White Medicine Woman (eBook)
408 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-5589-7 (ISBN)
Steve Stephens has been a counseling/clinical psychologist, life coach, seminar speaker, radio talk show host, university professor, and author of over 20 nonfiction books. He has a minor in literature and an unending curiosity about history. He has spent much of his career as a psychologist helping people deal with trauma and all the difficulties that come their way. Steve and his wife Tami have three grown children. They live in the Pacific Northwest where they love to hike, explore, laugh, play games, read, travel, encourage people, and dream exciting dreams.
Lizzie Perry made a mark in Oregon history by taking unpopular stands with courage and compassion. She confronted Dr. Whitman at his Mission and Dr. McLaughlin at Fort Vancouver for their patronizing relationship with the tribes. She raised a family in the wilderness while providing medical care to whoever asked. This sensitive woman defended the Cayuse Five at their trial, hid Chief Thunder Sky from murderous white settlers, assisted the survivors of the Bear Creek Massacre, encouraged Chief Paulina when a posse was determined to kill him, and prayed for Chief Joseph as he fled the army on his long Trail of Tears. Her closest friends were Indians at a time when this was seen as treason to her white community. Lizzie's story is wrapped up with her relationships with three amazing Indian women: her belief in Red Quail, her struggle to save Butterfly, and her forty-year friendship with Gentle Bird. She respected, defended, and protected many of the Oregon tribes while insisting that, "e;what we are doing to the tribes is not fair or right."e; For many years, these tribes watched over her farm in case the white settlers discovered her aid and allegiance to the Indians. They swore their protection to her and her family. Lizzie told people that her specialties were bullets and babies, but she never turned down medical care regardless of who the person was, however great or small their need. Her conviction was that all people were special and that the worst failing was not to help them. The governor of the state applauded her "e;lifetime of kindness."e; A respected writer of the time wrote that she answered "e; the call of Indian and white man by foot, by horse, and by canoe "e; wherever she was needed. Hummingbirds and bear claws were symbols of help and healing, and these were the symbols of Lizzie Perry. This heroic story shows the strength and determination of a real pioneer woman as she settled in the American wild west.
Part One
March 1837-September 1845
TUCKAHOE
(Wednesday, 22 March 1837; Tuckahoe, New Jersey)
“Can I go with you?”
“Your mother wouldn’t approve,” Thomas Crandall said as he pulled on a heavy wool jacket.
“I can carry the bucket,” whispered nine-year-old Lizzie, “while you search the shoreline.”
“It was a bad storm yesterday,” her father said, stroking his trimmed beard in the shadows of a full moon.
“Aren’t those the best?” she said, pulling back her long golden hair. She grabbed a three gallon tin bucket and tiptoed toward the door.
The night grew darker as they walked away from the house. Lizzie shivered at the crisp air and walked faster to catch up with him. An owl hooted somewhere above them. Lizzie looked up. A hundred trees crowded out all but glowing glimpses of a starry sky. Father helped her into the long canoe and pushed it silently into the calm blackwater river. Lizzie held onto the boat’s edge, a hand on each side, as it slipped smoothly downstream through the great cedar swamp. She closed her eyes and breathed deep the smell of the salty shore as they moved effortlessly toward the morning.
“Today do you think we’ll find it?” she asked without opening her eyes.
“We will find something,” Father chuckled. “It might not be what we’re looking for, but it will be something good.”
“It had better be.” Lizzie smiled and opened her eyes. “Because I have high expectations.”
“At your age, we all have high expectations.”
The river left the woodlands and floated through the muddy marshes. The sky opened its starry spectrum to the deepest purple. A songbird started to sing. A second one joined in. Soon their canoe was surrounded by a choir. Meanwhile, far to the east, a faint white glow highlighted the edge of the world. Lizzie leaned forward, her eyes glued on the horizon.
“It’s about to happen!” She sighed as she grabbed Father’s hand and squeezed it.
He looked at the glow reflected in her face and smiled.
“Are you ready?” she said, squeezing his hand even tighter.
“I am.”
“Here it comes!” she squealed as a glittering pinprick poked through and separated the sea from the sky. Suddenly the world awoke as golden beams bounced across the waves and the shapes and shadows of the land took on all the colors that reminded Lizzie of how beautiful life could be.
Both of them sat in silence as their canoe drifted toward where the river reached the sea.
“It never disappoints,” said Father.
“Never,” she said as she let go of his hand.
He paddled the canoe to a shallow spot and they climbed onto land. They took off their shoes and walked toward the high tide that rolled gently onto the coarse sand.
“Any salvage or shipwrecks?” said Father.
“Nothing worth fighting for,” said an old-timer who sat on a weathered piece of driftwood and squinted into a brass spyglass.
“How’s your leg?” said Father.
The man lowered the glass and spit a black wad of chew onto the sand. He was a round man with a black beat-up tricorn that sat slightly askew on his bald head. He had a long, wild gray beard with matching wild eyebrows and a large bulbous nose. “It’s been achin’ a bit lately. Stormy weather makes my arthritis act up.” He rubbed his left leg.
“What were you watching with your glass, Uncle Abe?” Father sat on the driftwood beside the old man.
“None of your business,” he snarled.
“Please,” said Lizzie, taking his wrinkled hand. “We’re looking for treasure just like you. Won’t you please help us?”
“Why would I help the two of you?” he grunted.
“Because our families have been a part of the Cape May shoreline from way back.”
“I knew your grandfather and great grandfather,” he said, his voice softening. “They were good folk.”
“And besides, we brought you some of Mother’s sugar cookies last week.”
“That was mighty nice of you,” he smiled. “The nicest thing anyone has done for me since my Annie passed. And they were good cookies.”
“I never knew you’d been married,” said Lizzie.
“We were together almost fifty years.” He lowered his head. “Until the epidemic of ‘32. Then the cholera got her, and in less than a day she was gone.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Lizzie.
“There was nothing I could do. There was nothing the doctors could do.” He wiped away a tear with the sleeve of his coat. “There was nothing anyone could do.”
“It doesn’t seem right,” said Lizzie.
“A lot in this world doesn’t seem right,” said Father.
“Let me show you something.” Abe reached into a vest pocket beneath his long wool coat. He fumbled for a moment and then held up a small irregular stone between his thumb and forefinger. It sparkled in the early morning light.
“What is it?” said Lizzie in awe.
“It’s gold!” said Father.
“It’s Blackbeard’s lost treasure,” said Abe. “I found it about a year ago, right over there where I was lookin’ with my spyglass.”
“Did you only find one nugget?” asked Father.
“Only one. But there’s a lot more out there, just waiting to be found,” Abe paused and surveyed the shore. They were the only people in sight. “When I was a child, my grandfather sat with me on this very spot and told me stories of pirates and privateers running their ships through these waters. If they were chased, they sailed into this inlet to hide in the marshes.”
“So pirates came here?” said Lizzie.
“My father told me the same sort of stories of buried treasure and shipwrecks,” said Father. “If the stories are true, somewhere along this shoreline there’s a fortune in gold just waiting to be found.”
“Then let’s go looking,” said Lizzie. She lifted the tin bucket.
“Good luck!” said Abe as he lifted the spyglass to his eye. “I’m staying here a while. Let me know if you find any gold.”
“We will,” said Father.
“And make sure you don’t forget to bring me more of those sugar cookies.”
“We won’t,” said Lizzie. They walked to the edge where the foamy waves washed over their feet.
“Is Uncle Abe really our uncle?”
“No,” laughed Father, “but he is a lonely man who has lived through a lot.”
“So we need to try to encourage him?”
“We need to try to encourage everybody.”
“Every chance we get,” she said, bending down to look at a broken shell.
Lizzie thought this shoreline was the most magical place in the world. She loved the long sandy beaches where she could walk for miles, listening to the gentle rhythm of the waves rolling in. At her feet were treasures more valuable than the gold coins or nuggets that her father looked for. She had sharp eyes and missed nothing. Collecting for her was an act of discovery and appreciation of all the things in the world she had not yet experienced. Mother called her curious. Father said she was obsessed. Maybe they were both right. She didn’t care what they called it. She just knew she was happiest searching the sand for something novel or mysterious.
A sliver of white sparkled as the tide washed over it. She reached down and picked up a sand dollar which was mostly buried. She rinsed it off in the cold water and held it up to the baby blue sky, marveling at its symmetry. She ran her fingertips over its smooth surface and wondered whether the light gray etching was a flower or a star. She set it in her bucket and continued her search. Father was already thirty feet ahead of her, so she ran to catch up.
“Found anything?” she asked.
“Nothing yet,” he replied.
“But look!” She pointed at a dozen dazzling shimmers just below the surface. “Jingle shells!”
“They’re worthless,” said Father with a shrug as he moved on. “I’m looking for salvage. And maybe a gold coin.”
“But they are beautiful.” She picked up a handful of the thin, shiny halfshells. “Remember, the wind chime I made Mother out of them last Christmas?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “She loved it.”
“If I collect more, maybe I can make my sisters each a necklace.”
“They would like that.” He walked on and Lizzie ran to keep up.
“Look!” she exclaimed, pointing to the shallow water at their feet. “More jingle shells! And look at the different colors.” She scooped up another handful and moved to the dry sand, where she sat and separated them into piles of white, silver,...
| Erscheint lt. Verlag | 10.6.2024 |
|---|---|
| Sprache | englisch |
| Themenwelt | Literatur ► Historische Romane |
| ISBN-13 | 979-8-3509-5589-7 / 9798350955897 |
| Informationen gemäß Produktsicherheitsverordnung (GPSR) | |
| Haben Sie eine Frage zum Produkt? |
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