A Rose for Rebeka

By Bob Wright

As I sit here, looking at the statue I had placed over the grave of Rebeka, it takes me back to the days of turmoil in my life. It was late in the eighteen-hundreds, and life has changed so much that I’m not the same person that I was back then—very happily married with two kids, a boy and a girl, whom I love deep in my heart, and my spirit rides with them no matter where they go.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546267416

Bob Wright

I was born in Spokane Washington in 1949 and soon after my Father took job on the coast in the little town of Houghton Washington. This is where my memories begin. I remember all the men there telling their stories of action in W.W. 2 and Korea. Times were just starting to change in the world. I am now in my 70's myself and it makes me laugh to think about it. But I still recall the stories and the way of life was much simpler then, as it was before cell phones and computers, and if you didn't have a church key you couldn't drink a beer or a pop.

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© 2018 Bob Wright. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   11/05/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-6742-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-6741-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018913328

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Introduction

I was born in Spokane, Washington, where I currently live. My career was in running heavy equipment, and eventually I ran the jobs as a supervisor. I always had my hands full with working and living. From the states of Idaho, Washington, Montana, and Oregon, I watched it change from using the horses to rake up the hay, to using a tractor that is GPS guided to cut, bale, and stack it. As I stood there with my horse Penny watching this, she turned her head to me. I heard her say "better them than me.

After having heart attacks and strokes, I decided it was time to slow down.

I had one thing left to do with my life and this involved Annie. She’s the one woman that I will never leave behind me because she is my grandmother. Every time I slip and fall, I feel her arms there to catch me. She was a spiritual woman with a talent for healing that she used on me when I was nine years old. She saved my life with her medicine, but that’s a story in itself. As I listen to her stories of moving west and befriending the Nez Perce nation, I still see her sparkling eyes and her soft smile that made me love her forever.

So she is my co-author in this book that I write, for she gave me the concept of two souls that can produce Prejudice and hate or Love. I hope you enjoy this.

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Chapter 1

A s I sit here looking at the statue I had placed over the grave of Rebeka, it takes me back to the days of turmoil in my life. It was late in the eighteen hundreds and life has changed so much that I’m not the same person that I was back then, very happily married with two kids, a boy and a girl, whom I love deep in my heart, and my spirit rides with them no matter where they go.

My children: I have watched them grow and watched them when their faces were as happy as I am now, and they fill my heart with love and joy each day that I breath. But I have seen them in times of sadness, too. That didn’t happen often, but I do remember when it did.

My husband, Billy: He still makes my heart swirl with Love and Happiness. Whenever he picks up his guitar and starts to sing, I feel the joy of life as the words leave his lips. I remember a few times that I was angry with him, but my love for him has always brought me back to earth.

My friends: There are not many of them in my life, but for one that was a friend, that made us sisters. Rebeka. She was a sister to me in a way that bonds our life together like the tar springs in Yellowstone. I watched her struggle with life, and her struggle was like no others’. She fought for every inch she could grasp. As I look at the statue over her grave, I remember it well.

I was about ten years old and my father was traveling with his tribe hunting moose. We were from the Fraser River area of Canada. The moose had been chased to the southeast and, as we followed them, they led us far to the south. The tribe had gone back to the north, and my father was following the blood trail of a moose that he had struck with an arrow. He told my mother to return to the tribe and he would continue to follow the moose, but my mother refused, saying that the flu had decimated so many of the tribe that if he finds the animal, he would need our help to butcher it and bring the meat back. Father then scolded my mother, but she was standing firm, and, on the back of our horses, we moved on with my father.

We finally caught up to the animal but we didn’t know we were into the NezPierce hunting grounds, which was across the border of the States, and my father was still trying to make my mother return with me to Canada.

We eventually came to the moose, which lie dead, and my father again tried to get my mother to return to the tribe, but she was just smiling at him, and with a laugh, said she will help him pack the meat on our horses and take it back to our camp.

As he was butchering the moose, an arrow stuck deep into his back, and he fell to the ground. A warrior then jumped on him and he fought with him and stabbed him with his knife. Then, with a strange sound from his mouth, he looked into my eyes and crumbled into a ball and he was gone.

My mother was screaming. She ran to my father and scooped him into her arms. As I watched this happen a warrior on a strong horse came racing towards my mother and, with the swing of an axe, he took her life, too. He then rode away screaming and shaking the axe in the air.

I stopped crying and looked at their bodies lying there. I stood with my arms folded around each other, and I was ready to die with them. Then I saw the warrior turn his horse, and he was headed straight towards me now with an axe in his hand and still screaming. I closed my eyes and waited for death to take me along with my parents.

I heard the horse coming thinking that this is where it ends, and I just stood there. With my eyes shut so tight that it hurt, I heard the screaming stop. I heard the other horse trot in along side of me and I still stood there ready.

I heard a voice talking to the warrior as I opened my eyes, with his horse so close to me I could smell the sweat of the animal. I looked around and saw the tribe of Nez Perce warriors, which surrounded me in a tight circle. They were all screaming and screeching and shaking their spears, axes, and weapons into the air. With a shouting of warriors, they rode their horses in a circle around me, and the one that stopped them from killing me yelled out in a voice of thunder. They now became quiet.

The man who saved me sat on the horse next to me and was now looking into my eyes. He shouted something to his warriors, and they backed off from him and started to quiet down. He then reached for me to take his hand and ride with him, and I just stood there with my arms still folded and turned my back to him. He reached for me and grabbed a handful of my hair. Pulling me to his horse, he lifted me to the front of him and rode to his tribe. I could hear the screaming start again and struggled against him to turn and look. Two of the warriors were scalping my mother and father, and I fell silently to sleep after seeing this.

When I woke again from my sleep, we were in front of the blood of my parents, who were heaped together with the blood running down their faces. Near them lay a dead warrior who my father had managed to kill with his knife. With my head full of this image, I looked at the woman bent