Part 53 (1/2)

”You look splendid,” Quent told her.

”I wasn't sure you'd approve.”

”Why not?”

”I'm not sure. Pretending to be something I'm not, perhaps.”

”Is who we are a matter of what we wear?”

She was startled. ”No, of course not. I just-”

”You're you, Nicole. Whether you're wearing the black veil of the Poor Clares, or a mobcap in the big house, or beaded buckskins.” He fingered the neckline of the bodice. She couldn't be wearing corsets beneath this outfit. The time when she dressed herself in Pohantis's white skins, she'd known enough not to wear them then and when he lay over her for those few moments before she told him everything was different, he'd felt her flesh soft and yielding and unrestrained.

How familiar his fingers felt on the bare skin between the lacings of the dress. How right for this time and this place. As the veil had been right for the monastery.

I have tried to do what is right, ma Mere.

I know. And G.o.d knows. And now what is right is that you must leave.

He saw the shadow pa.s.s over her face. ”What are you thinking?”

”That I do not understand very much.” Then, before she could say more, Las.h.i.+ came and pulled her away. It was time to eat and the women must be separated from the men.

After the meal there was the calumet, and then, she knew, there would be the dance. Would the women choose a man as they had in the Shawnee camp and go off with him? And if they did, what would she do? I cannot, however much I want to. It is a sin. Help me, mon Dieu.

The drums began, many this time, and not with the prayerful solemnity of the earlier ceremony. Corm came to where she sat beside Las.h.i.+ and leaned down and said, ”This part's joyful. We're celebrating Bishkek's pa.s.sage into the next world.”

”Monsieur Shea, please, tell me ... That other time, when we were in the camp of the Shawnee and all the women chose a man to be with, is it ...” She knew herself to be bright red. She could feel the flush, and see her embarra.s.sment reflected in Cormac's wide grin. If only they were not so far north and it were not June, at least it would be dark.

”Not quite the same here. We Potawatomi have our own ways. But don't worry. I'm sure you're going to enjoy everything that comes next.” He left her then and she saw him speak a few words to the one they'd told her was the chief, though she could not remember his name. Then the drums became more insistent and she could think of nothing except the way the beat seemed to keep pace with her heart, and how Quent looked as he danced with the others. All the women chanted. ”Ahaya, haya, haya...”

Quent watched her moving with the other squaws; they had linked arms with her and she could not avoid it. Her Ups were slightly parted and her eyes shone and he could see from the way her chest rose and fell that she felt the excitement of the others. He was heavy with wanting her, and sick with fear that when the dance ended nothing would be changed. You got to find some way make that little lady know she got her feet solid on the good earth, Master Quent. There was no place on earth more good or more solid than Singing Snow.

The circle moved and he had no choice but to move with it; for a time he had his back to Nicole and the other women. When he next saw her Kekomoson stood in front of her. He was offering her the old clay cooking pots that had belonged to the wife of Bishkek.

Nicole looked up at the chief, trying to look respectful. Doesn't he know I don't understand a word of his language? Surely Las.h.i.+ must tell him. Or Quent or Monsieur Shea. She was enormously relieved when she saw both men coming toward her.

Corm moved faster than Quent. ”It's a gift,” he told Nicole. ”You can't refuse if you want to be polite.”

”Oh no, why would I refuse his gift? Tell him I'm honored. Please say these things are beautiful and I am proud to have them.” Nicole reached out and took the stack of clay cooking pots. A loud cheer went up from everyone in the village. Then the drams were beating more furiously than before and the chief had dragged her to her feet and was walking her toward Quent.

There were more words she didn't understand, and Quent grinning at her, and finally saying, ”Kekomoson wants to know if you wish to give the pots back”

”Oh, no, why should I? Please tell him I'm most grateful for his kindness.”

He knew he had to tell her, but just then, the way she looked and how much he wanted her ... I'll explain later, he promised himself. When we're alone. ”You have to dance with me now,” he said. ”That's the way you say thank you for the gift of the pots.”

”But I still limp. Besides, I don't know how.”

”It's easy, I'll show you.”

She held the pots in her arms and he put his hand on her shoulder to lead her to the fire. The drums continued to beat. Corm had picked up two rattles and he shook them in the same rhythm, and the squaws chanted as before. ”Ahaya, haya, haya.”

”Why is Monsieur Shea circling us like that?”

”It's the way it's done. Come on. Don't think so much. Just move.”

She was halting at first, then a bit more sure of herself. He worried that her bad leg would let her down and he put his arm around her waist to support her. ”Don't drop the pots, that's very important.”

She turned to him and this time her smile was like sunlight and her body moved in unison with his. Quent led her around the fire three more times, then away from the campsite into the woodland beyond. The chant followed them. ”Ahaya, haya, haya.” Nicole still held the day pots that had belonged to the wife of his manhood father.

”We're married,” Quent said.

”What?!”

”The Potawatomi don't make much of weddings. But when a brave chooses a squaw, his mother gives her cooking pots. And if she accepts them, then she's saying yes, she accepts the brave. Those pots belonged to the wife of my manhood father, Bishkek. She's dead as well. So Kekomoson took the pots to keep them until either Corm or I chose a squaw.”