The Beaded Moccasins (13 page)

"A Shawnee husband," I whisper. My blood runs cold just thinking about it.

But I'll be long gone before I'm fourteen. I'll be rescued and back in Pennsylvania. Won't I?

Won't I?

My heart starts to pound. What if I am married when the king's men come to rescue me? I hadn't thought of that. Could I leave a husband behind? Or my own
children!
Surely I couldn't be like Mrs. Stewart, replacing one family with another without even a look backward?

All my life I've heard of captives who refused to return to the settlements. Their white families are their past, their new families are their future.

Is this my life to come? A Delaware husband, wigwams, leather clothes, and heathen children who won't look anything like me?

What if I brought my new family to Campbell Station with me? I try to imagine the Campbells with a Delaware son-in-law and half-breed grandchildren. My parents sit at table with their faces turned to the wall. My children cry and ask to be taken home. I tell them home is your family.

Only Dougal makes them feel welcome. He thinks it's grand having a brother who's an Indian.

So as not to suffer the same fate as Sammy Stewart, I tried to divide myself into two Marys. The meek and mild lamb Mary was the only Mary the Delaware would ever see. The real Mary I'd keep hidden away until I saw the Campbells again.

As it turns out, the Delaware like the real Mary better. So do I, I reckon. Lambs are sweet and gentle but boring, to tell the truth.

But it's all so confusing-the true and the false, the real and the lamb. Does the true Mary or the false Mary wait
to be rescued? Does the real Mary or the lamb Mary consider marriage with a Delaware or even a Shawnee?

"Mary." Kolachuisen pinches my arm. "You weren't listening."

"Kolachuisen." How do I tell her my mind was a thousand miles away? Or at the very least in Pennyslvania? "I have never thought about being married."

"You haven't?" she shouts.

"No! I mean ... I have never thought about marriage among the Delaware." I look at her. "I don't think about the time to come very often."

She doesn't say anything but looks at me with narrowed eyes. I decide to change the subject.

"Kolachuisen, why are there no girls our age among us? Tell me about Netawatwees Sachem's older granddaughter. How many winters was she? What was she like? No one in the Turtle clan talks about her. Did she do something wrong?"

Kolachuisen jumps to her feet. She looks terrified. "We never talk about them," she says, shaking her head.

"
Keko windji?
" I ask. "Kolachuisen?"

But she's already slip-sliding down the gorge toward the river trail.

***

That evening, as the Turtle clan talks around me, my mind feels on fire with questions. Except for my rescue, I haven't given my future much thought-my life as a grown woman, I mean. What if I'm not rescued? Just who will Mary Caroline Campbell be then? I'm certainly
not a Delaware, but I scarcely remember being a Campbell anymore either. Who am I?

I'm in the middle and I've never felt so alone.

White Eyes and Grandfather have made us a summer porch on the southern side of our wigwam, the side that always faces the sun. It's pleasant sitting here, especially of an evening, watching the sun set and the moon wax and wane, rise and fall.

I stay awake tonight as Grandfather, White Eyes, and Chickadee enter the wigwam and nod off to sleep. Hepte is awake, as always. She's always the last one to retire at night and the first one to awaken in the morning.

"Tonn," she says, "you are quiet this evening."

"Hepte," I say cautiously, "I have many questions. Why are Kolachuisen and I the only girls of twelve winters?"

"A sickness came," she says, so softly at first, I thought I heard the wind whispering through the pines instead of her voice. "And the others a few winters more than you are already married. They are no longer girls."

"Kolachuisen was talking today about marriage."

She laughs. "Kolachuisen likes to talk."

"She says I will be married soon."

"You want to be married?"

"Someday," I answer anxiously, "but I hope not soon." I hold my breath, waiting to hear what plans the Turtle clan has for me.

Hepte nods. "Not soon. You have a long time before marriage."

My breath gushes out all at once. "I am glad to hear you say that."

Hepte is pulling a rabbit skin to soften it. She pulls and pulls for a long time. I've noticed that her hands never stop moving: stirring stewpots, planting seeds, tanning hides, sewing, braiding hair, scrubbing clothes, sweeping. Her hands are as thickly muscled as a man's.

She asks, "You have another question?"

"Please tell me about your daughter," I say softly.

"Her real name is Wapashuiwi. That's a small white wildcat with fur on the tips of her ears."

"White Lynx," I think in English. I'll ask Grandfather if that's right.

Hepte says, "But it was you who started calling her Chickadee. Her new name suits her. Everyone calls her Chickadee now."

"No, I mean your other daughter."

"I should talk about you?" Hepte asks playfully.

I don't know their word for "dead." I've never heard anyone say it. "No, I mean the daughter who first had the moccasins."

"We never talk about them," Hepte says quickly.

"But why won't you talk about her? What did she do that was so bad?"

Hepte looks startled. "She did nothing wrong. We don't talk about those who are no longer with us."

"Did she look like me? What was her name? If I am to replace her, I must know about her."

"You do replace her," Hepte says softly. "You are a fine daughter. It is time to go to sleep."

"You can tell me nothing about her?" I ask. "Her name? How many winters she had? Anything?"

Hepte takes my chin in her hands and looks into my eyes. "You do replace her. You have replaced her in all our hearts."

"You've forgotten her?"

"Of course we will never forget her. But you have filled that empty place she left in our hearts."

"Please tell me something about her. Please. Everyone else knew her. I need to know something about her."

It's hard to explain, but if I can learn something important about her, I know I'll learn something important about me.

Hepte puts her hands in her lap. "I will tell you these things," she replies. "She was your grandfather's first grandchild. He loved her very much! When he looked at her, there was so much love in his face. Sometimes I see that same look on his face when he looks at you.

"She is there." Hepte points to the Milky Way high above our heads. "Those stars make up the pathway of souls, on their way to Heaven."

"Your mother is up there, too?" I ask shyly.

"Yes. They are together as we are together."

"What I have learned tonight has lightened my heart. I was feeling so alone today, so ... in the middle. I no longer have this feeling. Thank you for telling me about her. Good night, Hepte."

She looks at me askance. "Won't you call me Gahes? The one and only time you called me that, you wanted to gain favor to see Mrs. Stewart."

She looks at me expectantly.

I can call her Gahes. She's done so much for me, I can do
this for her, to make her happy. They're not even the same words,
gahes
and" mother" so I won't be disloyal to my own mother.

"Ga ... ga," I say before dissolving into tears.

"You must love her very much," Hepte says, "and miss her."

"More," I sob, "more than she loves me."

Hepte says as she puts her arm around me, "No daughter loves her mother more than her mother loves her. Now go to sleep."

***

The next evening all the men sit glumly together. The man who had been carrying all the gunpowder in a knapsack tripped into the river. The gunpowder sank to the river bottom. The Winter Moon boys eagerly jumped in after it, keen to show off their strength and swimming prowess. No one came ashore with the knapsack.

The men will have to go back to Sequin's trading post for more gunpowder. I beg Grandfather for a chance to go with them.

"Muxomsa," I say, "I wish to see Mrs. Stewart."

He shakes his head in exasperation. "Why do you want to see that angry, bitter woman?"

"Please. I want to see if she's happy."

"And if she's not?"

"Tonn," Hepte says, "Sequin will see you again. Perhaps he will think he did not get such a good trade for his muskets after all. He will be angry and raise his prices."

"Muxomsa, please."

"Do not think about her," he orders, waving his hand impatiently. "Talk of something else."

"The gunpowder, then. This morning, after the powder sank into the river, we wanted to know what happened, in the same way we want to know the end of a story. What happened to Mrs. Stewart is like not knowing the end of a story.

"I don't know the word in Unami, but in English it's
curious.
Do you know this word, Muxomsa?"

"I know this word. You are sure that is all? Only
curious?
"

"Yes," I reply.

"Mrs. Stewart is the sort of person who is never happy. We gave her a new home, a new husband, a chance for new children. But still she was not happy. We should never have taken her, or we should have killed her along the way."

I think about all the times I cried myself to sleep when I was first captured. "Would you have killed me?" I ask him breathlessly.

"We talked about it."

"Father," Hepte scolds, then turns to me. "You are a good daughter and very pretty. We are worried Sequin will want you for himself."

"But if Sequin is happy with Mrs. Stewart, he will not raise his prices. He may even lower them. Please, Grandfather. You need a woman to carry food."

He gazes thoughtfully into the fire. I hold my breath and wait for him to decide.

"You may go with us."

I let out my breath. "May I speak English with Mrs. Stewart?"

"You may speak English with Mrs. Stewart. But if she is not happy, that is the end of it."

T
HREE DAYS LATER WE LEAVE
for Sequin's trading post. Hepte tells me to wash my face and hands in the river before seeing Mrs. Stewart. She tells me twice, then reminds me again. I think she doesn't want Mrs. Stewart to see me with dirty hands and a dirty face. Hepte doesn't want Mrs. Stewart to think that she hasn't been taking care of me.

Before we leave, Chickadee rushes out of the wigwam with my doll clutched in her fist.

"She will be lonely," she says, pressing the doll into my hand.

"Kamis Chickadee, you keep her for me."

When I give the doll back, Chickadee's eyes sparkle as she holds it close to her cheek.

We walk down the cliff trail and follow the river path north to Sequin's.

***

The leaves look like early September-that bright, solid green with touches of gold at the tips. The morning air has a snap to it; the evenings are wondrously clear. Little sassafras plants cover the forest floor. In the greenish sunlight we see deer and fawns grazing in the glades. When they see us, they bound away in fear, the mothers' white tails flashing between the trees like dogwood blossoms caught in a breeze.

We stop for a swim in a calm part of the Cuyahoga. The cold water feels good on my hot head and neck.

I am the last one out of the river. The men are anxious to leave. They scowl and complain that I am taking too long to dress; it will be dark soon, and we have a long way to go before then. I tell them it's hard tying thongs and squeezing into a too-small tunic. They just complain more. No one offers to help.

These men remind me of my father Campbell—distant, separate, and always in a hurry, with important things to do before dark.

Walking along the river this time, I notice funny-looking hills. They're not very big—thirty feet tall, I reckon. I could walk around one in a minute or two. The hills are always in groups of three or more. They're well away from the river, but not so far away that I can't see them in the leafy distance.

"Muxomsa." I point to them. "Odd-looking hills."

"Not hills exactly. Mounds. Ancient ones we call the Talega buried their dead in these mounds along with
jewelry, weapons, cooking pots: things they would need for the next world. The bigger the mound, the more important the person.

"In ancient times, we Delaware were known as Lenape. We Lenape fought bitter wars with the Talega. We fought for possession of the Oyo Hoking. The Talega won these wars, so we had no choice but to move farther east. Now here we are in the Oyo Hoking, and the Talega are long gone."

"The Talega are still in the mounds?" I ask. "Their bones? They were here when the
yah-qua-whee
were here?"

"Perhaps."

The next time we walk past a group of mounds, I run over and press my hands against one. Small trees jut out at odd angles. The bottom of the mound is honeycombed with burrows, probably woodchuck or maybe even badger. I peer into the biggest burrow, looking for the gleam of human bone.

"You saw the elephants," I whisper to the ancient bones in English. "What were you thinking, when you saw the elephants?"

***

It is early afternoon on the third day when we reach Sequin's trading post. The first surprise is a cow in the front yard. Her front legs are hobbled together and she is placidly munching grass. She looks up in a bored sort of way as we step onto the porch.

We enter the trading post. At first I can only stare, my mouth open so wide, my jaw feels as though it could
bang against my knees. Everything is as neat as a pin. The floor is swept. The copper cooking pots catch the firelight and shimmer from their hooks above the fireplace. No more smelly linens line the walls. The floor is no longer crusty with wads of dried chewing tobacco.

The fancy French furniture is shiny with wax, and the spotless windows and mirrors sparkle in the sunlight. I stare hard at the windows. Lace curtains!

Something delicious bubbles in a pot hanging in the fireplace. Steaming loaves of bread rest on the table, half hidden in linen napkins. The smell of freshly baked bread is like heaven and sets my mouth a-watering. A pretty woman in a lacy pink dress turns away from her cooking to look at us.