The Cry of the Wolf Chapter 33

George joined the men scrubbing in the river. His eagerness was contagious as he motioned his sons to join him.

"I will be going back to Germany when I am grown," Hans Jr. promised his father.

"And in the meantime, we will be accepted into the tribe. You are underage Son, therefore the decision rests with me as your father."

Claus eyed the river with wary eyes as George swept him high in his arms, following the chief to the riverbank.

"Scrub," Chief Black Bear instructed. "When you come out of the water, you will be Mohawk."

"About that..." Hans began, youth loosening his tongue, "I'm not exactly sure I want to live like a wild man."

George shot his son a warning look but it was too late, the chief was able to speak and understand English.

"Wildman?" Chief Black Bear hid his amusement.

What better life was there for youth on the cusp of manhood?

Choosing not to respond to Hans' comment, he stood back as George led the boys into the river, holding Claus carefully as he washed the boy's limbs, quickly immersing his head beneath the rapidly flowing river currents.

Claus sputtered as his head reappeared a moment later, blinking

water droplets from his eyes. George beamed with pride as he set his youngest child on the riverbank before he scrubbed his own limbs, discarding his uniform. Hair glistening in the late sun, he emerged from the river, gratefully accepting the buckskin a warrior offered him. The fit was rather snug and exposed his lily-white skin. George stood out in stark contrast to the darker native men.

Hans climbed the riverbank begrudgingly, reaching for his old clothes but the chief's wife whisked them away, exchanging them for a loincloth that caused the shy young man to blanch.

His grandfather, Herman, chuckled, ruffling the young man's hair before he walked to the edge of the bank. George reached his side in two long steps, offering his arm to assist the elderly man as he descended the embankment.

"Are you sure, Vater?" George's eyes searched his fathers'.

"I've never been more certain of anything, Son, now let me get to it."

This could only be love…

Scrubbed until their skin was pink and tingling, they were led from the river and clothed in soft buckskin dresses.

"I never could have imagined looking like this a year ago," Anna laughed, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

"George might be onto something after all. These dresses are incredibly comfortable," Gretjen grinned.

Like the men's clothing, their European dresses were whisked away. They smiled as they were led back to the camp to join the men.

"Why do you choose to be a Mohawk?" Chief Black Bear raised his eyebrow, sitting down cross-legged at the entrance to the longhouse.

"I desire no other life," George answered honestly, "I wish to live and die among you. To love you and serve beside you as my own blood - my own family."

Chief Black Bear's eyes widened, but he simply nodded.

"Then you are welcome in our tribe. Your name will be Kajirowirago."

Kajirowirago rolled the name on his tongue. It would take some getting used to but as he straightened his shoulders. Donning his new identity, he knew he had made the right decision.

"What of Harm?" Gretjen frowned.

Anna reached for her hand.

"We need to pray God softens his heart. It seems my son intends to be buried in this valley. Harm must come here."

****

Brebeuf began daily lessons, teaching the converts they must reject their traditions and fully accept all Christianity had to offer. They could no longer pray to the Great Spirit or bury their dead with their tribesmen. They were to be completely separate from their heathen family.

"Come out from her and be ye separate..." Brebeuf quoted to back up his words.

There would be no more participating in the tribal traditions, and, in future raids, all captives must be treated with dignity and respect.

"Even as our Lord humbled Himself to serve His people..."

Chief Long Knife nodded, "It is done."

No one would contradict him.

Jaira crossed her arms in front of her chest, "I must admit I am impressed with how quickly they accept the priest's words. Now if they only knew the truth..."

Maggie nodded, rubbing her stomach as another cramp squeezed tight.

"Yes, but we can teach the children once the school is built..." Marguerite struggled to focus on what she was saying as she gripped a nearby pole.

Adelaide's eyes widened, "Maggie, is it time?"

"I don't know," Maggie gasped, doubling over in sudden agony.

Ever watchful, Small Bird was at their side within minutes. They helped Maggie back inside the longhouse, nudging the children out of the smoky interior.

Sarah ran over to Chief Long Knife, interrupting his conversation, "The baby is coming!"

Chief Long Knife stood, signaling Falcon, the men knowing to keep out of the women's way.

Boldly Brebeuf scurried over to stand at Chief Long Knife's side.

"The fort must be built now."

Chief Long Knife exchanged a look with Falcon.

"Yes, we will build this fort. Send for your men..."

****

The baby boy did not receive his name until after they had pierced his ears.

Falcon held the squirming infant high in his arms, looking down at the scrunched-up face.

"Wolf," he declared, naming him after their clan.

He glanced over at Maggie, his eyes dancing with pride at the woman

who had blessed their tribe with a healthy baby boy.

"Wolf Isaiah..." Maggie smiled, adding the second name.

Her husband would have approved. Guillaume had spoken so often of how Isaiah, the prophet of old, had pledged before the angel, "Here am I, send me."

The name was fitting.

"I'm so happy for you!" Adelaide beamed, peering down at the tiny child whose dusky French complexion helped him fit in even better, thick black hair crowning his head. "He is perfect."

And still, her own womb was empty.