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One of the old braves shot one of Mataoka’s tame opossums and there was a big shouting match and I stood on the side-lines as Walla tried to mediate. I did learn some interesting derogatory Indian words, though! Mataoka’s claim that all coons and possums were off limits were met with derision by the braves, who were unable to accept that a woman could demand anything.
In the end, to my surprise, I was asked to rule on the matter as the village chief!
Of course, I knew what warmed my bed at night and I looked into my wife’s eyes, seeing her angry determination to prevail. I sat on my log and pondered the problem, trying to see some way out of the mess, while the braves sat in concentric rings around me and the womenfolk stood to the sides, whispering and scowling.
After a few minutes I sensed everyone was becoming restless and I had to rule and rule quickly. Then inspiration struck! The right words came out, even though I had not thought them nor thought them through previously.
I laid down the law that hunting at the top of the valley above the cliff was off limits.
This compromise let the braves boast about how they were going to hunt all the racoons and opossums dead anyhow. And it let Mataoka and I regain some of the privacy and seclusion we had previously had by our cabin. The squaws rarely went up there, and with hunting forbidden up there, now the braves would stay away too. I was hopeful.
And, best of all, Mataoka was pleased with my decree and especially pleased that I was the temporary village chief. As the temporary village chief’s squaw she got respect from the other squaws.
Were we really going native?
I was building a bigger pen for the hens which had begun to lay, when Mataoka came alone to find me. “Ma has the children“ she explained in Indian tongue and gave me a sly smile. I could read her body language and knew she had changed into her buckskin dress so we wouldn’t tear her English clothes. I looked around, making sure we were alone; you could never be too careful, for the Indians foraged and hunted all over, and paid no heed to the English concepts of property and privacy. Mataoka scanned too, doubtless measuring the distance to the nearest fallen tree she might fall across. Our games never got old.
“Come on, let us bathe so I smell as nice as you” I cajoled, knowing that my wife would like and need that anyhow. We slipped away, leaving the pen for another day, hand in hand towards our little warm spring pool.
We hurried, the urge urgent, Mataoka unbuttoning my shirt with one hand as she squeezed and pulled my hand with the other, tugging me towards the pool. Her eyes were wide dark pools of their own into which I wanted to swim.
And then, as we were almost upon our bathing place, Mataoka came to a sudden stop in front of me, pushing into me to get me to stop, too. She put her hand to her mouth to quieten me, and then silently spun her head around and looked down the path ahead of us. She had heard something, sensed something, and we were not alone!
Then I heard it too: a soft stifled moan from up ahead! Mataoka, eyes wide, spun back to me and covered her mouth to stifle a giggle of her own. Then she tried to cover my eyes, which made me look ahead at our bathing place, which was clearly already occupied.
All I could see was the distinctive pale white skin of my sister, half out of the pool, her long blonde hair a darker, wetter color and her face and neck flushed. Darker still, a small delicate head bobbed in the pool before her, nestling to her bosom. Mataoka pushed me backwards urgently, and turned me around, and led me away to give my sister and her companion privacy.
We saw them pass the cabin a while later, their hair still wet, hand in hand, looking like two maidens, just friends, anywhere. “Kanti,” Mataoka whispered, naming her and pointing her delicate finger as she passed with my sister. They didn’t see us, being too busy hurrying away from their tryst, Eliza still a flushed, pink glow.
Mataoka pounced and pulled me out of the cabin when they had gone, and we rushed back to our pool to take our turn to wash and relax.
Our guests had been camped in our sanctuary for almost a whole month when the old man who had been sentry up on the ford ridge came running into the summer camp, sounding a loud bird call in alarm. All the womenfolk started gathering up the toddlers, swiping at the youngsters and getting everyone up and ready to flee west towards the site of the new village and away from the approaching English. Within minutes, the camp was deserted except for Eliza and my family of four. We figured I’d take my chances with the white man but that it was best that the women and children hide up at the cabin. Perhaps it would just turn out to be our pa, come to check that Eliza had reached us safely.
It was a nervous half day before the party reached us. I had left the coals to burn down, thinking if I doused them the plume of steam would be seen for miles. My charcoal was so clean it gave off almost no smoke, anyhow. The ladies hid in a wigwam, debating whether it was safe to head up to the cabin, while I stalked out and hid near the path, awaiting our unwelcome new guests. Why were they coming? What did they want?
The party was but just a dozen men, but they were well-armed with both muskets and pistols. All had long knifes or swords, too, and several had breast plates and helmets, although none were gentlemen.
And to my surprise, in their midst, was our Johnathon!
And their leader was that Simon, the blacksmith’s apprentice from town. A sour, bullying bull of a man, he looked around at everything as though it was beneath him. He was putting on the airs of a gentleman although all knew him not to be one.
I stood up as they approached, and surprised them at how close I they had come without seeing me. They were not very used to being out in the forest and they looked hungry and tired. But hungry, tired men can have the poorest judgment, so I was nervous they might just shoot me dead.
Trying to appear to be nice, I invited them into my summer camp. They looked around at the dozen or so large wigwams but didn’t really realize that all this wasn’t just for me and my family. Eliza must have decided not to go back to the cabin with the children after all, for she came out and stood regally beside me.
“There you are!” Jonathon exclaimed and stepped forward quickly to reach out for her. Eliza flinched and ducked in behind me, using me as a shield between her and him.
“Pa was so worried when you ran off,” Jonathon added, answering one of the many questions I had had about Eliza’s escape. “I promised to find you.”
I sensed Eliza shudder under the hungry stare of all the men. Out here, in backcountry, outnumbered and underarmed, could I really protect her? Did God’s commandments still apply? Would they just take her and use her and kill me for trying to stop them? Were the old braves watching, waiting, protecting me? But how would they fare against men with guns anyhow? My throat was dry with fear that I tried not to show.
“Anyway, where’s your squaw?” Johnathon turned and asked me, a sneer on his face.
“You mean Martha?” Eliza answered for me. “She is around,” Eliza swept her hand around casually, “caring for your niece and nephew. It is so good of you to visit us with your friends. Would you like supper? Have you had a good hunt? This is a long way to have come hunting!”
“Oh, we’ll be hunting, alright,” one of the yobs joked, and the others cracked grins. “You ain’t seen no Indians hereabouts, have you?”
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