Kindred Page 3

  “Well, I do not know about the popping part.” Rozina squeezed a laugh out of him as she hugged him tighter. “But I think I will like it here. The decision is not my father’s to make. Only my mother and her family. They rule our longhouse.” Lelaheo spoke of matrilineal rule in the Iroquois society. The woman had the power in his world.

  “No different here. This way, Lelaheo. I will show you to your room,” Dr. Twain said, squeezing past the trio gathered on the front steps.

  ****

  Kindred, Joshua and Lelaheo assembled at the kitchen garden after helping the Oneida boy get settled, and after Rozina spoiled them with hard molasses cakes.

  “And this is what I do every morning,” recited Kindred. “I pick what Father needs.”

  “Joshua, come’yuh. Uh need you ta fetch sump’n frum de attic,” Rozina called out the kitchen window.

  “Yes, Gramma,” he answered. “I’ll see you two later. Teach him well, Kinny.”

  “We also have elderberry and slippery elm trees here for the bark and the flowers,” Kindred pointed out.

  “Medicine is my clan’s calling.”

  “Good, you know herbs and what they do. You can help Joshua.” Kindred noticed the still healing scars on Lelaheo’s hands. She touched the knuckles. “Still hurt?”

  “I am feeling fine. How are you? Truly.”

  “I am well,” piped back.

  “You want to learn my language, Kindred?”

  “Teach me, Lelaheo. I want to know about you.”

  “And I about you, Kindred.”

  ****

  With the increase of Lelaheo to Twainhaven household, life became even more happily hectic. He was as grave as Kindred and Joshua were mischievous. They played practical jokes on him almost daily, just to see his reserve dissolve. Lelaheo gave as good as he got, surprising the duo with jaw-dropping reprisal. Life fell into a pleasant pattern, but a harsh reality was playing itself out around them.

  Dr. Twain slammed down the daily gazette on the side table next to the tufted chair he was sitting in, in the parlor. He tore off his reading spectacles, muttering under his breath. “Damn greedy bastards, all!” The low fire snapping in the English style fireplace, reflected its dance in the paneled surround and mirrored his mood.

  Yes, the world was encroaching upon his piece of heaven. The French and Indian War had ended years before, but discontents were far from over. It had all begun when a Delaware chief entered into negotiations with the British to rid the Valley of the French and other enemy Indian nations that supported them. That pact with the devil allowed two

  foreign powers to play out a war on a land that was not their own and unwittingly made the native Haudenosaunee unwanted guests. The front page of the gazette proclaimed that Britain and the Colonies were gearing up for a tug of war over the Valley.

  In the past when such life-or-death matters raged amongst whites, Dr. Twain had noted that the Haudenosaunee always had watched from a distance, had made certain not one member of their League was unduly injured. Disastrously, this agreement with the

  British had, for the first time, caused a rift. He had seen the Iroquois League of Nations in horrible discord for the first time in his life and probably theirs. When the French and Indian War had raged, the Western nations of the Seneca, Cayuga and the Onondaga had supported a French alliance. The Oneida, Tuscarora and the Mohawk had held fast to a British association as that power protected them from sporadic colonial attacks.

  Dr. Twain wondered how his calm would weather this conflict. His estate had survived the aftershocks of battles, skirmishes and sieges. Self-sufficient, his household had withstood the upheaval. Gunfire, clashes and raids happened all around as the unrest moved closer and his rising anguish, paralyzed him. He did not know how to secure his family’s safety. He did not like the disturbing quakes in his serenity. He favored no side.

  He just wanted to be left alone. This period was truly the calm before the storm.

  “Suh, uh brung yo’ tea, jis’ the way you likes it. Doctah Twain?”

  Rozina’s voice snatched him out of his glum musings. “Yes? Thank you, ’Zina. Please put it on the table.” He hurriedly shifted the tabloid on the table top. “Thank you.”

  “You ah’right, Doctah? Dat’s one ‘T’engky’ too many jis’ fuh tea.” She noted the tense lines around his mouth and the way he rubbed his hand across his brow. “T’inkin’ on sump’n een dat gazette?” She waited for a reply. Douglas reached for the brew, took

  healthy gulps and contemplated the whirling leaves.

  “’Zina, things are changing and they are going to get worst before they get better. I am worried for the first time in my life.” He placed the cream ware cup back on its saucer on the tray.

  “Whew! Worried? Dat a tall order fuh a buckruh!”

  “’Zina! No witticisms please!”

  “Wuffuh, suh?” His tone made her catch her breath. “Wut be wrong?”

  “This land is changing. Our world is changing. Dangerous flux.”

  “Dis’ flux, dis’ change. Da’dey iz da one sho’ t’ings een dis’ life. ” She sighed, her distressed spirits quieted. “Done?” She pointed to the tea.

  “Yes, ’Zina, thank you. Remind me to check our ammunitions store. May have to make more. Got to keep my boots oiled, my powder dry and my guns clean.”

  She retrieved the tray, turned and without looking over her shoulder pronounced, “We kin abide. Me and the chillun did six yeah ago. Do it ’gen. You kin too.”

  ****

  “Lelaheo, define the noun, ‘terra’,” commanded Kindred. “Gender, singular number and case.”

  All three children were seated on the stone bench in the cobblestone courtyard behind the hall.

  “Terra, umm.” Lelaheo scratched his head, chewed his lip. “Terra, huh?”

  “He doesn’t know it, Kinny,” Joshua stated. “I do. Let me.”

  “No. Only if he cannot recite it.” She looked to Lelaheo. “Well?”

  “I know it! Wait! Wait! I know it.”

  Lelaheo’s recitation began and ended without a hitch.

  “Correct!” cried Kindred. “See, I told you Latin was easy!”

  “But Oneida is not. Now let’s have my language lesson,” Lelaheo insisted, patting his chest with an open palm.

  “What is today’s lesson?” Kindred queried.

  “Parts of the body. I say it in English, you tell me in Oneida.”

  “Not me, I’m leaving. I did not study,” said Joshua. “You are excused for now, young man.” Lelaheo imitated the Reverend Harkness’ exasperated tone exactly. “Be ready tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Reverend,” Joshua mocked, then left.

  “Chicken!” Kindred shouted after him.

  Lelaheo tapped Kindred on the shoulder to get her attention. “Ready? Head, hair, eye.”

  “Umm … onútsi?, onúhkwis, okáhla.”

  “Good, good. And now face, mouth, teeth.”

  Kindred screwed her face up, the arduous thinking process expending much energy.

  “Okúhsa, ohsaká·la, ona·wíla.”

  “Excellent!”

  Kindred beamed at Lelaheo’s praise of her linguistic skills.

  “Lastly. Wrist, hand, fingers.”

  “I can’t recall the first one, but the others are: osnúsha? osnúhsahsú.”

  “Very good!” Lelaheo pulled out the slate he carried to school. “Now see if you can write them as you say them.”

  “Enough!” Kindred protested an hour later. “You don’t work on your Latin recitations this long!”

  “That is because we do not speak Latin in my village.” He yanked one of her braids. “ Do you want to learn Oneida or not?”

  “I do, but ….”

  “Then you will.” He handed her the chalk.

  Chapter Four

  Late July 1776

  As Doctor Twain had predicted, Britain’s victory in the French and Indian War over a decade before had whet the colonists’ app
etite for freedom. To control their restless subjects, England had levied greater taxes. Higher taxes still left the colonies without representation in Britain. This treatment had led to many

  insurrections. As revenge, the English government had passed the Intolerable Acts to coerce the colonies to do their bidding. War ensued, Britain lost. American independence was declared.

  Loyalists, which included any Mohawk, Cayuga, Seneca or Onondaga who had sided with the British, were driven out of the Mohawk Valley into Canada. The Tuscarora and Oneida, who sided with the victorious Americans, remained, as did hard feelings on all sides.

  ****

  Hunched over the hall’s business ledger, Doctor Twain ticked off accounts which needed settling. Hearing familiar footsteps in the corridor, he called out. “Joshua, in here, please. I need your expertise with numbers to tie up these loose ends. Also, did you take those papers to my attorney this morning?”

  “Father, you still can’t settle your own books? Tsk, tsk. Yes, I took care of it first thing this morning. Mr. Cairn said they would be ready next Wednesday.”

  The voice, deep and refined in its articulation, belonged to a now 21 year-old Joshua. The cute, wiry boy had evolved into a handsome, charming, black man. Man, the operative word. Six feet tall, he was commanding, with his proper use of the King’s English, accompanied by impeccable manners. He did not play the role of buffoon or shuffling lackey. People of all hues were in awe of him when he ventured into town to handle Dr. Twain’s business affairs. He had a keen mind for numbers and organization.

  As age and infirmity caught up with Rozina, Joshua had taken over more and more of the daily running of Twainhaven. After obtaining power of attorney to act in Dr. Twain’s stead in business matters, Joshua was truly his right hand. Dr. Twain welcomed that. It freed up his time so he could concentrate completely on medicine.

  “So, only my magic touch, balances these books?” questioned Joshua, as he entered the room. He sauntered over to the desk, stood behind Douglas. Bending over the doctor’s shoulder, he picked out a column of numbers and ran his finger down the row, rapidly adding the ciphers.

  “Seems I do have the magic,” he joked. “Look and add again, Father. You missed an entry.” He tapped his index finger next to the overlooked sum for paying a housewright for a table.

  “How did I miss that?” Douglas wondered, lifting and lowering his glasses as if the action would adjust his math.

  “Concentrating too hard,” Joshua replied. “Let me check these pages before drafts are written. Go be a doctor. Comfort someone. Leave the account books alone. Please.”

  Joshua assisted Douglas by pulling out his chair as he rose.

  “Yes, doctoring. Where is Kindred? I need her to accompany me. Lelaheo, also.”

  “She is out in the garden with Lelaheo. Collecting, I suppose.” Joshua slipped into the chair.

  “Thank you, Joshua.” He patted the young man’s shoulder.

  Out in the corridor, Doctor Twain bumped into Rozina.

  “Wut time you be home, Doctah Twain? Eets bu’n las’ nite b’kause off’uh yo’ ta’diness. Uh gots to know’uh.”

  The corners of Douglas’ mouth turned up in amusement.

  “’Zina, does everything run on your timepiece?”

  “Timepiece? Uh ent got no timepiece. All uh got iz fud ta cook. An’ sassy wu’ds frum you.” Rozina eased down the hall, her rheumatism slowing her. “Round wut time, Twain?” she called over her shoulder.

  “Six o’ clock, woman!” Douglas waved his timepiece at her back.

  Dr. Twain grabbed up his bag. Just then Kindred and Lelaheo crashed through the front door, arm in arm, chattering rapidly to each other in Oneida and English.

  “Just the people I wanted to see.”

  “Really, Father?” piped Kindred.

  “How so, Douglas?” added Lelaheo.

  “It is a day full of inoculations. I will need both of you to assist me. Joshua is busy with the accounts, so I can devote all of our time to this.” Douglas opened his case. “Umm, not nearly enough. Lelaheo go fetch more needles and thread. Kindred and I will wait for you outside.” Lelaheo rushed off to the surgery, Dr. Twain and Kindred

  proceeded out door.

  Now 18 years of age, Kindred was fully a woman. A little taller than the average female, and of less than average weight, she warranted a second look. She always kept her coal black, mass of springy hair in two braids and tucked them under a neat, cotton,

  head wrap. Soaring cheekbones tested the elasticity of her clear, brown skin. Wide-open coffee-colored eyes, under ebony brows, dominated her short nose and full mouth. Due to her endless movement and boundless energy, she’d cultivated a resistance and vigor at odds with her slightness.

  She climbed up into the rig with Dr. Twain’s assistance and waited, hands folded in her lap. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the scent of the new grass. Tipping her face to the sky, she watched a flock of ducks fly overhead. Everything had a purpose,

  she ascertained, even them. Granny and Joshua ran Twainhaven. Dr. Twain had his profession and Lelaheo assisted in the surgery and had his sights set on following in the doctor’s footsteps. She mused, what was her purpose? She maintained the apothecary and served as nurse to Dr. Twain when needed. She helped her granny. Was that all her life

  was going to be? When in town, she observed wives and mothers. Would she ever wed and have children? She sighed loudly.

  “Kindred, is something awry?” asked the doctor as he adjusted the reins.

  “No, Father. Just day dreaming.” If he only knew. Something was amiss. Her future. She wanted one badly. With Lelaheo. Kindred’s mouth curved into an unaware smile as Lelaheo approached. She could not believe it. When had he developed into this magnificent male specimen? When had she started to take note? She had always loved him, but when had she fallen in love him?

  Her heart’s desire carried himself with nonchalant grace. He was the same age as Joshua, but a little taller. Where Joshua was heavily muscled, Lelaheo was lean and sinewy. She knew firsthand because she had fetched enough hot water over the years to fill the tubs he and Joshua would wash up in after chores. She had poured enough water over that body and had watched more than enough suds slip down his gleaming torso and disappear into regions unknown. Silly and serious in turns, he was a mix of boyish and manly. Dressed to match and to accompany Dr. Twain, he wore a periwinkle

  waistcoat, white lawn shirt, fawn-colored knee breeches buckled over white stockings and boots. They differed in grooming and accessories. Instead of a stock, he wore a bone, bead and leather necklace bearing the Tree of Peace symbol of his people. Lelaheo eschewed the three-corned hat and went bare-headed. He wore his straight, ink-black hair

  in a single braid down his back, secured by a leather tie. A leather belt, slung about his hips held a hunting knife.

  “Kinny, what are you grinning about?” Lelaheo asked, placing three muskets, ample powder and shot into the back of the rig, then vaulting up into it.

  “Nothing.” She waved her hand. “Just recalling an amusing story.”

  “Care to share?” he poked her in the back with an index finger and started to tickle her.

  “No!” She half-turned in her seat. “Stop it! You never know when to let well enough alone. Stop!”

  “Children!” Dr. Twain shouted. “We are late. Did you bring everything, Lelaheo?”

  “Yes, Douglas.” Lelaheo stuck his tongue out at Kindred.

  “Let us be off then. We have much to do.” Douglas snapped the reins and the bays turned away from Twainhaven’s entrance. Still half-twisted in her seat, Kindred rolled her eyes at Lelaheo, then faced front.

  “They gonna get stuck that way one day, sister.” Lelaheo chuckled and settled into a comfortable spot for the ride into town.

  ****

  A curious side effect of war was disease. To combat it and keep his troops battle-ready, General George Washington demanded variolation for all of his soldi
ers against smallpox. As a safeguard against the spread of the disease while they moved through the

  Valley, the general pressed local physicians into performing this service and setting up specific stations for the purpose. Dr. Twain had been using his surgery to serve the locals, but with this large scale undertaking, he moved his operations to the town square to eliminate hordes of soldiers inundating his property. Dr. Twain pulled up to the

  Presbyterian church on the square. The square was a sea of rag-tag soldiers. The Reverend Harkness, still nursing a slight disbelief in his dismissal as tutor to Kindred, Joshua and Lelaheo, years before, offered the old school room as a base for the doctor.

  “You are doing the Lord’s work, Doctor Twain. Bless you,” Reverend Harkness shouted. His hearing had declined and he thought that for one to hear him he had to hear himself.

  “I thought you told me once to stick to doctoring?”

  “Doctor Twain, this task is where God and your science cross paths. Proceed. Good day.” He exited the church in the awkward gait age had visited upon him.

  Kindred, Lelaheo and Dr. Twain gathered the variolation specimens from the back of the rig. They entered the old makeshift school room.

  “This brings back memories, I must say,” said Lelaheo.

  “Not so good ones,” replied Kindred. “My stomach is churning.” She put down a pack of specimens on a chair seat and rubbed her midriff.

  “Kinny, you ill?” Lelaheo asked, at her side in a flash. He directed her to the old bench they used to share as children. “You should go home. Douglas and I can do this without you.”

  “No. No. I’ll be fine.” She reached up and untied her head wrap, bundling it in her hand. “Just out of sorts today.” Lelaheo brushed his hand over her hair, his touch feather light, tender.

  “Tehsatotát!” he commanded.

  “I always behave!” Kindred declared, batting his hand away. “Unless I do not want to. Hao! Come on! Let us start this task.”

  Lelaheo helped Kindred to her feet. The trio began preparing for the long process on the long oak table set up by the windows. The production line consisted of a dish of threaded needles, balls of lamb’s ear and tubes of smallpox specimens. Inoculation consisted of dipping a threaded needle into the specimens, ensuring that it soaked the