The People

I remember clearly the first time I saw them. My father and I were cleaning out the attic of my great grandfather's place. He'd passed a few months before and the family was finally getting around to settling his estate.

"Dad?" I called across the space. "What's in this big box thing?"

"It's called a steamer trunk son." My dad explained.

Only being eight at the time, I had no idea what that was.

I levered the lid open and sneezed at the dust I disturbed. Inside was jammed full of what looked like folders or really thin books. Curious, I grabbed the topmost one and opened it. It was really hard to read. The writing was faded and the handwriting was very sloppy. What floored me was the first line.

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**April 23rd 1825, today I buried my Kate.**

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"No way!" I gasped. "Dad, these are really old. Like REALLY old."

"That they are." He chuckled. "As best we can tell, they are journals from your great uncle Owen. Actually, it's something like five or six greats in front of that uncle."

"Have you read them?" I asked, awestruck.

"Some of them." He answered. "The first ones are easy. Later, he must have used home made ink or something. They have faded really badly and he started writing in a language none of us have been able to translate."

"How many are there?" I inquired.

"I never counted them, but I'm sure it's at least thirty." He offered.

The trunk and its contents went to another family member and I didn't see them again for many years but I never forgot them.

Fast forward about fifteen years. I'm fresh out of college with degrees in Library Science and Antique and Historic Document Restoration and Analysis.

One evening a few weeks later, I got an unexpected phone call from my dad.

"Hey Pop. What's up?" I chirped into my phone.

"Bad news I'm afraid." He sighed. "Aunt Miriam passed last night."

"Crap." I uttered before I caught myself. Aunt Miriam, actually my great aunt, raised my dad after his mom died birthing his little sister. He was five at the time. She was more mother than aunt. "You OK?"

"She'd been going downhill for a while, it wasn't unexpected, still..." I heard his voice crack.

We talked for several minutes then he let me go. I could tell he needed some time alone to process his feelings. We'd get together in a few days and remember her.

While Aunt Miriam's passing wasn't entirely a surprise, the delivery of the steamer trunk to my home a few days later was.

It looked like it hadn't been touched since I last saw it. Opening it proved that hypothesis incorrect. Lying on top of the journals was a manila envelope with my name on it. I carefully opened the flap and removed the letter within.

Aiden,

There is a story here, I just know it. You have the tools to find that story, if in fact it can be found. Humor an old, silly woman and see what you can figure out.

Aunt Miriam

Almost without thinking, I picked up the first journal and started to read. It was still difficult, but I now had quite a bit of experience with old hand written letters and such, so it came a bit easier.

The first journal started with the loss of Uncle Owen's wife Kate while trying to deliver their first child. By his own description, he was a big man. Over six feet and seventeen stone (around 240 pounds) with unruly red hair and beard. Kate on the other hand was 'a slight slip of a woman'. His words. It isn't inconceivable that the baby may have been too large for her to deliver. Even under the best of circumstances, a disturbing number of women died in childbirth. My own grandmother being one of them,

Uncle Owen didn't take it well and spent the next few years (and journals) wandering. There wasn't much he hadn't done as he traversed the still somewhat new Louisiana Purchase, gradually moving west and north as he tried to find himself. He eventually ended up somewhere in the western Dakotas by my best guess.

At this point, he would have been what we now call a Mountain Man. He hunted and trapped, trading with both white merchants and Native Americans. (He called them 'Indians', though I will use the appropriate term unless I'm directly quoting him).

The next several journals were so faded I could not read them by conventional means. Time to put my degree to the test.

Using alternate light sources and polarized filters I was finally able to get a combination that allowed me to visualize most of the text and set about scanning the pages into my computer. I purposely refrained from reading any of it until had it all on the hard drive. I knew once I started I wouldn't stop.

It still took some doing and the later journals were even more of a challenge as Uncle Owen slid off into some foreign language. It seemed gradual though, so maybe I'd be able to garner some context as I went.

His story continued. Trading, trapping, just trying to survive. Life wasn't easy, but he seemed to thrive in the face of all that hardship.

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**Winter 1828 I think. Someone is watching me. Maybe several someones. I have had many encounters with the Indians. I find them decent people. Hard working and friendly. My appearance seems to either startle or amuse them. At least a head taller than they and my tangle of bright red hair. It seems strange. Even though we speak different tongues, we find a way to communicate. They are just as curious as I am. They have taught me many useful things. I am grateful.**

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That pretty much described Uncle Owen's writing style. Choppy and to the point. I don't think he ever meant for anyone to read them. He was just cataloging his life as he lived it.

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**Spring 1829. I hope weather breaks soon as my stores are nearing empty. The bears are not yet awake but I have heard a mountain lion recently. This time of year they are nasty and short tempered as they are hungry all the time. I do not go out unarmed.

I have determined my watchers are children from the nearby Indians. I seem to be a source of amusement for them.**

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There was an unusually long break in Uncle Owen's entries.

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**Mid-Summer 1829. I have been in the tender care of Indian maidens for these past weeks. The reason for this was that damned mountain lion. Several days after my last writing, I was running my snares when I heard the lion snarl and several voices calling out in fear. As I came upon the scene, that infernal cat had a small child by the arm and was dragging them off. I yelled at the cat, pulled out my knife and charged having determined my firearm would be useless. Too much danger to the child. Luckily the child was putting up a fight and had slowed the cat enough that I caught up quickly. Deeming me the more pressing problem, the cat released the child and engaged me, screaming as it leapt at me. I only managed a glancing blow with my knife before the cat fell upon me with claws and fangs. A deep bite on my left arm and claws raking my face. Rear claws tried to open my belly but tangled in my loose clothing. Lucky for me. I held onto the enraged beast and repeatedly stabbed with my knife hoping to hit something vital, or at least causing enough pain it would run away. Finally landing a fatal blow, the cat screamed, shuddered and fell limp at my feet. As I was told later. I followed. I was taken by the Indian men back to their village and nursed back to health. They were quite grateful I had stopped the cat from killing the child. I later found out it had indeed killed two of the Indians. A boy and an old woman. They were very happy to be rid of it.

My nursing during my ordeal was handled by several women in the village. The healer woman, old and gnarled. She treated my wounds with potions and poultices and saw to my overall care. A small group of other women and girls tended my daily needs. I was unconscious and feverish for most of a month from what I could gather from the elders. None spoke English, but a few did speak some French and I had picked up enough to get by. The women fed me, bathed me, tended my wounds and much to my embarrassment, my ablutions.

Once I was well enough, I started trying to regain the strength I lost in my convalescence. Several of the older maidens took it upon themselves to walk with me as I recovered. All seemed very interested in me but not as a patient. I asked one of the men with whom I had developed something of a friendship with about it one evening as we told stories around the fire. Between what French I knew and what I was picking up of their tongue, we understood each other.

He told me the women were looking on me as a possible husband. Then he laughed. He said it would be a great dishonor not to accept one of them. After all I was the Great Red Bear, protector of children.

I had no want of women since I lost my Kate and his words deeply concerned me. I didn't want to offend the people who saved my life and I would have to leave the area if I refused. (provided they didn't kill me outright) This would require some thought.**

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Nothing of real interest happened for most of the rest of that journal. He continued to recover and the women doted over him. I could almost feel him squirm. I noticed the text was increasingly using French words and what I can only believe was the native tongue of the Native Americans. I presumed he was spelling the words phonetically as I am unsure they had a written language. I don't think he realized he was doing it. It just sort of happened.

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**Fall 1829. Winter preparations are in full swing. Meat and fish are being dried and foodstuffs packed for long term storage. I now live full time with the Indians and have my own dwelling. My nurses have dwindled to two. Silver Moon, so named as she was born under the light of a full moon and Misana. Such strange creatures. Taller than my Kate but no less womanly. Strong, both of body and will. Dark hair and eyes, again, nothing like my fair Kate. One by one, they have driven off all the others. I fear they may come to blows over me. I can tell they hold no love for each other in this endeavor. Winner takes all. Nika (one of the men with whom I can converse) has told me it will all be settled at the fall festival.**

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From my later research, I have determined this was held at the Autumnal Equinox. On or about September 21st. Again, not much of import until the night of the festival.

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**Fall Festival 1829. I have not seen Silver Moon or Misana all day. I am told tonight I will officially be made a member of the village and will be presented with the skin of the mountain lion as a token of my deed. After the ceremony, the women would come to me and I would have to choose one of them. While I was not looking forward to this, I had become somewhat resigned to it. They are both quite lovely. As much as I didn't want to admit it, my Kate is gone and nothing will bring her back. If she were here, she'd probably smack me in the head for pining away for so long.

The moment of truth has arrived! I am now officially Red Bear, member of 'The People' (It took me longer than I care to say to come up with this term for the members of the tribe. It was clear from the context the word Uncle Owen used was not a formal name. It seemed to be more of a concept or observation. Hence my choice of this word.) with all rights and privileges. The skin of that damned cat now draped my shoulders and the men surrounded me, thumping my back and smiling. A murmur went through the crowd. Turning to see what had caught the men's attention, I'm nearly driven to my knees by the sight. Silver Moon and Misana. Resplendent in ceremonial clothing. I have never seen a lovelier sight. They both smiled at me and approached holding out a hand. I am unsure. Is this the choosing? Almost as if reading my mind, both women take one of my hands and guide me to my dwelling. We entered and the women seated me on my bedding. One on either side, they again smiled and Silver Moon spoke.

"Red Bear. You are one of The People. You have proven your strength and bravery. Now you must take your rightful place and choose a mate."

I asked her. "How am I to do that?"

"As a great warrior, you may have us both, if you desire." She answered firmly. "You would still need to choose a first wife."

I needed to be VERY careful how I worded this. "I am truly humbled that both of you offer yourselves to me. However. I was married once. My beautiful wife died in childbirth. I loved her with all my heart, but she taught me a very important lesson. It is difficult loving one woman and keeping her happy. I'm not sure how well I did as our time was short. I think one wife is probably more than I deserve and certainly more than I can handle. Two is entirely out of the question. I pray that which ever one of you isn't chosen can forgive me. I mean no disrespect."

They smiled and spoke quietly between themselves for a moment. "For someone not born of The People, you are very wise." Silver Moon said.

"You will make a fine husband to whomever you choose." Misana added.

A thought occurred to me at that moment. "While I was injured. Did one of you sing to me? I thought I heard singing. It gave me such peace and joy. Maybe it was a dream, but it seemed real. It may well have been the reason I survived."

Silver Moon blushed. Misana frowned.

"It was you?" I asked Silver Moon.

She nodded. "I was so sure you were going to die. I could not heal you, only time could do that. If you were going to the Great Beyond, I wanted them to know someone special was coming. Someone brave and honorable. I asked them to care for you if I could not."

Misana rose, defeated and left.**

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He didn't give details but made it well known he and Silver Moon very enthusiastically consummated their union.

The People rejoiced.

It took most of three years to power through all the journals. I had a serious understanding of the language of The People by the time I was through. Even with that, some concepts were still beyond my capability to translate.

The final entry of any real import was.

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**Summer 1830. Today I am a father. Once Silver Moon told me we were having a child, I nearly died from fright. Losing Kate had me so fearful of the same fate befalling her. Fortunately my wife is very smart. She sat me down and we talked. Well, mostly, she talked and I nodded my head at the right places. She told me anyone who wasn't afraid was a fool but not to let that fear rule me. Fear is not overcome by bravery but by preparedness. She and the women of the village have been birthing babies for generations and are prepared for whatever may occur. "Have faith my husband, my Great Red Bear." She assured me. As I look at the face of my son, happily sleeping in my arms, I cannot help but think of Kate and what might have been. I miss her so, but this life, even without her, is more than I could ever have imagined, more than I deserve. I am grateful.**

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Red Bear and Silver Moon lived together happily for almost fifty years. His journal logged the season and year of the births of their seven children, but not much more than that. Seemingly his life and family took enough of his time and thoughts that he no longer needed to write them down.

He passed away in 1878. I have names and dates of births and important events, but who they were is not discussed. He did elude to encouraging them to write their own stories, so maybe they're out there somewhere waiting to be found. I'm still not sure how Uncle Owen's journals were returned to my family, finding anything else seems unlikely.

Using the journals as a guide and with the help of Google maps, I plotted a likely location for his adventures and over the next several vacations, explored the areas and asked lots of questions of the locals.

To this point, I had no idea who The People were. Had they survived or were they wiped out by disease, inter-tribal warfare or the U. S. government. I had no clue.

Tired and somewhat disheartened, I stopped at a gas station/convenience store in western North Dakota, almost into Montana. After fuel and a pitstop, I grabbed a few snacks and approached the cashier. She was singing softly to herself. I didn't notice at first. I understood the words. No big deal, except they weren't English. She was singing the language of The People. The pronunciation was slightly different than I imagined but the meaning was clear.

I stood, slackjawed and stared until she noticed.

"You alright?" She asked.

"What were you singing?" I inquired.

"Just an old song my grandmother sang to me as a child." She answered.

Fortune favors the bold. In the language of The People I said. "You honor her."

Her mouth dropped open and she gasped. "How... how do you know this? There aren't more than a dozen people who can speak it."

"My name is Aiden McClennan. My many times great uncle was Owen McClennan. You may know him as Red Bear."

"No Fucking Way!" She blurted, then slapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry."

"So you've heard of him?" I asked.

"Yeah, even though I thought he was a myth." She grinned. "Erin Little Tree, pleased to meet you... cousin."

Holy Crap! I thought. I finally found them, the descendants of Red Bear and Silver Moon, my family.

"I have so many questions." I stated, still trying to take in the immensity of the moment. "Can I meet you later?"

"I'd be mad if you didn't." She smiled. "It's not every day I get a new relative."

We met later at a crappy little diner.

"So how on earth did you even know about this?" She asked.

"My Uncle wrote journals." I stated. "Thirty-six of them to be exact. I have all of them in my computer if you'd like to see them."

"I would." She nearly squealed. "All we have is oral history. The People never developed a written language."

"So none of Uncle's kids or grandkids wrote anything?" I pressed. "He hinted that they might."

"Not to my knowledge." She confirmed.

Unfortunate, I thought.

Erin started reading the journals even before our food came. She cried at the start of the first one and the ensuing loneliness and isolation Uncle Owen endured.

There was no way she'd get to the journals of his time with The People so I downloaded everything to a thumbdrive and gave it to her along with contact info for me.

"Unfortunately, I head back to my world tomorrow." I sighed. "I wish I could stay and learn more about our family."

"It does suck." She giggled. "Believe me, I'll stay in touch. I'm sure I'll have lots of questions after I read more. My family is gonna freak out when I show them this."

"Mine as well." I chuckled. "They pretty much thought it was a fools errand. After all these years, what are the chances anyone was left?"

"Well, there aren't many of us." Erin sighed. "Direct descendants of Red Bear and Silver Moon, maybe twenty or so. Of The People, a few hundred. The years have not been kind. Between smallpox and the Indian wars, they didn't fare well. We're not extinct, but we are mostly forgotten."

"Well, maybe I can do something about that." I smiled. "I have been thinking about posting the journals on-line. Maybe it will flush out a few more lost souls. At least it would leave a permanent record of The People for the world to see."

"I like it." Erin beamed. "Do it, please."

"As soon as I get home." I promised.

"Where is home?" She asked.

"St. Louis area." I said. "Not far from where Uncle Owen and Kate lived. I've been trying to find the exact location, but I fear that won't happen. So much has changed. It's most likely been paved over by now. Even if Kate's grave still exists, after almost two hundred years, the marker is long gone."

"Too true." Erin sighed as well. "There are no graves for The People. The dead were burned on a pyre in hopes the smoke would carry their spirit to the Great Beyond."

"I'll add that to the post." I stated. "Send me whatever you can remember and I'll add it as well. With the addition of my immediate family, The People just got bigger. There may yet be more."

Erin and I kept in touch. Text, e-mail, the occasional Skype. It was hard at first getting The People to talk. Many were against putting their traditions and practices on the net. Strong was the desire to continue the tradition of oral history. Then I has a brainstorm (OK, maybe it was more of a light shower). They wanted oral history. I'd give them oral history. We offered to record whatever they wanted to share and I'd post that. Nothing written, 100% voice. Honor the old ways with new technology. Even the elders liked the idea.

Erin spent a great deal of time taking oral histories from anyone that wanted to share and I'd edit them, clean them up a bit and post them. While not anything like a viral success, we did garner our share of dedicated followers, including the Anthropology departments of several major universities.

The People had a voice.

Erin and I were getting together every few months to exchange information and work on a couple of side projects. It was an eighteen hour drive. Yuck.

It was a little over a year later when the Anthropology department of a University in Colorado contacted us. They were going to try to find the village based on the journal descriptions of the area and wanted to know if we wanted to assist. That was a big Hell Yes!!

I don't think the first moon landing needed this much tech. I had no idea what most of the equipment was, but there was a lot of it and it all looked VERY expensive. Needless to say, I touched nothing. Erin was equally intimidated.

Uncle Owen's description of the location of the village was pretty detailed. Between the USGS maps and his mention of major landmarks and such, they eventually narrowed the search to a quarter mile stretch adjoining a small stream that fed the Missouri River. It took a few days to cover the area with the GPR (ground penetrating radar) and the results were promising. It certainly looked as if the area had been inhabited as several locations showed signs of dwellings, trails and possibly a midden.

Erin was allowed to help excavate the probable midden. I, along with two UC students worked on one of the dwelling sites.

It was hot, dirty work and not much to show for it. Of course the science geeks were wetting themselves over the fish and animal bones and such, but little was found that conclusively pointed to Native Americans, let alone The People. That all changed when I spotted something shiny. I called over one of the geeks before I picked it up. They said I could, just mark where I found it in case it was something important. I gingerly plucked the object from the dirt and carefully removed some of the encrustation. It appeared to be a coin or medallion. I knew The People had no use for money and they didn't wear metallic ornamentation so I was certain we were in the wrong place. I showed it to one of the geeks and they concurred. Further cleaning of the object later that day determined it was a St. Christopher's medal. Most certainly NOT a Native American artifact. It was also inscribed. Strike TWO, The People had no written language.

Offhandedly, I asked if the inscription was legible. Do all geeks keep magnifying glasses in their pockets?

"Let's see." The geek dude pondered as he inspected the back. "Hard to read." He actually licked the damn thing and polished it on his shirt. "To my beloved... I think it's Gwen."

The hair stood up on the back of my neck. "Lemme see that." I snatched it out of his hand. Even without the magnification it was more than apparent that first letter was an O. Owen. Beloved Owen. My fucking great Uncle Owen.

"ERIN!!!" I screamed, then broke down in tears.

"What the Hell!" She gasped, skidding to a halt beside me. "Aiden, what's wrong?"

I handed her the medal and she looked it over. Soon we were both hugging and crying and laughing. I'm sure the geeks thought we'd completely lost our minds. Eventually, the professor overseeing the dig came over investigating the commotion.

"What seems to be the problem?" He spat. "It's bad enough were chasing our tails here without you two being disruptive."

"No, I think you want to see this." I stood, still hugging Erin and handed the medal to him. "This is a St. Christopher's medal. Certainly not a Native American artifact. The inscription on the back however, identifies the owner as 'My Beloved Owen'. This is most likely my great Uncle Owen, author of the journals and the reason we're all out here. I know it's not 100%, but Owen is not that common a name and we are searching an area he led us to, so I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say we found the village. The only known site of habitation by The People. I think this might be just a little bit important, don't you?"

Well, if publish or perish is still a thing in academia, this guy's gonna live forever.

Between journal articles and half a dozen in-person presentations at the most prestigious universities with anthropology departments, we were busy for most of two years. Oddly, the professor running the dig actually included Erin and me in the author listing.

It was all big news in a rather small arena. Most of the world neither heard of nor cared about The People. Still, word got out in the Native American community. Several tribal councils came forward with information from their own histories. The People were known to at least five other peoples in the area and we added that knowledge to the ever increasing body of work.

Two of the tribes had ancestors that were from The People. It seems inter-tribal relationships, while not common, were not unheard of.

The People got bigger.

Through all of this, Erin had become the de facto face of The People. Most any time The People were mentioned, Erin's picture was usually associated. A role she excelled in, even if she didn't like it.

My role was more difficult to describe. I was hailed as the discoverer of Red Bear's journals and the subsequent translator/historian that brought The People out of the darkness. Even though I was not of Native American blood, I felt a proud kinship with The People. They are my family, even if only by marriage.

The real hero of this story is Owen McClennan, Red Bear of The People. Were it not for his journals The People may have faded from history completely. They were already well on their way when I took up the mantle and translated his words. They are once again known and in that knowing, more members are being found, almost by the day. It will never be fully understood just how many members there were at their peak. Certainly they were not a major tribe, but what is known is now recorded and archived.

The People will survive!

I hope Aunt Miriam is proud.