My people are few in number. These English built over their bones, grew their crops in our fields.
Now these English at Patuxet have, for the first time, plenty of food and are sharing their harvest and the fowl they got with the Pokanokets, who roast deer and heat pottages. Both Bradford and Massasoit need me to interpret. Massasoit’s people number twice the English. All are fed and entertained. It is a good time for Massasoit and Bradford.
Wind whispers in the dry cornstalks. Red leaves rustle and drop. These sounds come to my ear in my own language.
This is yet another of my Tisquantum (Squanto) tellings which I talked about while in the Saddle Up Saloon’s Author’s Chair . This scene from the mythologized “First Thanksgiving” seems fitting for Indigenous People’s Day, and meets the October 7, 2021, prompt from Carrot Ranch.
The prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that includes whispers. It can be beautiful or creepy and any genre. Where are the whispers, who are they from, and what do they say if they say anything at all. Go where the prompt leads!