Chapter 14 Introductions
Her escort shoved her along despite her compliance, though perhaps a bit less roughly than before. He led her toward the opposite end of the village from the place she had seen Aaron being led, and she had to work hard to keep her steps in pace with his. Finally entering the most distant building they entered without pretense, where he finally released her arm with a grunt of satisfaction, no doubt happy to be rid of her. She swayed but caught herself, glaring up at him despite the mocking smile on his face. With a fake bow of politeness he turned and took his leave as she hugged herself against another fit of shivering. She stayed where he had left her, squinting in an attempt to see into the darkened confines of the building.
It wasn't long before she realized that with her appearance all activity inside came to an abrupt halt. Grateful to be out of the cold after many hours of hard travel, she stared into the common room and began to count the eyes fixed upon her. There were nearly two dozen people inside, all interrupted from their morning activities by her arrival. Feeling conspicuous, she stared at the large fire burning at the center of the room, dazed by the heat beckoning her and the allure of the wonderful aromas rising from the cooking pots arranged around its circumference. Her stomach growled loudly as her mouth watered, distracting her from her fervent prayers for mercy both for her and Aaron's sake.
Three women moved slowly toward her, forming a semicircle as they studied her in frank fascination. Now that her eyesight had adjusted to the change in light, she noted how much taller and older in age they were. Suffering their silent and critical examination of her person, she became painfully aware of her muddy and damp men's clothing, crinkling her numb toes inside Jamie's heavy boots to restore their feeling. The oldest woman took a step closer to take hold of the tail of her hair, running her fingers over the tight braid she had wound as if to examine the texture of her hair. Another reached up and snatched off her hat, and still another picked at her baggy coat sleeve. The one holding her braid frowned, glaring at the others and firing off orders in perfectly executed French. Struggling to remember a language she had not spoken since her school days, Ceara met her mocking smile as she focused upon the one word she was sure of. It was the word preceding Aaron's mispronounced name.
Wife… the wife of Aah-ha-ron.
"Yes," she croaked, finding her voice and lifting her chin, "I am Aaron's wife," she confirmed in her best French. Inwardly pleased by their shocked expressions, she found herself barraged by a rapid question and comment session until she raised a hand to stop them. Attempting to explain her language deficiency she noted their concentration, which quickly turned to genuine amusement and snickers behind raised fists.
"So you know Aaron, " she attempted to say in French. "I wish…to see him."
Apparently unimpressed by her efforts, the elder stepped grasped her shoulders and turned her around to peel off her damp coat.
"Thank you," she gasped, shrugging one arm free without bothering to translate, "but I am quite capable of taking it off myself!" she stated, shaking her arm out with dramatic flare. As she studied the wet stains covering nearly all her clothing she heard the coat hit the woven husk mats with a wet slap. A woolen blanket swept around her before she could speak, yet she grasped it close despite its scratchy feel. "Merci," she breathed, nodding to the youngest woman before the elder took her arm and shoved her toward the fire. Shivering yet again, she tolerated their hands forcing her to sit before the fire, and then saw the humor in her situation. Laughing aloud, she felt her emotions unravel despite her worry for Aaron's predicament. Surely he had earned the chief's respect by now, she reassured herself based upon the rough kindness of these women.
They had left her alone by the fire, and she met the gaze of a boy of about 12 years of age as he spooned a thick, yellow porridge into his mouth. To her surprise he smiled and leaned forward, handing his bowl to her. Staring at him in disbelief, she noted how beautiful his dark eyes were, how finely formed his face and hands were. He grinned and nudged the bowl toward her and she took it with some reluctance, despite her hunger. When he rose and left the fire she quickly spooned some into her own mouth, closing her eyes in delight. The hot gruel slid over her tongue with warm sweetness, and she held it in her mouth to savor its taste and warmth. It was delicious and creamy, and when she swallowed it she moaned in delight, feeling it slide down the inside of her throat toward her stomach.
One by one the others joined her to eat, dining without comment with some haste. She spent the next few moments eating slowly, knowing that it was the wise thing to do after going so long with nothing to eat. Before she realized it her bowl was snatched away and she was being pulled to her feet. Despite her protests and thanks she was led down a hallway, passing by what appeared to be separate sleeping quarters. Overhead she could see ropes and bundles of food drying, corn and shafts of grains bound together, alongside tied stalks of herbs hung upside down. Everything that she could see spoke of careful planning and provision, which she found somewhat reassuring.
If only Aaron were here, she thought tiredly, wanting to ask for him but sensing her question would go unanswered, at least for the time being. She was escorted into a small room at the back of the longhouse, inside which the air was colder and the light dimmer. It appeared to be a small storeroom, yet as she stood by the women shoved barrels and bolts of fabric to one side to clear a space. Two adolescent boys entered after a short time, dragging what appeared to be a cornhusk mattress. They left while the women fussed over its condition, only to return with armloads of blankets and furs. In a few moments they had made up an inviting double bed, the sight of which made her nearly cry for joy. The boys left and her blanket was tugged from her hands as the women crowded around her once again.
Despite her protests and threats she found herself quickly rid her of her clothing, suffering their laughter and scolding for her attempts at modesty. Just as a blanket was wrapped around her one of the boys returned dragging a large metal tub. The other entered soon after toting two pails of water which he poured into the tub. The temptation of a bath caused her to display her best behavior as she waited, thinking that it had been nearly three days since her last one. When it was finally filled halfway the women parted and she was led to it, at that point not caring about her nakedness as they helped her into the warm water. Suddenly feeling drained and exhausted, she slipped under the lukewarm water and shivered, letting them scrub her and wash her hair without putting up a struggle.
Within half an hour she found herself dried, hair braided into two long braids and dressed as they were in leggings and a long overdress. Though she called for Aaron from time to time they shook their heads and finally led her to the bed, forcing her down and covering her up with several layers of blankets and furs. Wiping their hands and picking up her dirty clothing they filed out of the room and shut the crude door. Clutching the blankets to her chin, she listened to their low conversations as their soft footsteps led them away. Finally left in peace, she stared at the door, sensing someone stationed just outside to no doubt guard and block her way. Too tired to care anymore, she closed her eyes and gave in to an intense longing for rest. Her last conscious thoughts might have been dreams of Aaron's arms around her, his voice whispering into her ear.
The sound of heavy steps in the hall awoke her sometime later. Shooting to a sitting position, she glanced down at the Indian clothing she wore, momentarily confused and dazed. Remembering where she was, she shoved aside the bed coverings and sprang to her feet just as someone knocked upon the door. Aaron!
"Come in!" she called, surprised at the hoarseness of her own voice. Surely he would come to her at last, she expected as she stared at the door, smoothing her hair back from her face. When it opened to reveal an older man, a white man, she was both disappointed and surprised. Where was Aaron? she worried, watching the man lean close to speak to the young brave at his side. His eyes remained fixed upon her but she noted the respect he commanded from her guard as the boy nodded and left them alone.
"Allow me to introduce myself—"
"Where is Aaron?" she demanded, her eyes searching the empty space behind him in disbelief.
"Madame please—"
"He should have been back by now—"
"Won't you come join me by the fire, so that we may talk?" he soothed. "Though I regret to inform you lunch and dinner have passed since your arrival, but if we hurry we can catch breakfast—"
She flew toward him, gripping his arm with both hands. "Please, sir, tell me where he is," she pleaded. "Is he all right—I confess to fearing for his safety and health!"
To her astonishment he chuckled and tugged the arm she gripped with both hands. "I am sure Aaron is fine," he apologized, patting her hand in reassurance. "You will no doubt see him as soon as he is free."
"Truly?" she breathed, forcing herself to loosen her grip on him. "I'm sorry—it is just that I have not seen him since our arrival—"
"Please, come join me for a bite," he suggested, leading her out of the room and down the hall toward the great room. "My name is Harrison Mitchell, incidentally," he stated her, stretching his arm toward the fire where the older women were clearing away the used pots and bowls. When they saw him they smiled shyly, encouraging them both to sit before serving them. He conversed with them in their native language, and after listening for a moment Ceara decided the language beyond her ability to learn. It contained many sounds voiced from the back of the throat rather than the tongue, heavily accented with whatever native language they spoke. She marveled at Aaron's competence in speaking it, vaguely hoping it would earn him some amount of favor.
"Now then, tell me your name," he ordered gently.
She did, thanking the girl who handed her a bowl of porridge before she stared at him in gratitude. "You are very kind, sir—I must admit it a relief to meet someone who speaks English."
He nodded, holding his bowl between both hands. "A moment to give thanks," he requested, closing his eyes and praying for a blessing upon their food and time together, and for Aaron to be free from whatever responsibilities were detaining him.
Ceara studied him covertly as he prayed, wondering about his presence in this place. It was obvious that he was not a captive, but judging by his clothing and grooming he had not grown up among the Indians. For one thing, the native people respected him a great deal, extending respect and deference to him.
"In the name of our blessed Lord, amen," he finished, opening his eyes and looking into her open stare.
"Amen!" she added softly, too curious to feign polite conversation. "What are you doing here, Mr. Mitchell?"
He swallowed the spoonful of gruel and smiled. "Having breakfast with you," he teased. "And it is 'Reverend' if you aren't comfortable calling me by my given name."
Her eyes widened as realization dawned. "You're a missionary!" she whispered, glancing around but seeing that their conversation earned no apparent interest. Daily activities continued without interruption as they ate.
"That I am," he chuckled, nodding toward the main group of people working in the kitchen area. "But fear not, Ceara—may I call you by your given name?" When she nodded, he continued. "You are surrounded by Christians, in fact very devout ones if I have judged them correctly."
She took a moment to examine her surroundings with that revelation. "So you have had success, then?" she asked, sampling another spoonful of the delicious gruel.
"Yes, praise God," he said after swallowing. "The Oneida have the most open hearts and spirits I have ever encountered among Iroquois."
Feeling a bit more relieved, Ceara studied his intelligent face. "Then they will not torture or greatly mistreat us," she hoped.
He chuckled again. "I doubt they will, but you are wise to be cautious," he told her. "Their brother Iroquois are another matter entirely."
She shrugged. "You never know what to expect from Indians."
His gaze narrowed upon hers. "Nor the Whites, for that matter."
She swallowed and searched his features with frank curiosity. "Have you seen my husband since his arrival, Mitchell?" she asked carefully.
"No, I confess that I have not," he admitted. "In fact, I have only just arrived myself, called to the same council meeting no doubt."
"Aaron is in a council meeting?" she breathed, finally understanding what was taking so long.
"That is my understanding," he admitted, "and I look forward to seeing him again—Aaron is a good friend of mine, one of the best in many ways."
She turned her attention back to her breakfast, hoping he would not see the blush rising up her neck. "I am honored to meet any friend of his," she said quietly.
"I was overjoyed to hear of his having married," he said gently, waiting for her to look up. When she did he smiled. "For me, it is an answer to prayer."
And for me, she thought, keeping her expression calm. What would he think if he knew theirs was only a marriage of convenience? "We were only just married, Reverend..."
"Ah, I see—how long had you known each other, before deciding?" he wanted to know.
Embarrassed, she felt his gaze studying her closely. It was no use hiding the truth from an old friend of Aaron's, much less a minister of God. "Not long…you see, sir, it was a marriage of convenience, though I have the utmost respect for Aaron—"
"Convenience?" he whispered, his spoon held aloft as his brow wrinkled with concern.
"Yes…we found ourselves facing difficult circumstances at the time, and marriage provided a sensible solution."
He gazed at her critically a moment before he seemed to catch himself. "Respect is an important element in any marriage."
"Yes, sir...I agree."
There was a lengthy pause, during which she ate two spoonfuls of gruel, finding her stomach already satisfied. Somehow she sensed his disapproval, though his expression was reserved. After a moment his brows raised but to a barely noticeable level.
"You are fond of him, however?" he ventured to ask, making it sound like a casual question.
"Oh yes, sir," she breathed, glancing down at her half filled bowl. "Very fond..."
He breathed deeply, capturing her attention. She could see the distress in his expression as he shook his head. "Aaron has had a very difficult life, my dear…"
Though she waited for him to elaborate, he only nodded. "He is however a man of his word, and will surely honor his commitment to you."
Whatever that is she nearly replied, sensing they both wondered the same thing. She felt the creep of apprehension tickling up the back of her spine.
"Yes," she breathed, thankful that two of the women were headed in their direction to apparently interrupt their discussion. "I am sure he will."
Aaron stepped outside the meeting house, squinting against the bright light of day as he waited for whoever had summoned him from the crucial meeting. Gazing toward the far end of the village he spotted Wenonah marching toward him and knew that it must have been her. She was the only one with enough power to interrupt such crucial negotiations.
Sure enough, she strode up to within two paces of him and shoved her hands unto her hips, signaling the inevitable. He held her accusing glare as he massaged the back of his neck, ready to hear her latest report.
"I am through with this responsibility," she complained, nodding toward the council meeting which was already two days into motion. "Ask to be excused at least until tomorrow morning."
He gazed past her toward the longhouse where he knew Ceara was waiting for him. "What is it now?" he sighed.
The elder crossed her arms. "Having breakfast with the Reverend," she said tightly. "He at least was gracious enough to heed my request."
Aaron swerved his gaze back to her disapproving frown. "Mitchell is here?"
"Breakfast—while the rest of the village is preparing supper!"
"Are they getting along well?"
"Why don't you go see for yourself!" she accused, pointing her finger at him. "It is long past time you see to your own wife."
"The Chief will never approve—"
"I will speak to him—"
"But it's my fault the balance was thrown off—"
"Men are impossible!" she spat, throwing up her hands. "If it weren't for your little wife I would be in that meeting—ever since your arrival she has been asking for you, concerned for your wellbeing as if we were mistreating you—"
"I'm sorry, Wenonah—she doesn't understand the situation—"
"Because you have not told her, have you?"
He looked away, effectively chastised. "I haven't had the opportunity."
She huffed in protest. "I thought you should also know that she has attempted to escape several times and we have had to place a guard at her door every night to prevent her interrupting the meeting."
Aaron looked up, meeting her gaze and realizing how he had overestimated Ceara's capacity for patience. "I will make an inquiry to be dismissed early," he agreed. "Until then Harrison will keep her occupied—"
"The duty is yours, not his!" she hissed. "He was called to attend, and awaits the Chief's summons."
"All right—perhaps he can take my place until the recess for dinner—"
She gripped his sleeve. "Spend the night with her," she advised, keeping her voice low. "It is only natural for those newly wed to do so—the council will understand, in fact encourage it."
Torn between taking her advice and braving the ultimatum he was withholding until the proper time, Aaron weighed his choices. He had endured two long days listening to the reports of each council member in an effort to prove his support and deference; perhaps it was finally time to speak up. He only hoped doing so would not prove premature. Ceara needed him, and he was more exhausted than he'd felt in days, to the point where he was finding it difficult to concentrate.
At his hesitation her eyes narrowed on his. She released his arm and put her hands back onto her hips. "You have not consummated the marriage have you?" she whispered disapprovingly. He pursed his lips but she continued. "That young woman needs you, and she deserves an explanation."
He shook his head. "We were married under duress—"
"That no longer matters—I speak boldly in the absence of your own elders who might advise you."
"I respect your wisdom—and I appreciate all that you've done."
She nodded, her glare softening. "I will speak to the chief on your behalf," she said, her eyes darting to the brave who stepped out to escort him back in. As Aaron nodded to him she linked her arm through the brave's. "In fact, I cannot think of a better time to do it," she announced, preceding him inside.
By the time Reverend Mitchell excused himself it was late afternoon. Time had passed quickly, and Ceara was confident that he would keep his word, assuring her that at his earliest opportunity he would speak to Aaron on her behalf. As she stood at the entrance of the longhouse watching him make his way toward the council meting, she pondered all that they had discussed during their walk through the village. Not only had he shown her the school and church he had established among the Oneida, but he had also given her a glimpse into a bit of Aaron's past.
They had met nearly five years earlier at a trading post downriver and had been friends ever since. At the time, she learned, Aaron had been working with a local silversmith as a craftsman, all the while gathering information he secretly forwarded on to the office of General Washington. Doing business with a wealthy Tory clientele as well as British officers stationed in the area, he had traveled throughout the northern colonies as an intelligence officer working under the cover of his craft. At times when deemed necessary he would appear from some obscure assigned post and serve directly under British command in Boston, only to be routed off on special assignment to take care of Crown military business. Rev. Mitchell was his only confidant with the exception of Captain Burke, and all three men knew each other well.
She had learned that it was only recently that Aaron had concentrated his covert efforts upon building and nurturing an alliance between the Oneida and local patriots, a dangerous preoccupation in what was predominantly Loyalist territory. As Rev. Mitchell quietly shared his experiences with Aaron, she knew that she had been given a wonderful opportunity to see the value of his character and reputation, and her respect for him grew considerably. To her great regret, however, Rev. Mitchell knew nothing of what his life had been like before he entered military service. His family and background were her primary interests, yet she had no idea where he hailed from or what his family was like. Did he have a large family, or was he an only child? What other friends did he have, and what were his interests and hobbies? All these details unfortunately remained a mystery.
By the time Rev. Mitchell had already disappeared from sight and she noted the sinking sun, she turned and nodded to the brave guarding the entrance, stepping back inside. Pulling off the woolen blanket serving as her cape, she scanned the great room for a sign of the woman under whose charge she had obviously been placed. Finding her strangely absent, Ceara realized that she did not even know her name and therefore could not ask her whereabouts, even in her broken French. Feeling useless and bored, she watched the women working to prepare dinner and determined to help. It seemed they were busy preparing what could only be categorized as a great banquet of some sort, hopefully one that would mark the end of the council meeting and so release Aaron from his duties to attend. Maybe she could join these women and get in as part of the servers, she thought with a glimmer of hope.
Already forewarned by Rev. Mitchell not to sneak into the closed meeting, she eyed the brave who was studying her in silence and signed with resignation. There had been no way to escape without his notice so far, and his replacement was even more adept at tracking her whereabouts. Approaching the women she gestured that she wanted to help, and was promptly put into service scrubbing winter squash to prepare it for boiling. So began her plan to insinuate herself into the wait staff who would probably be carrying the food into the meeting. It might just be possible, with her female overseer absent, she smiled inwardly. All she wanted was a change to see her husband, catch his eye and somehow let him know that they needed to plan their escape. Surely he would agree that that although they were not quite prisoners here, neither were they free to come and go as they pleased.
Taking her assigned place at the crude wooden counter, she dried the tough outer skins and cut them open, scooping out the seeds before they could be cooked. Admittedly, she had been treated well enough since being brought to this house, and no one had disturbed her while she slept half the day of her arrival and halfway into the next. Because of this she felt unusually well rested, with more stamina than she had felt in a long time. Yet as she carried the squash to the kettles and set it to simmer, she worried over Aaron's health. It was doubtful that he had been given the same privilege, whether by force or by his own choosing. It had not been long since he had risen prematurely from his sickbed, and ever since that day he had endured difficult circumstances with only a few hours of sleep.
Sitting before the simmering kettles of squash, she poked at the pieces with a long fork, wiping the perspiration from her brow with the back of one hand. It was surprisingly warm inside, and she had to admit the furnishings were adequate though somewhat crude. Glancing overhead at the food hanging from the ceiling, she took a deep breath and inhaled the pleasant aromas of the feast being prepared.
What would it be like, she wondered, to cook and make a home for Aaron? Had he even enjoyed such a luxury, given his work and traveling? Or did he make his home here, or at the inn where they had stayed? How much longer would it be until they set out for Fort Schuyler, and see her brother? What would Aaron do after that, continue on his way? Go off to war and leave her there? All these questions plagued her and made her desperate to see him, to talk to him. It would be a wise thing to do, she told herself, to set all these aside and content herself with just seeing him again. Anything beyond that would be entertaining fantasy. So, following Rev. Mitchell's advice, she vowed to have faith that despite the fact that their future hung before them like a dark empty space, a greater hand was at work guiding and protecting them.
Suddenly there was a flurry of activity and exclamations of concern among the women, and she turned to see them rushing about. Just then the elder woman she had sought was there, standing at the entrance. Behind her was a glorious sunset, shocking Ceara by the amount of time she must have passed daydreaming. Rising and setting aside the fork, she turned to face her as she came directly toward her. Trying not to stare at the beautiful costume she was wearing, Ceara realized how attractive a woman she was, with her hair bound beneath a beaded cap, her wise eyes and nearly perfect skin. Wondering how old she was, Ceara noted the formal black overdress and leggings that were decorated with colorful designs of flowers. As she forced a smile the woman reached for her arm without saying a word and led her back toward her room, speaking to two of the women to come along. Whatever fate they had planned for her, Ceara decided to cooperate or suffer the punishment of solitary confinement in her room, with a guard posted at the door.
Pushing open her door, the woman urged her inside, the other two chattering excitedly as they began to unbraid her hair and unlace the back of her tunic. With a fervent protest upon her lips she glanced toward the bed and stopped, catching sight of the clothing laid out upon her bed. Tearing her gaze from the beautiful dove grey tunic with white beadwork and matching leggings, she turned to the woman in surprise, laying a hand over her heart.
"For me?" she gasped, noting with some amazement the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. She nodded and crossed her arms as Ceara shook off the women's hands and clutched her ordinary garment to her breasts.
"I can dress myself!" she insisted, stepping away from them toward the bed.
"You must hurry if you wish to see your husband," a commanding voice spoke in perfect English as Ceara whirled around to face her.
Their gazes collided a moment before Ceara found her tongue. "You speak English!" she accused, approaching her woman as she nodded to the women concerning some preordained task. "You let me struggle with French all this time—"
"It was a learning experience, oui?" she answered, her eyes twinkling with humor.
Considering this a moment, Ceara nodded reluctantly and stepped out of her plain leggings at their urging, holding onto the arm of the nearest one in order to keep her balance. "I suppose one might say that; now may I ask your name, Madame?"
The woman watched with approving eyes as the formal garment was dropped over her head and fastened at the back of her neck. "Wenonah," she answered, "but we haven't long before we must serve the council their evening meal."
Ceara stepped into the soft grey leggings and fastened them around her waist. The fit was perfect, though she doubted they had been made for her. "Is he well?" she dared ask her.
The elder's brow furrowed a bit. "He needs to rest," she answered, "and we have had to insist that he do so."
Letting the women undo her hair, Ceara studied her aloof expression. "Are you saying that he has willfully stayed away?"
"Not at all: yet his presence was of vital importance to our shared purposes."
"Rev. Mitchell has spoken to me about Aaron's work among your people, yet I wonder about the rough treatment we suffered during our journey here."
Wenonah frowned. "It was Tuscarora who brought you to us," she stated. "They were not aware of your husband's importance."
"Tuscarora?"
"Our younger brothers," Wenonah added, reaching for a small clay bowl and handing it to the younger woman. "They do not always share our love for peace."
"Is that what Aaron is fighting for, at the council meeting?" she could not help asking.
"Unfortunately it is the opposite," Wenonah answered, following her to the bed where she sat down and pulled on a matching pair of soft moccasins. "Your patriot cause suffers greatly by our brothers who have chosen to remain loyal to the British Crown. Your husband has been working hard to convince the Six Nations to unify with us by changing their allegiance against the Crown."
Ceara nodded, not sure she wanted to hear this woman's side of the story when Aaron had told her nothing of the situation. As she sat back at their urging, she looked up at Wenonah sheepishly. "I did not realize the importance of the situation …I hope you will accept my apology for behaving like such a harridan earlier."
Wenonah put her hands on her hips, her expression puzzled. "Harridan?"
Ceara laughed softly, feeling her color rise. "It means a person who is scolding and unpleasant in their manner."
For a moment it seemed that Wenonah might burst out laughing, but she restrained herself. "Apology accepted; now we must concentrate on making you even more beautiful so that your husband will not be able to concentrate."
Again Ceara felt momentarily speechless, making Wenonah's smile even broader. "But I thought you supported his efforts—"
"I did until he just issued the ultimatum everyone had hoped to avoid," she explained. "For now the chief thinks it wise he dismiss himself to avoid alienating the others. It has now become a matter for Iroquois consideration alone. It is our hope that, so as not to offend your husband, your presence will provide him a distraction in order to soften the blow of our dismissing him outright. That way he earns their greater respect by knowing when to let us make our own decisions and dismiss himself as diplomatically as possible."
"He wishes to preserve Aaron's reputation?" Ceara asked softly.
"Of course: you may not know this about him, See-rah," Wenonah said, using her name for the first time. "But your husband can be overzealous at times, not always realizing the danger in which he places himself."
"Would not my presence weaken his reputation?" Ceara wondered, fearful that she might have already said or done something to make the situation worse.
"On the contrary, your presence will excuse his behavior," Wenonah said confidently.
"I don't understand—"
"Rev. Mitchell has been teaching us about marriage," Wenonah stated, a teasing glint in her eyes. "He has shown us the commands in Scripture concerning the newly married man."
Intrigued, Ceara waited for her to explain what she meant. She had never heard of such a thing herself.
"According to Scripture, a newly married man must not work for an entire year, but instead take time to care for, cherish and pleasure his wife."
Ceara felt herself redden, for once thankful that the other women did not understand her language. "I was not aware of that advice," she said thickly.
Wenonah laughed softly and laid a hand on her shoulder. "The chief has asked Rev. Mitchell to enlighten your husband as well," she added. "When you have coaxed him from the meeting, then Rev. Mitchell will share it with the others present. It should help to lighten the mood considerably."
"I should say so," Ceara breathed, glanced away in embarrassment. She tensed as someone fastened her beaded braids atop her head.
"You will enjoy your privacy together for two days' time, after which you will be escorted on your way," Wenonah continued. "Your horse is being well cared for in the interim. No one will disturb you until that time."
Ceara had wondered about Pierce's fate, and as she was urged to her feet she smiled gratefully at them. "Thank you all for what you have done for us," she replied. "We are in your debt."
"You owe us nothing," Wenonah said regally. "Now, shall we prepare to serve the men?"
As they rejoined the other women and stacked the food onto great wooden trays, she lifted hers and moved into line, her thoughts on their conversation. Never would she have guessed they would be treated in such a manner, especially by Iroquois. But reminding herself to take nothing for granted, she stood tall and followed the others down the steps and across the common area toward the meeting house. Resting in the plans already made for them, she began to prepare herself mentally and emotionally for what just might prove to be their first night together without the weight of Aaron's responsibilities weighing down upon them. She smiled at the thought of their conspiracy, thinking it fit that he was being ordered to rest. If left to himself, she doubted he would ever choose to do so. And even better, she was to have a part in forcing him into it.
c. 2008 by Christine Levitt