No Time For Witches, page 16
“Yes.”
“Your aunt is a hypocrite. Seriously, she’s a bitch,” Martha said and it felt good to call the woman that. She was pretty sure that Philip would not go and tattle on her. He did look shocked at her words, whether it was calling her a hypocrite or a bitch, she wasn’t sure. He said nothing and picked up a handful of bean pods. Both sat in companionable silence as they shelled the beans.
“You know I would marry you and protect you from her,” Philip said softly. Her heart sank, she knew he was being sincere, but there was no way she would ever marry anyone.
“Yeah, I know. I don’t mean to sound uncaring or ungrateful, but I don’t know you and honestly, I don’t love you. I want to love the person I marry. Maybe as we get to know each other more, I just don’t want to get your hopes up or lie to you,” she lied. She would never marry him; she would never marry any of them. She was pretty sure that having sex with any of these men would eventually kill her. Either from the filthy they carried on their unwashed bodies or having a baby in these times. She shivered at the thought. They didn’t brush their teeth, they barely washed their butts and used absolutely no soap, except on the clothing. It was fat and wood ash and it was noxious and toxic. She knew now why people didn’t kiss in these times. Not because it was sinful, but because it was pure up nasty. Philip nodded solemnly and sighed heavily. She really didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but no, she couldn’t do it. She was beginning to realize that he was actually nice. He was the only one here that spoke to her with any kind of genuine interest.
“Could you sing some more? That song you were singing earlier? I like it very much and I’ll keep a look out for my aunt,” he said and smiled shyly.
In the deepest part of the night, Martha slipped from bed once more. She had planned to burn down the corncribs two nights before but Prudence had been up and down with diarrhea and Martha was afraid if the woman woke while she was gone, there would be questions she couldn’t answer. She was afraid to go out last night because she was unsure of how Prudence guts were. The woman had slept soundly and the house smelled better for it.
Slipping out of bed, she dug under her side of the mattress and pulled out a large clam shell. She put on her dark skirt and cloak and went to the fireplace. She used the clam shell to move the ash around until she found live coals and then scooped up several bright embers. The air in the house was stale and cold. She hoped as the weather began to get colder, the lingering funk of the house would go away. She moved silently and made her way out the back. She moved quickly, knowing she’d have to be back in bed before the cry of alarm for fire was heard. She went along the back of the homes and found one. There was no dog at this house. She moved silently to the corncrib and squatted. She paused and listened intently and looked around. The brilliant stars were shielded with moving clouds. She saw no one on the road nor up the street.
There was straw and bits of wood just within the corncrib structure. She reached her in and pulled some of the debris near her. She added several bits of dried corn to help. She shook the shell, dislodging an ember and it fell to the dried straw. She gently blew it, looking up from time to time. This was taking longer than she’d hoped. She upended the shell and dumped the remaining embers. She was satisfied when she saw a flame begin to lick the floor and she used the shell to move the small fire to the wood frame of the corncrib. This would have to do, she had no more coals and it took so long for the fire to start, it would be ablaze before she got the next fire going. One fire was better than no fires.
When she saw that the fire was well and going, she turned and ran, keeping her body low. She didn’t need the watch seeing a silhouette in the night. She looked over her shoulder and almost screamed. The flame was moving up the wooden frame quickly and up the road was a form, walking down the lane. It would only be a matter of seconds before whoever it was saw the flames. She tossed the shell as she went and picked up speed. She made it to the back of the house and slipped in. As quickly as she could, she hung the cloak and stood listening. Loud snoring was bouncing around the small home and she quickly took her skirt off and hung it on a peg.
She felt the urge to pee but she was fairly sure that there would be an alarm raised shortly. She crawled carefully back into bed, her heart racing a mile a minute. Her skin was cold to the tough and she burrowed beneath the heavy quilt. She waited and waited. Perhaps she was wrong? Maybe the fire went out? Her heart began to slow and still she heard nothing. Maybe whoever had been walking had gone into their home before they got near the corncrib? She was pretty sure the thing was ablaze by now. This whole town was a tinderbox of death waiting to happen. Her eyes were growing heavy now and her body relaxing down into the mattress.
Then she heard it, a bell ringing loudly, clanging. She heard movement above her, the rustling of covers and feet hitting the wood planks above. Prudence sat up and looked around, Martha could just make out her form. She sat up too.
“What’s going on? What’s that noise?” she asked, hearing George and Philip coming down the ladder.
“It is the alarm,” George said, his voice raised in agitation.
“Are we under attack?” Prudence asked, her voice shrilled.
“Stay here, Philip and I shall investigate,” George said, moving around the dark living area. Martha thought he was looking for his pants.
“Oh Lord protect us; it must be the savages! They have come to murder us in our beds,” Prudence wailed, gathering up the quilt and bringing it to her chest.
“Are they going to kill us?” Martha asked, her voice rising and she had to remember to keep the smile from her face. She was glad it was dark and she felt a fizz of laughter bubble up. She watched as the door opened and the two men disappeared.
“Should we do anything?” she asked.
“There is naught we can do but pray,” Prudence moaned. Both women sat waiting in silence and Martha grew sleepy. She knew Prudence wouldn’t sleep and she’d not thought of the side benefit of Prudence’s worry. She smiled to herself. Martha never considered herself a vindictive person, though she did admit to herself that she could be petty at times. Since arriving in this place her mental stability was taking a hard hit. Would she eventually go insane? She shivered at that thought. How far was she willing to go? If she accused Prudence of being a witch, they would kill her.
Are you up to murder? she asked herself in the dark. Can I really murder someone, cold blooded murder? I’m not doing it, the townspeople will. Semantics, it will be murder by proxy, she argued with herself. Murder was murder and she would be solely responsible for it, no matter who pulled the trigger. There was one last act to be played out. Until she did that, nothing would happen. No harm would come to Prudence, it was a failsafe. But once she did the last part of her plan, there would be no going back. It was dangerous for herself as well, but as much as she wanted to live, she did not want to live in this time.
This part frightened her the most, her willingness to self-destruct. Was she so much a coward that she couldn’t just slit her wrists and have done with it? Perhaps because she’d never once considered it in her previous life, it was something so odd to think about now. And even in the dying, would she struggle to fight to live? She sighed deeply and watched as Prudence got out of the bed and lit a candle. She watched as Prudence went to the door and cracked it open.
“There is a fire down the lane,” she said over her rounded shoulder.
“Whose house is burning?” Martha asked from the bed.
“I do not think it is a house,” Prudence said distractedly.
Martha shifted and got out of bed; her bladder was tormenting her. She quickly pulled out the pot and squatted over it. She used the end of her slip to dry herself and shoved the pot back under the bed. She no longer cared if there was piss on her slip, apron or outer clothing. When Prudence wasn’t there, she used her clothing to clean herself. She had stopped washing her hands or even trying to wipe down unless Prudence was standing there to expect her to. She wondered if there was such a thing as suicide by filth? She crawled back into bed and watched as Prudence hovered by the door; it was going to be a long night.
Ψ
Kim and Nuttah were in middle of the river, standing in the numbing cold that swirled around their knees. Sokanon and another young woman, Alawa, pea, had taken a basket of fish back to the village. They have been moving steadily upstream, using their nets to ensnare small schools that clustered under overhanging tree snags or rocks. While Sokanon and Alawa had fished, Kim and Nuttah had relaxed on the sun dappled bank and called out encouragement. The fish would be taken back and dried for the long winter ahead. Kim planned on showing Nuna how to put ground corn meal on the fish and fry it. She smiled at the thought and her stomach agreed it was a good idea. The dried fish would be stored in the underground bunkers that lined the interior of the palisade. Kim had been down into the interior of several many times now, taking baskets of food. Several families shared a bunker or root cellar as she thought of them. The bunkers were cool below and kept their food fresh.
It was the job of the younger children to inspect for pests and from what Kim could tell, they did an excellent job. She was sure that like all storage areas, there was some predation from mice. But, with the children keeping vigilant watch, loss was minimized. She thought if they had cats that would work. But she wasn’t sure when or if cats were ever introduced to the Wabanaki, at least in the next couple hundred years. Nuna told her once the land froze over, mice would be less of a problem, since most animals went into hibernation. Nuttah came around with the end of her net, they had herded a small shoal of fish, roughly seven inches long, toward the bank. It was a slow process since they didn’t wish to scatter the fish. Drawing the net together and under, they trapped the fish neatly. Bringing the net up, it moved and squirmed with the fish. Both women walked back to the bank with their catch.
Carefully tipping the net, they spilled their fish within the wide-mouth basket. Several fish flopped out and they were quickly captured and put back into the tall basket. Kim had counted twelve fish with this catch. It was a slow process but faster than sitting with a pole and line. They looked up when Sokanon and Alawa came back with an empty basket. Both women grinning. Sokanon carried a handful of warm corn cakes.
“I was getting hungry,” Nuttah said and took the offering. Kim took one as well and the women sat on the bank eating their snack quietly. In the trees around them, blue jays squabbled and watched them. Kim figured once they got back to work in the river, the birds would be on the ground picking up crumbs. Her legs began to thaw and she lifted her face toward the sun. The leaves around them waved like colorful pennants, scarlet, gold and orange. Soon it would rain leaves, perhaps another week and then they would begin to fall from the trees.
Nuttah grunted when she got up and reached out a hand for Kim.
“I was hoping to warm my legs a bit more,” Kim laughed.
“Faster in, faster out,” Nuttah said and tugged harder at Kim. Grabbing the net, the two went back out into the water and Kim sucked in her breath. All the women were naked when working in the river, leaving their clothing on the bank. Only when they went back to the village did they redress. It was a peculiar feeling standing butt naked in the presence of others. The people of the village didn’t seem to notice. The children ran naked until it was too cold. Half of the men were nearly naked and it wasn’t unusual to see a man leave his hut to go relieve himself, completely nude. Sometimes, on the hottest days, she’d seen some of the women without tops, preferring loincloths instead. It was kind of freeing and less restrictive. Her feet were slowly becoming accustom to going without moccasins, though if she were going walking around the woods, she wore them. But around the village, she went barefoot.
They moved back to the middle of the river and began looking for another school of fish. Sokanon and Alawa were collecting sweetgrass to use later in weaving baskets. Their hands were never still, even when relaxing, the women of the Wabanaki kept busy. There was always a hide to scrape, stretch or tan. There was always a basket to repair or make, a piece of clothing that needed a stitch. She was learning the art of carving now. To make wooden spoons and bowls and to know which wood was best for each. She was also learning about plants, for teas and for medicines. That was more difficult than she would have thought. Nuna explained that at each stage of a plant’s life, gave the plant more or less potency. Also, the plants looked differently throughout the season.
She looked up when she heard Sokanon scream and she froze, her hands clutching the net. Her brain was having a hard time interpreting what it was seeing. Six men stood on the bank, Mohawk, her brain screamed. One had Sokanon by her long hair and was yanking her along, Alawa was running toward the village, screaming and Kim saw the tomahawk lodge in between her shoulder blades and watched in horror as her body crumpled forward to the ground. Kim’s attention was drawn back to three men who were making their way into the river and she and Nuttah turned and began to run awkwardly in the water. She had made it to the far shore and scrambled up the bank when she heard someone behind her. She turned and saw the man, his face painted black from his nostrils to his chin. His upper face was painted ochre with large red circles painted around his eyes.
She saw the hate in his eyes and she screamed again as he raised his club. The club had a long shaft with a bulbous head and it came down toward her head. She lifted her arm to protect herself and the shaft of the club hit her arm and she heard a bone snap in her forearm and she screamed again as the pain shot into her brain. The tip of the club bounced off her head and she fell to the ground, stunned. She felt as the man easily lifted her and he threw her over his shoulder. Part of her brain wondered if this was what Blondie had experienced, part of her brain was shutting down from the blow to her head and the pain radiating up her arm. The last coherent part of her brain hoped that Nuttah got away and maybe even Sokanon. Poor Alawa was dead, she had been four months pregnant. Her husband, Tihkoosue, short willow, would be devastated.
She was beginning to lose consciousness when she was thrown to the ground and bounced. She tried to sit up but the man pushed her back down into the leaf litter and began to pull down his breechcloth. He was going to rape her here and now. She screamed and he stopped and put one hand around her throat and began to squeeze as he continued one-handed with his breechclout. This grip on her neck was tight and she was choking to death. Her uninjured arm reached up and she clawed his eyes and face with all the strength she could muster before she blacked out. He might rape her, but he’d carry the scars of it and maybe she could blind him.
She felt him grab her hand as the darkness began to blot out her world. Then she felt and saw as he bit her fingers and watched in horror and agony as he bit the tip off of her fourth finger. She screamed in agony and he spit part of the finger in her face. His hand went back to her neck, now choking her in earnest. She bucked and tried to fight but her hand was throbbing badly and she could only punch at him ineffectually. Then her face was bathed in hot blood as it washed over her. The man’s eyes bulged as he froze above her. It was then that she saw a tomahawk sticking out of the back of his head. Blood pouring over the sides of his head and onto her face.
She shifted and the man fell forward onto her body and she fought to move him. Someone was there helping her; she didn’t know his name but he viciously kicked the dead man off her body and helped her up.
“Nuttah and Sokanon are out there! They killed Alawa,” she croaked out, crying and coughing. Her voice didn’t sound like her own, the Mohawk had nearly crushed her windpipe. She felt her rescuer’s strong arm around her waist as he moved her away from the body. She saw other men around her, the woods now full of Wabanaki men. Sorrow choked her as she was led away and her eyes searched the forest for her friends. She couldn’t stop crying and didn’t try. Between the pain in her body and the pain in her soul, she was devastated. She saw Mingan ahead, his body bathed in blood and his eyes wild. He saw her and his eyes widened and he ran to her. The man who had been helping her gave her over to Mingan. All in the village knew that there was something between the couple.
Mingan picked her up and began to carry her back to the village.
“Do you know if Nuttah and Sokanon are safe?” she asked, her voice rasping and it was painful to talk. She thought maybe her throat was swelling up and it frightened her, she hoped it wouldn’t swell shut. The pain pulsed all over her body, from her broken arm she cradled in her ravaged hand, to her head.
“I do not know; I killed a man before I saw you. There are many of our men out looking now. Machk and Hassun are out as well,” he said. He was walking quickly and she noticed that he was looking around.
“There were six of them at the river when they got us.” She saw several more people moving quickly through the woods. She laid her head on Mingan’s chest, suddenly tired. Her body shivered from the pain that was radiating from her broken arm and her missing finger. She was afraid to look at it, she thought that perhaps only part of her fourth finger was gone, but her whole hand throbbed, the pain matching her heartbeat. The pain was nothing though as she thought of Alawa and her lost baby. Fresh tears slid down her face and she watched as they passed more people.
It had been a surprise attack during the day and it was revenge for the earlier attack that month. Many of the Mohawk had been killed and they were getting even. Alawa had paid that price and Kim prayed that her other friends were safe. She prayed that someone intervened before they were killed. The Mohawk had no intentions of taking captives. This had been a killing party, a war party. She had only seen six men and Kim was sure that there were more. They came to the palisade and Mingan brought her in and set her on her feet.
“I must go back, find mother and she will help you,” Mingan said and turned and ran back out into the woods. Kim stood for a few moments, watching him. She cradled her broken arm; she turned and made her way to her hut, her legs wobbling as she went. Part of her brain was paralyzed with shock at the absolute brutality of it. People were running around, with knives, hatchets and spears. Children were ushered into the huts where the old would defend them with their very lives if need be.
