Chapter Twenty-four
The following morning Deborah woke to find two small faces studying her intently. "Mary. Bee." Deborah smiled sleepily.
"We waited for you to wake up," Mary said. "My cocumtha wants you to come to her wigwam."
Deborah sat up. "Snow Blanket?"
"Yes. My onna says come now while the tea is still hot," Bee answered. "She knows you like your tea hot."
Deborah stared up at the little dark-haired boy. "Bee! I think you've grown a foot since I last saw you!"
The boy squirmed with glee. "You said you weren't coming back, but I knew it wasn't true. You and I were destined to be friends. My onna says it is in the stars." He grinned, holding out his hand. "Nit-is always."
Deborah accepted the small black hand, rising to stand up. "Friends always," she echoed.
Fastening the hood of her red wool cloak, Deborah allowed the two children to lead her across the village compound. Villagers were beginning to move about, adding wood to their fires and fetching water for their morning meal. Everyone took care not to make eye contact with Deborah. She remained invisible.
"Onna," Bee called, lifting the flap of Snow Blanket's wigwam. "We found her!'
"Cocumtha, we didn't wake her, just like you said," Mary told her grandmother, ducking into the wigwam.
Hesitantly, Deborah followed the children inside. The hut was warm and cozy, the aroma of hot cornmeal mush cooked with maple syrup rising from a pot on the fire in the center of the floor.
"Aquewa Co-o-nah." Deborah nodded to the Lenni Lenape woman, smiling slightly. "The children said you wanted to see me."
"Deb-or-ah." Snow Blanket came forward, offering her hands. She took Deborah's, squeezing them. "This old woman says her sorries for not greeting you properly last night. I am glad Suuklan knows her duty, even if I do not. You should not have had to sleep outside."
"It's all right, Snow Blanket. I understand. It was quite a shock for you to learn of your John's death."
Snow Blanket released Deborah's hand and indicated that she should sit on a mat near the fire. "No excuse." She lifted Deborah's cloak from her shoulders and hung it on a hook hanging from the rafters of the wigwam. "You have given me nothing but goodness from your heart. My good sense was clouded by Tshingee's words."
Deborah watched Snow Blanket kneel and begin to dish out a bowl of steaming porridge. Deborah couldn't help smiling in amazement. Snow Blanket was so young-looking with such an utterly beautiful face. She had forgotten just how young Tshingee's mother appeared. "What did he say last night? I couldn't understand."
"It does not matter what my foolish son said. His pain and guilt cloud his thinking. He is not always as wise as he thinks. I know that you were not responsible for my John's death. It was in the stars." She handed Deborah a wooden bowl filled with porridge and a pewter spoon. "My heart aches for the loss of my son and his wife, but they are now with their God."
"Snow Blanket, I did everything I could. But they wouldn't listen. Any of them. The Mohawks raided a neighboring plantation and my father and his men thought it was Tshingee. They took their revenge on John." Her eyes met the Lenni Lenape woman's. "I just couldn't stop them."
Snow Blanket handed Bee and Mary a bowl of cornmeal porridge and the children took a seat on a mat at the far side of the wigwam. "I know in this heart of mine that you would have helped my son if the choice had been in your hands." She served herself a bowl of the porridge and sat down across from Deborah. "You risked your life and your place in the white man's world to bring my granddaughter to me safely and for that I am ever grateful. Mary has told me of what happened. You are a brave woman. I do not know if this woman would have had the courage to go against her people the way you did."
Deborah took a bite of the hot breakfast concoction, savoring its delicious flavor. "They were wrong."
"I know. But it still takes strength to stand as one among many."
"I Just wish I could have done more." Deborah stared at her bowl in her hands. "I just wish Tshingee believed me. He thinks this is all my fault. He won't even listen to me when I try to explain."
"My son, the Wildcat, has much anger within him for the white man. I think, were he not half white, it would not be so hard for him."
"But I thought he loved me." Deborah lifted her head to stare across the fire at Snow Blanket. "How could he think I would be a part of his brother's death?"
"He does not blame you for John's death. He blames you for not being Lenni Lenape."
Deborah sighed in exasperation. "That's ridiculous. How can I be responsible for who I am? I'm no more responsible for being born Deborah Montague, the Earl of Manchester's daughter, than he is being born Tshingee of the Wolf Clan."
"Love is a tangled web. It does not always make sense, my child."
Deborah finished her porridge and set the bowl down on the floor. "I don't know what I'm going to do, Snow Blanket. I can't return to my father's home. Tshingee will have no part of me. Except for you, Suuklan, and the children—" she nodded in Mary and Bee's direction—"everyone here acts as if I don't exist. What am I going to do? Where am I going to go? The snow will fall again before spring. I can't live in the wilderness on my own."
"You will stay here for now," Snow Blanket said, gathering the dirty wooden bowls.
Deborah's face brightened. "I can? Oh, thank you. I've missed you and Bee so much. I dreamed of being here with you the entire time I was in my father's home."
"And you dreamed of being with Tshingee . . ."
"Yes," Deborah admitted. "But now it seems hopeless."
"We are never without hope. Deb-or-ah."
Just then the door flap of Snow Blanket's wigwam lifted and Tshingee stepped in. All eyes turned to him.
Tshingee looked from Deborah to his mother. "Why is she here?" he demanded.
"She is my guest, my son," Snow Blanket answered evenly.
Tshingee lapsed into Lenni Lenape. "She is your eldest son's murderess. She should not be welcome at your hearth, at any hearth in this village!" he insisted between clenched teeth.
Bee and Mary picked up their cloaks and darted behind Tshingee and out of the wigwam.
"She is not responsible for the world's ills, my Wildcat."
"We are all responsible."
"That is it, isn't it? You feel responsible for your brother's death." Snow Blanket approached her son, trying to take his hand, but he jerked it from her reach. "You think you should have prevented John's death. Well, you couldn't have."
"I should not have left him there among them! I should have spilled his captor's blood and rescued him when I had the chance."
She shook her finger at him, raising her voice to match his. "He wanted no deaths. He would never have forgiven you if you had killed for his sake."
"I could have lived better without his forgiveness than without him," Tshingee responded bitterly.
"No. You don't understand, my dear son. His lot was cast from the day he fell from my womb. John lived. John died. He brought light to us in this world and he will bring light to us in the afterworld. It was never up to you, up to any of us. We have so little control over our lives. You think you hold too much responsibility in your palm."
Tshingee clenched his fist, lifting it in the air. "His life was in my palm and I let it slip from my fingers like water from the river."
"Ahh! You are not thinking." Snow Blanket threw up her hands." You are not responsible. She is not responsible."
Snow Blanket pointed to Deborah and Deborah looked up at Tshingee, wishing desperately that she knew what the two were saying. The pain in Tshingee's eyes was so obvious.
"I do not want her here!" he shouted.
"I did not ask you. She is welcome in my wigwam. She risked her life to bring me my only grandchild. She will always have a mat at my hearth."
"I do not have time to argue with you, Mother." He started for the door. "I must prepare my men."
"Prepare? Prepare for what?"
His dark eyes met his mother's. "Revenge. My brother's murderers cannot go unpunished."
"You cannot lead an attack! Not without the council's permission!" Snow Blanket scoffed.
"I have no time to wait for permission. We must strike and strike quickly. The white man must know the Wolf Clan will not be slaughtered like livestock."
Snow Blanket stepped between her son and the door. "You know the rules, my son," she declared in English. "The council must hear you out. The decision must be made by the people, not by one man."
"I have no time to call a council meeting!" he shouted back at her in English.
"I will call one. Tonight." She grasped her son's shoulders. "Tell me you will wait until tonight. Promise your mother that you will hear your fellow men and women."
He took a deep breath.
"You owe your mother that much."
He nodded. "I will wait."
Deborah watched as Tshingee ducked out of the wigwam. "Call a council meeting for what?" She jumped up. "What's he going to do?"
Snow Blanket's bronze face was grave. "He means to lead an attack on the men who killed his brother."
"No! No! He can't!" She grabbed her cloak from overhead. "He'll be killed as well!"
"Deb-or-ah . . ." Snow Blanket called, but Deborah was already ducking out of the wigwam.
"Tshingee!" Deborah shouted. Spotting him walking across the compound, she ran after him. "Tshingee! I know you hear me! You can't pretend that you don't!"
Several villagers looked up to see what the commotion was, but turned away when they saw Deborah. Tshingee walked faster, refusing to face her.
"Tshingee!" she shouted. Catching the sleeve of his leather jerkin, she stepped in front of him. "You can't do this. You can't lead an attack!"
His dark eyes narrowed with hostility. "You claim you had no part in my brother's death and yet you defend his killers." He jerked his arm from her grasp.
"I don't defend them! But leading an attack will serve no purpose! How many of you will die? How many of them will you kill?"
"As many as is in my power."
"And then what is the difference between you and the Mohawks?"
"The white men have committed a grave sin against me and my people. They have been doing it for years. This will be a fair battle, enemy against enemy. It is what should have happened long ago."
"But you can't win. There're too many of them. The government will send soldiers. They'll find the village! They'll kill us all."
"No. Not all of us." he said venomously. "Not you, because you are one of them."
"No," she moaned. "I'm not, not anymore. I want to make a life here, here with you and Snow Blanket and Bee and Mary. I am no longer welcome among those you call my people. Why can't you see that?"
He took her by the shoulders, shaking her. "Don't you see, Red Bird? You are not welcome here! Go! Go back to your white men and their murdering ways!"
"Please, Tshingee. Don't launch an attack."
"You worry for your Thomas, do you?" he asked bitterly.
"Yes, of course." She lowered her head. "I mean no. I mean of course I don't want him to die. He had nothing to do with any of this either. The Mohawks killed his father. But I don't want you to go because I don't want you to be hurt. You could be killed!"
"To die fighting your enemy is a noble thing."
She groaned aloud. "But you'll still be dead! You spoke of responsibility. What of your responsibility to your mother . . . to your mother's name? What good will it do her to have two sons dead by the hands of the white men? Answer me that." She touched his cheek with her fingertips "Tshingee, look at me."
Tshingee stood with his hands clutched at his sides, refusing to meet her gaze. "You waste my time, woman. Do not come to me again in defense of your people. They have spilled my brother's blood and now I will spill theirs."
Deborah stood and watched Tshingee walk away, his back stiff with resolution. Never in her life had she ever felt so powerless, so hopeless. The one person she loved more than life itself had turned his back on her and she was at loss as to what to do. Slowly she turned and walked through the village, her hand pressed to her stomach beneath her cloak. "For you," she whispered. "For you, little one, I promise I won't give up. Tshingee has not heard the last from me, I promise you."
"Deborah!" Suuklan came running from her wigwam. Did you see Co-o-nah Aquewa?"
Deborah wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her wool dress. "Yes." She tried to smile. "She's invited me to stay with her in her wigwam."
"I am so glad. But this does not please Tshingee?"
Deborah couldn't help laughing. "That's an understatement."
The Lenni Lenape woman linked her arm through Deborah's. "I am on my way to the river to wash cooking pots and clothing. It is going to be a warm day again. Will you come?"
Deborah shrugged. "Why not?" She shook her head dismally. "I certainly haven't anything else to do."
Hours later Deborah sat before Suuklan's campfire, stirring the contents of a pot with a long wooden stick. The heady aroma of fricasseed rabbit rose to tantalize Deborah's nose.
"Deborah! Deborah!" Mary sobbed, running toward her.
"Mary, what is it?"
Fat, wet tears streamed down the little girl's cheeks. "I think I've done something bad. My cocumtha will be so mad at me."
"What? What could you have done to make her angry with you?"
Mary pushed back her hood to reveal her head. One long braid had been snipped off at chin length. The other red braid still hung on the opposite side.
"Oh, Mary." Deborah breathed. "How did you do that?"
From behind her back. Mary produced the scissors Deborah had brought with her from Host's Wealth and the cut braid. Only an hour before, Deborah had sent Mary with her pack of belongings to leave it in Snow Blanket's wigwam.
"Mary." Deborah put out her arms, hugging the little girl against her. "It's all right, don't cry. Just tell me why you did it."
"My papa," she sobbed. "My papa and my mama. I did it for them."
"Mary, I don't understand. Why would you cut off one for your braids for them?" She took the scissors from her hand.
"I didn't want to cut off the whole thing. I just cut off too much," she managed as a fresh flood of tears began.
Suuklan came out of her wigwam. "Is she hurt?"
Deborah handed Suuklan the scissors. "No, but she's cut her hair. Something about her mother and father. Do you know what she's talking about, Suuklan?"
"Among our people, it is our way when someone we love dies. We cut a lock of hair and burn it in a ceremonial fire in honor of their death."
"My cocumtha cut hers but she said I couldn't do it," Mary admitted. "She said I was too little, but I'm not. I'm not too little to give them honor!"
Deborah kissed the top of Mary's head. "Of course you're not. Now come along and let's see what we can do about this, shall we?"
"My cocumtha will be so mad at me." The child stared up at Deborah, tears still falling down her cheeks. "Can you fix it?" She held up the lopped-off braid.
Deborah took the scissors from Suuklan and ushered Mary across the compound toward Snow Blanket's wigwam. "Well, I can't put your braid back, love, but maybe I can fix your hair so it looks a little better. Would that be all right?"
The moment Mary stepped into her grandmother's wigwam, Snow Blanket threw up her hands. "Mary! What has happened to your hair, my child?"
Deborah stood behind Mary, resting her hands on the little girl's shoulders. "It seems she tried to cut a lock of hair from her head with my scissors and she cut off too much." Deborah noticed immediately that two locks of Snow Blanket's hair had been cut off.
Snow Blanket brought her palms to her cheeks. "No! You didn't!"
"I'm sorry, grandmother." Fresh tears ran down Mary's face. "I wanted to do what was honorable. Please don't be mad. I won't do it again."
Snow Blanket knelt, holding out her arms for her granddaughter. "Come here, my sweet child." Taking Mary in her arms, she kissed her damp cheeks. "It is a custom meant only for the old like your grandmother. You did not have to cut your hair to show honor for your onna and nukuaa. Honor is in your heart. It is a silly old custom anyway."
Deborah held up the scissors. "I thought maybe I could fix it as best I could," she offered.
"That is wise." Snow Blanket nodded. "Now wipe your tears," she told Mary, "and go to Debor-ah. She will make it better."
Seating Mary on a mat in front of the fire, Deborah carefully cut off the remaining red braid and then trimmed the little girl's jagged hair in a neat bob. Handing Snow Blanket the thick red braids. Deborah stood Mary up and walked around her. "There you go." She smiled. "You look like a little princess."
Mary's hands went to her shorn locks. "Bee will tease me." She stuck out her lip in protest. "His hair is longer than mine."
"Bee will not tease you, or he will have to answer to me," Deborah promised, returning her scissors to her pack. "Now go on out and play while it's still nice out. Suuklan says it will snow tonight."
Mary left the wigwam and Deborah sighed. shaking her head. "Little girls," she murmured.
"Here." Snow Blanket pushed something into Deborah's hand.
"What is it?" She opened her palm to find the narrow braid of her own hair she had seen around Tshingee's neck. "Where did you get this?" Deborah whispered.
"I think my son mislaid it. Keep it for him."
Deborah stared at the strand of dark hair, then closed her fingers around it. "Oh, Snow Blanket, it hurts so much."
"The hurt heals, and the sun will shine again." She dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. Now we must dress for the council meeting. It begins at dusk."
"The council meeting? But I'm not allowed to attend the meeting."
"I have asked the elders and it has been approved. It is your people Tshingee wishes to wage war upon. They will not let you speak, but my son should see your face among the sea of faces." Snow Blanket offered her a soft doeskin dress, leggings, and moccasins. "These are for you. A gift. You must be dressed properly to go to council."
"Thank you," Deborah murmured.
"I go to the sweat house now, then I will be back. Dress quickly." Snow Blanket left the wigwam, leaving Deborah to dress alone.
Deborah stared at the doeskin dress in her arms. She had wanted so desperately to be here among the Lenni Lenape . . . and now, everything was all wrong. If Tshingee waged war against the English on the Migianac, there would be no future for her here either. And then what would she do. . . .