1. Adventure Awaits

"One way to get the most out of life is to look upon it as an adventure.”   

- William Feather

    Clara shut her book with a slam as the wagon hit a slight bump in the road. She had asked for a splendorous adventure, but not one like this, not one that was basically her in a covered up Conestoga wagon reading this pointless book. However, she guessed it would not be that bad. A new life in Oregon would be splendid, but it wouldn't be the same as her life in Virginia, however, there’s a new start to everything ain’t there? She looked at the cover of her book and sighed.

The Anatomy of the Human Body

by William Cheselden

    The young woman had read this book more than she could count, and she could count pretty high. Clara Robertson was highly intelligent for her age and for the time it was. At the age of twenty-two in the time of 1861, everyone in the town of Richmond, Virginia could say the was the most brilliant girl in the world. Not to mention to most prettiest as well, but her looks had nothing to do with her academics in being one of the first female doctors. She was the brightest of all her classmates, even all the men in her medical class at Harvard. She was the first woman to successfully pass the class, however her academics were cut short as the Robertson family decided to take the adventure of new life in the wild territories. She was leaving civilization, traveling through uncivilization, to head towards more civilization. There wasn’t much of a barrier between them, the world here was not much of a savage place.

    Along with her in traveling was her entire family, her father, mother, and brother who we will get to eventually, but also other family friends their families. Brad even decided to join them, which was not much a surprise was it since he is betrothed to Clara. There was nothing wrong about Brad that displeased Clara except for the fact that they were just good friends, or at least that's what she thought. Marriage was crammed down her throat just as being a doctor was, although she enjoyed medical studies and not studies of romance. She and Brad had grown up as childhood friends since their parents got along real lovely. They had grown a bond, but only a bond of friendship due to the fact Clara was more deep in her studies than romance.

    Brad was a very masculine and tough guy, except it seemed like he could hardly hurt a fly. He was capable of crushing a man's skull if it came to that, but he pretended to give off a more innocent demeanor. He did that because Clara's parents were always searching for the perfect guy, and it seemed if Brad did not mature as he should, she would always be with someone else. Brad stepped up however and took the challenge of being someone he wasn't, just for the girl. You see, men will do anything they can in their power for a certain woman, that is if they certainly want her. Brad wanted her though, wanted her since the day they met at eight years old. The small blonde boy she once knew grew before her eyes and became a very smooth-talking Southern boy. He was not incredibly handsome, but he had some features that were quite appealing. If he was not involved with Clara, certainly most of the other women in Virginia would have grabbed a hold of him.

    Brad's family was very sweet. They were certainly rich like Clara's, except they were more in the practice of slaves. His mother, Elizabeth Dawson, was a kind and loving mother, the one Clara wished she had. Elizabeth was an excellent cook as well. Her meat stew with carrots were heaven in a pot, and her homemade corn muffins were a sweet taste that lasted in your mouth for days. Her husband Rick was a great inventor, especially in weapons. That was mostly how their money was made, by blood spilling and chest gutting machines that could rip a person in half. Clara had always wondered if the Dawson family ever felt bad about creating weapons that destroyed entire armies, but they said they make the weapons, not shoot them.

    "Boo!" a voice yelled, revealing himself from underneath a large brown blanket. Ah yes, we get to Charlie, the prankster of the entire family. The ten year old boy could do more damage to a town than a fire burning on oil. His crazy black hair was a mess, and his smile of accomplishment shined brightly as Clara had jumped ten feet in fright.

    "Why you little bootless bum-bailey," Clara stomped her foot in annoyance and thought of hitting the worthless brat with the side of her book. But what would be accomplished in that? Only fake tears, angry parents, and possible confiscation of all her books which would not be worth her petty slap.

    "Oh come on Clara O'hara," her younger brother joked, "it was just a small scare. You need to stop being such a wussy girl."

    "Can't you see I am reading here?" she fumed as she pointed at the small, blue, leather-bound book.

    "That was exactly why I scared you after you closed your book," he smiled and suddenly the wagon stopped. Clara and her brother had shifted at the momentum and then looked outside the wagon. The sky seemed to be setting, the magnificent blue was taking its rest as the smaller colors took its place only for a few minutes before the darkness could take over. She admired those bright pink and luscious orange colors because they were rare throughout a day. It was mostly blue, or black. Rarely it would have it's few moments to shine it's more vibrant colors. It was those rare things in life that Clara had enjoyed, like small adventures in an unknown forest, or even stealing a book for a day to read and then have to return later.

    "Must be dinner!" Charlie quickly jumped out of the wagon, knocking his stolid sister out of the way. That kid always thought about food, even though he was as skinny as a twig. After breakfast, he'd ask what was for lunch, and after lunch he'd ask what was for dinner. After dinner, he'd ask for dessert, however now on this journey we have no dessert, which was fine because it stopped Charlie's complaining about that. Until sleep was to arrive, he'd just complain about going to bed.

    "Excuse me ma'am but may I escort ya outside?" a hand was sticking out, and Clara left her invisible brain to see Brad there, his hair slicked back and his slight muscles under his button up shirt were the only thing really appealing.

    "Where's my father?" Clara asked as she took his hand and he helped her out of the wagon, careful to watch out for mud, since last time it splattered all over Clara's new dress.

    "He went with the hunting party this time with my father, he should be back soon with dinner. I haven't seen you since breakfast darling, what have ya been doing all day?" he asked me as he led me towards the center of our party gathering. Every Night the wagons were arranged in a circle, so that everyone around the small fire could be together. There were twenty wagons in total with us, meaning there was an estimate of eighty people in their journey. However, they were traveling with a much larger group, but separated into intervals. Around eight miles east, were another twenty wagons, and around eight miles west, were another group. In conclusion, they weren't alone, but yet to Clara it felt like that.

    "I was just reading," Clara replied as she held her book tightly in the other hand not holding Brad's.

    "Really Clara," Brad tried to explain, "Ya won't find much in those books. You need to grab a horse and ride in front of the wagons with me. There... out there, out here is the world! You say ya can view different worlds and people through books, and have exciting adventures, but you should look up and around to see all of that is in front of ya. How can ya say the world is in your books when ya just do not look up to view it?"

    He had a point, but it was in a world where Clara could could imagine it her way, and see things the way she wants it to be seen. How can she explain that to someone who hates books? It seems like anyone who could possibly despise literature literally despises imagination, and anyone who despises that is a dull old man. Brad could be like that sometimes, but he was also full of surprises as well. Clara looked around finally at the short, yellow grass as it flowed with the slight wind and the small hills in the distance. To her, it seemed like a painting, one of those dull and unoriginal ones found in a painter's basement. The scenery around her was something that she just didn't appreciate, it was something could imagine in a second.

    "Ya know, you've seemed to act differently since we have left," he observed, "Ain't this what you wanted? Ya know, an adventure where anything could happen?"

    "Where's the danger Brad? I look around and see an empty land full of emptiness. Where's the dragons, the enchanting creatures that roam the earth looking for delicious humans to eat? Yes, I asked for an adventure, but not one like this, not one where it the only interesting thing happening was Old Bill ate some bad berries on the side of the road and got sick. There must be more than the dull life I am in."

    "Clara, this is the wild. You should be careful for what ya wish for... we could be raided by 'dem redskins or even attacked by a herd of buffalo. An adventure is a matter of perspective, ya just need to open your eyes a dainty bit wider."

    “Oh yes, a wild herd of buffalo is the exact adventure I had in mind. Indians, eh, what can they do anyways?” She asked.

    “They could always eat you, damn savages can eat anything,” he said, “but we shan't talk about it. Don’t wanna make ya lose your appetite.”

 

    He sat there for a while, the rough bark of the pine tree rubbing against the thin fabric of his pants and the skin on his back. Angrily, he continued to carve into his bow, the thin and smooth piece of wood needed some extra decoration. All his life, Chayton was looking for some form of excitement and it seemed as his father has sent him on useless patrol assignments, his big brother was sent on dangerous missions with hunting and killing. So he just sat there, sticking a blade in the fine wood, hoping a beautiful masterpiece could come out of it.

    Chayton was anything but artistic, maybe in his more musical sense for drumming, but when it came to making things, he was stuck. He was not interested in a lot of things, but he enjoyed one thing: he enjoyed watching white people. No matter what it seemed they were doing, it had intrigued the Sioux warrior. He had grown up learning the English language after reading a book translated into the traditional Sioux language. Around ten years ago, Chayton remembers it like yesterday, a small group of explorers were looking for some water, but they were looking for big water. Anyways, he woke up one day to find them around his tent. They wore the most unusual clothing, one that covered most, if not all of their skin besides their head. They had guns too, big guns; he was always told to stay away from anyone who could bear such arms.

    These men captivated him. The way they spoke, the way they dressed, and the way they had treated people. As the son of the chief, they were very intrigued with Chayton as well. They tried their best to communicate with them, and over their visit of one week, Chayton knew over two hundred words in the English language, and was continuing to know more. Unfortunately, some did not like those Englishmen, especially an unknown tribe of Native Americans who were following them for days. They raided at night, finding the whiteman's tents first, and slaughtered them. We prepared for war easily, but the cowards took their scalp prize and ran off. However, one of them managed to survive, only to find his brothers decapitated and motionless.

    He had woken up due to the silent screams, and what he found devastated him. Blood was spilt that night as the Sioux Indians knew that the friendly men must be avenged. Chayton grabbed his small bow and dagger, ready to chase down the vicious monsters of his nightmares, however someone stopped him. His father told him he was too young, that what they were to do was beyond what he knew. Of course, Chayton was only thirteen, but, he had gone through the process of being a man, he should be able to go and help. It took a few more refusals before he gave up, sitting back on his blankets and crying. It was the first time he had ever cried, and it was the last, or so he thinks.

    The lone survivor, the death walker, as they called him after that, he first went to Chayton after hearing the moans and sobs from the young Native American boy. Assuring the boy that the world was not going to end, that he would wake up and everything would be as it were, he told him something that would stay in his heart forever.

    "You know," the American man scratched his small beard and slightly smiled at the kid, "at first, my men and I thought you were savages. We have heard many stories of the strong and mighty Sioux tribe, most probably not true. Now, we came to realize that you are the most simple and calm of creatures, that your way of life is so simple that it seems as if the world flows with you, or it flows within you. After what just happened, I cannot say that all Natives are savages, but I cannot say you are all peaceful either. In the future, there will be a time where you judge us, the White Men, and I want you to remember that every person is different. Do not judge by what one other did, but judge on how that person acts.

    "A man may be savage and cruel, but a different man the next day could be kind and friendly. We view the world through the veil of our own eyes. You kiddo, have to believe that not all white men are like me, and not all Indians are like you, but everyone was created for a purpose. I see a strange future coming for you and your tribe, but as long as you trust yourself, what could go wrong?"

    After those words, he had never saw that kind man again. He woke up, tear-stained faced and confused to find many objects and tools around his teepee. There was a small note in English on top of his learning book that said:

The other's would have wanted you to have these.

    Inside the several leather bags left in his room included many things. One was filled with drawn maps, multiple notebooks (most blank) and writing utensils that the young men showed him how to use and write with. Another was filled with a strange circular looking glass, one that if you pulled, could stretch until you could see the horizon, miles away. It also contained multiple books in English, ones still Chayton would try to read, but he still did not understand most of the words. The last bag was full of small and unique looking knives. The one that fascinated him the most was the white ivory one with the carvings of some kind of war with a bunch of strange flags in the background.

    That same knife is the one he was holding today, trying to carve his own bow with the jagged knife. His jaw was clenched, as he was trying his best to forget the pain of remembering them and fixed his thin mohawk hair, the center only hair and the rest bald. It was a symbol to him that he was a warrior, and also it was easier to scalp, if it ever came to that. Every time he looked at the learning guide to teach him English, he was reminded of them. He learned English (not all of it) because of them, and he even taught it to other members of the tribe, so in the future it was possible they could communicate with the new settlers. Putting the knife away in his small pant-pocket, he stood up, twisting the bow on his bare back and keeping his hands free, holding on to the thick trunk next to him.

    He thought he had heard the faint sound of birds chirping, a familiar twa-too sound. Standing silently, he heard it quietly, except this time closer. Those weren't birds, but signals. Signals of humans. He turned to his left and saw his friend Enapay in the distance, his red body paint showing through the thickness of the forest. Chayton leaped to the branch on the far side of him, swinging around to access more trees. From treetop to treetop, he jumped on a branch next to his tribe brother and looked at him.

    "What kind of men?" he nudged Enapay and looked up at the top of the tree. If he wanted to see these men, he would only have to climb up another twenty feet or so.

    "White," his friend said. Chayton's heart got excited. They had seen white men of course, even after the incident, but none ever visited or did anything worth of them visiting. But every time they were to spy on them, it was a closer opportunity to meet another group of people. Without replying back, he clenched his fingers in the rough bark and climbed up the tree. His hands turned red and burned, but they burned with anticipation as the rough bark scraped against his pure chocolate skin. As soon as he reached the top and could look below in the valley, he saw a small herd of buffalo, not really rare in the Dakota's.

    Taking out the circular looking glass, he poked his right eye in, and behind the buffalo herd, waited a few white men behind a small hill. They seemed to be contemplating on which ones to kill, wasn't a hard decision. Go with the smallest one, less work.

    "What do you see!?" his friend shouted from below.

    "Everything," Chayton replied, smiling as he shut the glass back in its shape.

    "What does that mean?" he could hear his friend puzzled at his response.

    "Tell Kangee and Ohanzee to watch the men, then follow where their camp is. I will talk to my father about this and ask if I could keep an eye on them till they leave our territory," he looked around the golden plains and then turned to see the sunset. Those colors sickened him, they were colors to signal the day was over, and night was coming; but with night, came monsters. He turned back towards the humans at the sound of a stampede. They obviously decided to strike the gigantic creatures, and it did not take long for the first buffalo to fall.

    BAM!

    Chayton had heard those sounds before: guns. The first brown mountain fell, and along with another loud shot, BAM, another fell. He sat there for a moment still, wondering why two buffalo were sacrificed. One of those could feed a tribe of a hundred for at least a week, at most two... so why did they shoot two? The answer was quite simple, though it took him some time to figure it out. It was for the game, the sport. Chayton had seen these men get easily entertained by games and fun, obviously they found a great pleasure in hunting. From the pleading of his friend, he climbed down slowly until his vision on the men was no more. As they both reached the crunchy ground, they headed west towards the mountains, back home with some news.

 

   

    Clara and her family waited at least a good hour until the return of the hunting party. She stood up as she heard the sound of approaching hooves and saw seven horses riding towards them. Charlie ran past the circular barrier of wagons as he went to greet his father with a big hug. Colin Robertson, the second biggest lawyer America had ever heard of (John Adams was obviously the first). Colin,  Clara's father, loved the law more than anything. His law came before his family, friends, his life. Law was his life. Unfortunately stubbornness seemed to run in the family, both sides. Clara knew that it was a curse and blessing combined, but most saw it a curse except the Robertson family.

    "Clara," her father, also known as The Man With the Intimidating Mustache, looked at his young daughter and smiled, "I am glad to see ya made it out of the wagon today. Charlotte and I thought you would not even come out for dinner, surprised you got your head out of that book of yours." Ah, so now we learn the mother's name was Charlotte, if you haven't noticed a familiar pattern, you'll eventually figure it out later.

    "Oh you know, hunger got the best of me," Clara smiled, those dashing white and perfect teeth shining. She was the perfect daughter, and according to Brad, the perfect wife (even though they weren't married yet). Her youth seemed like it would last her her entire lifetime. Those adorable light brown curls spiraled like an Italian staircase and her hazel eyes looked like the a rushing dust storm carrying a few foliage with it.

    "Well, we got supper, but unfortunately we couldn't carry all of it back. I hope you are in the mood for buffalo," he patted his daughter's shoulder and dragged Charlie back towards the fire. Now the sun was almost depleted as it finished it's cycle for the day. It was getting cooler, and Clara's fancy dress was not very acceptable to mother nature tonight. She turned towards the fire where everyone was heading. Brad had brought out his small guitar, as usual, and she saw next to him on the grass, holding his sturdy hand.

    Finally it seemed like her mother would wake from her beauty sleep, but she certainly would not wake up like that. Clara knew she would probably wake up cranky and self-centered as usual, just her mother trying to get through another boring twenty-four hours of traveling. However she didn't say anything as she climbed out of her wagon, in fact she had a slight smile on her face as Colin kissed her forehead. As the fathers were preparing the meat, getting ready to cook it under the starry sky, Brad started playing a small lovely tune, the strings making a joyful sound of music.

    Clara like music, quiet or loud, music was music to her. She had enjoyed singing and had a wonderful voice, but when would a nurse or doctor have time to sing? Never. So, she resorted to music as a way to take a small break. Brad started singing however, and when he sang, he usually made up his own lyrics.

Oh, we have reached the black hills of Dakota,

And Clara likes them sorta'.

Wild beasts roam,

and the smell of Charlie's laundry is loathsome.

Buffalo is a great big beast,

and it's almost time to feast.

However, before this song takes an era,

I think I'll kiss my Clara.

    He finished the slow, steady rhythm with a quick kiss on Clara's cheek. She was surprised the the song had to end so early, because it seemed to be going so well. However the men came back, putting the thick meat on a the pans above the soaring fire, and the meat began to sizzle, as it should. Everyone finished their small clapping as he had finished and put his guitar away to help his father. As of right then, Clara had nothing but food on her mind, and the idea of adventures were paused.

 

    She sat on the edge of her and her brother's wagon, holding a thin rifle in her hand. Guns were something she grew up with, and she had no problem holding them or even shooting them. They were an adventure to her of course, one that had endless possibilities. Staring out into the darkness, the stars not doing their best to light the way, she saw a small orange light in the distance.

    Fire.

    The word repeated in her head. Who's fire? It did not seem in the direction the other wagons were supposed to be, and the nearest small town was twenty miles west. This was more north, and Clara had the strangest feeling that it was something uncivilized. Native Americans? Savages? The words came up almost everyday as they traveled but they never bothered Clara. Once she saw a savage, she would have no problem shooting one straight between the eyes.

    Now that would be an adventure.

    However for now the world was quiet. No carriages going down the cobble-stoned streets every minute, no drunken chatter or children laughing. Just pure silence as everyone was either sleeping or around the fire, enjoying the fiery warmth it offered. The distant fire flickered, as if objects went around it, dancing. Well, that's just what she thought. It simply could have been anything. That fire could not even exist and just be a part of her imaginative hope that there was more out there to experience.

    What was her future? Was it to be stuck as a doctor for the rest of her life in Oregon or the other future territories over there? Was it to escape this nightmare of marrying Brad and running away with another man? It seemed highly impossible, she laughed, what guy would run away with her, and what type of guy would ever make her run away? One she would love of course, but what was love in this place anymore? She literally just ran away from all the available bachelors of the United States of America to come here with her fiancé, a man she hardly loved. It seemed, that even though she wanted an adventure, all these things just made her life harder than easier. It seemed like what she wanted, were things she realized maybe she did not need.

    Sometimes as people now saw this thing called industrialism, a way to make the world simpler and easier, it made everything else other than technology harder. Did sending letters now disappear due to a small telegraphic device? Did streets now become paved? And what was this idea of a railroad going through America? It just seemed like more work, work, work, only to make more money and make things "simpler". What happened to small enclosed communities where everyone got along and enjoyed everyone's company? Where did those times go?

    They left with the age of technology.

 

 

    Chayton sat on the edge of the cliff, swinging his right leg as he watched the small fire in the distance from the white people’s camp. Chewing desperately into the green apple, he slightly smiled. He was wondering what kind of people they were, were they nice, or just people doing their best to avoid Indians? He wanted to see them, close up, so close he could see every detail of them. How their eyes looked, how their skin looked and felt, how their lips moved when they spoke. He wanted to see and know all those things.

    “Chayton,” Enapay asked, in the Sioux language of course, “we are to watch them tomorrow. Your father says that they will have to stay another day before moving on. So you and I will follow them.”

This got Chayton really excited. Now he had a chance to talk to them and get closer. He wanted to connect with them.

“Of course we will not be able to communicate with them. Chief made it clear no contact shall be made unless necessary. You are forbidden to speak unless acknowledged to.”

His heart sunk of course, “Sounds good.”

“Come back and dance with us, you always miss out on nights like these,” his friend nudged him into his shoulder with his knee.

“No,” Chayton shook his head, “I’ll just stay out here, enjoying the beautiful weather.”

“More like enjoying the view,” his friend laughed and walked back towards their own fire.

Chayton finished his apple to the core and then threw it down the cliff. After hearing the small splat, he looked back at the White Man’s fire. He wondered if there was someone who could see their own fire, if someone was thinking about who they were, what they were doing.

He clenched his arm muscles slightly, maybe because he felt strange, and his way of coping with the weirdness was to try and fight it. But he couldn’t fight it, couldn’t resist it. His eyes locked onto the distant fire and did not cease looking upon it, the faint glow of orange and red attracted his eyes and it seemed as if all was quiet again. There were no sounds of chanting behind him, no poundings of the drums, not even the singing-insects could shatter this bridge between the camp and him.

He sensed danger from them, but also something different. His body felt sweaty, lightheaded, this strange feeling of light going through him. He had never felt this before and it all seemed foreign to him, but that didn’t mean he disliked the feeling. It was rather bitter-sweet, a taste that was satisfying, but also repulsing at the same time. Suddenly the fire was put out, and he awoke from his strange trance, seeing nothing now but pitch black into the wilderness. He got up, knowing that there was no point now in watching things he couldn’t see. Wiping the remaining apple juice on his pants, he walked past the ceremony and into his teepee where he would make his rest. He wanted to wake early for the journey ahead, he was still anxious to finally go.

However that other feeling seemed to still overpower his nerves.

 

Clara woke from her slumber at the sound of the fire being put out. She realized she had fallen asleep, leaning against the wagon with her shoulder. The rifle was on her feet, as she must of dropped it from her muscles relaxing. She picked it up and set it on the wagon. The world was quiet other than the soft wind, kissing the waving grass goodnight. She walked towards the now put out fire and saw her mother walking towards her wagon.

Clara hoped her mother did not hear her, but she did.

“Clara my dear, what are you still doing up?” her mother asked. The skinny Southern woman looked weak, even though most of the day she had rested. The grey roots of her hair were visible on the moonlight, though the rest of her dark black hair camouflaged in the nebulous night.

“I-I was just awoken by the dampening of the fire, that’s all,” the young daughter replied, cussing in her mind about having to speak with her mother.

“Are you alright?” she asked another question. Clara had heard that phrase many times. It was always about how she was doing, never really about how she was feeling. Never had her mother ever asked if she was happy, but maybe that was Clara’s fault. Clara had the façade or impression of always being happy, but that was never true was it? There was a constant gap in her life that she wanted to fill. Clara had once saved Brad’s life, that was how they had met. Brad had been stuck in a really high tree and was too scared to come down. Brave Clara had climbed the entire tree to help Brad down.

That feeling of accomplishment was wonderful, that she could feel good about herself doing something. Life was like that. The whole purpose of life was to feel that accomplishment, but forever. Clara wanted to wake up every morning with that feeling that she was wonderful, that something new would be accomplished or fulfilled. Her happiness would come from whatever could give her this feeling. Happiness is said to be where the heart it, even though it beated in her chest, her heart was not with her.

“Of course, just startled really,” Clara nodded, trying her best to stay awake.

“You should ride your horse with father tomorrow, you know it would mean the world for him to stick that beautiful head of yours out of those books,” her mother had touched her shoulder, probably to give a more sympathetic feeling that she should join father.

“I’ll think about it. Today’s weather was okay, but you never know what tomorrow may bring.”

“That could be said about everything darling,” her mother stood on her toes and kissed her “little girl” goodnight. After walking away, only the sound of crunching leaves and dirt revealing her mother’s leaving, Clara walked back to her own wagon, realizing that maybe sleep was a good option. She had loved sleep, perhaps because it could skip an entire boring day and that it made her feel refreshed. Climbing into her wagon, she saw Charlie sleeping like a monkey in those awkward positions and she headed to her own bed.

Sitting down on it, she sat on a hard square shaped object. Bending over to grab the nuisance under her butt, she realized it was a book, more specifically, a journal. It was blank, and then she concluded it to be the journal she brought with her, to write down her adventures. She grabbed a small metal pen and started to write about today, not that it had many adventures or amazing things...

... but because she felt as if an adventure was on her way.

Finishing writing, she set the book next to her and tried to sleep. However, as she closed her eyes, she could feel the awareness of anticipation in her veins. Knowing the quickest way to get to tomorrow was to sleep, she closed her eyes, and began to dream.

 

 

 

2: 2. Spirit Bears

2. Spirit Bears

"Love is not a union merely between two creatures, it is a union between two spirits."

- Frederick William Robertson

 

    "Clara! Clara, wake up!" Charlie entreated as hes shook his older sister. Clara hazily opened her eyes, the sun was shining bright at the edge of their wagon. She looked around to see if there was a problem, but it was something she should feel, not see. The wagon was not moving, and it was already bright outside, so something was wrong. Being on a tight schedule, it would be dangerous to halt.

    She threw the blanket off her, feeling the cold morning breeze on her bare legs, and followed her brother outside their wagon, wanting to investigate the small mystery was why they weren’t moving. Adjusting her eyes, she saw they were in the same exact spot as last night. She peeked her head around the edge of the curved wagon and saw people by the center. They both jumped out and headed there to find a cluster of angry men, especially her father. Colin was a hothead, and it did not take long for his pale head to turn into a giant cherry.

    "Father," she ran over and looked around to see several of the wagon tongues broken in half, "who did this?" Wagon tongues were strong and hard to break, obviously someone wanted to impede the travelers and they knew how to do it.

    "Damn rotten savages that's who!" he threw his hat on the ground and ran his fingers through his brown frustrated hair, probably hoping that getting angry would help (it certainly doesn’t), "If I ever see one, I will shoot it on the spot. Tim! Let's go out hunting before any savages could take those food too!"

    "They stole our food as well?" Clara was shocked. The wagon supplied with all the food was right next to her. Wouldn't she had heard someone ransacking their supply, and the breaking of wood of the wagon tongues? Obviously she did not hear such things, which means either these people were very quiet, or something seemed odd. She had always thought of Indians to be quite loud, screaming their warrior's cry as they attacked their victims, but they didn't seem as stupid as people had told her. From what she was observing now, these so called savages seemed brilliant.

    The thought of them being just a single wagon away thrilled yet scared her. She could have been kidnapped any moment by them if they wanted. She wondered if any of them actually looked inside her wagon, but who would want to steal a pretty white gal anyways?

    "Stole everything to the crumbs," Brad walked over and wrapped an arm around Clara's skinny waist, "'dem Indians want us to starve. They even took our water."

    "Took our water too? Jesus, without water the oxen will never make it Oregon. We should resupply at a river and stay the night until the other wagons will pass us. They may possibly have extra supplies," Charlotte appeared out of nowhere, scaring Clara half to death as her mother's Southern accent broke into the conversation. Brad noticed the small jump of surprise and held her closer, hoping to ease the tension.

    "Clara and I can go find some water," Brad said. Clara widened her eyes, there was no way she would go out somewhere alone with him. Not that she worried what Brad could do to her (he could do a lot of things), but the fact that if there were savages out there; a semi-muscular man with his skinny tree woman would have no match against them. Brad could do something to her, but he was not that kind of man who did promiscuous actions.

    "Good, I'll go grab some men and we can go find some more food," her father nodded and turned to go get ready for his journey.

    Charlie grabbed his father's arm, pleading, "Please father, can I go with you? I promise I will be a good lad and not cause any trouble. Please please?" Charlie seemed to think by added additional begging "pleases" would probably influence his father to his advantage. Charlotte looked at her husband, giving him a look that it was his decision. She knew it was dangerous out there, but Charlie always got what he wanted.

    Charlie got away with anything, and everything.

    "Alright Charles," Colin smiled, the first Clara had seem him smile in a while, "as long as you try and stay quiet. Don't scare any animals away," Charlie cheered and ran towards the horses, ready to go out on his officially first adventure. Clara's mother went to go talk with Brad's and everyone else left the circle, leaving the young couple alone.

    "See, this is what you get for wishing for an adventure," Brad smiled as he gently squeezed her waist. He meant his sentence in a more joking manner, but Clara did not really find it funny.

    "This is hardly an adventure Brad, just folks trying to pull our legs," she said as she released herself from his grasp, walking back towards her wagon. Brad followed her at a distance, still wanting her to join him on their little expedition, but did not want to upset her of course.

    "You think this is a joke Clara? That somebody is wanting to get a laugh out of this?" Brad was a little surprised at how Clara was acting. She used to be so optimistic in things like this, but now it seems she took everything for a joke or a prank.

    “Brad, what else could it be? I mean, I doubt Indians would want to attack us if they were smart. Which I think ‘dey are,” Clara replied and climbed inside her wagon while Brad just leaned against it, looking in.

    “Well, how do ya know whatcha don’t know?” he asked, smiling as he noticed it was puzzling Clara. Clara did not know what to do. Sure, going outside would be much more exciting than staying inside and reading, but Clara wanted to go alone. She wanted to enjoy all of it by herself. She thought if anyone were to accompany her, she’d lose focus on herself. Clara never seemed to be alone anymore and everybody made decisions for her, did things for her without her permission. Books were the only thing to escape from her reality and enter her realm where nothing could go wrong, where things seemed to just flow. If she could go experience things her own way, to not have a time limit or a duty... she'd be much happier if things went the way she wanted them to.

She made her decision however, “Give me five minutes to change. I’ll join ya when I’m ready and then we can go find some water. Happy now?”

“Extremely happy,” he grinned and closed the wagon curtain, leaving Clara to change out of her silly dress and into some clothes that really suited her.

 

Chayton gently applied the small war paint to his cheeks, the green and black lines streaking against his cocoa brown skin as he gently used the edges of his fingers. Even though it was not war time, Chayton needed the paint to motivate him for certain reasons. The faint smell of dampened fire and smoke reached his encircled teepee as the celebration from last night seemed to end. The Sioux had many celebrations, at least three times a week and could last all night. Chayton liked them, but to a certain point because they were always elongated to the next morning, and Chayton disliked waking exasperated. 

He stepped out in his teepee to look at his tribe's camp. There were twelve foot high thick wooden stakes making a perimeter around the camp, protecting it from any predators or invaders. Everyone seemed to be exhausted from the celebration, but there was always work to do, and Chayton's was to investigate these humans. He found Enapay brushing his pure white stallion, trying to get it ready for the journey ahead. Chayton did not bother to whistle for his, since he thought he could move much faster in the forest than his horse could; instead he picked up a few roasted nuts in a basket and took a bite of his breakfast, feeling the sweet crunch in his mouth.

"HíÅ‹háÅ‹ni," His friend smiled as he wished Chayton a good morning. Chayton smiled and adjusted the bow near his neck, the rough string rubbing against his muscular back. He wanted to be rather quiet for now, and Chayton was always quiet unless in the spirits of being talkative. He preferred to stick by himself if possible so nobody could interrupt his thoughts. Enapay finished cleaning his horse and got on it, but Chayton just watched as his friend looked at him.

“No horse?” he said in the native language. Chayton looked into his friend’s eyes, noticing that his friend looked confused. Perhaps he noticed Chayton was struggling, or the fact that he was upset about something. “Sick?”

Chayton shook his head and checked himself for all the necessities he would need in their small expedition of “hunting” the white men. It was a pleasant day with the heat since Chayton never cared to put a shirt over himself anyways, and it seemed a perfect day to take a walks question, he already started walking out of the camp, past the wooden fence and out into the wild plains. Enapay followed him, while grabbing his weapons from the soft leather saddle of his horse, and then caught up to him. They walked in silence at first, only hearing the sounds of howling winds next to their ears and the animals of Dakota territory waking up from their slumbers. The sun was just starting to wake up as well, the dark violet and grey getting dominated by the brightness of the star.

Finally, Chayton spoke, “I had a dream last night.”

“Is that why you seem so off?” Enapay chuckled, his light and gentle voice leaving his lips.

“No, not dream... a vision, and it seemed of great importance,” Chayton reached behind his ponytail-mohawk and scratched the back of his neck, “It is bothering me.”

“Is it one of strange fear, or one that seems pleasant?” he asked.

“I was... I was in a room, full of white people. They were all dressed nice, with these wonderful long suits or dresses. I felt... nervous, that whatever I was waiting for worried me and I noticed that even I was wearing those elegant clothes. There was music, wonderful sweet music, and white couples dancing romantically together, it looked amazing. I can’t explain this conflict of overwhelming joy, but also of terror. A woman with a strange accent spoke my name, and I turned to my left to see her bringing forth a young gorgeous woman, possibly her daughter. This lady was beyond anything I have ever seen,  it was like my heart had exploded and I do not know why.

“Her hair was up, but there were small walnut colored curls, that escaped the grip of the small clip. As I looked at her, we both smiled, as if we knew each other from the past, that we were just lost friends who had found each other. Her eyes just stared at mine, and I felt this strange feeling in my... in my,” Chayton took a deep breath, his body shaking as he tried to explain this, “in my heart, like I craved her and I needed her. I thought I would collapse as I felt a sharp, but positive pain in my left chest, one that urged me to approach her. I then woke up, the feeling still lingering in my body. That was when I knew this was no dream but a vision.”

“Hopefully one that does not come true,” Enapay spoke in English. He knew some of it, but was not fluent like Chayton was, although Chayton was no professional either.

“Why do you speak of it like that?” he asked, curious as to why his friend would be displeased in this vision.

“Any vision with white people, especially a woman, is bad. However, that is not the only issue I am seeing with this... vision. I have an answer to this mysterious emotion you are feeling: love,” Enapay looked at him with a distraught face.

“Love? Enapay you cannot be serious, I mean...” Chayton thought, but the more he thought about the young woman, the more he came to realize that it was true. There was a sense of romance towards her even though Chayton had never experienced this type of affection towards someone. He had been offered many wives from his father or brother, but Chayton was never interested in any of them; but this woman, this was one who he never would stop thinking of.

“I have a wife, Chayton, I think I know what you are feeling,” his friend looked at the distance and slightly smiled. Chayton closed his eyes and took a deep sigh.

“Why a white woman though?” the warrior asked his companion.

“If anyone were to fall in love with a white, it would be you Chayton.”

Chayton noticed that his comrade was right, but Chayton laughed it off. There was no way he would even like a white woman, let alone love one. He didn’t even know where to find one anyways.

That’s when it hit him.

He knew where to find one, they were happening to start walking towards them.

 

 

Clara heard the rushing sound of a river and softly kicked into the belly of her chestnut colored horse, feeling anticipation of reaching the water. Brad was behind her, making his horse speed faster to try and catch up. They had traveled for around twenty minutes in the dry plains until they reached a more greener scenery. Green meant water, and water meant survival. Brad and Clara had brought at least enough pouches to hold ten gallons of fresh water, it just meant their journey back to the wagons would be slower.

They galloped past the tall thin trees and found a dangerous rushing river, flowing rapidly against the rocks above it’s surface. Stopping and getting off their horses for a quick break and trying to relieve the pain in their groin areas, Clara grabbed two pouches dangling from the saddle and walked towards the wide river. There was obviously no way across it, unless you wanted to drown. The width was at least maybe fifteen to twenty feet, and jumping across would be a useless attempt.

“Ya know, perhaps we should go upstream or downstream to find more calm water,” Brad did not grab any pouches, but watched his fiancé waltz towards the wild river.

“Calmer streams mean fish, and fish means bears. However, we never thought of bringing a gun did we?” Clara turned to her dirty blonde man and was curious to see if he brought a firearm or blade.

He didn’t have one.

“I had assumed that you had brought one,” Brad sighed and grabbed a few pouches from his and walked towards Clara. Brad smiled as he got a good look at her beautiful, lightly freckled face. He was always desperate to have her, and even though it seemed as they were to get married soon, Clara never actually felt a type of romantic affection towards him. He always felt as he pulled her close, she would push further away; he still had that feeling that she was never in his grasp. She was independent yes, but that did not mean a man would have no place in her life.

“You assumed that a woman would bring a gun?” Clara laughed. Brad smiled to see her laugh, acting normal for once. It’s what he thought was normal though, most people did not know the actual Clara, Brad only knew a part of her.

“I just... ya seem so paranoid about this whole thing that I thought you would bringa’ gun,” Brad shrugged and dipped his finger into the frigid river, “Damn that’s cold.” 

“Ya,” Clara replied as she stuck her hand in. It was not that cold as Brad may have exaggerated, but it was no hot spring. She made sure she filled her pouch to it’s capacity, then filled another. Brad had finished filling his first two and was already at his horse, grabbing more. Clara smiled at him trying to help, but she never wanted to get this over with. The scenery was ok, not cold and bare but it was no luscious forest.

The river flowed the same as it would, and Clara was careful not to lean in too far. She had heard many dangers of being out into the wilderness like this, but sometimes it seemed so peaceful. Suddenly she heard a strange grunt, something inhuman. She turned her head to the left, towards the sound of anger.

Standing maybe a hundred feet away was a black bear, a big one.

“Brad...” Clara stood up and yelled to her fiancé. Brad looked up and his eyes widened; he saw the bear charging towards her at his lumbering full speed. Clara knew jumping into the river may save her from being clawed or eaten to death, but not from drowning. Running was too late though, by the time she got halfway to her horse, the bear would be on her. She had no idea what to do except stand there, paralyzed in fear, hoping that something or someone could distract it. Echoing in the distance she could hear Brad yelling things, and eventually he picked up a rock and threw it at the lumbering black beast, but it continued.

However, she had a Protector.

Chayton saw the bear coming across the river towards the young woman. He ran towards the river and leaped the wide gorge, avoiding the brutal waves and landed next to the woman, knocking her over and out of the way as he put his hand out. The black bear that was at full speed, now came to a halt right before the Native American’s hands. Keeping his hand there, the bear stood there, staring at the Sioux Warrior. Clara was in shock on the grass, mouth open, breathing at it’s peak, and hands shaking. As the handsome, muscular and mocha skinned man lowered his hand, the bear turned around and walked away.

Chayton turned and saw the woman in disbelief, but he stuck a hand out, hoping maybe the white cream could, for a short second, would mix with his chocolate hand. She grasped his rough and calloused hands and he pulled up, perhaps too hard because she was thrusted almost into his naked chest. He could feel her hot breath on the bare skin of his chest, and he clenched his jaw for getting her too close.

“Thank you,” she said, still out of breath. Chayton looked into her hazel eyes, the strange jungle green met his dark wooden abyss, and he actually curved his lips into a small smile. He did not know whether to actually speak English, or just nod in understanding. Her soft hands were still in his, being enclosed by the giant palms he possessed. He wanted to hold them forever; he had never touched something so soft.

“Hey!” Brad ran over and their hands left each other's as they looked at the confused fiancée, “How did you do that? That was amazing!”

Chayton just shrugged, of course he knew how to control the animal, he just did not want to share the secrets with these white strangers. He kept his eyes on the girl though, noticing that something was familiar with her. Light brown curls at the tips of her hair, a dazzling smile, and a nice smooth face really made Chayton ponder whether this woman was the one in his dreams. The more he thought of it, the more his heart raced, and the more he looked at her amazing features, his body started to heat up and blush.

“Clara, are ya okay?” Brad turned from the interesting and built Indian to his girl.

“I am fine yes... thanks to him,” she rubbed her shoulder from the harsh landing and looked back at Chayton. Chayton’s heart fluttered as he heard her name. Clara... it was the most beautiful name in the world to him. The two syllables easily rolled off his tongue in his mind, and there was a sense of lightness to the name. It was like her name was a sweet music that flowed easily. Chayton then heard the sound of the “twa-too” again, disrupting the sweet sound of Clara and looked back towards the forest. He had no idea if Enapay just saw what happened, but obviously there was something else going on; something that wasn’t good.

He quickly turned around and leaped over the river, running back into the forest as Clara started yelling towards him. He felt guilty for leaving her without speaking or anything, but according to Enapay, something bad was happening. He put aside the light feelings and started to feel a violent, dark, emotion... something anticipating what was going to happen next.

 

Clara watched the painted Indian warrior leap across the wide river with ease. She could not help but blush as he looked at her before running back into the forest. He was incredibly handsome and cute, the kind where seeing him would melt every girl’s heart, even if he was considered to be a “savage”. His slight and curvy smile was gorgeous as it appeared on his tan face and his light brown eyes were like an abyss of ocean. Clara could still feel the residue of his calloused, rough, but yet gentle hands on hers; the electric blast of cold that met her warmth caused a tropical storm within themselves.

His muscular and built body made Clara flutter as she almost lost her balance and almost made contact with it. Compared to Brad, this charming Native was obviously stronger and more fit, making Brad look like weak, skinny farmer (which was what he practically was). His unique mohawk hair style that left sixty percent of his head bald except the center caused her fingers to tingle as she tried to imagine the texture.

“Are you sure you are okay?” Brad asked as he finished tying up the last supplies of water. There was no way he was going to let her back towards the river, so she was forced to stay near the horses.

She wanted to reply with never better, or even brilliant, because it was true. There was something that just made everything seem better around her. The birds started to sing and the sun reflected off the bright green trees, giving the sense of life surrounding her. She finally felt... alive.

“Yeah, of course. Better than getting eaten by a bear I suppose,” she tried to shrug it off as Brad helped her on to her horse. Brad didn't leave there, but left his hand on her leg, which annoyed her slightly.

“I should have brought a gun or something... I just felt so helpless. It seems strange to say that a savage saved you, ya know?” He gently squeezed her boots and Clara seemed to be oblivious to the entire thing.

“Maybe they are not savages. It could be totally possible that Indians had not ransacked our supplies but a group of raiders. We say things like this, but maybe we are the ones who are savages... we’re the ones who are different in their eyes,” she shrugged.

“You willing to believe that because one Indian saved you? What faith you have in them Clara,” he slightly smiled.

“Oh what faith you have in white people Brad. You see one Indian and you judge a whole entire culture based on what that one person did. I’m willing to get to know them a little bit more before I start calling men and women barbaric and savages,” Clara gripped the leather bridle hard, not in anger towards Brad, but frustration in the world really.

“Well then, I certainly hope that you would not get the chance to ‘know them a little bit more’ because they’ll eat you within minutes,” he joked and walked towards his own horse. Clara was now more upset because as she started heading back towards their camp, there was something tugging on her heart to turn and head deep in the forest. But, she couldn’t do that could she? She had a family to return to, because her purpose was to keep her own family happy, not herself.

“What just happened will not be spoken to anyone Brad, understand?” Clara said as her horse passed his.

“But what an interesting story to tell,” Brad sighed.

“Telling that story will only make my father go on a rampage and kill innocent people. It’s best that something of that sort does not happen,” Clara looked her fiancé straight in the eye.

“Alright, fine.”

 

 

Chayton sprinted behind Enapay, the soft dirt kicking up behind both of them as they ran. Chay had no idea what was happening, but Enapay could. Enapay was not really a warrior, but he was more of a spirit warrior than a physical one. He was much more capable of connecting with the spirits all around him, much better than Chayton. Chayton never really bothered with the spirits, for some reason he thought they were bogus, fakes, however he couldn’t say such things around his tribe.

“Stop,” Enapay held his hand up, signaling the out-of-breath warrior behind him to halt. Chayton stopped right behind him, a little winded at running at least a couple of kilometers. They were standing above a low, rocky, unstable cliff as they viewed several white men possibly a hundred yards away. They stayed low, of course, trying their best to stay hidden in the foliage of the forest. Chayton tried his best to observe how many men there were, but all he saw was around three... and what looked like a young boy.

They sat there, blending in with the green surroundings, just investigating what these white men were doing. Soon they would get their answer.

“So Colin,” a more skinny man on a horse asked one of the other ones, the one with a curvy mustache, “is everything alright with Clara? Brad said that things were a little off with her lately.” Chayton’s ears perked up like a wolf at hearing the splendid name.

“Not sure Will. Clara has been acting strange ever since we left Richmond, but maybe it’s because she had to leave school early and not finish,” the man, Chayton tried to conclude was Clara’s father, got off his horse and grabbed a rifle off the saddle. Suddenly, the intimidating father signaled for them to be silent as the rest got of their horses. The young boy gripped his small pistol with two hands, slightly shaking it with the nerves. Chayton would have never been scared at that age with a weapon, but maybe it was perhaps he was born a warrior.

Finally, they all heard the sound of something faintly grunting, mixed with a high pitched squeal. A very large brown cub came rolling down the small grassy hill next to them, not noticing the humans until it came to a stop. It did not attack the humans, for the cub was just as interested in the humans as Chayton was. In fact, the bear cub approached Clara’s father since he stuck his hand out (stupid idea, do not do it).

“Chayton...” Enapay whispered to the warrior as he watched in confusion, “spirit cub.” Uh oh, not good. Chayton now saw the small white patch underneath the cub’s stomach, signaling he is one of the spirit bears. Spirit Bears were especially important, they symbolized strength and were the Guardian of the West. Anyone who killed  a Spirit Bear, especially an Indian would be punished to the death.

s father, or mustache man,Enapay jerked, as if trying to go down there and prevent the death of the young cub, but Chayton held him back. The life of a spirit cub was not worth theirs, in time another will be born, but Chayton figured another person like himself would not. Enapay eventually calmed down, and they all looked at the small boy which Chayton guessed him to be around eight or nine years old, and they noticed some conflict inside him.

Hit bit lip and steady grip on the gun gave him the sense of determination, but his blue eyes said something else. There was a sense of sadness, a young boy to have to be the end, the demise of such a curious creature, such a savage beast, but little did he know this slaughter would lead to another death of such a curious, unfortunate, savage. He had a choice to make; makes his father proud, become a man in the family; or, be innocent, be called a wimp and little boy. However, boys those ages do not understand anything of the sort. They do not understand the fact that every decision that they make will determine their fate and future in the end.

The decision that seemed to benefit him at the moment, making his father proud, really would not benefit in the end but ruin his life really. The decision to be a wimp actually would have ended his life to be a different story, and possibly many others, but however, being called a hasty-witted measle did not appeal to him at the moment but it would have eventually paid of in the end, sparing some pain. But he was just a kid, and did not think of such things, so he nervously gripped his revolver, pointing it straight at the cub chewing its paw. At the click sound of the revolver, it looked up at the boy in confusion, but it would not get to figure it out as the bullet sped straight into the cub’s neck, leaving no more time for thinking.

Enapay looked away before he could see the innocent life quickly stolen by another, but Chayton watched every second, even the celebration of the surrounding men towards the young boy. The boy smiled at the gratitude and applause towards him, but Chayton could see his throat tighten as he looked at the cub with sorrowful eyes. They waited behind the tall pine until the white men saddled to cub corpse to one of the horses, and galloped away, leaving only dust and blood.

“Chayton, this will bring spiritual unbalance. Once the mother finds outs, she’ll want that cub back,” Enapay closed his eyes and sighed, realizing that this was a much bigger problem than they first thought. 

“What if we brought the corpse back?” Chayton looked at his companion, curious to know how to avoid conflict with the white people.

“I think, if we bring it back, the Spirit could revive the cub,” Enapay shrugged, and Chayton slightly smiled, thinking it would probably avoid a catastrophe.

“Well then, I guess we will have to visit their camp... we should tell my father, and hopefully we can ask for the corpse back. Tell him to bring extra food, so that if they were intending the cub as a meal, then we can trade,” Chayton got up from kneeling, and looked West towards their own camp.

“Smart,” Enapay smiled back and they headed towards their home.

 

Clara dropped her thin pen and looked at her sketchbook. There was a perfect remembrance of the Indian who saved her today. Her photographic memory would now be put into good use, other than good for studying. Her drawing was pretty good as well, but it was the photographic memory that really sold the drawing. Everything was the same, the war paint, the hair, the smile, the small scar under his eye, and even the perfect lips. If she was to never see that man again, at least the drawing will always remind her of him, the man who saved her when nobody else could, or would.

She closed the book/journal and heard the echoing sound of approaching horses. Clara jumped off her wood hard bed and looked outside the wagon to see her father and brother returning from the north. Her brother was the first off his horse, and he walked towards Clara, tieing his steed to the wagon for now.

“How’d it go?” Clara asked her younger brother, wondering what it would be like to go hunting. However her mother would never let her do such things; such things like that were not feminine.

“It was fine,” he mumbled quietly, and Clara knew immediately something was wrong. Charlie looked up at Clara, and Clara noticed trouble in his eyes, a type of sadness, something she could not describe. However as she was about to ask what was wrong, he said, “What’s that?”

Clara looked where he was pointing at the side of her button up shirt and there was a couple blotches of blood. She widened her eyes as she pulled the tucked shirt out of her jeans and investigated the blood. Pulling up the side of her shirt, she saw small bits of gravel and dirt in a small bloody wound.

“What happened?” he rose an eyebrow and looked his tall older sister straight in the eyes.

“Nothing, I just fell off my horse. Ya know me, a big klutz and all,” she faked a smile.

“Clara, you are never a klutz,” he crossed his childish arms, “tell me what happened.”

“It’s none of your business,” Clara sneered and jumped back in the wagon, “keep watch, I’m changing my shirt.”

Charlie sighed and stood guard while his sister changed. Clara sighed to herself, relieved that she was able to get the wound off her brother’s mind. Clara was not very good at lying, but rather much better had hiding. There were differences between the two of course, but sometimes they intertwined. Clara sighed as she dug through her bag of clothes, the only thing remotely clean was her corset, but her mother would possibly kill her because it “exposed” too much.

However, Clara decided to wear it, not much to rebel, but just because she figured that she could dress like that and nobody else would care. She was already engaged, and the other men knew she was not available anyways. After fixing her outfit and making sure her wound wouldn’t bleed anymore, Charlie started rapidly banging on the wagon, yelling.

“Clara, Clara come out!” he yelled and Clara jumped out to see what all the nonsense was about. She looked out and saw a group of people on horses on the hill nearby: Native Americans.

“What in the hell did you guys do!?” Clara now deducted that whatever had Charlie upset had something to do with the arrival of the Indians.

“We... or more of I, shot a bear cub,” Charlie whispered as they both stared at the Natives in the distance. Suddenly Brad, Colin, and a couple of other men started fast-walking out there, weapons in one hand, fist clenched on the other. Clara started following them but Charlie gripped her hand, signaling her not to go too. She shook his hand away and followed them, knowing that shooting a bear cub was a little ridiculous for Indians to be upset, but it still was a bear cub.

As Clara got closer to the four Indians off their horse and ahead of the rest of the ones waiting, she noticed one of them was the man who saved her earlier that day. Her heart rose in excitement, and she almost practically sprinted towards her father and Brad. They turned around at the sound of pounding boots and Brad smiled, Colin, however, did not.

“Clara, go back,” he commanded and pointed directly back towards the wagons.

“Oh come on Mister Robertson, let her have the adventure she wants on this trip,” Brad smiled and looked at her father.

Her father somewhat smiled, wanting to make his daughter happy, thinking that maybe something like this would make her a little bit excited and jumpy, “Well, as long as you do not say anything or do anything that could potentially harm us.”

“Yes sir,” Clara nodded and walked next to Brad, smiling until they were within ten feet of the Native Americans. There were only four standing, one young girl, wearing a colorful vest with eagle feathers and her hair braided perfectly.  Next to her was what Clara thought to be the Chief, dressed with multiple layers of cultural clothing, feathers around and deer skin shoes and pants. To his left was a man a little shorter than the Chief, all decorated in war paint (more than the other one) and he had weapons all over him: bow and arrows, tomahawk in one hand, and a handmade shield in the other. His large muscles intimidated Clara, and once he made eye contact with her, he never looked away. However, she turned her attention to the one closer to her... the one who saved her.

He was looking the same, except the three streaks on each of his cheeks were slightly smeared, either by hand or sweat from when he went running off earlier. He looked up, and when he saw Clara he had no idea what to do. His heart pounded, and Clara did a small waving motion with her hand, signaling a hello. His breathing got more rapid, but he tried his best to act natural. Chayton smiled and imitated her, waving back. Clara smiled and her heart melted.

“So, what is it you are here for?” Colin asked and Clara directed her eyes towards her father.

“We are here for the Spirit Cub,” the young girl said, perfect English rolling off her tongue. Everybody was actually quite surprised at such words coming out of her mouth, but it made Colin more furious.

“It is just a cub, merely just food for our families. We are survivors and hunters, shooting cubs mean nothing to us,” Colin responded back rather spitefully. Clara looked back at her “friend” and noticed his eyes never left her, and his smile only widened when she looked. She smiled back and kept one eye on him, and the other on the conflict to her left.

“Sir, that bear is of the Spirit world. The mother is a Spirit... and is causing unbalance within our culture. We kindly ask you return the corpse. We have things in return we can give to you,” the girl replied, with the same tone she started with, just monotonous.

“We want no poison you savages could offer,” Colin finally turned towards Brad and Clara, only to find his daughter googily-eying the attractive Indian across from them. He could see the Indian returning the same looks, the smile on his face as he stared at his daughter, his most prized possession, “Clara! Do not encourage the boy!”

Clara flinched at his harsh tone and looked at her father, nodding, then looking at the ground as her heart got heavy and sunk. Chayton felt bad... it was his fault as well and she was the one getting punished for it. He turned his eyes towards her father and felt his burning eyes staring at himself. Eventually, her dad looked away and back at the girl. The girl was translating to the rest of them what Colin was saying, and the Chief looked a little disappointed. Clara bit her bottom lip, knowing that what she did was stupid and rather silly... but his smile seemed infectious.

“We have food, enough to last you until you get to your destination,” the girl explained.

“No means no, this corpse will not-”

“Father,” Clara looked up and at her dad, “We should return the bear cub. It is a part of their culture, and we should respect it. They are giving us enough food in return for the travel... we should take it. Making them angry will do nothing but make it worse. What is the harm in returning the cub? We can accept their food or go hunt later, we will not starve. Just let them go in peace.”

Colin stood there, pondering that his daughter did have a point, “You may retrieve the cub, but we will not accept any of your ‘gifts’.”

“That is fair enough,” the daughter said and spoke their native language back to the rest of them.

“Chayton, get the bear,” Chaska, his older brother, commanded him. Chayton nodded and headed towards Colin, symbolizing he would retrieve the bear.

“Go ahead savage,” Colin sneered, “take the bloody bear.”

Chayton clenched his fist, but then immediately released it, knowing that any show of wanting to be violent would only have everyone agree to what the scary man was saying. Instead, he walked past him, towards the strange covered things on wheels and he felt a presence to his left. He turned, and saw the girl there, Clara.

“Hi...” she whispered.

“Hello,” he replied and slightly smiled.

she looked surprised. Clara had no idea that not only was this man completely into her, but he also spoke English, which also seemed to make things easier (but also dangerous as well). Chayton just shrugged at her question and smiled, looking at the ground as they were heading towards the strange covered transports.

“Chayton,” he said and looked at her. She perked her head up and looked at the attractive man walking to her right, his strong stride looking almost military like.

“Clara,” she grinned and they arrived at the wagons. Clara motioned Chayton to stand there until she would need help, and she went to Charlie, “where’s the cub?”

“On Father’s horse,” he said and grabbed Clara’s hand, leading her to their father’s steed and the cub was tied to the rear end. She cut the ropes with a small knife protruding the saddle, and she did not realize how heavy the large cub actually was. However Chayton was behind her and grabbed her, keeping her from falling backwards from the overwhelming weight. She felt the rough hands around her waist and she kept her balance.

“Here,” he said, taking the bear easily away from her arms and put the limp, innocent savage over his shoulder. Clara was surprised at how easy he had made it look, making the bear look like it weighed nothing more than a stuffed rabbit. Clara had not noticed till now, but his ripped muscles on his arms were covered in small scars or bruises, the mocha skin having small blotches or lines of dark chocolate. Once he balanced the bear on his right shoulder, he started to walk back towards where his tribe was waiting. “Thank you for the cub.”

“Do you think the mother will not be so mad ?” Clara asked. Chayton just shrugged and Clara just smiled to herself, knowing that either he was probably shy, or maybe he did not know much English. As they were closer to approaching them, Clara started making her distance away from Chayton, although she had wished to be as close to him as possible. Around him, her atmosphere felt protected... that nothing could harm her. Brad or even her own father never gave off such a strange veil of protection, but Chayton seemed like the one who would be willing to sacrifice himself for a stranger.

As soon as they got back and Chaskas arm firmly, pulling her into him, as if dragging her away from the mystery of the painted Sioux Warrior. Chayton turned after Chaska took the creature, and saw Colin whispering something to Clara. That was when Chayton saw something in her eyes that he wished he would never see in such hazel, beautiful eyes: fear. As her father whispered, he could see a fearful look on her face, and it made him want to go over there and push the father away; but he could not do that.

Clara saw him looking at her, and she eventually looked away as Colin stopped talking. He still had the firm grip on her arm, but his furious voice was turned away from her sensitive ears. Clara had hoped that Chayton would do something, to put her out of her misery of being stuck there. Her eyes sent a plea for help, hoping that he could understand what she was trying to tell him.

“Are you sure you do not want our gifts?” the Indian girl asked one more time, hoping that maybe she could change his mind on accepting the food.

Colin, instead of replying, just grumbled and shook his head. The Sioux tribe then walked back to their horses, starting to travel away since they had their prize. Chayton was the last to gallop away, since he was too busy looking at Clara with that face of fear. However, he forced himself to turn away, and he sped away on his painted stallion to regroup with his family.

“Brad,” Colin looked at him and the other men around them, “get some horses and we shall have to go hunting again.”

“Yes sir,” Brad and the others ran back towards their camp, having to go gather people for another hunting party, leaving Clara and her father alone. Clara now felt as if nothing prevented her father from beating her now. It was true, Colin could be very abusive, towards Charlotte or Clara, but it was rare that he ever got into the attacking mood. Only if Clara did anything wrong did he physically hurt her, and Clara just figured to avoid any trouble, do what she was told, and pay all her attention to her family.

“And you missy,” Colin tugged harshly on her arm once more, and Clara bit her lip to avoid having a soft grimace of pain escape her lips, “we will talk after dinner.” Clara nodded, understanding that probably he was going to beat her. Clara thought about telling her mother, but Charlotte was too a coward to stand up to her husband. Even if Charlotte tried to persuade him to not beat their own daughter, it would only end in both of them being beat.

Clara just now even had more of an urge to just sprint into the forest, into the wilderness. Her home, her family, no longer protected her, in fact they harmed her. To her, she wanted to escape, escape the torment that her life was. All her life she did what others wanted her to do, and now when she tried to do something like smiling at a boy, she would get harshly punished. She knew she had to get out, she just had no idea how to do it without hurting her family.

3: 3. Runnin'

3. Runnin’

 

“You will find peace not by trying to escape your problems, but by confronting them courageously. You will find peace not in denial, but in victory.”

~J. Donald Walters

 

    Clara did not bother eating much for dinner since her appetite was lost once her father arrived back with more buffalo, and his temper still remained. Usually when one was angry, a little trip somewhere was always good in calming the spirits inside themselves, but not Colin. Once Colin was angry about something, he remained frustrated and furious until either he could beat it out on someone (usually Charlotte) or the problem was solved. However, there was an issue with Clara as she trying to fantasize what was going to happen. The problem that he was so angry about could never be clarified unless he personally went out and shot Chayton. Just thinking that if her father happened to do that would actually hurt her. A dead human being caused her own foolish actions would leave a guilty gap in her heart.

    However, knowing Colin would not risk his own life to just hunt a man “googly-eyeing” his daughter, Clara knew the only option was to get thrashed around, beaten senseless, until she would bawl her eyes out in apology. She was prepared though, this time she would make the first strike.

    She zipped the overloaded suitcase forcefully until it was sealed tight.

    Tonight, she would make her escape.

    Of course, there were plenty of second thoughts swirling through her head, but they all led to the fact that she would never be happy if she did not do this now. She had no idea where she would go, but she figured that was the adventure part. She had packed enough weapons, small kitchen appliances, and food in order to survive out in the wild. Knowing how to hunt, gut, cook, and prepare a delicious primitive meal, she figured she could last at least two weeks before eventually finding a form of civilization.

    One of her main problems was upsetting her family, and Brad, but she came prepared for that; she happened to write a detailed letter as to why she was leaving. Most of it was towards Brad, telling him all the mistakes she had made in her life and now it was time to make the right decision. Clara knew that she should have told him in the beginning her feelings for him, the unrequited love that she had for him in a romantic way. Everyday she would always think of him as one of her best friends, and pretty much the only friend besides her family, but never had she really decided that he had a romantic appeal to him. Once she found out that Brad’s parents only wanted the marriage to happen was for the merge of a lawyer company and weapon making company (weapon making was dangerous, and many lawsuits have happened in the past), Clara knew that she was again doing things others wished than her own desires. A merging in companies would be great, especially if little Charlie would eventually grow up to be an amazing lawyer like their father, but if Clara really decided to be a doctor, it just seemed things would not work out.

    She regretted not telling him these things earlier, because now all they could mean to him was just useless words on a piece of paper. A letter is much more cowardly than a conversation, but Clara did not have the guts nor the time to do that. If she had told Brad or anyone before she planned to do this, then it could risk the operation of escaping. She thought of leaving now, but certainly someone could probably notice and then they’d hunt her down, or she could take the beating, then sneak off in the night. Her chance in survival would be to take the sacrifice of getting her body beat, but soon her soul would be free.

“Clara!” her father poked his head in from the side, slightly yelling. Clara jumped from the suddenness and sharp tone, but managed to hide the suitcase underneath the crevice of her bed. “We need to talk.”

“Yes sir,” Clara nodded and jumped out of the wagon and into the cold night. Immediately, Colin gripped his daughters hand and started dragging her away into the grassy plains and away from the others. Her thoughts of striking first had now left her mind, since it seemed she had no time to get her things and run. Usually when he beat Charlotte or Clara, he tried his best to find a place that would keep the noise out, in order to prevent others from knowing the abuse he did to women. However, there were some nights where Clara could hear the shrieks and cries of her mother down the hallway. On those nights, Clara slept minimally as those cries echoed through her mind.

“Now,” he whispered and Clara prepared herself internally to get ready for screaming, but only whispers came out of his mouth, “are ya alright?”

“What?” Clara looked up, shocked, “What do ya mean?”

“Brad told me about what had happened when you went to get water. Why didn’t ya tell anyone about that? I mean, a bear ain’t all fine to be messing around with. You coulda’ been seriously injured or even killed.”

“I woulda’, had it not been for the Indian to save me,” Clara shrugged, not really knowing what to say.

    “Wait, what? What Indian? Brad said he killed the bear,” Colin now even looked more confused and worried. Not only were Indians looking at his daughter, but they probably touched her too. Clara now closed her eyes and her stomach flipped. Every curse word appeared her mind rapidly and sounded like an ill sailor. How could she be so stupid? Brad was smart to come up with a cover-up like that, but unfortunately failed to tell Clara he had planned it.

“No,” Clara bit her bottom lip and shook her head.

“Wait, was this ‘Savage’ who saved you the one who was talking with you in the evening today?” Colin’s whisper now jumped from serene to harsh and violent. Clara had the option to say no, but unfortunately the trait of her father being a good lawyer wasn’t passed down to her. Anybody was capable to tell if Clara told a lie, so she knew that telling a lie would only make things worse. Instead of replying, Clara just nodded.

Instead of a sharp reply, she had a sharper force to her face as her father’s hand slapped her unyieldingly. She felt the burning sting on her face from the residue and friction that remained from his tight slap. Clara grabbed her face, trying to relieve the sting by adding the warmth and pressure of her small hands, but Colin just shook his head.

“Did this boy touch you Clara?” Colin asked, clenching his fists. His accent left him as he got more enraged. Clara knew she had to try her best to lie on this one, because if she said Chayton did, Colin would just unleash his fury on her. Slaps would transform into fists, red spots would turn into bruises, and a tender heart would turn cold and brutal.

“No, he only pushed me out of the way,” she said, but the thought of his hands on hers made her melt, but also gave her the look that she was hesitant. He noticed the slight delay and waver, and he did not like it. He immediately got more mad, this time towards Chayton. However, the only thing that could release his ferocity would be to lash it on out Clara, which he did. He shoved her to the harsh dirt, whacking her rapidly with force while she moved her arms up to protect her body against the torture. His slaps felt like whips, and his fists felt like bricks against her skin.

“Where did he touch you!?” he screamed and stopped flailing, leaving Clara with some time to recover as the stings started to fade.

“He just pushed me out of the way, that’s it father,” she whispered, breathing heavily into the dirt as she tried to close her eyes, hoping she could wake up and have this reality just an old nightmare. 

“I saw the way you looked at him Clara, I know that look. You shouldn’t be looking at the other sex like that when you are engaged,” he muttered.

Clara grabbed some of the soft dirt and picked it up in the ball of her hands, then turned to face her father, “Like you don’t father!? I see the way you look at other women! It’s like ya don’t even love Mama anymore! Ya look at women as a dog looks at a bone, like a toy! And once you’re done with it, you move to the next one!”

At that, Colin grabbed the front of his daughter’s corset, the thin strands keeping the fabric on her upper torso, now breaking from the wrath of strong fingers. “I love Charlotte, do not say that I don’t! Just like ya love Brad! How could you do this to him!?”

“I do not love him Dad!” Clara yelled back, matching her father’s booming voice with her own.

His eyes widened as he tilted his head, “What? Is this about that Indian? He did do something didn’t he?!-”

“Father, it has nothing to do with Chay-”

    “So you know his name!? Tell me, did you get a little frisky in the forest?”

    “What?” she looked shocked, “N-no! Me not loving Brad has nothing to do with him! He’s a great guy father, but he is not the one for me.”

    “You’re lying Clara!” his grip got more intense, some of his fingernails digging into her chest, leaving small scars gushing red.

    “No, father, I swear to God I ain’t!” Clara now shook with fear and realized she had to escape now. There was no way she could return now with all the secrets she revealed. Her father knew too much, and now he was more angry than she ever saw him before. It seemed like there could be no escape, but there was always a way out.

    And she found her way out.

    She quickly pushed him away from her, his grasp leaving the strings of her corset, and she threw the dirt into his eyes. Her father immediately ran his hands to his eyes as the dirt flung into them, burning the outside of his vision and making it blurry. Clara instantly started running, running where, she did not know but she was running. She knew once she made it to the forest maybe a few hundred yards away, she would surely lose her father in there. Her heart pounded as she ran, adrenaline pumping in her veins as she knew that her adventure would start.

    She could hear her father yelling after her, and also the pounding of his large black boots behind her. She sprinted faster, using her arms for momentum in order to push her further away. Stumbling a few times in the soft soil, she managed to make it into the lush and dark forest.

    Her vision was limited in the dark, not able to see much that was a couple feet in front of her. However, she pushed further in, getting away from the light of of her family and finally into the real wild. The cold, brisk air filled her lungs as started breathing faster, but she turned her head slightly to see where her father was; he was only a few feet behind her.

    Panicking, she made a sharp turn to her left, tripping over a fallen log and cutting her bare arms on a sharp twig. As she turned to face her father, he turned after her, but a dark figure got in front of him, tackling him to the ground. Clara instantly turned back and started running again, the blood gushing out of her arm from the cut, but she she knew she must continue in order to escape. Now feeling the sense of freedom in her soul, she started smiling, knowing that she was away. Now she can do whatever she wanted, she no longer had to please others. She was indeed free.

    However, being distracted by her release, she failed to notice the small cliff leading to the cold and rushing river. As she finally noticed, she started losing her balance, seeing only the reflection of the rigid moon in the rapids. Her footing was loose as she was now at a fifty-degree angle, her arms flailing into the wind to make her fall backwards. A hand gripped her waist and pulled her back, and she fell into his arms, noticing the familiar muscular arms around her waist. She instantly pushed him away, back towards the edge, and she started falling.

    Chayton slightly rolled his eyes and jumped after her, landing into the cold river next to her. As he lifted his head, his breath instantly turning cold as he spat out the liquid. He quickly looked around to find Clara, and found her several feet down the river, arms in the air and head bobbing around. He instantly started swimming with the rapids, doubling his velocity as he sped towards Clara. Clara grabbed a large rock at the edge of the river and held on, using the freezing and weak muscles in her arms to try and hold herself against the tide. Chayton instantly landed on the rock too, gripping her hands and making sure she had a steady grip.

    “Hold on,” he whispered, a large white cloud appearing as he spoke. Clara nodded as she watched the Native American lift himself out of the water, and climbing onto the wet grass. He turned and stuck his hand out, motioning Clara to grab it and hold on. Chayton could see some fear in those hazel eyes, but he also saw a little bit of hope. She grabbed his hand and felt his strength pull her out of the grasping water. He instantly dragged her away from the water, leaving her there to lie on the grass for awhile and rest. He noticed her breath was white too, and for once, Chayton was wearing deerskin shirt, but taking it off and putting it on her would only make her more cold. He was tired, and he was sure that the woman in almost no clothes in front of him was probably twice as tired, seeing that she wasn’t as fit. He knew he had to get her warm.

    “Stay,” he said and touched her arm. She nodded once more as she panted away, trying to calm her breathing down so she wouldn’t pass out of shock. She had heard of many people who have gone through dangerous things like that, and they passed out or hurt themselves because of shock. She needed to stay awake. Chayton was actually running to his nearest scout post, even though his legs ached.. Up in the trees were like small tree-houses he actually built, and in them were weapons and food, but he was more interested in the blankets. The nearest one was around half a mile away, so he started moving quickly.

    The cold affected him greatly as he could tell his speed was not his best. Running only made a terrible breeze, making the cold inside his body overwhelm him. However, he managed to reach the tree after jumping over multiple trees and bushes. He dug his fingers into the sharp bark and started climbing, eventually the blanket was the first thing towards the indentation or opening of his little canopy house, and he grabbed it. He instantly felt the warmth of the large buffalo-skin on his shoulder and first thought selfishly that he should wear the skin himself, but that would solve nothing. He eventually wasted no time and jumped twenty feet down, feeling no pain in his numb ankles. Sprinting back towards the river, he held the buffalo-skin away from his wet body, hoping no moisture would escape him and latch onto the blanket.

    He had found Clara no longer laying, but sitting on the cold grass and moss, holding herself close, trying her best to stay warm. Chayton came up behind her, wrapping the warm skin around her cold one. She flinched from surprise, but then she stood up and clutched the blanket of warmth as if it were her mother. She turned and looked at him, her once pink lips now a frozen blue, and her fair skin now transforming into a white and blue icicle. To Chayton, she looked like a beautiful phantom, terrifying but yet intriguing. She haunted him now, she was restless in his heart and mind since earlier that day. He had stayed there the whole day, knowing that something seemed wrong with her father, and that something was wrong.

    He felt a little triumphant due to the fact that he impeded Clara's father, because it seemed the best thing to do for her. The only issue now was where she would go. Taking her back to the tribe was risky because he was unsure that she even would want to go there, but in order for both of them to survive from the cold, the best option would for her to return to the tribe. However, he would also be breaking serious rules of the tribe, but if it meant her being safe then so be it.

    "Thank you," she whispered under the howling wind, pulling the warm blanket around herself tighter, hoping to steal as much warmth as possible from the fur. He noticed the small cut on her arm started to gush blood, but she covered her entire body before he could say anything. Chayton nodded in return to her thanks, still standing there in his damp clothing, but he noticed something wrong with the young woman standing in front of him. Her eyes fluttered rapidly, the hazel eyes losing it's color after every blink. Her muscles started to relax, and Chayton grabbed her before she could hit the floor, almost landing on her head. He groaned to himself, thinking that it was just his luck that should would go unconscious, but it also helped with his decision making on whether to bring her to the tribe.

    Now she had no choice.

    He picked her up, holding her back and legs as she felt limp in his arms. Chayton carried her as he would if it was his prey. Dropping a dead animal later to be eaten could cause contamination, deformities like broken bones, or simply disrespect the spirits who offered the animal. The Sioux took a lot of things as signs from the spirits, knowing that in an instant, the spirits could take all those things away. Every day given to them was considered a gift, every animal they used as a meal was treated with respect, and now a white woman was given to them. To most they may not see it as a gift but rather a curse, but as Chayton carried her up along the river, holding her like a mother held her child, he began to feel an attachment towards her, a soft gentleness.

    She was making him feel weak, not a wobbly in the knees weak, or a feeling of drained strength, but rather tender in the heart. Chayton had killed many other Indians and whites, but when he looked down at the sleeping beauty, that dormant angel, he felt like the most peaceful person alive. Her touch seemed to soothe a man as would a nice hot cup of tea, and her soft, beating heart that pulsated in his hands reminded Chayton of when he would play on the drums during the tribe dances and ceremonies, except it was a gentle, slow rhythm. At times when he would stop walking, taking a short break for his tired and sore muscles to relax and gather his strength, he would hold her close to him, and could feel her skin now radiating with heat against his rigid mocha skin. He enjoyed feeling her skin on his, the type where it sent shivers down a spine, but the good kind of course.

    Eventually, Chayton saw the warm fire of his tribe at a distance, perhaps about fifty feet away.

    "Almost there," he muttered to himself as was dragging his numb feet up the small hill, keeping his grasp tight on the young woman in hoping she would not slip out of his careless arms. Upon reaching the top, Chayton saw Enapay look at him from the distance, his mouth wide open and his body frozen in fear. The small drumming and dancing stopped as everybody froze, turning and looking at their familiar tribesman who was holding an unconscious, young white woman in his arms. Chayton feared to look into the eyes of the aghast, those piercing eyes that seemed to be unrelenting in the fact he broke a Sioux Law. He knew about the law of bringing a white person to the tribe, but considered this to be dangerous; a woman could die if he did not help and he was not going to let that happen. Soon, people started to notice the white woman in his arms almost seemed lifeless, and realized that his intentions towards her were different than what they had first thought.

    Enapay ran towards Chayton and offered his arms. Chayton carefully and gently transferred Clara into his friend's arms, knowing that she would do much better in his care for now. As he no longer felt her touch, he turned to start heading back into the forest, hoping that she had packed something before her escape.

    "Wait, what are you doing?" he asked in their foreign tongue.

    "Heading back to get her things, she ran away," Chayton turned slightly and faced Enapay.

    "Why are you all wet?" he asked as he noticed the woman's scandalous outfit was damp as well.

    "River," Chayton replied.

    "Before you go, change your clothes. You'll get sick," Enapay suggested and then handed Clara to his wife and other women, who said they would take care of her until she woke up. Chayton watched as they carried her to a large teepee, knowing that she would be fine, until she woke up that is. He went back to his small teepee, stripping his clothing rather quickly and throwing them on the ground as he grabbed extra deerskin shirts and pants and put them on. Grabbing his bow and several arrows on the way out, he noticed that the celebrations ceased as everyone was assiduous as to what was happening, or what would happen.

    "Will you be warm in that?" Enapay asked as Chayton was going to leave the fenced environment.

    "Doesn't matter does it?" Chayton grunted and started leaving.

    "He'll be mad, won't he?"

    "I would be surprised if he wasn't," he slightly smiled and ran off.

 

   

    "Mister Robertson," Brad started whispering to Colin, shaking him slightly as he was desperate to get him awake. Colin opened his eyes slightly, seeing the young man over him, looking scared.

    "Wha-what happened?" Colin grabbed his oiled back brown hair as he felt a large pounding on his brain. The last he remembered was he was running, and suddenly something hit him... something very large. Brad gently pulled his future father-in-law off the dirt and held him steady.

    "Where's Clara?" Brad looked directly into his eyes, desperate to find out where his fiancée could possibly be. Surely he remembered Colin taking her away for a slight moment around twenty minutes ago, and when they had not returned, Brad went after them. However all he found was her father, confused as a chicken with a bucket on its head.

    "Clara... Clara," Colin grabbed his head, as if he would squeeze the hidden memories lost in his brain out, so he could recollect what had happened. All he remembered at the moment was running, running through the forest, twisting and turning to reach for his daughter until the darkness of the pines overwhelmed him, and something attacked him. Colin got off the ground, dusting the dirt off viciously and then looked at Brad. "She's gone."

    "What?! What do ya mean she's gone? Did she leave?!" Brad felt a sharp pain in chest, like someone took a large nail and punctured it straight into his heart with a hammer. He couldn't believe Clara was gone, his love, his life, now no longer existing in his life. It seemed that even in the happiest of moments, the times where happiness would start heading to its fullest, the demons finally latch onto that happiness and take it away.

    "Look," Colin pointed at the wet grass in mud, ignoring the silhouette it gave from Colin laying there from some time, but found parts of the grass pressed down and more muddy: footprints. Brad had failed to notice it before, perhaps because he was too worried what had become of Clara and her father, and the overwhelming fear of what the dark forest could bring upon them clouded his attention to detail.

    Brad leaned down, careful not to get his pants dirty, and touched the damp spot, realizing it was the geometric figure as a footprint, "Those sons of bitches..."

    "Hurry," Colin pulled the irascible young man off the grass and looked into his blue eyes, "we can possibly find her before it's too late."

    "Right, we need all possible gentlemen on horses looking for her," Brad nodded in agreement and both of them started slightly sprinting back to their temporary homes to find some men by the fire. They looked up to see what the ruckus was all about, only to find Brad and their leader to return empty handed. Charlotte was the only woman among the men around the fire, but she was the first to stand up 'for she was the first to notice what the issue was.

    "Clara, where is she?!" Charlotte actually shrieked, wondering if Colin had done something to her. Surely he would not have killed his own daughter! Why would he come back without her?

    "The filthy savages took her," Brad spat on the ground and grabbed a rifle leaning against the wagon, gripping it tightly as if it would relieve him of his pain, "we are going to get her back."

    "I do not understand, what happened?" Charlotte could not believe someone could steal her little girl, the young woman that Charlotte had raised and cared for since she was born. Sure, Charlotte knew she was hard on her daughter, but that was the only way Clara could succeed in this society: to be an intelligent, controlling beauty. However, during the darkness of her marriage, her two children were the only thing that kept her going. They were her motivation to push through her horrible life, and hope in return that their light would overwhelm her darkness, pushing all the torment and misery out of her soul.

    “Charlotte, sweetie,” Colin grasped his wife’s hand in reassurance, “we will get her back, I promise.”

    Charlotte took a deep breath and looked into his eyes, noticing that there was a slight fear in him, it was not the type of fear that she or Brad was having, but rather a fear of being exposed, a fear that he would be caught, “What have ya done Colin?”

    “Our daughter gets kidnapped and ya blame me?!” his defense mechanism now activated, protecting all his lies from pouring out, “I have done nothing.”

    “Nothing I can prove of,” Charlotte murmured and clenched her jaw tight, preventing any more words to escape her mouth.

    “We’ll be back as soon as we find her,” Colin ignored her comment and kissed her cheek. Charlotte felt the guilt, the shame on his lawyer lips as they scraped her cold face.

    “What do I tell Charlie?” Charlotte now bit her lip. With Clara gone, Charlie would be devastated since she was the only friend he really had and Charlotte did not want to go and tell him the grave news, but someone had to.

    “He’s almost a man Char,” he grunted and grabbed his long leather coat, “he can handle the news.”

    At that, the men started grabbing everything they would need: weapons, food, water, and of course their horses. Charlotte stood there with Elizabeth, who was just as worried for Clara as Brad was. Elizabeth knew Brad was really sensitive, and so did Charlotte, and if they weren’t capable of finding his fiancée they knew Brad would stop at nothing until they had found her, dead or alive. However dead was something they had wished would never come true.

    “Are you going to tell him?” Lizzie asked and looked at Charlotte, desperate and curious to know whether she would tell the young boy. Charlotte closed her eyes and a tear fell down her cheek, over the same spot where Colin’s lips were a few moments ago. She knew she would have to tell him, the issue with every heartbreaking news was how to tell him. Charlotte nodded, not wanting to speak, fearing the remaining women who stayed would hear the fear in her voice. The Robertson family was never weak, they would never show any fear to anyone. The Robertson’s were leaders, they were leaders in the Great Revolution, they were city leaders, and they would even be leaders of this “caravan”. They could not show the fear of losing their daughter, it would only develop into a spread of terror, thinking that the Indians could come back and steal one of their other children.

    After hearing the echoing sound of pounding horse hooves fade, Charlotte walked over to Clara’s and Charlie’s wagon, the one farthest from the circular pattern. She peeked inside the dark, finding Charlie to be curled up in the back corner, sound asleep as he cuddled up in one of the blankets. Charlotte sighed, and retreated from the inside of the wagon, and sat at the edge, resting her eyes from all the stress. Charlotte had no doubt the small grey hairs on her head would worsen, that all this stress and chaos would cause more issues in her family, but right now she needed rest. Little did she know she was sitting in the same spot Clara was twenty-four hours ago, staring at the distant campfire. However there was no distant light out there in the mountains because all the celebrations and feasts ceased for them as well.

    Clara was changing society, whether she knew it or not.

 

 

   

    Charlotte heard a faint rustling tickling her ears. She did not open her eyes, fearing that whatever the darkness behind her in the wagon may take her, but she continued to listen. Somebody was in the wagon behind her, she could tell because it felt different, it felt almost heavier, like someone was standing inside it. She finally fluttered her eyes open, only to see she was still leaning against the wagon, but yet the noise behind her continued, in fact it got louder. The scary factor was that Charlie, the small tyke, could not be capable of making those sounds. She finally turned around, only to find the thing she now hated most in them.

    As she was about to scream, Chayton jumped out, putting his large cold palm over her lips. He had noticed Charlotte was sleeping there, but figured he could get Clara’s things before she woke up. However it now seemed he was louder and slower than he thought he’d be. Chayton could tell by the tear streaks and the aged beauty that Charlotte was in fact Clara’s mother; she had the same face as Clara’s: innocent, but yet when Chayton looked into her green eyes, he noticed the innocence was only a delusion. There was a sense of dominance in her eyes, a sense of having control, one that would do anything in order to get what she wanted.

    Chayton raised his horizontal index finger and put it to his lips, signaling for her to be quiet. She nodded of course, figuring she should be silent so he would not slice her head off (not like he would anyway). She looked down and noticed what he must have been rummaging through: Clara’s things. Her stuffed bag overflowed, and had the rest of her clothes on top of it as the books controlled most of its space. Chayton released his freezing cold hand slowly, wondering if she would scream right after he removed it, but the aged Southern woman did not even move her lips.

    “Here,” Chayton whispered and handed her an envelope. He had no idea what to do with it, but he figured since Charlotte and Colin’s names were on the front, that it belonged to them. Charlotte slowly grabbed the letter out from his hands, knowing exactly what the contents inside would say. After holding the letter, she looked back up at the young savage in front of her. He was built, muscles flexing as he held Clara’s bag in the air, but he too also had a strange appealing look of innocence, the one she did not expect a barbaric creature to posses. His outward appearance was one that every white person would suspect, looking uncivilized and threatening, but she could tell that he was different; she did not know what was different about him from the other Natives, perhaps it was the charismatic smile and charm.

    “Will she be safe?” Charlotte whispered and looked into his brown eyes, looking to see if he would be telling the truth.

    “Yes,” he nodded and started walking away. Charlotte watched the warrior leave, snatching Clara’s things but also Clara herself away from her. It all seemed strange to think that they kidnapped her daughter, but yet had no motivation or anything when they arrived earlier in the day. Had what Colin said was true, or was Charlotte right in knowing that this was something more than the capture of her daughter?

    Only the letter could tell her those answers.

    She ripped it opened, not bothering to be neat or calm. She wanted the contents, she had to read those words, hear them in her mind. It was not a letter to Charlotte, it was the exact words Clara was too cowardly to admit to her own parents for the fear they would beat her, shun her, or punish her for eternity. It was all Charlotte’s mistakes as a parent, all her sins and transgressions towards Clara, shoved right into her own face. Charlotte knew the words would be like a pen, stabbing her in the back, signifying her failure. When the envelope was shreds, she pulled out the thick papers and unfolded them, revealing the beautiful handwriting of her daughter. Clara had not bothered to write in cursive or calligraphy, because her parents did not deserve the wavy and curvy, fluent and gorgeous writing that it was. They deserved the plain text, the basic and informal letters that could speak blankly to all of them.

    My dearest family:

   

        I should have done this a long time ago, I should have taken that passage to England when given the opportunity. By now as you read this letter, I will be gone, into the wilderness that society has been told not to go. I go there because I am accepted and loved there. The forest opens its arms wide to me, embracing me as you once did when I was a little child. I hope that maybe one day you can forgive me for what I am doing to you. I understand that I am splitting all your hearts in two, but I had to do it before my heart would no longer exist. Still, I hope that after you read this, that maybe you could understand my reasons for doing this.

    Father, you might perhaps already know why since you were planning to do these things to me. I can no longer accept the beatings, they not only bruise my body, but also bruise my soul. I will not accept the fact that I could eventually grow up to be like you: coldhearted, wicked, and evil. Being what I wanted was something you were ashamed of. I wanted to be an artist, and you know I was very talented in the techniques; but yet, you wanted me to be a doctor. A doctor was always needed, when an artist was not, so you decided to squeeze the creativity out of me until I no longer had to motivation or inspiration to draw. You believed creativity was bad, that it was just a fantasy created to escape from reality. However, that is true, I used my fantasies because they would help me escape from the horrors of my own household. They would deafen the sound of yelling and fights, they would numb the pains from your beatings, but most importantly, it let me be who I wanted.

    There were times when I was proud of you father, I can truly say there was. Many times, after one of your big cases came to a close, I would always be proud of you, to see your efforts and hardwork to be the success of this family. However it was up to the point where you prosecuted innocent people, fabricated lies against them in order to win. The pride I once had for you morphed into shame. I was and am ashamed of who you are, the corrupt and wicked man you have turned out to be. Perhaps it was not who you turned out to be, it was just me being blind at not being to see the creature you always were. Your rags to riches story is one very triumphant and motivational, however your family's past should have no control over how you treat your own family today. Mother had rescued you from the treachery and dangers of your family, and I always remember the story of how you two met. I always found it strange of how your own heart melted towards Mother, that you knew you needed to have her.

    However, your heart no longer exists. I do not know when or how this happened, but that beautiful wife you craved to have, was in your eyes not good enough. The beatings towards her started around when I was five, and I remember the first one quite well despite my young age; it was a small fight really, that eventually turned into a loud slap. It was the first time you had ever physically hurt her, and you were both shocked. When more fights aroused, the slaps were more frequent, and soon the fists joined in as well. I could remember mornings when Mother would sleep with me because she feared to sleep in the same bed as you. The pure angelic woman feared to sleep in that bed of demonic darkness of destruction, knowing that it would do its damage.

    However, Mother, you were not so innocent and angelic either. You as well knew about my artistic ability, you knew my passion for it went beyond the edge of the world. You just stood there and watched, that was your issue. When the kid gets bullied at school, when the rich, snotty brats surround the poor farmer and start pushing around, many might join in. However, the small farmer is not angry at the bullies, he is mad at all the people who watched, their eyes drowning with mercy and pity, but yet they did nothing to stop the fight. They stood there and watched. The greatest sin is not actually committing the crime, it's when people spectating see it and yet they do nothing about it. Many of times you stood there, within two feet of me being beat and thrashed around. I saw the tears in your eyes, the desire for Father to stop, yet you did nothing! I know you are not strong enough to stop Father, but it's the courage, that strength in your heart that would eventually triumph. He may have beaten us both until we could not stand, but our love would have lasted and stood higher than the tower of Bastille. Yet, you stood there, as if watching the French mob start tearing that tower down until it was nothing but a crumbling pile of rock. You could have fought, at least tried to keep at least one stone standing; one stone would be enough to rebuild the fortress, but you decided to give up.

    Actually, you never gave up, because you never started to begin with. You did not even try, and to me that is more failure than trying and failing. You failed at the start when you became ignorant, when you no longer cared that your poor precious daughter got beat. To spare yourself pain, you had to keep telling yourself it was not happening, that I was never getting beat in the first place. It might have spared you the mental pain, but it never spared my own! Instead, you gave to Father's wishes, you no longer had a voice in the family because you yourself demolished it. My voice was gone since I was born, but you always had yours yet you were afraid of it, afraid to even use it. How cowardly is that? To posses a gift that many in this world do no have, yet you do not even use it because of the fear that you might be judged. Of course, I had learned at a certain age what to do and what not to do, and reaching my teen years I was not beaten at all. The beatings did exactly what Father wanted: for me to change. I gave up my dreams, my goals, and even my happiness in order to avoid waking up with bruises or dried blood all over my body. Realizing that if I was to just give up, to become someone I was not, this same cycle would revolve around my own family (if I ever have one).

    My own children would be punished just as I was. I would be jealous, so envious that they would be given the right to be whatever they wanted, yet I was forced my entire life on what to do. Eventually I would prevent them their happiness and punish them as you punished me. I could not bear to think that this chain of wickedness could continue on forever in this family. There had to be a "weak link" in the chain so to speak, however that meekly looking chain would turn out to be the strongest. That weak link would be capable of destroying generations of torment, and I am hoping that I am that link, that I can be that link so that my future family will not have to bear what I have bore.

    Perhaps I can say that there was one thing that you two had done right, and that was the creation of my little brother Charlie. Although I may not want him to read some contents of this letter, I would want him to read this part. Charlie, you have always been one of my best friends, even if a small twelve years separates our age. You are the type of boy I would wish to have, a rambunctious, devious, but yet brilliant child; you even made me wish I was like you. Although you may get everything you want and get away with everything, you still have a guilty conscious that eats you alive, and that's good. I have no negative things to say towards you, no words to harm you. I want you to keep living, to keep being that little idiot who annoys his sister so much. I certainly hope that Mother and Father will not punish you in any way like they did to me. Keep being yourself, that is all I ask because it seems that something so simple as that can turn so complicated in a matter of seconds. However, you are brave enough Charlie, you will never turn away from a fight or challenge, so never turn away from who you really are.

    I also ask one more thing of you: that you do not blame what has happened on yourself. My escape has nothing to do with you or anything you have done other than you being brave. You are my hero Charlie, and there is nothing you need to change about yourself. Never think there could have been something you might have done that could have prevented this because this was bound to happen eventually. I love you Charlie, and I cry right now when I tell you this because I was always afraid that you never loved me. I think now that I have abandoned you, that I am leaving you in this hell-hole while I journey to paradise, and I hate myself because I did not take you with me. Even though you may not want to admit it, I know that somewhere in that beautiful, tiny heart of yours that you do love me too. That's why you annoy me so much, because you want to be around me. I am sorry if I'm hurting you right now, but you must understand that in order for your big sister to be happy, I need to escape.

    I am not stating that you do not make me happy Charlie, because believe me, even though you pester the hell out of me, I will always enjoy your snarky comments. I know I will miss you, and you will miss me, but I believe we will see each other sooner than you think and both of us much wiser.

    Directly towards the entire family, I hope you do not see me as the one at fault here. I am trying to mend this family, not destroy it; I certainly hope that your ignorance will not blind you in the single fact that I just want to be happy. With me finding my happiness, I hope you can all return to the things that make you happy, the things that you always desired to have with you.

    For the last pages until the end, I have written a rejection to Brad and his proposal. Brad Dawson, in no way is this anything about you. Running away was never about you, but rather me; but rather than leaving you without an answer or solution, I wrote this. Do not think that because I am breaking of the marriage is because I do not love you. I do love you Brad, but perhaps not the same way you love me. You are my best friend, the other pea in the pod, and most of all the guy that every girl wishes she had. In every way you are perfect Brad, more perfect in design than all the architecture in Italy combined. You are smart, funny, handsome... everything that a girl wants. You are always there for me, comforting me when I am upset. Although you did not know the terror of my family until now, I know that if you had found out, you would have stood up to me in an instant.

    You are perfect for everyone, except perhaps me. I should have told you my true feelings for you before it all came together. It was as if it were a giant puzzle piece, and the last one just does not fit, and everyone knows it. Yet each person tries pounding it, hoping that maybe it would fit in a place it was not designed for. Eventually the piece ruins what the entire puzzle could have been, and we should have switched the pieces before it ever got to that situation. To be honest, I know that you have loved me more than the sun loves the moon ('for it was told that every night, the sun died so that the moon could live and have its reign), and I hope that you can love another woman like that who is not me. We all know there will be women after you, but be cautious in choosing. I certainly wish that you will find a girl more worthy than me, who will love you more than I ever have because I failed you.

    There is no doubt in my mind that you will eventually find your happiness, but you must understand that I am on my path to finding mine. Although I will want your guidance along the way, I know that I must do this alone. When you reach Oregon, when you arrive to the Western Coast, can you just tell me what the ocean looks like? You will probably not be able to write to me, but just tell me as if I was a blind woman standing right next to you, and just help me imagine the world I wish I could be at, by your side. I hope in the future we could meet each other again, both with our own happy families, and we'd sit down for a nice dinner together. My children would play with yours, and we would tell the daring stories and adventures we had along the way. I would tell the story of how I rescued you, climbing the tremendous tree just to convince you to come down. I love you Brad, and I always will, you are the one I will probably miss the most, and I hope you know that.

    Now that all of you have my reasons, I hope that you all can now understand and possibly forgive me. However, in order to forgive me, you must forgive yourself of the wrongs you have caused on me and others. I know the Bible says to forgive, but everyone knows that it is not easy. It’ll be quite some time before I forgive most of you guys, but that’s the whole point of this trial isn’t it? I have to go out and find myself in life, it’s almost like a maze. When with you, I was constricted, caught in a dead end with no escape. Once I climbed above the wall and saw the world around the maze, I jumped over it, reaching a new part. The maze will still continue of course, but now I make my own decisions, now I can make my own path until I get out. Life is full of trials, but we can not let them trample over us but rather we fight back, we hit it back with all we got.

    That is my life, I am fighting back to regain my life. I hope you all do the same.

       

                With all the love I can give,

                    Clara