They were led near a row of numerous longhouses, with sporadic holes in the roofs where streams of smoke rose. Over each door hung a carved head of a bear, symbolizing the magnitude of the famed Bear Clan.
Two Eagles was important in the village. No one entered his presence lightly. Here, Two Eagles had no time for trivial things. Even Mary was awed and subdued by the veneration poured on him by the villagers.
A hide was thrown back and they were led into a longhouse. Juliet blinked, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Fantastic ceremonial masks suspended from bed poles along a series of fur-swathed bunks constructed against the walls. On shelves above, wooden bowls, ladles, dishes, spoons, baskets, and clay pots were placed. Snowshoes, hunting bows, quivers of arrows and braids of corn hung from rafters.
Two Eagles sat on the ground next to a fire. A bowl of corn mush was handed to him. He gestured for Juliet, Joshua, Mary and his brother to sit. Two Eagles gestured to Mary and spoke in his guttural language for the rest of the Indians to hear. They all nodded and smiled. Women patted Mary’s hair. She blushed from the attention.
A woman handed him a pipe. He took tobacco and filled the pipe. The woman took the pipe to the fire and laid a hot coal on top of the bowl, and then handed it back to Two Eagles.
Two Eagles puffed on the pipe, and then handed it to Joshua, who puffed, then handed it to the other braves. The room was quiet. After a period of waiting, Two Eagles spoke.
Joshua leaned over to Juliet and translated. “This is part of a returning ceremony where our story is told. He is telling of his long-lost brother returned and our escape from Fort Oswego. He is informing them that their continued support for the Patriots is good. The King’s men do not keep their promises.”
The crowd murmured and parted, allowing in, out of deference, an older woman who had many winters on her head, yet still beautiful with few wrinkles. She wore a blue skirt and bright red leggings made of broadcloth, embroidered with elaborate bead designs. A calico over-dress was fastened down the front with a row of shining silver brooches; silver earrings dangled from her ears, and her face gleamed with gentleness. The woman, an exact image of Ojistah moved through the throng with grace, her silver braids hanging down beside her cheeks.
For Juliet, Ojistah’s prediction of seeing her twin came true.
The woman focused on Edmund.
Two Eagles stood. “This is our mother, Waneek.”
Edmund staggered to his feet, stared at Waneek.
Juliet perceived his hesitation, his attempt to wring from the unknown where there were no assurances and no straight lines, and governed by fear of judgement and rejection. He had left his old world behind, banking on this one moment where there were no guarantees, and like a lost soul wandering in the dark, he sought confirmation and consolation.
A myriad of emotions crossed Edmund’s face.
“You think a mother cannot recognize her own son,” Waneek reproved Two Eagles in stilted English, her eyes not once leaving Edmund. “I, at all times, knew you were alive. Sensed it in my bones. I named you, ‘Deganwida’.”
“Deganwida,” repeated Edmund. He glanced at Two Eagles, and then back to his mother, a look of yearning so deep, Juliet could feel the force of it in her heart.
“There is much power in your name,” said Waneek. “It means two river currents flowing together.”
Edmund took a tentative step toward his mother. The crowd stared, stirred by the tableau playing out in front of them.
Waneek moved closer. “Every morning, I woke and I told you how much I loved you. Many moons passed and the love I held for you grew and grew, nearer and dearer to my heart, each day, each year.”
Waneek touched his face, his shoulder, his arm. “If I had to choose between loving you and breathing, I would use my last breath to tell you…I love you.”
She lifted her trembling arms and Edmund fell into them.
Tears came to Juliet’s eyes as Edmund wrapped his larger arms around his mother, absorbing the cruel and lonely years, of the longing to hear a mother’s loving voice, to feel a mother’s hand upon his hair, to see her sweet smile—tokens of a mother’s love he’d been denied. Amidst the joyful shout of villagers with the reunion of Deganwida and his mother, Juliet could not help but be a little envious.
Edmund was home at last.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
There were three hundred Indians, including a number of Mohawks in Two Eagles’ settlement. The difference between his village and Ojistah’s Mohawk village emerged as a collection of smaller houses built of squared-up logs and stone chimneys. At the west end were larger, finely built log homes with glass window panes and ample furnishings that took on the structure of an upper middle-class family in Europe. The largest of these domiciles belonged to Two Eagles.
“It’s a good house,” Two Eagles said to Mary. “It doesn’t shake when storms rage, and will not blow over with the slightest wind.” He pounded the wall to emphasize his point and to call attention to the criticism Mary had made during their travels regarding his living in a primitive structure that trembled with the slightest breeze.
Mary turned a bright shade of red. “I hope you can forgive me for my rude comment.”
A fine dinner was prepared by servants, and Juliet learned that in the Mohawk Valley, Two Eagles had grown up with German, Scotch, English and Irish immigrants, making him comfortable with the European culture.
Waneek passed a bowl of squash. “As neighbors, we have to depend on each other for survival, resulting in a sharing of customs and traditions. Two Eagles and I speak three languages and have become Christians.”
Mary set down her fork, staring at Two Eagles. “You are Christian?”
