Culture Clash

Emily, it seems, was two months along when they joined us, and now she moved slowly, her heavy belly evident to all.

My mother took them in hand, and they learned firsthand of the power a Cherokee woman held, especially one with a seat on the Women's Council. Hope and I were married in a traditional Cherokee service, and later by an itinerant preacher traveling through the area. It really didn't matter, we had consummated our love for each other in the Mohawk village, and many never bothered with services at all, declaring themselves married to anyone who wanted to know.

Charity had bonded closely with her new grandmother, and in six months wore native dress almost exclusively and could speak passable Cherokee. While she learned the traditional ways of a Cherokee woman, I taught her how to draw a bow, read sign, how to hunt and how to use firearms.

My father was also taken with my girls. He even took them into Charlottetown once. Hope got eight marriage proposals in three hours. She'd just grin and show them her ring. I was on a short trading mission, missing them terribly and deciding this would be my last. I'd saved up quite a bit and it was time. Time to move to the valley I wanted.

I was surprised when the whole family decided to go with me. My mother organized the move with the help of my sister, Dawn Bird, now a married woman, Hope and Charity. My youngest sister was the same age as Charity, and they were best friends. If you saw one, the other was close.

It was quite a caravan when we moved. We were walking, but had horses and mules to carry the contents of five households. Jacob had decided to come with us so his family was along as well.

We settled in the valley, worked out an agreement with the tribes who hunted there and settled down to work the land. My father, with our help, opened a trading post, and one of us was always traveling to get supplies. Four years went by.

Charity was growing into a beautiful young woman, as was my sister, June. There was always a young man of either race hanging around the trading post. Miles had married a maiden from our old village, and he and Zeke had settled with us. Emily had given him three children, so far. Hope used to tease me we needed to keep up, but our son and daughter kept us quite busy as it was.

On the fifth year, Miles came to me with concerns. He'd gotten a letter from his sister that contained disturbing news. The Governor had declared the Reverend and his friends outlaws, and a price was put on their heads. The preacher had survived, and now led a gag of outlaws who numbered about twenty. He wreaked so much mayhem the Governor had sent a company of Milita to hunt him down and either kill or capture him, with death being the first choice. They had closed in battle twice and Woolsey saw the writing on the wall, fleeing the area and going South. Woolsey was often heard to say he had a score to settle with someone and the time was coming. She thought we should know.

I wasn't really worried, because we had a network of friends who kept us apprised of things going on outside our valley. Six months later there was an attack on a farm a few valleys over, the man killing everyone before he moved on. A month after that, there was another report of an attack a little closer. Again, everyone was killed.

Even if it wasn't our old enemy, this needed to dealt with. Jacob, Miles, Zeke, my father, three Shawnee who had settled nearby, Jacob's brother-in-law and two of his cousins decided to join me as we tried to track these killers down.

It took a month, but we found a band that had just raided a farm, killing the man and his sons and taking his wife and daughters. They weren't being particularly careful, but they did post a guard. One of the Shawnees dispatched him quickly, plunging a knife up under his chin and into his brain. The man died without a sound. We got there just as they were raping the women, one girl just barely past puberty. We shot the ones trying to rut first, then fell on the rest in a rage. There were two left when we stopped. They talked, trying to save themselves.

Their leader was indeed Woolsey Harkness, though now he carried a sword and went by Captain Black. He was with the main group, about eighteen men including three Indians, and they were headed towards our valley.

We rode our horses to exhaustion, then abandoned them and proceeded on foot. As we went, we passed two homesteads, the people lying dead. One was a brother to one of the Shawnees, and he stopped long enough to put on his paint. The rest thought it was a good idea, and we spent twenty minutes before moving on, the war paint heavy on our faces.

The trading post was under siege when we arrived. It seems someone had seen them and warned the settlement, this was the only place big enough to hold everyone and had a very good defensive position. It sat atop a small hill, the fields around it completely bare of cover. The attackers were milling around out of range when we heard the bark of a rifle and one slumped to the ground. I smiled. My youngest brother, twelve now, was the best shot I ever saw and he carried a Kentucky rifle, as they were now called, that was six-and-a-half feet long. It was built for long range shots and half again the range of a regular rifle. The rifle was a foot taller than he was.

They turned to retreat farther, and we rose out of the woods. Each had picked a target and they fell immediately. There were still eight left. I dropped the rifle and pulled the boarding pistol in one hand and the .40 caliber in the other. Jacob had given it back to me when he found another pair he liked better. They were .30 caliber, so between us we had eight shots, not counting the pistols of my father and our friends.

It was clear they were not counting on that much firepower. Some had their own pistols but most were single shot. The Cherokee beside me went down, a small hole appearing in his forehead. I saw my father drop, but couldn't stop.

I hit two, one a kill shot. I dropped the empty pistols and pulled the Mohawk war club from my belt, wading into them. The rest had tomahawks and knifes. It was a bloody business as we fought back and forth across the meadow. I saw Jacob's brother-in-law drop, as well as another of the Shawnee. I swung the backside of the club into the belly of an enemy, the three-inch spike puncturing his stomach. I pulled it out and blood flew as he gripped his belly and dropped to the ground.

I heard the shot and felt a searing pain. A bullet had gone through my left shoulder and I dropped the club, pulling my short sword and surging to the forefront of the fight.

Their leader was wielding a broadsword with devastating effect. I got a glimpse of his face and even if it was covered with a beard, I recognized him. "Harkness!" I screamed, as I surged forward.

The other dropped back from the sword until it was justt him and me. "I've looked forward to this moment with a lot of pleasure," he yelled, startled when I smiled.

"And I, Reverend, will look back on it with the same."

He saw my short-sword and laughed, lunging. He was surprised to find me no longer in front of him. I had dropped and rolled forward, slashing a calf as I moved past him. He screamed with pain and surprise. It was my turn to grin.

"I was taught to fight with a sword by a man who recognized no rules, just to kill as quickly as possible. That could have easily been your belly, but I want the pleasure of hanging you."

He never said another word and we fought back and forth across the meadow. He was good and had a lot of skill, nicking me twice. They were shallow, but they were bleeding. I needed to end this soon.

He swung and I stepped inside, pulling my sword down his left arm, opening it from the shoulder to the elbow. That arm would be useless now. The broadsword was a little harder to handle with just one hand, and I nicked him a few more times, watching him weaken. He lunged suddenly, catching me in the left side, the sword sliding along my rips before exiting. He twisted sideways and split the skin, immediately soaking my left side. It needed to end now, before one of us passed out. I dropped but he jumped the blade like a rope, taking advantage by turning and running.

Sadly, for him, he ran directly towards the trading post, stopping as the door swung open and two women stepped out. The last thing he saw in this life was Hope and Charity, followed by the smoke of their pistols. The two balls hit a finger apart in his chest and he dropped, dead from a blown-out heart.

People immediately flew out of the post and I felt hands lift me up. I woke in my bed five hours later, my shoulder aching and my chest bound tightly. Charity jumped up when I opened my eyes. "Mother! Father is awake!"

The she started crying and hugging me, before realizing she must be causing me pain. Hope came in smiling. "Well, husband mine, it appears the good Reverend will bother us no more. I'd like to hear him try to talk God out of sending him to hell."

"He's probably sitting at the right hand of the Devil as we speak. What happened?"

Two Shawnees and your brother-in-law, Miles, are hit, and we still don't know if he'll survive. Your father was hit in the knee and it will be a while, if ever, that he doesn't walk with a limp."

She paused. "All the outlaws are dead, to a man. We hung four. One tried to bargain with us, telling us where they had buried all their loot. Zeke took a couple of men and packhorses to retrieve it. We'll probably split most of it with the relatives of the slain. I'd like to keep the unclaimed horses, there are three mighty fine mares I'd like to breed with our jack. Mules are more valuable than horses."

I loafed around the post with my father until I healed. It looked like there may be new additions to our family. Hope told me we would be even with Emily and Zeke in six months or less. Miles recovered slowly but was in good enough shape to get his wife with their fourth child.

I asked Hope once if she missed her old life, before the Reverend. She sighed. "Some of it. But living with you has taught me that our church will eventually fail. You can only stifle people into servitude for so long before they rebel. Besides, now that Preacher Jones is here, I have a spiritual leader I can respect."

I grinned, thinking back to Preacher wielding a tomahawk as we defended our settlement. "As do I. Now, wife, it is time to fulfill your wifely duties."

She smirked. "I already have, remember. Still, it's better not to get out of practice." She blew out the candles, shedding clothes in front of every one before she finally came to bed naked. I rubbed down her side, across the growing baby bump, and smiled the smile of a truly contented man.

*****

Thanks for reading. I know it was a bit violent in places, but it reflected the times and everything I used has been well documented.

"Bundling" was a pretty common practice for a couple of centuries, as were the parameters for desirable wives. Pleasant personality and ability to breed were pretty much it. It has been estimated that 30 to 40% of all women at the time were pregnant when they married. As I said, no one made note unless the man refused to do the right thing. Then it could get unpleasant.

I won't go into the de-evolution of the Puritans; it's been pretty well documented. Comment if you want, vote if you like. They're always appreciated.

Q