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Handwriting font.
Sacrifices Part V
The Council
Ben closed
the curtain and blocked out the moonlit scene.
He could not bear to see Hoss’s anguish.
My son…your heart is broken, you loved Joe so. I wish that I had more to give you, son. You look so alone in the night. He turned back toward the bed. But every man faces his grief alone. I should know…He pulled the sheet further
up on Adam’s chest. Lord, how do I
cope? Learn to go on? How…how do I help Hoss or Adam when I fear
that I cannot face this myself?
Adam stirred, his face twisting in pain. Ben leaned over him, gently holding him down.
“Shhh…Pa’s here, Adam. I’m here, son.”
“…pa? Pa…joe? Pa…help Joe.”
Ben drew back, his face reflecting his misery. He stumbled over the rug and fell into the nearby chair. Oh God! Why? What I would give to be able to have that day start over again…to do things differently…Oh my son, Oh Joseph! Ben covered his face and wept.
Pa? Crying…Pa is…crying? Why? Pa… Adam’s fragmented thoughts scattered like dandelion seeds spiraling away. He sank into the darkness.
Darkness clung close to the ground in the long shadows thrown from the circled lodges. Nightfall was not far off.
Joe hesitated at the entrance of Red Eagle’s home, his eyes widening at the silent crowd.
“Come with me.” Red Eagle motioned for Joe to precede him, directing him with slight nudges when he hesitated.
Shivering with anticipation as well as from the chill afternoon breeze, Joe stumbled a bit, unused to the terrain and to walking barefoot. He looked down and away from the glares directed at him, startled again to see his bare, painted chest and the deerskin breechclout covering him. His hands shook, but the day was still warm, and the earth almost hot under his feet. He focused on his shaking hands until he willed them to stillness. Wish I were home…wish this was a dream…Oh God. Please help Adam and Hoss to be all right. Please help Pa…no matter what happens, God. Please be with my family…
The tribal elders sat on skins in front of a large lodge. As they neared the group, Red Eagle motioned the boy to stop.
Stop this, man! I must stop…God help me. I cannot add to Hoss’s pain…He’s coming up the stairs…Ben wiped his face, briskly rubbing away the residue of his tears.
“Pa? I’ll sit
with Adam for awhile. You need
sleep. You’ve hardly moved from his side
since…since, well, it’s been two days,
Ben started to shake his head and then he met Hoss’s
hopeful eyes. He needs time with
Adam, too. He needs to feel like he’s
helping…
“All right, son. I’ll…I’ll leave you two alone for a bit. Call me if Adam stirs..”
Ben waited for his big son’s nod before he left the room.
He started for his bed, but he could not bring himself to
pass his youngest son’s door. He had not
been in this room since…since Clem and Jake had brought the coffin in the
house. When Hop Sing had let them in, he
had stopped talking to Paul in mid-sentence and had stumbled upstairs and in
here, blindly fleeing the sight of that coffin.
At Paul’s direction, the men had placed it in the downstairs bedroom. I
couldn’t face that smooth pine box, hiding the ash and bone remains of my
Joseph…my son. Still can’t bring myself
to look upon it. God, give me strength
for today…and for tomorrow.
He shuddered at the memory. Suddenly, he had to be in Joseph’s bedroom, to be close to his youngest boy’s things…to touch and see all that was left to him, all he had left to touch of his boy. He took a deep, steadying breath and entered.
So quiet…Not natural, but nothing feels natural in
this house now. He smiled a sad
little smile. Hop Sing’s been in
here, it’s too clean. Ben sat on the
bed, smoothing the pillow with his fingers.
How do I go on, boy? I believe
that you’re with God, with Marie…but how I want you here! God! I want to shake my fist in your face and
scream, ‘Give him back!! I need him
here! His brothers need him here’…I am a
selfish, sinful man, weak and needing you more than I ever have before, but I’m
also angry! I’m consumed with
soul-stealing anger at the Paiutes, and anger at you; I’m filled with rage,
Lord…Help me! Please help me, God! I want to push you away, to scream and curse,
but I need you so badly…
He drew in a shaky breath and tried to relax. After a bit, Ben unclenched his fists and
smoothed the counterpane. His boy
wouldn’t need any of these earthly things anymore, but they were infinitely
precious to him, his baby touched these, slept here, stored his precious
keepsakes, these tangible memories of his boyhood. Ben looked around wearily. This room
is haunted by the shadow of the man Joseph would never become, yet I feel a bit
closer to peace here…thank you for that, Lord…
Ben lay down on his youngest son’s bed, cradling the boy’s pillow close to his chest.
An hour later, Hop Sing came in and covered his oldest friend. Sleep long…and do not dream of it. Today’s pain is enough, do not relive yesterday’s horror nor borrow tomorrow’s grief. After he tucked the quilts around Ben, he went back downstairs. More visitors would come by this evening to honor number three Cartwright son, the last visitors before the burial tomorrow.
“What
of tomorrow, Red Eagle? Today, he is a
boy, easily controlled, easily directed, but what of the future? Do you pledge his loyalty to the people?” Broken feather, the eldest member of
the tribe, and the last speaker, raised his shaky voice. He was revered for his age and for his
wisdom. Red Eagle knew that his opinion
would sway others on the council. I
am the warrior chief of my people, but I cannot force the tribe to accept this
boy I now consider a son. Enough debate
among us. Let the boy talk!
Red Eagle’s eyes narrowed. “Ask
him. He speaks and understands us. He has shown himself to be courageous. Let him speak for himself now.”
Murmurs of agreement from the braves in the hunting party arose from around the fire. Red Eagle relaxed his stance, more confident of his support among the warriors.
Joe had followed the long debate, his eyes meeting
each speaker in turn. He did not know
what to hope for. If they decide
to…to adopt me, I become a member of the tribe.
But I want to go home! If they
reject me…I’ll probably be killed, or made a slave, or sold! What do I say? God…give me your words.
Broken feather’s gaze locked on his. “Answer
me then, boy. You will be one of the
people, should we allow it. Will you
willingly give Red Eagle your loyalty, give him your strength, your very life
if he demands it? Speak now. We will listen.”
Joe’s eyes darted between Red Eagle and Broken
Feather. How do I answer, God? If you have some purpose for all this beyond
saving my family, please…give me the words to say.
Red Eagle watched a change come over the boy. His expression altered, and he straightened,
his gaze steady and peaceful. Where did
that peace come from? Red Eagle stepped
forward, intensely curious. He was aware
that an almost eerie silence had fallen.
What would he say? Naavik…help
your brother now…
Joe’s clear voice could be heard by everyone.“You ask me for what has already been
given. First to my brother Naavik, who
chose me and named me. My heart beat
with his; my blood is his. His father,
Red Eagle, now has my life to do as he wills.
I say again, I give him my life.” I…I didn’t think to say that…where are
these words coming from? Joe could
hear the astonished exclamations from the council. God…what is happening?
Broken Feather made his way to his feet, assisted by
He Thunders. Joe did not back away as
the old one approached. He felt
detached, as if someone else had control over his mind and body.
“You
speak of Red Eagle’s son. Show me your
brother’s marks.”
A wave of excited whispers circled the people, and then everyone waited, silent.
“Honored one…” Joe felt an unseen hand push him to his knees. He lifted his arm so the scars showed in the light of the fire.
The council elder fingered the marks. He was pleased by the boy’s submissive
posture and his use of the true speech, but he feared that accepting the lad
would lead to increased trouble from within and without. He sighed and dropped his gaze. Spirits…what was this? Great Spirit, you have brought this
boy here…It is the sign I have waited to see…
Broken feather placed a shaking hand on the boy’s head. “I
have seen this one in dreams from my boyhood.
He was born to another people, but his life must be with us. Our future is tied to his…I have seen this,
and have spoken of it. Look!”
With surprising strength, the elder lifted Joe, and pointed to his right leg. His hand covered the boy’s thigh, feeling the raised marks. Three straight marks, like my dream. Three raised hills of flesh on the leg of a strong warrior, the promised one that would deliver the people in our deepest need. His hands shook with barely suppressed excitement.
“His
leg, I have spoken of this, the marks on the leg of the one who will rescue…who
will defeat the plans of the enemy.” Broken
Feather drew the shaking boy to him. “We must welcome this one; the Great
Spirit has sent him to us.”
Red Eagle knelt by the boy, his eyes drawn to the marks. He was soon crowded aside by others who had to see, had to touch. They had all grown up with the vision stories of the old ones, had seen them fulfilled again and again. They had no doubt that this story, too, would come to pass. The excited shouts and yells washed around the boy, the old one, and the circle of intent council members.
Red Eagle backed away and stared at the wide-eyed
boy. He had no doubt that the council
would decide in his favor, with the full support of the tribe. He had wanted Laughing Eyes as a son, but
what sort of son had the Great Spirit sent?
He felt a hand on his arm and turned.
Raven’s troubled gaze was a mirror of his own. Naavik…what sort of brother have you
chosen? Spirits…help us now. I do not know how to father a…legend.
To Be Continued.
Becky H