KEKIONGA
By
Jana Lynn Shellman
© September, 2006
318 W. Leith Street
Fort Wayne, IN 46807-1439
All Rights Reserved
FOREWORD
The Shaman of the Kiskakon tribe envisioned a place where three rivers came together. . In the air above the three rivers rose a white tipi of light. This white tipi of light illuminated the area with a special protective influence.
When the Shaman found the place where the three rivers met he knew he had found the sacred place of protection, and in this place he settled and the village of Kekionga sprang to life.
The Shaman foretold from that day forward this place would never be tormented by the whirling winds from the Southwest. Legend thereafter told of Miami tribesmen seeing the winds coming in tall dark pillars streaking across the open meadows and tearing swaths of destruction through the forests. They told of finding the paths of these pillars of darkness. They told how three pillars came to an area just West of where the three rivers met, two turned and went to the South, one turned and went to the North. Later braves would comment even the rain storms seemed to turn and head away from the place where their village sat.
CHAPTER ONE
Knitting needles clicked. One pair quickly and the other slow and halting. Two red heads snuggled down inside their respective blankets, their chairs pulled close to the fire. Their noses poked out of the folds of the blankets.
In the cold air they could smell the aroma of bear stew, laden with onions and pieces of squash bubbling heartily in the iron pot slung over the fire. Chamomile, mint, catnip, sage and bay leaves hung in fragrant bunches from the rafters, imparting their own exotic scent. This scent mixed with the muttony smell of the pulled and combed wool hanging in frothy clouds over the railing of the loft above their heads.
The two red heads snuggled down inside of their patchwork quilts and pulled their chairs closer to the fire. Their hands peeked out holding knitting needles. The only sound in the room was the clicking of the knitting needles and the crackle of the fire. Now and then sounds of bubbling could be heard coming from the iron pot slung in the fireplace.
There was an occasional hissing sound as snow melted from a pair of boots hung over an iron drying arm. Suddenly, one pair of needles stopped their clicking and a soft curse issued from inside the quilt.
"Lally, shame on you. You must watch your language."
"Do not ladies say such things?"
"No, Lally. Ladies never curse."
"I don't think I can bear never cursing:"
Maggie chuckled at the look of consternation on Maria Louisa's face . She noticed that the half-Indian half-French young woman had changed her hairstyle. It was now exactly like her own. She had also noticed that her friend had stopped wearing the satin gowns and gaudy scarves she had worn when they met, and was now wearing a simple cotton gown, much like Maggie’s. It appeared to be homemade. She was surprised to learn that her friend could sew.
"This is so boring, Cheri. Are you certain that this is what ladies are supposed to be doing?"
"Ladies who want to provide for the comfort of their men do these things. Especially, when there isn't much money to send East for such luxuries.,"
"I could buy these already ,finished?"
"Perhaps, There are more and more things being shipped here. But they would be very dear. It is more prudent to make your own."
"What is prudent?"
"Prudent is making one's own clothes. Like you made your dress."
"I didn’t make my dress. Father brought this for me from Grandmother, Marie Louise.. It was stolen from a family in a pirogue. She got it for me because I am her namesake. Is ‘namesake’ what you say?"
"Yes, Lally. That is the formal definition."
Louisa nodded, proud that she at least sounded like a lady in her conversation.
The girls continued their knitting in silence, the lonely whine of the winter wind blowing through the trees, whipping around the small cabin, suddenly rose to a scream. As it whirled down the chimney it swept up sparks and threw them out at the room’s occupants. Maggie jumped to her feet and stomped them out with her small moccasins. The stench of singed leather mixed with the other scents in the room. She laughed nervously.
From a distance came the howling of a wolf. Maggie ran quickly to the tiny window covered with oiled paper.
"You’re jumpy tonight, Cheri!." said her companion, Louisa.
"Oh Lally, if only Sam would get back. He left to check his traps a week ago. He should be back by now. I don’t know what I’m going to do, if... Oh, Lally, I’m scared." cried Maggie.
"I’ll stay with you until he returns. Do not worry. He is a brave man. He is trapping near the village of Little Turtle, my Uncle. You know I’ve sent to him to look out for Sam. They will find him. He will be safe."
Louisa stood, letting the comforter drop to the floor. It fell in a soft puddle around the chair, crudely fashioned from willow saplings. Her moccasins swished across the smooth, swept dirt floor .as she crossed to the pile of wood and gathered an armful to carry back to the fireplace. The iron pot creaked as she swung it out of the way. She knelt, brushed back her long auburn hair and began placing the firewood carefully atop the glowing coals. Using the folds of her skirt to protect her hands, she lifted the lid from the pot. Steam rose from the bubbling stew. She replaced the lid, lifted the heavy pot and carried it quickly to the crudely made table nearby. Maggie carried two nicked and checkered plates to the table, and placed them near the stew. As she turned to pull the chairs to the table, the door of the cabin swung open. Snow and wind spilled into the room: The light from the fire reflected back from the darkness, as it struck a dozen eyes. Louisa rushed to the door, leaned her full weight on it and fought a fierce battle with the wind before the door closed. She lifted the wooden bolt and dropped it into place
."Lally. Those were wolves. What if Sam tries to get home and the wolves are waiting outside?"
"Sam is strong enough to outwit a few wolves. Now get over here and sit down. You have to eat something and stop worrying. You must eat." said Louisa. She ladled chunks of meat and vegetables onto the plates. Remains of a loaf of bread were unwrapped from a scrap of cloth. Louisa hungrily dipped a chunk of bread into the broth in the pot. She stuffed it into her mouth and wiped the grease from her chin onto the sleeve of her dress. She glanced quickly at Maggie, picked up the rag in which the bread had been wrapped and wiped at her already clean chin. She noticed Maggie had placed two wooden spoons on the table. She grabbed one, and began noisily spooning the stew into her mouth. She glanced at Maggie, who was daintily sipping the broth from her spoon. She sighed. Maggie looked up at her friend with concern.
"Whatever is the matter Lally? Is there something wrong with my stew?"
"No, Cheri. It is wonderful. It is just I will never learn to be civilized."
"You’re wonderful just the way you are. Besides your Grandmother has told me the ways of your tribe. I think from your legends, your people have been civilized much longer than the Americans. You have nothing to worry about."
Maggie stood and shivered as the wind screamed down the chimney again. From outside the wolves began their mournful howling. There seemed to be more of them now. She paced from the fire to the door and back again. She should feel warm and safe. There was plenty of food to last the winter. The woodpile was large enough to heat the cabin for two years. If she could get out to bring it in...she’d be fine. If Sam got back... She shook the frightening thoughts from her head, looked around the chilly room, smiled at her friend and determined to be brave and make the best of it.
Maggie picked up the comforters and wrapped one around her friend’s shoulders, tucking the ends around her feet. She wrapped herself in the other and pulled her chair up to the table. As the light from the fire flickered wildly over the dark walls of the small cabin, the world outside screamed to be let in. The wind moaned and the wolves howled. The two friends finished their lonely supper.
CHAPTER TWO
Twenty miles away, a man-shaped form struggled through the forest, the wind whipping the thick buffalo robe. The hide was white with snow, adding to its weight. The man’s eyebrows, mustache and beard were encrusted with snow. His eyelashes were heavy with their own tiny icicles. The wind roared and screamed through the trees above him. His hands and feet were numb from the cold. He peered through the thick snowfall wondering if the faint light he saw ahead was an illusion of the blizzard or reality.
He stared so intently toward the light he stumbled over the stones in the path. Overhead he heard the sound of a thousand antlers, and gourds crashing together. As he struggled to his feet, arms reached out from the darkness to support him. He found himself being carried quickly toward the light. He lost consciousness.
When he awoke, he kept his eyes shut tightly. He could smell much humanity in a small space. He could smell food cooking, and he could hear a child laughing and singing. He could hear the language of the Miami.
"Aya. Wahpam. Weechilum." . "Hello, Look at Him. Help Him." said a voice near his ear.
He detected the smell of tobacco. Outside he could hear the wind blowing wildly. He felt a slight draft over his face, as the wind swept inside his bedroll.
He ran his hands down his chest. He was not wearing clothing. There were warm rocks at his feet. He felt a hand brush softly across his brow. Sam opened his eyes and saw nothing.
CHAPTER 3
Maggie awoke to see sunshine streaming through the small window in the loft. Snow filled some of the cracks near the roof line, but not before it drifted through the cracks and spilled onto the coverlet on Louisa’s side of the bed. She slept, oblivious of the snow drift she slept under.
Surprise visits from the Indians were not unusual. Louisa had assured her none were going to go out in the blizzard to surprise two women alone.
Maggie felt safe having Louisa, a daughter of Chief Papakechee and the niece of Chief Little Turtle, as her companion.
Her own grandfather had been a son of the Wolf Clan of the Shawnee. But with her red hair and freckles she was not reassured that the tribe of the Prophet and Tecumseh would believe she was kin to them.
From the stories she’d heard as a child, she believed it was Tecumseh himself who had counseled the young people to inter-marry with the Europeans. Her maternal grandmother had told her how she had sent the young boys off through the woods to the Settler’s houses to steal clothing hanging on the lines and bring them back to her. She traded skins for cloth, and taught herself to sew. Eventually she taught Maggie to sew as well.
The clothing they made was hidden in deerskin bags in the dwellings. When the American soldiers got closer to their homes they would move on, disguised as white settlers. Eventually we would build homes like the Americans. My mother was very proud when she had a house with windows and a door. She was pleased when my father built her a table and chairs. It was very hard for them to learn to sleep on the beds of the whites, and almost everyone slept on the floors in their bear robes and other skins. They slept in the loft of the cabins, and the heat from the fire would come up and warm them. Before when they slept in the wigwams, everyone slept together and they were very close and kept one another warm.
When the old ones slept with us it could be very noisy, and sometimes very smelly. Sometimes as she grew older, in the very bitter cold, she wondered about the people who still live in the wigwams. They heard of the very old and the very young dying from the bitter cold. She could always go to the fire to keep warm, and they always had food.
She often wondered why the very old and the very young in the wigwams did not have fire or food, but grandmother said sometimes the very old were not able to keep the fire going and had no one to look after them.
Sometimes the very old hid and were left behind to survive for themselves when the solders came and moved our people West. That’s why, when Maggie’s mother became a young woman, she married a Swiss farmer. The Shamans foretold a time when the whites would take over our land, and try to do away with our people. In order to preserve our blood and our ways, our Chiefs told us we were to stay quiet and pretend to be white.
No matter her heritage, Maggie still worried that there might be a drunken Indian who didn’t take the time to check a woman’s ancestry before accosting her.
It was true the annuities weren’t due for another two months. It was highly unlikely any of the Indians had enough money to purchase the illicit whiskey sold in the forest.
She was grateful for Louisa’s presence. She had to admit most of the Miamis and most of the white men knew Louisa. They knew she shouldn’t be bothered. Their first meeting came about when Louisa rescued her from the advances of an amorous trapper.
Their second meeting came when she rescued Maggie from a drunken Shawnee. Maggie needed someone to look out for her when Sam was trapping or farming. Maggie welcomed the female companionship.
The ladies of the fort frowned on her choice of friends. The wives of the American officers were scandalized by the freedom the half-breed women possessed, but they secretly relished their visits with them. Maggie and Louisa delighted in fueling the ladies’ active imaginations. They often speculated about the gossip as soon as the two girls left.
Sam’s trapper friends declared Louisa a rich, spoiled brat, who didn’t know how to act like a lady. Though Louisa didn’t seem to know how to act like a lady, she knew one when she saw one. She knew Maggie was a lady. She also knew how a lady should be treated. She demanded Maggie be treated as one. She also demanded to be treated like a lady. It was difficult for the men to remember this when she flirted openly with them, made unladylike comments, and could ride, shoot and swear like a man.
She was the best friend Maggie had in this wilderness. She appreciated everything Louisa had done for her. She knew Louisa had many secrets she didn’t divulge. She wondered how much of the savage was left in her. The two young women with similar heritage had vastly different upbringing. Maggie’s mother and grandmothers had always demanded she behave in a lady-like manner and to always observe the words and philosophy of Tecumseh.
Maggie wondered how many of the things Lally did tell her were completely true or just told to shock her.
Maggie flung the covers from her and hurried into her warm clothes. She pulled the woolen stockings over her feet, and pulled on the boots that reached to her knees. Louisa’s Grandmother had made them for her.
She scooped up a handful of snow from atop Louisa’s blankets and let it melt in her hand, and then let the droplets drip from her fingers onto Louisa’s forehead.
With a whoop Louisa shot out of her bed, danced as her feet hit the icy cold floor, and jumped back under the covers and pulled them around her.
"Cheri! Is this hospitality?"
"It’s such a wonderful sunshiny day. I thought we should get up and see it. The dark is so depressing. Can’t we get dressed and go outside? Can’t we get more wood in? Can’t we just be out in the sunshine for a little while?"
"You will freeze to death out there. Do you see rabbits? If the rabbits are out looking for food, then we can go out. If the rabbits stay in, then we stay in."
"I will look for rabbits, if you will run down and make the fire hotter. It is too cold up here. Did you let the fire go put?" Maggie looked down over the railing of the loft,.and screamed.
