Part 44 (1/2)
”Little sister,” I said gently, ”is it not the truth? Does a Quiver-bearer lie, O Blossom of Carenay?”
Her hands fell away; she raised her head, the tears s.h.i.+ning on her heavy lashes: ”It is the truth.”
”His wife?” I repeated slowly.
”His wife, O Bearer of Arrows! He took me at the False Faces' feast, and the Iroquois saw. Yet the cherries were still green at Danascara.
Twice the Lenape covered their faces; twice 'The Two Voices' unveiled his face. So it was done there on the Kennyetto.” She leaned swiftly toward me: ”Twice he denied me at Niagara. Yet once, when our love was new--when I still loved him--he acknowledged me here in this very house, in the presence of a County Magistrate, Sir John Johnson. I am his wife, I, Lyn Montour! I have never lied to woman or man, O my elder brother!”
”And that is why you have come back?”
”Yes; to search--for something to help me--some record--G.o.d knows!--I have searched and searched--” She stretched out her bare arms and gazed hopelessly around the paper-littered floor.
”Will not Sir John uphold you with his testimony?” I asked.
”He? No! He also denies it. What can a woman expect of a man who has broken parole?” she added, in contempt.
I leaned toward her, speaking slowly, and with deadly emphasis:
”Dare Walter Butler deny what the Iroquois Nation may attest?”
”He dare,” she said, burning eyes on mine. ”I am more Algonquin than Huron, and more than nine-tenths white. What is it to the Iroquois that this man puts me away? It was the Mohican and Lenape who veiled their faces, not the Iroquois. What is it to white men that he took me and has now put me away? What is it to them that he now takes another?”
”Another? Whom?” My lips scarcely formed the question.
”I do not know her name. When he returned from the horrors of Cherry Valley Sir Frederick Haldimand refused to see him. Yet he managed to make love to Sir Frederick's kinswoman--a child--as I was when he took me----”
She closed her eyes. I saw the lashes all wet again, but her voice did not tremble: ”He is at Niagara with his Rangers--or was. And--when I came to him he laughed at me, bidding me seek a new lover at the fort----”
Her voice strangled. Twisting her fingers, she sat there, eyes closed, dumb, miserable. At last she gasped out: ”O Quiver-bearer, with a white voice and a skin scarce whiter than my own, though your nation be sundered from the Long House, though I be an outcast of clans and nations, speak to me kindly, for my sadness is bitter, and the ghost of my dead honor confronts me in every forest-trail!” She stretched out her arms piteously:
”Teach me, brother; instruct me; heal my bruised heart of hate for this young man who was my undoing--cleanse my fierce, desirous heart. I love him no longer; I--I dare not hate him lest I slay him ere he rights my wrongs. My sorrow is heavier than I can bear--and I am young, O sachem--not yet eighteen--until the snow flies.”
She laid her face in her hands once more; through her slim fingers the bright tears fell slowly.
”Are you Christian, little sister?” I asked, wondering.
”I do not know. They say so. A brave Jesuit converted me ere I was unstrapped from the cradle-board--ere I could lisp or toddle. G.o.d knows.
My own brother died in war-paint; my grandmother was French Margaret, my mother--if she be my mother--is the Huron witch of Wyoming; some call her Catrine, some Esther. Yet I was chaste--till _he_ took me--chaste as an Iroquois maid. Thus has he wrought with me. Teach me to forgive him!”
And _this_ the child of Catrine Montour? This that b.e.s.t.i.a.l creature they described to me as some slim, fierce temptress of the forests?
”Listen,” I said gently; ”if you are wedded by a magistrate, you are his wife; yet if that magistrate falsely witnesses against you, you can not prove it. I would give all I have to prove your marriage. Do you understand?”
She looked at me, uncomprehending.
”The woman I love is the woman he now claims as wife,” I said calmly.
Then, in that strange place, alone there together in the dim light, she lying full length on the floor, her hands clasped on my knees, told me all. And there, together, we took counsel how to bring this man to judgment--not the Almighty's ultimate punishment, not even that stern retribution which an outraged world might exact, but a merciful penance--the public confession of the tie that bound him to this young girl. For, among the Iroquois, an unchaste woman is so rare that when a maiden commits the fault she is like a leper until death releases her from her awful isolation.
Together, too, we searched the littered papers on the floor, piece by piece, bit by bit, but all in vain. And while kneeling there I heard a stealthy step behind me, and looked back over my shoulder, to see the Oneida, Little Otter, peering in at us, eyeb.a.l.l.s fairly starting from his painted face. Lyn Montour eyed him silently, and without expression, but I laughed to see how surely he had followed me as I had expected; and motioned him away to await my coming.