the corner of the room, behind the piano, to illuminate the keys.

She closed her eyes as he struck the piano abruptly and went directly into some kind of adagio. Samantha did not recognize the slow-moving piece, but she relished its sound as she lay back, pushing her white pumps off her feet so she could stretch across the chaise lounge.

The notes started low, and then lifted up the scale, only to dance down and up again, slowly, like a graceful skater over the ice. The melody then shifted down again, lower than it had begun, into sadness, deep melancholy, turning over and over, circling, like a leaf down a whirlpool. A staccato sprint up the scale resonated in a long, drawn-out chord, a high note, exhilarating. Several slow chords followed, peaceful now, like a spring morning.

Samantha lay on a table. She could not open her eyes as the old woman spoke beside her. “No!”

The pain between her legs magnified. She could not prevent herself from pushing.

“No!” the old woman shouted again.

Then the knife ripped her flesh between her legs and she felt the bath of blood wash over her as the sound of a baby cried.

“Attacullakulla!” The woman cried.

Samantha could barely open her eyes. She opened and closed them, opened and closed them. The Mësingw stood over her, shaking her, screaming at her. “Beck! Tukihëla!” he cried. “Wake up!”

She could not open her eyes. “Attie!” she muttered.

“Beck? What did you say?”

Attie knelt over her, shaking her. “Wake up!” He slapped her cheek.

“Attie!”

Her eyes opened.

Tuki knelt over her, shaking her. He slapped her face.

She blinked.

“Were you dreaming?”

She put her hand to her burning cheek. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t mess with me, Beck. I hope you’re not playing games.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “Why would I be playing games?”

“How do you know my father’s name?”

“What? Your father’s name? Why are you asking me that? You told me, remember? Attacullakulla. Geez. How do you forget a name like that?”

“His nickname. How did you know his nickname? Did Claire tell you?”

“His nickname?” She sat up and put her face in her hands for a minute. “I don’t know your father’s nickname. Why are you asking me all this?”

“Because just now, you shouted my father’s name. His nickname. Attie.”

“Yes! He was in my dream. Only I thought it was you. But it was Attie. His name was Attie. And he was dressed as Misink. And he was calling me Beck. And I was having a baby, but I couldn’t stay awake. There was this terrible pain, and blood, and he was shaking me.”

Tukihëla stood up. “It’s all that stupid mythology and cultural rituals you’ve been reading about. That’s what’s giving you nightmares.”

With her heart pounding, Samantha climbed from the chaise lounge and ran across the conservatory and foyer into the parlor. She felt around in the darkness for a switch. She found it, and the light poured from a fixture hanging from the center of the room.

Her heart racing in her chest, she went and stood before the mantle looking up at the portrait of Rebecca in her white dress, surrounded by flowers, fishing pole in hand. Tuki came and stood just inside the doorway.

“What are you doing?”

Samantha didn’t answer right away. A foggy aura surrounded her, and she felt light-headed. After a few seconds passed, she blinked and focused again on the painting. “You’re trying to tell me something, aren’t you?” she said softly to those deep grey eyes.

Tuki shook his head. “It was just a dream, brought on by all your fantastic ideas. Believe me, my mother is not trying to speak to you from the grave. She’s not trying to let the world know my father murdered her. He never would have done such a thing, or would have allowed such a thing to happen. Besides, I thought you didn’t believe in spirits.”

He angrily walked out, leaving Samantha alone with the portrait.