Settling Old Grudges Poem by David Welch

Settling Old Grudges



This house belonged to grandfather Rudolph,
though its history goes much further back,
all the way to the eighteen seventies,
when to this vast land Herbert Blake did trek.

It had once been a grand ranch homestead,
centerpiece of sixteen thousand acres,
though now it was but six hundred or so,
sold off to make bank accounts bigger.

Two months ago grandpa Rudolph passed on,
at ninety-three, having lived a full life,
to my surprise he left the mountain home
to me and my beautiful, young wife!

Having lived in cities, just scraping by
we could not pass up just such a break,
out to grand Wyoming we up and moved,
so excited for the life we would make.

I got a job running a hardware store,
my wife waitressed at a tourist café,
prices are so much cheaper out here
that we didn't mind a small drop in pay.

It was a month in that is all began,
my wife claimed she saw a figure at night,
walking the parkland outside of the house,
so I stayed up to see if she was right.

To my shock a lone figure did appear,
but what I saw seemed a lie to my eyes,
it was a half-naked Indian man,
with but a loin cloth cast over his thighs!

I blinked to try and clear up my head,
but the man remained out there in the grass,
be had a bow, tomahawk and knife,
and a lance clearly meant to be cast.

What was going on, I couldn't say,
did the local tribes have claim on this land?
Was this some ritual grandpa had allowed?
What could account for this odd-looking man?

I was about to call for the police
when the figure disappeared in the woods.
I called anyway, just to report it,
not knowing that it would do no good.

The cop who arrived was a grizzled old man
who'd been friends with my Grandpa Rudolph,
He said, "I can tell you why this happened,
but I'm afraid when you hear it you'll scoff."

I motioned him to go ahead and speak,
he nodded, said, "Rudolph knew of all this.
See that Indian is the ghost of Blue Hawk,
who died way back in nineteen-oh-six.

"See when Herbert Blake set up his stake here,
Blue Hawk was chief of a local band of Sioux,
it's said for years they sniped at each other,
neither seeing the other's point-of-view.

"Now that's easy enough to comprehend,
'cause everything was quite different back them,
but they say that his son, and Blue Hawks' daughter,
had something become much more than friends.

"When it was found out each attacked the other,
the feud erupted into all-out war.
and when the children were killed in the fight
it just fueled both side's hatred all the more.

"The bloodshed grew, the army was called in,
and sided with settlers as they often did,
Blue Hawk's people were crushed, all rounded up,
put on the rez and told to stay within.

"Despite the peace both sides still held their hate,
cursing the other right up until they died,
it wasn't long after Blue Hawk passed on
that he restless ghost first was espied.

"Every Blake who has lived here since those days
has seen Blue Hawk's spirit wandering the hills,
some say he's still out looking for his girl,
others that he seeks out Herbert to kill.

"He never once came into this here house,
inside here at least you'll all be safe.
Though I must say Rudolph was leery
of going out at night from this place."

I bit back hard on the urge to laugh
because the officer seemed truly sincere,
he left and I resolved to probe deeper
to understand what was going on here.

But when I went to the reservation
they told the same story as the old cop,
that Blue Hawk's spirit was doomed to wander
until he found the poor daughter he'd lost.

Seeing that locals would be of no help
I decided to look into my side,
never knew much of Herbert besides the name,
but the internet helped to trace my line.

My grandpa Rudolph had been the son
of a Blake who had come from Oregon,
by the name of Ellis, he was the child
of a man who'd gone by the name of Milton.

That was where things suddenly got confused,
when I scanned the eighteen-seventy census,
I found Herbet Blake, my great-great-great grandpa,
and the names of his children in a list.

There was Eudalia, first-born daughter,
died before she could reach the age nine,
Mary and Spencer and Edward and Bill,
said Edward had died, eighteen seventy-nine.

That was the year all the trouble began,
so where had Milton been all of this time?
Then I saw Ed's middle initial was ‘M'
and the truth of it formed within my mind.

Edward hadn't died, he'd fled the whole mess,
and started going by his middle name,
but what of Blue Hawk's missing daughter,
did the Blakes really deserve this blame?

I could find nothing of this girl ‘Small Doe'
when I looked into the country archives,
though given the acrimony of those years
I could not say that this was a surprise.

But an idea appeared half-formed in my mind,
I sent a request to the Oregon town
where Milton Blake had lived his adult life,
and was astonished by what I then found.

They sent a copy of an old tin-type,
a picture of Milton and his bride,
one look at it and I knew the whole truth,
Small Doe in the fighting had not died.

A DNA test confirmed what I thought,
and I resolved to bring this all to an end,
Blue Hawk deserved know death's sweet peace,
so out into the crisp night I went.

As expected Blue Hawk did appear,
fixed his eyes on me and drew his bow,
I threw up my hands, shouted out "Wait!
There is something that you really need to know!

The Indian hesitated at the words,
so I nervously took a deep breath,
said, "If you shoot me than you should now
you'll be sending one of your own to death.

"Small Doe didn't die all those years ago,
with her lover to the west she fled.
She married Edward, who went by Milton,
and a family of six children they bred.

"I descend from that big family,
which means your blood is running through my veins,
Herbert Blake was my great-great-grandfather,
but Blue Hawk of the Sioux is the same! "

They ghost before me seemed physically struck,
the bow dropped silently from his hands,
his form seemed to flicker in the darkness,
then he stalked forwards from where he did stand.

He came close, then peered right at my face,
at the eyes and the curve of my jaw,
anger in his look softened to acceptance,
something familiar if my face he saw…

With that Blue Hawk turned and trudged away
fading slowly as he went into night,
he'd gone completely before sixty steps,
and I turned back to see my scared wife.

She stood in the doorway in her nightclothes,
but would not take a single step out,
I walked on back, and took her in my arms,
said, "I think we will be left alone know."

She asked, "What was it that you told him? "
I said, "I just let him know that he misjudged
what happened here all of those years ago…
far time to settle this age-old grudge."

Saturday, December 29, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: cowboy,epic,family,ghost,history,narrative,story
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