A story I wrote back in 8th grade. We were doing something about The Trail of Tears. Please help me out if you see any mistakes.
The light from the window by my bed shone on my face. I pulled the blanket over my head.
"Elaine!" Mother was calling. I heard her foot falls on the wooden floor.
"Elaine!"
My door creaked open and my mother strode in.
"Wake up, Elaine, dear." She sat on the bed by my feet. Slowly I pulled the wool blanket from my head and looked at her. Her normally kempt brown hair was down at her shoulder blades. Mother's brown eyes seemed glazed.
"Yes, Mother?" I sat up smoothing my long, dark hair. The look on her pale face was grave.
"Your father is home. He has news of the native tribe by town. The one with your friend," she replied. My best friend, Illa, came to mind.
"What of it?" I asked, masking my alarm.
"You'll have to speak with your father. Get dressed and I'll have breakfast ready," Mother said hurrying out. I had met Illa in the plain where her tribe lived. We were young, so, we played together. The tribe, and my parents, didn't mind our friendship. We became very close. I dressed quickly, putting on a long blue gown with short sleeves and a white shawl. I brushed my hair and tied it in a ribbon. My fingers shook. I was worried. What was so urgent? What had happened? My father was a merchant. He traded with the Indians a lot. I went to eat and then father left with me. Before the tents I was use to seeing came into sight, father spoke.
"Elaine, do you know why we are here?" he asked looking ahead. Father had a long face and a sharp nose. His brown hair was short and neat.
"No," I answered.
He looked down at me, I was only thirteen and I was still shorter than him.
Father was always cheerful and happy. But he was grave, like mother.
"You have heard of the fighting going on? And the president's involvement?"
"Andrew Jackson, correct?"
"Yes, remember how I told you of the story about the Cherokee chief saving his life?"
"Of course." Illa loved that story. She was not Cherokee, but she still thought the chief's actions would protect them. That he would be in the Indian's debts.
"Well, he has-" Father was cut off by the sound of another voice.
"Elaine!"
I looked ahead. Illa was ahead, sprinting to me. Behind her was her weeping mother, slowly making her way to us, and her tribe. They were taking down their tents. Illa's ebony black hair flew behind her as she ran.
"Elaine," she said catching a breath when she stopped in front of me. She was so pretty. I use to envy her. Her skin was dark and she had brown eyes. She wore a brown tunic, pants, and moccasins. Around her neck was her favourite beaded necklace.
"Illa." I was able to say before she pulled me into an embrace.
Illa's mother walked up and my father started comforting her.
"Illa, what's going on?" I asked pulling away.
"He went against us..."
"Who?" I asked as she breathed heavily. I could tell she was crying hard earlier.
"The man. What's his name? Your leader-"
"Mr. Jackson?"
"Yes. That man who was supposed to protect us."
"What is it then?" I asked.
"He's sending us all away. Very far away and we may not be coming back again."
I gaped and we both fell silent.
"H-how far?" I asked, my throat dry.
"I don't know. They say it's too far from here for me to visit you." She began to sniffle.
I tried not to cry in front of people. But there was no stopping the tears this time.
"They can't do that!" I croaked.
"I wish I could stay. I really do," she whispered, tears formed in her eyes. I didn't say another word, but I hugged my friend.
"I want you to remember me, Elaine," she said before a sob.
"I will. Remember me, too."
She nodded pulling away. She reached to the back of her neck and started fumbling with the necklace. Illa took it off and held it out to me.
"Take this," she insisted. My fingers shook as I took it from her hand. My fingers ran along the smooth, colourful beads.
"You might get cold on you journey," I started. Then I took off my shawl and held it to her. I shivered as the cold morning crept through my dress. But I still held it out to my friend. The wind started, making me shiver more and the tears on my cheeks stung. She slowly took the soft shawl and we looked at each other. I didn't know if it was the last time I would see my friend. But she donned the shawl as I put on the necklace. My fingers ran along the beads again as she rubbed the fabric. I swallowed a lump in my throat.
"You have been my best friend, Elaine. You always will be. Good bye, I'll miss you," she whispered taking my hand.
"Good bye, Illa. I'll never forget you," I replied softly, squeezing her hand.
That morning I watched my friend leave. Later, when I grew up, I heard of the torturous journey that I was sure Illa went on. The Trail of Tears, some call it. I am like many. I believe that it was wrong.
I stand to this day at the spot I had last seen her. My fingers run along the beads on my neck as I watch the flat horizon. I sometimes come out here. Maybe if I wait long enough, Illa and her tribe will return.
The necklace is always with me. All the times I would clutch the necklace and remember Illa, I wondered if she shivered some nights and pulled my shawl closer around her. And remembered me, as well. I'm fully grown, married, and with child. But some mornings I wait anyway. Maybe she had a family, too.
I hope she was not of those thousands that are said to have died on The Trail.
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