Wanting Peace

Jonathon smiled brightly as he tapped his inked quill against the blank page. "I've got it!" he exclaimed, though there was no one around to hear him. It did not matter. All that mattered was that the words were finally coming back to him. 

He had been staring at the blank page all night, wracking the smallest memory out of his head while his wife had long since retired to bed. Her smile had been of encouragement, but he had seen in her eyes just how worried she was. Jonathon had to be careful to note every last detail, every last memory from his time with those strange people. He had not been a prisoner, but rather someone they let wander about their small camps. He certainly had not seemed a threat to them after he explained how he only wanted to learn. 

Jonathon wanted nothing more than to have peace between his people and the other tribes that had the land before them. They were gracious and full of knowledge of the land that he had never dreamed was possible. Jonathon had never farmed before he came this far west. His true place was with quill and paper, writing like he had back in the city. Mary wanted to escape from the city life, however, and he wanted nothing more than for her to be happy.  

So he had tossed his writings in his luggage and the two made their way west, along with what seemed like hundreds of people. Jonathon thought they were all foolish, trying so hard to claim land when most of them had been city folk, but Jonathon knew how to find out information. "Don't worry, dear, I will find out how to make us prosperous farmers!" he had told her, and meant every word of it at the time. 

Now that he hadn't touched his writings in several weeks, Jonathon had been itching to break off the stoppers on his ink wells and start something fresh. He wanted to write more than anything, but his wife chided him and reminded him what chores still needed to be done. Farming was more exhausting than creating a brand new story from scratch!  

Then trouble happened, when some of the Indian tribes tried to chase them from the land that the men laid claim to. Jonathon did not agree that they were savages like some of the other men in his community, but rather volunteered to find out what would make them happy. And learn how to make crops grow more quickly and better than the other farmers had successfully done. If these people have always lived out in the west, they must have some tricks for him to learn. He wanted to be the most prosperous farmer in the area, as he had promised his wife months before. 

And learn he did. He did not understand their language, but he understood their methods. He observed while they observed him. Of course he had set up a pact and brought gifts they did not have in exchange for their knowledge, but none gave him trouble. The women seemed to encourage him to help pick vegetation and even taught him how to gut a bison. It was more than he as a city man ever dreamed of doing. 

Every time he came back home, his wife embraced him as if he had been gone years, then kissed his cheek and told him to write it all down. Remember every detail that will help them understand who these people were. 

This time, Jonathon had not liked what he saw. Men from his community were closing in on the tribes and fighting would not be far away. As much as he did not believe in violence, he could see the Indian tribe getting ready for a war. They showed him spear points and arrow heads, things that would give them advantages, while he sat quietly and refused to tell them of the muskets and pistols his men would use against them. Not that he would ever raise his hand against either man. 

Writing quickly, Jonathon wrote briefly of the hunting methods used by the tribe. He did not mention their true intentions of war on his own community, but did feel clever as he whipped words into sounding more docile than they truly were. Surely the men in his community would appreciate the artistic view of his words and not view the Indians as 'savages' any longer. They simply needed peace between white man and red man. 

Dusting sand across the inked words, Jonathon beamed at his detailed work. It wasn't one of his masterpieces, but then again, this had little need for imagination in them. 

Quickly he set the page down and stoppered the ink well before standing from his small desk. He stretched and carefully tucked away his quills, not wanting anything bent or twisted if he could prevent it. He hated making new quills. 

Grunting in surprise as the door to his home rattled, Jonathon grabbed the lit candle from his desk and hurried to the front door. He hoped Mary wouldn't wake. She got little enough sleep as it was. 

"Open the door, John! We've got a problem!" a gruff voice yelled before Jonathon could yank open the door. He certainly was not pleased to be disturbed so late in the evening. 

"What is it, Hank? Mary is trying to sleep and I just now finished with my next-" 

"It doesn't matter. You've been feeding us a bunch of crock!" Hank said, his face twisted in pure anger. His eyes were glistening orbs of onyx, making Jonathon shudder despite the unusually warm night. 

"They are not bad people," Jonathon said as calmly as he could manage. He felt as if he were writing the bitter twist in a story, and he was the main character about to lose everything, despite all his efforts. "All I want is for us to have peace!" 

Hank reached forward and grabbed the collar of Jonathon's plain gray shirt. Slowly he pulled Jonathon forward until their faces were within inches of one another. Jonathon was too mesmerized to even think of pulling back.

"Then why did they just take my wife and daughter? Why did they just burn my home? Everything I own!" 

Jonathon merely shook his head, careful not to spill any of the wax onto his hand as he held the candle closer to Hank. He could see the man was covered in dirt and soot with blood on the side of his face. His green eyes rose to the north where Hank's farm once stood and could see orange through the trees, though the smell of fire had not reached his home yet. 

"Hank, why did you kill one of the families today?" Jonathon said calmly. He had seen it with his own eyes. All I want is peace… 

Hank's grip tightened and he began shaking Jonathon as if he were a girl's doll. The candle wax spilled over Jonathon's hand, making him cry out and drop the lit candle. 

"Because I can't stand sharing my land with one of those savages!" 

Jonathon stomped out the candle as best he could, desperately not wanting his home to turn into Hank's. He gripped Hank's beefy arm and held tight. 

"Then your pride has cost you everything! If all of you had just listened to my suggestions in the first place, you wouldn't have Sally and Maylin missing!" 

Jonathon thought he could hear Hank's teeth grinding as he shook Jonathon harder. The man was reaching for his belt, though without light, it was hard for Jonathon to see what. 

"Hank, don't do anything else you'll regret tonight. I can probably go to the tribe tomorrow and-" 

"Jonathon?" Mary's voice came from the back of the house, a candle in her hand. "Is that you, Hank?" 

"Yes ma'am, and your husband here thinks that all his work has made the savages less deadly. You are in danger, Mary. They took Sally and Maylin," Hank said, and although he had stopped shaking Jonathon, he seemed no less ready to let him go. 

"Hank, I'm so sorry! Jonathon said they were harmless, so maybe he can talk some sense into them…" slowly Mary trailed off as she came to the door, her mass of brown hair loose around her shoulders. 

Jonathon was able to crane his neck just enough to smile at his beautiful wife. He always thought the warm glow of candlelight brought out the coloring of her skin and made him want to write her in an epic tale.  

"I will try, Mary, but Hank has to let me go, first." 

But Mary's eyes never flicked toward her husband. Instead, she stared wild eyed at Hank, her pale blue eyes never blinking. 

"Hank, please put that down. Jonathon will do his best, I promise you will see your wife and daughter again." 

Slowly Jonathon turned back to face Hank, the man's onyx eyes no less cold than they had been. Now that there was candle light near him once more, Jonathon could see the small pistol in the man's hands. 

"No Mary. John is going to lose everything, just like I did," Hank said slowly, deliberately.

In what felt like seconds, Jonathon heard two loud bangs. He felt dazed as he realized he was sprawled across the floor, Mary beside him, a rosebud blooming out of her chest. Her blue eyes held a tear in them, but her lips did not move. He could not feel anything but sadness as those beautiful blue eyes lost its light. 

"All I wanted was peace," he whispered, not aware of the candle that had fallen a caught against the curtains Mary had worked so hard on. 

Jonathon slowly rolled onto his back, gasping for air as he clutched for Mary's cold hand. He smiled, in spite of himself. What a fitting end for a character in one of my tales.