Anne-Marie de Parthenay
Five Nations Territory (Modern-Day New York)
The rain came down one day, fierce and unyielding. Anne-Marie was caught outside—she spent each day now foraging and gathering. These last two days, Black Bird hadn’t even the strength to speak, and she was left to her own hopeless devices. She would wander through the forest, though never far enough to lose the cave they stayed in. Food was always the first priority each day—Black Bird had taught her which berries were good and which ones would kill you or turn your stomach inside out. She had tried and failed to catch game for four days—most nights, the pangs of hunger would wake her in the earliest hours of the morning. All the better, she figured, to get an earlier start on the next day’s forage. Through it all, she made sure that Black Bird, at least, had enough food each day. He needed it right now far more than she.
While she picked for berries and other provisions, she kept her eye out for the tell-tale markers of different medicinal herbs Black Bird had introduced to her. Yarrow protects from a flame—Ajidamoowanow. Plantains soothe the skin and the throat from a bad cough—Omakakiibag. Mints help the stomach—Oombeendaan. Black Bird told her that the greatest healers among his people, the Midewiwin, believed that the Earth and all its plant life were created with a purpose, that for every ailment that existed, physical or spiritual, there was a plant to remedy it. All she needed to do then, was find the right plant. As the days passed, she began to think she never would. It was hard enough not knowing all the plants around her—she didn’t even know what Black Bird really suffered from. It was the uncertainty that truly frightened her, that caused her heart to ache with every passing moment. Despite the many trials she’d endured in this life, she felt the most powerless right now.
Once the sun went down, all she could do was sit and watch the boy she loved suffer. And of course, to pray to God that He, in His infinite mercy, would heal him, though she expected her prayers fell on deaf ears by now. Not that God didn’t care, but that His grace must have been exhausted. How many calamities had He saved her from? How many chances had He granted her? Surely there were limits, despite what the good book preached. There was a whole world of people who suffered, who prayed for help they desperately needed. She was just one girl, and God had spent too much of his precious time on the likes of her.
When the rain came, Anne-Marie rushed back to the cave. It didn’t help—her only dress left was completely drenched, and by the time she managed to get inside, her teeth clattered so loud from the cold that it echoed off the walls. Black Bird was still only semi-conscious, drifting in and out, unable to see or hear her, to console her. It was selfish, she thought, to even wish for that, given his state, but she couldn’t help it. He should be awake and well. He should be comforting her, wrapping her in a deerskin to keep her warm.
The thought brought her eyes to linger on him. Atop his makeshift bed of leaves and leather, he shivered, a cold wind bleeding through. Anne-Marie gathered a stack of wood she had gotten in the morning and immediately set on working up a fire. How selfish am I, she thought, to sit here and lament? She struck the twigs the way Black Bird had taught her, the way she had been doing each night since they escaped. She’d gotten better at it after four days, but with the rain outside and the frigid winds drifting in, each spark was snuffed out before it could take hold in the kindling. After the fifth attempt, she cursed under her breath, and scooted further into the cave. She put her back to the direction of the entrance, trying to block the wind. Another failed attempt, then another, then another. Her palms were rubbing raw from the coarse wood. Another try. Another. They began to callus and blister. All she could think of was the sight of him shivering, of what would befall him if he couldn’t keep warm. Another try, and the light came fierce and fantastic.
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Still shivering herself, she removed her soaked dress and laid it to dry next to the fire. She sat on the opposite side of it, cradling her legs in front of her, lifting her knees to cover her exposed chest. The ridiculous notion was not lost on her—the only soul that would see her like this was battling with his own consciousness, and she wouldn’t care even if he could see her. A small part of her wished he would, if only to mean he was well enough to.
She looked to him again, her heart half-filled with guilt, half with pleading pity. They had not even a blanket or tarp to cover him, and despite the growing fire near, he still trembled in the cold. Once her dress was dry, she thought, she would use it to cover him—better than nothing at all. Still, that would take some time. What was she to do until then? What if he grew sicker? What if he died?
Another wind came, chilling her bones, turning her flesh goosebumped. The two souls in the cave shivered in unison, and another thought came to Anne-Marie. Her first instinct was to rebuke it entirely, her cheeks growing red and hot from the sheer audacity of it. But this was not a time for prudeness. The night would only get colder, and so would they.
Steeling herself, she slowly made her way over to Black Bird. She gently rolled him onto his side, pushed him closer to the fire. His back to her now, she lay down next to him, huddling together to share their warmth. It was a strange and intimate ritual to share with someone who lapsed in and out of consciousness, but she swallowed her sense of shame, even as she felt the cold of his shoulderblades press up against her chest. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close. She could hear his staggered breathing, the troubled dreams that left his lips in quiet murmurs. It would have felt like an invasion, perhaps, if he did not grab one of her hands and pull her closer to him in his stupor.
She laid there and waited. Troubled thoughts came like nagging flies, pestering at the dark recesses of her mind. Even if he did survive, their ordeal was far from over. They had run so far off the beaten path that the Iroquois wouldn’t find them, but that meant they were truly lost. Even Black Bird didn’t know where they were now, or how they would find their way to wherever it was they were going. If he survived, he could help secure food, but he would be weakened from the hunger and sickness. What hope was there for them now? Anne-Marie wasn’t even sure what to pray for anymore. Still, she did not succumb to these thoughts, as often as they invaded her mind. She focused on the here and now. Black Bird would survive. She would make sure of it. And whatever came tomorrow, they would tackle together, hand-in-hand, heart-in-heart.
Hours passed. The hunger returned, though Anne-Marie tried her best to ignore it. It slowly dug into the deep of her stomach, hollowing out a comfortable hole for itself. It settled in with the anxiety and the hopelessness, finding bed-fellows among them. She tuned them out, finding a thin but stable flame of hope inside herself, even as the wind howled and whipped at her. It’s just a night, she told herself. Worse than all the rest, but still just a night. It, too, will pass. All of our sufferings, this cold and bitter nightmare. It, too, will pass.