He kneeled, dug through the loam and came up with a plucked root. He mashed the tuber, staining his palm a bright scarlet. He extended his hand to Mary. “When you shake the hand of a warrior whose hand is marked with the red stain of bloodroot, it means you will marry him.”
Mary reached a trembling hand and placed it solidly in his. Two Eagles gathered her into his arms and with infinite gentleness, kissed her tenderly.
Juliet pivoted and shook her head. No. Mary couldn’t desert her just like that, could she? They had come so far together. She had assumed Mary would be a permanent fixture in her life. But as much as she wanted Mary with her, she wanted Mary’s happiness even more. In the white man’s world, Mary would be scorned if her scandalous background was revealed. In Two Eagles’ eyes, she stood revered. Mary would find happiness in her new world and Juliet would be happy for her friend…even though she herself would be alone.
Whether Juliet journeyed to Boston or to England, Mary would not be a part of her future. Her chest hitched. To be entirely alone? The grim reality slammed into her full force. Everyone made choices. She would not hold Mary accountable to her decision to accompany her. She loved her too much.
Still thinking, meandering, her feet leaden with her new reality, she plodded through the woods and back to the village. She came upon Waneek whom Juliet had learned was the tribe’s Clan Mother, a significant ruling sovereign in the tribe, wielding great power. Her husband, the chief, had died of measles, or the white man’s plague. In addition to treating both whites and Indians with her prodigious medical skills, she earned her living by collecting ginseng and selling the valuable medical herb to traders.
Waneek instructed a young girl who was making a clay pot, and did not look up when Juliet approached, yet she had a clear feeling the oldsachemknew she was there the entire the time.
“The soil is black and rich. A plant is nourished by the soil it feeds on, by the winds that blow, the rains that fall and the sun that shines. Like a little white flower that has put her roots down deep, Mary is taking her nourishment and strength from the same sun, rain and wind that gives her life. To transplant her again, she would wither and die.”
“Waneek, Mary has been my friend forever. I would not stand in the way of her happiness even if it means—losing her.”
“Two Eagles has claimed Mary and she has claimed him. A wedding will be soon.”
“You might be right,” Juliet said, not wanting to reveal she had spied on Mary and Two Eagles.
“I am always right.”
Waneek’s remark struck Juliet as prophetically strange, like her twin sister, Ojistah.
Thinking of Ojistah’s words, Juliet watched the girl’s dark fingers work at clay coils, round and round she twisted slender ropes of clay, overlapping the ropes until the crude shape of a pot formed.
“It takes time to make a clay pot,” said Waneek.
The Indian girl did not raise her head. She smoothed the unevenness away and scraped the sides smooth with a piece of broken gourd.
“It looks easy to make a pot.” Juliet kept watching, fascinated with the girl’s handiwork. A small girl with a faceless cornhusk doll clutched to her chest sat next to the girl making the pot.
“Ohe!” Waneek laughed. “Making a pot is not so easy. It takes time and patience. We pray over Mother Earth for permission to remove the clay from the banks of the river bed. The clay is spread on a stone slab and beat with hands and feet. When the clay is soft and smooth, it must be mixed with ground clam shells and mica and be beaten smooth again. All this before the coils are rolled. The pot will break if forbearance is not used.”
Waneek’s voice came as gentle as the south wind. “Like men with wounds, they are healed by degrees. Patience and perseverance have a miraculous effect before which difficulties disappear and obstacles vanish.”
Juliet exhaled. Waneek spoke of Joshua. “I’m competing with a corpse.”
The Indian girl turned and shaped the collar of her pot, making a scalloped design on the edge. She put the pot aside to dry.
Waneek kept her eyes on the girl’s handiwork. “When the water has been drawn out of the clay by the sun, the pots will be ready for firing. It takes time. Patience is bitter, but the fruit is sweet.”
“Ojistah compared me to the sacredness of Sky Woman. I do not understand.”
“Like Sky Woman, you must accept the sacrifices made for her so that you can live life through the daughter which you will bear in the future in your new surroundings. This daughter and her daughter will be powerful to the world.”
“What you say is improbable.”
“The sun finds a way to shine each day, so will be your journey. Of this, I know.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Joshua reread the contents for the fifth time, swearing at the delays in communication. A letter from Boston to the frontier took months and news from England took nearly a year.
Redcoats pulled their canoes on shore. He withdrew to a knot of trees to watch as Waneek greeted them. Sharp hand gestures and loud talk followed.
He moved to retrieve Juliet when she appeared at his side. He didn’t have to look to know she was there, like the caress of sunshine over a flower, an innate quality stirred with her nearness. She put her hand on his arm, her scent beckoning him, the same woman he made a vow to banish from his life.
“Two Eagles and Mary have gone farther into the forests. One of the women brought me to you. Do you think the soldiers will cause trouble?”
