The New World

Chapter Seven

"They're here again," I said, looking out the window. On the left cotton field four Indians stood staring at our home. Harold rested his fists on his hips and sighed. "What are you going to do?" I searched his aged face.

He shrugged, "I don't know."

I looked back at the red men, "You know there is something you could do that you haven't tried yet. Though, it could be out of your comfort zone," sarcasm seeped into my words, but I don't think he caught it.

"What's that?" he sounded desperate.

"Talk to them."

"Ha. Ha. Are you insane?!" He threw his hands in the air, "They'll kill me!"

I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest, "Don't judge them by the reputation you gave them."

He rubbed his eyes, "They have weapons, Alice."

"Probably the same reason you carry a gun with you. Protection. Security. Reassurance."

I felt his eyes on me, "Why do you talk like that?"

"Like what?"

He looked back at the window, "Like you understand them."

I heaved a breath and sat on a leather chair. I starred outside and wondered what they would do if Harold did go talk to them. Would they talk to him civilly? Or would they kidnap him? Would they take them to their homes and torture him until he died? I felt a smile spread on my lips.

"It's getting worse," said a man, interrupting my thoughts.

The man came from behind me and walked to Harold. It was Sir Alliott. He had been doing business with Harold because of the Indians. He was Harold's age. Harold was 37. Mother was 33. Sir Alliott and his wife had four children. All boys. Their youngest was 3 and their oldest was 20. Mother wanted me to married their oldest. His name was Tom. I've never talked to him before.

"Yes, indeed. I'm running out of ideas," said Harold, shaking his hand.

Sir Alliott stroked his blond beard, "Have you tried talking to them?"

Harold rubbed his temple. "I already gave him that option," I said, "He doesn't want to."

"For why Heaven's not?" Sir Alliott retorted.

"Why would I?! They'll kill me!" Harold yelled. He began to pace. "I need to do something soon or something bad will happen. I can feel it in my bones."

"We've tried everything, Sir," said Mr. Alliott, "We sent them a note in English, French, and their native tongue. We've offered money but they know it isn't worth shit! We've offered them education, religion, food! There is nothing else."

"Why don't you just give them their land back?" I conveyed impatience. I picked the dirt from my finger nails.

"No," barked Harold. He stopped pacing.

"Even if we did," continued Sir Alliott, nervously, "I doubt they would want it back."

"Why?" I asked, looking from my nails.

"Half the trees have been cut down and started to get plowed. It's completely destroyed," answered Harold.

"Jesus!" I yelled. Both men looked at me. Sir Alliott with surprise and Harold with anger. "Harold, you've messed things up so bad! You need to go to them, apologize, and give them all their land back."

"Azaria, I will not tolerate that tone from you. Go straight to your room! I do not want to see you for the rest of the day." Harold hissed at me.