Trigger Warning: The unspeakable events in Israel this week
have left me numb. This is a very bleak tale.
I hope you will bear that in mind
as you read my story today. Thank you.

The church used to be there, across the river.
Rumors were that Pastor Roderick had a squaw named Chenoa who kept house for him. People talked; they agreed the relationship seemed …. peculiar. One October night a few curious boys paddled across the river. Hearing shouting, they crept to the vicarโs cabin and peeked in a window.
Roderick was drunk and yelling at Chenoa. The boys were startled when the vicar threw his glass across the room and reached for a birch cane by the hearth. He grabbed Chenoa and ripped the front of her tunic from neck to hem, leaving her standing naked and trembling. He wrestled out of his waistcoat and began whipping Chenoaโs breasts as she sobbed. Purple welts appeared on her chest and bloody droplets trickled down her belly. Roderick licked the blood, then twisted Chenoa around and entered her from behind. When he was done, he pushed her to the floor.
The boys fled and told their parents what they had witnessed. The next morning the sheriff and a posse rowed out and discovered the church and cabin burned to the ground. Roderick was dead, an arrow sticking angrily out of his neck; he had been scalped. There was no sign of Chenoa.
On a sultry July morning the village women went berry picking by the river. They screamed out in horror at the sight before them: a despondent Chenoa had hanged herself from an oak tree. The papoose on her back cradled a sleeping infant.
NAR ยฉ 2023
250 Words

If you are unable to view the video, which I understand is a frequent problem, it can be found on YouTube. Sorry for the inconvenience. The song is “July Morning” by Uriah Heep. This is a pic of the version I chose for today’s story:




