MARCHING OUT
Enola fell into step beside Patrick she walked. She hadn't realized quite how many people they had accumulated until they began marching. It wasn't a real march, of course, because no one was in sync with each other. The Army and Patrick's sharpshooters could keep some kind of cadence. Jacob was in the middle of the column, trying to get them to stay in formation, which Enola always found amusing. The men would keep time for awhile, then they would fall out of step, and he would try all over again.
The Navy had been trained in formation, but mostly, they were static on the ship, so staying together and in time was difficult for them. The pirates didn't seem to care, moving about the lineup, walking wherever they liked and talking to whoever they liked. The families and supply wagons were at the back, and in total, it took ten minutes for the parade to pass a signal spot. It was a sight to be seen, and she wasn't sure that it was an impressive one.
“There are a few things you should know,” she said. “When we reach my people. Perhaps, if you'd like to learn, I can tell you now?”
“Tell away,” he said, strolling beside her. “I've got nothing but time.”
She smiled. “They will be kind, but cool,” she replied. “They are always welcoming; it is part of our nature. They will offer food and drink, and it will be rude to not accept. But when it comes to official business, we will be taken to the tent of my father, much as we would be taken to your officer's tent. There, he will ask for the truth; that we are married. My cousin witnessed it, there will be no question. The decision to help the British will then be accepted, but there will likely be some prayers around the fire, smoke to guide our way before they officially say yes.”
“I see,” he said. “And I am just to stay quiet?”
“No, he will talk to you,” Enola said. “Ask you what your plans are for our future.”
Holde smiled at that. “You think it's so different,” he said. “You think that we are two people, but we are one. Any British family would do the same for the husband of their daughter.”
“They will also all bow to you, as my cousin did,” she reminded him and he quirked an eyebrow.
“That's different,” he answered. “I don't want to be bowed to.”
“It's tradition,” she said. “It would be rude not to.”
“Mm,” he sidestepped and stumbled slightly over a rock. His hand knocked against hers, and to her surprise, he took it rather than pulling away. His hands were large, engulfing her long fingers, and she felt his warmth, his strength. She did not pull away either, risking the urge to lay her head against his shoulder. It felt comfortable and she did not want the moment to end.
Jacob turned back at some point, catching her in that position. He only raised an eyebrow, to which Enola raised an eyebrow back. Whatever he thought of their affection, he was far too busy to say anything about it. He wanted nothing but her happiness, she knew.
There were worse people she could be married to in order to save lives and potentially end the war.
In the end, they came upon signs of her tribe on the third day, in the afternoon. She recognized the fur traps; the markings on the trees.
“Here,” she said, to Patrick, pointing it out as they went by. “Do you see?”
“No?” he answered, and she smiled, taking a step closer and pointing out the red berry stain in the markings. “Oh. I would have thought that was just...there.”
“Unlikely,” she replied. “It's to indicate what areas of the forest they have already worked; and which areas they still need to work, for trapping.”
“Ah, well, food is important,” he answered.
“It's more than food,” she replied. “We don't waste a single bit of the animal. It would be rude, after it sacrificed its life for us. We eat the meat, use the bones for tools, the fur for clothing and blankets. Everything is used, so that the animal did not give its life in vain.”
“Huh,” he said, looking at her. “That's a novel approach. And seems much better than what we do.”
“I've seen how the British eat meat,” she replied. “But I do not judge the way other cultures work. It's not our way. Although Jacob has gotten better, at least using the fur to stay warm during the winter.”
“This country does get cold,” Holde answered. “I thought all the rain in England was the worst thing one could experience; wet and never dry, chilled to the bone. But the snow here in the winter, it will kill you if you are not careful.”
Enola smiled. “Snow is just part of Nature's cycle of life. It's a time for the Earth to rest and be renewed.”
“That's lovely,” he admitted. “And a much better way of thinking about it than just to curse it.”
She shrugged. “I suppose if we didn't think about a good way to look at it, we would be miserable six months out of the year.”
“I was here for three months before I started to see spring,” Holde replied. “Are you telling me winter lasts longer?”
“You missed part of it,” she said. “I will show you the joys of snow when it comes.”
This time, it was she who had accidentally spoken about their future. Their eyes met, and she froze, their faces inches apart. They probably would have shared a kiss, unexpected but in the moment, when a voice suddenly called out.
“Enola.”
She knew the voice, especially that accent.
She turned around to find Ciel, her sister, standing there. She had a baby on her hip that Enola knew must be hers, based solely on the eyes. She was plumper than she used to be, perhaps expecting another child. Standing in bison skin clothing, paint on her face, she must have looked exotic and strange to the shocked men who nearly ran into each other.
“Halt!” Jacob cried, trying to get the parade to realize that they had finally reached their destination. Marching could be hypnotic and those who fell under the spell could march until they were dead; their feet worn through. “Stop! Stop! Pay attention!”
Ciel appeared to have heard none of it, watching her sister. Enola felt Jacob appear at her side and saw recognition flash in Ciel's eyes. She remembered Jacob and wasn't screaming about terrible British white men, so that was a start.
“Ciel,” Enola said, choosing to speak in English. Her sister was smart, she knew English. Whether or not she was going to pretend she didn't was a different matter. Ciel could be difficult if she wanted to be. “We have come to see Father.”
Ciel chose to know English today, tilting her chin high. “White men will not approach the chief.”
“Under normal cases, yes,” Enola replied, and touched Patrick's shoulder. Her golden wedding ring flashed in the sunlight. “But we are all one people now.”
Ciel froze, her eyes wide as she processed what Enola was telling her. “You are one?” she asked.
“I am,” Enola replied. “We are.”
“When?” Ciel asked, and Enola wondered if she would become suspicious if she learned it was just a few days ago.
“We are married,” she repeated. “Do you understand, Ciel? Where is Father?”
Ciel snapped at her in Michif and even Jacob's eyebrows rose.
“Ciel!” Jacob said in surprise. Enola had to smile.
“You understood that, did you?”
“It would be impossible not to,” Jacob replied. “Do I still have the right to enter, Ciel? We also grew up together.”
“You, yes,” Ciel said. “Enola, yes.”
“My husband,” Enola locked eyes with her sister. “We are one.”
Ciel only nodded, indicating they should follow.
“The rest of you should stay,” Enola turned to Commander Harper, who nodded.
“Stand down,” Harper said. “Meal break. Come on, men, stand down.”
“Are you alright?” Enola asked Holde as they walked. She noticed that he had turned a bit pale. He tried to smile.
“I didn't actually expect to be nervous,” he replied. “I hope I don't embarrass you.”
“Oh,” Enola said in surprise “Don't worry. Any harshness that they exhibit toward you is just...surprise. I was always anti-marriage.”
“Always good to know,” Holde said. “I've seen battle horrors...but somehow, meeting your father terrifies me most of all.”
She laughed, gripping his hand as they walked. With Jacob on her other side, she felt oddly happy and safe. She had expected to feel terrible about returning and doing this, but it was a rush of happiness, of familiarity and loving memories.
As they got closer to the camp, there were others who turned in shock. Many had not seen Enola in years, and they hadn't expected her ever to walk back in, yet alone married to a white man.
She saw her father before he turned. Standing by the fire, he looked like he might have expected them. He was dressed in his official headdress, with war paint on even. His dark skin reflected the sun, and when he turned to look at her, his eyes were hard. She gasped, freezing on the spot.
He seemed to be fighting the softening of his eyes when he saw her, his shoulders dropping. As much as he wanted to be angry with his daughter for up and leaving them, for choosing the British ways, he could not.
Enola could see him move to embrace her; move to forgive her. Then he confirmed the golden wedding ring on her hand, and remembered what she had done.
“So it's true,” he said, in broken English. To Enola's surprise, he turned to Jacob. “I expected better care. Your promise is broken.”
“What promise?” Enola turned to Jacob in shock. Jacob sighed.
“Before we left...I did promise I would look out for you, take care of you.”
“That was not yours to promise,” she said in annoyance. “I can take care of myself.”
“Yes, I'm well aware,” Jacob answered, before turning back to her father. “She...” and then he shrugged. It wasn't that he had forgotten his Michif. It seemed that he had forgotten all the words he wanted to say at that moment to describe the powerhouse that was Enola.
“What is it you return to ask?” her father asked. Enola had been dreading this moment, and she wished she didn't have to do it in front of everybody. She had a feeling that her father already knew what was happening, but he wished her to speak it in front of the whole tribe. He wished her to look in their faces as she asked, knowing exactly what lives she was putting at risk.
“The British can win the war with our help,” Enola said. “The Americans will retreat with our numbers and we will at last be at peace again. I cannot remember peace. The British man and I are one.”
Her father turned and stalked off without an answer, stunning her. Enola glanced at Patrick, who quirked an eyebrow.
“Does he normally do that?”
“No,” Enola replied. “That is certainly not his normal way.”
“This is going to take some convincing,” Jacob said, on her other side. “Should we follow him?”
“Unarmed?” Enola tried to joke. Nevertheless, even as she said it, she guarded her heart.
“Don't be silly, we have your tongue,” Jacob replied. “It's gotten us into enough trouble before, why should this be any different?”
“I'd take offence,” Holde said, on Jacob's other side. “But I have feeling you are right.”
“Both of you would do well to remember that I am the only thing keeping you safe in this camp,” Enola reminded them. Both of them stayed quiet as they followed her father into his large tent.
“Should I---” Holde wasn't sure whether he was supposed to bow or not, and he glanced toward Enola. Her father spun around, regarding him with a harsh eye.
“So,” he said. “Your name?”
Her father's English had increased, and she wondered just how much contact they'd had with the British since she'd left.
“Patrick,” he said. “Patrick Holde. Major Patrick Holde.”
“And you do?”
“I do?” he asked.
“He's a sharpshooter,” Enola supplied. “Highly specialized Chosen man.”
“I see,” her father replied. “And you have married Enola?”
“I have, sir,” Holde said.
“And you love Enola?”
“Yes, sir,” Holde answered, which surprised both her and Jacob. Holde held her father's eyes, unafraid.
“You have married before?”
“Yes, sir.”
“A British woman?”
“Spanish, actually,” Holde replied. Enola leaned into him, offering support while she knew that she couldn't speak up.
“Did you love her?”
“Yes,” Holde answered. To his credit, he wasn't reacting at all to these interpersonal questions, although Enola thought that he should. Her father always had a way of getting straight to the point and asking the most awkward questions. He never minced words, never tried to make someone feel better. She used to think it was because he was in charge; and chiefs had very little time to make nice to people. However, she had learned, from watching Jacob and the other officers, that it wasn't the case. She had seen good leadership with kindness and patience. This wasn't the case with the imposing figure in front of them.
“And?”
“And she died,” Holde answered with a straight voice. Enola gave him credit for his strength in the moment.
“I see,” her father softened a bit. “And now you marry my daughter. Do you know what that makes you?”
“Sir, I assure you, I did not want to be a...prince?” he said.
Her father held his gaze for a long time, unwavering. Holde had seen so many horrors in battle, but this man was easily one of the most frightening things he had ever seen.
“Leave us,” he said to Enola. She tensed.
“But Father...” This was the first time she had seen him in years, and she felt hurt that he would rather spend the time without her. However, she also understood that this was something that needed to be done, so she sighed.
Jacob looked a bit put out that he was being kicked out too, following her out of the tent. “He used to treat us like that when we were still children.”
“It was like we never grew up in his eyes,” Enola answered. “I'm worried about what he'll do to Patrick.”
“Don't be,” Jacob tried to assure her. “Your father has never been cruel. He's just drilling his new son-in-law to treat you right.”
“Patrick shouldn't have to go through this,” Enola said quietly. “He didn't agree to any of this.”
“None of us agrees to the horrors we often see in war,” Jacob said. “Father-in-laws included.”
She shook her head at his terrible joke. “Are you worried about Mary's father? What he thinks of you?”
“If Mary would agree to marry me, yes, I would be,” he answered. “But honestly she doesn't seem to be any closer to a choice. I don't know what is holding her back.”
“War has a way of changing our minds about what matters?” Enola teased him back and Jacob resisted the urge to bump her into the fire. “Let's go back to the others, shall we?” Enola asked. “They are probably wondering whether we've been shot with an arrow.”
“They are probably being fed bannock and quite happy,” Jacob answered. “I wouldn't mind some of my own.”
Enola took one last look at the tent, and then bowed her head, following Jacob back to the men, who had gathered basically just outside Native territory. Despite the fact that the Natives weren't sure about the British, they were still welcoming by nature. They were still willing to feed them; help wherever they could. She found Ciel standing on the outside of the crowd, watching as the women offered the soldiers bannock, bread, meats and warm dry clothes. Then men were very happy to accept the food, the gifts, and sit on the path, taking a long-awaited rest.
“Did you grow up like this?” Aaron grabbed Jacob as he walked by. “No wonder you're a strapping lad.” He seemed in a better mood than before, and Jacob grinned at the joke.
“Uh...” Jacob said, as Aaron chewed the bannock. “I grew up with it. In a house in British territory. What do you think, exactly?”
“I grew up in a grand society, and I've never had food like this,” Aaron answered. “So here I am, jealous. What are these?”
“Raspberries?” Enola said, unimpressed with his lack of experience. “Have you never had them before?”
“No,” he said. “But I'm willing to learn.”
“They are red or sometimes gold, and they grow in this country,” she said, as she watched Wesley take a handful. At least he was eating and not drinking; which was an accomplishment.
They seemed at ease here, happy. It was the first time she had seen shoulders drop, easy smiles come out. Her lands had always been about peace, about tranquility, and everyone who crossed into their lands felt the same calming effect.
Nevertheless, war raged right outside their door, and they needed to forge on.