September 14, 1754

It has been a week since Father had left the house to check his trapping lines. I am anxious for his return because I do not know how I will survive in this wilderness without his assistance. Never has he been gone this long and I fear for his safety though Oconowoc tells me that I should not feel fear. At least, I hope that is what he is telling me in broken French which he learned from the few missionaries which have managed to come this far into the wilderness. Myself, I have never seen another white face in the five summers Father and I have lived here – if I should, I would gladly take the veil to be led back to New Orleans.

When we first arrived in this portion of New France, I had been awed by the beauty of the trees that surround our home, but now it feels a dark and foreboding place in spite of Oconowoc and Kaukesha’s daily visits. I feel as if I am being watched every second of every day, and it is only when Oconowoc and Kaukesha are present that I am allowed to forget the unseen eyes that watch me from the towering tree trunks which surround the cabin.

They are good friends to me, but I fear that if I become too reliant on them and their goodwill, I will wear out the grudging welcome their tribe had given Father and I upon our arrival, I fear that they will soon grow tired of my neediness in spite of their fascination with my hair.

Even now as I write this, Kaukesha is combing my hair, humming to herself under her breath as we sit beneath the eaves of the cabin, the scent of the pine harvested to build our home sharp in my nostrils. She comments to Oconowoc now and then in their sing song language as she lets the auburn locks slip through her fingers like water, giggling at the way the sun catches and lights fire in it.

I have never been fond of my hair color. Indeed, it has caused me great consternation. It is because of the color that I am cautious of the sunlight, due to Mother’s insistence that being out of doors without coverings will cause my skin to spot, and even though Mother is long gone from me these many years, I still take care to cover my skin when I am out of doors – except when Kaukesha is here. It gives her joy to play with the thickness and twist it round her fingers. It is the least I am able to do since her brother Oconowoc has provided me with meat for my stew pot these past few days.

It seems only a short while ago that Father and I first arrived in this pristine forest to find our way in a world that seemed to become darker and less happy once Mother died of fever in Louisiana. Although I was frightened by Father’s seeming madness when he had sold our home in that beautiful city for a boat to leave my beloved city behind, I had faith in him – and still do despite his absence.

The boat he had purchased was old and the wood was split in places along the sides, but we managed to make it all the way north to where Father had heard there would be animals which could be caught, their furs sold to the forts or traded for goods.

It was a sorry existence in comparison to the one we had lived in New Orleans, but I am a dutiful daughter, and being but thirteen seasons at the time – I had no choice but to follow Father or to marry.

I followed Father.

Now, I question the soundness of my judgment and wonder if I should not have stayed in New Orleans and married one of the well to do men which admired me in Father’s shoe shop so long ago. It could have been no worse then the pleasure I found when Nawkaw, Oconowoc and Kaukesha’s father found me gathering berries in the forest in late July, and I would have had the sanctity of marriage in which to enjoy my abandon.

Even now, remembering how I had eagerly spread my legs for his thick shaft after he had first raped me makes my face heat in a blush, but my body responds to the memory, it liked what he had done, what he had made me feel.

My thoughts today are strange, disjointed and chaotic, but Kaukesha’s humming soothes me, the feel of her fingers deftly braiding and combing my hair free of the brambles which had tangled it as I chased the nanny goat through the forest that morning is welcome.

I had lost my old bonnet during my chase of the goat, and though I was afraid of being spotted from the sun that filtered through the towering branches of the trees, I was even more fearful of losing the goat to a creature in the forest.

When I had caught the goat, I retraced my steps, but could not find my bonnet.

I had arrived back to the meager patch of land Father carved out of the wilderness to Kaukesha’s laughter at the state of my hair, and Oconowoc’s open mouthed surprise. I think he never really noticed what color my hair was because it had been hidden beneath my bonnet – as it should be – on each of his visits. Now, he divided his attention between cleaning the rabbit he brought me at Kaukesha’s insistence, and casting furtive glances at my head.

The sun has begun to dip lower behind the trees, the trunks of the pines looking like tall, thin soldiers as the breeze begins to cool with the oncoming night.

Oconowoc lifts his head, the side of it which is plucked free of hair catches the last rays of the setting sun as he speaks to his sister.

Kaukesha gives a sigh, releasing my hair as her brother finishes skinning the rabbit he had brought me. With a nod, he lifts the bloody fur from the ground where he originally discarded it, and motions to Kaukesha.

Without a word, they walk into the towering pine trees, no sound from the soft leather on their feet. I watch them until they disappear in to the growing gloom, wishing they could stay with me until Father returns and hoping their father will visit me to repeat my education in the art of lust.

THE END OF CHAPTER ONE