First Thanksgiving

'Across Seas'

By Elizabeth Nicklis

The Pilgrims

The wind, the rain, the water, it was all the same. The pilgrims had been seeing the same landscape for the last two weeks: the rolling waves, the occasional blue sky, the clouds, the boat, and the people. There were more than 100 people on board, and it was very crowded. They had all been excited and ready to leave so they could live according to their own beliefs without a king to boss them around. It was a brilliant dream, but many were getting pretty tired of the boat and were growing anxious and grouchy. Two people had already died—one drowned, the other got sick—and everyone was getting restless. 

The Storm

Stephanie was very tired of the boat. The closest person to her age was Olivia, who was only nine. Stephanie was eleven, one of the oldest children on the ship. She had dark brown hair worn in braids and a pretty pink and blue calico dress. She was cheerful and had rosy cheeks and a voice like a lark. 

The captain walked by. He, too, seemed to feel the toll of this journey. 

“Captain,” Stephanie said. “How much longer to shore, may I ask?” 

“A good while. A storm’s brewing,” he said in a gruff, gravely voice.

Another storm, Stephanie thought. Great.

Stephanie noticed that the boat had begun to rock and the sun was hidden from view by dark, ominous clouds. The waves were big and choppy. The whole scene was scary and promised death. The rain began to fall and people rushed to get under the cabin's protection.

However, Stephanie stayed on deck to see the stunning storm. The waves crashed onto the deck, soaking her skirts. The rain came in torrents. Thunder boomed and lightening flashed in great shows of light. The boat rocked violently side to side, the boards screaming. A yell went up followed by a splash and commotion. A rope was thrown into the sea. Stephanie watched with horror as a man was pulled up wheezing, shivering, and dripping wet. 

“Oh my,” she said softly. 

A towel was placed on the shoulders of the man and he was brought to the cabin. The boy next to Stephanie suddenly fell over the railing and tumbled into the sea. Stephanie gulped and made her way to the waiting comfort of safety. The storm was over as quickly as it begun and people filed out of the cabin in rows.

A Baby

Three more weeks went by. Week after week of everything being the same. But then, Stephanie heard it, a thin wail spread across the boat. A wail of life. Men, women, and children rushed around a young woman. She looked tired. She had deep circles under her eyes and her skin was pale, but she was smiling proudly and her eyes shone. A bearded man, whom Stephanie recognized from around the boat, was kneeling next to her holding out a bundle. If Stephanie had any doubt of what was in there, it dissipated when a tiny pink face peeped out from under the wraps. The baby gurgled and cried.

Stephanie approached the mat where the boy lay. His blue eyes sparkled when he looked at her and he smiled adoringly at her glowing face. 

“He likes you,” the mother whispered, smiling. 

“What is his name, ma’am?” Stephanie asked. 

“His name is Oceanus, for he was born on the sea,” the mother said. “And what might yours be?”

“My name is Stephanie,” she said shyly, blushing. 

“What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

Stephanie’s cheeks flushed again. She slowly backed away from the crowded area. She went to her cabin and sat smiling until sleep arrived.

Land

As the days went by, more and more sickness overtook more and more people. They were little more than seventy-five people still alive. Hope was needed, and badly. One woman threw herself off the boat in a crazed state. Stephanie’s family had perished tragically and they all were resting under the water. Stephanie was grieved and lonely. Then the call went up,

“Land! Land ho!” 

Those that remained excitedly gathered around the deck to view land. The idea that the horrible journey was over was bright in people’s minds. A majestic, dark mound rose out of the mist, but then…they went through it. The boat just simply cut through the huge cloud and all hope was dashed. People, even more discouraged than before, solemnly walked back under cover.

Is There Enough?

The food rations were smaller and smaller. Survivors could only have meager meals two times a day. Stephanie stared at her plate. Dinner consisted of dried fruit, some corn, and dirty, unfiltered water. Her stomach growled more and more often. Rumors spread that there wasn’t enough food for everyone and that sacrifices had to be made. And on top of that, people were getting angrier. Their leaders had promised land. Where was it? The brilliant sea voyage on shining blue waters, happy people, enough food for a feast every day? The ribs showed on the animals and nobody smiled, laughed, or joked anymore. Stephanie was lonely, hungry, and alone.

Home at Last

“Land ho!” the booming voice sounded again. 

Three months after they left, the pilgrims had finally reached their destination. Preparations were made and people gathered their things in celebration. Everyone crowded against one another to see land, and this time they were sure it wasn’t a cloud. The trees, rocks, hills, and flowers were definitely real. The waters glistened and the sand sparkled in the sun. Women cried and children shouted. 

The long journey was over!

Well, not quite. They had to sail for two more weeks to get past the large, spiky rocks. In December, they finally docked in Plymouth. 

Plymouth Rock marks the spot, Stephanie thought. 

People poured out onto the hot sand, weeping and praying. The minister gathered everyone ‘round to join together in an earnest prayer to God for delivering them safely. Little did they know that in one year, they’d host the first Thanksgiving for the Native Americans who helped them through hard times.

But all Stephanie cared about now was that she was home. She was finally home at last.

Elizabeth Nicklis is a homeschooled 11-year-old who is crazy about writing. She hopes to some day make more money than her Uncle Daniel. Also read her first Thanksgiving tale, "A Tragically Hopeful Thanksgiving."

ORIGINAL FICTION ARCHIVE

A Tragically Hopeful Thanksgiving

The Pageant of a Nation, painted by Jean Leon Gerome Ferris

The Pageant of a Nation, painted by Jean Leon Gerome Ferris

By Elizabeth Nicklis

Crick, crick, crick. 

Sarah awoke to the sound of birds chirping. It was sunrise; she would have to hurry if she didn't want to get a scolding for being idle. 

Ugh, she thought. I hate this new so called, “America.” 

She lived in Plymouth Colony, and she didn't like it one bit.  

“Morning,” she said to Ma in the kitchen. 

“You're quite late. Go and fetch us some water.” 

When she was out near the well, a boy named James came up to her. He was lean, strong, and capable of doing a grown man's work. He was tall and had shaggy blond hair with bangs on the right. He had a dimple and liked to laugh and make other people laugh. 

“Good morning Little Bird,” James said.

Little Bird was his pet name for her. 

“Good morning,” Sarah said. 

James had been visiting her often now so she wasn't surprised at him being here. 

“Late to work as usual, I suppose,” he teased. 

“Oh yes, and what are you supposed to be doing lazy boy?” Sarah snapped back. 

James for a moment looked hurt.

“I came to see you before my morning chores.” His face reddened and Sarah instantly felt bad. 

“I'm sorry James,” she said. “I guess I am just not happy here.” 

“Hm, how about you finish your chores quickly, and then I can take you for a walk around this America you hate so much and show you how beautiful it is?” 

Now it was Sarah's turn to blush. 

“Well, I…I…I will ask Ma.” 

“Great, I’ll see you around!”

James then jumped the fence and was gone. 

“Well goodbye to you too,” she murmured under her breath. 

When she got back to the house, Ma was waiting. 

“Where were you? You took forever.” 

“She probably was out kissing that boy James at the well,” said Mary who had just come from the bedroom. 

“Shut up Mary.” Sarah said to her younger sister. 

“Watch your words,” Ma said. 

A little while later a knock sounded outside. Sarah froze. What if it was James? Then she'd be busted for sure. Ma opened the door. 

“Hullo Mrs. Hannah,” said Mr. Boston stepping in through the door.

“Why hello Mr. Boston, do you bring news?” Ma asked anxiously. 

“You can call me John, Hannah.” 

“Why?” asked Ma. 

“Because we're neighbors!” John Boston's laugh rang through the whole house. 

“Is that the only news you bring us?” asked Sarah who had been quiet this whole time. 

Mr. Boston looked down with surprise.

“Well, hullo beautiful flower.” 

“Hello,” Sarah said back absentmindedly. 

Beautiful? She thought. I certainly don't think so. 

Sarah had messy brown hair, a small nose and mouth, and round brown eyes. To top it off, she had a patched up, black and brown dress with a white apron. Ma brought her manners back by nudging her side. 

“Thank you sir,” she said wincing. 

Ma glared at her and Mr. Boston looked confused. Then she realized he had asked her a question! And she had answered with thank you sir! No wonder why he looked so lost.

Poor Ma, she thought. She is probably ashamed of me

“I mean, what did you say?” Sarah countered.

“Um,” Mr. Boston said, clearly recovering from his shock. “I asked if you have seen that boy, James Adams?”

“Why, did he do something bad”” Sarah asked with concern. 

“Well, the boy took a chicken promising to weigh it and bring it back, but he never did.” He took a deep breath, “And so now I'm looking for him and my chicken.” 

Sarah gasped with horror. 

“So you've seen him?” Mr. Boston asked. 

“Yes sir, by the well, we were going to go on a walk together,” Sarah said.

Ma looked down at her very much surprised. 

“I'll tell you this: either don't go because that boy is trouble or get my chicken back!”

John Boston stomped away without another word. 

“My goodness!” Ma cried. “Make sure when you meet that Adams boy, you get that chicken, or else we'll have a cranky neighbor for life!” 

“You mean you'll let me go?!” Sarah asked. 

“Yes, but fetch your cloak first.” 

“Thank you Ma!” Sarah said as she embraced her mother. 

“All right, all right, now go get ready.”

Sarah ran up to the loft and came down with the purple shawl. 

“Goodbye Ma, goodbye Mary.”

Then she was off.

Sarah found James leaning on a tree by Turtle Brook and ran to meet him. To her dismay, there was a bucket resting next to him that held John Boston's chicken! 

“Whatcha got there?” She asked. 

“Pickle,” James replied. 

“Is Pickle Mr. Boston's hen?”

James smiled sheepishly. 

“Yeah, I'm supposed to be weighing it.” 

“I heard. He’s real mad about it.”

The pair started walking down the path. 

That afternoon, when she was walking home, Sarah had Pickle in her arms. Ma was at the door when Sarah got home so she swiftly dumped the bird in her arms.

“Here, tell grumpy Mr. Boston that Pickle is fine.” 

“Pickle?” Ma asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“That's the hen's name.” Sarah said. 

“Oh, I'll tell Samuel to go to his house tonight after he finishes milking Daisy and Bella,” Ma said. 

Samuel was Mary and Sarah's Pa. He was tall and strong with short brown hair.

“Yes ma'am.” Sarah moaned.

She had been hoping she could present Mr. Boston with Pickle herself. After all, she had rescued the stupid hen. 

“Ma?” she asked.

“Yes, what do you need Sarah?” 

“I…I'd like to bring Pickle to Mr. Boston please,” she said. “I got it back for him.” 

Ma looked doubtful.

“I'll ask Samuel,” she said. 

A little while later Pa came in. 

“Do you think we should let Sarah go to Mr. Boston's house to return his chicken, Pickle?” Ma asked. “It is a long way.” 

“Well,” Samuel said slowly. “If you think she's mature and responsible enough, I'm okay with it.” 

Sarah's fingers and mind did a little happy dance. Sarah drew herself up to her full height and tried to look older and more mature. 

Come on Ma, She thought. Come on. 

“Um, I think she is mature,” Ma said.

“What about responsible?” Samuel asked. 

“Well, she did get Mr. Boston's chicken back so I say...” Ma paused and Sarah held her breath.  “Yes.”

“Oh Ma! Oh Pa! Thank you so much!” Sarah cried. She wrapped her arms around them saying over and over “Thank you. Oh thank you!”

As she walked down the path, Sarah could not stop thinking about how lucky she was and what a good Ma and Pa she had. But Sarah would have to hurry if she wanted to get there and back before dark. The sun was already pretty low and dim.

As she turned off of Horse Farm Road, she was standing at the edge of the Great Forest. It was also called the Indian Forest, so she kept a sharp lookout for any strange noises, sights, or smells that came near. Once, she almost threw a stone at an innocent bunny rabbit. She went on until she got to Clover Hill and looked up. It was almost sunset; she would have to be quick. She turned onto Cotton Lane and went to the third door on the left. She shifted Pickle to her other arm and knocked on the wooden door. 

Mr. Boston's servant opened the door, took her cloak, and led her inside to the living room where he and his wife sat by the fireplace. Sarah put Pickle behind her back and went in. 

“Um, Mr. Boston?” Sarah asked. 

“Who? What? Yes?” Mr. Boston answered lost in thought. 

“I saw James Adams this afternoon.” Sarah tried again.

Those words seemed to have brought John Boston out of his thoughts.

“You did, huh? What did that little rascal do with my hen?”  Mr. Boston snapped. 

“I have it right here sir” Sarah told him with a smile.

She brought Pickle out from behind her back. Mr. and Mrs. Boston joyfully rushed over to grab the chicken. 

“Thank you dear Sarah,” Mrs. Boston said. “Thank you so much”

Mr. Boston nodded his agreement, and then asked suddenly,

“Did you see the start of our new house?” 

“No sir” Sarah answered.

“Well, on your way home, about a street down from your house, is Waving Field. That’s where the skeleton of our new home is.” Mr. Boston said. “We're even going to have a brick chimney! Now I'll give you some cookies and you should march home you little returner. It's almost sundown.”

As she neared the Waving Field, Sarah could see the logs and bricks forming the skeleton of the Boston’s new house. Sarah could also see the lights of her warm house up ahead. Stuffing the last bit of cookie in her mouth, she took off running. When she got there is was about dark. A tangle of hugs and kisses were waiting for her from Ma, Pa, and Mary.

“I'm so proud of you Sarah!” Ma said wiping away her tears. 

Sarah was tired, but she told her family about what had happened; the bunny, the cookies, the house. Everything.

A few days later, James Adams came to call and Sarah accepted. 

On Sunday, the Sabbath day, the day of no work, Sarah could not go to service.  She had recently become deathly ill. No doctors could find a cure. They didn't even risk bleeding her (a process that involved cutting into her vein because the doctors thought diseases would flow away with the blood). The only hope was that her strong body would fight the sickness and she would heal. 

As Sarah was trying to recover, the colony suffered through the starving time. No one could get enough to eat. More people became ill and many people and children died. This was a tragic time, but Sarah's body held on to the last hope of life. She was still alive, but struggling. 

After about a week, miracles began occurring! Hope was restored. The Indians gave food freely, crops grew ripe and ready, streams flowed through land, and many people (including Sarah) got well. The Pilgrims decided to hold a feast of thanks to the Lord and Indians. They called this Thanksgiving. The colony's leaders invited Massasoit to the feast and all colonial families were invited. Everyone donated something. Sarah's family donated rice and corn. Some families provided ham, turkey, and bacon. They set up games and races and had fun!

But then Massasoit came. He had not two, but 10, 20, 40, 60, 80, 90 Indian braves with him! The Pilgrims were fearful. There wasn't enough food! Massasoit settled that matter. He sent many warriors into the woods. They came back with at least four deer slung on their backs. Thanksgiving was saved! Sarah attended the feast, but was too ill to play and too weak to eat. The celebration lasted three whole days! Imagine, three whole days of fun, games, races, eating, and talking! 

Sarah had little fun. She was ill again. Her last words were, “Thank you everyone, Happy Thanksgiving.” 

She then breathed her last breath and went to meet Jesus.

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