Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
Their little camp had become a flurry of activity, and it was good, very good how Grey Coyote had secured their gully against an enemy, for it would be here where they would pause for a few days. Days which would be filled with the chore of drying meat and making pemmican.
“We will be traveling deep into enemy territory,” Grey Coyote had explained. “We will not be availed of the luxury of lighting a fire along the way.”
Lighting a fire was a luxury? One would never know it, Marietta thought, the way she struggled with the chore.
Grey Coyote continued to speak. “Kakel, thus, although I do not like to wait, for there is urgency in my duty, we must take these few days to prepare our food. But I can only allow two or three, perhaps four days at the most.”
Marietta readily agreed. This suited her, and she was quick to let Grey Coyote know as well.
So today, their third day together, Grey Coyote had taken to the hunt early, informing Marietta that she was to remain inside their hideaway until he returned. Since she bore many chores involving the pounding of various berries, this was no hardship.
Grey Coyote returned before noon, carrying the carcass of a deer over his back. Marietta watched from their shelter’s entryway as he lowered the animal to the ground. In truth, she never tired of looking at the man, for his physique was most pleasing.
Crawling out from the shelter, she said, “Good morning, husband.” Odd how the endearment, husband, fit him well. Strange also how natural it sounded on her lips.
“Hau, hau,” he replied, pulling her into his arms. He gave her a robust hug.
“It never ceases to amaze me.”
“What is it you speak of, my wife?”
“How is it that you can carry a deer for miles and miles, and do not seem to tire?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps it is because I have done so all the days of my life. I know of no Indian man who cannot do it.”
She merely shook her head. “And still, for me, you are the only one I know who can.”
“Perhaps the white man has a more leisurely life.”
“Maybe. Well, come. Before we start skinning the deer, you should take yourself down to the stream and bathe, for you smell of deer and blood.”
He sniffed at himself, pulling at his shirt. “You do not like it?”
“There are other scents I prefer.”
He grinned, but nonetheless, turning, he headed toward their little stream. She watched him with a greatly adoring gaze. Then, sighing, she returned to her chores.
Soon both she and Grey Coyote were hard at work.
It would be Grey Coyote’s duty to clean and gut the animal, while Marietta set to striking up the fire and fixing the tripod which would hold the meat for smoking.
It would also be her task to dig out the marrow from the various bones of the deer, for this yellowish fat looked and tasted much like butter, and when it was pounded, along with berries and dried meat, it made a fine pemmican.
At the moment, however, she had ceased her work, for Grey Coyote had come to her and was bent over her, painting her face.
To herself, she grinned, for it seemed Grey Coyote regarded her with a bit of awe. His hands shook at his task, and his fingers were unsteady. Though she dared not smile openly, Marietta was thoroughly charmed.
“Tell me again,” she said, barely moving her lips, “why is it that you are painting me?”
He paused, his midnight eyes looking deeply into her own. For a moment, they shared an affectionate glance. “Because your skin is fair and will burn under the sun. Therefore, you need protection. Also because it is my duty as your husband to do this for you.”
“Ahhh. An Assiniboine husband performs this custom for his wife as a matter of course?”
Grey Coyote nodded. “Every day. Unless there is no sun.”
“I see. And what does an Assiniboine wife do for her husband in return? Does she paint his face as well?”
Grey Coyote drew himself up as straight as he could, given his position. “No man requires a woman to paint his face.” He frowned at her, his countenance mock-serious. Though he smiled, he asked, “Do you mean to insult me?”
“No,” she said, not wishing to offend. “I was just curious.”
This seemed to placate him easily enough, and despite the fact his hands still trembled at his task—reminding her again that he treated her like she might be a fine jewel—he at last completed the chore.
Sitting back, Grey Coyote surveyed his handiwork.
“Since you have asked about painting my face, perhaps I should tell you how an Indian woman takes care of her man: an Indian woman takes care of her man by cleaning the meat, sewing him good, sturdy clothes, putting together their lodge, and many other chores concerning the lodge. An Assiniboine wife is very tireless in her work, and when a man returns from the hunt with game, she will settle her man into their lodge and bring him pipe and food. She will even remove his moccasins and rub his feet.”
“Really?”
He bobbed his head. “She will also wash down his pony and take the game he procured; she will dress it and cook it. It is a good time for a man. An Assiniboine husband anticipates these leisure activities with his wife with much joy.”
“Does he now?”
“Hau.”
“It’s really a lot of work for a woman,” Marietta said with a smirk. “You should know this.”
“It is true. And a good woman is the object of much affection, as you are with me.”
She grinned.
“But tell me,” he continued, “does a white woman do no work?”
Marietta shrugged. “She does much work, as does her husband.”
He nodded. “It is the same for the Indian. There are women’s chores and men’s chores.
And when in camp with others, the two never cross.
Now here, I help you with many of the chores that are traditionally considered the tasks of the woman.
I do this because there is no one else here, and because you do not know our ways.
But were I in an encampment of my people, if I were to be caught doing these same chores for you, I would be laughed at, even called a woman, perhaps rejected from the society to which I belong. ”
Marietta tossed her head and tut-tutted.
Still, he continued, “But a good Assiniboine wife does not object to her work. If she is a good woman, she takes much pride in her tasks, and would shoo a man away with a stick if he tried to help her.”
“Truly?”
“It is so. She would accuse him of trying to make her lazy. Her mother and grandmother, if they were also good women, would taunt her. They would call her lazy, and this no woman of good merit could stand.”
Marietta smiled at him. “Well, husband, if we are ever in an Indian encampment, I will be certain to bring you your pipe and food, and rub your feet.”
“But only if I return with game.”
“Only then?”
“It is so. If I fail to bring home food for the family, the Assiniboine wife will ignore her man and will leave him alone, sometimes not even returning to sleep with him.”
“Honestly?”
“I speak true.”
“All right, then, if we are ever in an Indian encampment and you bring home game, I will collect your pipe and food for you, and will rub your feet…most adoringly,” she added.
It caused him to grin. “Do not tell me this, wife, if you do not mean to keep your promise, for I will hold you to it.”
“I’ll do it.” She frowned. “If we are ever together in an Indian encampment. But I doubt this will happen.”
He gave her a rather crafty smile. “We will see.”
“Humph.”
“And I will remember to hold you to it.”
She smiled at him. “Do that.”
Two days had passed. Two days of rapturous bliss, the daylight hours being filled with the chores of pounding berries, smoking meat and pemmican making, the evenings fueled by passion, quiet conversations and teasing embraces.
It was a little past noon on this, their fifth day together.
Grey Coyote was sitting across from her in their shelter, a small fire between them.
He had been sewing a pair of extra moccasins for their journey.
When he at last finished, he put away his handiwork and stared at her.
“The time has come for us to make final preparations to go.”
Go? Leave their paradise? So soon?
Their gazes met, locked, and though neither one spoke what might have been in their hearts, each knew what was on the other’s mind. Still she managed to smile. “This is good.”
He nodded.
In the silence that ensued, each one of them carefully avoided looking at the other. In due time, Grey Coyote said, “There is one more item I will require before we journey to the trading post. But only the one.”
“Oh?” she said. “What is it?”
“Arrows. I will need a few more arrows. Therefore, we will travel to a place where we can find the proper wood; it is a forest in the hills. After I have procured the right kind of wood, the arrows are not difficult to make. But I must find the right kind of wood.”
“Good. And then we will be ready to travel onward?”
“It is so.”
“And is this forest very far out of our way?”
“A little,” he said, “but though time is precious, this must be done if I am to defend us properly.”
“Ah. Does this mean we leave today?”
“Hau. From now until we reach the trading post, we will of necessity travel only at night.”
“Is it safer to travel at night, then?”
“Hau, hau. It is summertime. A time for warring parties, for young men seeking revenge, and for young men looking to count coup so as to court the girl of their choice. It is not a good time to be traveling on the open prairie.”
“I see.”
“Therefore we will sleep during the day and go forward at night, and even in doing this, we will need to disguise ourselves and be very careful.”
“All right,” she said. “Then I should make preparations to leave tonight?”
“Yes.”
She nodded. “What kind of wood do you require for your arrows?”
“The Juneberry or the chokecherry are the best wood for this.”
“Did you say the Juneberry or the chokecherry?”
“I did.”