Charlie's Choice

by Zina Abbott

  Charlie narrowed his eyes with suspicion. “It would also get me away from Malinda Campbell and her father.” When Owen said nothing in response, Charlie snorted and stretched to his full height. “No, I do not wish to travel through the lands of hostile tribes until I am better prepared to fight and defend myself. I wish to visit my uncle for a season. I can help the Kaw with the summer buffalo hunt like I did last year. Hawk Beak could have used my help on the winter hunt, but instead I stayed here to help you.”

  Owen shook his head. “It was good for you to get away last summer, Charlie, but I never intended for you to stay forever with your uncle.”

  Charlie shrugged. “It does not mean I must stay here. It is time I look at other paths to follow.” For the first time since he began his discussion with his father after being with Fergus Campbell, Charlie flashed his father what he called his white man’s smile. Along with his gray eyes, he had also inherited the large teeth and prominent jawbone of his father. “I may not remember all the skills one must have to stay alive when chasing buffalo. I am sure my uncle will remind me. Hopefully, my cousin won’t make too much fun of me. It is time I live among the Kaw and learn the skills of a warrior which, at my age, I should already know. I must prepare to go.”

  Owen nodded as he considered. “You will always have a place here, Charlie, but if you need to go live with your uncle for a time, then go. Your brothers are old enough to do more work in the store, plus Amos can help while he’s still around. Wait until morning, at least. The day after would be better. You need to prepare some gifts to take to the chief and to your uncle.” Owen pointed to the calico shirts Charlie had been removing from a crate. “Take some of those. They tend to like them—the more color, the better. Better hold one out for you. We can figure what else would be good for you to take so they will welcome you.”

  “How much will it cost me?”

  Charlie braced himself to withstand the look of sadness in his father’s expression.

  “You’ve already earned it, Charlie. You’ve worked hard here. Your pony and another to haul your supplies are already yours.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You need to say goodbye to your brothers before you go, Charlie. They will miss you.”

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  Chapter 3

  ~o0o~

  Hard Chief’s Camp, Council Grove Kansa Reservation

  Kansas Territory

  Late April, 1856

  N ot much happened among any of the Kansa camps that was not soon known by all on the reservation. Meadowlark, filling her pot with water from the creek, realized the other women discussed a topic that intrigued them. Among them was her aunt, her dead mother’s sister, She-who-chases-quail. The name was given to her in her younger years before she put on her weight. Her aunt probably should have been named Chatters-like-magpie considering how often she ferreted out gossip and shared it. Meadowlark had stayed away from others in the band these past several weeks while she pondered what to do about her father’s desire that she marry Broken Wing. Today, she picked up her pot and joined the women, kneeling on a patch of soft spring grass off to the side.

  “He came early in the season this year. It will be weeks before we leave for the summer buffalo hunt, yet already he has come to visit his uncle.”

  Did he bring gifts like last time? I hope since Hawk Beak has remarried, that does not mean he won’t make trades so some of them will reach us.”

  “Even if he does trade away some of what his nephew brought, they probably will not leave that camp.”

  By this point, Meadowlark had guessed of whom they spoke. She fought down the surge of excitement that rose within her and spoke in a disinterested tone. “Who has come?

  The trio of women turned to face her. A wide smile split the face of Chases Quail.

  Her eyes full of merriment, Chases Quail answered for the group. “We speak of your childhood friend, Gray Squirrel. You do recall him, do you not, Sings-like-meadowlark? He has come for an extended visit with his uncle. Even now, he spends time with his cousin, Eyes-like-hawk, increasing his skills so he is better prepared for the buffalo hunt.”

  Meadowlark did not respond to the use of the original version of her name, Sings-like-meadowlark. She had been given that name because, as a child, she had a tendency to sing while she ran through fields of prairie grass. That was before the move to Council Grove. Now, she did not often feel like singing, especially since her father began to pressure her to agree to an arranged marriage. Instead, she preferred the abbreviated name known among the whites hired by their government. She nodded, but refused to reveal her feelings. “That is interesting to know. Perhaps he will learn well and help us have a good hunt.”

  Meadowlark’s thoughts migrated to her childhood memories of Gray Squirrel. Since he was only a year older than she, they still often played together along with other children their age. She had been seven summers, about at the farthest limit of her memories since she did not remember much of what happened in her life before that time. However, she did recall when several families, including hers—all but her oldest sister who stayed behind with her new husband—left on a food-gathering trip. The group included Gray Squirrel along with his uncle who lived with his new half-French wife and his much-older cousin who had no time for playing with those the age of Meadowlark and Gray Squirrel. They did not hunt buffalo that time. The men hunted smaller game while the women gathered roots and berries. The children helped the adults, but still found opportunities to play together.

  Although at the time she had not fully understood what happened, or why Owl Woman and Nose-twitches-like-rabbit did not come with them, she recalled the group ended up staying away from the tribe longer than originally planned. A messenger from the tribe came to them, but refused to enter the camp. He stood on a rise and shouted a warning to the adults before he left.

  After his message, the mood among the grown-ups grew somber. Although they shared little with the children present, Meadowlark understood there was a great sickness in the tribe left behind. The group would stay away longer than originally planned and continue to gather food. Within the first moon, a small party of men took part of what they gathered and prepared to the edge of the village and called for those who were well enough to come get it. They then moved farther afield than originally planned, which meant that the men ended up spending more of their time watching for enemies of the Kansa who might object to their presence in the disputed territory. Finally, enough time had passed the men made the decision the sickness had run its course and it was safe to return.

  While gone so long, and not burdened with a full understanding of what occurred, Meadowlark and Gray Squirrel used the time to become closer friends. Although Meadowlark tended to be quiet and a thoughtful, sometimes stubborn, person, even as a child, Gray Squirrel had a teasing manner that drew her out and brought laughter to her heart. For them, it was a good time.

  Everything changed once they returned to the camps and became aware of the tragedy that had taken place. The smallpox epidemic had killed many who stayed behind. Meadowlark’s oldest sister and her brother by marriage had died. Gray Squirrel’s mother and sister also were dead. They returned to find many they knew gone. Those who lived were weak and downtrodden, unable to harvest in its proper season the corn planted earlier by the women. Meadowlark recalled the return as a time of sadness and hardship.

  Meadowlark and Gray Squirrel no longer laughed and played together. She worked alongside her mother and aunt and those still healthy and strong to prepare for the coming winter. This took place a few years before the tribe sold the rest of their territory to the whites in exchange for the reservation at Council Grove, a land they were promised they could keep and farm without interference from the whites.

  Gray Squirrel seemed particularly affected by his loss. His absent white father had not visited the tribe in many moons, ever since he took a second wife among the whites. All Gra
y Squirrel had left for family was his uncle’s family who had taken him on the food-gathering trip. Meadowlark suspected he felt abandoned. Even though she had two other sisters and a brother who lived, the loss of her oldest sister and so many others in their camp affected her in the same manner.

  The incident might not have stayed in Meadowlark’s memories except for two factors. First, the older ones often spoke of the great smallpox sickness—a plague they knew had come because the whites had brought it to their land. The frequently-told story of how the food-gathering party was spared helped her recall the role she played at that time.

  As for Gray Squirrel, his white father finally did come. He brought many gifts from his trading post to the brother of his dead wife, Owl Woman, to thank him for caring for his son who lived. He then took Gray Squirrel away to live with him in the white world where he would be known by the American name his white father had given him.

  Meadowlark squirmed as she watched Chases Quail narrow her eyes and study her. As a young woman, her aunt had been among those who were part of the food-gathering party so many years before. She knew that Meadowlark and Gray Squirrel were close during that time.

  “It is rumored he intends to become a warrior, Meadowlark. Even though he is a half-blood, he would make a good husband for you, better than Broken Wing whom your father wishes you to marry.”

  Resentment surged through Meadowlark. So, she realized, it was widely known that Broken Wing sought her for a wife. Her aunt was always quick to learn of and talk about the affairs of others. She felt honor-bound to support her father, even though she did not agree to the match with her father’s friend. What went on between her and her father regarding a possible marriage to Broken Wing was nobody else’s concern. “Broken Wing is a proven warrior. Nothing has been decided.”

  Chases Quail offered a knowing, but sympathetic smile. “And he is a full-blood. We know that is important to your father. Both of your living sisters have married full-bloods, as did the one who died during the time of the great sickness. Too bad you cannot convince your father he can spare his last daughter to a warrior who can provide well for you, but is only half Kansa.”

  Meadowlark stood and picked up her pot of water. “It is good to visit, but I must go.” She turned and forced her shoulders to relax and her steps to remain slow as she meandered back to her father’s home.

  Meadowlark’s thoughts remained in a jumble as she considered the challenge issued by Chases Quail. Her father would never allow her to marry a white man, or even a half-blood who chose to live in the white world. The days of a Kansa woman marrying a white trader to form an alliance beneficial to both the trader and the tribe was past. She had heard the stories of what it was like for some of the Kansa women married to white men who then found themselves treated with disrespect. Especially those whites whose ancestors originally came from among the British did not have the regard for the Kansa the way the early French had. The story of Owl Woman came to mind.

  However, what if Gray Squirrel truly did wish to become a warrior? Would he go to all the effort to prove himself as a hunter and fighter among the Kansa only to leave the tribe to live again among the whites? If he intended to stay among the Kansa, did that mean he planned to marry a Kansa woman? If he looked her way when choosing a wife, could she do as Chases Quails suggested?

  First, she must convince him to look her way.

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  Chapter 4

  ~o0o~

  Fool Chief’s Camp, Council Grove Kansa Reservation

  Kansas Territory

  April, 1856

  M eadowlark knew in order to keep gossip about her to a minimum, she dared not seek Gray Squirrel out right away. She waited several days. After making sure she caught up on all her necessary tasks, she left her father’s home and rode one of her father’s ponies several miles north to where the Fool Chief kept his camp. Once there, she released her mount to graze with the herd watched by the young boys of the camp. She recalled where the young men preparing to become warriors often went to practice their skills.

  Meadowlark heard the shouts of excited young voices before she saw the warriors-in-training. Next, she heard the giggles of young women clumped together on a rise overlooking the practice area. Creeping quietly in an effort to not be discovered, she saw the women, her age and a few years younger, with their attention focused on the field before them. Some were full-bloods; some were mixed-bloods. One girl’s light brown hair looked like it belonged to a white woman. Only her features betrayed her native ancestry. Some, like Meadowlark, wore traditional clothing; some wore the styles of the whites made of cotton and wool. Not wishing to be discovered, she skirted the area until she found a spot with good cover from which to view the scene.

  Meadowlark quickly located Gray Squirrel. She smiled to herself as she realized it was not a difficult task. Most of the boys who practiced throwing their spears were much younger and at least a head or more shorter than Gray Squirrel. He had missed much by not being with the tribe during the usual age boys perfected their hunting skills. Then again, she recalled hearing by way of gossip that when Gray Squirrel had come the previous year to hunt, he had brought his father’s rifle, one that his father had bought off a former soldier in the Mexican-American War. Although it took time for him to reload, and he rode away from the herd of buffalo to do so, Gray Squirrel proved to be proficient with the weapon. She felt confident his accuracy with that weapon would make it easy for him to become accurate with the bow and arrow, a weapon he probably had not handled much since his days as a young boy.

  Annoyed at the giggles and whispered comments coming from the gaggle of young women either old enough to marry or who would be soon, Meadowlark hunched her shoulders as she closed her eyes and covered her ears in an effort to shut them out. She knew why they were here. They had not come to watch pre-teen boys practice their skills. They watched the same young man she had come to see.

  Discouraged, Meadowlark refused to look at them and focused her eyes on the scene before her. Gray Squirrel released a whoop after he released an arrow that found its mark. His cousin, the handsome but somewhat haughty Eyes-like-hawk, grinned wide and clapped Gray Squirrel on the shoulder. Eyes-like-hawk spoke something which prompted Gray Squirrel to gather up his weapons and retrieve his arrow from his target. The two walked back to the dwelling of Hawk Beak and entered.

  Realizing their quarry had escaped their view, the young women on the rise offered a collective sigh of regret and exchanged farewells as they broke apart and went their several ways. Meadowlark shrank farther into her hiding place in an effort to not be seen. She did not want the others to know she also found Gray Squirrel of interest.

  About the time Meadowlark’s ankles felt like they might break and leave her tumbling to the ground, she eased to a standing position, ready to leave for home. She still wished to speak with Gray Squirrel in order to see what kind of a man he had grown to be. However, it would not be with an audience of female admirers and certainly not while he was in the company of his cousin. Just as she prepared to turn and leave her hiding place, movement at the side and near the back corner of the lodge they had entered caught her attention. She froze in place and watched as Gray Squirrel and Eyes-like Hawk wriggled through an opening in the mat covering the dwelling and, weapons in hand, ran for the nearby trees.

  Meadowlark glanced at the empty rise. A quick survey of the area told her no one else saw the two men run off. Still hoping for a chance to speak with Gray Squirrel, or even learn enough about him to know whether or not she should allow her thoughts to remain on him. She eased away from her hiding place and skirted the village until she came to the spot where they had disappeared into the grove that bordered the land next to the Neosho River. She quickly spotted tell-tale moccasin prints. The two had made no effort to cover their tracks, which made it easy for her to follow.

  Meadowlark made a point to stay alert and step carefully
in order to not be caught by the pair. It was not a matter that she feared them; she preferred to not be humiliated. The other women like those earlier on the rise overlooking the training area may make fools of themselves to attract Gray Squirrel’s attention, but that was not her way. Soon, she heard voices—one she recognized belonged to Eyes-like-hawk and the other she reasoned must belong to Gray Squirrel.

  As she expected, Gray Squirrel’s voice had deepened from the voice she knew as a child. When he had come to the reservation the previous year, she had not been close enough to him to hear him speak.

  Meadowlark slowed her movements and grew more cautious as, through the branches bursting with the leaves of early spring, she spotted the pair. Under Eyes-like-hawk’s direction, Gray Squirrel practiced shooting arrows without the teasing of the younger boys or the audience of admiring women. If what she wished to know from Gray Squirrel did not weight so heavily on her mind, Meadowlark would leave the men to practice in private. Instead, she carefully moved the budding branches of the young bush aside and slid behind it, grateful it served as a screen to camouflage her presence. Using the nearby tree and other foliage for cover, she settled in to watch. If only Eyes-like-hawk would leave and she could catch Gray Squirrel alone.

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  Chapter 5

  ~o0o~

  C harlie grinned when his cousin whooped in appreciation each time the arrows he released struck the exact spots Eyes-like-hawk pointed out to him. He trotted over to wriggle them free of the limbs in the small tree not much taller than a shrub.

  Eyes-like-hawk’s dark eyes glittered with laughter as Charlie walked back to him. “I do not think you have much need for more practice with the bow and arrow, my cousin. It is well I already was given the warrior name Eyes-like-hawk, or I would have to worry you might claim it for yourself. Your time spent learning to shoot that rifle you brought last time has served you well.”