THE BOOK

A parable I wrote that 

I came across while cleaning out 

a closet.

By Celia Jolley

As children, the boy and girl were better than brother and sister.  They were chosen friends.  After running the fields, climbing trees, and walking fences, they kept a secret tryst at the ancient cottage which huddled under the oldest limbs.  It had been the orchard keeper's where now his widow spent her days making a haven for the two children of the open air.

The knock  came as always at dusk.  They shucked their shoes so plastered with leaves and mud paste they looked quite elfin.  Harmony had a leaf wreath on her wind-tangled hair.  Tristan wore a larger grape leaf mantle with a regal air.  They sat by her fire, fairy king and queen, sipping from steaming mugs as Grandmere read to them from the book.  Then, there was little time before the final descent of night for them to race across the furrows to where home fires beckoned in opposite directions.

Grandmere was not really their grandmother.  None of the three were blood kin, but they belonged to each other.  The wise old woman never left her yard, but her prayers followed the rovers all day I their play until the time set apart for quite fireside moments sacred to their friendship.

Even as school and tasks ranted for their time, feet grown fleeter still closed the distance between such companionship more precious because of pressing demands.

 

A day came as the trees shuddered their last leaf to the ground when the knock at Grandmere's door was unanswered.  Tristan ran off to build another pile of leaves in which to jump, but Harmony stood waiting, wondering.

"Something's wrong, Tristan.  Tristan, come back!"

"Nah, let's play," he called as he scrambled over the fence to the orchard.

Harmony pulled the latch and poked her head in.  The fire had died and laid cold in its ashes.  The light from the candle by the bed illumined the book where it lay open with the the rest of the room in shadows.

Still as death lay Grandmere under the covers.  Her eyes were almost closed to this world, yet a smile was upon her cold lips.  Harmony was reassured by a flutter of the old hand and clasped it willing warmth into the weak grasp.

"Take the book.  I love..."

Grandmere was gone.  Harmony sat on the floor hugging the precious book, dampening its pages with sorrowing, glad tears.  The book was hers.  She had been beckoned by Grandmere's prayers for the parting gift.

The candle was sputtering its last breath when Tristan called into the stillness, "Grandmere?  Harmony?"

Harmony rose from her cramped mourning and went out into the world hugging the book to her heart.

As the weeks passed, Tristan's leaf piles turned into snow forts,  He ignored Grandere's passing with a forced abandon to play.  Harmony joined in some but longed for the fire where she could read from the book.

"Let's go to Grandmere's and build our own fire.  The house is empty, but I could bring the book.  There's so much I've found to show you."

Tristan pretended he did not hear as he burst forth with a yell and an avalanche of snowballs 

against an imagined enemy.  

"Please, Tristan.  It's cold out here.  Let's go in and build a fire."

"Go in if you will.  I like it out here.  If you are turning into a sissy, I can find some town boys who will fight with me."  With that, he ran off to seek the foe.

Harmony found company alone in the book.  Tristan wondered as the winter passed why Harmony did not join in anymore, but he was too stubborn to knck on her door and call her out.  The thought of the book he once loved now made him angry.

"Let her have the old thing.  I've outgrown it now."

The boy and girl now only met at school where knuckles were rapped or worse if pupils conversed.  Even in the schoolyard, the boys no longer played with the girls.  Occasionally Tristan looked Harm's way puzzled.  She met his glance with her familiar smile, yet there was a wall that had sprung up between them which neither braved now to climb.  Tristan's heart burned.  She looked happy in spite of the spurned friendship.  Her eyes implored him with a look he could not interpret for she did not seem the least apologetic, not aloof, but apart.  Tristan hardened his heart and sought out the company and amusements of the town crowd.

The turning wheel of the seasons ground the days into years.  Harmony could not go beyond the village school but became useful at home and now was seldom seen even about the village.  Tristan furthered his studies in a wider world, going off into other pursuits.  Dissatisfaction eventually drove him home to his own village.  It all came down to a drudgery of work no matter how hard he sought to escape it.  He had not yet learned the joy of service which gives labor meaning.  Instead, he reasoned, if work be dull, the fruit of labor must hold the key to happiness.

Tristan threw himself into his chosen vocation with diligence and soon was rewarded with profit.  This profit established him in the company of those who likewise desired his fruit, yet without laboring for it themselves.  At first Tristan was flattered by their attention, praises, and company.  Then the laughter became forced, the pleasures grew stale.

Tristan occasionally passed Harmony in the street.  The girl hugged her book to her heart wherever she went.  He thought her plain in comparison to the young women he kept company with blinded as he was with their fashion and glitter of adornments, many of which he had purchased as gifts.  But as those visages became hardened and outward array could not always conceal the inner repulsiveness of selfishness, Tristan began to disdain his friends as much as they, him.  His thoughts began to wander to that face of simplicity without duplicity.

A stranger came to the village promoting a progressive implement for the farmer.  Everyone came from the far fields with the sudden need to have what the day before they knew not existed.  The merchant stayed as he was so much admired, not only for the progress he brought to the village, but for the wealth he accumulated.  It did not matter in the least that the coins that now bulged his silk pocket once jingled in every common man's coat.  The town's people who gave him his success, made the man, admired and revered him greatly above themselves.

Of course, old friends, chums of fence row and snow fort, of school days and recent company, now sought out the stranger with his new enticements.

"Good riddance."  Tristan did not miss their shallow society.  Though his profits no longer brought meaning, diligence to his work was now by momentum, or rather a furious battle against despair.  Still, the thought of his distant friend brought fleeting thoughts of happiness.

At least she seemed content and untainted by this life.  After a long, trying trip away to broaden his business interests, Tristan walked wearily home kicking at the fall leaves as they scuttled across the cobblestones running from the North Wind.  A familiar footstep paused as Tristan's bowed head looked up to the face of his friend.  When she smiled, Tristan saw her beauty.  Her look made him wish he could scale the wall between them, but it was a mere, "Hello," in the falling darkness on the village street.  Yet that flickered more strongly in his mind to dispel his blackest moments of solitude.

It was past dusk when pressing business drove Tristan past the lane of childhood memory.  In the faint moonlight, the orchard stood bare.  It's fence had long since tumbled down.  Grandmere's cottage was a mere shell filled only with the fragrance of wild roses which clung on against the cold sending forth a sweet beckoning.  On the other side of the road, back apart, stood Harmony's home. 

He had not seen her in a long time since the burden of the household had shifted to her shoulders.  He pulled up his horse and sat mid-road to remember.  As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he made out a buggy parked in her yard, as impatient black steeds pawed the dirt.  It was the stranger, the wealthy merchant at her door.

Tristan reined his horse off the road further in the shadows to watch the scene.  The door opened and light spilled out from within.  The stranger bowed and gestured grandly.  Tristan could see her framed in the bright glow shaking her head.  The intruder stepped forward as if to enter, so that Tristan nearly broke forth from his leafy fort to charge.  But he saw the man rebuffed as Harmony shut the door in his face.

After the buggy sped furiously back to town, Tristan pondered in his secret place.  He would change directions.  Turning back to go down the once familiar lane, he knew his less pressing business could worry the morrow.  His knock was answered by a trusting smile of welcome.  

"Come in, Tristan.  It's been too long.  Here sit by the fire.  How is your work?"

"Fine.  Well, there are always urgent cries to be met.  That is how I happened by tonight when I decided to switch directions.  I could not pass your way without wondering what is work if one has lost sight of friendships."  He had but one friend.

"We played hard as children.  Now you work as hard as you once played.  It does not surprise me, Tristan, but I am so pleased you have stopped at last to come here."

He was stabbed by the pain of memory of when the wall began to grow as he forsook her friendship for the faithless hand of pleasure.

"I see you still have the book."  Of course.  That could go unsaid.  He knew she had never been without the book over the years.  What his heart said is, "You are my friend of childhood, pure in devotion, yet grown in grace and beauty."

"Would you like me to read it to you?  Grandmere read us the stories for children's ears, but there are so many more.  I cannot grasp all the wonders in the book.  It would be so good if we could once again share it together."

"I would like that."  It was if his soul found rest.

Thereafter, Tristan's path made ruts in the once seldom traveled lane.  His profits fell slightly, yet his esteem by his fellow villagers rose.  They now knew he cared less for their coin in his pocket than for the humble joy of service to them.  

Every evening held sweet communion in time set apart for moments sacred to friendship.  Of course though, love bloomed as fragrant as the beckoning of a wild rose.

"Does not wisdom call,

And understanding lift up her voice?...

Listen, for I shall speak noble things;

And the opening of my lips will produce right things...

Take my instruction, and not silver,

And knowledge rather than choicest gold.

For wisdom is better than jewels;

And all desirable things can not compare with her."

Proverbs 8:1-11

AFTER CHRISTMAS CHAOS

a little poem I came upon

while cleaning out the closet,

one that I wrote years ago...

Twas the night after Christmas when all through the house

The toys were strewn everywhere making me quite a grouch.

Up when the red flags, down stomped the shoe.

I held my breath till my face bulged blue.

Then I hollered, I bellowed the commanding cries,

"Come Junior, come Donna, and the rest of you guys!

Just look at this house, just look at this mess!

Don't just stand there, someone confess.

There's no food, no friends, no world peace,

Until the chaos desists, and cease!

No X-box, no T.V.  No music, no fun,

Until every last thing disappears and the job is done."

Oh, such wailings, such gnashing of teeth.

The impossibility of the task compounded by their grief.

Suddenly, I softened, I had scared them all stiff.

Now I must show them it could be done in a jiff.

Dollies in one pile, in another the shoes,

We hussled and bussled, no time did we lose.

We tidied, we sorted, we threw much away,

Till finally I thought I could face the next day.

The house was sparkling when the company came.

Someone even asked for my domestic help's name.

With a wink of an eye, I played the game,

"Why just little elves of Santa Claus fame.

It's a fact little known that the elves reappear

After Christmas to those who can't face the new year."

As may small hands make the work light,

The holiday season once again shines bright.

CHRISTMAS PONDERINGS...

Will there be Christmas in heaven?

How will Jesus celebrate His birthday?

He is the Word,

So will there be Bibles in heaven?

He is the light of the World.

So how will we celebrate His birth?

Will there be snow?

Will there be fires to warm us?

The Holy Ghost's flames of fire

in heaven?

Will the Holy Spirit say,

"This is my child with whom

I am well pleased,"

for every child?

At Christmas I ache for beauty...

So much beauty I've been blessed to see...

I ache for beauty,

  

Beauty that there never is enough...

So much beauty that can't be contained...

Will there be Christmas trees in heaven?

Caroling?

I ache for beauty,

seen and unseen...

Choirs singing,

beautiful music of Christmas...

Will we sing "Silent Night" on His birthday?

or "Away in a Manger"?

Oh, so much beauty,

especially at Christmas...

Yet, you say You will roll it up

as an old rag one day to be tossed aside...

How will the children celebrate

the joy of your birth?

I ache for beauty, 

Beauty from such simplicity...

So much beauty!

You created here on earth.

How will You celebrate Christmas, Jesus?

Surely, we will not forget

when God gave His only begotten son...

You've prepared mansions,

but perhaps a little cabin would suffice...

Will we decorate for Christmas?

So much beauty, 

that ache in the heart for more,

will be complete in heaven...

with joys evermore

because of His birth.

Glory in the highest!

A NEW KINFOLK CHRISTMAS STORY

A Real Princess Bride,
New York's Pocahontas

Cornelius sat glumly with his friend Lional Gardinier while the man's wife and her servant Betty were busy preparing their supper.  He wished he had a home and a wife and someday would even like children, just as his friend enjoyed.  It wasn't so much jealousy as an unfulfilled dream of family.  He'd left all his kinfolk back in the Netherlands.  

But he perked up after supper with his belly full, when he had a chance to spin a few of his tall tales he was known for.  Cornelius had them all laughing, even Betty.  After a spell of quiet just staring into the fireplace, the women went to bed, and Lion finally opened up about what was heavy on his mind.

His friend mused, "There's been a lot of talk about the Pequots stirring up the tribes one against the other.  We will have to walk a thin line of peace and possession of the land we have successfully traded the Indians for."

"I've had enough of war," Cornelius huffed. "Glad I was to escape fighting against Spain over our homeland.  The truce the Netherlands signed is a fragile thing.  If I stayed, I would most likely have been conscripted again to fight in that war.  So when the Dutch West India Company sought out those willing to settle across the sea, I was more than willing to come." 

"How old were you when you were forced into enlisting the first time?" Lion asked him.

"I was barely sixteen.  I had to serve two years before the truce.  I wasn't waiting around for them to come tell me I had to serve again," Cornelius responded vehemently.  

"Were your kin some of those Walloons who escaped France's religious persecution and sought refuge in Netherlands?"

"Ya, our family settled on the Texel, Noord Holland part of the Netherlands."

"Speak ye French then?"  Lion asked.

"Some.  It was often used at home by our grandparents, though my da insisted we learn Dutch.  Since then, I've picked up a some English as well as a little of the native tongues spoken by the tribes round about us."

"I've known some hereabouts who speak upwards of ten languages, astoundingly so.  I myself endeavored to learn from Wyandanch and the other Montauks.  It not only helps in trading, but in keeping the peace.  I first met Wyandanch when he sought me out asking if I were mad at all Indians.  'Course I wasn't.  But to keep peace, he offered to pay me tribute, but I refused.  I admire the man's skill and leadership among his people and has become like a brother to me.  Know ye that Wyandanch desired my big black dog so much that he traded me  the island of Honchonock for it?  I threw in a firearm, powder and shot as well as a few dutch blankets, of course."  He winked.

"This is a nice island indeed.  They call it Gardenier's Island now, you must know.  But I find myself happily settled where I am over on Long Island at Anendeiack, the place the English call Eader Necks Beach."

"It is a good property, with the rivers near by and the sound with woods behind ye.  When I chanced by you, it looked to me that you were beginning to add a second story.  Thinking of the future, eh?"

"Ya, it's the Dutch way," Cornelius grinned.  "I appreciate you bringing me to your island on your sloop.  It would be a long way to paddle my canoe."

"Well, Cornelius, if you wonder why I asked you to join me is that I have a proposition to make you.  I suppose you've heard that a daughter of a sachem of the Montucks has just been taken prisoner.  It was a terrible thing to have happened.  The attack came at her wedding in which her intended was killed.  It's the work of the Narragansetts.  You see their chief Miantonokah kept trying to use the Montauks to spy on us, to side against us, but they refused.  This attack is in retaliation for that."

"The news has spread like fire in a dry hayfield.  Poor girl.  But isn't it just an Indian affair?"

"Actually, Wyandanch made me her guardian.  I owe it to him as his friend to go get her.  Besides, I gave him my word.  Her mother serves as a great sachem, so this young woman is a Sunksquaw, a young sachem for her people as well."

"Her guardian?  That puts you in a pudding, Lion."

The seasoned soldier scratched his neck.  "Give me peace any day, but if this tribe succeeds in this plot, they will only become more emboldened against us."

"What do you want me to do?" Cornelius asked, but figured he already knew what his friend was going to say.

"I believe it's timely I came across you when I did.  We need a big strapping young man like yourself to show Ninigret that we are not pansies.  I'm raising some men all along Long Island to go to her rescue."

"Do you anticipate a big fight?"

"We have too much weaponry for them to put up too much resistance."

"What will you do then?"  Cornelius asked, thinking that the man had something else up his sleeve the way he looked at him with a gleam in his eye.  "If you send her back to her people, they will probably just kidnap her again."

"Ahh, I think you are beginning to understand our dilemma.  By the way, weren't  you bemoaning to me earlier this morning as we walked about my island, that there are too many men and not enough women here in the New Netherlands?"

"Ya, but what does that have to do with anything?"  Cornelius heard Lion's wife snicker from where she worked making the stewed vegetable dish called hutspot.  The woman did not miss much.

"Well this Indian princess or sachem is young, but a pretty little dark-eyed thing.  I think you should take her as your bride."

Cornelius snorted in laughter, but realized his friend was serious.  "What?  You must be joking!"

Yet his friend just grinned at him.  "It would be a good match for you.  You said yourself, that you wish to marry, yet there are no marriageable women about."

"But would the Dutch West India Company sanction such a union?  There is only one religion allowed, that of the Dutch Reform Church.  I'm pretty sure they would not recognize such a marriage."

"The land is as yet unsettled.  I believe there will come a time when the church will recognize your marriage and make your children legitimate.  As far as the Dutch West India Company, they are more concerned with the progeny of New Netherlands and for peace living here amongst the tribes.  Since there is no church here yet, and since I am a captain in their service, I would be happy to perform such a marriage."

Cornelius was in his early twenties, a restless age.  He'd crossed the ocean a decade after Henry Hudson had sailed up the Hudson River.  That man's ship was sponsored by the Dutch West India Company though he himself was English. Cornelius had gotten his foot in the door at the beginning of the colonization.  But had it been enough?  No.  He had to admit to himself he was lonely, terribly so betimes.  But would a marriage to a native bring satisfaction?

"I don't have to decide until I meet her, do I?"

"No, if you don't want her, I was thinking of Johann Classen," Lion smiled his way.

"That man kicks his dog and whips his horse unmercifully.  I'd hate to think of what he'd do to a woman."

His friend rubbed his whiskered chin.  "I'll have to give it some more thought then if you decide against her."  

Just then his wife called them to the table.  Their kast, a chest for their linens, was the largest one he'd seen since leaving the homeland.  He slid in and sat on it while Lional and his wife took their chairs across from him.  Shall we thank the Good Lord for his bounty and ask his blessing on this raid?"

The bread and stew tasted like heaven for a bachelor like himself.  He made do with sapaen,  Indian corn mush, most of the time along with whatever he could hunt or harvest from the saltwater.  It made him wonder if Lional's wife could teach this Indian girl how to cook this way.

"Thank you Mrs. Gardinier for that delicious meal," he smiled at his hostess.  "And Betty," he added making her maid of many years blush like a school girl.

"We have a meeting on my beach.  Men are gathering.  Are you with us?" Lion took his measure.

Cornelius was not a coward.  He would and had fought as necessary though he did not relish it as some did.  "I'm in," he said shaking Lion's hand.  "I need to pray about the girl though.  Will there be talk among the men what you plan for her?"  He felt himself flush just thinking about it.

"No.  You and my wife, and of course Betty are the only ones who know my thoughts."

Mrs. Gardinier spoke up.  "She has stayed here a few times as their tribe passed through.  She is an intelligent, pleasant girl, a hard worker, and pretty enough to catch any man's eye," She said winking at him.

"But I don't speak Montauk well, I'm afraid.  I don't know how we would communicate."  He knew he was grasping at straws.  He was more proficient than he let on since he'd traded with the tribe often enough.

"She knows a little English and a little Dutch besides her own native tongue.  I get along just fine with her, and I'm no linguist," the woman pushed harder against his excuses.  

Lion pressed a kiss on his wife's forehead.  Was the man rubbing it in by kissing his wife in front of him, he wondered?  They walked quietly, muskets in hand, to the meeting.  About thirty men showed up.

Lion drew in the sand.  "If we go southeast from here across the Napeague Bay, then we won't be far from the Narragansette's camp.  I believe we might even surprise them.  They wouldn't think of us crossing the water there.  It is two miles across the water, nothing you men can't handle.  Should be enough moonlight to leave in the middle of the night.  Her tribe will be coming from the south here, allowing us to trap them.  About forty braves will join us. Does anyone have any questions?"

"Will we chase them then and shoot?" a husky farmer asked looking nervous.  Cornelius could see he wasn't the only one who had no stomach for the unnecessary spilling of blood."

"No," I'm glad you asked that question.  Our goal is to redeem the girl and to do so as safely as possible.  I do not want to risk any of your lives, nor do I want to start up a war by a slaughter blamed on the Dutch.  I've insisted upon this with the men of her tribe who are out for blood because of the kidnapping and killing at the wedding.  I can't be responsible for what they do, but we should be in and out as quickly as possible.  Understood?"

The men nodded and grunted their agreement with some saying enthusiastically, "Ya.  It is a good plan."

"Johann Claussen I expect you to abide by my command as your captain.  If you go rogue, you will be held responsible.  The girl is to be under my protection."  Lion looked so sternly at the bulky man until he seemed to back down from his silent challenge of wills.

It was then that Cornelius knew Lion would never give over the girl to such a man with blood thirst in his eyes.  A protectiveness rose within him towards the girl before he'd ever met her.  That's also when he knew he would most likely be married by week's end.  It was a startling thought, very startling.

 


The men paddled quietly across the still sea by the light of the moon.  They dare not make a splash.  Water carried sound, and they had no wish to be discovered out on the open sea.   Once on land, the men looked more like bears lumbering as bundled up as they all were.  Then they marched silently south before the dark even hinted of a new day.  It was cold enough that white clouds of air hovered over each man.  The husky farmer fell in beside Cornelius.  No words were spoken, but comradeship was still there as the dark barely turned to light.  It was a beautiful sunrise, he noted.  By now, these immigrants from across the sea had learned to move silently through the woods almost as well as the natives.  It was the only way to survive enemies lurking as well as hunting for the meat that sustained them all winter.  

When Lion put up his hand to halt.  They did as one.  Then they fanned out through the trees as he signaled.  The Indian encampment was still unaware of them.  If anyone of natives gave the alarm, Gardinier's men would instantly fall upon them.  Cornelius was near enough to Lion to notice his eyes searching for the young sachem.  

The one who stood up stretching was obviously one of  the chiefs, Ninigret, he thought.  Lion caught Cornelius' eye and nodded to him.  A young woman was bound to a nearby tree.  The Indian went over and kicked her foot to awaken her.  It was the moment of surprise.  They went in shouting and shooting over their heads as the unprepared Indians ran and melting into the trees.  The chief was hesitant, looking for his bow before running away as well.  The enraged Montauks chased them not willing to let them go unpunished.  As for Gardinier's men, they only had so much time before some might return to try to prevent them from escaping with the princess bride.  

Cornelius got to her first, drew out his hunting knife and swiftly cut through her bonds to set her free.  He grabbed her arm and held on as they ran back the nearly two miles to their canoes.  Lion was in the rear as men thrashed through the woods without caution now.  Speed was their surest weapon.  One had been shot in the arm by an arrow, but a blaze of powder and shot stopped more attack.   The husky farmer had put the wounded man over his shoulders and ran as fleet-footed as any of them, as if the burden weighed nothing.

Once to the bay, Cornelius put the young woman in the middle of a canoe with Lion in the front, while he sat in the rear ever watchful.   As soon as they stepped foot on the shore of Gardinier's island, men hooted and hollered over their success while Lion's wife and her maid Betty, worked to get the arrow out of the poor man's shoulder. But the others greedily partook of the sheep roasting over the coals acting like heathens in their relish. 

He led the Sunksquaw, the young sachem, inside to the fire where she sank on the hearth rug.  Her eyes darted about, but finally rested on his.  But Cornelius had not been able to take his eyes off her since he sat behind her in the canoe.  Her black hair shimmered now in the firelight and thick lashes lidded her eyes.  Betty brought them plates of steaming meat and bread warm from the over with lots of butter.  Lion sat on the floor beside them.  He grinned at Cornelius and waggled his eyebrows. 

"Hello, Catoneras," Mrs. Gardinier greeted her.  "I hope you are unharmed."  Her husband translated a few words when the young woman scrunched up her forehead.  Then she nodded and gave her hostess a fleeting smile.

"Shall I speak to her on your behalf?" Lion asked.

Cornelius could hardly hide a smile as he slowly nodded to the man.  "But do you think she will be grieving her betrothed who was killed.  Should we give her time?"

"Wyandanch assured me it was just an arranged match, to quiet inside fighting among the braves."

"Heather Flower, this is my friend Cornelius Van Tassel."  He knew more than he thought he would of their conversation.

"Heather Flower?" he asked in surprise.  

"Most call me Catoneras," she spoke clearly, but looked shyly down at her wrists which had been chaffed raw by her bindings.

Cornelius gently took her wrist and called Betty over.  "Do you have an ointment that can heal this?"

She patted the girl's shoulder and hurried away to retrieve it.  

Lion cleared his throat.  "Catoneras, did Wyandanch tell you that I am your guardian?"

She gave a bigger smile.  "Yes, and thank you for saving me." They were speaking in the Montauk dialect.

The man went on, "I am afraid that if you go back to your tribe, Ninigret might try to steal you  away again." She stiffened as her eyes filled with fear.  "But I have another idea."  He went back and forth from Dutch, English and her native tongue as he searched for the just the right words.

"I think my friend Cornelius would keep you safe.  Even Ninigret would think twice about  attacking one of the Dutch settlers.  The Dutch West India Company and their officers would not take kindly to that.  This young man has a nice home on Long Island at Eaton's Neck.  If you are willing, he has agree to wed you."

She gasped and looked at him wide eyed.

Cornelius put his hands up, "Only if you choose.  You can go back to your tribe if you'd rather."  He spoke her language badly, he knew.  

She stared at him for a long time, finally taking a deep breath.  Then she swung her eyes over to Lion looking at him as if for guidance.

"Catoneras, I will not make you go where you do not want to go."  He smiled assuredly at her.  "But neither do I want you to chance coming across Ninigret again.  He might not treat you so nicely next time, and I might not arrive in time." Lion looked sternly at her.

She nodded and rubbed the ointment Betty had brought her into her wounds some more with downcast eyes.

She glanced up one more time at Cornelius.  "You already have a woman?"

Since Cornelius was tongue-tied, Lion chuckled and spoke for him.  "No, Catoneras,  I assure you he has no other.  It is not the way of the Dutch or the English to have more than one wife."

"No, there is no other.  There never has been," Cornelius said as he smiled gently at her.  "What do you think?"

He was as nervous as a sailor in a rough sea with a leaky boat.  Now that he had his hopes up, would she allow him to sink?  How did he compare to one of the many braves in her tribe?  Though her tribesmen were tall, he was still a head taller than any he'd seen yet.  His skin was darkly tanned after working outside all spring and summer, not that much different from her own skin, he mused.  

But surely one of them wished to marry her.  So he asked, "Does another hold your heart?"

She looked surprised.  "No!  No one would dare while I was promised to wed the one who was killed.  It would have angered Wyandanch."

He shrugged with a hopeful look tugging a smile with his lips.  "You haven't answered me.  If you wish, I will go away and will never bother you again."

She swiftly reached out and grabbed his wrist.  "No, stay."  Then she looked up at Lion.  "May I sleep on it?  I have not had any restful sleep since I was taken."

Mrs. Gardinier hurried over.  "Gentlemen, your inquisition is over for the night," but she smiled down at Cornelius.  Perhaps we all need rest after the recent events."

He stood conflicted.  Before yesterday, he had no idea he would ever consider marriage to a native.  Now that he was sure of it, it was difficult to postpone knowing what her decision would be.  He sighed and ran his hands through his hair that brushed his shoulders which was stiff with salt spray.  "Good night, Catoneras.  We'll speak again in the morning.  I'll pray you find peace in your heart."

She looked up at him with surprise.  "You will pray for me?"

"Of course.  I am a Christian and try to follow what's in the Bible as well as I can."

She gave her first big smile.  "Good.  Thank you for praying for me.  I want to know what is in the Book."

Now Cornelius looked surprised.  "I can teach you the Bible."

She took his large hand between her small ones.  "I will marry you then."

Cornelius almost fell over backward while Lion laughed.   "What do you think, Mrs. Gardinier?  Do you think we can have a wedding here in the morning?"

She clapped and giggled with Betty.  "I'm sure we can, but we can make a better wedding feast if we have all day to prepare."

"A feast sounds good to me, ladies," Cornelius grinned.  "How about you, Catoneras?"

"Me?"

"Yes, I will always listen to what you have to say," he said earnestly.

Her smile turned into a yawn.  Soon they were all yawning.  Though he could hardly take his eyes off her, he slipped out to the barn where other men had bedded down putting off leaving till in the morning.  Few wanted to make small talk.  All were exhausted and soon snores and heavy breathing filled the log structure.

Before dawn, Cornelius crept away to bathe in the river, but his shouts brought other men running, then roaring in laughter.  "It's frreeezzing!" he said with teeth chattering.

"Is it true?  Are you marrying that gal we rescued yesterday?  If you'd rather, I'd be happy to take that little beauty off your hands."  Others chimed in teasing him.

"Will there be another feast tonight?  That might be worth staying over one more night."

"Will there be spirits?"  Another asked.

"I doubt it," he said wiping his wet body off and hurrying back into his clothes while shivering so hard, he could barely get dressed.  "It will probably be watered down beer.  Probably no stronger than what they give the children every day."

They guffawed and left to see if there was any food to be had this morning.  Mrs. Gardinier had her hands full.  Cornelius hurried to their fireside, not just for the warmth, but for another chance to look at Catoneras.  He'd hardly slept last night as he turned everything over and over in his mind, her rescue, her beauty, the wedding, and the upcoming wedding night.  He also wondered what she would think of her new home.  He felt it was nothing to be ashamed of.  Still he was as nervous as a dog with a juicy bone in a pack of wolves.

But as soon as his eyes met hers, he had never been more sure of anything in his life.  His smile was big enough to catch a sunbeam.  She seemed happy to see him as well, but was still a little shy.  For the first time, he noticed that she was a young thing, but so was he, not quite as young as she though.  Perhaps there was five years or so difference between them.  They would have a long life ahead together, God willing.

Before they partook of the food, Lion opened their family Bible and read a chapter, a prophecy in Isaiah of the coming Messiah.  She looked up confused at him, but he took her hand under the table and whispered, "I'll explain it to you tomorrow on our way home."

After prayer, Mrs. Gardinier passed the porridge around with more of her good bread and sweet butter.  Catoneras smelled it and smiled, bit into the richly browned crust and said with a sigh, "Good!"  

"If we have time, I will show you how it's made," Mrs. Gardinier promised, but suddenly they were all drawn to the window to see what the commotion was.  Her tribesmen were in the yard.

Cornelius and Lion hurried out and greeted the men.  Their spokesman related to Lion what happened in their skirmish.   He nodded satisfied.  

"Did you lose any of your men?" he asked.

One is dead and another injured.  We take them back to our tribe now.  Is our Sunksquaw ready?"

Cornelius knew this was a pivotal moment.  He prayed silently. 

"You know that Wyandanch and I are good friends, like brothers.  You also know he made me her guardian."  The men nodded in agreement.  "I decided that Heather Flower would be in danger if she returned home with you, as would all your women and children if Ninigret attacks again."  They puffed out their chests as if they were invincible.  A few disgruntled grunts were heard.

But Lion ignored them and put his hand on Cornelius' shoulder and said, "But if one of the Dutch West India Company's colonists marry her, she would be safer.  Even Ninigret would think twice before attacking her there under his protection.

"Are you saying the white man will marry an Indian?" One brave stepped out looking at Catoneras questioningly.  "What say you, Heather Flower?" She had followed them outside.

"I will marry him."

An outbreak of protests wove through the Montauks.  They argued among themselves often one or another would look over and glare at him.  He stepped closer to Catoneras and put his arm possessively around her.

Finally, Lion had enough.  "Silence!  As her guardian, I have made my decision.  She will wed my friend.  You will not cause trouble."  You may escort them tomorrow to her new home as will some of my company of men.  Your eyes will see that she will be well provided for.  Perhaps you may decide to give them all the land that Wyandanch set aside for her.  It is next to where he lives. As a wedding present, I am giving them a horse, a milk cow and her calf."  Cornelius looked over in surprise at that pronouncement.

They looked at her, then at the beef that was now roasting over a fire. Their spokesman finally said, "We will sit and eat with you tonight.  But first we hunt to make more provisions for the feast." 

Cornelius felt her sink against him as the tension dissipated.  "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she sighed in relief.  "Mr. Gardinier is fierce like the lion, panther-like creature they describe to us.  It is good.  He keeps the peace among us as best he can.  Perhaps one day it will be for you to do.  That would be good, yes?"

She surprised him once again.  He smiled down looking humbled at her trust in him.  "I want always for there to be peace.  Perhaps good will come of our marriage as we join the Dutch and the Montucks."

She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder and said, "It is good."

Time sped by until the wedding.  Mr. Gardinier insisted that Cornelius wear one of his jackets with fancy buttons and a shiny belt buckle.  "To impress the Indians," he smiled.  

"They combined a Montuck tradition or two with a Christian wedding ceremony.  Then they feasted.  Indeed the Indians contributed several geese and salmon.   Mrs. Gardinier would have plenty of goose feather down to fill her pillows this winter.  All the men had sat around all afternoon plucking them for her, so the sooner that they could be cooked. 

That night Cornelius followed his wife up to the loft, the warmest place in the house as the heat rose from the fireplace.  The sound of the merriment of men with full bellies sitting round the fire outside grew dim. He wasn't entirely sure how to approach her, but there was no language barrier to love.

They climbed down the ladder the next morning, perhaps both blushing a little.  After they ate the bowls of porridge served with more bread, they said their good-byes.  Cornelius grasped Lion's hand and earnestly said, "Thank you.  You have given me an unforeseen treasure.  I will protect her as my wife, and as a symbol of the peace between the tribes and the Dutch.  

Mrs. Gardinier fixed them up with food to take with them.  Sure enough, Lion walked out of his barn leading a horse and his servant, the cow and calf.  Their generosity was overwhelming.  But to their surprise, A runner came back with a pack.

"For Heather Flower," he said.  A tiny smile peeked out, but she held herself regally with the honor they bestowed upon her.  "May my people be blessed as you have blessed me.  Thank you."  Or at least that's what Cornelius thought she said.

Was there ever such a parade in New Netherlands with his wife leading a horse as he led a cow whose calf cavorted behind them. The leaves on the trees were a riot of red and burnished yellow as if rejoicing with them. Montauks and Dutch alike escorted them to the Gardinier's sloop they would use to cross Gardinier's Bay.  

There were only small white caps ruffling the surface of the turquoise water today, for which Cornelius was thankful.  The weather was so unpredictable this close to the wide ocean, especially this time of year, that the crossing could be impossible.  The horse balked wanting nothing to do with going on board up the gang plank.  But finally, Cornelius covered the beast's eyes so that she allowed him to lead her like a lamb.  The cow followed calmly while another kept a tight hold of the calf lest it fall into the water.  The natives paddled their canoes as most of the men did as well towards their Long Island home.  

All the way, she pelted him with  questions about the Bible while Cornelius did his best to answer them for her.  "So the book says a god baby comes, and his mother has to lay him in the hay? Why doesn't he come on a ship like this, or a bigger one full of cannons and bright flags like the Dutch West India Company did when they arrived?  Perhaps people would have recognized him then and would bring him wampum, lots of wampum.  But now we don't know where to find him!"

Cornelius smiled inside.  If only his mother could see him now explaining the Christ child to an innocent native woman, his wife.  Surely God was pleased.  He knew he certainly was.  He held her hand while keeping a tight grip on the horse's reigns with the other.  

Eaton's Neck Long Island, their home

Cat loved her new home.  It made him fill with pride that she thought he could provide so well for her.  He remembered his first winter.  He survived like so many others in nothing more than a dug-out cellar covered with wood and bark.  Now he had a comfortable home with a garret floor built above for storage, which hopefully some day would be filled with little ones.  Cornelius was glad that he had made the bedstede, bed boxe, which helped to keep the warmth in when the doors were closed from the inside.  His wife seemed especially glad for that chance to be able to keep each other warm.  Cat had grown up with so much shared space and no sense of privacy.  Now she relished it.

Her bread making was improving all the time, but he always ate whatever she attempted, well, almost always.  Some got fed to the hogs while his dog never saw a burnt biscuit he didn't like.  Just like Wyandanch, he had been given one of the Gardinier's pups to raise, now a good watch dog.  Cornelius was humble enough in his own eyes not to become too prideful, but it made him love his wife all the more that she took pleasure in their home.

At night after chores were done, Cat would beg him to read Luke's chapters one and two over and over again. So there in front of the flickering flames of a fire, he saw reflected in her eyes so much wonder.  She showed such childlike faith.

On Christmas Eve, out of the blue and on the crest of the glistening snow that had fallen in the night, a neighbor glided up in a sleigh.  It was Christmas Eve.  The children's voices rang out in the crisp air, like bells ringing joyfully their Christmas greetings.  They were giddy with their anticipation of the Feast of St. Nicholas.  His wife had never looked so puzzled as the children chattered on about Sinterklass.  

"I'll tell you later," he whispered.

Gertje called out, "You must come and join us tonight.  Spend Christmas Eve with us, then tomorrow you two can have your first Christmas together in your own home in peace and quiet."  Cornelius was so appreciative of these neighbors who never looked down on his wife, but found her fascinating.

"This is why we came," the farmer called.  "We want you to come.  Come be with us.  The children are so excited, as you can see."  That big burly farmer that had gone with them to rescue Catoneras, was his closest neighbor.  How did he not know that before?  It must have been that they had both been buried under work to carve their own places in the land.

Cornelius looked at his wife as she nodded.  "Maybe I learn something new tonight?  Shall we bundle up?  I will bring some of my bread and butter!"

He laughed.  Cornelius was convinced that no one celebrated Christmas like the Dutch.  "There's nothing better than children at Christmas time.  God gave His only Son as His joyous gift to us."

That night as they rode their horse together keeping each other warm, the stars seemed especially bright.  Cat's voice was thoughtful.  "Do you know how I want to celebrate our first Christmas together?"

"No, how?" he asked confused.  They already had a little tree with popcorn and cranberries strung on it.

"I want to tell you now.  It is my gift to you.  Christmas is about the baby, right?"

"Yes."  He wondered how many times they had gone over that story.  He watched her face light up with joy.

"Would you like your own baby, so that next year we will have our own little one to enjoy Christmas with us?"

He looked astounded at her.  "Is that just a thought, or are you trying to tell me something.'

The way she no longer could hold back her beaming smile, "It's true.  I am with child."  His son may be the first child born with Dutch blood in all of New Netherlands.  He was speechless so he kissed his wife soundly.

Such a few short months ago, he was in despair.  Now he had his own Indian princess bride for his wife, one who was bringing such joy with her news."

"I love you more than the stars in the sky, Heather Flower."

She smiled.  "I like the name Cat that you gave me, but it is still a pretty name from my childhood that you just reminded me of.  And I love you more than all the grains of sand along the shore of Long Island."

"That's a lot," he mused happily nuzzling her as they neared their home.

"God has blest us with a child just as He blest us with His Child on Christmas," she said.  "But you'll  have to explain again in the morning about this Sinterklass.  I'm still confused about what the children were trying to tell me."

He just laughed into the clear night.  The one star that shone that Christmas must have exploded and scattered the brilliance across the sky with glittering stars.  "I will do just that so that one day you can tell our own child how we celebrate Christmas."  Now they were home and ready for their bedstede where the doors would be shut until Christmas morning.

"...they rejoiced exceedingly with great joy."

Matthew 2:10

So that is the true as it can be story of our New York Pocahontas, my tenth great grandmother who lived with her husband Cornelius Van Tassel of the Netherlands on Long Island.  Perhaps as I colored, I might have gotten a wee bit outside the lines in the brief outline that history offers.

I  discovered these two in my ancestry just this week before Christmas.  Their son Jan Cornelius Van Tassel (or Van Texel) went before the powers that be and asked that all the land the Indians had given them be granted back to the family since his father was a Christian and had married an Indian.  It was still unresolved, so years later the grandchildren asked for their land back.  I don't believe they ever received quite all the land their mother's people had originally given them. Some have noted that they married quite a bit later in life; but since some records show they had a large family, my guess is that it took awhile to get the Dutch Reform Church to recognize their married state.

Ready for another tidbit?  Cornelius and Catoneras' son Jan Cornelius and family moved to Sleepy Hollow in New York.  It is even said that their granddaughter met the author Washington Irving and told a family tale which turned into his "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow."  In fact Bram Bones is possibly patterned after Indian Bram, the babe which was so much darker than his siblings, showing his Indian blood.  The young woman being courted by Icabod Crane and Bram Bones may have been patterned after Catrina Van Tassel herself.  Her father is the prosperous Dutch farmer named Van Tassel (Texel).  The stone church is still standing from the mid 1600's, the oldest in the state.  Our kinfolk are buried there in the churchyard of Sleepy Hollow.

Here is a copy of the 1685 petition Jan Cornelius Van Tassel, their son, gave to Governor Dougan, land papers, Office of the State, Albany, New York...

*The petition of Cornelissen Showeth: 

That your petitioner is a native of this Province, his father a Christian, his mother an Indian of Long Island. That he has married a Christian in this Province, and by her hath nine children now living.  "And whereas the Indians, his kindred, are willing to divide, set out and allot that share of land, which according to the wisdom is his right, and inheritance at a certain place called Tersarge, being to the eastward of the town of Huntington, on the north side of Long Island, which for the better support of himself ad his family he is intended to cultivate and improve.  He therefore humbly prays that your Honorable will be pleased to order him a warrant for the same, upon which he may obtain a patent or grant and confirmation from your Honorable, under his Majesty, for the same."

**Gardinier or Gardiner's Island was indeed given to Lional Gardinier and has been in the same family over four hundred years (worth millions as you can imagine).  And it has also been recorded that Cornelius Van Tassel was used to help keep the peace with the Indians on Long Island, even traveling as far away as Boston.  No wonder they call Catoneras, the Pocahontas of New York. (Captain Kidd even buried treasure there on the island at one time, but that's another story.)

The bridge by the Sleepy Hollow Stone Church that the headless horseman supposedly rode over.  I reread the Legend of Sleepy Hollow and found it delightful with so many references most likely to our kin.


Cornelius Jansen Van Tassel, 1600-1689 m Catoneras (Wyandanch?) 1603-1759, 10th gr grands
Sarah Van Tassel daughter m. Pieter Janse DeWitt 
Pieter DeWitt, son of Pieter DeWitt
Maria DeWitt, daughter of Pieter DeWitt
Volkert Dirckse Fulkerson, son of Maria DeWitt,
Capt. James Fulkerson, son of Volkert Fulkerson
Hannah Debough Fulkerson, daughter of Capt. James Fulkerson
Jacob Sharp, son of Hannah Fulkerson
Margaret "Mary" Sharp, daughter of Jacob Sharp
Sallie Harper Robinson, daughter of Margaret Sharp
Reuben (Ruby) Robinson Wise, daughter of Sallie Robinson
(Sallie Welch, daughter of Sallie Robinson)
Harriet Louise Wise Meredith, daughter of Ruby Wise
Celia Jolley, daughter of Harriet Meredith


*I've never been to New York, thus not Long Island, nor Sleepy Hollow.  I used a large map with itty-bitty writing to come up the possible logistics for the rescue of Catoneras.  Shall we say, she's history,  quite literally.