Her pleas fell on deaf ears. Pulling her along, the women were cheerful, speaking in their language and smiling. Juliet was mystified at their friendly treatment, a remarkable departure from their earlier conduct.
Up close, she noticed the women’s many ear piercings and necklaces carved from the nacre of fresh water mollusks and shining like rainbows. Where giant oak trees extended their branches like great arms over the sun-dappled river, they removed their clothes. Wading into the water, they motioned for her to follow.
Juliet’s cheeks burned with their lack of modesty. She had been brought up with a certain mode of dress and deportment and possessed highly instilled values not to exhibit any skin. As a midwife, she had been exposed to women during childbirth but they were under sheets and were clothed in a dressing gown.
To be so open and free?
They motioned for her to disrobe. Juliet shook her head and clapped her hands on her tattered skirts and dug her boots into the squishy mud along the river bank. They emerged from the water and surrounded her, their breasts jiggled and dark nipples unnerved her, their long dark hair wet and plastered upon their skins. Unable to understand them, she looked at the sky, the sun beating down on them, anything to avoid their nakedness. They pushed her down into the mud, tugged off her boots and yanked her into the water, splashing and frolicking.
A great blue heron, unhappy with the uproar, lifted from its rookery, beat its great wings and vanished down the river in a thin gray line. Laughing the women took hold of her and tore at her garments.
“No!” said Juliet, pushing away their hands. “Stop it.”
But the women were too many. When one of the women produced a knife, Juliet backed away. Was this a sacrificial ceremony?
Juliet dodged one woman and with her weight upended another. She picked up her skirts, and rushed to the opposite embankment, her sodden clothing like an anchor around her legs. Smiling and chattering, they grabbed hold of her again and guided her to the middle of the river.
The woman with the knife cut away her garments. Her chemise floated on an eddy, her petticoats snared on an upended log, and what was left of her shredded dress caught in the current and drifted downstream. She crossed her arms in front of her breasts to hide her nakedness. What would she wear?
If only she could swim away and hide in the reeds.
Squeezing her eyes tight, she conceded as hands rubbed, starting with her neck, down her back and arms, removing the accumulated dirt and grime. Her nerves danced, her brain raced, and her stomach somersaulted.
She opened her eyes.
The sand was abrasive and reddened her skin. The women reached to the river bottom, scooping up more grit and scrubbing her clean. She pushed their hands away, a worthless endeavor. They were resolved to bathe her.
Juliet stared at a young beautiful pregnant woman, her stomach enormously protracted. She gracefully sat beneath a willow, the branches swayed as if paying her homage. Two women attended her. No doubt the woman was near her time and they planned to assist her if necessary.
An old woman smashed a tuber against a rock and rubbed with her palms vigorously until bubbles appeared, and then nodded her head to the women to hold each of Juliet’s arms at right angles from her body. Trapped, they splayed her legs, allowing the woman to lather the foam over her. As they cared for her, their hands gentle on her bruises, and voices comforting, Juliet felt herself begin to relax, banishing some of her fear.
Hands moved about her waist, and neck and back, and they commenced to sing, a melodious tune that seduced her into its sinuous rhythm. Hands swirled around her breasts, the startling sensation causing her to inhale sharply.
“You must stop. It isn’t proper.” She tried to jerk her arms free but they laughed and held her all the more, the silky soap gliding over her sensitive nipples, her face a hotbed of shame.
The women oohed and aahed, spanning their hands, making note of her hips and nodding their heads in approval of what she supposed was her contrasting white skin and ability to bear children.
They pressed her under the ice-cold water and held her there. Were they trying to drown her? She fought to the top, sputtering and wiped her hair from her eyes. The woman lathered foam through her hair, massaging her scalp.
Oh, to be clean again. They pushed her under again to rinse and ushered her to shore. A blanket was wrapped around her and she was led through the village. Warriors gaped at her as she clutched the blanket to hide her nakedness. She was escorted to a small lodge where they left her.
She pressed aside a deerskin tarp and let her eyes adjust to the dim interior. Heat fired to the roots of her hair. Father Devereux gazed heavenward. Two Eagles grunted. Joshua, laying against furs, stared.
She cleared her throat and pulled her damp hair out. She managed the blanket as much as possible to conceal her state of undress and knelt next to Joshua, smoothing her hand across his brow when all she wanted to do was pull him into her arms and soothe him.
His paleness and loss of blood distressed her. The gash in his head and congealed blood beneath the legging of his thigh alarmed her. The actions of the Indians, Father Devereux’s frustrating translations revealing little, and the day’s events remained a mystery. “Is it a tribal ritual for a white man entering the village to run a gauntlet?”
“Go and guard the lodge, Father Devereux. Tell me if trouble brews,” Ojistah ordered.
His cassock swishing, and cross banging against his chest, the priest clasped his hat and bent his head to exit.
Juliet looked to Two Eagles and pleaded with her eyes. “Mary.”
Ojistah rattled her language and Two Eagles swept out of the lodge. “I have told him to go and get your friend. To tell Red Jacket, I have ordered it.”
Would he be able to rescue Mary?
Her nerves pulled tight. Joshua eyed her strangely, as if trying to gather a sense of time and place. Did he have a head injury? Would he linger in a fog for the rest of his life?
