The Outcasts is a fictionalized account of Lois's ancestors passed down through her family's generations of women to Lois by her Mother. The following short essay, The Naming, provides an inside glimpse at Lois's heritage.

The time I  searched for, longed for, and feared was here. At my feet, the waters of lake Lucy murmured against the shore. They seemed to entreat me to "Go!"  I questioned, to what? I smelled the smoke. I could hear the crackle of the wood as it succumbed to the flames. I imagined that orange and red sparks of the ceremonial fire were throwing invitations to come home into the dusky evening  sky. I the final Daughter Of The Flame was ready to answer the summons.  Would I truly have the talent necessary to fulfill that which was said to be my special destiny? My Mother had thought so. She'd gifted me with the oral story that had begun the trail that led me to this gathering.  Was she watching me from heaven?

The creamy doeskin fringe of my dress swished against my moccasins. Their thunderbird beading was said to allow me passage among the herbal gifts of Mother Earth. How far and to where might my life's journey take us? 

The drumbeat began.  People from many tribes had come to this gathering. They formed a procession. We moved to the opening of the log circle that surrounded the ceremonial fire.  Each passed through the smoke of burning sage held by the honorary Grandmother of the night. Its purpose was to cleanse, to purify the spirit.

Once inside, prayers of thanks were offered in gratitude and respect to He Who Created All for our many blessings. Next, we joined hands and danced the friendship dance around the fire.

I had always been proud of my Irish and Dutch heritage.  I planned to visit these countries. I dabbled in their histories. But our bond remains an easy, curious, distant kind of camaraderie. To join a tribe, a person must have at least one sixteenth Native American ancestry.  I, therefore, would be the last of my line to have this privilege. I didn't look like the others. Neither had the first Flame.

In awe, I waited my turn. The elders of the gathering called me forward. From that time on, among the People, my name would be Daughter Of the flame of the Munsi clan of the Lenape Tribe of the Delaware Nation.  I receive the gift of my naming necklace -- a carved from bone wolf pendant suspended from a thong decorated with silver beads.

The namings completed, the drums' rhythm intensified in speed and volume.  A flute sang a distant, melodious tune to call our visitors to come into the circle. The dances could now be joined by our guests.  My daughter and the sister of my heart came to grasp my hands.  Together we danced. Together we forged another memory in our feminine family circle.

Have I been worthy of my name, my lineage? If my special destiny is to write that which I learn of our clan, then I've begun my journey.  My first fictionalized account of our history tells how the original Daughter Of The Flame saved her people. Soon the massacre that occurred at the Battle of Pavonia will be ready for publication.