A November Sky

Chapter Three

My first day as chief began as any other, sitting with Toma outside her longhouse, mending one of Kocoum's breechskin leggings and sewing new fur pelts into our winter cloaks. The late fall sun was warm on our backs, burning away the morning chill. We worked in a comfortable silence, watching the tribeswomen carry washboards down to the river and begin small cooking fires for acorn mush. Their soft chatting was part of the Powhatan music, as much a part of the morning as the song of the blue-winged teal, or the rustling of the trees, something gone unnoticed until the moment it stopped.

Toma nudged me with an elbow in the side, causing me to fumble Kocoum's leggings and nearly rip my stitch. "Toma, what—"

She nodded to the heart of the village, where Kocoum stepped from the shadows of the great chief's tent clad just in leggings and moccasins, and I understood. The elders had inked three sky blue tattoos across Kocoum's back, from shoulder to shoulder. Unlike the black swirls of our marriage tattoos on his hands, these new tattoos depicted the animal sign of each failed challenger: Kecoughtan of the Beaver, Rappahannock of the Fox, Nansemond of the Wolf. The curving lines of each animal shone bright against his caramel skin, a warning for future challengers.

Kocoum disappeared between the huts and longhouses with two elders trailing him, and I ducked my head, throwing another stitch.

"Daughter." Toma adjusted a piece of fur on her lap. "You know I would never wish to hurt you, but the men are beginning to talk."

"Talk? I don't understand."

"About you, and Kocoum. Child, have you let him return to your bed?"

I stammered, poking the bone needle straight through the fur hide and into my finger. "Of course I... It's only been a year since—" The words caught in my throat. Since I held my still babe in my arms. Or perhaps: since Kocoum sent our baby girl down the river.

"I know. But with your father stepping down, the council worries of challenge. We need to show the tribes our strength, preferably before the spring campaigns."

"But I have... I mean, we've been..."

"Oh. Oh." Toma sighed. "I see."

The chatter of the tribeswomen slowly picked up as Toma and I sewed. A few of the older warriors returned from training, glancing at us as they passed, their eyes lingering in a way I hadn't noticed before today. I couldn't help wondering which of them had been gossiping about my marriage. About my body and the fact that, if it didn't quicken with child soon, it'd be Kocoum's right as mamanatowick to seek out a second wife. We'd been married for two years and I'd yet to give him an heir.

"Do you know if Kocoum... if he's said anything?"

"Pocahontas. You need to speak with your husband."

"I know. I know. I... I will." When Toma's eyes narrowed, I clarified, "Soon. I promise."

* * *

By the time Kocoum returned from his hunt, Toma and I had moved to the smokehouse, inventorying the meats and berries for winter. As he passed, I watched him for unhappiness, not in his words, but in the way he stared at the ground, inching slowly up the path. He knew I was watching. He always knew. But he didn't look up. We were the living experts in silence, my husband and I.