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Elizabeth did not want to disappoint him by revealing to him that this woman was the woman he had dragged half drowned from the Sound. That Maysie had lived the life of a prostitute until lately, when she gave herself solely to Four Winds.
No. It was best not to reveal that Maysie had, in a sense, taken a similar road in her life as Four Winds—the wrong road. These two unfortunate people were finding salvation in each other’s company, pulling themselves out of degradation into something that could be ideal, if they would only accept it.
The sound of people talking and moving anxiously outside the longhouse drew Elizabeth’s attention toward the door. “Tomorrow we leave for the canyon?” she asked, raising up on an elbow. “I am so happy to be able to partake in the salmon harvest with you. It will be such an adventure.”
“It won’t begin the moment we arrive,” Strong Heart said, rising from the platform and slipping into his fringed breeches. “After we reach the canyon, there could be several days of waiting for the right moment to start our harvest. And even then, we may have to wait awhile longer.”
Elizabeth rose, stretched, then drew her buckskin dress over her head. “Why is that?” she asked, pulling the dress down her slender body, enjoying Strong Heart’s look of admiration as he gazed at her.
Strong Heart admired her a moment longer, feeling the flicker of heat in his loins that Elizabeth’s loveliness always sparked. Then he looked away from her and knelt on one knee beside the glowing embers of the coals in his firepit. “The salmon chief, Smiling Wolf, is the one who gives the signal for the beginning of fishing each season. No one dares approach the river to fish, unless he has given them permission.”
He took a short stick and stirred the coals among the ashes. He scattered some wood shavings into the small, glowing embers. As they burst into flames, he placed more twigs on until the fire had grown enough for a larger piece of wood, which he quickly laid across it.
Elizabeth picked up her hairbrush and began brushing her hair in long, even strokes. “I have never heard of a salmon chief before,” she murmured.
“The Suquamish salmon chief is a leader separate from the tribal chief,” Strong Heart said, going to the door when he heard a faint knock. He said thank you to Many Stars when she handed him a huge, steaming pot of clam soup, then took it and hung it over the fire.
He turned to Elizabeth as she sat down beside him, handing him a wooden bowl and spoon, keeping one for herself. “Smiling Wolf is a shaman, a religious man,” he explained further. “He is believed to have ‘salmon power,’ the ability to make the salmon reappear on schedule each year.”
Elizabeth dipped soup into both of their bowls. She was always glad to learn more of his customs, knowing that was her true way of being totally accepted in his community.
Strong Heart gazed warmly at Elizabeth as she began sipping soup from her spoon. “Ah-hah, soon the gifts of the sea will bring prosperity to the tribe for one more long winter of cold moons,” he said, then began eating too, thinking that finally everything was as it should be in his life, and especially his la-daila’s!
He would not allow himself to think of all of the ways that this could change, just in the blink of an eye. This was now, and in his heart, now was forever.
* * *
Later, when Elizabeth was comfortably asleep on the sleeping platform, a rug drawn snugly to her chin, Strong Heart placed a cloak around his shoulders. Lifting a heavy buckskin bag and slinging it across his shoulder, he took a long, lingering look at Elizabeth, then turned and left the longhouse.
The moon was only occasionally visible through the foliage overhead. Strong Heart ran through the forest, knowing where he must go to assure a bountiful harvest of salmon. This year it was more important than any other, because his people had already lost too much.
He would go to the medicine rock and honor it with tokens of worship. The medicine rock had the power to grant a wish to those who visited it. With their wishes they sought to bring back their health, or to heal a broken heart. Strong Heart sought to quicken the run of the salmon.
When Strong Heart reached farther along the banks of the Duwamish River, far from where his village slept silently during this midnight hour, he proceeded carefully up a steep embankment above the river. His gaze locked on the face of a brown, curving rock, and a tree that grew straight out of the rock. He could already see that others had come to honor the rock’s powers, because many gifts hung from the bare limbs of the tree, like offerings placed upon the altar of a church.
Strong Heart moved carefully onward. The rock was exceedingly hard to reach. This was deliberate because a white man had destroyed one of the earlier altars of his people, and had taken the wampum and beadwork for himself. This special location of the rock was to discourage those who would easily avail themselves of the offerings of the people of his tribe.
After finally reaching the rock, he gazed in wonder at the preponderance of gifts. Hardly a space remained for Strong Heart’s own offering. A broad smile touched his lips and he now knew that all would be blessed this season of the salmon run. It seemed that every able person of his village had come to the rock with their wishes.
Strong Heart knelt and placed the bag on the rock at the base of the tree and smiled heavenward.
Chapter 29
When did morning ever break
And find such beaming eyes awake
As those that sparkle here!
—THOMAS MOORE
The drums had throbbed and the chants had echoed to the heavens all night. It was now dawn on the river and the drums and chants had ceased. Elizabeth sat before the campfire, warming her hands as the sun rose slowly in the sky. She gazed around her at the faces of the Suquamish people as the women cooked over the hot coals of the fires, the braves scurried about preparing their methods of catching the salmon, and the children romped and played, their excitement evident in their eyes.
Two days ago they had arrived where the big river roared and foamed as it squeezed through the nearby canyon. They now waited for the Suquamish’s most important event of the year, the time when salmon fought their way upstream through the canyon to reach their spawning riffles.
The sun now deliciously warming the air, Elizabeth turned from the fire and gazed at Strong Heart as he joined the others. He was sharpening the tip of a lightweight, short harpoon for throwing at the salmon.
Her gaze shifted, seeing some of the men making dip nets to scoop the salmon out of the river. They would stand on temporary dams that were built each year to trap the salmon and either use their nets or spears to catch the fish.
