by Sonia Antaki
“Come with us,” said Walks Alone. “We’ll live as we always have.”
“I made a promise to stay and help,” Red Dove said, thinking of Windflower.
Red Dove got up, walked into the bedroom and sat on the bed. Her eyes blurred, her chin throbbed and the bandage round her throat scratched and pulled at the slowly healing wound. She didn’t want to think about the future—but had to. She listened to the murmurs coming from the kitchen. Then she heard the door open and close as Old Tom went out.
“Say what you mean, Sister,” Walks Alone said, coming into the little room where she was sitting. “What promise did you make? And when?”
“I told Grandfather I would help that little girl, the one with the terrible wound at her throat.”
“When?” asked Walks Alone with a puzzled frown.
Red Dove saw the confusion in his face. She knew she would have to explain but didn’t want to. She got up and walked to the window to put off telling her brother that their grandfather was gone. Through the wavy glass, she saw Old Tom place a piece of wood on the chopping block and raise his axe. “Jerusha wants me to stay here with her,” she said, trying to change the subject.
“Is that what you want?” said her brother in a soft voice. “Tell me the truth. There’s no one to hear us. Old Tom’s outside and Jerusha’s gone to town.”
“It’s better than going back to the school… or the reservation.”
“Better than living like a prisoner, you mean,” her brother said with scorn in his voice. “Come with me to Paha Sapa, where we belong—”
“Is it where we belong?” said Red Dove, shouting now, as surprised as her brother at the anger surging up inside her. “How long will that last? How long will Paha Sapa belong to us, do you think?”
“Forever. The hills are ours. We’ll find our mother and grandfather there—”
“Grandfather—” Red Dove said with a catch in her throat.
Walks Alone stepped closer, an angry challenge in his eyes. “What?”
“He lives with the spirits now—”
“How do you know?”
Red Dove ducked her head, not wanting to see the hurt on her brother’s face. “He was there. At Wounded Knee.”
“You saw him?”
“In a vision. He said he went there to find you—”
“He died there because of me?” Walks Alone turned his back on his sister and clenched his fists.
“It wasn’t your fault—”
“It was.” He turned around and the look on his face frightened Red Dove. She put her hand on his arm but he shrugged it off.
“Don’t do it,” said Red Dove, seeing what was in his head, watching him swing his body up to climb a wall of rough-cut timbers, covered with nicks and gashes.
The fort!
She saw him lift an arrow from his quiver, fit it to his bowstring and aim at a white-haired soldier in the courtyard below.
“Don’t do it,” she said again. “Remember the ways of our people. We do not hate—”
“I have to,” he said, heading for the door. Then he turned back suddenly. “There was someone else there—”
“At Wounded Knee? Who?” Red Dove asked, though she saw that as well.
“Your father. His hair was white, but his face was the same as when I was small. Probably he killed Grandfather.”
“Stop, Brother!” Red Dove reached out to grab his sleeve, but he pulled from her grasp, stalked out of the room and slammed the door.
›› Indians! ‹‹
A half-day’s ride over miles of snowy road lay between Red Dove and the fort. She dug her heels into her pony’s sturdy flanks and urged her on, hoping for a glimpse of Walks Alone, always a few lengths ahead.
“Who’s there?” called the sentry, when the walls of the stockade finally loomed up, silhouetted against the late afternoon glare.
Walks Alone was nowhere in sight.
“I have to see the captain,” Red Dove answered, looking nervously around for any sign of her brother. “It’s urgent.”
The sentry shifted position, blocking the sun that shone behind him, and for a moment Red Dove had a clear view of his face—and the round black patch that covered his eye.
Jake! Why isn’t he in jail?
“He ain’t seein’ nobody today, ’specially not an Indian, so go back where you come from.”
Red Dove swiveled Wichinchala out of the gate, but instead of turning back to the road, she rocketed around to the side of the fort. There, in front of her, were the rough-cut timbers she had seen in her dream, covered with nicks and gashes gouged deep into the walls of the stockade.
“Wait here,” she whispered to her pony.
She slid off, looking for a way up. Digging her leather-covered toe into a gap, she reached for the lowest crevice, a foot above her head.
Give me strength, Grandfather, she prayed, as a surge of adrenaline coursed through her. Slowly, carefully, she pulled herself up the bark-covered wall. Up and up she climbed until, with her last ounce of strength, she flung her torso onto the narrow walkway at the top.
Crouching before her was Walks Alone, fitting an arrow to his bow.
Down in the courtyard was her father.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
Walks Alone swung around, the arrow pointing at her.
“Go away,” he hissed and aimed it back at the captain.
“Grandfather wouldn’t want this—”
“Grandfather isn’t here!” Walks Alone narrowed his eyes and raised his bow.
“He is here, Walks Alone,” pleaded Red Dove. “He’s with us all the time. He wouldn’t want this, please—”
Walks Alone pulled the bowstring tighter. “Leave me alone.”
He let go.
The bow shuddered and the arrow arced high into the air.
But instead of piercing the breast of the man below, it rose even higher, and came to land in two neat pieces beside her brother’s foot.
“What?” he murmured, eyes round with amazement. He nodded at the quiver lying next to Red Dove. “Give me another. Quick!”
“No,” something whispered inside her.
Walks Alone, eyes fixed on the courtyard below, reached out his hand for the arrow, but Red Dove pulled back.
“No,” she echoed.
“Summon the pouch,” the voice whispered.
I can’t! I left it… at the cabin. It’s not here!
“Summon it and it will come.”
Red Dove stared at her brother, his hand still outstretched, waiting for the arrow.
“I summon the pouch,” she said in a small soft voice.
She felt a tingle, an itch, a burning sensation, and the small gray bundle appeared in her hand.
“This is what you need, Brother,” she said and placed it gently in his palm.
“What?” He looked down at the bit of shriveled leather. “It’s not a weapon—”
“It’s better than a weapon.”
An odd look appeared in Walks Alone’s eyes as he stared at the little object. “An opahte,” he murmured.
“You see it?” Red Dove asked.
“Yes. But I feel… odd,” he gasped.
Red Dove watched her brother’s face as the pouch began to work. She saw what he saw, heard what he heard, felt what he felt, looking at the man below: the captain’s loneliness, the constant ache from an arm that never healed, the shock of recognition when he saw Walks Alone crouching at the top of the stockade.
She watched their eyes meet.
“It’s you, son, isn’t it?” the captain said. “Walks Alone? Thought you’d be coming for me one day. What’s that you got there… a bow? Well, if you’re gonna do it, do it now,” he said evenly.
The bow shook. Walks Alone raised it high to steady it, held it for a moment, then lowered it to the ground. “I can’t,” he whispered, and dropped the pouch.
Red Dove picked it up.
“It’s all right, son,” said the captain, as if
he could hear him. “Why don’t you just come down now, and no one will get hurt—”
“Who you talkin’ to, Cap’n?” yelled Jake. “An’ what’s that you’re lookin’ at… hey!” he shouted, seeing Walks Alone and Red Dove crouched on top of the stockade, with no easy way down.
Will he turn us in, Red Dove thought with alarm, or will he be different now, because of what he went through with the pouch?
She held her breath, waiting.
“Say, ain’t you the one I seen? The one I shot? What was it you used on me back there? Some kinda witchcraft?” Jake lifted his rifle and aimed. “Indians!” he yelled.
Before she and Walks Alone could find an escape, Jake’s shouts brought a swarm of soldiers out of the barracks, up onto the ladders and across the walkway.
Red Dove and Walks Alone were trapped.
“Hold your fire, men!” the captain called. “Let them come down. They didn’t mean any harm—”
“Didn’t mean no harm, huh?” called Jake. “That Indian was aimin’ to kill you. An’ that’s a hangin’ offense. Ain’t that right, sir?” he asked a man who was just coming out of the officers’ quarters.
“Yes,” said the colonel, shading his eyes as he looked at Red Dove and Walks Alone. “So lock ’em up.”
›› A Hangin’ Offense ‹‹
Darkness drifted through the tiny jailhouse window as Red Dove sat waiting on the rusty bunk of the narrow cell, her brother pacing beside her. The air in the room was thick, the silence interrupted by an occasional curse from one of the guards outside.
“What are they going to do to us?” whispered Red Dove.
“Hang us probably. Or me at least. You’re innocent.”
“But if I had given you an arrow, you would have been able to protect yourself—”
“Hau. I would have killed him.”
“You would have,” said Red Dove sadly.
“But I didn’t,” said Walks Alone, “because of that.” He nodded at the pouch lying on the bunk beside her. “Something happened when you gave it to me. I saw what he was. I felt I was him. And I couldn’t—”
“I’m sorry, Brother. It made you weak—”
“It made me strong,” said Walks Alone. “It gave me a kind of power.”
“It’s what Grandfather wanted.” Red Dove didn’t know what else to say. She listened to the silence in the room.
Walks Alone broke it. “They can’t punish you for what happened, Sister. You tried to stop me.
From behind, they heard the creak of a key in the latch, as the captain, with Rick following, swung the door wide and burst into the cell. “Sentry’s drunk and passed out, but there’s no telling for how long.” He grabbed Red Dove’s arm, waved at Walks Alone to follow and hurried them through the darkened jailhouse and into the empty courtyard. “Horses are over there.” He pointed at Wichinchala’s shaggy shape and Walks Alone’s sturdier mount.
He turned to Red Dove. “If you ever need anything, just get word to me through Old Tom.” He wanted to say more, Red Dove knew, but shook his head instead. “Leave. Now.”
“That man with the eye patch. Jake,” blurted Red Dove. “You said he’d be punished for trying to kill me, but he wasn’t. He was the guard—”
“Yeah,” said the captain. “They decided he was only doing his job… I’m sorry, real sorry about the way things turned out—”
“If you’re sorry, then there’s something you can do.”
“What’s that?” the captain asked, heaving the heavy crossbar to open the gate.
“Make sure no soldier ever gets a medal for what they did at Chankwe Opi,” Red Dove said.
“Chankwe what?”
“Wounded Knee,” Rick answered for her.
“A medal? Hah!” The captain spat in the dirt. “No one will ever get a medal for that,” he said, as he slapped the pony’s rump, and together, Red Dove and Walks Alone galloped away.
›› Toksa ‹‹
At a steady gallop, hearts pounding to the rhythm of horses’ hooves, Red Dove and her brother put miles between themselves and the fort. They had been riding steadily north half the night, and now it was close to morning.
“We’re safe now,” Walks Alone said, looking back. “There’s no one following.” He slowed his pony to a walk.
“Do you still hate him, Brother, even after what he did for us?” Red Dove asked.
“Who, the captain?” Resting both hands on the animal’s neck, Walks Alone stared at the trail behind them. Then he turned to face his sister. “I didn’t tell you before. When I was holding the pouch, I heard something… a voice.”
“Grandfather? What did he say?”
“What you told me: we do not hate.”
Red Dove tried to read her brother’s face through the morning darkness. She saw the doubt in his mind. “It is not our way,” she said softly.
“What about you, Sister? Can you forgive him?
“I already have.” She pulled her blanket tight around her shoulders.
“So what will you do now?” her brother asked. “Come with me to Paha Sapa?”
Red Dove answered with another question. “Do you remember that girl, Windflower? The one with the terrible wound in her throat? I promised Grandfather I would help her… if she’s alive, that is.”
“She is alive. Old Tom told me. They’re sending her to the school—”
“She won’t survive there.” Alarm rose in Red Dove. “Now I know what I have to do.”
“What’s that?” Walks Alone stopped his horse abruptly. Even in the dim light she could see the concern in his eyes.
“Go back to the school and get her out—or she won’t last long there.”
“And neither will you, Sister. Don’t do it.”
“I made a promise I have to keep.” Red Dove heard the words coming out of her mouth. “Will you wait for me in the hills?”
“Yes, but I don’t want you to go. I might never see you again.”
“I have to. I’ll come and find you. Later.”
Walks Alone turned away, anger in his face. “You might not make it… but you’re so stubborn. You always have been. Once you’ve made up your mind, nothing will change it, will it?” He shook his head. “All right then, go.” His voice softened. “Should I come with you?”
“No, Brother, it’s too dangerous. The soldiers will be looking for you.”
“They’ll be looking for you, too.”
“I wasn’t holding the bow when we were caught. I’ll take my chances.” Red Dove shrugged. “I’ll only be there long enough to get Windflower and then we’ll both come find you in Paha Sapa.”
“Do what you must, Sister. If that’s the path you’ve chosen, then we will part soon.” In the glow of the setting moon, Red Dove could see his sorrow. “That fork up ahead? That’s where the road will split.”
“Yes,” whispered Red Dove, swallowing tears.
“You’re sure? You’re not coming with me now to find… Mother?”
“I promised Grandfather—”
“Grandfather,” said Walks Alone sadly. Through the shadows he searched his sister’s face. “Then this is where we say goodbye.”
They rode in silence as a cloud crossed the moon. In the darkness Red Dove couldn’t see his tears. But she knew they were there.
When they came to the fork, she reached out to touch his hand and, palm to palm, they said goodbye.
“Toksa, my brother.”
“Toksa, my sister… . We will meet again.”
›› Iyeska ‹‹
The school loomed before Red Dove in the gray dawn light. Weary from riding, she stared at the vacant windows, the walls of stubborn brick, the silent bell tower.
This was where she needed to be, this place she had first seen in the Moon-of-Falling Leaves when nights gave only a hint of frost. But that was behind her now, and soon the earth would be warming.
By then I’ll be safe in Paha Sapa with my brother and mother and Windflower.
Wichinchala whinnied in protest. “Shhh,” Red Dove whispered. “There’s nothing to fear.”
Though Red Dove herself was afraid. No one knows I’ve come, she thought. I could still change my mind and go. Instead, she slipped off Wichinchala, tied her to a rail and walked up to the entrance. Twisting the iron knob, she pushed and the heavy door gave with a groan. Barely breathing, she stepped into a place that haunted her dreams. It was the same dank corridor, but different somehow: smaller, colder than she remembered—and empty.
Give me strength, Grandfather!
Footsteps clattered in the distance and Sister Agatha’s ghostlike face came into view. “You’ve returned,” said the nun with menace in her voice. “Wise choice. I knew you wouldn’t last long out there.”
“I’m… just here to find Windflower,” Red Dove said, keeping her voice as steady as she could, although her knees were shaking.
“No idea who that is. And look at you,” Sister Agatha snickered, pointing at Red Dove’s deerskin dress and leggings, the parfleche bag slung across her shoulder. “Still dressed like a heathen.” She grabbed Red Dove’s arm with her bony hand and shoved her towards the stairs. “Get out of those filthy rags now. And then come and see me.”
Red Dove clung to the banister. Her senses reeled and her legs wobbled, but she managed to climb. When she reached the landing, she looked down at Sister Agatha’s black-robed figure, striding away.
Help me, Grandfather. Tell me where to find Windflower, so I can get her out of here.
She waited, and at last heard the familiar, thrumming drone, faster now and more intense.
“Look in the room where you used to sleep,” the voice said.
Red Dove hurried to the dormitory as fast as her legs would go. She’s not here, Red Dove thought sadly, looking at the empty metal beds. She must be with the others downstairs. She reached into the parfleche and pulled out the pouch.
The light in the room began to change. A shaft of iridescent blue refracted through the tiny glass window and pierced the morning shadows below the metal bed that once was hers.
“There,” her grandfather’s voice said.
Red Dove knelt down and pulled at the loose floorboards and a small, rose-tinted feather wafted into the air.