Lois Swann

The Mists of Manittoo

Beth turned her hooded head and saw Wakwa, who sat aloof at the back of the canoe, staring at the far bank which he could not see. The girl, too, looked toward the shore out of view and at that moment knew the answers to all the questions she had about his life, his ways, and his being. She saw him, one, no different from, part of the earth and water and sky which formed his domain. Prince-like he was the servant of every force that moved the creatures of the forest to live their cycle. He was a thousand years behind the existence she had left and was unchangeably the future of the place that had given him life. She knew at once the land into which she had been born: virginal, yet complete; open, yet guarded by the Ninnuock who loved her but did not waste her.

And the English girl gave way to the pull to go back in time, joining the future of the red earth of the place, putting aside the artifices and inventions of the civilization which had wounded her. Her torment of the past weeks was dissipated, as was the moon’s light in the mist, and she not only loved Silent Fox, but became of her will and understanding part with him of his realm.

They moved swiftly now through the trees and out into the river, in haste before the cold. The moon was on its way to setting and they hurried up the bank, stiff and ungainly from the long coldness they had undergone on the water.

He took her up through the woods and in the dimming light stopped her and looked at her face, seeing within her eyes the change he had yearned for. She had made the leap into the center of his existence and his fingers fluttered down over her hood, touching her face, feeling on the surface of her skin the vibration of the change that had occurred within her.

He whispered, “Thou art Manittoo,!” then slipped past her, walking swiftly ahead of her to the hut.

“Can you spend one more night alone?” he asked her as he built the fire high and made her some tea. “Tomorrow I will come for thee and will decide our course.”

She slept very little and awaited day.

Selected Works

Contemporary Fiction
Lorenzo Frasca, an Italian painter, survives the perils of immigration to America, a loveless marriage to a madwoman, grinding employment, a great love and great loss, his skill his only compass. A Spanish prince discovers Lorenzo and spurs him to achieve his masterpiece.
e.g. Fiction, History, Magazine Articles, etc. goes here
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The clashing worlds of Colonial whites and Native tribes merge into a marriage.
"If Ms. Swann ere to weave tapestries with silk instead of words, calling them beautiful would be damning by faint praise. It is a history book, a study of cultures, a raison d’etre for romantics, a love story, and a fine novel -- a fragile work with the delicate touch of a natural writer."
--Cleveland Press

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