The Wedding

The rebuilding of the Summer Homes after the attack and subsequent battle wasn’t just about repairing structures that had been burned or damaged or even about redoing wattle and daub. These Principal People intentionally united the mud and wood with their sweat and tears while working out their grief. The framework of community had to be restored and reinforced to support the new days ahead.

The air in the Hollow no longer tasted of smoke and soot, but of wet clay and wood shavings. The rebuilding was like a dance with deliberate choreography. Every hand that cleared or cleaned or lifted posts into the timber frames was a hand that had gripped a weapon or buried a loved one only weeks before.

“Let the river take the heaviness.” The words of the priests hung over the reshaping village like a benediction. The cleansing baptism wasn’t just a ritual for the skin or a daily routine. For the bone-deep exhaustion of a people who had looked into the maw of death and refused to blink, it was a necessity. As the Ani-Yunwiya (The Cherokee People) waded into the Ama each day after working, they let the cold current of the Long Man pull the grit from their pores. As the structures rose, so did the spirits of the people.

Ghigau and Ocono did not lead a revolution as they once had schemed, but an impromptu revival. One of the two seemed to be either crying with, building with or laughing with every remaining member of the village. Newcomers who had journeyed to be with family, noticed the transformation of the power couple. Very soon, the village was making a noticeable and erstwhile comeback. Ghigau and Ocono were like newlyweds again.

Elders from the Seven clans came to bless the village on the outskirts of Tenasi. They certainly wanted to be seen in the thriving center of attention. The Shawnee who had been adopted into one of those clans were ceremonially accepted and physically made to be at home with their new kin. Even Lowak Chula came with her contingency of the Chickasaw Nation honor guards to pay homage to the resurrection of the village. She bowed and congratulated the people in a magnificently showy speech. Her theatrics were becoming legendary even with the Cherokee. All under Principle Chief Bodaway’s watchful eye, of course, as he and Blue Clan Chief Diwali took a moment to thank her for the honor she bestowed upon them. But after three days, they went back to their people. They didn’t want to outstay their welcome.

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The new North American settlers in the Hollow seemed to be tireless and efficient. Clearing trees and building their own homes wasn’t enough. Mathias helped in every way possible to ensure the Cherokee Clans reestablish their homes. If he was not actively involved in the building and maintenance, he sent tools enough to enable the village to thrive.

Therefore, it was no surprise when he sauntered up to Bodaway with a scarce commodity, paper.

“More paper, Mathias?” Bodaway started to straighten up from kneeling to help steady a post needing attention.

“Don’t get up, Uku.” He knelt alongside him. “Yes. and no.”

Bodaway winced at the curious answer.

“Travis and I, well, mostly Travis, have been working on some plans for you and the Clans.” He spread out the paper to reveal a large set of plans for a structure. Mathias waited for the chief to analyze the set.

“Bodaway’s Hall?” Bodaway’s face was still confused. “We usually name things after an ancestor who has begun their walk west.” His smile was uncomfortable. “I am not dead, yet.”

Mathias adjusted his posture. “It is in honor of your willingness to graft us into your land and for your superior wisdom.” He sat flat on his rear end in a humble bow.

“We would not be alive without you, Uku.” He recovered quickly to point to specific aspects of the plans. “The hall will have seven sides. With each side measured by you taking seven strides. There will be a hearth in the center for the Sacred Fire.” Still pointing to the plans. “And every Clan will have their own fire for their own gatherings.” He pulled his hand back to calm himself. “I get so excited to think of the ways your people will be able to use this building!”

Bodaway was taken aback. “Travis seems to have thought of everything, as usual.” He clasped Mathias on the shoulder. “Thank you. This is a great honor. But how long will this take to build? Winter is not that far away.”

“That’s the best part. We can probably, Elohim willing, complete it in ten weeks.” He paused. “Uh, before the third full moon from now. Give or take a week or two.”

“Very well, Mathias.” They clasped forearms with no hesitation.

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“Ama-way. Yeh-ha! Ama-way. Yeh-ha! Ama-way. Yeh-ha!” The women of the Blue Clan danced and sang like the Ocoee River rapids. Their fluid movements swirling and bobbing. Their bright faces were a mixture of pride and sanctity. Somewhere in the matriarchal flow, Inali walked reverently. His heart beat, however, was a torrent of rhythm. He was gliding along with his clan’s female leadership that included his aunts and other leaders of the Blue Clan. As an orphan adopted by one of their seers years before, they had become his mother and grandmothers. The viscous show of strength was not lost on him. He felt so loved that his hands had a dim glow of the mystical blue of his Nunnehi gift. The song continued.

From the Blue Clan come the women of renown.

From the Blue Clan, we bring our beloved son.

Everything he’s ever done has brought him to this place.

Every ancestor’s blessing is now showing on his face.

As they finished their motions and hugged him and each other, his aunts engulfed him in the blue blanket of his single life. Like a ferry crossing the widest part of the Tenasi River, Inali anchored himself across from the Sacred Fire with his aunt holding the basket offering of seared venison and choicest meats.

From the opposite side of the gathering came The Long Hair Clan.

“Sa-li. Gu-wi! Sa-li. Gu-wi!” The voices of the Long Hair women blossomed into a deep, resonant harmony, a sound that felt as if it were being pulled directly from the roots of the Great Oak itself. Their movements were slower and deliberate into the earth. Collectively, each step was a planting of purpose.

In the center of the matriarchal line walked Awinita. Unlike the torrent in Inali’s chest, Awinita felt a profound, grounded stillness. As she moved, her own energy seemed to thrum in sync with the women surrounding her. These elders of her clan were the keepers of tradition and the weavers of the vine that formed a protective canopy of heritage around her.

Their song grew to meet the smoke of the seven-wood fire:

From the Long Hair Clan, peaceful weavers of the way,

From the Long Hair Clan, we bring the adoption of the day.

Every seed she’s planted has grown into this hour,

Every grandmother’s wisdom gave her this mighty power.

As they reached the center of the building yet to be, her grandmother of the Long Hair Clan draped the Blue Blanket of her individual life over Awinita’s shoulders. It was heavy, a physical weight of the sorrows she had carried through the battle, yet it was softened by the hands that placed it there. Her mother stepped forward, holding the basket of corn and bread, the golden grains and crust catching the light of the setting sun.

The dirt of the floor of Bodaway’s Hall, packed tight by the morning’s work, hummed beneath the weight of the arriving clan. Where the Blue Clan had moved with the rhythmic, flowing grace of the river, the Long Hair Clan advanced like the steady, unhurried growth of the ancient forest.

The two clans now stood beneath their bannered poles. The Seven Clans lined all around the perimeter with the Sacred Fire and the wedding at its epicenter. As if the congregation had become a living breathing cathedral of this holy moment.

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Mathias, Travis, Burke, Lambeth and all their children from the outside edges silently watched their friends unite families. They had seen the Cherokee as warriors, as survivors, and as builders, but here, within the carefully measured stakes of the imagined Bodaway’s Hall, they saw them as a Covenant.

Mathias gripped the handle of his spade, his knuckles white. He realized then that what Travis and he had designed on paper was merely a shell. The real structure was being built right now, in the space around Inali and Awinita.

The singing tapered into a sacred silence, leaving only the crackle of the central fire pit and the distant rush of the Duck River.

Inali and Awinita stood exactly still. Uwatisguh, Atsila Tsula and Daguhna each had a bundle in their hands made from eagle feathers, pine branches, and corn husks to bless the fires. The trio whispered the words over the flames. Blessing to the North, South, East and West and then toward the couple for peace and balance in their lives, their marriage and their family.

Once the three seers had completed the circuit of the fire blessings and following the ways of the ancestors, Inali and Awinita began their walk to be united by the Sacred Fire. The red clay felt cool against their moccasins.

The scent of the seared venison and the sweet corn mingled in the air. They reached the edge of the hearth.

They stopped. For the first time in their matrimonial day, they lifted their heads. The dim blue glow in Inali’s hands met the steady, rooted green of Awinita’s. There was only the raw, honest connection of the two.

Inali’s aunt and Awinita’s mother stepped forward, their movements perfectly synchronized with tradition. Awinita reached out, her hand steady as she grasped the corner of Inali’s blue blanket. She didn’t just remove it, but she folded it into her own and laid them on the southern edge of the Sacred Fire. Their single lives were being replaced by the joining of the two. The elder women, having clutched the top corners of the white unity blanket, draped the couple as one.

Each woman held the basket for the empty-handed couple.

Awinita accepted the offering from her mother and handed him the basket of bread. “I will nurture,” her voice was soft as corn silk.

Inali accepted Awinita’s offering and placed it on the ground beside him. He passed his offering of the basket of venison, from his aunt to his bride, the meat still warm from the hearth. “I will protect,” he answered.

Standing there, wrapped in the alabaster blanket, they faced each other and spoke.

Awinita vowed, “I am the owner of the house and the fields; I will provide the life-giving grain and the stability of the hearth.”

“And I will protect the home you have given. The life we share. I will provide meat from the hunt.” Inali’s hands glowed blue as his forehead touched hers. The green of her Nunnehi gift responded from her hands and the peaceful balanced blending of the hues swirled like a spark above their heads and then joined the smoke of the Sacred Fire. Several onlookers in the front rows gasped at the supernatural display above them.

In a rousing finale to the event, Bodaway stepped forward with his voice and arms raised to give the people one more reason to celebrate. His pronouncement meant the union was complete.

“The Blankets are joined!” The uproar of the congregation became a resounding cheer of joy, strength and hope for the couple and themselves.

The families started the waves of arms and kisses and salutes of happiness crashing over Awinita and Inali. The confluence of people looked like a river flowing around the island of the happy couple.

Eventually, after all the Cherokee attending met with them, the Uneguh (North American) families congratulated Awinita and Inali.

Sophie Weinman held a corked bottle out to the new bride. “We have this from Mathias’s family vineyard in Germany. It is very fitting that you should have it. 50 years old and full of possibilities. Just like you and your people have done for us.”

Awinita held the bottle gently. “Wado, my friends. Wine is a very special gift. We are so grateful.” She leaned into Inali who whispered thank you in both languages and asked.

“There is a vineyard near the mountain villages in the east, but not one near here. Are you thinking of starting one of your own?”

Burke blurted out first with his Scottish brogue. “I hope so. With all my heart, I hope so!”

Mathias spoke up to be more polite, “Yes. There is a long history of vineyard tending in my family. My brother and uncle are coming very soon to help with the winery. It will be a few years, but we know the Hollow will be fertile ground.” He looked at Bodaway walking up to them and nodded.

“I have had many years of tending a vineyard. I will, of course, have my hand in the cultivation.” The Uku beamed,”My grandfather’s vineyard is the eastern winery she speaks of. There are so many good days ahead of us!”

As the eating and sharing and frivolities continued, the assembly shifted into the welcomed sounds of dancers and drummers preparing for the Stomp Dance around the fire.

Suddenly, all voices hushed. All eyes and bodies turned to the couple who were approaching Awinita and Inali. They were serious and profound in their steps. Carrying a clay vessel together, Ghigau and Ocono stopped and extended the bulbus and exquisite pottery. The spouts were opposite of each other.

“We offer a challenge!" Gighau called.

Mathias whispered to Sophie, “I’m glad we don’t have one of those. That looks very difficult.”

Sophie responded, “And being married to you is easy?” She giggled and kissed his cheek.

Ocono continued from Ghigau’s opening. “This is the Water Vessel. The bride and groom will drink at the same out of the vase. If they manage to do so without spilling even a drop, they can expect mutual understanding and balance throughout their marriage.”

Awinita and Inali smiled at each other as they grasped their side of the double-spouted pitcher. Simultaneously, they raised the clay pot to their lips. The crowd gave the couple’s motion a verbal lift of “Ooohh” and “Aaahh”. As the pitcher tilted up, so did the timbre in the voices. The choir crescendoed into another release of wonder as the newlyweds drank in unison. Bodaway was sure he saw the vessel glow slightly blue until it released from their mouths.

He muttered to himself, “Not a single drop was wasted.”

The cheering was the signal to the drummers to begin. The dancers, young and old, stomped the earth for joy.