My Last Summer at Home Part 2
- 2 years ago
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“We’ll not be staying long. Mataoka and I are getting married.” I stated slowly.
“Married? Oh my god, you haven’t! You can’t have!” ma implored. “The poor girl!”
“No, we haven’t“ Mataoka found her voice and there was an edge to it. “We need to marry first.” I knew she didn’t think my ma treated me fairly. I still don’t know if she knew who my real father was, or the circumstances in which I was made, though. Perhaps she’d have been softer and more understanding if she’d known?
“We want to get married. We are going to farm five days hinter from here,” and I waved westward. “Ma, pa, you’d like the spot we’ve picked. We have cleared a big field, and fenced it, and are building a proper cabin. You’ll like it when you see it.”
“You’re squatting,” dad stated, but not too accusingly. I just nodded, acknowledging the truth. There was some suspicion that some of our newer neighbors were squatters, paying a backhander to the bailiffs rather than a real tax. But nobody really blamed the squatters. There was land aplenty for all, and nobody much liked that the planters from down on the coast technically owned all the land inland, too.
“And you’re taking good care of Martha?” Eliza joined in.
“Martha?” ma queried, confused.
“Eh, Mataoka. She wants to be called Martha”
“Yes, I think so,” I looked sideways at Mataoka to check she was agreeing with me. “We sleep like brother and sister. With honor,” I added, suddenly nervous.
“We need to get married” my betrothed repeated with a small, meaningful smile.
“Pa,” I started, but a sudden jolt from him when I used that endearment told me to pause.
“Pa,” Eliza pleaded, “he is your son, true to you, in all ways that count.”
Pa nodded, letting it go, accepting something. Ma was looking at me curiously, too. There was no longer fear and shock on her face. Was she accepting me back, as well?
“Martha, you can sleep with ma. I’ll sleep in the barn with Harvey. Its only proper.” He hitched his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets and stared at the ground hard. “Have you two eaten? We have food.”
The next day ma and Eliza went off to fetch the Reverend. They couldn’t find him, but brought back his wife to meet Mataoka. Or Martha, as they were all calling her. I heard the gleeful shrieks and laughter when they met up in the farmhouse.
My clothes were all torn and I had no spares, and Mataoka’s tan dress and trousers were not fit to marry in, neither. Ma and Eliza set about sewing a proper, fine dress, reasoning that it would be good for Eliza’s wedding, too.
My clothes had been such a mess that, whilst Eliza had darned them, they were not nearly good enough to get married in. So the ladies made a concerted effort to get me presentable, too. We had brought some hides with us to barter, and pa had taken them in trade for our new clothes, an auger, two kettles, a sharpening stone, some supplies stuffed in small barrels – and a wheelbarrow to cart it all in. He had no saw he could spare. I wasn’t sure he got a bargain all the same, but the shortfall was a wedding gift.
Everyone knew about Pocahontas, but whilst Indian brides were not then illegal, it was becoming frowned upon. I knew my ma and pa were too close to us to even think about it, but I had the niggling suspicion that the Reverend might be dead against it. Luckily, his wife swung her full support behind us, reminding us how important marriage was to keep us from sinning. She had watched us grow up together, and I believe neither she nor Eliza were so surprised by the turn of events.
One complication was who was to give the bride away? Mataoka was nervous to go back to the Indian village, but the Reverend’s wife had no place for such qualms and decided to escort us over straight away. Eliza pleaded to go with us, this being the most exciting thing to happen in weeks and she didn’t want to miss anything. I set off to escort the ladies, knowing that being seen out and about now it was daylight would set the neighbors’ tongues wagging.
Mataoka’s father was a lowly brave, not close with the chief. Yet it was the chief that the Reverend’s wife marched straight up to, to announce the pending marriage. She had a manner that made it clear that what she thought best was what was going to happen, and everyone always did as she said. I understood that the Indians were very patriarchal, too, just like us, but they knew all about Queen Elizabeth and somehow thought that certain English ladies were above the men, and they accepted it. So the Reverend’s wife was treated like a queen, with the power of life and death that implied.
Mataoka was squeezing my hand tight the whole time. She avoided looking at her father. He didn’t look at her. But I thought he looked sad and drained.
Walla approached and shook my hand in the English way. He then asked Mataoka a few questions, in their language, and everyone listened intently. They babbled away and I guess Mataoka was recounting how we had it and everyone was most interested. This went on for several minutes, and then the chief interjected, in his kind of broken English, that he would be proud to give the bride away, and we all relaxed and smiled. Mataoka was led away by some of the chief’s wives and Eliza, the Reverend’s wife and I left soon thereafter. I paused and looked back as we left the village, seeing Mataoka in the center of a humming group of women, and seeing my dear friend Ahanu standing apart, aloof, threatening, angry. I felt a sickness take my stomach and I wanted to retch. I focused on putting one foot in front of the other and walking the white ladies home.
Everyone, and the whole Indian village, turned out for the wedding which followed the service that Sunday. We had been home just a couple of days but there was no wish to delay things. It felt so empty, sleeping so far from her when I was up in the hay loft and she was down in the house, and I couldn’t wait for us to be back as we were on our new farmstead, only closer.
Stevie
- 02.10.2022
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