sing to her the song of the stars.
“On your next wander to white man’s world, find me a fine woman. I will give you many furs in exchange, but no cuts, beating, or taking her,” he warned. “She must be great among women because she will be the mother to our people.”
“I know of such a woman. She lives near Barrington Town. Many people live there now. But, for the woman of a great Chief, I will go there. Her face will make you the envy of other Chiefs. Her hair is the color of the sun as it rises from the edge of the earth. Long ago, I watched her from afar—she is like no other woman. She is tall and strong. She will cost much. Your braves must hunt three times the usual beaver pelts and skins,” Bomazeen negotiated. “And your women must clean and tan the furs.”
Wanalancet’s interest peaked. He could almost envision his new wife. “The exchange will be as you say. Come, let us drink and smoke.” He waited as Bomazeen withdrew tobacco and liquor from the back of the pack mule, then they entered Wanalancet’s warm smoke-filled lodge. Made of bark and hides, numerous woven baskets filled with special flints, mica, shells, and other valuableitems lined the inside. They sat on the fur-covered floor and Wanalancet retrieved his Calumet. Made with a rare red catlinite marble head, the pipe had a long quill made of cane wrapped in buckskin adorned with seed beads, bird feathers of all colors, and locks of women’s hair, both dark and blond.
Whenever he went to mediate for peace, Wanalancet carried the ceremonial pipe with pride. He was of blood of the great Chief Passaconaway and his son Chief Wanalancet, for whom his father named him. As was the custom of his noble ancestors, to show this precious emblem of trade and trust meant he could walk in safety even among his enemies. He also used the pipe, as he would now, to conclude pacts and celebrate life’s important decisions with the Great Spirit.
Wanalancet carefully filled the Calumet, then lit the tobacco. As the first gray wisps curled up, he asked the sacred smoke to reach out to this woman’s spirit and join her to him. This sanctified act would make her life-force his. Soon, her body too would be his and warm his heart and his flesh.
Through the soft gray haze, Wanalancet again saw in his mind’s eye the woman with hair the color he prized most. Hair the same color as his pipe’s marble bowl. He began to love her spirit already, but he would have to wait until Bomazeen made good on his promise.
Silently, Wanalancet pledged to dream of her tonight and every night until she shared his lodge.
As he held the polished red bowl of his pipe, carved with grooves honoring the four directions, north, south, east, and…west, he sent the sacred smoke upwards to the full moon.
CHAPTER 3
J ane sat with their daughters, trying her best to be patient, as she to taught them to sew. Stephen rested, close by, in his chair reading his favorite book
Adventures
yet again. The fire in the hearth cast just enough light for all of them to see by and his nearness warmed her heart as no fire could.
He’s read that book so many times he should have it memorized by now, she chuckled to herself. She decided to buy him a new book for his birthday.
She studied his handsome face, noting the furrowed brow and worried look that crossed his features from time to time. Something was troubling him and it was time to find out what.
Jane placed her needlework on the table. “Girls, time to sleep now. Say goodnight to your father, then go wash your faces and get ready for bed,” she ordered, as she picked baby Mary up out of her cradle.
“Yes Mother,” Martha replied obediently. Their oldest daughter sprang to her feet. “Come on Polly and Amy, let’s go.” After all three girls planted numerous kisses on Stephen’s cheeks, Martha took Amy’s little hand.
Jane smiled at Martha’s gesture. The seven year old never missed an opportunity to assume her role as big