“These are your quarters,” said Precious Copper politely.
Sarita thanked her and walked over to the plank bed. Precious Copper silently left the alcove. Alone in the dark privacy of the small room, Sarita threw herself face down onto the bed and sobbed into the fur pelts.
Grief, anger, despair washed over her in waves as she lay there, crying pitifully. All was lost—her family shamed, herself a slave. And now she faced a terrifying future at the hands of the very man responsible for her tragedies! She sobbed and railed into the furs. Her angry and tormented cries were muffled by the thick pelts. At last, the great, heaving sobs lessened, and the streaming tears no longer poured forth. A weary calm drifted over her.
Once again aware of her surroundings, she could feel the soft sea otter fur against her face; inhale the faint animal smell still on the furs. A feeling of unutterable weariness overcame her as she lay there. Her whole life had been changed in such a short time. So much had happened…
Much later, Sarita woke to the delicious aroma of roasting meat. Feeling greatly refreshed, she stretched lazily, then scanned her surroundings. As her eyes settled on the unfamiliar objects in the small room, she at last remembered where she was. A rush of despair at her captivity swept over her momentarily. Resolutely, she pushed it aside. Rising slowly, she stretched languorously once more, then tiptoed over to the small opening, the only entrance to the alcove. She peeked out to see what was going on.
Precious Copper and two other women hovered about the central fire pit, busy cooking. One of the women poked a stick into the ashes of the fire, probably testing to see if the meat was done. Sarita guessed they were preparing the evening meal. If so, she’d slept the whole day away!
Gathering her courage, she sauntered out of her hiding place and into the main room. Standing thoughtfully near the fire for a moment, she looked up to catch Precious Copper’s gaze on her. Neither spoke.
Finally, Precious Copper’s melodious voice broke the uncomfortable silence. “That’s a beautiful dress you’re wearing.”
Sarita glanced down at her lovely kutsack, still in good condition, though a little wrinkled. She absently fingered a crease. “Thank you,” she murmured at last. Then she said softly, “It—it was to be my wedding dress.” She paused, swallowing the painful lump in her throat. “I—I thought I was to be married to Fighting Wolf.”
Now the words were spilling out, tumbling over each other. “My father told me I was to marry Fighting Wolf. He and his men came to my village. My people welcomed them. My father entertained them. We feasted together. After the feast, everyone lay around relaxed and full of food.”
Sarita brushed a shaking hand across her eyes. A bitter note crept into her voice. “It was then that Fighting Wolf’s men sprang up. They fought with my people. They killed unarmed warriors. They wounded my father and brother. Fighting Wolf denounced my father, shaming him before all. Then,” she paused, struggling visibly not to cry, “Fighting Wolf stole me and several other Hesquiat women away.”
An awkward silence greeted the end of her sad tale as she stood there, forlornly staring at the floor, her mind flooded with the scenes she’d just described. But she had not cried. She could not, would not, cry in front of these Ahousats. She glanced at Precious Copper, wondering if the woman even cared that her brother’s treachery was exposed.
Sarita watched as Precious Copper’s lips tightened. What a fool she’d been to confide in Precious Copper! How the woman must be laughing at her! Sarita’s pride rose and she straightened, looking Precious Copper directly in the eye.
At last Precious Copper spoke, her melodious voice giving no hint of inner turmoil. “Allow me to get you another cedar robe to wear. We can put your beautiful dress away in a safe place.”
Twice over a fool! Sarita cursed to herself. Very well, if Precious Copper was going to ignore the treachery that had brought Sarita to this longhouse, Sarita would go along with it. She couldn’t prod a conscience that didn’t exist.
Seeing what she thought was an obstinate look cross Sarita’s face, Precious Copper hastened to explain. “I make the suggestion to put away your dress only because, should you continue to wear such a beautiful garment, I fear some jealous woman will tear it off your back for her own use.”
Sarita glanced down at her dress again. Precious Copper’s veiled reference to Sarita’s new status sparked a sharp retort. “It’s what I’d expect of thieving Ahousats!” she spat.
She heard the quick intake of breath from one of the women attendants. Precious Copper stared at Sarita, then motioned to the women to leave. Once they had left, Precious Copper sat down on a nearby mat, indicating that Sarita do the same. Defiantly Sarita continued to stand. Precious Copper shrugged.
“When I first heard that my brother was to take a wife,” began Precious Copper, “I was very pleased. His first wife and child died in childbirth three years ago. He’s been alone for far too long.”
“No wife?” echoed Sarita. “Then who--?” She stopped, embarrassed. That meant the sloe-eyed woman she’d seen hugging him in the canoe was not his wife. Sarita couldn’t explain the sudden lift in spirits she felt at this news. “Excuse me,” she muttered stiffly. “Please continue.”
Precious Copper nodded genially, and went on. “When I heard he was to marry a Hesquiat woman, I was surprised.” Seeing Sarita tense defensively, she added, “But still pleased. I thought at last there’d be an end to the fighting between my people and the Hesquiats. I hated seeing my people at war. I hated seeing widows and orphans weeping when a husband or father failed to return from a raid. I wanted peace.”
She paused and Sarita looked at Precious Copper with new eyes. There was no mistaking the sincerity in the melodious voice. “So, as I said, I was pleased. I thought the warring would stop when my brother married into the Hesquiats. Now,” and here Sarita could hear the heavy disappointment, “I see you and hear you tell me about Fighting Wolf’s raid on your people, and I realize I was wrong to hope. He never intended to marry you; I see now that he only intended to avenge the death of our father.” Sarita saw the sheen of tears in the smaller woman’s velvet brown eyes. “I’m terribly sorry for what he’s done to you and your family. I deeply regret that my brother has brought you such pain.”
Sarita stared open-mouthed at Precious Copper after hearing this quiet declaration. She sank slowly to her haunches on a nearby mat, her thoughts churning. This woman did not hate her, nor was she proud of what her brother had done!
Finally Sarita could trust herself to speak. “I’m amazed that you feel this way,” she answered Precious Copper. “Amazed and pleased.” Her quick mind was whirling. “Knowing you feel this way, can I look to you for help during my stay here?”
There was a long pause. “I’ll do what I can to keep you from being overworked,” replied Precious Copper cautiously. “But please understand that my brother is war chief here. I cannot and will not go against him. I don’t know how long my brother intends to keep you with him, but I’ll do what I can to make your lot with him easier.”
Sarita also quickly realized that while she might expect help from Precious Copper during her stay in the Ahousat village, she could not depend on any help in planning her escape.
Sarita smiled and nodded her head at Precious Copper, indicating her understanding of Precious Copper’s position. Grateful to have an ally in the village, Sarita quickly decided it was advantageous to get along peaceably with Precious Copper for the present.
“Now that I understand that you don’t wish to hurt me,” Sarita said, “I’ll take your advice about changing my dress. I would like to keep it, if possible, as it is so beautiful.”
Precious Copper nodded. She left and soon returned with a plain, undecorated, dull-brown cedar robe. Handing the robe to Sarita, Precious Copper looked up into her eyes and smile shyly.
Why, she’s beautiful,
thought Sarita, watching the dimpled smile light up Precious Copper’s gamine face.
In the alcove, Sarita swiftly changed into the plain cedar robe and reluctantly folded her wedding dress. She rubbed her cheek on the soft material and wondered sadly if she’d ever wear the dress again. She knew that, for practical reasons, a slave had to wear plain, serviceable clothing. Still, she wished the unadorned, roughly woven cedar robe did not have to be quite so plain—and scratchy!
At least it would not draw unwanted attention to her appearance, thought Sarita ruefully. In this she was mistaken. Even the homely garment could not hide her beauty. She attempted a severe hairstyle. Long brown hair, pulled back tightly and tied with a leather thong, was left to hang loosely down her back. But such a style only showed her beautifully molded face to even better advantage. The robe was short and hung only to her knees, exposing shapely calves and graceful feet. Short sleeves left her slim forearms bare. She was pleased that Precious Copper had supplied an ornament: a carved wooden bracelet, polished until the rich, brown wood gleamed. Slipping the bracelet over her wrist, Sarita stepped back into the main room to help Precious Copper with dinner preparations.
As she worked, she casually glanced about, looking for Fighting Wolf. She saw no sign of him. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. One of the women mentioned the victory party being held down on the beach. A large bonfire was blazing and some of the village women were cooking food for the celebration. Hearing chanting from outside the longhouse, Sarita concluded that Fighting Wolf was probably one of the celebrants. Well, at least she wouldn’t be bothered by his presence for a while, she thought in relief.
* * * *
On the beach, the victory party was underway. A large bonfire of driftwood logs had been built and bright flames leaped high into the air. The roaring blaze was too hot to stand close to. Delicacies—clams, mussels, sweet berries—to tempt the most discerning palates were set out. Small boys darted about, first listening to boasts about the recent battle, then running off to play at war with each other. Little girls dashed screaming for their mothers, the boys hard on their heels. Exuberant warriors related brave exploits to each other, the tales growing more fantastical with each telling.
The evening sun was dipping into the sea, sending the day’s last golden rays over the earth. Fighting Wolf lounged casually near a large rock, facing the hot fire. He was listening to Birdwhistle finish a boastful, rambling account of how he’d sneaked up on a particularly vicious Hesquiat and stabbed him in the back. After a short silence, Birdwhistle turned to Fighting Wolf and asked, “What are you going to do with your female slave?”
“Which one?”
“’Which one?’” mocked Birdwhistle. “Come now, cousin…The tall one. The one that wore a blue trading blanket cloak. The one that rode in your canoe. Remember her?”
“Oh.” Fighting Wolf shrugged indifferently. “You mean Sarita.”
“Hmm, so that’s Sarita. I guessed it might be.” After a pause Birdwhistle asked, “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Are you going to give her to me like you promised?”
“Cousin,” chortled Fighting Wolf, “you have a very faulty memory.” He paused, “I offered her to you, it’s true…as a ‘symbol of my esteem.’ But,” he sighed exaggeratedly, “you rejected my generous offer.” He eyed Birdwhistle sardonically. “It’s not my fault you said ’no’ to a perfectly good gift.”
“But that was before I saw how beautiful she was,” snapped Birdwhistle. After a stealthy glance at Fighting Wolf, he offered, “What about a trade?”
“Such as?” answered Fighting Wolf, appearing interested.
“Well, such as that new freight-canoe I recently had built. I saw you admiring it the other day. I had the best craftsmen available working on that canoe!” boasted Birdwhistle.
“I know,” came Fighting Wolf’s dry reply. “You borrowed them from me.”
“True, true,” responded Birdwhistle, undaunted. “Then you know it’s well-made.” He paused, watching Fighting Wolf carefully. “How about a trade—my canoe for your slave? Straight across.”
Fighting Wolf seemed to ponder his cousin’s words. “You’ll never get a better offer,” argued Birdwhistle. “You’d better trade her while she still looks good. It won’t be long before she’s as beaten and cowed as the rest of the female slaves. Then you won’t get even a one-seater dugout for her.” Birdwhistle spat on the ground, showing his contempt for such a poor bargain.
An image of Sarita, bruised and cringing, flashed through Fighting Wolf’s mind. He felt sickened at the thought.
“That canoe’s new. Made from the best cedar tree I could find,” added Birdwhistle convincingly.
Suddenly Fighting Wolf was tired of toying with his cousin. “Keep your canoe,” he stated. “No trade.”
“Wh-what?” Birdwhistle’s look of disappointment almost made Fighting Wolf laugh.
“You heard me. No trade.” With that, the war chief grinned disdainfully and turned on his heel. Watching him stride away, Birdwhistle’s jaw clenched and unclenched in anger.
“”Master! Master!” A slave came rushing up. “Your wife wants—“
“Shut up!” snarled Birdwhistle as he viciously backhanded the unsuspecting slave across the mouth. The man staggered from the blow, then caught his balance. He touched his hand to his injured face. Bright red blood dripped through his brown fingers. “Get out of here, you useless offal!” shouted Birdwhistle. The slave fled, glad to get away from his master’s cruel temper.
Fighting Wolf strolled in the direction of his longhouse. The villagers stepped deferentially out of his way as he passed through the crowd.
He brooded on what had just passed between himself and Birdwhistle. His cousin was a fool to think that Fighting Wolf would part with such a beautiful slave woman so easily. Trade, indeed! Fighting Wolf snorted. No, he was not ready to trade her. Yet. Perhaps later, when he’d grown tired of her. For now, he found her…attractive. No, not merely attractive, he admitted. Devastatingly beautiful. He wanted her for himself. His heart swelled as he remembered how lovely she’d looked dressed in her wedding finery. She’d made a beautiful bride, indeed. Now she was no bride, would never be, he thought sardonically, but she was still beautiful. And she was his.