Thirteen Fingers Promise 2 Five Hands

By Red Hawk

Holocaust—whole burned, great destruction of life; America's past before this word was told. Forgiveness—to forget or to let pass; to move on, to learn. This is what I am trying to tell. Turtle I made a garden in the shape of a turtle. I go there to pray for you and for me. I pray for things I would like to see. I pray in the circle standing tall in headdress and beads. To show the young ones to take up the lead. Knowing the honor left by our past, Now as five nations they can make a new path. I pray in my circle full of flowers you see. I pray in the circle for both you and me Red Hawk Muscogee Warrior Eat honey, my sons and daughters for it is good; honey from the comb is sweet to your taste. Know also that wisdom is sweet to your soul; if you find it, there is a future hope for you, and your hope will not be cut off. Proverbs 24–13;14

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781645844167

Book preview

Marked Trail

How to tell this tale though I alone saw what only a few old-timers have seen here in this valley? Here where over a hundred years and more ago, thousands of people left their mark.

I am the great-grandson of the family that lived in this valley twenty and more years ago. I came to this valley for the first time to settle the estate of my grandparents. My family is from up north; I don’t know why my grandparents came to this valley so many years ago. My father tells nothing but scary stories about the old place. The land that my grandparents had bought years ago lay right on the edge of a place called the Trail of Tears. From what my father told the family, Grandpa and Grandma took something from the trail, and it brought something back to life. As I drew ever so closer to my grandparents’ place, I wanted to get my business over quick and get back home. Till this very moment, I realized how important it is to respect the past.

In the winter of 2017, I reached my great-grandparents’ homeplace. At first look, the old house place was over half burned down; the house was set about five to six hundred feet from a highway that ran beside my grandparents’ place. There was a large cattle gate, with even a larger lock on the gate. With no keys and no bolt cutters, I decided to camp in my truck. Both my grandparents passed away on this property.

It was the time of day that a haze covered the valley just before dark. As I look to the open field across from me, I saw what looked like two men in hats herding some cows across the field.

As I looked away to the sound of an old truck pulling up in front of my grandparents’ driveway, I put my attention back to the two men in the field, and they had vanished. Already knowing what I know about this place, that was the first of many things I would recall from this trip. Turning my attention back to the truck, I was partially blinded by the glare from its headlights on my face. There was a lag in time when the door swung open, out pop an old man. A tiny voice rang out as to my business there; he began to tell me that the owners were up north and no longer live here. Before he talked any more, I told him who I was and what I was trying to do. Calming down a tone, the man looked at me hard, and as the truck lights shone in my face, he boasted he could see that I resembled my grandparents.

I told him that I was going to camp here in my truck, mainly because I couldn’t get the gate open. Both of us were standing there; he told me that he knew my grandparents quite well and liked them both. He said that his home was just across the river and that he possessed a set of bolt cutters. So what started as a four-mile turnaround to get the bolt cutters kept me gone until night had fallen. Darkness come early here, here in the valley.

Following me back, the old man passed me and did a turnaround, stopping right beside my truck. Having the bolt cutters, I began to cut the lock when the old man walk up behind which scared the crap out of me. I removed the lock, removed the oversized chain that was wrap around it, and turned back to the old man; and like that, he was gone, just his taillights in the distant. He forgot his bolt cutters. Well, I knew I see him again.

Well, the lock was gone, the chain was gone, but the gate would not budge. It was completely dark now, and I had no flashlight. Using my phone, I looked for any other things that could be holding it back. Batteries low, I decided to wait till morning; it was getting cold, and I was very tried. Climbing into my sleeping bag, I didn’t even call my folks back home that I had made it here. Within minutes, I had fallen asleep, dreaming of the things that stirred my youth and had brought me on this mission.

Without noticing, something slammed into the truck, enough that it was like the truck was trying to be pushed out of the way, a force like the wind; looking outside, it was the wind and a dream one of many of this place.

Waking early to a very cold environment, I fired my truck up, wish for a cup of coffee, got plenty of heat on myself. I got out of the truck and checked out the gate. Looking from top to bottom, I saw nothing holding it back, and just like that, the gate swung open.

Looking at the gate, it had nothing holding it; it was at an even till, yet it seemed to open by itself. My head was full of the three-and-a-half-hour worth of intel the old man went on of his experiences with my grandparents.

Just wanting to get settled in and get my mission completed, I pulled my truck up next to my grandparents’ place. It wasn’t much of a house now, it was half burned down, only one back bedroom was left of the place. Breaking out the camping gear, I started setting up for no telling how long to get the job done. With no interferences, I started cleaning the shell of the room from debris.

As the days were shorter this time of year, not one car came by that day, and I thought of how lonely this place is. Like yesterday evening, a fog began to roll in the valley. Looking in the surrounding landscape, in the distance, it looked like campfires all lined up as in a roll; moving for a better view, they were gone. With my first attempt for comfort in the burnout place, I listened. The first night I got here, I started hearing bells, not like church bells but like wind chimes. Hearing them, I thought maybe there was an old wind chime hanging on the old house place, but in searching, one was never found. When the morning sun shone in to my little hole in the wall, I was very glad for already the nights seemed so long here.

Using a makeshift stove, I heated myself