Chapter 20

       My hunched body rests on a barrel under a bare oak tree. Sokanon is right beside me on another barrel, her gray hairs moving a little in the cold breeze. The sun beams toward us as it rests just halfway above the fluffy white ground, slowly rising to the clear sky. We are sitting right between Plymouth Colony and the Indians’ land. I reminisce on when Sokanon and I were only young girls, and although the other memories are vague, our first time together is still engraved strongly in my mind. The wrinkles on my face are defined even more when I smile and remember life 54 years ago…

       It’s been three months since we first settled here. It has been tough settling, and many of the Saints have died because it’s far too late to plant crops. My growling stomach aches as Father and the other Saints gift the Indians with European weapons and exchange friendly introductions and greetings. While rubbing my tummy to soothe its cry for hunger, a whisper distracts me. 

       “Are you also here to kill us?” A girl to my right is staring at me, her eyes wide open with both fear and curiosity mixed together. My eyes begin to do the same when I process her words, and I’m taken aback by the question. Still, I’m quick to reassure her.

       “What? ‘Course not, we’re here to start a new life. Why’re you thinking we’re here to kill you?” Although I feel tired and famished, Father explained to me earlier that we must be calm and friendly to the Indians in order to leave a good impression. 

       The girl pauses, then replies, “The English people have come here before. They brought diseases and…” She trails off and glances towards the loose dirt. 

       I pause, and then I suddenly understand why she’s so afraid. I nod my head, using the little energy I have, in sympathy. I explain to her how we aren’t here to kill her people at all. We came to escape the Church of England, and we want to be free. I am only famished and weak because we came here during the winter and we don’t know how to survive here. She understands my story, too. We exchange introductions with each other like Father and her papa, who she says is named Massasoit. 

       When the exchange is over, Father tells me the Saints and the Indians have made an agreement to have peace with one another, and that they would help each other whenever it would be needed. My face lights up as he speaks because I’m thrilled that we are all friends now, and I’m more than ready to help the natives forever.

        The wind tickles the leaves, making a crackling sound as I am brought back to now. I realize nothing can stop me and Sokanon’s friendship. After the big feast and our very first harvest in Plymouth Colony, three more ships had arrived after us, including the Fortune, the Anne, and the Little James. Many more people had settled here. Yet the one thing that remains the same is our friendship. I eye Sokanon with a grin. Looking at me, too, her crooked teeth appear, and she smiles back fondly. 

       A ceremony is being held in Plymouth Colony when I return to the settlement. The Saints are gathered around a tall stump, where Peter Bradford, a leader of Plymouth Colony, is standing.

       His fists firm on his hips, his face nothing but a proud smile, Peter delivers an announcement to us.  “I would like to announce a major success in Plymouth Colony.” 

       Next, clearing his throat, he declares, “Plymouth Colony has been expanding rapidly. We’ve built many more homes, and our farms are thriving. We have brought our village far into the Indian’s land!” 

       Everyone cheers, their bliss loud in my ears as I realize they are invading the Indian’s property. Reckoning Sokanon, I comment, “What about the native people? Won’t they be angry with you? Won’t they have no home soon?” 

       Peter brushes it off like dust on his shoes. “Oh, don’t you worry ‘bout it. We made an alliance with 'em some years ago, don’t you remember? The natives are supposed to help us. It’s part of the peace,” he tells me. I half nod as I consider the treaty made years ago. I realize he’s right. The alliance was made to help each other. The Indians are helping us, aren’t they?

       At noon, I go to visit Sokanon, like we do every day. Her hair is tied in two braids, and she welcomes me inside her wetu, but she doesn't have a grin on her face like usual.

       “Sokanon, is there something I should be told?” I ask, concerned. 

       “Yes, Constance. May I tell you?” She glances away, as if she’s unsure whether or not she’ll tell me. 

       “What is it?”

Sokanon hesitates for a moment before replying, “King Philip doesn’t think the English are honoring our alliance.” 

       “Our alliance, how come?” I am confused. King Philip, the native’s chief, is the son of the leader who formed the alliance. 

       “The English have taken a lot of our land, and many of us were forced to move,” she mumbles. 

       I remember what Peter had said earlier. “Sokanon, it’s to keep the peace, of course. We are supposed to help each other, right? The Indians have helped us tremendously! We are gaining a lot more land.”

       Sokanon only smiles slightly. “That’s wonderful to hear, Constance. But please, don’t take more property. Some of the English have not been very good to us. The natives…we are planning something because of it.” 

       “We have to, Sokanon. It’s the only way to grow Plymouth Colony,” I say solemnly. Sokanon would normally be glad that we’re successful. This time, she is quiet.

        When I arrive back to Plymouth Colony, John Sassamon enters our village, an urgent look painted across his face. He strolls to a nearby home, where Peter is. I hear him warn Peter.   “Mister Peter! King Phillip is coming to attack the English! You must prepare Plymouth Colony for the ambush!” John reports.

       “Attack, eh? This colony has been flourishing, I know we won’t be having an assault from those Indians.” 

       John’s urgent look remains. “Yes, Mister Peter. However, please be prepared. They have been plotting the attack for weeks, I’ve seen.”

       Peter brushes John back to his home with his hand, dismissing the threat of an attack. However, I don’t dismiss it. The Indians are planning an attack against the English? How could they? I don’t want to believe it, and the thought of Sokanon, and all the other natives being against us, worries me. The Indians have helped us gain land, the colony is doing immensely well, and I doubt we have stopped honoring the alliance. Why would they choose to ambush us? Nevertheless, I try not to think about it.

       Soon, the icy white sheet melts away to reveal vibrant green plants, and the dirt softens as the sun sets later and rises earlier. We have expanded Plymouth Colony across nearly all of the Indians’ land. My skin feels the warmness of the air, and as I’m resting in my dwelling, William Latham, one of the Saints, enters it with terrible news. 

       “Peter and a few of the other Saints found a body in the pond. It was John Sassamon. The Indians were accused of killing him,” he reports to me, and lines on his forehead appear as he lifts his eyebrows and frowns. He is troubled.

       “The Indians killed him?” I ask for clarification, but I am not surprised. I knew this would happen.

       “Yes, they did. We captured and hanged them today,” he responds. While I feel uneasy at the possibility that one of the Indians might have been Sokanon, I know they had to be murdered. 

       Suddenly, I wake up to the sounds of shrills and the twang, twang, twang, of piercing arrows. Stepping outside, I glance around until I find where the noises are coming from. In the distance, in a nearby village in Plymouth Colony, I make out someone with a spear in their back. Another person is releasing what looks like an arrow at someone else, and I hear a shriek as it hits them. King Phillip, Sokanon’s brother, is there, and he appears incensed. It’s finally happening. 

       One by one, the Indians murder the English. A group of the Saints are released to find Mount Hope, which Sokanon told me in the past is where Philip was born. The houses of Plymouth Colony are destroyed, bodies lie silent in the grounds close to us, and everything has broken out in pandemonium around us. 

       The vibrant shades of green on the old bark trees become reddish-brown, and the leaves are just beginning to fall off of each tree branch. 

       Finally, they come to our settlement. When King Philip and the Indians come,  there’s a large wagon train of Saints nearby me, along with a group of many Saints with weapons prepared who are guiding them. I watch from afar as the Saints still inside the wagon hide further back, and the other Saints take out their muskets, arrows and spears. I try to stay away from them, and I hide. I hide from King Philip, from the dangerous weapons, from the crimson and long gone bodies lying on the dead soil. Bracing myself, I listen to the wooden arrows and piercing spears shooting at us, then the bullets that ring like tiny explosions in my ears. As soon as the Indians leave, it’s silent with nothing but a few of the Saints’ footsteps. There’s hundreds more gory and damaged corpses. The peace between us is long over. 

       All the leaves have fallen now, the trees bare and dull. Tiny dots of white fill the sky, piling up into a thick, frigid sheet over the dead earth. The sky is gloomy. My face stinging, I hide beneath the snow because there’s nowhere safe anymore, and nobody is beside me anymore. King Philip and his people come back to our village, murdering many of us and forcing others to leave Plymouth Colony. A few of them are captured, and I can only imagine what is causing the limpkin wails that I hear that night. 

       The Indians begin to stop harming us as the air, which smells of petrichor and musks, gets slightly warmer and the ground can be seen again. Following the many assaults they have committed, they have become weak. The Saints take advantage, and our army arrives by a river, where the Indians are. Unanticipated, the Indians face an attack that murders nearly 200 of them. 

       By the humid summer, the Indians are even weaker and hiding from us. We’ve caught many of them and sold them away on ships to do free labor. The Saints are on the lookout for Philip. We find him on Mount Hope in one week, and I find Sokanon there, too. She appears weary and dejected. I haven’t seen her in months. I can see in her eyes that she knows what we’re about to do.  

       “Constance…” she whispers sorrowfully. 

       “I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything about it,” I reply, remorseful. 

       Not even the vibrant blue sky brightens what I watch in numbness. Peter Bradford knots a single rope around Sokanon’s brother, and he is suspended midair. Sokanon is shivering, even though the air is the complete opposite of chilly. Once he is dead, the Saints lay his wearied body on the ground and disembowel him. His insides are placed to the side. They use an ax to chop off his head. Lastly, his body is chopped into several sections. His head is displayed on a pole at Plymouth Colony. Repentance fills me, but it’s far too late to change what’s happened.  

-Ella S.