Week 11 Prompt: Haver (about 1K words)

[murielle]

 therealljidol Week 11 Prompt: Haver

 

(AN: I have used the word “native” because it is (I hope) the least offensive of terms used for indigenous people before we learned respect. I hope you’ll forgive me.

This is the third installment of a series I started in 2018 or there abouts. I will add links if I can find them. If not, I’ll post the first two to my DW blog.)

 

 

Dear Father,

 

I pray you and mother are well and that you receive this before year’s end.

 

Autumn is racing toward winter. I have piled wood every day since spring and hope it will be enough. A few weeks ago when I rode Wager to the little trading post it snowed and while I can’t pack too much on him, at least he doesn’t get stuck in the mud like the cart. Third time this year I’ve ventured there in search of various necessities. Last time was just after harvest and I went with plenty to sell and plenty more to buy from the list I’d been given. Leaving Aileen alone to fend off wild beasts and care for the livestock troubles me greatly, but this time so much worse than before because of the last time.

 

When I returned after only a few days in the early part of the fall I unhitched Wager, watered and put the feedbag on him then went about unloading the cart. It bothered me some that Aileen didn’t even come out and greet me, but she was none too happy to see me leaving so I thought perhaps she was still sour on that and wondered how long she’d sulk over it. I was chewing on this as I lugged two heavy sacks of staples up to the cabin. I noticed the stench first and dropped the sacks bursting through the door certain I’d find my wife dead. But she was alive. Barely.

 

She was on fire, raging with fever and she was havering about thunderclouds. I couldn’t make it out.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please.”

 

“What, what? What are ye saying, lass? I cannot understand ye?”

 

I gathered her up, covers and all, and raced across the meadow, terrified I’d fall and drop her before I could get her into the stream that cuts through the land. It runs deep down at the edge of the meadow and in warmer weather is teaming with fish. I went in with her still in my arms tearing off blankets and her nightdress as I held her in the icy water. She bellowed. Weak though she was, she let out a wail that flooded my heart with hope. I kept her in the water until she began to shiver.

 

Father, I didn’t know what I was doing, but I recalled you saying once at the dinner table when I was but a lad, “First you break the fever, then you deal with the cause.” I think that was in my mind. I knew nothing but my Aileen and the unbearable thought of a life without her.

 

Inside I put her down and let her lie naked on the floor while I built a roaring fire and left her beside it then I tended to the bed. It was in a terrible state, but straw is plentiful and we had more linens in the trunk, even a quilt or two. Soon I had her tucked up though she was still muttering about thunderclouds and forgiveness, but she’d stopped shaking and her face, though pale, wasn’t burning.

 

Tending animals who fall, or ail, is one thing, tending a grown woman who is fretful and havering endlessly about clouds and regret, for what I couldn’t tell, was beyond me.

 

The Kovalenkos live about five miles to the east so I saddled Wager and rode him hard until I reached them. Neither Vasyl or Olena speak much English and I do not speak their language at all, but I was able to convey my concern to them. He followed me home, and listened to Aileen prattle on and when he heard her mutter about the thunderclouds he turned abruptly.

 

“Help.” He pointed to the bed and left.

 

It was a long night. My mind raced with all that could have gone wrong while I rode to the Kovalenko’s homestead, all the things that could still go wrong. Had I done the right thing by leaving her, by bringing Vasyl? What more could I do? I stoked the fire and waited, and prayed as I hadn’t done since I was a boy.

 

Before sunrise I heard horses approaching.

 

Three men dismounted, Vasyl and two natives. One, a youth, took charge of the horses. The other an old man with white hair and a stern expression advanced to me.

 

“Your woman is haunted.”

 

“What?”

 

“She engaged a dead spirit.”

 

“What?” Father, I felt like a helpless, brainless child.


Inside he regarded Aileen, shook his head sadly and said, “Thunderchild is long spirit and filled with grief and anger.”

 

When the old man began to sing Vasyl took my arm and pulled me toward the door. I resisted, but not very hard. To be honest I didn’t want to stay. I was completely unnerved.

 

“He help her.” He stated calmly. “Smoke?”

 

And so we stood and smoked our pipes, waiting. From time to time we heard chanting and there was smoke and the smell of burning grass.

 

“Sage,” Vasyl said nodding wisely.

 

Father, I wanted to say something clever, but all that came out of me was, “ah.”

 

After about an hour they came out to us.

 

“Spirit gone. Woman fine.”

 

“Can I give you something for your trouble?” I asked.

 

The old man, whose name I leared was Standing Deer, studied me for a long moment. “Tobacco, three chickens.”

 

And so it was that because an old man cured Aileen of her encounter with a dead man I had to ride to the trading post again to buy more tobacco and a few more chickens and a lot of other stuff Aileen insisted we get for the man who healed her, the Kovalenkos, and most especialy for their children.

 

Father, I can hear you as clear as the dawn challenging everything I’ve written, and I cannot argue with you other than to say, I don’t know. I just don’t know.

 

Was there a spirit that troubled my Aileen? Or was it just the imagination of a frightened woman alone, fending for herself not knowing if her man would come back or not? I cannot say. All I know is that she is herself again and that is all that matters to me.

 

Aileen sends her love to you and mother and young Alistair and says to tell Mary to get her needles out, but as that’s all she’ll say, I’ve no idea what she means.

 

With love,

Hamish

 

 

(Luke 16:27-30 and Luke 10:7)

https://murielle.dreamwidth.org/78152.html

https://murielle.dreamwidth.org/78482.html
 

 

Comments

[chasing_silver]

An interesting tale. "Native" is definitely the least offensive way to refer to us, so thank you :)

[murielle]

Thank you. You are very kind.

I hope it wasn't offensive in any way to you. I had no trouble writing the first two but struggled with this one and I'm sure it shows. I don't want to put you on the spot but, if you're interested, I'm open to con-crit. If you're not, that's okay too. Or if you'd prefer to pm me, that would be great too.

Thanks again. <3

[erulissedances]

An interesting take on the prompt. "Native" isn't offensive, but it applies to more than a single people. Without knowing tribal affiliation, though, Native is perfectly acceptable.

- Erulisse (one L)

[murielle]

Thank you. I'm very grateful for the informative comment. 😊

[bleodswean]

This is FANTASTIC, M! I was hooked from the beginning, and you carried your tale well through the middle. The ending brought the high speed back down to a quieter pace and the piece felt very completel. Well done!

[murielle]

Thank you SO much, E!

I am not sure why I have felt compelled to resurrect all these old series lately. Maybe I just wasn't finished with them. Maybe I'm still not.

Your comments make me so happy. Thank you!

[muchtooarrogant]

This was a very engaging story, and you did a good job capturing the feeling of the time.

Dan

[murielle]

Thank you, Dan! Your comments mean a lot to me. 😊

[rayaso]

This was so entertaining! I love how you framed this as a letter - you made the format work. Great job.

[murielle]

Thank you so very much, G! (Grinning from ear to ear now.)

[mollywheezy]

This was wonderful! I could feel Hamish's terror at possibly losing his wife and his being torn between needing to leave to get help and not leaving her. Excellent work!

[murielle]

Thank you so, so much! I'm delighted all that came through. Thank you!

[inkstainedfingertips]

This is a fantastic story that contains plenty of mystery and leaves us guessing about some things. Really engaging and well done.

[murielle]

Thank you so much! I'm so happy you found so much in it. Thank you!

[halfshellvenus]

This is always an interesting series to me. You do such a good job with historical detail and atmosphere.

I can't help but think what a terrible thing it would be, in those times, to fall ill all by yourself be unable to do anything to make yourself better.

[murielle]

Thank you so much, K.

Yes, the thought of being alone and sick so very isolated is awful.

Thank you! ❤❤❤

[xeena]

I really love how you wrote this! Hamish's emotions were so strong and I was worried there with him. What a great story about how strong his love is and how terrible it is to be isolated.

[murielle]

Thank you so much xeena for your kind words and understanding. Hamish and Aileen are precious to me and it means a lot that you get him. Thank you. ❤

[alycewilson]

This really makes me want to find out what happens next!

[murielle]

Thank you so much, Alyce!

I'd love to know too. Maybe something will lead me on to their next adventure. Right now, all I know is what came before. ;-)

[aearwen2]

This was really good. It's hard to imagine being desperate for help and then having the help one needs come from a source completely outside one's culture or experience and having that help WORK. How does one reconcile that within one's own mind and heart? And yes, it would be interesting to know what happens next.

[murielle]

Thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed it. My heart breaks for Aileen all alone believing she would die, and for Hamish finding her that way.

For now, all I know is what came before but I too would love to know what happens next. Perhaps there will be a prompt that will lead me on to the next adventure.

Thank you so much for your lovely comment.