This is an artfully written review. I’m glad you enjoyed the excerpt. I’m also glad that the connection to the cardinal/son came through so clearly to you. That is the part of the story that gives me the most concern.
Novel Treatments / Strawberry Field
Mud Paw spied into the village center. “There is Dancing Doe.”
“You forget that she is now called Wounded Doe among our people,” Wateska said. “She speaks aloud to the spirits. Few know the depth of her sorrow after her husband, Standing Bear, and children were taken by the smallpox. She sees their spirits beside her.”
“Has Wounded Doe turned to witchcraft?”
“Some whisper, yes. But none will openly speak against her. She goes her own way. She spends three days picking strawberries and returns to the village with baskets filled with sweet fruit.”
“I remember it was her family’s tradition to go to the strawberry patch west of the river. As long as she brings no evil magic to the village, she may come and go as the spirits guide her.”
The sunlight pierced Wounded Doe’s vision like jagged shards of ice to make her eyes water. She heard a single song through the harmony of the prairie’s music, “to-to-to, peer-peer, to-to-to, peer-peer.”
“Listen, our son sings to us,” Wounded Doe said to her husband, whose spirit stood beside her.
“Yes, I hear him singing through the song of the cardinal,” Standing Bear said. “Little Bear sings that it is time to go to our grove and pick fruit.”
“Why are the children not here beside us? Why do they get out of sight so often these days?”
“They want to be with their friends. Surely you do not expect them to cling to the knees of their mother for eternity. Do not worry. Little Bear and Summer Fawn will be at the strawberry patch when we arrive.”
She jumped to her feet, grabbed her blanket and baskets, and hurried from the village. She did not look up, but she knew the cardinal followed her. The bird’s song—her son’s message—remained clear, never varying its intensity.
“What has happened, Small Bear?” she demanded of the bird. “Why is this the last time?”
“This journey will be less trouble if you go on without the burden of all that you carry,” Standing Bear said.
“The baskets are easy to carry when they are empty.” Wounded Doe lifted her arms high. “Part of the joy of going to the grove is in the ease of the trip. The joy of returning is in the wealth of the harvest. The joy of being there is purely a family affair.” She moved her legs more quickly while keenly monitoring the path ahead. She had no need to notice the rest of the world, her view narrowing to a tunnel that ended six feet in front of her. Too soon, the trail ended, and she raised her head. “We have gone too far, husband. Look, the open prairie is before us. How could we have missed the place that we know so well?”
Wounded Doe turned to face east and glared at the scorched field before her. “Abomination. The evil magic of white men has burned our strawberry patch.”
Standing Bear stood mutely at her side.
Objects lost proportion. The ground moved in waves; the trees bent toward her and away again. The sky began to spin slowly at first, then with unbearable speed. Her vision faded, and she fell forward onto the charred ground. She awoke blind but void of fear. “Husband, my eyes see only darkness. Listen, the song of Small Bear is far away.” Seeking the sound of the cardinal, she crawled, then stood and stumbled forward on stiff, uncertain legs. She stopped, listened for the bird, confirmed that the warmth of the afternoon sun and prevailing, westerly wind massaged her spine, and stumbled forward a few more steps. When she fell, she chastised Standing Bear, “You must warn me of obstacles, husband. I need your sight now.”
He gave no reply.
She reached the east edge of the cultivated field, where her toes touched grass. “Thank the Great Spirit, we are beyond the evil of the whites. Listen—the trees stand ahead.”
The cardinal’s song called to her, “whoit, whoit.”
Wounded Doe fell, and the prairie grass welcomed her body with the embrace of an old friend. When her outstretched palms met the bark of a maple tree, she said, “We’ve reached woods, husband. Soon we will feel the river.”
But Wounded Doe could not step over the forest undergrowth. She moved backward until she freed herself from the tangle. The cardinal’s song carried words from Small Bear, “This way, Mother.”
She fell to her hands and knees, and scrambled toward the call of her boy. Her fingers felt each contour of the ground. Her spirit soared when she found the bare, packed dirt of a trail—the well-worn path that connected the village to her strawberry grove. She stood and removed her moccasins as though preparing to enter holy ground. “My toes must feel the trail, if you will not tell me the way, husband.”
Standing Bear was silent.
The song of the cardinal moved to the south, “wacheer, wacheer, wacheer.”
“Not that way, Small Bear. I must travel eastward on this trail. Do not go where I cannot follow.” A thorn pressed into the ball of Wounded Doe’s right foot, and deep scratches were inflicted to her arm by the same thorn bush that gave birth to the tiny spear that toppled her. Rolling onto the trail and freeing the thorn from the bottom of her foot, her senses were overwhelmed by the thick smell of new, spring leaves, the dense musk of mulch that covered the floor of the woods—formed by endless years of renewal and death—and the tang of iron from the blood that flowed from her punctured flesh.
Bleeding did not matter now. Pain did not matter now. Wounded Doe’s concern was for only the river and the guiding spirit-bird of her son. The cardinal’s song came to her ears from a great distance, and the thought of losing him made her move with urgency as she flung her body down the trail.
The water of the Fox River splashed soothingly around her feet and she let out an enormous, “Whoop!” as she stopped and turned downstream. Rushing water coursed around her legs. She detected the song of her cardinal, closer than before, “wacheer, wacheer, wacheer.”
Laughing, Wounded Doe sloshed toward the sound while staying in the shallows. She stubbed her toe on a rock and moved east to continue unabated. The river’s current pushed hard on her waist. “Our son calls to us, husband.”
Standing Bear spoke not a word.
In her next step, the riverbed beneath her gave way to nothing; the brown water grabbed her legs and pulled her down. She held her breath, regretting that she could no longer hear the song of her cardinal. “Will I float past him?” she worried. “Will he be able to find me again when I emerge from the water?” She opened her eyes.
Her sight was restored, and her family gathered before her. Standing Bear embraced her. Summer Fawn embraced her. Small Bear embraced her, looked up at her, and said, “It is time to go home, Mother. Come, we have much to do.”
With Small Bear’s permission, Wounded Doe released the stale air from her lungs, and together, four Neshnabek spirits began their ascent to the land of the dead.
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squarehopper reviewed Version 1 -
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Would Indians say witchcraft? I think that is a European concept and word.
Would they have said smallpox? – Same issue as above.
Maybe you have establish a stong European influence among these people in your novel ealier. I don’t know… So these are questions that hit me right off.
Strawberries are native to the Americas – so wouldn’t the Indians use their name for it and not the European name? Would they say strawberry patch?
The last line of the first paragraph is terribly out of place. Why include it? Unless it has to do something that I am not privy to from your novel. I don’t see why the judgement is passed between the two speaking.
I am not sure… but do Indian children ever cling to their mother’s knees? My impression from those Indians I do know is that their culture does not promote such neediness. But this is a minor point.
The concept of eternity is European. I don’t think that Indians would understand such a word enough to use it in their speech.
My questions are indicating that there is a much larger issue here than simple misuse of words. I think that the problem is showing a lack of proper research of the culture being written about so that it would be authentic to the readers. Stilted speech is not enough – and actually pretty stereotypical, therefore, adding to the problem of credibility – the customs, language, and knowledge of the people have to presented accurately. This is showing a European/Western viewpoint on how they think Indians would speak and act.
The death scene was interesting but what kind of attack did she have? What lead to her having it?
I think this piece is interesting and flows well despite the comments I made above. I think that you should consider them seriously and correct the issue.
Good luck!
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Ladyauthor2b reviewed Version 1 -
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Honestly, I’ve seen this come up in my review cue and I didn’t think I would like a historical story involving indians, but I grabbed my coffee, took a breath and immersed myself seriously into your story, word by word, which I am so glad that I did now. I could picture Wounded Doe so vividly, as her mind of madness of the loss of her family caused her to see/hear her son’s and husband’s spirits beside her and in the cardinal. Now that madness caught up with the real reality as she sees the scorched strawberry fields. I can imagine her running through that familiar trail, striving to catch up with her son, as she can’t bear to lose him again. The silence of her husband is foreboding. The descriptions of what she sees and smells within that forest was vivid, and I felt like I was there too, I was her. The ending is strangely poetic and just, and I am so happy that in her death in that river, she has found peace and has her family back again. It was so beautiful. I cried at the end, in feeling that pain and her joy, even in death. My coffee is now cold, but it was so damn worth it. Great job, and now I do believe you have enticed me to go back and read the others. That’s the accolades of being a great writer- you hooked a new fan.
MistyJRose reviewed Version 1 -
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You were right. This is really intense. You do really good setting up the scene for Wounded Doe’s death, and do even better not telling the reader that she’s going TO her death. it was some nice foreshadowing. Great descriptions, and i like the introduction to the chapter. Above all, i enjoyed reading this, and wouldn’t mind reading the rest of it.
this_is_glamour reviewed Version 1 -
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This is well written. It could be confusing in some parts, mostly the part of the river. I had to read it twice and then I understood. This piece has good flow.
I especially liked when she found the strawberry field burned “Objects lost proportion. The ground moved in waves; the trees bent toward her and away again.”
overall, very good. I would like to see more of it.
fictionpen reviewed Version 1 -
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I really enjoyed this chapter. I was very intrigued and the story is intense, and not confusing at all. Since I haven’t read any of this except this chapter it makes me want to read more of it I enjoyed the charaters, their pain, the confused state of Wounded Doe and would like to know what else is happening in this story.
pryzmkess reviewed Version 1 -
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Intensity: This section felt very intense; I think that I missed out by not knowing Wounded Doe before this segment. If I cared for her as a character and knew more of her backstory, this would have been very intense. As it was, it was very moving.
Plot: Very short, so no plot appearant, but I did like what I saw.
Characters: The characters, even the dead ones, were very interesting. I found myself wanting to know more about them.
Grammar: Very good grammar – I didn’t notice any major mistakes. The dialogue was stilted well (as it was intentionally done that way).
Misc: Interesting little bit – if the rest of the novel is the same, it should be a neat read.
Poor reviewed Version 1 -
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The Piece of writing I just read was very well written, it had good form and made scene through out the whole piece. The beginning was catchy and I liked it, the middle kept me gripped and the end suited the whole. THank you for allowing me the change to enjoy this piece.
pianogirl6 reviewed Version 1 -
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....and I am crying. Never has death had such an appeal. You fully describe the eternal bond which can never be broken, the interconnectedness of man in this world or the next. Having had a sister, a victim of a drowning accident (4th of July, a long time ago), I only hope that there were such spirits there to welcome her as she emptied her lungs of earth’s perils.
I will look forward to reading your novel. Your work has my utmost respect and very best wishes.
davek reviewed Version 1 -
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This was a nice piece of writing. Your lyrical use of the language and your heady descriptive passages border on true literature. Good work.
Now, i’m not sure if you’ve posted more of this story, but i would be interested in reading more. This is part of the 21st chapter, you say. Post more, i say!
From this piece, we (as readers) are not privvy to the details of where these characters have been or what has previously transpired; but you’ve posted a piece that generates enough interest to make a reader want more. Again: good work.
Technically speaking, i couldn’t find anything wrong. This piece is tight and well-polished and does just what it’s author has intended: it draws the reader in.
Keep writing!
dave.
KristinaWood reviewed Version 1 -
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Yes, I was a bit confused when she began talking to her husband. I had to go back to the beginning to understand it. Perhaps if you just stuck in a part that introduced him like, “Her husband’s spirit appeared beside her” or something like that. I also had trouble with the whole “cardinal’s song” thing. Was this introduced as a warning? I see that she began running, so that is my assumption, but there is no indication of danger until she begins running. Lastly, the way the cardinal’s song changes from ”to, peer” to “whoit” to “whacheer” is a bit confusing as well. Is there a significance to the changing call? Is that explained earlier in the book? Overall though, the descriptiveness is magnificent. This has a ton of potentioal with only a few minor changes. Great read!
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