Louisiana History Collection - Part 1 (42 page)

Elise did not like the tenor of this line of conversation. Changing the subject, at least in part, she said, “The women of the Natchez have a great deal of influence and freedom, more than other Indian women or so I believe. How does that happen?”

“We are closer to the ancient times, the times before war.”

“Is that what you meant by saying ‘in the beginning’?”

The Indian woman was silent, staring into space for long moments. Finally she began to speak. “According to the ancient words, kept not by the guardians of the temple but by the oldest women, the Natchez in the beginning, long before we came to this place, were children of the moon. Women, the givers of life, the tillers of the fertile soil who made it give forth food, ruled. The council was a council of women, the ruler not one, but a trio of women: mother, daughter, and granddaughter. It was this trio who once blessed the marriage unions of men and women without the nonsense of capture, which is a mockery of the woman being stolen from her people. Women, in the ancient days, gave themselves freely without fear, for men, needing women and holding them sacred, courted their pleasure.

“Men, worshippers of the life-force, of the moon that in its waxing and waning controlled the periods of flow for the waters of the land as well as for women, the moon that is like the round belly of the pregnant female, were content to be ruled. They hunted to provide food, cleared the land to be planted, shared the houses of the women, and protected her and her children. All lived in prosperity and peace. So it was for generations beyond counting.

“Then came from the east a tribe who wanted our rich lands. They sought to take them by force, killing our people. The men were invited to join the council since it was their strength dig would be needed to repel the foe. Little by little they became important. The woman and mother was set aside as ruler. A man was set in their place as every part of life, the planting and gathering of food, the safe-guarding of the children, became the province of men because of the dangers of war.

“The guardians of the temple say that a white man and woman came down from the sun and dwelled among our people, bringing the worship of the gun. They claim this pair sired the race of Suns and gave us a command to be kind and generous to one another. But the women say that the sun became supreme because no battles are fought in darkness and because the hard brightness of the sun is the opposite of the gentle light of the moon. The women who were the priestesses of the moon were pushed out to make way for the stronger sun worshippers and men took over the tending of the temple. They stole the eternal flame, once the symbol of the safety of the hearth fire, claiming that it had been brought down to them by a man and woman who came from the sun itself, that bad fortune would befall the tribe if it ever went out. They said that no woman could be trusted to give up her freedom to tend the fire, though women have tended fire from the beginning of time. In truth, they want no woman to have that responsibility, for it implies leadership. The changes have been swift, compared to the countless years that had gone before.

“Now the men seek to keep women from the council; they hold meetings they consider important in secret, as was done when it was decided to strike at the French. They do this because they know the women would not agree, would counsel patience instead of attack. Soon, if we survive as a tribe, they will want to own the land and the huts, the cooking pots and even the children of our bodies. They will want to control us as the French do their women. Then will we be lost, indeed, for what will be their purpose except war, constant war? They cannot give life, only take it; that is their power. Without the use of this power, they must lose it. The role of women would become supreme again. The tribe would then revert to the women and this they will not allow.”

Women, always the givers of life, in spite of war and the cruelty it brought, the loss and the pain. It seemed right, somehow, that it was at that moment, as Tattooed Arm ceased to speak, that Elise heard Helene calling.

She jumped to her feet, running to the door that stood open to the fresh air of the day and the warmth of the afternoon. The pale-haired Frenchwoman, clasping her stomach, gasping, awkwardly trod the last steps to the hut, stumbling and staggering as she came toward Elise. She fell into her arms, her face contorted.

‘‘The baby, Helene cried. “The baby!”

15

IT WAS A beautiful child, a girl. The labor was neither long nor particularly hard. According to Tattooed Arm, it was normal for the first child of a healthy woman, even if she was French.

Elise was grateful for the older woman’s presence, grateful that she had stayed to help, that she had sent for the medicine woman who was also the midwife. Childbirth was something Elise had no experience with, though she thought she could manage the next time if there was a next time. The moment of birth had been one of such pain and stress, and yet such joy. It had been a small moment of glory.

Tattooed Arm had cleared the breathing passages of the child while the midwife worked on the mother. Then the Indian woman had given the baby girl to Elise, for she had other tasks waiting at her own house and had delayed long enough. It was Elise who, when Tattooed Arm and the midwife had gone, had bathed the tiny girl-child and soothed her until she slept. Helene had looked at her daughter, smiled, and fallen also into the sleep of exhaustion.

Many of the Sun women, having heard the cries of birth, had come to look at the new French child. They had made quiet noises, touched the small pink fingers as if there had never been such a baby before. They had brought small gifts: carved wooden animals, soft doeskin and mulberry cloth wrappings, rattles of small gourds. They had seemed uneasy that the child had not been bound immediately to a cradle board that would give her the handsome, flat contour of the head so admired among them, but they were willing to allow that the French were different. Of course it would be necessary, they seemed to think, when the mother returned to work; how else was she to carry a helpless infant about with her and still have her hands free for tasks?

No sooner had the last of these visitors left than the door was thrown open once more. Elise looked up to see Red Deer in the opening. The woman surveyed the sleeping mother and the child that Elise held. She folded her arms, her face set in rage.

“I had been told that my runaway slave was here. That you could be so stupid as to shelter her, I could not believe.”

Elise carefully put the baby down on the sleeping bench before rising to face the woman. “If you speak of Helene, she is indeed here. As you must see, she was in the extremity of labor and needed help, something it seems she was unlikely to receive from you.”

“For such useless a one, what should I do? It was my misfortune to be allotted a woman too far in pregnancy to abort so that I have had to put up with her weakness. It will be better now that she is rid of the baby. She will work much better.”

“She will have to nurse her and care for her,” Elise pointed out. “Perhaps it would better if she remained here in the house of the war chief since she will be of so little use for months to come.”

The woman gave a rude snort. “She will regain her usefulness soon enough without the baby.”

“Without — What do you mean?”

“Such a pale and weak thing as she must have brought forth will be better exposed in the woods.”

Horror moved over Elise as she stared at the other woman. She had known that such things were done to newborns who were abnormal, but there was nothing wrong with Helene’s child, nothing at all. Instinctively she stepped in front of the sleeping baby. Her voice hard, she said, “No.”

The mother of Path Bear laughed. “The child is my slave to do with as I will.”

“You will not touch it.”

“Who will stop me?” The woman put her hands on her hips.

Helene, waking at the sound of their voices, began to cry with a hopeless, animal sound. Elise looked with loathing at the Indian woman, then stepped to where Reynaud’s musket hung on pegs over the sleeping bench. With it in her hands, she turned to face Red Deer.

“I will stop you,” Elise said, her voice quiet. “I will stop you for now. You are a despicable woman who should have been banished with your son. I want you to leave this hut. If you return again, ever, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

“I won’t leave without my slave. The Frenchwoman must get up and come with me.”

The words were assured, but the woman had taken a step back toward the door. Elise shook her head. “She stays here. Get out.”

The woman blinked at the masculine tone of command, then recovered to glare at Elise with hatred as she moved backward. “This won’t be the end of it, you’ll see! I’ll go to the council.”

“You do that.”

“I’ll make such a noise that all my friends will come with me and take her away.”

“Will they? When they discover what you mean to do? I will tell them, you know, and I will make sure they know you could not recover your property by yourself. They will laugh at you instead of help you.”

“No matter what happens, my vengeance will fall on you!” the woman screamed and, turning, ran from the hut.

After much discussion they called the baby Jeanne. It was a common name, one that could be added to at a later time. Elise knew that Helene was thinking of the time when she might possibly be reunited with St. Amant and so applauded the suggestion as extremely sensible. If it encouraged Helene to dream of the future, so much the better.

It was late, well into the night, when the decision was made, the baby given her first feeding, and mother and child settled once more. The day had been so busy that Elise had had little time to worry. But now as silence fell once more and the darkness of midnight crept close without Reynaud’s return, her fears grew.

She stood for a long time at the door of the hut, staring into the night. Finally she stepped outside, walking to the foot of the mound of the Great Sun where she began to climb the sloping side. Near the top, she stopped. From where she stood, she could see the Choctaw camp. Fires still glowed there and the small figures of men could be seen passing back and forth in front of the flames. What were they celebrating? Was it a feast of mutual agreement or one of victory over the emissaries of the Natchez?

Frustrated by not knowing, hoping to be able to identify Reynaud in the distance, Elise stood staring for long minutes. The night wind lifted her skirt and blew tendrils of her hair around her face. Its breath was cool and she turned her shoulder cape to the front, holding it close around her and wrapping her arms in its width. Overhead the moon was on the wane. It shed its light onto the village, silvering the roofs and leaving the crooked paths between the huts in shadow. Away to the left were the Indian forts. The pointed ends of the logs that formed the walls had the look of blunt spears.

How long she stood there, she did not know. But after a time there was a stirring in the Choctaw camp. Men detached themselves from the fires and turned toward the sleeping Natchez village. A small party, they dispersed as they reached the outer fringe of houses, treading quietly, almost stealthily. Several turned toward the mound of the Great Sun.

Elise watched them come. One, ahead of the others, looked up. The moonlight gleamed on the copper features of the man for whom she had been waiting. She did not pause, did not stop to think. Swift and sure, she ran down the slope with her short cape flying out behind her. Her face bright with welcome and relief, she met Reynaud at the foot of the mound and flung herself into his arms. He caught her, whirling with her, pressing her to him. The other men of the Sun class averted their faces, moving around them.

A chuckle shook Reynaud as he held her close so that the cool globes of her breasts were pressed to his chest. “As shameless as a Natchez woman.”

Elise suddenly remembered that she had twisted her cape around and that her breasts were bare. Rather than withdrawing in confusion, she only turned her upper body from side to side, rubbing gently against him.

He caught his breath, then leaned down to slip an arm under her knees, lifting her against his chest. Setting his mouth to hers, sure of foot from long practice, he carried her to his hut.

At the doorway, he ducked inside, threading his way with her through the dimness illuminated only by the coals of the fire to their sleeping bench. He placed her on it, then stripped off his clothes and joined her there. Elise thought of Helene, lying in the darkness at the end of the room. It did not seem to matter. She freed herself from her clothes and flung them aside, turning against Reynaud with blind need. They flowed together with curves and hollows matched and interlocking, legs entwined. Mouth to mouth, they tasted the essence of each other, and with their hands, they alternately teased and held, pleased and clasped close. Finally he drew her to lie on top of him, leaving it to her to take him inside her when she would, to set the depth and pace of their joining. But in the end it was his tireless strength and his hands upon her that brought surcease to them and vanquished fear once more.