#crossroadsofhistory

Freehold, NJ: From Lenape Homeland to Colonial Crossroads

Long before colonial maps marked the region as “Freehold,” the area was part of the ancestral homeland of the Lenni Lenape, specifically the Unami-speaking clans. These Indigenous people lived in small, kin-based communities, moving seasonally along the Manalapan and Matchaponix rivers, hunting, fishing, and cultivating crops like corn, beans, and squash. The Burlington Path, a major Lenape trail, passed directly through what is now Freehold Township.

In 1609, Henry Hudson’s voyage along the coast marked the beginning of European interest in the region. By the 1660s, the land was claimed by the English Crown and granted to Sir George Carteret and Lord Berkeley. The Monmouth Patent of 1665 opened the area to settlers, and by 1685, Scottish Presbyterians fleeing religious persecution had established homesteads in Freehold.

The name “Freehold” itself comes from an English legal term for land ownership, reflecting the settlers’ desire for permanent, fee-simple property rights—a stark contrast to the Lenape’s communal land ethic. Despite early peaceful interactions, the Lenape were gradually displaced through land sales, treaties, and pressure, though New Jersey is notable for having acquired land through negotiation rather than outright conquest.

By 1693, Freehold was officially chartered as one of Monmouth County’s original townships. It became the county seat in 1715, and its courthouse would later serve as a rallying point for Revolutionary War patriots. The Battle of Monmouth in 1778, fought just outside town, was one of the war’s largest and most pivotal engagements.

The fire crackled, shadows flickering against the faces of settlers and Lenape alike. It had been weeks since the trial, yet uncertainty still lingered in the hearts of those gathered.

Chief Tamok stood at the center, surrounded by his warriors. Though silent, his presence carried weight—the weight of his people’s history, the weight of justice yet to be proven.

Beside him, Miwank stepped forward, preparing to translate, his expression solemn.

"Chief say… him not trust white man justice."

Aertsen, standing before the gathered settlers, kept his posture firm.

"I understand Chief Tamok’s doubts. But justice will be carried out under the Hudson Trading Company regulations—all settlers answer to it."

Miwank relayed the message in Indian broken English, nodding as he spoke.

"Hudson man say… all settler follow same rule. Law for white man, law for all."

Tamok listened, unmoving.

"What happen to bad men?"

Aertsen hesitated slightly before speaking, his words careful.

"Edward will be exiled—sent back to his country. He will never be allowed to return. Will… may face the death penalty for killing settlers without trial."

Tamok’s eyes narrowed. He spoke sharply, his tone firm.

"Chief say… Will kill bad men. Bad men deserve kill."

Aertsen kept his gaze steady.

"That is not the point. No man takes justice into his own hands. Even guilty men deserve trial."

Tamok remained silent, watching the firelight flicker over the faces of his people. Settlers drew quiet, sensing the weight of his thoughts.

Finally, after a long moment, he gave a curt nod.

"Chief say… him watch white man justice. See if true."

Aertsen accepted the terms without hesitation.

A Celebration of Unity

With justice settled—for now—Levi Solomon and Thomas Lake stepped forward, sharing their idea for a cultural gathering.

"Chief Tamok, we wish to celebrate together," Solomon said. "A night where Jewish, Christian, and Lenape traditions can exist side by side. A sign that peace can be built."

Miwank translated, his voice carrying over the gathered crowd.

"White man want… join Lenape spirit… and white man spirit."

Tamok remained silent for several long breaths. Then, he nodded.

"Chief say… Lenape will take part."

Friday Evening—The Lenape Village

The Lenape village shimmered under lantern light, soft golden hues illuminating earthen paths and wooden lodges.

Sabbath candles flickered, their flames small but powerful. Christian settlers murmured prayers for the meal, heads bowed in reverence. Lenape elders burned sacred herbs, their rhythmic chants merging into the night air.

For the first time, all three cultures sat together, not as adversaries, but as neighbors.

A Moment for Women

Among the gathering, Rebecca Solomon and Eliza Lake exchanged smiles. For too long, this had been a battle of warriors, men arguing for peace or war—but tonight belonged to the women as well.

Rebecca held the small silver candle, whispering the Hebrew blessings as the flame flickered in the night air.

Beside her, Eliza Lake laid out fresh bread and poured wine, offering silent Christian prayers for unity.

And then—a figure stepped forward, unfamiliar to all but the Lenape warriors.

Chief Tamok’s wife, Lanasa, clad in delicate Lenape embroidery, her long black hair braided with colored threads.

"Chief wife say… she happy for peace." Miwank translated as she stepped beside Rebecca and Eliza, bowing her head in quiet respect.

Lanasa reached forward, touching the flame of the Sabbath candle, then lifted her woven Lenape bowl, offering sacred herbs to burn beside the settlers’ prayers.

"Women bring peace," Lanasa said in Lenape, her voice rich with wisdom. "Not just warriors."

Rebecca and Eliza smiled, exchanging knowing glances—perhaps peace had never truly rested in men’s hands alone.

Tamok’s Announcement

As the fire burned low, Tamok rose, his stance powerful.

Miwank stepped forward, ready to translate.

"Chief say… him daughter, Nia, will marry."

A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd.

Across the circle, Kimo stiffened, his hand clenched around his knee. Nia turned to her father, wide-eyed.

"Father…?" she whispered.

Tamok simply nodded.

"Chief say… Kimo and Nia join in spring."

Joy flooded Nia’s face as she turned to Kimo, her eyes bright with emotion.

Kimo, always quiet, reserved, struggled to find words. Instead, he clasped Nia’s hand, gripping it tightly—a promise, silent but unbreakable.

Anthony’s Freedom

Near the fire, Anthony sat, watching the gathering with cautious joy.

Edward had once been his master. But now—with Edward exiled, his chains were broken.

He rose slowly, his voice carrying in thick African-English, his words deliberate.

"Edward gone now. Him not come back. Now, Anthony stay. Me farm land. Maybe…" He chuckled, eyes flashing with humor. "Maybe take wife."

Laughter spread through the gathering, settlers welcoming Anthony’s words.

"Anthony say… him free. Him stay." Miwank translated, nodding toward the freed man.

Anthony smiled broadly, holding his hands wide, as if embracing the land that was finally his.

A Night of Promises

Levi placed a hand over his heart, meeting Tamok’s gaze.

"While your tribe is away, your land will remain untouched."

Tamok studied him for a long moment, then gave a knowing nod.

The fire burned low, voices lifting into the sky—some in Hebrew, some in Lenape, others in Christian hymn, all merging into the night air.

A night of understanding. A night of promises.

Would it be enough?

"Wait."

The word shattered the restless murmur, slicing through the crowd like a blade.

All eyes turned toward the speaker.

Will Allen had pushed himself to his feet, his face pale, jaw clenched. The flickering firelight carved shadows across his features, making the weight of his decision evident before he even spoke.

Levi Solomon sucked in a breath, the weight of history pressing against his ribs. He had built his dream of freedom beside Will, shoulder to shoulder, enduring hardship, negotiating peace, calming the Lenape, promising them that the settlers came not as conquerors but as neighbors. The two had dreamed of something better—a home, a future.

And now—this?

Aertsen narrowed his gaze. “What is this?”

"Ah did it," Will said, voice thick with his Scots tongue. "Ah killed them."

Gasps tore through the settlers.

Edward stiffened. Then, in an instant, his mouth twisted into something cruel.

“You weak-bellied fool,” he spat. “Do you see what you’ve done? You’ve doomed yourself.” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “For what? A bunch of savages? You murdered for them?”

Will exhaled slowly. “Ah murdered tae stop more murder.”

Edward scoffed. “Blind justice. That’s what you traded your life for. You never had the stomach for killing—until I showed you how.” His voice darkened. “And you liked it."

Will flinched. But he stood firm. “Aye. Ye made me see. An’ then ye made me blind.”

Edward’s smirk widened. “So noble. But what will your family say?”

At that, his wife gasped, clutching their young son. The boy looked up, confused—too young to understand what was being stripped from them.

Land. Security. Their future.

His wife finally found her voice, her plea trembling across the tense air. "Will… dinnae let them take ye…"

Will’s face twisted with grief at the sound of her voice.

Edward’s grin widened. “Look at them, Will. Your wife. Your boy. You’re no hero. You’re just a fool who traded away your own blood for nothing.”

Kimo moved before anyone could react.

In an instant, he lunged—rage driving him forward, fists aimed directly at Edward. The blow landed hard, snapping Edward’s head back with a sickening crack.

The settlers gasped.

Edward stumbled, but Kimo wasn’t done. His fists crashed into Edward’s ribs, his jaw, his gut, years of injustice pouring out in violent waves.

Edward spat blood, his grin gone, replaced with something desperate, something afraid.

"Enough!"

Aertsen, Solomon, and Lake rushed forward, grabbing Kimo, pulling him back. His chest heaved, nostrils flaring, hands still clenched like he wanted to finish what he started.

Miwank stood nearby, watching. Silent. Approving.

Edward slumped, coughing, eyes darting wildly.

And then—Nia reached Kimo.

She pushed forward through the bodies, hands trembling as she touched his face, as if making sure he was real, as if ensuring that he was finally free.

“Kimo…” Her voice was hoarse, raw with relief, with love.

His breath still came ragged, his pulse racing, but when he looked at her, something softened.

"Ye’re free," she whispered in Lenape. And before he could answer, before his emotions could betray him, she threw herself against him, arms locking around his back, her cheek pressing into his shoulder.

Kimo exhaled sharply, head bowing against hers.

At last.

Aertsen turned, voice commanding. “Peter Claesen!”

Claesen stepped forward, flanked by his surveyors, their expressions unreadable.

“You will take custody of Edward and Will. Tie their hands. They will wait under your watch until Chief Tamok arrives.”

Claesen gave a stiff nod. His men moved quickly, binding Edward and Will, neither resisting—one lost in shock and physical pain, the other lost in regret and emotional struggle.

Levi exhaled sharply.

He had built a life with Will, side by side. Had dreamed of a settlement strong enough to thrive, a future where friendship and trust mattered.

And now?

That dream was fractured—irreparable.

Beside him, Rebecca Solomon stepped forward, her fingers pressing against her lips before she began to whisper—a Hebrew prayer, steady despite the sorrow in her eyes.

"אֱלֹהֵינוּ וֵאלֹהֵי אֲבוֹתֵינוּ, תְּפִלָּתֵנוּ שִׁמְעָה. תֵּן לָנוּ חָכְמָה לַהֲבִין אֶת הַצְּדָקָה וְהָאֱמֶת. בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה', הַדַּיָּן הָאֱמֶת."

Mrs. Lake listened, her brows furrowed.

“What does it mean?” she asked softly.

Rebecca swallowed. “It is a prayer for the guilty… and for the innocent. A prayer for justice, and for the world we leave behind once justice has been served.” She looked toward her husband, toward Will, toward the settlers and the Lenape alike. “Because when one man’s fate is decided, it ripples. And none of us remain untouched.”

Mrs. Lake shivered, clasping Rebecca’s hand.

Will’s wife continued to weep.

Justice had been served.

Edward had commanded the trial with sheer force—his words sharp, his stance unwavering. But Levi Solomon had been watching him closely.

Words could be smoke, curling under scrutiny, and Edward’s grip on his story was firm. Too firm.

Levi rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, then stepped forward. His voice was slow, deliberate. “You say one thing before. Now, another. How many men you speak to… before dey died?”

Edward’s fingers twitched. “I—I spoke with them briefly. That’s all.”

Levi narrowed his gaze. “Briefly?” He tilted his head, feigning confusion. “Before, you say none. Then one. Now, more?” His tone sharpened, piercing the silence. “Which truth is yours, señor?”

Edward stiffened. He opened his mouth, then shut it.

A heavy pause followed.

The shift did not go unnoticed—not by Levi, not by Aertsen, and certainly not by the settlers watching the exchange with growing unease.

Aertsen raised a hand. “Enough. The next witness will step forward.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd as Henrik, small and frail, approached. He clutched a large wooden box at the front of the gathering, his fingers pressing into the wood as though holding on for safety. His steps were slow, hesitant, as if every footfall carried weight beyond his years.

Levi crouched slightly, softening his tone. “No fear, chico. You say what you see. Dey listen, yes?”

The boy swallowed hard, his gaze flickering toward Edward. His lip trembled.

Then, he spoke.

“I saw him.”

A gasp rippled through the settlers.

Edward exhaled sharply, a barely audible sound of protest.

Henrik’s voice wavered, his hands gripping the railing tightly. His breaths came short, like he was holding them in, trying not to cry. “I—I was sleeping. Papa was too.” His words were uneven, as if he was unsure how much he was allowed to say. “Then I heard him. He—he was talking soft, like he was confused. Like when he wakes up too fast.”

He sniffled, rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand. “I opened my eyes, and the fire outside… it made shadows. I saw Papa stand up. And—and there was another shadow. It was taller. Standing nearby. He didn’t talk. Just stood there.”

Henrik bit his lip, blinking hard like he was trying to stop the memory from spilling out too fast.

“Papa touched his chest and felt wet blood. Then—" His voice cracked. "Then his throat. Then there was more blood.”

The words came in a broken rush, and he inhaled sharply, shaking his head as if trying to escape what he had seen.

“It was so fast,” he whispered, his small body shaking. “He was choking. I wanted to get up, but I—I couldn’t move. I just watched. Then Papa—he fell.”

The settlers stirred, their expressions shifting, uncertain.

Levi let the silence settle before gently pressing forward. “De shadow… de person. What did you see?”

Henrik hesitated. “I… couldn’t see the face. It was dark. But I saw his coat. It was long. I know that coat. He is wearing it now!” He glanced at Edward, his lip quivering. “It was his!”

Edward shifted slightly, his jaw tight.

Henrik sniffled again. “And he moved like Edward. When he turned, I saw the way he walked. I know his walk.” His small fingers curled into a fist against his chest. “I know it was him. I know it.”

And then, Henrik raised his hand—a trembling, unsteady finger—and pointed directly at Edward.

The settlers erupted.

Voices clashed, disbelief rippling through the crowd.

Edward’s face twisted—not in anger, but in sheer desperation. “That’s a lie!” he bellowed, his voice cracking at the edges. “He’s a scared child! He’s confused! You take the word of a sleeping boy?”

But Henrik didn’t lower his finger.

Edward whirled, searching for support. But the same settlers who had once stood firmly beside him now shifted uneasily.

Their certainty was splintering.

Edward’s hands balled into fists. His breath was ragged. He took a step toward Kimo—then another.

Then, with a snarl, he lunged.

The crowd gasped.

But Miwank was faster.

His fist connected in a brutal, calculated strike, sending Edward sprawling backward into the dirt.

Silence followed.

Thick. Heavy. Unrelenting.

Levi exhaled slowly. When he spoke, his words were firm, deliberate, woven in his broken Spanish. “No more… of dis.”

Aertsen stepped forward, his voice commanding.

“There will be no violence here. Not this day!” he declared. “Whomever is found guilty will return with me to the offices of the West India Trading Company for final disposition.”

Edward got to his feet and remained motionless for a moment, chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. His eyes darted from Levi to Henrik, to the settlers who had once trusted him without question.

Now, their faces told a different story.

Doubt had seeped in.

Truth, long buried, had finally begun to crack the surface.

And Edward knew—whatever remained of his control over the trial was slipping through his fingers.

The settlers had always known hardship, but none had anticipated the cruelty of fate that stole three of their strongest men in the dead of night. Fathers, husbands—providers and protectors—ripped away in their sleep, leaving behind widows and children who had only ever relied on them for survival. The land was still untamed, the dangers unpredictable, and now, without them, their families stood even more vulnerable.

Grief gnawed at the enclave like an insatiable hunger, twisting sorrow into something darker—anger, suspicion, hatred. The Lenape had been a presence, a people met with cautious diplomacy, but never with full trust. And now, with a blood-soaked Lenape knife discovered near the bodies, all restraint crumbled.

The trial wasn’t about justice. It was about punishment.

Kimo stood bound to the post at the settlement’s heart, his breathing steady despite the unrelenting eyes locked on him. Every face in the crowd was tense, stiff with loss, fury clenching their jaws. He could feel their condemnation; he could taste it like smoke on the wind. He had been judged before the trial had even begun.

The proceedings had been structured in a manner that resembled civility, but civility was a fragile illusion in such times. Levi Solomon had been assigned to defend Kimo, arguing for his innocence despite the overwhelming public sentiment against him. Thomas Lake stood as the prosecutor, determined to prove Kimo responsible for the three deaths. This was to be his role - to defend the settler's interests in this matter. And, Cornelius Aertsen, a man who had experience with similar legal proceedings, was chosen to preside as judge. His role carried additional weight—he was the representative of the West India Trading Company, the organization chiefly responsible for all settlers in the region. His decisions, more than anyone else’s, would determine whether justice or revenge prevailed.

Levi had placed his faith in Will Allen to serve on this ad hoc jury. Will was a man known for his honesty and his level-headed reasoning. But would one voice be enough for fairness to emerge?

Cornelius had selected Peter Claesen, his surveyor, despite settler objections. He was not a settler, an outsider. Peter had witnessed the attack on the Lenape village. Though he had no idea who the cloaked figures were that moved like specters through the chaos, he had seen the carnage they left behind. He had seen their indiscriminate wrath. His sorrow for the fallen Lenape, for their orphaned children and their burned wigwams, would bring an element of perspective that no other juror carried.

Miwank, sharp-eyed and calculating, stood beside Nia and Kimo, translating every spoken word with precision. Each accusation. Each damning testimony. Each flicker of hesitation among the jury. Without him, Kimo would be helpless, unable to follow the storm of voices tearing through the settlement.

And through it all, Edward loomed like a gathering thunderhead. He watched Kimo with the certainty of a hunter who had already claimed his kill. He spoke with venom, his voice low and unwavering, letting his disgust slither through his words.

“This is madness,” Edward spat when Nia stepped forward to speak in Kimo’s defense. “We entertain this trial, this foolish process, but we all know the truth. He is guilty. He slaughtered our own. If you won’t face it, I will.”

No one argued with him. Not yet.

But Levi and Thomas shared a glance—one that carried knowledge they had not yet revealed.

A child had seen something.

A young boy, trembling and hollow-eyed, had whispered through his tears that he had recognized a shape, a movement—something too familiar to ignore. He believed he had seen Edward in the shadows, watching as his father’s life was stolen.

Levi and Thomas had kept the testimony buried—for now. The boy was grieving, shaken. His mind could have played tricks in the darkness, twisting fear into illusion. To present his word against Edward’s would be reckless without further proof.

And yet, standing there in the thick air of judgment, Levi found himself watching Edward closely. His certainty. His unchecked rage. His determination to see Kimo hanged before the sun set.

Could it be?

The Testimonies Begin

Cornelius Aertsen settled into his role, calling the proceedings to order. “We will hear testimony and consider the evidence presented. Let this trial serve the truth, not sentiment.”

Levi and Lake prepared to battle through questioning—one to defend, one to condemn.

The First Witness: Edward

Edward strode forward, shoulders squared, his presence dominating the space. When he spoke, it was with certainty, conviction sharpened by fury.

“I was among the first to see the bodies,” he said, his voice unwavering. “The scene was unmistakable—throats slit, the work of a savage monster striking in the night. It was an ambush, the kind these savages favor.”

Levi frowned, his words broken but determined. “You… say this like… you know it too good, señor. How you know what killing this was?”

Edward’s lips pressed into a tight line. “We’ve heard about their raids before. Swift and silent. They move like ghosts. These men were attacked in their sleep, same as they did to the Lenape before.”

Levi took a step forward, gesturing firmly. “You say dey… cowards. But our men… they go to village. They kill like ghosts, too. Is same, no?”

Edward bristled. “That was retaliation.”

The Key Witness: Ruald Admunsen

Aertsen motioned for Ruald Admunsen to take the stand. As Claesen’s surveyor, his presence was unexpected, and the settlers whispered among themselves.

Admunsen’s voice was firm, unshaken. “I was in the Lenape village before the attack. I heard the warnings, saw the fear in their eyes.”

Lake narrowed his gaze. “And what is it you claim to know?”

Admunsen inhaled. “Anthony—Edward’s slave—told me and the others their names. The names of the men responsible for the massacre.”

Edward stiffened, his jaw clenching.

Admunsen pressed on. “Anthony spoke them aloud. The men who carried out the killings were named by him. He recognized their clothing and movements. He heard their voices whispering to each other."

A charged silence filled the space.

Edward’s face remained cold, unreadable.

Levi took a deliberate step forward. “Señor… you seem nervous.”

Edward’s fingers twitched at his sides.

The morning mist clung to the earth like a thick veil, and the camp was still hushed in the uneasy silence that had gripped it since Kimo’s capture. The air was cold, but the tension in the camp was far heavier than any chill the wind could carry. Kimo stood at the center of the gathering, bound to a sturdy post. His head was bowed, but his posture remained defiant, his mind a whirl of thoughts—none of them good.

He had always known that the balance between the settlers and his people, the Lenape, was fragile at best, but he had never imagined that it would come to this: his life weighed in the hands of strangers, with accusations he knew in his heart were false.

The night had been long. The cries of the murdered settlers still echoed in his ears, as did the accusations hurled at him by Edward, who had seen fit to declare him guilty without any proof. The blood on the knife was damning, but Kimo knew—knew with every fiber of his being—that it was a set-up. But how could he prove it?

Nia stood beside him, her presence the only source of comfort in this sea of hostility. Her eyes burned with a quiet intensity, refusing to believe the worst of him. She was determined to stand by him, even if it meant challenging her own father, the great Chief Tomak. But how could she? How could anyone defy the voice of the man who held her life—and the fate of the entire Lenape—so firmly in his grasp?

It was not long before the faint sound of many footsteps were heard pounding the frozen underbrush, breaking the stillness of the morning. The settlers stirred, some of them eyeing the horizon in uncertainty, others muttering in low tones. Word had spread that Chief Tomak himself was coming, though few believed it would truly happen.

But it was true. From the edge of the settlement, Chief Tomak appeared, nobally leading a small but formidable group of warriors. His tall frame was unmistakable, even from a distance. His presence seemed to part the very chilled fog that clung to the ground as he drew closer, a living embodiment of authority and power. His face, carved from years of leadership, betrayed no emotion, but his eyes—sharp, calculating—searched the camp as he approached.

Nia’s breath caught in her chest when she saw her father. Her heart pounded fiercely, a mix of fear and hope surging within her. She stepped forward to meet him, a part of her longing for the strength he had always provided, but another part of her bracing for the judgment she knew he would bring.

When Tomak dismounted, his gaze fell on Kimo. A tense silence spread like wildfire among the settlers. Kimo stood still, his wrists bound in thick rope, the weight of all their stares heavy upon him. The chief’s eyes hardened when they landed on his daughter, and he crossed the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps.

“Nia,” he spoke only in Lenape, his voice low but commanding. “You still stand by this man? After everything that has happened?”

Her voice was firm, though there was a tremble beneath the surface. “Yes, Father. I do. Kimo is not guilty of these crimes.”

The chief’s expression softened only momentarily as he looked at her, his daughter, the one person in the world who could still make him question his decisions. But then his eyes returned to Kimo, and the softness vanished.

“You are blind, Nia,” he said quietly, but there was a deep sadness in his voice. “You defend a man who has betrayed his own people. You want to believe in him because you love him. But that will not save him now.”

Nia’s chest tightened, but she did not look away from her father. “I know him better than anyone here. He didn’t kill those men.”

“Then who did?” Tomak asked, his voice sharp, his gaze now flicking toward the settlers, who were watching the exchange with barely concealed interest.

Before Nia could respond, Miwank, the translator, stepped forward. His eyes were narrowed, as if he had already weighed the situation, his mind working through the possibilities. “It was not Kimo,” Miwank said, his voice steady but full of conviction. “The men who were killed—their blood is on the hands of another. The settlers have not looked within their own ranks.”

A murmur spread through the gathered crowd of settlers, and Nia’s heart skipped. Miwank had spoken plainly, with an authority that only a man of his experience could command. But Chief Tomak was not so easily swayed.

“Enough of this nonsense,” the chief spat. “There is no ‘other.’ Kimo’s knife was found beside the bodies. The evidence is clear. He is guilty, and he will answer for it.”

“But Chief,” Levi Solomon spoke up, his voice rough but insistent, “the evidence is not as clear as you think. There are other possibilities here. We have been investigating this, and we believe that another man—one of the settlers—may be responsible.”

Tomak’s gaze turned to Levi, and for a brief moment, the tension was palpable. “You dare question my judgment, Solomon?” Miwank translated those words for Levi to understand. The Chief's anger needed no translation. Tomak’s voice was a growl, his patience wearing thin.

Levi stood his ground, his eyes steady. “I question truth, Chief. No your judgment. Murderer among us. May no be Kimo. Could be — how you say - another, who want Lenape destroyed.”

Nia held her breath. This was the moment, the one where everything could shift. Tomak’s gaze flicked to Levi and then to Thomas Lake, who had been silent until now.

“Is this true, Lake?” Tomak asked, his voice cold, as he waited for Miwank to issue his translation.

Thomas Lake cleared his throat before answering. “There is suspicion, yes. We don’t know for sure, but there’s a chance someone among us is trying to frame Kimo—or worse.”

The chief’s lips tightened as he glanced between the three men—Levi, Thomas, and Aertsen, who had not yet appeased him but whose eyes had not left Kimo’s bound form. Aertsen looked as though he were waiting for an answer to his own unspoken question: Who is the real enemy here?

The crowd was beginning to grow restless, and Tomak held up a hand for silence. Miwank immediately realized that his translations for the settlers must be precise or things might spiral out of control. “I will not allow my people to be blamed for these killings,” he said, his voice ringing out with finality. “The Lenape will answer only for their own deeds, not the deeds of others.”

“I want have trial,” Levi Solomon said suddenly, his voice cracking the tension. “Trial that follow laws. We will find truth, Chief. But we no rush this.”

Tomak looked at him, his expression unreadable. “A trial? Among settlers?” He sneered. “You think I will allow a white man’s law to govern us?”

“We must work together, Chief,” Thomas Lake interjected. “If we are to survive this, we need to find the truth—no matter where it leads.”

For a long moment, there was silence. Tomak’s gaze hardened, but he did not immediately refuse. Instead, he looked at Kimo again, his face darkening.

“I will take my people and leave,” Tomak said at last, “but I will not let this dishonor stand. Kimo must answer for what he has done.”

“No,” Nia said firmly, stepping between her father and Kimo. “No, Father. You can’t condemn him like this. You can’t.”

The chief’s eyes flashed with anger, and for a brief moment, Nia thought he might strike her. But instead, he spoke Lenape through gritted teeth. “I will not let my people suffer because of his reckless actions. If you choose to stand with him, Nia, you stand against your people. And you will be alone.”

The tension was unbearable, and Nia knew her father had spoken the truth. If she chose to side with Kimo, there would be no turning back. But she couldn’t give up on him—not now, not when she knew in her heart that he was innocent.

“Then I choose Kimo,” she said quietly, her voice steady with the weight of her choice.

Tomak’s face twisted with rage, but he said nothing further. With a final glance at his daughter, he turned away, his warriors following close behind him. The crowd parted silently as the chief and his men left the settlement, the weight of his departure settling heavily on everyone present.

The cold night had yet to release its grip on the settlement, the air still heavy with the scent of damp earth and the unresolved tension that clung to the camp like a second skin. Kimo stood silently before the crowd, his heart racing, but his face a mask of defiance. It was no longer the weight of the ropes on his wrists that gnawed at him, but the suffocating fear of what would happen next. The small mob was hungry for blood, and he knew it would not stop until he was dead, unless the truth—whatever it was—could be brought to light.

Edward, his eyes gleaming with spite, leaned casually against a nearby tree. The flickering firelight painted grotesque shadows across his face, twisting his features into something almost inhuman. He watched the proceedings with the detached amusement of a predator, his fingers absentmindedly stroking the handle of his musket as he turned to face Thomas Lake.

“We’re wasting time,” Edward’s voice was thick with disdain. “Let the savage hang. There’s no mystery here.” He gave Kimo a mock bow, his words sharp and dripping with venom. “His people have shown us exactly what they’re capable of. Why would we be so foolish as to trust one of them now? Especially this one, who created a story of friendship so he and his squaw could move in with us, slit our throats, and scalp us while we sleep.”

Thomas Lake gave him a sharp look, the muscles in his jaw tightening, but he said nothing. Instead, he glanced at Levi, who was standing a few paces away, his arms crossed over his chest. Levi’s face was impassive, but his eyes had the faintest flicker of doubt in them—doubt that no one had expected to see.

Lake caught the look and sighed. "You no blame everything on Kimo and Lenape without looking at facts, Edward."

Levi took a slow step forward, his gaze scanning the crowd of settlers who were beginning to murmur again. "You think this is how we find truth?" he asked, his voice firm but weary. "We find truth in bloodshed? No. We wait. We look. We listen."

Edward sneered, his expression like that of a man who had long abandoned any desire for understanding. "Listen? To who? To this savage? To you, money-changing Jew!" He pointed an accusing finger at Kimo, who stood stoically, though every muscle in his body screamed for action. "He murdered those men, as he will slaughter us and our families if he gets the chance."

Behind Edward, the shadows danced, and that was when a flicker of motion caught Thomas’s eye. It was subtle, almost imperceptible—but it was there.

"Hold your tongue, Edward." Thomas’s voice was sharp. “We need to hear everything before jumping to conclusions.”

The settlers murmured uneasily, but no one dared interrupt. The tension had thickened into something far more dangerous than the flickering flames of the campfire.

Then, like an ominous gust of wind, the silence was shattered by a cold, eerily calm voice.

"It was not him."

The crowd shifted in surprise as Miwank stepped from the shadows. His face was expressionless, and his eyes, now hardened with the resolve of a warrior, locked onto Edward without a trace of fear.

Edward’s face contorted in disgust. "You. Why don’t you crawl back to the hole you came from, English-speaking savage? You speak English but I am sure you can kill just as easily as the rest of your people. You're all murderous savages."

Miwank didn’t flinch at the insult. He simply walked forward, his eyes never leaving Edward. “The man you say,” Miwank said slowly, with deliberate precision, “not one who killed your people. The killers you seek are among you. White men. Not Lenape."

The words hung in the air, thick and uncertain. A ripple of uncertainty spread through the settlers, but Edward, as venomous as ever, was quick to lash out. “Liar! You want to protect your own, don’t you? You’ll say anything to get your savage friend free of blame.”

Miwank didn’t even acknowledge the insult. His eyes narrowed, his voice low but dangerous. “It is you who lie, evil white man. You and your thirst for Lenape blood.”

Nia, who had been watching in the background, stepped forward, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. She had been waiting for this moment. She could feel the shift in the air, the way the story was about to turn. The settlers were wary, but Miwank’s presence—his calm, unwavering tone—was starting to make them think twice.

Edward, now visibly rattled, stepped closer, his musket almost a reflex. "You have no evidence, savage. No proof of anything. Just more savagery."

Miwank didn’t need to raise his voice. The weight of his words fell over them, implacable. "Look to your own," he said simply, his eyes now scanning the faces in the crowd. "One of your own led the raid that killed those men. The one who hides behind words like a coward."

The crowd fell silent, and even Edward’s expression faltered for a moment. Miwank’s words hung in the night, the gravity of them slowly sinking into the minds of the settlers.

Thomas stepped forward, his gaze meeting Levi’s. They exchanged a brief look—one laden with understanding. There was a truth here, somewhere, but it was tangled in lies, in manipulation, and in fear.

Nia finally found her voice. “You will hear my father, Chief Tomak,” she said, her tone firm, but filled with a quiet desperation. Miwank translated. “The Lenape people will not allow their name to be dragged through the mud because of a lie. Kimo deserves to be free, and the truth must be spoken.”

She turned to Thomas and Levi, her eyes pleading with them to make the right choice. "We need my father here to clear Kimo’s name. He is not guilty. We need my father here to defend the innocence an honor of my people."

Thomas looked between Nia and Edward, his eyes narrowing as he thought over the situation. A fire flickered in his eyes. “Then let your father come and speak to us. But let us be clear, Nia... whatever the truth is, there will be no place for lies among us anymore. You will all stand before it, as we stand before God. Everyone is innocent until they are not. A killer is among us. That man or woman is either a settle or a Lenape. No one is punished until we are sure who committed these crimes.”

Nia nodded, the weight of the moment heavy in her chest. If her father could not clear Kimo, the rift between the settlers and the Lenape would deepen into a wound too large to ever heal.

Edward, still fuming, gave a sharp bark of laughter. "So now we’re to trust the word of savages over our own men?" he sneered, his voice full of venom.

But Miwank’s voice cut through Edward’s mockery like a blade. “I have seen truth,” he said quietly, his eyes now focused solely on the settlers. "Those who kill your men know own deeds. They walk among you. Maybe even it you, Edward."

The crowd stiffened. The implication hung in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst.

A murmur rippled through the settlers, some exchanging uneasy glances. Edward’s eyes flicked nervously toward the back of the crowd. He knew that Miwank was not speaking in riddles. He was speaking a truth that only a few dared face.

The truth, as unsettling as it was, began to take root in the minds of those who had gathered.

"Enough!" Edward shouted suddenly, his voice cracking with frustration. "I will not stand here and let you accuse me of such things! Bloodthirsty savages and dirty, stinking Jews? Is this what the New Land is to become?"

But the damage had been done.

Levi stepped forward, his face a mask of calm determination. "The truth is coming. We will uncover it, no matter how long it takes. And no one—no matter who they are—will be spared the reckoning."

The stage had been set. The shadows were no longer only of men. They had begun to stretch beyond the fires, and the truth was waiting to step into the light. And with it, the unravelling of the lies that had bound them all together would begin.

The air over the camp remained thick with unease, like a storm waiting to break. With Kimo bound, standing in the center of the settler’s furious ring, his fate swayed precariously. His wrists ached from the tight ropes, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the storm churning inside him. The men’s shouts of “Hang him!” echoed in his ears, a cacophony of rage and fear that made his stomach twist. He struggled to make sense of it all—how had he become the target of such hatred? Why was he the one condemned for the crimes that were not his own?

Nia, her hands still reaching out in desperate hope, watched helplessly, her heart sinking with each passing moment. The words that spilled from her lips were drowned in the roar of the crowd, her cries for justice, for understanding, lost among the thunderous accusations. They were empty words because Miwank was not there to translate them into English.

“Let me speak!” Nia demanded in Lenape, her voice raw from emotion. Her fists clenched, her chest heaving with the weight of it all. She could see the faces of the settlers, their eyes wide with suspicion, their minds clouded by the heat of vengeance. And despite her plea, she knew it was too late to change their course.

Peter Claesen stepped forward from the crowd, his face pale and lined with the same grim fear that had taken hold of the others. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Kimo’s gaze, yet there was no denying the strange twist of guilt that gnawed at him. As much as he wanted to believe Kimo was the killer, a part of him—a small voice buried deep within—whispered that something was terribly wrong. The settlers were acting on impulse, on fear, not reason.

“Eliza’s right,” Peter spoke out, his voice cracking. “We can’t just… we can’t just kill him without knowing the truth. Not like this.”

But his words barely made a dent in the wall of anger that surrounded them. Men with trembling fists and wild eyes shouted louder, their faces red with the heat of their emotions. “He’s one of them!” A voice yelled from the back, his words striking the raw nerve of the settlers' hatred for the Lenape.

“He’s a savage and a murderer!” another shouted, and the crowd roared in agreement.

Nia turned her pleading gaze to Eliza, desperation flickering in her eyes. She spoke Lenape through her soul and facial expressions in a universal language of love, despair, and hopelessness. Her voice was breaking, but there was still an edge of steel beneath it, the remnants of the woman who had fought for peace.

Eliza Lake stood beside her, still holding her musket steady. The weight of the rifle in her hands had always been a comforting presence, but now it felt heavier than it ever had. Her expression was unwavering, her brow furrowed in the hard lines of resolve, but even she knew this moment was more fragile than any gunpowder could fix.

“Listen to me!” Eliza’s voice cut through the shouting. “We’ll find the truth. I promise you. But not like this. Not in the madness of blood and fear.” Her words barely reached the ears of the men, but the sheer power in her stance made them hesitate, if only for a heartbeat.

The tension crackled between them—simmering, almost unbearable. It felt as though the world had stopped, as if time itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to shift.

Then, as if the earth itself had conspired with the heavens, a sharp crack split the silence, the unmistakable sound of footsteps rustling dried leaves at the edge of the nearby trees.

"Levi... Thomas," Nia whispered under her breath, her hope reigniting like a spark catching fire.

Through the gap in the crowd emerged Levi Solomon and Thomas Lake, their faces grim, their clothes coated in the delicate frost of a wintry morning dew. They had returned from the Lenape village.

The settlers fell back, their voices dying down as the two men approached. Levi’s face was hardened, his eyes darting over the scene with a practiced calculation. He had been one of the few to advocate for peace, though his position had always been a fragile one among the more outspoken settlers. Thomas, however, said nothing. His expression was colder than the morning air, his gaze narrowed and calculating as he took in the scene before him.

“What’s this?” Levi asked, his voice heavy with weariness and his thick Spaniard's accent. “What in God happen here?”

“The Lenape did it! They murdered our men. And scalped them!” one of the settlers shouted, pointing accusingly at Kimo, who stood helpless, bound, and silent.

“Look at him!” another man yelled. “He’s one of them, isn’t he?”

Levi’s eyes met Kimo’s for the first time. The young man’s expression was one of shock, but there was no malice there. No recognition of guilt. Just confusion. It was enough to make Levi hesitate, a flicker of doubt in his gaze.

“Why he tied up like that?” Levi asked sharply, turning to the men around him. “You see him do this thing?”

“He did it,” one settler hissed, stepping forward with the bloodied crude knife in hand. “We found this near the bodies. It’s his.”

Levi took the knife, examining it carefully. His eyes flicked from the chisseled and bloody slate knife to the crowd, noting the fear and anger in their eyes. His gaze softened slightly as he turned back to Kimo. There was something... something in his gut that told him the truth wasn’t so simple.

“No hang man with no proof,” Levi said, his voice calm but firm. “No with no truth. You have proof or just believe he do this and have knife?”

The settlers quieted. The bloodthirsty edge in the air remained, but now it was tempered by doubt.

Thomas stepped forward, his expression unreadable. “We’ll investigate. We’ll find the truth, but not in the heat of the moment. We need to know who did this before we take another life.”

Nia stepped closer to Levi, her heart hammering in her chest. She placed a trembling hand on his arm, the motion almost protective. “Please,” she whispered, barely audible. “I know you will do what’s right. For both our peoples.” Levi spoke no Lenape, but Nia's heart spoke to him. He understood Nia from one human to another. He looked her in the eyes with compassion and she knew he understood.

The weight of the moment pressed down on them all, and in the tense silence that followed, it felt as though the world was on the verge of tipping over the edge.

But then, as if summoned by the very tension in the air, a soft voice cut through the hush.

“Not all of us are innocent.”

The figure stepped from the shadows, moving with the same eerie silence that had marked the previous night. But this time, it was no mere specter. This time, it was a face they all knew—a face twisted by blood and vengeance, a man who had once been their own.

Miwank.

The Lenape warrior stood there, his eyes cold and hard, his voice a whisper on the wind. “The reckoning has begun,” he said, his words laced with a finality that sent a chill through the camp.

And the truth, as elusive as it was, hung suspended in the air—waiting to be uncovered.