The Orenda Joseph Boyden (44 page)

As we turn from the table, the Crow clears his throat. “What if?” he says, standing too. “What of this idea you speak about, this coming together?” He looks at Fox and then at me. “Wouldn’t it make sense for our two villages to become one, at least until the threat passes?”

“You’d so easily give up,” I ask, “what you’ve started here?”

“Actually,” he says, “I thought it would make sense for your people to come here.”

I look at Fox, and he’s scowling yet again. “I’d rather die naked and freezing than come here begging for protection,” he says.

With that, we walk out and into the sunlight.

—

THEY’VE BUILT A
waterway into the village from the river, and as the light glitters across it something deep inside me makes me stop and gaze upon it.

“Look at that,” Fox says. “What are they up to?”

I’m not even able to answer. It’s as if I’ve seen this. “I think I’ve dreamed it before,” I tell him.

We walk the length of the stream to the palisades and back again. “It’s a good idea for drinking water,” Fox says.

I’m still wondering about its purpose when a couple of the hairy ones call down from the ramparts to others standing by the fence, who then lift a heavy piece of wood from the gate and swing it open, and I watch, amazed, as two canoes come paddling into the village. The men then swing the gate closed and wedge the wood back in place.

“Well,” I say. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

Again, Fox won’t admit being impressed. “I bet the mosquitoes are especially bad,” he says, “with all that stagnant water just sitting there.”

I laugh, but even as we walk away I can’t help but glance back at this little river.

We wander the village, taking in the strange sights. A number of houses keep the men who’ve come all this way, and the crows have built a large place for communing with their great voice, a shining cross inside on a platform, and many benches to sit upon. Another building stores corn in one room and small game in the other. If this is all of their supplies, the crows will be in grave trouble this winter. But most fascinating is that within the palisades and behind a fence are a few poorly built longhouses and Anishnaabe wigwams.

We wonder why these houses are separated from the rest of the village until we find Snow Falls sitting with the young one called He Finds Villages and Dawning of Day in front of a well-built longhouse. They explain that only Wendat who have accepted the great voice can live in the better houses.

“Why don’t you come back with us, He Finds Villages?” I ask. He had such promise before he went to the Crow.

“I’m useless now,” he says, holding up his left hand to show us where the fingers were severed. “Since I took the name Aaron, the world has been a more troubled place.” He laughs at his own words, words that none of us find funny. He picks up a birch cup and even from here I can recognize the smell from that night long ago in the hairy ones’ fortress.

“You like the taste of that?” I ask.

“It numbs the pain,” he says, holding the cup up to us.

Both Fox and I shake our heads. “I still remember the headache it gave me the night I tried it,” he says. “And that was a long time ago.”

He Finds Villages holds the cup out to Snow Falls. She looks at it, then at him, and finally, as if rousing herself from a dream, she shakes her head as well.

“He’s been drinking that stinking water and talking nonsense about himself for days now,” Dawning of Day says. “The hairy ones make it from apples and stir all kinds of strange poisons into it.” She looks at He Finds Villages. “They find it amusing to watch this one beg for it whenever he runs out.”

“In part, I like it because the crows hate when anyone drinks it,” he says, as if he hasn’t heard any of our conversation.

I shake my head at this foolishness. “Snow Falls,” I say, “it’s too late in the day to head home, but we’ll leave at dawn tomorrow.”

She nods. “Do you wish to come home with us?” she asks Dawning of Day.

Dawning of Day looks at her. “Will my family accept me back?” she asks.

I knew it was going to come to this. “I need to tell you that your family travels with Aataentsic now,” I say. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“All of them?” she asks. Her voice shakes. “That can’t be right.”

“If it’s any peace,” Fox says, “my family walks with yours now, too.”

Dawning of Day looks at me, and then at Fox, and finally, at Snow Falls. We watch the understanding cloud her face, her brow taking the weight of the news. “Were they buried properly?” she asks.

I nod.

“I should stay here for now,” she says.

—

THE SUN UP
, Fox leads us silently down the path, strung behind him at wide intervals so we can disappear into the forest at the first sign of trouble. I had an even harder time than usual waking Snow Falls this morning. When I entered the great voice longhouse and shook her, she cried out and pushed me away. She’s never been easy to wake, but getting her up today was exceptional. Aaron slept nearby, snoring. A flutter in my stomach told me something was wrong, but we had to get going.

Now, as we move up a ridge that will give us a view of the valley we’ll soon cross, Snow Falls stops and throws up. Holding her, I urge her to do it as quietly as she can for fear of alerting any enemy who might be around. My first thought is that she’s pregnant. I ask her as much.

“No, Father,” she says, again trying to push me away.

I can smell that stinking water on her now that we’re so close, and suddenly, I understand. She partook of it with He Finds Villages. The pain she feels serves her right, and maybe the long walk today in her condition will teach her something. I stand from her and move down the trail, slow enough that she’ll catch up. I look back and see her crouching there. She wants to tell me something, but I know her well enough that if I return to her side, her mouth will tighten up like a mussel. Despite not wanting to, I push ahead.

BLOSSOMING

My brain beats against my skull with each step. I’ve been poisoned. When Father asks me if I’m pregnant, I try to push him away with disgust, glimpses of last night and waking up with Aaron on top of me and of pushing him off and of feeling a burning. I’m so scared that my stomach won’t stay steady, and I can’t stop the foul water and heat that rush up from my belly and out my mouth. I’m so embarrassed to be weak.

The rest of the day I do everything I can just to keep up, no longer even caring if the enemy is nearby, for they will kill the pain in my head. I swear to myself that I’ll never touch that stinking water again. Just the thought of its smell makes me gag. Beneath the pain throbbing in my head, something even scarier scratches away. Worried about what Aaron did to me last night, when I know no one is looking I reach down and touch myself there. I’m sore and bruised. I remember sneaking out with him and tasting the poison, then tasting it again. I remember trying to be quiet sneaking back into the longhouse, and when I lay down the earth kept moving. I remember forcing myself to keep my eyes closed, even when I felt his damaged hand begin to explore my body. I try to remember more, but there is nothing. I’m so scared as I walk along the path that despite the heat and my sweating, I shiver. What did he do to me? What will happen now? What will I tell Carries an Axe?

I can tell how upset Father is, walking ahead of me so fast he often
disappears in the bushes and trees. At the open spaces we all sit on the edges and watch for enemies and game. After the last rest when they push ahead again, I can’t go on anymore, so I kneel down and pray to Aataentsic and even to the great voice, hoping one of them can hear me. I’m not sure how long I sit here, so tired my head begins to nod and I’m no longer fearful of being left behind. I cradle my head in my arms, and when I open my eyes again I’m staring into the large brown eyes of a deer that’s standing so close I can reach out and touch it. We’re so close I see its eyelashes, its nose quivering with my scent. Then it bounds away, its white tail twitching, when Father appears and motions for me to hurry up.

I put one foot in front of the other for the rest of the afternoon. Finally, when we reach the outer fields, I’m too tired to even care that so few of them have been sown this year with the three sisters. The village feels lifeless. Normally in the early evening, families would be visiting with one another and sharing meals, but not many longhouses have fires burning and the few people I see look like ghosts.

The loss doesn’t truly strike me until I walk into our longhouse and see that Fox’s place is empty of his wife and children. He and Father stand outside, smoking their pipes and talking. I’ve never been so happy to see my own sleeping mat. Carries an Axe hasn’t come by yet, and I consider going to his family’s home, but the call of my beaver robe is too strong and I crawl under it, soon falling into the darkness night brings.

—

CARRIES AN AXE
and I wander down by the river. He has both his bow and his club, worried about Haudenosaunee raiders. We watch the water go by and talk about the summer. I feel like we’ve grown up so much since the last one.

“Did you miss me?” he asks.

I shake my head, then look at him. He looks hurt. “Of course,” I say.

He leans over to kiss me, but rather than the heat he so easily builds in me, I feel scared. I tell him we shouldn’t right now.

“Why not?” he asks.

I lie and tell him I’m too frightened of the enemy sneaking about.

Carries an Axe goes quiet then, like he’s shut off all thoughts of me. I don’t like it. I lean over and kiss him on the mouth. “It feels too open here,” I say. “Let’s find somewhere safer, somewhere we can hide.”

He smiles and stands, reaching down for my hand. I’m nervous about what we’re about to do again. But I know now we’re going to do it. It’s only been a few times, both of us fumbling and giggling and trying too hard. Maybe this time will be a little better. I decide I want to find out, even though thoughts of the stinking water and of Aaron wake me from sleep like lightning every night.

As he leads me up a hill to a cliff hidden by trees, a view of the big water and the waves crashing on the beach below, I want to tell him about my fears. But then he’d immediately head to the crow village and kill Aaron. As we lie down and begin to kiss again, I push away all these worries and let myself go.

—

THE SUMMER PASSES
with the women in the fields, the men always watching for dangers we can sense but not see in the shadows of the forest. Rain falls and the crops grow, but so many of the fields haven’t been planted. Gosling, I’m surprised to see, has stayed with us all summer, which isn’t typically her way. She usually disappears for long stretches to visit with her people to the north. Most days, she works with us in the fields. She likes to make fun of us, of this work, of herself for doing it. “This isn’t natural,” she says, wiping her brow and looking up into the hot sky. “We Anishnaabe don’t slave like this in the summer when the world is kind to us. What a backward people you Wendat are.”

She’s taken, too, to spending more time with me. It only dawned on me recently that Father must have asked her to. He watches Carries
an Axe and me closely, and I know he’d be upset to learn of what we do with each other. She has no mother to teach her what she should be careful about, I can just hear Father saying to Gosling, so will you at least try and explain to her what a young woman needs to know?

But Gosling knows that when I spent last summer in the longhouse of the women, Carries an Axe’s own mother was one of the ones to teach me. I know Father worries. All fathers should worry about their daughters. It’s the way of the world.

Sleeps Long is happy for us, I can see. “You and my son will soon take up what so many who are no longer with us always wanted,” she says to me tonight as we sit by her fire. She and Tall Trees are having another child, and she rests her hands on her belly that’s beginning to show. “The sickness killed many dreams, but your dreams will be realized.” She reaches out to stroke my hair. She’s smiling, but when her hand touches my head, her brow furrows. “Your dreams will be realized, yes?” she asks, the uncertainty in her voice strong.

I nod and want to say something that will calm her. I don’t have the words. “I’ve learned to live each day, is all,” I say, speaking the truth without wanting to.

“In these times, I guess this is all any of us can do,” she says. “You’re a wise young woman, Snow Falls. You’re more than worthy of my son.”

—

WHEN THE RAIN COMES
this afternoon, we head in from the fields. I enjoy the feel of the drops on my face, but the other women move quickly, trying to get inside before the storm starts in earnest. I can feel it on the wind. A good one is coming.

Once we’re inside the safety of the palisades, the wind picks up. The rain’s no longer pleasant as it begins to pelt. I start to run for home but see that Gosling kneels by the door of her place, sheltered by her roof. She sees me too and waves. I walk up, soaked, and she makes room for me to enter.

The fire’s hot and warms my skin. I squeeze the rain out of my hair as Gosling comes to sit beside me.

She has something in her hand. She reaches out and opens it. A porcupine-quill box, the top of it a beautiful flower, blossoms from her palm.

“For you,” she says.

I look at the box and then back into her eyes.

She lifts her palm closer to me. “For you,” she says again.

I take the present into my own hands. I turn it around and then remove the lid. It’s empty.

“This is a gift for you and Carries an Axe,” she says. “Your lives will soon change.”

I look to her, my eyes questioning what she means.

“There’s rarely the need for your man to know everything,” Gosling says. “Happiness comes when you share only what you both know you need to share.”

I want to tell her I don’t understand, but she already senses this.

“There are times when you are not to blame for the actions of others,” Gosling continues. “When your trust is broken, or someone who is your friend takes advantage out of desire.”