Note: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or it's Characters!!!

This is a short little chapter I've been working on for a while now. It touches on a very important and violently controversial issue of the eairly 1800's . . . slavery. Need I say more?

Anyhow, enjoy!!

Chapter 25

Our epic odyssey made it as far as St. John's Crossing, before I deemed it necessary to stop and make preparations for the winter. I had hoped to reach St. Lewis, but the time we tarried at Fort Flint set us considerable behind.

It was a quiet little town nestled of the banks of the Missouri river, complete with a fort and a small military hospital. While I didn't intend for us to stay beyond the cold bleak months to come, I went ahead and purchased a modest tract of land west of the city; a hundred and sixty acres complete with what the surveyor claimed was a farmhouse. A stream ran through it which would insure ample game and it was very secluded a thing that both Ayala and I appreciated. I would sell the acquisition later and use the profit to build my sister the house that I promised her.

After leaving the surveyor's office, my sister and I went down to the town's only mercantile store. There I purchased a few supplies and established a line of credit with the store owner. By the time we were ready to leave the muddy little town, it was late afternoon. The last thing I did before we turned westward towards our newly acquired home was to drop by the shed sized post office to drop off some correspondences. One was to a personal friend back in Boston inquiring if he would mind looking after my personal effects until I sent word that they should be shipped to me, and one was to my solicitor with information concerning Ayala's family. I was hoping my lawyer could track down more information on my sister's remaining relations.

As I came back out of the post office, Ayala seemed nervous. She hadn't exactly been calm and relaxed since we arrived in St John's, but now she stood almost trembling between Cloud, Willow, and Flint. In the distance, the sound of men shouting and the crack of a bullwhip cut the late afternoon air. When I looked down the street, a thunderous man mounted on a wire thin bay horse was driving a ragged group of desolate and dejected humans before him . . . slaves.

There was no institution on earth more vile and detestable than that of slavery. The practice where by one branch of humanity's great tree kept their brethren from another branch in eternal misery and bondage sickened me to the very core of my being. At heart, I was a fervent abolitionist but I kept my militant views to myself so as not to draw unwanted attention and risk exposure. With a deep sigh, I took my sister by the elbow and began leading her and our little herd away from the deplorable scene.

"Are they criminals?" Ayala asked as we passed the wrenched band of chained and frightened men and women.

I shook my head, trying not to look at the group as they passed. The sight of their suffering hurt my heart too much. "Their only crime is the circumstance of their birth . . . to have been born in this present cruel age and to have their origin in the land of Africa. These are the indictments set against them for which they and their progeny shall suffer in bondage until the merciful hand of death gives them release."

"I do not understand," she whispered. Her eyes remained fixed to the poor doomed souls as she tried to puzzle things out.

I hustled her along past a group of frontiersmen discussing business in front of the town tavern. When I was sure we were well out of earshot I made my feeble attempt at explaining the atrocity which she had been witness to.

"They are . . . slaves," I told her in a hushed tone. I knew she would have some limited understanding of the term, if only from our reading of Defoe's novel together.

"Like Friday, from the book," she inquired as a confused scowl twisted her face.

I nodded even as I attempted to keep us moving, I didn't wish to linger further in St. John's at the moment.

"But, did you not tell me that," she paused, glancing back over her shoulder at the disheveled group of humans marching chained together. The sound of the biting whip split the air again and I felt my sister tremble with both fear and rage. I hustled her forward towards the western edge of town.

"Did you not say that it is wrong to keep men as slaves . . . that the Creator weeps for his children who suffer in bondage?" she whispered in a ferial growl when her composure returned.

"I did," I affirmed in a low tone. I could not deny the truth of my own words because to do so would be sheer hypocrisy.

"Then we must help them," came her insistent reply. "We should go back and make the man with the whip set them free."

"I wish it were that easy, my child," The words escaped me accompanied by a dark chuckle. In order to maintain control of the situation, I gently lifted Ayala up and set her, side-saddle, on Cloud's back. With the gilding's reins firmly in hand I continued to walk on.

For a time we traveled in silence and I thought the discussion of the distasteful matter of slavery was finished. I should have known better, however, as Ayala was an avid ruminator. She had spent the past few miles chewing the matter over in her sharp little mind.

"Then, as a son of Thunderman and a Sky Being, you would do nothing for the cause of the Creator's children who suffer in bondage," she asked sharply, "you would do nothing for the slaves?"

"It is a very complex issue, Ayala," I dismissed with an irritated sigh. I wasn't annoyed with my sister, but rather I was irritated by the fact that there was little that I could do directly on the issue.

"My brother is wise and a good teacher, perhaps he will explain to his sister this . . . complex issue."

I suddenly found myself smiling; it wasn't the first time my sister had used this gentle yet formal way of insisting on something. I set myself to the task of formulating an explanation; as I turned the problem over in my mind I soon realized that the sticking point of the elucidation had less to do with overall complexity as opposed to being a matter of context. Eventually I was able to postulate an explanation couched in terms that I felt Ayala would understand.

I took a deep breath and the let it out slowly, "First, I feel that I must restate my position on this grave issue: I am a devout abolitionist. The institution of slavery is a malodorous stench in the nostrils of the Creator . . . it is abhorrent and an abomination and it should be utterly outlawed from one end of the earth to the other. However, it is not such an easy task, as there are certain complexities involved."

I glanced up at her and found her paying strict attention to me. The medical students I attended University with weren't half as attentive as my sister. I could feel the keen edge of her scalpel sharp mind poised to eviscerate my well thought out explanation.

"The men who own and keep slaves consider these poor individuals as their personal property, like they would their cow or their horse. To talk of outlawing the practice of keeping slaves, in their minds, is an assault on their livelihood and their rights as citizens to hold and maintain property.

"Would you not feel threatened and outraged if someone insisted that you should set Cloud, Willow, and Flint free; that it is wrong to keep them and force them to bear your labors and burdens? Would you not be even more enraged if laws were proposed to force you to free your horses and to make owning them a crime?"

It was an unfair and unrealistic comparison; equating the ownership of another human being to that of owing livestock, but I felt that it was an illustration that Ayala would more readily grasp. I paused and glance up at her to read her reaction and found her deep in contemplation. When she took the time to ponder a subject this deeply, the outcome was generally of two forms; one, another difficult question to compound the first one, thereby forcing me to formulate another brilliant answer. Or two, she would astound me with the utterance of a simply yet elegant universal truth; sagely wisdom from the mouth of an innocent child.

"The Sacred Dog is a gift from the Creator, Panther Eyes," she finally replied after a time. Her hand went to Cloud's neck and she patted him affectionately. "They are our helpers and our partners; the People do not own them. It is impossible to own another living creature; a creature that has a soul and whose life was breathed into them by the mouth of the Creator.

"They belong only to themselves and to the Creator, so how then can anyone else say that you own them?

"If a man was to say to me, you should set Cloud, Willow, and Flint free, it is wrong to own a horse; I would agree with his and say to him, 'they are already free, as I do not own them.'"

Sagely wisdom was the outcome this time, and I found myself chuckling. I had forgotten about the Native people's concepts on ownership of property and the sacredness of all life. Ever creature had a spirit, a soul, not just humans, but animals as well. Taken in this context, my example was rendered null and void. Though I hated having to do it, I was going to have to assume the prickly role of devil's advocate . . . I was going to have to take a harder line, in order to make her understand.

"Partners and helpers you say," I repeated her words, "and you do not own them." I glanced up and watched her nod her head in answer. What I was about to say would likely hurt her feelings, but she had to understand. "And yet . . . do you not picket them every night when we make camp and even hobble them sometimes? That doesn't sound like freedom to me. In fact, I'm not so sure you would view me as favorably as you do if I tied you to a tree and bound your feet at bedtime."

I watched with great sadness as a frown spread across Ayala's face. Perhaps I should have been gentler, perhaps I should have injected less crassness into my voice; I didn't mean to sting her so deeply. As I was considering my apology, she perked up in the saddle.

"It is for their protection that they are picketed at night," she insisted defiantly, "so that they do not wander off and get lost . . . or eaten by Brother Bear."

Her intractable spirit had risen up, once again, to impress me. I couldn't help but be pleased by the noble fire that burned with in her; which only made dousing it with the icy waters of reality that much more difficult for me.

"I suppose it might be fair to say then, that it is for the slave's benefit that they are chained," I offered in return. "After all, who knows what manor of danger and calamity might befall them if they were allowed to run amuck."

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me briefly before turning her face away. I could hear the irritated growl rumbling deep in her throat . . . the low rumble was not typically a human vocalization; it was more characteristic of my race and hearing it from my very human sister still shocked me.

'That was more than a little heavy handed, don't you think?' my inner voice hissed. 'I mean honestly Cullen, it's a stretch just comparing slaves to horses, but what about the rest . . . tying her to a tree at bedtime and slaves in chains for the benefit of their own safety . . . that's pushing things entirely too far.'

Indeed, perhaps my inner voice was right. I stopped walking, bringing the progress of our little band to a halt. Just as gently as I placed her there, I removed Ayala from Cloud's back; standing her in front of me on her own two feet.

"I'm sorry child," I soothed. "I was trying to illustrate a point, but I took the harsh tone of my exposition too far to the extreme. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or make light of your beliefs." Then I added in the same soft soothing tone, "I only wished to make real for you the mentality of those who keep men in bondage. It is this dark and twisted sort of thinking that we, who wish to abolish the cursed institution, must deal with. The men who keep slaves see the ownership of property, even human property, as their right and our efforts to end slavery as both an encroachment on those rights as well as a threat to their livelihood."

I paused here and when next I spoke, I allowed a healthy measure of seriousness to tint my voice. I wanted there to be on mistaking the gravity of what I was about to insist upon.

"It is also, why I feel compelled to warn you; do not directly interfere with the slaves or those who own them, to do so would very dangerous." I tipped her chin up so that I could capture her gaze. I hated doing this, but I had to insist on her obedience in this matter. "You are a very good girl, Ayala. You've never given me a moment's trouble in spite of your boldly independent nature. I know I don't tell you this nearly as often as I should, but you are good and I appreciate that.

"That is why I rarely make it a point of demanding your compliance with my wishes. In this matter, however, I feel that I must demand it. This is as much for your safety as it is for mine. Leave the slaves and those who keep them alone, avoid them at all cost! Do you understand me child, will you promise me your obedience in this matter?"

With a reluctant sigh she nodded her head, but that wasn't enough for me. "No child, I'm afraid that a nod of the head will not suffice this time. I need to hear you say the words . . . I need to hear you make the promise."

"I promise Panther Eyes,"she whispered solemnly, "that I will leave the slaves and those who keep them alone . . . but only because it is you who has asked it of me. You are wiser in the ways and customs of the people of the east; I trust your wisdom and judgment."

I pulled her into my arms and embraced her; the implicit trust she afforded me was a gift . . . and one that I did not take lightly. "Thank you child," I whispered into her hair. "I will endeavor always and in all things to be worthy of your confidence."

AN: I guess I should clairify; Ayala and Carlisle came into St. John's Crossing durining the day so it must be cloudy :)~. Second, is there or was there a town in Missouri along the Missouri River in the early 1800's called St. John's Crossing . . . I don't know. I intended it to be a made up place, but I guess it could be real.