𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄 | 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

🌹 As The River Runs

Author's Note: This story came from the merge of two drafts, one dated "August 11, 2014" and the other with an unknown date but likely 2006 or 2007. This piece was fun to write because I've never written anything related to my Native American heritage before. I also tried to express the atrocities indigenous peoples suffered in this time period so as to enlighten others. It's so sad how there is little focus and awareness on racism regarding Native peoples. My own family suffered similar horrors as relatively recent as the early 1900's and were forced to flee their homes because of it. I chose to add a song from Pocahontas above just because I felt it resonated with the vibe of this story. I hope y'all enjoy it <3

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"I will not trade with them. It is always the same way. They come with talks of peace and of friendship and before your eyes, they own the dirt you stand on. I will not tolerate it any longer!" Chief Chataka shouted angrily as he strode into his hut.

The white men awaiting him glanced at each other warily, clearly not understanding our language.

Ignoring them, I followed Chataka into the hut, "You must, uncle! The bobcats and the wolves have been scarce they arrived. They have the fur we need this winter!"

"And I suppose we need those bracelets you were eyeing? Or those noisy bells they carry with them? Yes, we will trade for some so we can alert our enemies of our presence!" he retorted as he stashed away his ceremonial headdress before assuming a softer tone, "I'm sorry, Sparkling River. But we cannot continue to let these foreigners control our way of life. We are not as plentiful a people as we once were..."

I knew what he said to be true but it angered me all the same. Too many winters had I seen my brothers and sisters huddled together for warmth in the confines of our hut. And Green Leaf...he was just an infant when the Creator took him last winter. So small to die of the freezing cold like he did... Shaking the thought away, I stomped out of the hut and back into the fresh sunlight.

I caught sight of my little sister, Little Willow, then and couldn't help but smile, feeling the anger I had previously felt just melt away. She took me by the hand and we ran away with her friends, laughing all the while as our mothers called after us.

This was my way of life, the only thing I ever knew. Trading with the white man, harvesting the maize and potatoes, awaiting the men of the tribe to come back from hunting to see what they had killed. I never dreamed it all could come to a crashing halt, that life as I knew it was about to end abruptly.

I woke up to the sounds of gunshot, heart beating loudly in my chest as mother rounded the five of us up to go hide. But there was nowhere to hide from the vengeful white man. His eyes gleamed in the darkness like a crimson wolf as he gobbled us all in his bloody red mouth one by one. I was separated from my siblings, their hands torn away from mine as we all screamed and cried. I tried to fight back but it was useless. Then I ran. I ran and ran until I found a cluster of bushes to hide in, terrified to make even the slightest sound. It felt like forever, waiting for them to disappear. But finally, they did and I crept out of my hiding place with a trepidation that walked alongside me as I picked my way through the maze of bodies littering the ground.

But they weren't just bodies - I hated the word! - they were my family, my friends, my people. All with lifeless limbs and unseeing eyes, blood smearing their skin. I found my brothers and sisters as I went, gone from me just like the rest. Hot tears poured forth from my dark eyes and my chest heaved with sobs. This was never supposed to be my ending. This was never supposed to happen!

A cough, weak but loud in the utter silence, caught my attention and gently lying Little Willow back on the ground, I ran to the sound. I stopped short when I came upon the body of my mother...but, no, no, she breathed! She lived! But only just...

Kneeling beside her, she gripped my hand slightly in her own as she gazed up into my face, "You must be strong. They are with the Creator now as I will be soon, love. There is something you must...must kn-know, Sparkling Ri-River..."

Her body was wracked with coughs then, flecks of blood spraying onto my deer skin tunic. I could feel her grip slackening on my hand and I desperately tried to keep her close to me.

"Your fa-father...is not the father of your bro-brothers...and sisters. He-he i-is...white man. White man from...Fr-france...find your father...Descoteaux...he'll take...care of you...find him..."

I felt the life leave her as her hand fell limp in my own, saw her dark brown eyes glaze over and stare at nothing. It felt as if my heart had been ripped out as she left me. I was alone now, utterly and unbearably alone...and I wasn't even who I thought I was any longer.

I wandered on my own for too long before I managed to meet up with a couple of white traders, Jean-Claude Chapelle and Henri Legrand, kind ones my tribe had traded with before...

They agreed to take me with them back to France as a translator for the other natives traveling with them. I didn't expect to find my father so soon, perhaps not at all...but just four months later, I heard of a wealthy man named Francoise Descoteaux. He had traded with the Chitimacha and even lived with them as a translator for many years before sailing back to France. This man...Descoteaux...he had to be my father, the man my mother spoke of so earnestly before she died.

It was with the accompaniment of the two explorers who had become my friends that I met my father. He was pleased to meet the girl he had fathered with the woman he had married in a native ceremony so long ago...but I wasn't what he had expected me to be. Or rather, I did not become what he expected me to. He attempted to send me to a school there in France but the language was hard to learn and the others my age mocked me for my dark skin and braids.

I met Denis after a year of enduring my father's best efforts to anglicize his mixed daughter. Although he had a French name, he had copper skin like me and bore the brunt of the remarks of others as I did. It was in knowing Denis that I realized I would never be what my father wanted - a white daughter. I could never be anything other than I am.

So when the opportunity arose, Denis (who later revealed to me his name was Wild Bear) and I fled France on a ship bound back to the New World - back home.

I think a part of me would miss my father, would miss the hopes of what could have been. But being my dark-skinned self with Wild Bear right beside me, feeling the salty ocean spray on my face...it tasted like freedom on my tongue.

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