26th Nov 2012

Everybody there today and all stories were exceptionally good as I stayed attentive throughout the morning without drifting off. Ann started with a widow who seemed to get a new life when she lost her husband - should you be worried Bert? Sue recounted a story that could perhaps come from a previous life when a young squaw finds a protector for herself and her baby. Brian had s Black Monk running errands to set up a meeting for some mysterious goings on at Runnymede - I wonder what that was? Pat was still thinking of the turmoil in having a new carpet with all the other purchases to go with it. Hope no one spills the tea on our next meeting there. Joan Read got lost in a dictionary and the different meanings to words. Rosemary got tickled by a feather. My effort involved a horse and memories. Joan Devon wanderings as a child. John had us in tears with a death stalking a young woman. Sheila remembered riding a bike as a child. Sally scared us all with such a horrible description of an abused young girl by a smelly, stained teeth rapist who held her captive but she went to heaven in the end with a young brave. Rosemary and Sue won and as Rosemary hasn't mastered a computer and the typewriter is defunct here is the two page image of the story. Rosemary says sorry it is not in her best handwriting but she hadn't expected to win.

Next meeting 28th January "uneasy feeling"

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Gently

I lay Two Feathers gently on the springy turf, tickle his tummy and smile at him as I tuck the bright blanket more closely around his warm, soft body. He wriggles as he opens his mouth wide and gives me that heart-stopping toothless smile, then blows bubbles through his pursed lips as he kicks his legs in their confining wrappings and waves his podgy fists in the cool mountain air. He’s five months old now and thankfully healthy, with no sign of the ailments often suffered by young children in our village. I must make sure he gets plenty of nourishment as he grows. My milk is still plentiful and I must gather nuts, berries and roots to keep me healthy. This is difficult for me as my husband, Little Eagle, was killed before Two Feathers was born and I have to rely on handouts from other members of the tribe until a new brave, probably an older man without a squaw, who has children needing a mother’s care, will step forward and make me his woman. One or two are already eyeing me speculatively, but I don’t want them; I want to give all my time to my own baby until he is at least walking and able to look after himself a little.

I hum as I start gathering the ripe berries from the surrounding bushes. The trees are already clad in their fiery Autumn colours but the air is still warm in the sun, although it turns chill once it slides behind the mountains. I must hurry so I can return to the lodge before it gets too cold for Two Feathers. I continue to hum as I work, perfectly content in this peaceful setting.

I set the full basket of berries down and take up another to start gathering nuts. These are also a good source of food and will sustain us during the Winter months to come. As I work I glance up and there in front of me, screened by the bushes, is a deer, watching me but seemingly without fear. Her soft brown eyes regard me steadily for some minutes before she lowers her head and commences feeding, seeming to enjoy the companionship of our joint endeavours, accompanied by birdsong from the trees above.

I have almost filled my basket when my companion jerks her head suddenly, looks fearfully around, then turns and plunges into the denser forest, but not before looking into my eyes with an urgent message, it seems to me. I immediately glance all around, scrabbling at the same time to collect my baskets and lift Two Feathers into my arms. As I turn to flee I hear the dreaded sound of pounding hooves and the ear-shattering noise of the hated bugle of the men in blue.

I dart along the narrow trail leading to the village, then hesitate as another thought screams in my head – “Not that way. They must be at the village already. I can hear the awful noise of battle and screaming of the women and children.” Where can I run? I instinctively turn and plunge into the forest after the deer. Yes, there is the narrow track she must have followed. I run on, my breath coming in uneven gasps. I drop the baskets and concentrate on keeping my baby close, hoping he will not cry out, but he seems to think this is a new sort of game and crows in his cocoon of blankets as I race on.

The heart-wrenching sounds from the village begin to fade as I draw further away, but I am now climbing more steeply and my breath is tearing at my chest as I try to draw more air in. I risk a glance behind me, but no-one is following. It is as I turn to face uphill again that the huge figure carrying a rifle steps onto the trail in front of me and an arm shoots out to grab me. I let out a despairing cry, half scream, half moan, and know my fate is sealed.

It is now many moons later, I muse, as I sit on the stoop at the front of the cabin, gazing contentedly out upon the vista spread before me. We are high up in the mountains and it has been a harsh Winter, but Spring has arrived at last and the trees below me are wearing their new green leaves like featherlight cloaks which sway gently in the warm breeze. Two Feathers is crawling towards me and struggles to stand upright at my knee, burbling his nonsense as he does so. His smile now shows several even white teeth but is still a delight.

He turns as he hears the soft footfalls behind him, looks up at the tall man stooping to swing him aloft and gurgles happily, “Papa”.