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How can I be angry with her? She is right. I assumed because she was an Indian, she did not speak English. I was the one who believed savages incapable of civilized behavior or human emotions. If all she says is true, Asila and her tribe have been cruelly treated by our government. Yet she risked her freedom and that of the child to save me, a white man.
He swallowed and met her eyes.
“Asila, I beg your forgiveness. I did not take the time to learn anything about you. I listened to the words of others and judged you by their wrongful beliefs. You saved my life, and for that I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
Asila acknowledged his apology with a nod but said nothing.
Gabriel went on. “Your people and mine have one thing in common. While you are under my roof, I consider you a part of my family, my clan. I cannot allow you to leave now and take the child. The journey is long and dangerous, and you would surely be discovered by the soldiers searching for runaway Indians. Please, allow me to repay my debt to you by offering you and Salai sanctuary here in my home until search parties are no longer roaming the forests and it is safe for you to go.”
* * *
She considered his request then asked a question. “If I agree to stay under your roof, am I also agreeing to allow you to spank me whenever you want without offering any objection or resistance?”
“As head of the household, it is my duty to require obedience from those under my care,” he answered. “It is for your protection – yours and the child’s. My rules are necessary. I will not subject you to discipline on a whim. But if you deliberately disregard an order I give, then yes, I will expect you to honor your word and submit to punishment for your misbehavior.”
Asila was silent for a long time.
He is right. If I leave now, we will surely be discovered by the soldiers. I have no choice but to stay here, no matter how humiliating it is to be under a man’s rule. This white man does not know that in the Cherokee tribes women hold the power. We own all the property. It is passed down through the generations from mother to daughter. The men come to live with us in our homes when we marry. And we can divorce them at will, drive them out for drunkenness, laziness, or any other misdeed. To willingly give up control to a man, especially to a white man, is to give up a part of my Soul. Only for one reason can I bear to do it. For the life of the precious child in my arms. She must survive. She is the future of my people.
“I agree – on one condition. You will not strike the child. If you feel she is in need of correction, as her caretaker I take the blame…and I will take your punishment. Salai is young and innocent. If she disobeys you, it is only because she does not yet understand right from wrong. It is because I have not taught her well enough.”
“I am not a monster, Asila. I do not strike babies or beat children. Please, come inside. Let us begin again.”
He ushered her to the open doorway and stopped. “How do you do?” he said formally, holding out his hand. “My name is Gabriel. Gabriel Benson. Welcome to my home. I hope you will consider it your home, too, for as long as you need it.”
Asila stepped over the threshold and took his hand. “I am Asila, Medicine Woman of the Fox Clan of the Cherokee Nation. On behalf of myself and my niece Salai, I accept your hospitality. Please…call me Silla.”
Chapter Eight
Over the next few days, they settled into forced domestic life in the tiny cabin, treating each other with cool politeness.
Asila seldom spoke to him. When she did, it was to offer a description of the wild plants and herbs she added to a stew she set before him to eat, or to give a report of the number of eggs the hens laid that morning. She was wary of incurring his disapproval and earning another paddling.
If he ordered her to, she would submit. She had made an agreement. Enduring another session with the hairbrush applied to her bottom would be less painful than living with the knowledge she had not honored her word.
* * *
For his part, Gabriel kept his distance, saying only “Good morning,” “Goodbye” as he left for the fields, and “Good night” before turning his back to them in bed. He, too, was afraid to provoke any action that might warrant disciplining her.
He couldn’t get the image of Silla’s lush body out of his mind. Having her naked bottom in front of him again, seeing the dark curls peeking out between her thighs, breathing in the scent of her but not allowing himself to satisfy his raw hunger, would punish him far more than paddling would punish her.
Salai was blissfully unaware of the tension between them. Unfailingly cheerful, she woke each morning and dove into her daily task of discovering the endless wonders of the world around her. She went to both Gabriel and Asila throughout the day, bringing them treasures she’d discovered – shiny rocks, flowers, bird feathers. One evening when he came home, Gabriel surprised her with a rough figure he’d carved from a piece of wood then dressed with bits of striped ticking fabric from his musket ball pouch, tied on for a skirt and bonnet.
Salai shrieked with delight, rocking her “baby.” She immediately began investigating how the clothes were fastened, so she could pull them off again.
Gabriel glanced up and saw Silla staring at him in surprise.
“It’s a doll. I remembered my younger sister had one. Papa made it for her, and she carried it everywhere.”
“Thank you. That was very kind,” Silla said in the low soft tone he loved to hear.
They watched Salai rocking her naked “baby” then wrapping the bits of cloth back around it. When she began crooning a lullaby made up of random words in both English and Cherokee, they smiled at each other, sharing the moment like proud parents whose daughter just spoke her first word.
The moment of unexpected closeness made the first crack in the walls they’d built. Gabriel and Silla began talking at the dinner table, hesitantly at first, about daily events. As time went on, each of them offered bits of themselves, including details of their early lives and the families in which they were raised.
Silla told him stories about the role of Cherokee women in their society.
“If Cherokee warriors want to go into battle against an enemy, first the Council convenes. All the warriors vote. If they vote yes, the decision is not final until they go to the oldest woman in the village and plead their case. If she votes ‘yes,’ war is declared. If she votes ‘no,’ the tribe does not do battle with their foe. They try instead to solve their differences peacefully.”
