SHORT STORY MONDAYTom Olney imagined that coming to the new world would enable he and his wife Molly to begin a new life for themselves. For a long time it seemed God's hand of blessing was with them. Eventually, during a time of hardship, Olney felt a weight of guilt from his past and was driven to move further into the wilderness where they established an isolated homestead.
Unremembered History of the World, continued
The turning point of this story is an incident which took place during an uprising in the autumn of 17xx.
The Olneys lived an isolated life under primitive conditions in a remote region of the Blue Mountains. They had not received news of the uprising, had no expectation of the event which changed not only the course of their own lives, but the courses of history as well.
Early that morning son Charles had gone off hunting for game as was his custom. Game was plentiful in those days and he needn't go far, but he was far enough off not to hear it when the Indian raid came. Charles was hunting toward the east and the small band of five Shawnee had stolen in from the west.
Old Tom (he appeared much older than he actually was) was seated on a wooden slat, lacing his boots, while Elizabeth washed carrots in a basin that passed for a sink. Suddenly two Indians burst into the cabin. Elizabeth screamed. Tom reached toward the place where he kept his rifle, but the gun had been left in the corner across the room and the first Indian went directly to it when he saw Tom's eyes snapping toward it.
Two more Indians cautiously entered the back entrance and the Olney's immediately became submissive. The Indians bound their wrists and ushered them off into the woods, heading west from where they had come.
When Charles returned to the cabin he swiftly discerned what had taken place. Before heading out to find his family, he studied the forest from inside the cabin. Figuring that he had been hunting to the east and not seen or heard anything, he decided to search the several paths headed west. But which direction had they gone? As he left the cabin he noticed on the ground a scar in the dirt that pointed northwest. It was a marker from his father, for Tom Olney, when he saw which direction the party was headed, pretended to stumble and as he attempted to rise he scratched the earth with the toe of his boot.
Charles crept cautiously through the old growth forest, wondering how long it would take and how much time lay between them. The Indians, however, were in a hurry to return to their tribe. The leader of the party had taken Tom's rifle and, from the way he handled it, appeared to know how to use it. The others, armed with tomahawks, arrows and bows, also shared the responsibility of carrying a bag of carrots and some clothing which they had taken from the Olney homestead.
After two hours of hard walking Elizabeth fell exhausted and the Indians allowed them all to rest. One of the natives departed to see if they were alone in the woods or were being tracked. He returned to the group and said something which neither Tom nor Elizabeth could understand.
Charles found the trail easily. His father and sister had been discreetly breaking tips of branches to mark the way so that Charles could rescue them. Nevertheless, the tracking was tedious and several times the young man had lost his way and had to return to where he was confident and try another route.
The rest period was brief and the party moved on, only more slowly now. They seemed in a better mood, talking and laughing for the first time that day.
As evening approached one of the natives shouted something and they all became very still. Tom could see that they were all quite young, the one no more than a boy, and he thought of his own son, wondering if he would ever see him again. At no time did the Indians speak to them in a language they could understand and Tom regretted that he had not learned the native tongues his son Charles had mastered. His inability to figure out their intentions created an increasing anxiety that shackled his thoughts.
The Indian with the rifle had a twisted mouth which gave him a grim appearance. He stood watching while the others gathered branches and brush to build a small campfire. Olney had been shoved to the ground near a tree and his ankles were tight bound with twine. He swiveled himself around in an attempt to get comfortably situated, but finally lay on his side facing what would soon become a campfire.
Olney's thoughts were torn. Part of him wished for his son to arrive and rescue them. The other part of him felt absolute horror at the thought of losing both of his children in one day. He recalled a fragment of Scripture about the futility of life, that whether we have been good or evil, the same destiny awaits us all.
The whole thing happened so quickly it was incomprehensible. For Olney, it was as if he were watching a drama, the players at this point being the five Indians and his daughter. His daughter was standing to the left of his field of vision and the leader with the rifle no more than fifteen feet away directly before him, three other Indians in the background. The fifth Indian had come up behind the daughter and put his hand on her shoulder.
Instantly, he heard a loud shout behind him and knew it was Charles.
"Nooooooooooooo!"
The Indian with the twisted mouth swung the rifle up to his shoulder and took aim. Olney went totally berserk, his eyes nearly busting out of his head. In the deepest part of his heart, with his soul and with his whole being he wished the Indian to disappear, to no longer be there....no, there was a strange prayer forming, and he uttered it like a command: "Become a tree."
The rifle fell. When the butt hit the ground it fired up into the treetops. After the sound died away all was still. Everything seemed to stop and all of them, the four Indians and the three Olneys, remained entranced by what they had witnessed. Where the Indian with the rifle had been standing there now stood a small oak.
It seemed hours but was perhaps only a minute as the four stunned Indians scattered into the woods. Olney himself was shaking his head back and forth, knowing that somehow in some way a deep magic had worked in him to create this wonder. A hushed silence pervaded the forest floor, then gradually there were the bird songs and a chippering of ground squirrels.
Charles cut his father free from the bindings and the three of them walked near to the oak. "How did you do this?" Elizabeth asked.
"Why do you say I did this? God must have done this." But Olney knew that in some strange way that somehow he had done this.
For a long time they held each other and cried, old Tom Olney crying more deeply than he imagined possible.
"It's all right, Father," Charles said.
Olney took out a knife and gouged an X on the side of the tree. It seemed to him that one day he would perhaps need to find this place again and remember it. Turning to his children, "God has spared us for a purpose. Touch this tree here, and remember this day. God has spared you for a purpose."
After passing the night in the woods the Olneys returned home to their cabin.
"I want to go to Philadelphia," Charles said the next day and his father agreed that this would be good.
TO BE CONTINUED
The Olneys lived an isolated life under primitive conditions in a remote region of the Blue Mountains. They had not received news of the uprising, had no expectation of the event which changed not only the course of their own lives, but the courses of history as well.
Early that morning son Charles had gone off hunting for game as was his custom. Game was plentiful in those days and he needn't go far, but he was far enough off not to hear it when the Indian raid came. Charles was hunting toward the east and the small band of five Shawnee had stolen in from the west.
Old Tom (he appeared much older than he actually was) was seated on a wooden slat, lacing his boots, while Elizabeth washed carrots in a basin that passed for a sink. Suddenly two Indians burst into the cabin. Elizabeth screamed. Tom reached toward the place where he kept his rifle, but the gun had been left in the corner across the room and the first Indian went directly to it when he saw Tom's eyes snapping toward it.
Two more Indians cautiously entered the back entrance and the Olney's immediately became submissive. The Indians bound their wrists and ushered them off into the woods, heading west from where they had come.
When Charles returned to the cabin he swiftly discerned what had taken place. Before heading out to find his family, he studied the forest from inside the cabin. Figuring that he had been hunting to the east and not seen or heard anything, he decided to search the several paths headed west. But which direction had they gone? As he left the cabin he noticed on the ground a scar in the dirt that pointed northwest. It was a marker from his father, for Tom Olney, when he saw which direction the party was headed, pretended to stumble and as he attempted to rise he scratched the earth with the toe of his boot.Charles crept cautiously through the old growth forest, wondering how long it would take and how much time lay between them. The Indians, however, were in a hurry to return to their tribe. The leader of the party had taken Tom's rifle and, from the way he handled it, appeared to know how to use it. The others, armed with tomahawks, arrows and bows, also shared the responsibility of carrying a bag of carrots and some clothing which they had taken from the Olney homestead.
After two hours of hard walking Elizabeth fell exhausted and the Indians allowed them all to rest. One of the natives departed to see if they were alone in the woods or were being tracked. He returned to the group and said something which neither Tom nor Elizabeth could understand.
Charles found the trail easily. His father and sister had been discreetly breaking tips of branches to mark the way so that Charles could rescue them. Nevertheless, the tracking was tedious and several times the young man had lost his way and had to return to where he was confident and try another route.
The rest period was brief and the party moved on, only more slowly now. They seemed in a better mood, talking and laughing for the first time that day.
As evening approached one of the natives shouted something and they all became very still. Tom could see that they were all quite young, the one no more than a boy, and he thought of his own son, wondering if he would ever see him again. At no time did the Indians speak to them in a language they could understand and Tom regretted that he had not learned the native tongues his son Charles had mastered. His inability to figure out their intentions created an increasing anxiety that shackled his thoughts.
The Indian with the rifle had a twisted mouth which gave him a grim appearance. He stood watching while the others gathered branches and brush to build a small campfire. Olney had been shoved to the ground near a tree and his ankles were tight bound with twine. He swiveled himself around in an attempt to get comfortably situated, but finally lay on his side facing what would soon become a campfire.
Olney's thoughts were torn. Part of him wished for his son to arrive and rescue them. The other part of him felt absolute horror at the thought of losing both of his children in one day. He recalled a fragment of Scripture about the futility of life, that whether we have been good or evil, the same destiny awaits us all.
The whole thing happened so quickly it was incomprehensible. For Olney, it was as if he were watching a drama, the players at this point being the five Indians and his daughter. His daughter was standing to the left of his field of vision and the leader with the rifle no more than fifteen feet away directly before him, three other Indians in the background. The fifth Indian had come up behind the daughter and put his hand on her shoulder.
Instantly, he heard a loud shout behind him and knew it was Charles.
"Nooooooooooooo!"
The Indian with the twisted mouth swung the rifle up to his shoulder and took aim. Olney went totally berserk, his eyes nearly busting out of his head. In the deepest part of his heart, with his soul and with his whole being he wished the Indian to disappear, to no longer be there....no, there was a strange prayer forming, and he uttered it like a command: "Become a tree."The rifle fell. When the butt hit the ground it fired up into the treetops. After the sound died away all was still. Everything seemed to stop and all of them, the four Indians and the three Olneys, remained entranced by what they had witnessed. Where the Indian with the rifle had been standing there now stood a small oak.
It seemed hours but was perhaps only a minute as the four stunned Indians scattered into the woods. Olney himself was shaking his head back and forth, knowing that somehow in some way a deep magic had worked in him to create this wonder. A hushed silence pervaded the forest floor, then gradually there were the bird songs and a chippering of ground squirrels.
Charles cut his father free from the bindings and the three of them walked near to the oak. "How did you do this?" Elizabeth asked.
"Why do you say I did this? God must have done this." But Olney knew that in some strange way that somehow he had done this.
For a long time they held each other and cried, old Tom Olney crying more deeply than he imagined possible.
"It's all right, Father," Charles said.
Olney took out a knife and gouged an X on the side of the tree. It seemed to him that one day he would perhaps need to find this place again and remember it. Turning to his children, "God has spared us for a purpose. Touch this tree here, and remember this day. God has spared you for a purpose."
After passing the night in the woods the Olneys returned home to their cabin.
"I want to go to Philadelphia," Charles said the next day and his father agreed that this would be good.
TO BE CONTINUED
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