Red Dove, Listen to the Wind

by Sonia Antaki

  “Yessir… there won’t be no trouble, sir!”

  “Good then.” The captain climbed up on the wagon. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” answered Jerusha, huddled next to Red Dove. “Have you got a blanket… for her?” she asked.

  “A blanket?” asked the captain, with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Is she—”

  “No,” said Jerusha. “I just thought… it’s so cold.”

  “Yeah it is, so here,” the captain said, taking off his coat and draping it carefully over Red Dove’s still body. He climbed back onto the seat, jerked the reins and the wagon lurched forward over frozen ground, hooves and wheels crunching through icy snow, with Jake and Rick and Wichinchala, riderless, behind.

  ›› The Truth ‹‹

  Watching from above, Red Dove saw her motionless body lying in the back of the wagon. She listened to the sounds around her: the clatter of wheels, the pounding of horses’ hooves, the voices. She heard Spirit’s gentle panting, Jerusha’s regular breathing as she dozed.

  “There was so much I wanted to tell her,” the captain said to Rick, riding slowly alongside “The truth. ’Bout me and Falling Bird.”

  Red Dove strained to listen.

  “I’m her father, you know.” The captain sighed. “I’d like tell you the rest, son, since you’re bound to find out one day. I want you to hear it from me.”

  What’s he telling him?

  “You’re almost sixteen, old enough. But for now this is just between us, understood? It’s a hard thing for me to talk about—”

  “You don’t have to tell it, sir, if you don’t want—”

  “I do. I’ve wanted to get it off my chest for a long time. Maybe it’ll help me understand why I did the things I did.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Well, it’s like this… It was years ago and I was fresh off the boat from Ireland, excited about a new place, a new adventure. America. The West. When I saw Falling Bird, I thought she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

  He’s talking about my mother.

  “Something just happened to me. Can you understand that?”

  “If she was like Red Dove, well then, yeah, I can.” Rick’s voice trailed off.

  Like me? A melting warmth ran through Red Dove. She waited for more, but there was silence.

  The captain filled it. “Falling Bird was married before, to an Indian who got killed. She already had a son—”

  “Walks Alone,” Rick said.

  “That’s right.” The captain shook his head. “I would’ve done anything for her—married her in the ways of her people, become one of them if I had to—just to be with her. They wouldn’t allow it, me being a soldier and all. So she left them—her family, her home. Came to live with me. Got married in a church.”

  Mother never told me that.

  “Did you live at the fort?”

  “No. She stayed in a cabin nearby. And I sent Walks Alone away to school, so he’d learn our ways. She didn’t like it, but I thought it was for the best. We were happy, mostly—until that trouble with Custer started. He was a fool. He just decided he could ride in to the Black Hills and take the gold, even though everyone knew that place was sacred to the Indians.”

  “So we went to war. I was called up, had to go, fight her people.” The captain sighed. “It was my duty. D’ya see that, son? I had no choice.”

  “Course, sir.”

  “She didn’t want me to, but I told her I’d be shot as a deserter if I didn’t. She gave me some kind of drink, a potion—Indian medicine, she said—to make me strong. But she lied. It made me weak. Next thing I knew, it was full daylight and the sun was shining in my eyes, blinding me. The battle had begun and she was gone.” He paused. “It was at a place the Indians knew as the Greasy Grass, but our people just call it Custer’s Last Stand. Because everyone died there, every last man.” The captain stared into the distance. “Maybe they wouldn’t have, if I’d been there.”

  “You really think you’d have made a difference?”

  The captain shrugged. “Who knows? All I do know is I tried to climb up on my horse to join ’em, but was too weak from whatever it was she gave me. I fell off and broke my arm.” He nodded at his crooked limb. “I staggered back to the fort with a good excuse, told them I’d been hurt too bad—”

  “Which was true.”

  “Yeah, it was. Custer’s defeat was so awful, no one spent much time worrying about a so-called deserter with a broken arm. The doc didn’t even set it proper,” he said bitterly. “Too busy getting ready to tend the wounded from the battle. But there weren’t any. All our men were killed, every last one of them.” His voice trailed off again.

  “Ain’t it better to be alive, sir? She saved your life.”

  “And took away my pride. I live with the dishonor to this day.”

  Rick went silent for a moment, then asked, “But what happened to her… Falling Bird, I mean?”

  “I found out she was pregnant. With my child.”

  Rick lowered his voice. “Red Dove.”

  “Old Tom said the baby had gray eyes like mine, so she looked different from them.”

  “Did you ever see her? The baby, I mean.”

  “No.” The captain sighed again. “Falling Bird was still too angry.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Sent whatever I could, to help her through. I told Old Tom to leave supplies outside their tent at night so no one would know it was me sending them. But I got found out and had to stop.” He paused. “And, well, by then, I had you to look after—”

  “When you found me, after Indians killed my family—”

  “You were the best thing that ever happened to me, you know? You made me proud. Still do. Every day.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Rick with a catch in his voice.

  “So that’s it, son,” the captain went on. “The truth. Can you forgive me?”

  “For what, sir? Like I said, you’ve been a good father to me. Sounds like she’s the one you should have asked.” Rick pointed to the back of the wagon.

  “Yeah, and it’s too late now . . .” mumbled the captain, pulling his hat brim down and hunching his shoulders against the cold.

  Forgive him? wondered Red Dove, through the turmoil in her head. Can I?

  “So now what’re you gonna do, sir?”

  “What can I do, after all the harm that’s been done?” The captain went silent for a moment, then took a deep breath and continued. “Just wish she was still here so I could tell her all this myself.”

  “Yeah, sir,” said Rick. “I wish she was too.”

  ›› Decide ‹‹

  They look so sad, Grandfather, Red Dove called, gazing upward.

  “They are sad. Very sad.”

  She saw his ageless eyes, his kindly face.

  “They don’t want you to go—”

  But I want to be here with you, in this wonderful place. I don’t want to be back in the world of the living—

  “You are willing to leave the ones you see below?

  Yes.

  “And what of the others? Your brother and mother—”

  My mother’s alive? Where?

  Grandfather didn’t answer. Instead, her mother’s face came into view, the smile warm and beckoning, and then it began to blur, as the figure receded and became that of a gray-haired old woman, hunched and rocking beside a dying fire.

  What’s happened, Mother? Don’t be sad!

  “How can she not be? She has lost her children.”

  Is my brother gone, too?

  Another image came into view, that of a rough wooden scaffold with a knotted rope dangling from its center, and a tall, slender youth, dressed in buckskin, hands tied behind his back, climbing the steps.

  Stop him!

  “Who is there to do that, if you are not?”

  Then another vision: a classroom full of dark-haired, dark-skinned girls, in high-collared dresses, covered with starched white pinafores. A t
iny girl, shoulders slumped, chin in hand, fingers hiding an ugly scar coiled around her neck and chin. Looming above her a tall, black-robed figure, holding a stick.

  Sister Agatha! Make her stop!

  “How, if you are gone?”

  Red Dove, stunned, didn’t know how to answer. Tell me what to do, Grandfather, she said at last. I want to help—but I want to be happy, too—

  “You will be, if you help them, down there.”

  But this is where there’s happiness, Grandfather. With you—

  “Happiness is everywhere, Gray Eyes.”

  No it isn’t. Not down there.

  “It is, if you look. Remember the promise you made to that girl?”

  Which girl? Windflower?

  “You said you would help her find her happiness. If you do that, you will find your own. You threw the pouch away, but it has returned. Will you accept its challenge? Decide.”

  His voice began to fade.

  Grandfather?

  No sound now, only silence; no light, only dark.

  I don’t want to.

  She remembered the crystal glow, the music, the smiles that surrounded her in the world she wanted to join.

  “Decide,” she whispered through parched, blue lips.

  And felt herself falling, dragged by the weight of stone on clay, down to the iron-hard coldness of the world she knew, the icy bones of earth.

  ›› Honor Them ‹‹

  A shout brought Red Dove to consciousness. She felt hardness of the wagon beneath her and cold air on her face.

  “She’s alive, Captain!” cried Jerusha from what seemed very far away. “Dear God, she’s alive!”

  Bludgeoned by a pain so intense she couldn’t speak, Red Dove opened her eyes, but saw nothing. The miraculous light was gone, the peace and happiness she felt disappeared and something foul pricked her nostrils.

  When her vision cleared, Jerusha’s face was above her, hand over mouth to stifle a sob. “A miracle,” she murmured.

  The wagon stopped. Rick and the captain jumped off.

  “A miracle,” said the captain. “I never thought—” Through half-lidded eyes, Red Dove saw him wipe away tears as he gazed down at her.

  Again, Red Dove tried to raise herself, but her arms shook and her head was dead weight on her useless body. The pain came and went, sometimes overwhelming, sometimes hardly felt—until another wave hit and she had to grit her teeth against it.

  From where she lay, she could see bursts of lightning dance across the sky, turning the landscape behind them an eerie gray. She shut her eyes again.

  “There,” she heard her grandfather’s voice as another shaft of light lit a spot where more bodies lay. She saw an old man, head wrapped in a white bandana, his arms reaching skyward in a frozen embrace.

  Is it… you?

  “No, you will not find me, so do not look. But honor him. And all those lying back there.

  “Go back and honor him,” she whispered.

  “What? Don’t try to talk, dear,” said Jerusha. “Save your strength.” Red Dove felt Jerusha’s cool hand on her brow. “Let’s get her out of here. And hurry.”

  “Right you are,” said the captain, climbing back onto the wagon. “Time’s wasting—”

  Another flash of silver pierced the air, waking Red Dove.

  “Wait,” she croaked, pointing weakly. “Honor him first. Back there.”

  Rick seemed to understand. He turned to face the fallen warrior. “To you and everyone else who died here as well,” he said, pulling off his hat and making the sign of the cross, “may Wakan Tanka, the Great Spirit, watch over you.” His voice lifted in the wind. “And may your spirits be at peace.”

  May your spirit be at peace as well, Grandfather, Red Dove echoed in her thoughts.

  “What the… hey, wait!” Rick cried, as a shape lurched out of the darkness and propelled itself at him with a force that knocked him flat. With one hand, he shielded his body; with the other, he tried to push the wild creature away.

  And then he saw.

  “Spirit!” he cried, wrapping his arms around his wriggling friend, as the scruffy animal licked his face and danced around them all, delirious with joy.

  Channaphopa Wi

  The Moon-of-Popping-Trees

  Jerusha’s Cabin—Late Winter, 1891

  ›› Justice ‹‹

  “You awake?” Rick stood at the door to the room where Red Dove lay. A week had passed, but her recovery had been surprisingly swift. Now she was healing and grateful to be back with people who cared.

  She sat up in bed, pulled at the blanket to hide the bandage that covered her throat and chin and ran her fingers through her tangled hair.

  “Must be feelin’ better if you’re tryin’ to fix yourself up,” Rick said, walking in with a grin. “It’s kind of a miracle the way you came through this.” He closed the door behind him and scanned the room. “D’ya mind if I sit down?” he asked, pointing at the chair beside her bed and dropping into it.

  “Cap’n’s gone back to the fort to see ’bout the court martial.” Rick’s darkly tanned forehead was creased in a frown. “D’ya know what that is?”

  Red Dove shook her head. She could read his thoughts, but that required effort and she was still too tired. It was easier just to listen for the answer.

  “Military justice. Might mean prison for the commandin’ officer—”

  “My father?”

  “No,” soothed Rick. “Your father’s only a captain. It’s Colonel Forsyth they’re after. The general wants him charged for gettin’ people killed.” Rick jerked his head towards the window. “Back there at Wounded Knee.”

  “For killing my people?” Red Dove’s heart leapt at the thought of a white man’s court finally bringing justice.

  Rick shook his head. “No one’s gonna get court martialed for that. He’ll be tried for gettin’ his own men killed. Soldiers. In the crossfire from their guns.”

  “That isn’t real justice.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s better’n nothin’.” Rick shifted his hat from one hand to another. His tawny face broke into a nervous smile. “I have somethin’… that belongs to you.”

  It wasn’t the pouch, Red Dove knew. That was tucked safely back in her parfleche. She watched him reach into his pocket, pull out a small beaded object and place it on the sheet next to her.

  “My amulet! The one my mother gave me.” She stared at the bits of blue and yellow glass, the familiar turtle shape.

  “You dropped it at the fort that day. Had it the whole time,” Rick said with a sheepish grin. “Just didn’t know how to give it to you, and the longer I waited, the harder it got.” His eyes crept over her face. “Jake said it was worth somethin’, that I should sell it, but I knew that was wrong. It was worth somethin’. But to you, not me.” He shifted his gaze to the floor.

  He had it all the time, she thought, and didn’t know what to say.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

  She touched the intricate beadwork and looked at his troubled face.

  “I know you are,” was all she could manage, forcing the words through her lips.

  “Honest. Can you see your way to… forgive me?” Rick met her eyes for an instant, then slid his away. “Well, best be goin’.” He rose, turned and headed for the door.

  “Wait.”

  He stopped and jerked his head around.

  Red Dove reached for the parfleche and pulled out the pouch. “You can see this, can’t you?” she said, holding it up.

  “Course. Why’d you ask?”

  “Not everyone can. Only certain people.” Red Dove watched his face, remembering his courage, appreciating his kindness as if for the first time.

  “Strange,” Rick said with a shrug. He shoved his hat back on his head and turned to leave.

  Red Dove hesitated for a moment, then decided. “Wanagi… ,” she said, “washte.”

  Rick stopped in his tracks. “Naggy what?”

  “Wanagi
means Spirit. The name of your dog in my language. And washte means good. It would be good if you brought Spirit… when you come to see me, that is.”

  “Come to see you?” Rick’s face lit up. “Yeah? Really? You know I’ll come find you wherever you are.” He nodded so hard his hat fell off. Laughing, he bent to pick it up. “Wanagi… washte… means Spirit… good. Guess I learned somethin’ today, didn’t I?”

  Yes, thought Red Dove. You did. And so did I.

  ›› He Lives with the Spirits ‹‹

  “Finished with that plate yet? Jerusha’ll be back any minute an’ she’ll wanna have this place cleaned up,” said Old Tom to Red Dove, as they sat with Walks Alone at the little wooden table. “You’re lookin’ a whole lot better, you know? Bullet just grazed you. Don’t hardly show.”

  Red Dove pulled the shawl up to cover her still-bandaged throat and chin. Jerusha had tried to hide the mirror, but Red Dove had read her thoughts, found it and taken a look. She didn’t like what she saw.

  “Won’t look near so bad in a couple o’ weeks,” said Old Tom.

  He’s probably right, Red Dove thought, remembering Windflower’s horrible wound and the scar she would carry for life.

  “Say, what’re you looking at?” Old Tom followed Walks Alone’s gaze through the window that faced west. “Pretty, ain’t they, the hills of the Paha Sapa? Guess that’s why your people love ’em so much.”

  Walks Alone tilted his head. “That’s where I’m going.”

  “Yeah? But what if the soldiers find you and force you back to the school?”

  “Then I’ll run away. And I will keep running away until they finally leave me alone.” Walks Alone squared his shoulders. “Why don’t you come with me? And find out why we love them so much.”

  “Huh?” said Old Tom, wrinkling his forehead.

  “You respect our people, our ways. You’re a good man. Come with me to Paha Sapa.”

  A broad smile lit Old Tom’s face. “You know, I’d kinda like that.” Then his face clouded over. “But I can’t leave Jerusha. Who’d look after her?”