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“Your warriors give such power to a woman?” Gabriel was incredulous.
Silla nodded. “The Cherokee honor our Old Ones. Among our people, the eldest woman is considered the wisest member of the tribe. She knows untested young warriors will seize on the slightest offense as an opportunity to prove their manliness in combat. But she has seen the toll that war takes. Death and destruction are not confined to the braves on the battlefield. She weighs the safety of the women and children, the old ones, even the wellbeing of the crops in the field against the need to avenge a wrong.”
Gabriel had never met a woman like her before. Not only was Silla well-educated, she was unfailingly calm and cool. She did not speak or act impulsively. And she could hold her own in a debate. Women in his family had always been treated with respect, but underneath was the belief that not only were they physically weaker, they were less strong emotionally, prone to impulsive and even dangerous acts because they weren’t capable of the same rational thought processes of men.
“Your people have discovered a practical way of solving problems, one I wish my own government followed,” he said. “Your tribe has wisdom I think my people could learn from.”
* * *
As for Silla, she began to appreciate how hard pioneer life had been for Gabriel. He’d been raised on a farm, but it was near a town with all its resources. He’d taken on the task of carving out a life in the wilderness with none of the survival skills she’d learned as a child. And he’d been coping with the loss of his beloved wife and unborn child, while doing the work of an entire family all alone.
In her village, three or four women would work a field that size, along with their daughters. The youngest girls had the responsibility of guarding the crops. It was their job to keep wild creatures from eating all the vegetables before they were harvested. Usually they did this by giggling, singing, and chattering to each other – in short, making enough noise to scare the rabbits and crows away.
It served a dual purpose. Mothers could keep a close eye on their young ones while still tending the fields and children learned at an early age that their efforts made an important contribution to the welfare of the whole tribe.
Gabriel never complained about his crushing burden, although he came home each day ready to drop with exhaustion. He would not let her accompany him into the fields, saying her job was to care for the child and tend to chores around the cabin and barn.
Silla knew a dozen ways to lessen his workload. She hoped he would listen to her ideas, but she knew how stubborn and prideful he and all other the white men were about taking advice from a woman. So she began telling him stories of daily life in her village, interweaving some of the age-old practices the Cherokee had learned from centuries of living in these ancient mountains.
One night at dinner, she fed him pan-fried trout she caught that afternoon. While they ate, Silla told him how she’d harvested them using a method from the fishing ceremony her people celebrated in the spring.
“You can catch a whole basket full of fish by putting a sack of black walnut hulls into the water?”
Silla nodded. “Wade out to a spot where the creek widens like a pond. Take a sack full of hulls broken into small pieces. Black walnut shells hold a Medicine that acts like a potion to the fish. They float to the surface as though they are dead, but they are only sleeping. You can pluck fish from the water as easily as plucking ears of corn from the stalks. My people clean the fish, then smoke them and preserve them. We always have fish to eat in the village storehouse if the braves do not come back from a hunt with fresh meat.” She smiled. “After the fishing, we have a feast. We eat all we can hold then sing songs and do a dance to thank the Great Mother for giving us such abundance.”
Gabriel fell silent for a moment. “Maybe sometime you can show me how you do it?”
His tone was casual, but Silla knew how hard it must have been for him to ask a woman for help with anything.
Silla found herself drawn to his quiet strength. When he wasn’t looking, she watched him go about his chores. He’d strip off his shirt and chop wood for the fire, bare chest glistening with sweat, muscles rippling. At night, she tossed and turned, remembering how he used those muscles to hold her down across his lap, remembering the feel of his thick rod in her hand.
Silla missed the freedom of living with her people, where a man and woman could pleasure each other at will, without guilt or shame. Her body ached to feel Gabriel’s touch in other ways, to experience the raw power of his hunger. But she knew his beliefs would not allow him to come to her purely for release. He lived by a rigid code, where physical delights were forbidden except between married people.
One night after supper, Gabriel watched Salai running in circles around the little room while Silla washed the dishes and cleared the table. Without a word, he got up and headed out the door. When he reappeared a few minutes later, he was carrying a fiddle and bow. To Silla’s surprise, he struck up a rollicking tune, singing along with it as he played.
Abandoning her chores, Silla picked Salai up and danced around the cabin with the toddler in her arms. The child shrieked with delight as Silla spun her around, humming along with the melody. When the song ended, they collapsed in a heap on the floor, laughing.
“Gabriel, that was wonderful! You play so well.” Silla smiled at him over the child’s head. “Will you favor us with another tune?”
He went into a song that had her tapping her toes while she took Salai’s little hands in hers and showed her how to clap along with the music.
When he played, she saw a different Gabriel. Someone with a relaxed manner, a ready smile, and a warm mellow voice. He played several cheery tunes then drew his bow across the strings and began a slow, haunting melody. Entranced, Silla and the child sat motionless on the floor at his feet. Lost in the music, he played with his eyes closed, his body swaying. Silla felt the raw emotion pouring out of him, love and loss wrapped up in every chord.
“I’ve never heard anything so beautiful,” she said softly when it ended. “Did you write it?”
He nodded wordlessly, eyes still closed.
Suddenly she understood. “That song is about Abigail, isn’t it?”
“I wrote it for her near the end when she was very ill. She loved to hear me play – said it eased the pain she was in.”
“You loved her very much,” Silla said. “And she loved you. I can see it in this cabin, the quilt she sewed, the little touches everywhere. She wanted your home together to be a special place, filled with all the beauty she could bring to it.”
Gabriel’s shoulders bowed with the effort of holding back his tears. Silla went to him and gently put her arms around him. He stiffened then laid his head on her shoulder and began sobbing.
Silla held him as he gave in to his pain, crying as though he’d never stop. Finally, the storm passed. He pulled away, swiping his sleeve across his eyes.
“I never cried in front of Abigail,” he confessed. “I forced myself to stay strong for her, hardened my heart so she wouldn’t see my pain. I didn’t want her to know I was afraid she was dying. I thought she might give up, quit fighting for her life.” He put his face in his hands. “After she was gone, I didn’t dare give way to my grief, for fear I would never stop crying. She never knew how much I loved her.”
