“Not what we say about our blessings, but how we use them, is the true measure of our thanksgiving.” W. T. Purkiser
She was just a little girl, a child that had seen much in her six years. She had been among one hundred and two colonists to arrive in the New World in 1620. Helplessly unprepared for the harsh winter, they would surely of all perished had it not been for the compassionate aid of the local Pokanoket Wampanoag who brought them food to supplement their meager stores. Later, the Natives taught them which and how to plant crops indigenous to the area. As it was, her parents and most of the women of the colony had perished of illness that first winter, an illness that she herself had survived but which had left her mute. Now, though she still smiled and sometimes played with the other children, she was reserved and watchful, always careful not to risk the disapproval of those who had assumed her care after the death of her parents.
Her name was Ruth, after the biblical Moabite woman redeemed by the Hebrew people. Her father had often said she would one day grow into a devout woman worthy of the name. She was small for her age and delicate of build, and she possessed an elfin beauty much as her mother had worn. Her plain clothes, once belonging to other children, were much patched and already growing too small. Her tiny feet were bare and grimy.
The harvest, their first in the New World, had been plentiful and preparations were underway for a celebration. As only four women had survived the winter the duties were shared with the servants and children, and even a few unmarried men. The local Pokanokets, at least ninety strong, had arrived bearing five deer, a welcome supplement to the fowl and seafood the colonists themselves had procured. Already Governor Bradford and Mr. Winslow were involved in diplomatic talks with the Indian's leader, Massasoit, with Squanto acting as mediator and translator.
Mrs. Bradford called to her and directed her to stir the corn porridge bubbling in a small cauldron over the fire. Always happy to oblige, Ruth did as bade, smiling at having been given such a grown up job.
Later, the men took their places around the tables set out around the grounds. Prayers of gratitude were said and the feasting began with the men being first served, the children second, and the women, heretoforward busy with cooking and serving, serving themselves last. There was a gaggle of talk with much laughter and the occasional good natured ribbing. The Indians, normally seen to be serious and aloof, were also smiling and enjoying the good will between them and the colonists.
The feasting lasted for several days with plenty of gaming and an exchange of diplomatic relations, sometimes combined into one. Ruth watched it all in wonder. After so much hardship it seemed strange to witness such merriment. But, child that she was, it brought a welcome sense of security to her otherwise insecure world.
Gradually the celebration wound down and the Indians went on their way. The colonists were left with feelings of hopeful optimism that the winter ahead would not be a repeat of their first. Leftover meat was smoked and cured while the remainder of the food was consumed as a matter of course. Nothing went to waste.
Later, Ruth would look back on the occasion with fondness. Good relationships with the Indians had not lasted but for the time it had existed things had been good for them all.
Despite being mute she married the son of another colonist and they brought forth several children, most of whom survived into adulthood. She became a favorite in the growing community for her gentle, sunny disposition and generous heart. As foreseen by her father, she became a devout and godly woman, a leader among the women of Plymouth. Eventually she would pass as a woman of great age, revered for her wisdom and good acts. Her burial was attended by the many she had touched in her lifetime and though there was no stone to mark her simple grave her memory remained fresh for generations to come.
**Though some characters are known historical figures, this story, and the character, Ruth, are fictional and come from my own imagination. I credit www.history.com as the source of my information.**
I am well aware of the story because of a documentary I saw on television and this story seems to follow that quite well. I don't recall anyone named Ruth who was six years old brought to the attention of the viewer, but that may have occurred.
My concern is whether or not this is your story or a story that has been repeated from someone else. If it is a repeated story you should give them a citation. If it is your story, you should state it, whether it is a true story from your research or a historical fiction not written before. We have a responsibility as authors to separate the truth from the myth. Too many people follow the myth of Thanksgiving rather than truth that was portrayed so well in that documentary on the History Channel. Without Squanto as interpreter, Plymouth Colony may not have survived at all.
One of the BEST stories about Thanksgiving I have read to date. Being slightly ADD I usually move my attention to something else after reading a few paragraphs of a story and then return to reading a few seconds later. However, this story was a page turning experience where I was hanging on to every word. I am very interested in why Thanksgiving even exist and your story focused on a piece of the puzzle of that mystery. Seeing Indians and their culture for the first time must have been like visiting habitats from another planet. The fact that they were even cautiously friendly speaks volumes of what our relationship SHOULD have been like all of the time. Peace and goodwill for all seemed to resonate in the air. The first Thanksgiving feast was handled with care. Love and compassion for fellow men and women was in the air. As we celebrate Thanksgiving from now on we should include the American Indians in our prayers. Well done Rebecca! Amen!
She was just a little girl, a child that had seen much in her six years. She had been among one hundred and two colonists to arrive in the New World in 1620. Helplessly unprepared for the harsh winter, they would surely of all perished had it not been for the compassionate aid of the local Pokanoket Wampanoag who brought them food to supplement their meager stores. Later, the Natives taught them which and how to plant crops indigenous to the area. As it was, her parents and most of the women of the colony had perished of illness that first winter, an illness that she herself had survived but which had left her mute. Now, though she still smiled and sometimes played with the other children, she was reserved and watchful, always careful not to risk the disapproval of those who had assumed her care after the death of her parents.
