Blogtober 2020 Day Ten Entry
“I don’t remember much about my white parents,” Meadow said, “and I don’t know how old I am. I was old enough to speak English and feed myself when they died, but when the food ran out, I started walking...looking for help.
“My people found me on the road, dirty and starving,” she said. “The man who found me became my father, and his wife is my mother. They taught me their language and the ways of the Wazhazhe.”
“What’s that?” Murphy asked.
“White men call us ‘Osage,’” she said.
“How come you still speak English?” Phin asked.
“My parents insisted,” she said. “They knew that more white men were coming. I’m the village interpreter.”
“Was Meadow always your name?” Murphy asked.
“No...my white name is Alice,” she said. “My parents here heard me singing one morning and named me, ‘Song of the Meadowlark,’ but it’s Meadow for short. What are your names?”
“Phineas Tobin Walker, at your service,” Phin said, bowing his head. “But everyone calls me Phin.”
“I’m John Patrick Seamus Murphy,” Murphy said. “I go by my last name.”
“Those are good names,” Meadow said. “Be proud of your names. I’m proud of who I am. You should be too.”
“You like being an Injun?” Phin asked.
“Say Osage, at least,” she said. “Injun sounds ugly. And yes, I’m proud to be Wazhazhe. We are the first people, and we know this land in a way that white men will never understand.”
“Can we stay?” Murphy asked.
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