We have another week behind us and Saturday is the traditional day of running to take care of all those things we are to busy for during the week. For those with families such is so very true. My hat is off to parents who take on the mantle of wearing so many different hats.
Gather around, help yourself to the beverage of choice and settle in for a peek at one of the novels I wrote a while back. It has been suggested that I share a book or two and hopefully gain a few readers along the way. The Fireside has no boundaries as to size. Though virtual in dimension all are welcome.
The novel I have decided to share is fictional in nature. Some characters lives have been revealed in such a manner they could be any of us. What I ask as you read is you find that place of hurt in your life and hopefully you may find the way to healing.
So please settle in and I do hope you enjoy and comment on what you have read... Hugs to all
I will post chapters a few times a week...
© By: Rolly A. Chabot.... All Rights Reserved
All the content that is published on this site or in any electronic or paper book form under my profile Rolly A. Chabot or name are my property and are protected by all applicable Copyright Laws.
No part may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from this Author.
For all who suffer separation of family and friends for whatever the reason may be. Should it be allowed to continue we eventually become separated from ourselves?
At some point and time in life we are called to bring everything back into proper order. Should we fail to come to grips then we walk lost in the wilderness then we never understand and become distant and lonely.
We will miss out on much of what life has to offer and the greatest loss of all is love.
Though this book is fictional in nature much of what you will read comes from
life experience. Applications of simple principles can remove the separation and allow you to grow to your full potential.
The clacking sound came from below at each joint in the aging railway tracks as the huge steel wheels passed over them. The swaying of the rail coach made his eyes heavy, it had been with him for the past several hours. A new sound stirred the familiar of his past. The screeching of the train wheels, steel against steel as they slowly made the turn at Richardson’s Bend, a long sweeping turn that lasted for close to a mile. The dank smell of the train car was stifling and very unkempt. He stood and attempted to open a window, which only opened an inch. Not enough fresh air to win over the stench that had surrounded him.
He was in familiar country now, country he had explored as a child, how many years ago had it been? He would soon be home or what was left of it. A few short hours and he would need to face what he had come to dread, his family and the awakening of old dreams which haunted him again and again. It resembled a reoccurring nightmare he never seemed to shake.
Wes Nickel had become a prominent Real Estate Agent, an entrepreneur that had carved a path of success in his wake. He had made a break from his past after some hard choices at a very early age. At the age of fourteen he had slipped away undetected one October night swearing he would never return to the hurt of the small community, the hurt still haunted him. This would be only his second trip back in the past 27 years. Even at the age of 41 the memories were still fresh in his mind. Evil had a powerful grip on those who allowed it to permeate their lives. His was more hatred and resentment but it would pass because he would simply get lost in his work.
His thoughts returned to the past as he looked out the window, the day was just breaking before him. The early morning sun had just started to crest the ridges in the Far East. There would not be enough light for several minutes to make out where they were but he relived his youth and knew exactly their location. Stipple Rock passed on the left; it was where he had played cowboys and Indians. He had always chosen to be the cowboy; his heritage being a full blood Blackfoot Indian was not the highlight of his early life.
He had seen much in the first 14 years as a child, far more than any child should be witness too. It was life on the reservation, “Degradation Caused by Segregation.” He had been asked to write and article for a local newspaper on his success and they were the same words that had created a stir among his peers. He had spoken them at a recent Gala in recognition of his achievements in his field. There had been over 400 guests and he had spoken the words clearly and loudly. “It is a sickness no one can understand until they have lived in the conditions that have been created by man. No one should be expected to live like we see. We the Natives of North America are as much at fault as man who has created it.” He stared out at the crowd of his peers. “The only way to get away and make a life is to say no to the meager hand outs and make a life for yourself. The odds of success or failure are determined by the limits you place on your own mind or what has been driven into you early in life. If you are told you are stupid often enough then it becomes a part of your belief system. Only those who have inner strength and courage will break away.”
His words had impacted many who sat around the tables that night. He had spoken and they had listened. He had been given a voice and his voice was heard loud and clear. He had been approached often after his speech and many had spoken to him of the plight of the Native Americans.
He had run at 14 years old, plagued with his memories of the man they had called “Grey Eyes.” This man had come from the big city, an accomplished man of the cloth according to what they had been told. He had been introduced as Father Mike. He was well built, standing well over six feet. A smooth talking man who captured the attention of the entire congregation with his loud thundering voice as he spoke from the pulpit each Sunday. It was considered an honor to serve as an Altar Boy by the elders of the community and their families. It was what happened after the service that changed Wes and many others, the victims of Grey Eyes.
Many of the boys would speak nothing but a few had and Wes was one who spoke nothing. Until one day he shared with his mother the things that Grey Eyes was doing. He had come home upset after the service Sunday morning. His older brother had seen Grey Eyes leading him off to the back of the Church with his hand on his shoulder.
His brother’s words were cutting that morning as he spat them out at him, “Gay Indian.” Wes could no longer take the abuse and lashed out at his brother, the fight that ensued resulted in a terrible gash across his brother’s forehead.
His mother stepped into the fight with a belt and started swinging wildly. Neither was a match for the accuracy of the belt as it lashed out striking its mark each time. It left him cowering in the corner. Her words, “What is the matter with you Wes” came before the volley of accusations he made about Grey Eyes. “He touches me, asks me to do things, he is a terrible man, and he touches many of the boys.” This was followed again by a flurry of licks from the belt, which raised welts high upon his skin. There! He had said it and all he got was a beating.
She called him a liar, an advocate of the devil himself and he would go to the fires of hell if he did not seek forgiveness and absolution from Father Mike. She marched him to the Church. She spoke to Father Mike. “You can deal with this one who has to be offspring of the devil himself, I have heard enough. Right from the gates of hell this one has come, a curse on my family.”
Father Mike sat quiet and listened and said, “Leave him with me and I will deal with the situation as there is a grave misunderstanding here.” Father Mike’s eyes were piercing. He cowered in fear of this man. The wounded child in him had again won.
What followed was a nightmare that would stay with him for many years. He was forced to lower his pants and stand and receive yet another strapping on his bare buttocks. The humiliation was too much to bear and the tears poured down his face. Grey Eyes then held him close and attempted to comfort him. His comfort turned to molesting him as he had many of the other boys. All Wes could recall was feeling his Grandfathers knife in his pocket. He reached in, opened the knife and with one stab struck Father Mike deep in his groin. His last sight of the man was standing with his pants down holding himself while blood flowed down his leg.
It was the same night he ran, he left all he ever knew behind. He ran like the wind over the plains of the reservation, his bloody knife in his hand. It was the night that changed his life. A fugitive from the law and himself he ran for the next two days until he found himself in some strange neighboring town he had never been before. His first several days were spent hiding in the daytime and scrounging for food at night in garbage cans behind restaurants and bars. All he saw was foreign to him, all the streetlights and traffic and people. He was a confused and scared young man.
Early one morning he was found hiding behind an office in an alleyway by a big burly security man and was carried inside fighting his grip into an office of a man dressed in a fine suit. The stench of cigar smoke was heavy in the room. He was facing the sun from the window and all he could see was a big man through the haze of smoke. The security guard pushed him into the room. The man in the suit looked up from his desk and said, “Look here we have found a real live Indian, what’s your name boy?
“Wes” was all he could say; he was not about to tell him anymore. Fear ran through him in the strange environment he found himself in. He was dirty, hungry and afraid.
“Well Wes from the West, you must be one of those heathens from the reserve, looking a bit hungry and dirty, are you looking for work? Tell you what Wes from the West I need a grass cutter. You look like a young man who could use a friend and some work. It’s your lucky day because I just skidded the last caretaker. I need a caretaker to look after a few houses I have for sale, if your interested the pay is OK, I will give you a mower, gas and you can have your pick of houses to stay in as long as they are empty and you keep them clean. What say we have a deal heathen? Mind you I will be watching you, any trouble and I will skid you as fast as you arrived.”
It was that day “Big Ed” started him into a world he had never seen before, a world of fancy homes, big money and the Real Estate business which would see him become successful. Big Ed took him in and taught him much over the next several years; he had found a place in life even in this outside world.
Their relationship was all business, he worked long and hard and any spare time he had he would be learning all there was to know in dealing with numbers and people. Wes was good at numbers he found even with the little education he had. He was able to work out percentages quickly. Big Ed would send him away at night with numbers and tell him to come by in the morning and he would check them over. Almost daily he would come back with made up sales agreements. Ed would always give him the same look and say, “Kid I think you have what it takes.”
One day he was cutting the grass, a couple pulled up in a fancy car and before he was finished with them he had sold his first house for $8500.00 more than the asking price. Big Ed had to close the deal. He was not certified to make a real estate deal. It was Ed that suggested he get into the business and started him at taking courses. “The commission you made on this sale will pay for all the classes you will need to sell property. Think you are interested Wes?
It took him two years but he finally passed the real estate exam, it was the same day he closed his first deal with a cool $26,000.00 commission check in his pocket. Big Ed looked at him as he was filling in the check. “Well hot shot, this makes it official you are now a seller on the market. What the heck is your last name, I have never asked you. I need it to be able to pay you. Better get yourself a bank account as this is a fair amount of money for a young man like you.”
His mother’s maiden name had been Elsie Smoothwolf. His dad who had run off early in the marriage had given him the last name of Nickel. It was in that split second he chose to use the name he had been raised with. He wanted nothing to do with his mother’s name. Shortly after his Dad had run off she changed her name back to Smoothwolf. He was finished with her and those people. After all look at him standing waiting with his hand out for more money than they would ever see and all he had to do to earn it was talk nicely.
“Nickel, Wes Nickel and remember that name Big Ed, it’s a name you will come to know as I will never look back again.” With the check in hand he stopped at the door. He was about to say something when Ed spoke first.
Big Ed just sat and smiled. “I know Son, should you ever need help you come back.” He stood and extended his hand. “Been a pleasure getting to know you Mr. Nickel, you are a sharp one. Come back any time and say hello.”
“I will and thanks Big Ed, you are a good man.” Later that day he boarded a bus to Great Falls. Yes he was going to be a Cowboy after all. No more Indian for him, after all he was Wes Nickel. He would be a leader and get away from what so many in his life had stayed with, accepting far less than what their potential.
© Rolly A. Chabot
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