Pahketa could remember when the Frenchman showed up, striding into the camp like he owned it, waving around the loud stick that he used to take down buffalo. She'd never seen someone who looked like him before, with hair on his face, and strange clothing that didn't look like it would hold up against the winter chill. He'd been hunting for furs, collecting them to take back to a place he called France, a place he said was across a great water. Pahketa had been curious, at first. They all had. A journey across a great water so wide that you couldn't see the land on the other side for weeks on end sounded like quite the adventure, and Pahketa knew that she would love an adventure like that, to explore a land unlike any she had ever seen. Other young women had been captivated by the way he brokenly spoke their language, weaving tales of lands that seemed so foreign to them. The Frenchman though, only had eyes for Pahketa.
There was trade between Pahketa's father and the Frenchman. Pahketa didn't know everything her father had traded for, but the Frenchman had claimed that she belonged to him now, that they were to be married. Pahketa was considered old to be unmarried, but after the death of her mother a few years ago, her father hadn't wanted her to be married so soon. He'd wanted a few more years with her to help him through the winter. Now, though, he told her that she would go with the Frenchman, that he was to be her husband.
The Frenchman called her Rebecca. Pahketa didn't know what it meant, but he told her that she had to answer to it, that it was her name now. She hated it, the way he said he had a right to give her a name, like she somehow belonged to him. He had taken her away from her home, from her family. He had taken her away from everything she knew. Pahketa had tried to run, before they crossed the mountains and gone beyond the land that she knew, the places that she'd called home. He said he was taking her with him, that she belonged to him now and that she had to do as he said.
Pahketa had almost stabbed him in the thigh the first night he'd tried to share her furs. He'd left her alone, then, but he told her that she would have to let him in her furs before too long, if she wanted to be safe, to survive. She feared the day that her knife wasn't enough to keep her safe. Somehow, she would have to get free from him before that ever happened.
He took her through the land he called Canada, dragged her to a giant canoe with sails larger than buffalo hide, and told her that he was taking her home. The first night on the canoe, she'd tried to jump overboard, only to discover that the water really was never ending. There was no river bank in sight. Pahketa was a good swimmer, but she'd never had to swim where the water was never ending. Scared, she'd returned below to where he'd told her to stay, claiming that the men who sailed the canoe would kill her if they realized a woman was on board.
After weeks on the canoe, something had changed.
There were loud bangs that shook the deck where she lay, making the canoe feel as though it was toppling to one side before falling back on the other. The rocking made her feel ill, and Pahketa was quick to press herself against the post closest to her, like the broad trunk of it could help her to stay on her feet. She held on tight as another boom echoed through, a hole ripped in the wooden side of the canoe. Fear like she'd never known ran through her. She had no idea what kind of things could rip holes through the sides of a canoe like that.
Around her, men were screaming and rushing around, grabbing fire sticks, rushing above and firing them at some unseen enemy. Pahketa stayed put, terror keeping her from moving. She had no idea what was going on, what had happened. There were cries of pain and defeat from above, but she didn't dare travel above to see what was going on. She tried to become as small as possible as the men around her rushed about. It sounded like there was a war going on above her. She could only hope to survive.
