“This dream has come twice, and this person has prayed,” she said softly, going back to the Kahnyen’kehaka.
“This person prayed,” she repeated, looking up into his face, “and you are here.”
He was mildly surprised that he wasn’t shocked. Swiftest of Lizards had told him that old Tewaktenyonh had told him that he was the son of Ian’s spirit. Clearly she would have told Wakyo’teyehsnonhsa the same thing—or Emily had told the old woman.
“I thought perhaps I would have to send my son to my sister, in Albany,” she said. “But she has no husband now, and three children to feed. And I worry,” she said simply. “Things are very dangerous. Thayendanegea says that the war will soon be over, but his wife’s eyes say he does not believe it.”
“His wife is right.” Both of them were whispering now, though he could hear the murmur of the women talking at the end of the house. “My uncle’s wife is a …” There were words for magic, and foretelling, as he had used with Thayendanegea, but none of them seemed quite right now. “She sees what will happen. That’s why I came; I met Looks at the Moon and Hunting like a Glutton in the place where I live, and they told me of the massacre at Osequa, and your husband’s death. They didn’t know whether you were still with Thayendanegea’s people, nor how you and your children fared. And so I came to see,” he ended simply.
He didn’t realize that she’d been holding her breath, until she let it out in a long, deep sigh that touched his face.
“Thank you,” she said. “Now that you know—you will take Tòtis?”
“I will.” He said it without hesitation, even as he wondered how on earth he’d tell Rachel about this.
Emily’s relief touched him, and so did she, clasping his hand hard against her breast.
“If your wife will not have him at her fire,” she said, a note of anxiety creeping into her voice once more, “I am sure you will find a woman who will care for him?” That was done sometimes; if a man’s wife died and he married someone who didn’t get along with his children, he’d go to and fro and look until he found a woman who would either be his second wife or, if she was married, would care for his children in return for his providing her with meat and skins.
“Perhaps your mother?” Emily said, hope mingling with doubt in her voice.
“Neither my wife nor my mother would see any bairn starve,” he assured her, though his imagination was unequal to envisioning what either one was going to say. He squeezed her hand gently and let go. He already knew that he couldn’t explain Emily to Rachel; now he realized that he could never explain Rachel to Emily, either, and smiled wryly to himself.
“My wife is a Friend, ken? And she paints her face with wisdom.”
“I am a little bit afraid of her,” Emily said honestly. “Will you go and tell her—ask her—now?”
“Come with me,” he said, and stood up. It wasn’t until they had come out into the pale light of snow and fog that something occurred to him, and he turned to her.
“Ye said ye prayed, Emily,” he said, and she blinked at the sound of his name for her. “Who were ye praying to?” He asked it out of curiosity; some Mohawk were Christians, and might pray to Jesus or His mother, but she had never been a Christian, when he knew her.
“Everybody,” she said simply. “I hoped someone would hear.”
IAN SAW RACHEL walking toward the longhouse with Oggy when they pushed back the hide over the door, and Emily went out to her at once, inviting her in.
Rachel stopped for a moment, blinking into the darkness; then her eyes found Ian and she saw what she wanted in his face, for she smiled. The smile lessened, but still lingered, when she turned to Emily. It vanished when Ian told her about Tòtis, but only for an instant. He saw her swallow and imagined her reaching for her inner light.
“Yes, of course,” she said to Emily, and turned to the boy, warmth in her eyes. “He will always be your son, but I’m honored that he will be mine, too. I’ll certainly feed him at my hearth—all he wants, ever.” Ian hadn’t realized that his wame was clenched tight, until it relaxed and he drew a very deep breath. Tòtis had been eyeing Rachel with curiosity, but no fear. He glanced at his mother, who nodded, and he went to Rachel and, taking her hand, kissed her palm.
“Oh,” Rachel said softly, and caressed his head.
“Tòtis,” Emily said, and the boy turned and went to her. She hugged him close and kissed his head, and Ian saw the shine of the tears she wouldn’t shed until her son was truly gone. “Give it to him now,” she whispered in Mohawk, and lifted her chin toward Ian.