Getting There from Here

299 words

“I saw that worrying had come to nothing and gave it up. And took my old body and went out into the morning, and sang.” ~Mary Oliver

Emily walked beside the covered wagon, her long skirts kicking up dust. They were close to their destination of the Colorado River. The horses could smell it and were pulling harder against their traces.

Red-skinned men had been following them for miles and Emmy wondered if their skin was burned that color by the punishing sun since they wore no shirts? She had on pounds of cotton clothing. So did her doll.

That night the red men came. Leaving her leather shoes, she ran. Next to be left behind was her doll, dropped somewhere in the dark. A warrior riding a painted horse scooped her up.

Dangling by her long golden hair, she fought so hard the knife missed her scalp, but nicked the corner of her ear. She fell to the ground, her hair carried off triumphantly, amid shrill yelps.

Her most precious things in life were gone. Her parents, her best shoes with the cute little buttons up the side, and even Dolly. Dried blood coated her dress and only patches of what her Daddy called her crowning glory remained.

She could smell the water. Mommy would want her to wash up. Hiding behind a green shrub at the water’s edge, she heard singing. Women and children splashing in the water. Overcoming her fear she stood up and waded out into the water, cleaning her dress.

Many years later Emmy would sing with her red-skinned mother as she washed her real baby in the Colorado River. The pounds of cotton clothing gone, the golden crown braided tightly down her back. Her shoes without cute buttons, but adorned with beautiful beads.