My Attempt at NaNoWriMo

http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/441070  (If anyone would like to join me as a buddy)

Sally, A Historical Fiction

Sally had heard the stories all her life.  The grown-ups talked about the silver and gold and dreamed of finding it.  They had all gathered around the campfire, both children and adults to hear the tail of the Indian princess, the oldest story in circulation. This story had fascinated her from the time she had first heard it and continued to do so with each telling.  The little boys loved hearing about the Indian warriors, and would fashion make shift spears and bows and arrows.  They found plenty of arrowheads under the cliffs.  The whole area was covered with cliffs and caves.  They lived not to far from where the actual events took place, if they did indeed take place at all.   Somehow, Sally knew that they really did happen. 

On special occasions work was stopped and neighboring groups of family and friends would take day and sometimes over night excursions to the cave area.  This was one of those times. The legend was told and retold by the Cherokees and eventually reached the ear of the white men. Years later the white men began to explore various caves in the area. In a particular cave, which would later become known as the saltpeter cave for its use in making ammunition two versions of the legend continues. One is that bones of a woman, thought to be those of the Indian princess, were found. Another story says that only an open grave was found.  Sally, along with the other children and adults were now taking their places hovered around a large fire below the entrance of this cave.  Sally believed the story because her heart related to the romantic aspect and wanted so to believe that it was true.  Others believed it based on logic.  For years later a resident of Smokey Valley, one of the first settlers here, while out hunting, passed under a rock cliff, and noticed something shiny. His curiosity drew him toward the object. He reached down to dig out an almost buried silver artifact. Using his coat to clean off the grime he found a beautifully made Indian tomahawk made of silver mounted to an equally stunning peace pipe. The story was no longer just for lovers. The find of the hunter, who was one of the founder's of the community that was to grow here, spread far beyond the boundaries of this region. The hunt for the lost silver mine was on.

Now, they were united with a single mind around the campfire to hear the stories again. The story seemed to grow and become embellished over the years.  Sometimes a whole new story sprung up; but the original one was about the princess and her lover. When the children played they would often re-enact this story. Sally never got to be the princess.  That was always reserved for one of the white girls.

Sally sat with the other children on a log.  She was in her eleventh summer.  The war was over.  A certain ease was replacing the tenseness that had existed before.  Sally’s face blended into the darkness behind her.  Her eyes gleamed brightly as she looked across the fire to the man telling the story.  He started with how the tale had been handed down by the Cherokee.  The Shawnee had been in this area as well.  Sally knew the Cherokee as the mean Indians and the Shawnee as the friendly ones.  She wondered why some people were labeled as mean and others not.  The story was about the Cherokee and they had families and fell in love the same as those considered good.  She wondered if the man had really heard this from a Cherokee Indian himself.  Sally would never be so bold as to ask.  Sally’s skin may have made her stand out from the others; but her nature was quite different.  She was as shy and demure as any creature that had ever walked the earth.  As the storyteller began to speak no one else dared speak, not even the most ceaseless chatterers of the adults.  Even Nell and Ib, responsible for the last chores before the story telling, had taken their place on a grassy area behind Sally and the other children.  Sally knew that her own white family, the Erwin’s, had had dealings with the Cherokee during their trip from Virginia to Kentucky.  Maybe that’s why they said the Cherokee were mean.  Virginia was often talked about.  This Virginia seemed to have been the origin of everyone that Sally knew.  This was before she was born.  But she knew that the Indians had been in Kentucky before the white man or slaves had come.  They hunted here.  Sally found their arrowheads everywhere.  She had never actually seen an Indian.  The white man seemed to have shoved the Indians out.  Where were they now?

The man started that the story was one of unfulfilled love, much like that of Romeo and Juliet.  Sally did not know who Romeo and Juliet where; but She loved the sound of their names and pictured in her mind who they might have been.  At age eleven all kinds of romantic notions were entering her head.   While the other girls were encouraged in this way of thinking, Sally was advised against it.  One of the girls once said something mean to Sally - that she could never marry, because she was the last of her kind around here.  Sally had held back the tears long enough until she could be alone to cry.  Sally learned to keep her feelings to herself.

This love story held an interest to more than just those romantic souls.  Most of the women were listening for one reason and the men for a different one.  It held a special interest to the treasure hunters.  The intrigue of a lost silver mine had over the years   brought many wanderers into the area.   Some after many years of searching for the mine ended up staying here, becoming more of a farmer and family man and less of a dreamer with each year that passed by. 

The narrative centered on an Indian princess, named Manuita, and a brave Cherokee warrior named Huraken. Manuita was the daughter of the chief or the sachem. Huraken was a young, fierce warrior, donning feathers and war paint as he participated in raids against enemy tribes and the white settlers, who he was said to have much hated. Manuita was the only one who was able to break through his barrier of savageness. He fell in love with her; and she also fell in love with him.

Huraken would let his guard down with Manuita, showing a tender side; but to both his peers and enemies he portrayed a hostile belligerence. His independent nature also set him apart from his fellow warriors, Manuita's father, the chief, also looked upon Huraken with suspicion, as might be the case with any prospective father-in-law. Huraken's ambition was high. He must have the approval of the father as well as the daughter. He wanted to stand above the rest and be worthy of Manuita's hand.


One day Huraken went out on an exploit against an enemy tribe with a number of fellow braves. The braves returned victorious, all but one that is – Huraken. Huraken, feeling proud and high, on his victory, chose to stay behind and explore the countryside. In actuality, he had a plan to bring back the perfect gifts, one for Manuita, and one for the chief, a gift that would truly turn the tide with her father. In a previous outing Huraken had stumbled upon a vein of shinny ore. This in actuality was a rich silver mine. Huraken knew little of it's worth, although an inner voice urged him to keep its discovery a secret. He did know he could melt the ore down to craft something truly beautiful, something deserving for a princess and sachem. He spent weeks alone camping near rocks and caves in what is now known as Smokey Valley. He laboriously went through the process of refinement of the silver, shaping a peace pipe and tomahawk for the chieftain and several ornaments for Manuita. Huraken became consumed with the perfection of his gifts, losing all sense of time.

In the meantime Manuita was growing more worried by the day. There was talk of Huraken's demise by some accident or from encountering enemy tribesmen or the white men. As each day passed Manuita's sadness grew. She mourned on and found no comfort in the sympathy and condolences bestowed upon her by her father. The chief's suspect views of Huraken only grew stronger as he railed against his independent and proud ways and blamed Huraken for his daughter's grief.

Manuita saw no pleasure in anyone's company. She sat with her tribe one night. While others worked on baskets and blankets and flint and talked, she felt the deepest loneliness. Although the fire blazed high, the fire in the Indian princess's heart and eyes had flickered out. She stole away, as was her custom of doing, to be alone in her grief. The others looked on, shaking their heads to each other, hoping she could ride this out. As Manutia walked along the cliffs she thought about stories of the white men. She had heard that sometimes they took their own life when a heart became so overburdened with sorrow. With this thought, she stood on the edge of a high cliff, letting her body go limp.

Huraken was at this very moment joyously making his way back to his tribe. He carried his prized silver peace pipe, tomahawk and small ornaments wrapped securely in a leather pouch. Mentally, he was planning his life with Manuita. His heart overflowed. As he was coming upon the camp of his people he saw a mangled body, face down beneath a cliff. His thoughts were now turning to an intuitive dread. His worst fears were realized as he turned the figure over to see the beautiful face of his lover. His heart felt heavy with pain as for the first time in this brave warrior's life, tears streamed down his face. In his anguish, he picked up his intended bride, carrying her to a cave where he carefully laid her body to rest. Huraken sat in a dazed silence guarding Manuita's burial place, not wishing to return back to the tribe. For now he would live in solitude and sleep near and keep watch over her grave at night.

When Manuita was discovered missing, warriors were sent out to look for her. Instead of finding the Indian princess they found Huraken, who was obviously in grief and mute on the subject of Manuita. The chief could only surmise foul play, and in his anger sentenced Huraken to death. It is said that the spirit of the princess was watching over her lover. She caused it to rain so heavily as to loosen the buckskin ties that held Huraken's body captive. He escaped but wandered aimlessly in grief for weeks. He finally returned to the chief to surrender asking for the final wish of returning to the cave where he had buried Manuita's body. Warriors accompanied him to cave, but fearing evil spirits only waited at the mouth. Huraken entered. Days passed. Huraken did not reappear. As the anxiety of the accompanying Indians grew they fled in terror, thinking all to be a bad omen.  The story had ended.  All sat for a while in reverent silence below the cave waiting for something to happen – perhaps for the two lovers to reappear.  Sally wanted them to live happily ever after.  There were some there who just wanted the secrets of the treasure.

Sally knew she could relate more than any of the others here with how the Indians lived.  She walked the countryside barefoot much of the time, gathering and picking berries, roots and herbs much as they did.  She lived to a large extent within the confines of her imagination, and knew nature as her friend more than most.  She knew how to take care of herself as well as those around her.  She could make a fire using flint as well as any grown up male.  Being born into slavery these were learned skills.  While the other children were learning the rudimentary of their ABCs and some basic reading and writing skills to get on in the world, Sally was learning how hot the fire needed to be to properly preserve jelly from the berries she had picked.  Other girls were learning this as well but not to the extent that Sally was.  The other girls were learning marriage skills.  Sally felt left out in this respect.  Sally lived in a world of white people, and because of this to some extent considered herself white; but still her aspirations did not take on the same loftiness of those of the white girls that surrounded her.  She had a propensity for hard work and accepted this as her lot in life.  The war had ended.  Technically she was free.  Her life was like the fish in a small bowl.  She only knew the small world around her.  In her heart she was perhaps freer than most.  Sally had the kind of heart that expanded.  Living and working on rocky clay land in the Appalachian wilderness was a struggle for all, regardless of the skin color.  Many based their freedom on the hope for a better tomorrow, welcoming the stories about the silver and gold.  They were all dreaming of finding their own fortune and leaving the hard work and uncertainty of each year’s crops behind.  Or, they dreamed of that bigger farm where the soil was the color of Sally’s skin.