While the medicine woman poured, Juliet lifted her hands, palms up, and slicked the greasy substance over her hands and wrists. She spoke to Evening Dove as Ojistah translated.
“Princess Evening Dove, I know you are in much pain but what I’m going to do will bring more pain if I’m to bring your child into the world. You may scream all you want.”
The princess’ eyes widened. She shook her head viciously, uttering obscure words Juliet did not understand.
“No!” said Ojistah. “It is a disgrace to show pain and fear and shame her husband.”
This world of theirs was mad.
“Give her that stick to bite,” Juliet ordered.
Juliet gritted her teeth and with one hand on the upper belly, she reached up toward Evening Dove’s womb. With her other hand, she probed around the membrane, praying she’d not injure the baby. Her fingers slid stickily. Her heart pounded in her ears.
She exhaled when she identified the foot. The foot slipped from her grasp. Juliet scrunched her eyes shut, seized the foot and flexed and grasped, and gently pulled. The membrane broke and the musk of Evening Dove’s water gushed out. One foot emerged. Good. Juliet used the next contraction to pull and turn until the buttocks appeared. She reached up and grabbed the other knee, straightened the leg and pulled out.
Evening Dove thrashed and moaned, clamping hard on the bite stick. She did not yell or scream. Juliet knew she hurt her terribly and marveled at the Indian woman’s dignity compared to the hundreds of births she’d assisted of European women.
Juliet turned the baby back, the shoulders presented and she removed one arm, and next rotated the baby again to allow the other arm to be pulled out. Beads of sweat dripped down her forehead. She twisted the baby again until it was face down. Placing her hand under the baby’s slippery body, she held her other hand securely on the infant’s neck.
When the next contraction came, Juliet shouted, “Push.”
She lifted the baby up and the head was freed.
When the infant burst through with angry wails, demanding the world to know of its arrival, all the pain and violence of childbirth lay forgotten. Juliet cried out with wonder and the other women did, too. Joy swirled, whirling and weaving like threads of a great tapestry around them, ending enmity and uniting them in an overwhelming ocean of affection.
Juliet wiped the newborn’s eyes and nose clear, and Ojistah cut and bound the cord. She gently laid the infant on Evening Dove’s chest and basked in the love between mother and child meeting for the first time.
When the afterbirth was delivered, Ojistah explained to the women the use of herbs and packing Morning Dove with moss to stem the bleeding. Ojistah wrapped the babe in doeskin and nodded for Juliet to follow her. They emerged from the tent, as the first fingers of dawn shone in a brilliant display across the morning sky. Breathing a sigh of relief, Two Eagles, Mary, and Joshua stared in disbelief at the infant.
“You have a son,” said Ojistah.
Worn and ragged, the chief smiled proudly, tears in his eyes as he lifted the child into his arms. “Thank you, Ojistah.”
“Thank White Woman with Hair of Fire. Her medicine is stronger than mine. It was she who brought your child onto this earth and saved your wife.”
He stood in awe of Juliet, and pulling the blanket from his raging son, touched the infant’s soft black hair, his little fingers and toes. The chief said, “You will be under my protection. You may go.”
But it was the undisguised pride in Joshua’s blue eyes that caused Juliet’s heart to skip. He put his arm around her, pulling her close, the brush of his evening beard against her cheek, and comforting. His deep voice vibrated through her soul. “You are magnificent.”
The chief’s sisters ducked out of the lodge, pointing and exclaiming to the east where it rained across the distant hills. A beautiful rainbow arched across the valley.
Ojistah whispered in reverence, “A great sign given by our Creator, one that has not been seen for many generations…this child…what greatness will he bring?”
One of the sisters took the baby and returned to the birthing lodge. At the nod of the chief, his other sister led Ojistah, Juliet, Joshua, Two Eagles, and Mary to the river.
Ojistah pushed a hemlock branch back, allowing Juliet to pass, and then took her arm in hers. “In my life, I have had a series of visions, ranging from sadness to inspiring. I have seen the pale-faced people arrive in gigantic canoes with spreading white wings. Motivated by insatiable avarice, these pale-faced people have rapidly grown in strength and power and without remorse continue to encroach on the land of the red men, who are weakened by disease, firewater, and extended warfare against British, and the “long knives” of Americans. There will be no peace for the Mohawk.”
Juliet stopped. “Ojistah, I am a woman of peace.”
Ojistah’s hand, large and heavy and smelling faintly of bear grease, cradled Juliet’s cheek with a gentleness reminiscent of Moira. How she craved that long-ago warmth. “The deep part of your spirit resonates.”
Juliet was about to speak when Ojistah shushed her. Motionless now, her eyes glazed over and once more she appeared to slip away, deep into a secret realm of intuition and vision.
A flock of crows lifted in the air and a great powerful wind swept down from the top of the mountains, blowing up and over them, swirling treetops and spewing the scent of leaf mold and pine. Juliet stayed rooted. The rest of the world melted away, leaving her and Ojistah swaying.
“I see blood and fire, loss and reunion, and a love so great neither time nor death can destroy it.”
The harshly whispered words streamed hot like the sun’s rays upon a forest floor.
