The Write Place

The branches of the budding tree caught the sunrise as it colored the sky in a marvelous display of reds and oranges.  The day was young and the sound of the birds in the trees filled the air as the world awoke.  The world was coming to life for a new day.  The sun rose over the hills that were covered in green trees, bathing them in its light.  One tree, standing on a small outcropping on the side of a hill over a small valley, was budding.  Its small green leaves were broken apart by the small pinkish flowers born on its branches.  The village was visible from the tree, fitting along and within the small valley. The village began to wake up with the activity of the world around it.  The villagers began to move about, readying for the day’s work ahead: the men to hunt or trade, the women to the work of the longhouses and their crops.

The form of one young villager could be seen hurrying out of her longhouse up the hill towards the tree on the outcropping.  Finding rest under the tree, she sat down, but not alone. Two forms were already awake with the day. The sunlight filtered through the trees, which cast the broken shade of the branches upon their forms. The young woman sat in native leather dress; her hair braided. Across from her a man was sitting on a stump. His white skin contrasted with the rich red she in her own.  Only a few smaller huts spread out in a loose pattern around the tree. Even in the midst of the life of the village, they were totally alone, shielded from the sun as much as from the ears of others.  He sat wearing his black boots, crafted out of European leather.  Upon his shoulders was a worn coat and on his head the hat of a well-traveled man.  They looked worlds apart in every way, but sat across from one another face to face, secluded from the life around them in a world of their own.

“You are up at a rather early hour,” he said with a smile through his blond beard.  Gentle delight rose in his chest upon seeing her set herself in his presence.

“If you were not up early, too, you would not be here to tell me so,” she replied with a slight slowness as she formed the words with a beginner’s care, and the nerves of one under watchful eyes.  He laughed with obvious pleasure in her wit, drawing out her budding smile all the more.  “I doubt you are up early because you are so eager to return my comments back upon me.  Or at least, not only for such.”

 She smiled “No, you know what I came here for.  You said you had a fine metal piece to trade Caleb.”  She held her hands folded in her lap in eager anticipation of the flow of conversation.

“I’ve been here long enough to know, it is a custom that the men do the trading. Do they not?” Caleb asked, an eyebrow raised awaiting her response.  He found himself enjoying the interplay they shared together.  Moreover, he found himself enjoying it.

“They don’t have to do it all.  Besides, this gives me a chance to practice my English.  Missionaries, traders come quite often.  There have been traders for many seasons.  I want to know what I can do about it for myself,” she said with a pleading honesty. 

“How did you get into trading?  Though your kind comes rather often, there are not many of you who have come to the village so often to talk to me.  Usually traders like you have quite a story.  I don’t hear them myself often:  I don’t know many traders who will speak with me.  They just trade or talk to the chiefs,” she said in resignation.   “Or for less kind thing,”  she said with a bit of sad frustration in her voice. She dropped her shoulders as her body became tense and rigid, the memories of past indiscretions running fresh in her mind.  She began to look away in discomfort before returning to meet Caleb’s gaze, nervous about where she had taken the conversation.

Caleb sighed.  A look of irritation crossed his face.  He felt his blood warm at the thought of what she spoke.  Caleb wondered as to what to say next.  The reputation was one he had not earned, but one he knew others had.

“Regrettably, not all traders are of good Christian virtue,” replied Caleb, feeling the remaining tension.   He released a heavy sigh. He took off his hat and fiddling with the rim deep in thought, he contemplated the answer to her question. The whole flow of his life passed through his mind as he looked into the distance.  As he crumpled and traced the rim of his hat with his gloved hands, taking great care he began to speak.  

“Well, I am one of ten sons.  Where I come from, inheritance goes to the firstborn son.  I am the very last. I’m the tenth of ten.  My family in England have been craftsmen for ages; blacksmiths working with iron and metals.  I learned the trade in my childhood.  With ten already doing the work, I have had no real opportunity to do so for myself.  If you do not inherit the business, you cannot practice in the town, with rare exceptions.  There are very few opportunities for me in the village of my birth.  If you don’t get the business in your village, other villages already have a blacksmith in a family long established in the craft.  Neither was I apprenticed in another guild so there was no room for me.  The options available to me were to join the military, the church as a clergyman, or go somewhere in the colonies;  make something of yourself at the risk of your life.  I knew business; I was raised in a God fearing home so  I chose to do the latter and to do it for trade and for God.  God is God everywhere and his truth is true everywhere.  I believe God has his purposes for me being here.  Englishmen like the idea of a vote; I took mine,”  he said.  Caleb saw her intent stare. Pleased, he gave her a quick, sincere smile.  He felt his shoulder’s sinking. He sighed and looked down to his feet, fiddling nervously with his hat.  Painful memories and loss filled his mind.  The world he knew was still there.  It was just a world away across a vast ocean without any opportunity for him.

“Admirable’’ I believe is the word.  That is quite admirable to follow your beliefs and take the chances that you have,” she responded, as much impressed by the story as with the man.

He shrugged in gentle agreement, then laughed. “I was also left with few options, but I do prefer your opinion.  I could read, I knew business, and had a heart for a world apart.  It made sense to me,” Caleb sat up as an interesting thought formed in his mind.  ”I’m sure your name has quite a sensible story to it.  Not so much to me, though Red Feather is an interesting name,”  he said.  His eyes widened with interest awaiting the story she had yet to tell.

“I caught a cardinal, I think you call them, when I was three.  Kept a feather, let it go.  The tribe was impressed by my ability to catch one, and my heart in letting it go.  They are not much for eating anyway,” she said, rocking back in her seat with a small chuckle.

“Definitely.  I do not know the area like you or the colonists on the coast, but small birds, that stays the same,” Caleb replied. Caleb felt a soft affection within himself. “I doubt we would have made the winter without you.  James fell ill with cholera.  Hard this far into the interior for newer traders.  I have seen but a few farms. Things are rough. We aren’t as settled.” 

“You were in need, you have been better partners to us than others, ” she said with sincerity in her voice. “I remember Webb was not particularly kind, and he gave us fire water to make us give him better trades.  I despise that rotten water.  And him for how he tried to use it to weaken our minds,”  Red feather finished.  Anger at the assault on those she loved welled up within her.  She was not alone in the sentiment.

“Webb  is a wicked scoundrel,” Caleb replied as he sat shaking his head.  “Not many people would give the amount of metals, axes and guns that we do but we have a good supply.  And you have a good supply of skins, which sell well for us.  Trade can benefit both parties. We can buy more goods while supporting ourselves. It works out well,” Caleb replied before tapping the bag at his feet. ”Got some traps, too, your relatives may want.  I’ll talk with your brother and father about them, they were quite interested.   I don’t think Webb will stick around here. Your village knows better than to get tangled in Webb’s business again,” Caleb added with a wry smile.

“What’s it like back in your home in England?” She asked.  Her interest piqued for this strange land far away.  The land that produced the wares and the man in front of her had captured her imagination,

Caleb sighed and lifted his head to the sky in thought. “The weather, not much different.  Save for that it rains at a relatively constant rate.  You can hear the church bells on Sunday for miles.  All the churches all across the city ring them.  Fills the air like music on the Lord’s day,” Caleb said,  his voice trailing off into distant memories, a touch of nostalgia in his voice and body.

Red Feather turned her head, lost deep in wonder.  The world he had come from was as alien to her as night was to day.  “I’ve never heard church bells.  I know the sound of my village, but church bells.  Strange to me,” she added.  Curiosity resonated in her words.

“I know of the wonder of which you speak.  It is really much the same in many ways though each place possesses a unique beauty of its own.  The church bells sound like a metal bowl, but more pleasing, calling people to worship together,” Caleb said looking off into the distance, a touch of fondness and sadness at the thought of a home a world away.

Caleb reached into his jacket and pulled out a small crucifix that fit in his hand, and a knife of equal size. “Here’s the small cross, and the small knife that both caught your interest.”  

Red Feather took them both from his outstretched hand. “Thank you, this may come in handy in work.  This Jesus you spoke of,” she said examining the small crucifix in her other hand.  “An invisible God made a man?  You said the other day he was the only true God, that we need him,” Red Feather asked as she wondered to herself.

“Just as there can be only one sovereign in the end, there can only be one God,” Caleb said. ”That is just as true for Englishmen as it is for all peoples,” Caleb said, brushing back his blond hair, eager at the turn in conversation, yet just as nervous.  The pressing weight of the matter could not escape him.  He cared for these people, and their souls eternal.

“John called my people savage.  I heard him say it when you were leaving yesterday.  That is not a kind word is it?”  Red Feather asked. Irritation saturated her voice.  She shifted, her body language betraying her emotions; wearing them in her body as much as her voice.  Caleb let out a great sigh and took his hat off, setting it on one knee.  Caleb rubbed his forehead before reaching into his leather bag which sat to his right and pulled out his Bible. “No, it is not.  Jesus would agree with me, considering what John meant  by his words.  Far too many would say it, but it is not how Christ would speak.”

“You would not have survived without us, and he spoke only cruel things about us,” she said. Her voice betrayed her hope in him.  As she leaned forward towards Caleb, Red Feather folded her arms over her legs awaiting, the tension palpable as she anticipated  his response.

“Have the missionaries left you with a Bible?” asked Caleb.  

“Yes, though I don’t know how to read it yet,” Red Feather answered, though her interest lay in more than learning to read.  A fact not lost on either.

“I can teach you.  The book of Romans may be of great help with this question,” Caleb said. “Nobody is righteous or can make themselves righteous.  Rather, God came to do what we could not. The heart of every man is savage from birth.  John forgot that,” Caleb said in a tired voice.

Opening his Bible Caleb continued.  “He forgot the savagery of his own heart before Christ called him. Acts 17:26 also speaks of how God made all men ”of one blood.”  There is evil here the same as in England because people are here.  Wherever people go, sin seems to follow.  You know the wars and horrors committed amongst the people in this land, even by your own people.  Your people reside in spiritual darkness.  So did my own with the gods we used to worship.  John has forgotten how salvation is to all men by God’s grace.  I did not come here just to make a living but so that you could know the grace of God, which we received and have it for yourselves,” Caleb said. He let out a sigh as he shook his head.  “John’s a friend but he has come only for money.  Englishmen were no different, and you are no less human,” Caleb concluded. 

Setting the book on one knee Caleb looked at Red Feather.  Their eyes met.  In a tense and tender moment, Red Feather sat back further on the log.  Red feather looked deep in thought unsure of what to make of  Caleb’s words. 

 “The shaman tried to curse you during the winter.  Said we who helped were wrong to do so.  That we would share in the curse.  He foretold you would not make it through the winter and neither would those who aided you.  But it was he who didn’t make it,” Red Feather explained, with a look of wonder appearing on her face.  Caleb raised an eyebrow at this news, then let out a small curious grunt.  

“Hmm, I did not expect that much.  I did not expect to be well received  by him either.  But for his curse to turn back upon him?” Caleb said in amazement.  “You believe in a great many spirits?  Over the things of the earth, animals?”  Caleb asked with his blue eyes meeting the fixed gaze of the shimmering brown in her eyes.

“We do,” She replied. “They inspire great fear.  We work to please them but it is not always enough.  Sounds like it was never enough for your people either.   Before this God you speak of.”
“It was not, not on our own no.  Neither did any of humanity even truly try.  We were all rebellious in our heart against our God.  Still are a great many times,”  he responded.  “Until he did what we needed for us. We used to believe in angry gods who were like us, with bodies, angry, fickle.  You believe in a great Spirit though too, who made all things?”  Red Feather nodded in reply to Caleb’s question.  “I believe we come to speak his truth to you.  Those spirits exist, but they are disarmed and he has defeated them,” Caleb turned in his Bible to the book of Hebrews  “Hebrews 2:8 says, “Thou hast put all things in subjection under his feet. For in that he put all in subjection under him, he left nothing that is not put under him.  But now we see not yet all things put under him,” Caleb closed his Bible.  “Make of it what you will, but I will tell you this truth.  It is not about what we do or have done, but what’s been done for us.  Neither need I fear anything in this world or the one to come.  Christ reigns, and he is putting every vile spirit to shame.”  

“Strange, your god has no body or form?”she asked.  Her interest piqued at the strange and foreign idea of a God.

“He’s invisible, like the wind, or the air.  Still there, but not a body.  In his Godhood, he is Spirit, but he became a man also and is to this day ascended to the heavens,” Caleb answered.  The gentle tone of his voice had been chosen for a purpose.  It was important to him that the truth be spoken, but not without love. “And he is not the world as you told me ,” Caleb added, standing.  Grabbing a fallen branch from the tree, Caleb began tracing in the worn ground under their feet.  First he drew a circle.  Turning to face her, stick still to the ground he said  “you have told me this is the way things are.  All is one, God is all and in all?”

Red Feather nodded. “Well that was what the Shaman used to say. He does not say anything anymore,” she stated with a touch of irony.

Caleb smiled amused.  “Used to, that is for sure” he replied with a chuckle.  “ Now he’s answering for it.  Well,” he added, tracing a second circle, “This is how things are. God,” he pointed to the new circle “and the world. The creator and the creation,” he said pointing back to the first circle he had drawn.
“Pardon me, but how strange,” replied Red Feather, contemplating an even more foreign idea than Caleb.   Caleb laughed, picking up his Bible before putting it back in the sack.
“No, that sounds quite right,”  Caleb said.  He grabbed his large leather bag and began to stand.  “It’s getting a bit on in the morning, I need to go meet your uncle and brother to trade.”
“And I need to prepare for the day so I can work on the leather with my mother,” replied Red Feather, rising from her seat as well.  The shade shifted to reflect the pattern of leaves on both of them as they arose.  Red Feather hesitated.  “You asked for nothing of me for these.”  She said with all the courage she could gather. She held out the two trinkets he had given her.

“Keep them.  They are my gift to you.  I will see you another time Red Feather,” he struggled to hold back a smile as he turned to go down the hill.  ”You ever want to learn to read it, I’ll make you the offer to.”

“Make sure my uncle does not fool you too badly,” yelled Red Feather.  As  she turned, she laughed and walked down the hill towards the longhouse on the other side of the village.  As they parted from their spot under the tree the sun passed the crest of the hills, lighting the valley for the day that lay ahead.