Chapter Twenty-six
Days passed and Deborah slipped into a simple routine in the Lenni Lenape village. Since the night of the tribal council meeting, the villagers had accepted her without question. They no longer seemed to blame her for John Wolf's death and little by little they welcomed her as one of them.
Only Tshingee kept his distance. He gave no acknowledgment of the visit she had made to his wigwam. She had been a ghost the night they had made love and she remained a ghost. Still, Deborah felt a breath of hope deep in her heart. She caught Tshingee following her with his eyes as she crossed the compound carrying water or delivering an herb to an ailing villager. And on more than one occasion he had visited Snow Blanket's wigwam on weak pretenses at suppertime, stalling until he was invited to stay for the evening meal. When he did stay, he spoke only to his mother, his conversation brief and stilted. But his eyes wandered to rest on Deborah's face when her attention was elsewhere.
Snow Blanket accepted her son's odd behavior with a sense of humor and encouraged Deborah to do the same. "He has been hurt by his brother's death, and he is confused by his love for you," the Lenni Lenape woman had said. "Play his buck games. Ignore him and soon he will realize he cannot live without you."
Though it was difficult, Deborah took Snow Blanket's advice and went about her daily business. She had made the first move to settle their differences and it was now Tshingee's turn to do so. In the meantime, Deborah kept herself as occupied as possible.
Nearly two weeks after Deborah had arrived in the Lenni Lenape village, she stopped at Suuklan's wigwam. "Suuklan?"
The young woman came out of the bark hut, her laughter soft and joyous.
"Are you ready? Why are you so happy today? What's happened?" Suuklan's smile was infectious.
The Lenni Lenape woman picked up a bark bucket near the wigwam door and fell into stride beside Deborah. "I have just told my husband that we will have a little one by the time the leaves of summer fall again. He thinks he will begin making a cradleboard today."
"You're going to have a baby?" Deborah laughed. "Congratulations. I'm so happy for you."
"But yours will come first," Suuklan reminded her as they cut off into the woods.
Deborah's hand fell to her slightly rounded stomach as it did often these days when she was in private. She sighed. "Sometimes I wish I weren't—"
"Don't say such words!" Suuklan warned. "You will tempt the evil spirits to take your child from you!"
"It's not that I don't want the baby, it's just that—"
Suuklan patted her companion's arm soothingly. "I know it is Tshingee. But do not worry. The Wildcat paces. I see him in the village watching you. His love for you has not weakened. One morning the sun will break and your brave will be at your side."
"I hope you're right, Suuklan, because I don't know how much longer I will be able to keep the baby from him, from the rest of the village."
"I will say nothing."
Deborah smiled. "I know you won't. You've become a good n'tschutti, Suuklan. You are a friend this woman is proud to call her own."
Coming to a tree with a bucket hanging from a wooden peg in the trunk, Suuklan set down the bucket she carried in her hand. A golden stream dribbled from the hole and into the bucket hanging on the peg. "I have seen Dame Elene watching you as well." She giggled. "I think the Wildcat does not like it."
Deborah removed a bucket hanging from a peg on a tree a few feet away. "The man with the red feather that dangles down the back of his head?" She couldn't help being flattered. Dame Elene was known throughout the camp as an excellent hunter. He was also a skilled carver, spending much of his free time making utensils for the women of the village and toys for the children.
Suuklan nodded. "He came to us only last year. His mother was Shawnee, his father from Gimewane's family. It is said he came looking for a wife."
"And you think he's been watching me?"
"I know it to be true. Just two nights ago he came to our wigwam and shared our meal. He was full of many questions."
"About me?" Deborah replaced the bucket of sap with an empty one.
Suuklan giggled, nodding. "My husband, the Blackbird, says he thinks a Red Bird would make a fine wife."
"But I'm white!"
The Lenni Lenape woman shrugged. "He thinks you are smart. He asked my husband if you belonged to the Wildcat."
"And what did Sikihiila say?"
"He told the Corn Man that he did not know and that he should ask you himself." She picked up her bucket of sap from the ground and started back toward the village, taking care not to spill the precious contents.
Deborah grabbed up her bucket and followed after her friend. "He didn't!" She kicked a pine cone along ahead of her.
"It was the truth."
"Yes, I know but . . ." Deborah's voice trailed off, her mouth forming a silly smile. "And you think Tshingee might be jealous of Dame Elene?"
"I do not know your word, jeal-os, I only know that the Wildcat paces faster when the Corn Man is near you."
Leaving the woods line the women headed for Suuklan's wigwam where they would begin boiling down the syrup.
"Red Bird." A Lenni Lenape matron waved a hand in Deborah's direction.
Deborah stopped. "Go ahead, Suuklan. I'll be along."
The elder woman approached Deborah, offering her hands. "I am Kesathwa."
Deborah accepted the woman's hands, bobbing her head in reverence of the older woman. "Good afternoon to you, Kesathwa," Deborah said formally in Algonquian.
"This woman should have come sooner to speak to you," Kesathwa replied in heavily accented English. "She says her sorries."
Deborah smiled. "It's all right, but I'm glad to meet you. Isn't your grandson Il-le-nah-qui? The little boy that plays with Bee?"
"Yes." Kesathwa smiled, baring a row of dark broken teeth. "Il-le-nah-qui is the sunshine in my day since my husband's soul went hunting heavenward two winters past."
"I'm sorry." Deborah set down her bucket of tree sap.
The woman waved a wrinkled hand. "He was old man, sick and tired. Happy to go on and make the way for me."
Deborah nodded, glancing up to see Tshingee in front of his wigwam. He sat cross-legged on a hide mat, fashioning a new bone flute. He had been working on it for days. Deborah forced herself to return her attention to Kesathwa and what the woman was saying.
". . . told this woman you might teach her grandson to speak the white man's tongue."
"You want me to teach your grandson?"
"Snow Blanket tells me you teach Bee to read the white man's letters, to write them in the dirt. I would like for the same for Il-le-nah-qui."
"I would be happy to, Kesathwa. But tell me, why do you want your son to learn the white man's ways?"
"It is better to know the wolfs path than to walk blind through the forest. This old woman will not see the joining of the white man and the red, but my grandson"—she nodded—"he will see the day. The Wolf Clan cannot live as a single star in the heavens forever."
Deborah glanced over Kesathwa's shoulder to see Tshingee watching her. He quickly lowered his head, raising his flute to his lips. A soft string of notes flowed from the instrument. Deborah chuckled to herself, returning her attention to the old woman. "I teach Bee and Mary each morning after they've gathered wood for Aquewa Co-o-nah. Il-le-nah-qui could come then."
The old woman nodded. "This would be good. The grandchild Mary is great comfort to Aquewa Co-o-nah. This woman knows what it is like to hear a child's laughter in the wigwam after many years of silence. You were a brave woman to bring the child to her grandmother. A strong woman to leave her people behind for the child's sake."
Deborah smiled. "Thank you, but I came here for myself too. You and the others of the Wolf Clan have made me feel welcome. I feel safe here, loved even. There was no love in the house I came from."
The old woman patted Deborah lightly on the arm. "You are always welcome at this woman's hearth. Come, eat with this lonely woman. Anytime is a good time."
"Thank you, Kesathwa. I will. Soon. In the meantime, send your grandson after he does his morning duties. He can start tomorrow if you wish."
The elder woman nodded, raising a hand in salute as she started back across the compound.
Taking care not to look at Tshingee still seated in front of his wigwam, Deborah lifted her bucket of sap and started for Suuklan's wigwam. Beneath her breath, she whistled a haunting tune.
A day later Deborah stepped out of Snow Blanket's wigwam and nearly tripped over Bee and Mary. "What are you doing?" Deborah asked, watching the little boy shovel dirt from a hole in the semifrozen ground.
Mary squatted near the hole. "Bee's buildin' an eagle trap!"
"Mary! Shhhh!" Bee scolded. "You said you wouldn't tell anyone."
"Deborah's not anyone, she's my friend!"
"But it's supposed to be surprise!" The dark-skinned boy threw a shovel of dirt on Mary's moccasins. "If you tell everyone, the surprise'll be ruined."
Deborah couldn't help but smiling. "I promise I won't tell anyone, Bee, but do you really think you ought to be digging a hole in front of your mother's door?"
"It's not a hole, it's a trap."
"An eagle trap," Mary echoed.
Deborah tried to keep a straight face. "Well, I don't know what an eagle trap is, but if Snow Blanket comes out of her wigwam and falls into that hole, I know she's going to be angry."
Bee looked up, leaning on his small wooden shovel. "But I got to have an eagle trap if I'm going to catch an eagle."
Deborah nodded. "Of course you do, but why not build out a little further?" She took several steps forward. "Say . . . out here maybe."
Bee grimaced. "But I already started digging."
"He already started digging," Mary chided.
"You didn't dig too much. Why don't you go ahead and start the new eagle pit out here and I'll fill in the other hole. All right?"
Bee sighed. "All right. But you have to promise you won't tell Onna what we're makin'. It's still a surprise."
Deborah lifted a palm. "I promise," she vowed solemnly.
After filling in the hole the children had dug, Deborah gathered a bucket of dirty cooking utensils and started down toward the stream. Halfway across the compound, Dame Elene, approached her.
"The sun shines bright today," he commented, falling in stride beside her.
"It certainly is warm for February," Deborah answered. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Tshingee standing near his wigwam, his eyes fixed on her. She glanced up at the handsome brave walking beside her. "If it stays this warm another day or two, the snow will be gone."
He nodded. "You go to the stream?" He spoke English well.
Deborah lifted her bucket with amusement. "Wash."
He took the bucket from her hands. "I go to the stream as well. I will carry it."
Deborah smiled up at him. He was taller than Tshingee. "Thank you, Dame Elene."
"Do you think you will stay here among the Wolf Clan, or will you return to the Tidewater when spring comes?"
"This is my home now," she answered. "Your people have been good to me. There is nothing left for me on the Tidewater. This will be a good life for me."
Entering the woods, Deborah and the Lenni Lenape brave walked through the grove of trees and into the clearing where the stream flowed. Taking her bucket of dirty cookware from him, she knelt on the hem of her red cloak and began to dip the utensils in the icy water. Using a square of soft leather, she scrubbed a wooden spoon.
Dame Elene sat behind her on a tree stump. The two made idle conversation as Deborah washed Snow Blanket's cookware. Several other women came down to the stream to wash and children laughed and played, sliding down a melting snowbank.
Replying to one of the Corn Man's questions, Deborah lifted her head. From somewhere in the distance she could hear the soft harmonious sounds of a flute. It was the same tune she had found herself humming, some strange, haunting, nameless tune. Rinsing a wooden spoon, Deborah stared into the trees across the stream.
On the far bank Tshingee sat cross-legged, partially obscured by an evergreen tree. He held his new bone flute to his lips and played softly. Deborah couldn't help smiling. The Wildcat had followed her here and now watched her. She lowered her gaze, taking care not to look at Tshingee again, and continued her conversation with the Corn Man.
When Deborah had completed her task, she gathered her clean utensils and stood to go.
Dame Elene reached to take the bucket she held in her hand. "I will carry it," he told her.
"You don't have to."
"I want to." He smiled, stepping back to let Deborah go ahead of him back down the path to the village.
Following Deborah back to Snow Blanket's wigwam, Dame Elene handed her the bucket. He nodded in the direction of the hole Bee and Mary had dug. "What is it?" he asked.
Deborah laughed, her voice carrying across the compound. On the outskirts of the camp, she could see Tshingee standing and speaking with another brave. Her eyes met Dame Elene's with amusement. "I'm not quite sure. Bee says it's an eagle trap, but I don't know what an eagle trap is."
Dame Elene broke into an easy smile. "A man digs a hole and lies down inside it, covering it with sticks and brush to conceal himself. Raw bait is tied on a string to the center of the brush. When the eagle swoops to take his meal"—he motioned with his broad hand—"the hunter reaches from below to catch the great bird. It is a great honor to take two eagle feathers and set him free to soar again."
Deborah nodded. "Somehow I don't think Bee will be catching any eagles. I'll be lucky if I don't fall in the thing and break my neck!"
The Lenni Lenape brave laughed with her. "I like the sound of your voice," he said. "It carries gently on the wind."
Deborah blushed, looking up to where Tshingee still stood. Their eyes met for a brief moment and then he turned sharply away, hurling his flute against a tree. Deborah covered her mouth with her fingers to keep from giggling.
Missing the interaction between Tshingee and Deborah, Dame Elene shuffled his feet, glancing at the pot of rabbit stew that simmered over the campfire. "Smells good," he commented. "I am fond of rabbit."
Deborah grinned. "Would you like to come and eat with us tonight?" She toyed with one of her dark braids.
He nodded. "This man would be honored to share your meal."
"We eat at dusk." Still smiling, Deborah disappeared into Snow Blanket's wigwam.
Precisely at dusk Dame Elene arrived at Snow Blanket's wigwam and the older woman welcomed him inside, giving the favored position at the fire-pit.
"I bring this gift to you, Co-o-nah Aquewa," he said, offering her a small leather pouch.
Snow Blanket smiled, opening the pouch to get a whiff of the fragrant tobacco. "Thank you, Dame Elene. You are a good man to bring this old useless woman a gift." She turned away, giving Deborah a wink.
Dame Elene took his appropriate seat on a mat, holding out his hand to Deborah. "For you."
Deborah accepted the present. It was a tiny fat-bellied bird carved from a piece of white wood. She smiled, looking down at him. "Thank you, Dame Elene."
He reached back into his leather tunic and withdrew two more carvings. "For the children."
Bee and Mary bounced up from their places on the mat and thrust out their hands. The brave handed Bee a small wooden bird with its wings spread in flight.
"An eagle!" Bee breathed.
Mary accepted her gift, a tiny cup. "For my doll, Eleke!" she squealed.
"Thank you," the children murmured in unison. Taking their gifts back to their seats, they sat side by side, giggling with glee.
Grinning, Snow Blanket gathered wooden trenchers to serve the meal on, but Deborah took them from her. "You sit, Snow Blanket, and let me bring in the stew."
The Lenni Lenape took her place across from their guest. "She is a big help to me," Snow Blanket told Dame Elene as Deborah slipped outside to fetch supper.
Dame Elene nodded thoughtfully. "She is hard worker, and smart. She is a woman who could care for herself when her man went hunting."
"Our Red Bird knows of healing. She will be good for this clan." Snow Blanket crossed her arms over her chest. "She will make some brave in this camp a very good wife."
Deborah groaned aloud as she entered the wigwam. She offered Snow Blanket the first plate as was customary because the Lenni Lenape woman was the eldest present, but Snow Blanket shook her head. "Serve our guest first, Red Bird. A man needs his meal."
Deborah rolled her eyes. Giving Dame Elene the first plate, she handed Snow Blanket the second. When Deborah went outside to retrieve food for the children and herself, she spotted Tshingee leaning against the entry flap of his wigwam. His handsome bronze face was twisted in a grimace. When Deborah's eyes met his, for the first time in days, he did not look away.
Deborah pressed her lips tightly together to keep from laughing aloud. Her heart swelled with joy as she leaned over the cooking pot to dish out a helping of stew. Tshingee's eyes were filled with jealousy . . . and love. With each passing hour she could feel him growing closer to her, in the spiritual sense if not the physical one. He wanted her, that was obvious. He had only to gain enough courage to come to her and apologize for his accusations. He had only to say he was sorry and they would be united again. Filling another trencher, Deborah went back inside the wigwam. It's funny, she thought but saying I'm sorry must be one of the most difficult phrases to say . . . in any language.
Snow Blanket and Deborah enjoyed a pleasant meal with their guest. The three laughed and talked, savoring the spicy stew. Dame Elene was a simple man who could be taken at face value. It was obvious he was taken with Deborah, but he directed most of his conversation to Snow Blanket. As the head of the household, it was Snow Blanket that he had to impress as well as Deborah if he was to be granted permission to woo the white woman.
Just after the meal, Alagwa, an elderly widowed friend of Snow Blanket's, came by. Snow Blanket offered her tea and the old white-haired Lenni Lenape woman sat by the fire to talk with them. Surrounded by the warmth of the wigwam and the comfort of a full stomach, Deborah sat cross-legged listening to the after-supper conversation.
The two older women and Dame Elene lit their clay pipes and then Alagwa begin to spin a tale of a Lenni Lenape man caught on the great ocean and rescued by a sea animal. Bee and Mary sat on each side of Deborah, resting their heads against her as they listened in fascination to the old woman's yarn.
Though Alagwa spoke only Algonquian, Deborah found herself able to understand much of the story. Between the old woman's hand motions, and the words Deborah found herself recognizing, the tale held her spellbound. As Deborah listened to the woman's eerie, captivating voice, she became aware of the slow beat of a drum outside. If the others in the group heard, they paid no attention. Alagwa went on with her story and the others listened. Only Dame Elene seemed to notice the drum beats, and they appeared to make him restless and uncomfortable.
Just as Alagwa was bringing the story of the man and the sea monster to an end, the wigwam flap lifted and Tshingee walked in. He nodded slightly to the others in the group and then walked to Deborah.
She gazed up at him, forcing herself to appear impassive.
"Undach aal." Tshingee's dark eyes bore down on her. "Get your belongings."
"What?" Deborah blinked. "What do you mean?" She looked up at Snow Blanket but the woman's face was an emotionless mask. Everyone in the wigwam seemed to know what Tshingee meant except Deborah.
Tshingee took Deborah's hand and raised her to her feet. "I said collect your belongings." He pulled her cloak from its hook in the rafters. "Now."
"I'm not going with you. Not unless you tell me-"
Tshingee dropped her cloak to her shoulders. "You will see soon enough, Red Bird. Do as I ask." Outside the drumbeats grew louder.
Deborah wondered if he was forcing her to leave the village, but when she glanced back at Snow Blanket, the elder woman was nodding ever so slightly. A hint of a smile played on her face. The old woman Alagra grinned toothlessly. Dame Elene seemed genuinely upset.
Hesitantly, Deborah gathered the leather sack she'd brought with her and retrieved her extra doeskin dress and leggings.
Tshingee lifted the flap of the wigwam and waited for her to exit. Deborah stepped out into the frosty night air and he came up behind her, taking her leather bag from her hand. Looping his arm through hers, he led her across the compound. Behind them, Snow Blanket, Dame Elene, Alagwa, and the children followed.
"Tshingee, what are you doing? Where are you taking me? What's the big mystery?"
"You talk too much, Red Bird." He brought her before Chief Gimewane's wigwam.
"We are ready," Tshingee called in a clear, strong voice.
Gimewane came out of his wigwam, followed by the shaman. The shaman swung a burning pot of herbs and chanted softly to the tune of the drumbeat echoing through the village.
The chief led Tshingee and Deborah to the fire-pit blazing before his wigwam. Entwining his hands he began to speak in Algonquian, offering some prayer to the heavens.
"Tshingee!" Deborah murmured. "What's happening? What are they doing?" She glanced at him in confusion.
Tonight Tshingee wore his hair unbraided to fall in an ebony curtain down his back. He was dressed in a quilled, sleeved tunic and long leggings. Thrown over his shoulders was a short cloak of otter skin, and beneath the folds of the soft otter pelt, Deborah could see her braid of hair tied around his neck.
Tshingee slipped his hand beneath her red cloak, resting it on her hip. He brought his lips close to her ear. "The shaman and our chief make you my n'dochqueum."
"Your what? What's that mean?" She glanced around to see the villagers gathering just outside the light of their chiefs fire pit. "Tshingee! Answer me!"
"The shaman makes you my wife," he answered above the beat of the drum.
"Your wife!" She dropped her hands to her hips and stared at his bronze face. "You didn't ask me to be your wife!" She lifted her hands and waved them, catching Gimewane's attention.
He stopped in midsentence and lowered his head. "Speak, Red Bird."
She hooked her thumb in Tshingee's direction. "I'm not marrying him."