Greatest Change

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: Everybody Hurts

"Love is when the other person's happiness is more important than your own."

~ H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

            The weeks flew by like the leaves fell from the trees as autumn had arrived. Clara had yet mastered the language but it had gotten much easier. She was very good at interpreting it, however speaking it was another struggle in itself. The language was deeper than the casual English, it was sharp and yet soft at the same time. Of course Clara could get the rather words or phrases down, but speaking full sentences seemed to just be jumbled with a stuttered mess. Chayton only seemed to laugh though, knowing she would eventually get the hang of it. Chayton was being extremely patient with her, and despite her first judgement of him being a very ignorant mentor, she had learned to see that he was very kind to her. Whenever she had seemed to beat herself up over a silly mistake or a word said wrong, he was quick to console her and tell her it was alright.

            Tree climbing seemed to have been mastered, but there would always be an occasional stumble. Weapons however were something Clara had not even touched yet, and she knew why. The Chief had figured out their little plan and saw that his own was even a failure. Despite his growing anger for Clara being here, there was also a growing love given to her from other members of the tribe. Wachiwi and Wichahpi were often around her when she had arrived back into the tribe homeland, and many other young woman had grown fond of her. The Chief knew that if he was to ever dispose of her, it would have to be secretly and make it look like it was an accident. Chaska refused to do so, and the Chief definitely would not ask Chayton to do it, knowing he was staring at the white woman like she were a goddess.

            But thankfully Clara was at ease for the week because the Chief took a small part to the east, meeting with the Dakota's over there. Things seemed to be at a pleasant standstill for now. The day was long, Chayton was showing Clara the ways to memorize a sense of directions simply from surroundings. Once they arrived back, they had both spent some time together just by the fire, hearing the beating of the drums and watching as the females danced. Clara had always wanted to, but feared she didn't know the exact pattern of how some of the dances worked. So she spent her time casually studying them, hoping one night she would get the courage to get up and enjoy herself.

            But for now she was sitting against Chayton's knee, seeing as the log he was sitting on was crowded full of sweaty native men. She did not mind it however, knowing that she would probably leave after the story was being told. Each night, the men would tell a story, some humorous, some full of adventure, and some seldom full of sorrow. There was nothing wrong with that however. With sorrow came hope, and each story always had a lesson towards it. The one tonight seemed to be a little strange. From what Clara could translate from the beginning, it was about two ghost lovers.

            It started with the story of a young man, a man whom the ladies seemed to be madly in love with and adore. While the young man was a very good warrior, he was not a very good man. He managed to have young girls escape their parent's tipis and join his own, or even have a wife escape her husband's tipi for just one night. The young man never saw any harm in it, but soon some of the tribesman found out and despised him. One day the man went out for a hunt and had never returned. The parents worried, wondering where he was or what might have happened, so they hurried to a holy man to ask what had happened. He had been murdered, but by whom was the mystery. There was speculation it was one of the members of the tribe who had found out, or perhaps an enemy tribe taking advantage of the young man.

            The parents mourned during the funeral, while some of the others were grateful such a man was away from the tribe. However, at night there would be a ghostly voice that was whistled along with the wind. Women would hear it, sometimes even in the day. When they heard the voice, they would also see a spirit in front of them of the young man who often slept with women. The voice spoke this every time: