Rj Bessonette

EDWARD of the Columbia River Rj Bessonette

1877 I can hear the cheerful voices of my grandchildren playing in the house behind me. They are waiting for grampa to come in, change into his slippers and light his pipe. Yet, in my heart, I also can hear the soft whisper of the wind as my people follow the Clearwater east, the brave young generation of their last warriors, dogging and harassing the pursuing Army. I feel the snarl of trumpets and hear flapping flags of the nation that is determined to bring the blessings of civilization to a people who would rather not. The Nez Perce. My People. As I rock forward in the handy work of my home made rocker to take my proper place before the evening fire, next to my treasured companion, Emma and her knitting, I feel a slight dizziness, a tremor in the land. The ground seems to shake and move a little. The sun is setting for another day. Eventide has arrived.