8
Night had fallen when she had at last wrapped the bandages around his chest and his arm, making them tight enough to keep the skin together. She also washed his other scrapes, noticing his glance followed her hands carefully.
She asked, “Why do you look at what I’m doing as if you expect me to add more claw marks than those already there?”
He frowned before answering, but at last he said, “Because you are touching places on my chest that are”—he paused—“hurting, but also…are sensitive.”
He smiled a little, and Abagail gave him a considering glance. She asked, “I am hurting you?”
“No,” he answered.
“Then, why do you look at what I am doing so carefully?”
“Because,” he replied, “I am trying to anticipate where next your hand might land upon me.”
“Oh,” she said. “But, it is not because of pain?”
He grinned at her, but he didn’t answer.
She sat up and turned away from him, her intention being to gather up more of the soup she had made and put it into his bowl. But, she turned back toward him when he said, “Miss Abagail, you should forget your servitude and come and live with my people.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t,” she said at once. “Both the Patriots and the Loyalists would hunt me down, and they might not be kind to your people if they found me there among you. Besides, Mr. Wilson said he would meet me at Fort Stanwix, and since he is the proprietor of the inn and is probably the real owner of my papers, I fear he has in mind to take me back there.”
“I will talk to him for you, then. You should be free as the Creator intended you to be.”
Abagail hesitated, fearing to even envision what it might be like to be free. Swallowing down the thought, happy though it might be, she said, “But, Mr. Skenan, this is not how English society works. I was unable to fend for myself in England and so I contracted myself to the king to work in the colonies until I had fulfilled my contract. I cannot change it.”
“Ah, but you can, Miss Abagail. All of God’s creatures were meant to be free, and this includes you. Besides, if your people are fighting for their independence to throw off the hold your king has over them, and if they succeed, you would be free.”
She said, “I do not believe this is true. In all countries, to my knowledge, once one has signed and agreed to a contract, it is the same as giving one’s word. And, even I know an Indian’s word of honor is sacred to him. So you see, I am bound by the contract by my own agreement to it.”
“So it might seem,” he said, frowning at her. “But, you forget: what you are saying about the act of binding you to a man or a woman to work at their whim goes against the laws of God. And, going against the laws of God, a contract like this one should have no effect on you. I will tell this to you, true: a man is as good and as honest as he obeys the laws of the Creator and pays no attention to the laws of man. This is particularly true when a man seeks to enslave another man.”
“But—“
“There is no ‘but.’ Miss Stockenridge hurt you…might have even killed you. This, too, goes against the laws of the Creator. Indeed, I do not think you should return there…ever. You should come and live with my people.”
“But, don’t your people have slaves?”
“We do not.”
“But, I have heard you take captives during your wars and that the Indians make slaves out of their captives.”
“Who told you this?” he asked at once.
“Why, the men and the hunters at the inn.”
“Then, they lie. Indeed, they lie. Yes, we take captives if we go to war, but they are not slaves. Each one is adopted into a family that has lost a child or another member of the family. The captive then takes the place of the missing person, and the captive is then treated with all the respect of the lost family member. Those people so adopted have all the rights of any other Oneida man or woman who is native-born to the tribe.”
Abagail didn’t know how to respond. It this were true, and she had no reason to doubt him, then the Oneida Indians were more civilized than the British concerning captives of war.
“So, you see,” said Skenan, continuing. “You should come and live with my people. Truly, you could even be a part of my own family, and—”
Tears suddenly found their way into Abagail’s eyes. How could he say this to her? How could he tease her like this? Hadn’t she told him she had never been part of a family? Didn’t he know how much the mere act of telling her about how she could be a part of his family would act upon her? Didn’t he realize it would hurt, since she knew it could never be?
She turned her head away from him, fearful of even bringing up a hand to wipe away the tears. She did not wish him to know how much his simple words cut into her.
“You cry?” he asked. “Why do you cry?”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Instead of speaking a single word to him, she jumped up to her feet and ran away from him, pacing toward the entrance to the cave. There, she sat down on the rock she’d used to sit the watch.
Shortly, he joined her there; he, too, coming down to incline upon the rock. He asked, “What was it I said to cause your tears?”
She couldn’t speak. She could only sit there and weep.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I do not know what words I said to cause this.”
It was several minutes before she could utter a sound, but Skenan seemed to have the patience to wait.
At last, she sobbed, then mumbled, “How could you? Did I not tell you I have never known my family? That there is no one to care what happens to me? How could you suggest I could become a part of your family, and so very easily, if I would only walk away from my obligation? Well, I can’t do it, I tell you. I can’t…even if it means I will have no family at all.”
Skenan listened to her in silence. And, he didn’t speak up at once. In due time, however, he said, “I care.”
She sobbed, her tears falling unchecked upon her cheeks. “But, you don’t even know me.”
“I know you well enough to invite you to be a part of my family, my clan. I also know you well enough to fight a bear for you.”
She sobbed, the tears causing her voice to tremble when she asked, “And, what part of your family would I be? What missing person’s place would I take?”
“My sister’s maybe,” he answered. “She died several years ago from the white man’s disease.”
“The white man’s disease?” she asked. “Do you mean smallpox?”
“Nyoh, yes,” he replied.
Abagail couldn’t say a word for several moments. But, at last, she whimpered out, “I am sorry to hear about your sister, but please do not tease me with this any longer. I cannot bear it. I must fulfill my contract because I said I would. I cannot so easily walk away from it. It just can never be. Now, leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone.”
Although Skenan did not depart from her at once, he eventually rose up to his feet and trod back to the robes and the pine boughs of his bed. And, lying down and turning over despite the early hour of the day, he was soon asleep.