All the talk filled Black Bear with worry, but also curiosity. What was it like in the white’s world? What would the school teach the students? After a long day, he went to the tipi for the night. The final part of the Sun Dance—the piercing ritual—would begin tomorrow. His parents lay away from each other, as was customary during the ceremony to keep it pure. He lay against her buffalo skin and tried to sleep, but thoughts of Quiet Thunder and the white captain swirled through his mind.
Outside, hushed voices spoke with urgency. His father crept to the entrance and peered out. When he went outside, Black Bear met his mother’s worried gaze. They waited in silence until his father returned, the lines of worry erased from his face.
“The Wicasa Yatapickas decided to tell Captain Pratt no. We will not send our children to his school.”
With a satisfied smile, his parents laid down. Soon their breaths deepened.
Black Bear relaxed against the soft fur. Troubled no more, sleep soon overtook him.
****
Happiness lifted Quiet Thunder’s spirit to the sky as she walked through the field searching for berries. The three boys had honored their families in the Sun Dance, their flesh tearing when they dropped to their knees with soft grunts. Despite its ominous start, the ceremony ended well.
Soon they would pack their belongings on the pony drag and leave to search for a new camp. A thrill went through her when she thought of Black Bear’s pledge. If they came across a buffalo herd, they might share a tipi before the next moon.
She returned with her pouch half-full of strawberries. Pretty Eagle sat by the fire, pulling a porcupine quill through a skin to make a new parfleche. Quiet Thunder’s cheeks burned. Her mother would paint the pouch as a wedding gift so she and Black Bear would have the supplies they needed for their tipi. Many admired Pretty Eagle’s paintings, but Quiet Thunder would treasure the pouch because her mother had made it with love.
She set the strawberries inside the tipi entrance.
A horse galloped into camp and stopped short. The boy jumped to the ground. “The wasichu return!” He ran toward the center of the encampment.
Quiet Thunder gasped, frozen by the news, even though she’d known they would come back. She tried to convince herself she had nothing to fear.
Her mother’s smile was thin. “The Four Great Leaders will tell these whites their decision, and they will leave.”
Quiet Thunder said nothing. Determination had shone in the eyes of the captain with the large nose. He would accept a refusal easily. At least he had been respectful enough to wait until their Sun Dance had ended.
Black Bear strode to their fire and nodded to Pretty Eagle. “Do you need water? I will get it for you so Quiet Thunder can stay in the camp until the wasichu leave.”
“All right.”
Quiet Thunder strode to his side. “I am not afraid to go to the stream.”
Black Bear lifted the skin buckets. “It’s safer for you here.”
“The whites will not cause trouble. Not when they want something from us.” The truth of the words chilled her.
“I will get the water.” He spoke slowly.
She stood at her full height. “I will go with you.” Anger burned in her cheeks. He wouldn’t be pleased with her defiance, but she couldn’t let him tell her what to do, especially when they were only promised to each other.
Black Bear’s nostrils flared. He turned, buckets swinging, and strode off.
Pretty Eagle busied herself with her sewing as Quiet Thunder followed Black Bear.
When they’d cleared the edge of camp and the boys playing outside it, she said, “Black Bear, wait.”
“You do not listen to me. Why should I listen to you?”
She sighed. The little boy in him had returned. “Because I love and respect you, and I hope you love and respect me.”
He slowed his pace. “You don’t show it.”
By adding a few quick steps, she closed the gap between them. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dishonor you.”
He grunted and kept his gaze ahead.
“We are not our grandparents, Black Bear. I do not wish to have a union such as theirs.”
“What do you mean?” He slowed to a stroll and met her gaze.
Such thoughts had plagued her since girlhood. Her father loved her mother, but sometimes spoke too sharply, with no concern for her feelings. Quiet Thunder wanted a man to meet her on equal terms.
“I can make my own decisions. I am smart. I can shoot a bow, and ride as well as you.”
He smarted as if she’d slapped him. “What are you saying? You want to live as a man?”
“No, but equal to one. At least, between us.” Was it such an outrageous notion? He’d treated her as an equal all their lives. Why not continue?
He glared with wide eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“I will always show you respect in front of others. Walk behind you even if I believe I should walk beside you. But when we are alone, we must be equal. You should not decide for both of us.”
He set his jaw and walked to the stream. He set down the skin buckets and paced, his eyes cast to the ground.
She waited until she could stand it no longer. “Say something.”
He halted, but turned away. “I don’t know what to say.”
She stepped in front of him. “If you loved me, you would not let your pride stand in the way of our happiness.”
“My pride?” He met her gaze with fire in his eyes.
“Yes. You don’t want your friends to find out we live differently from others.” She hoped it hadn’t sounded like an accusation. She had enough trouble holding her tongue, but needed Black Bear to hear the truth in her words.
“No, I don’t. Maybe I don’t want to live differently.” He spoke uncertainly, as if his own words surprised him.
Tears stung at her eyes. If she backed down now, the rest of her life would be miserable as a result. She could not be a mere shadow following her husband, nodding at whatever he said whether she agreed or not. “I can’t live the same as others.”
He stood still as a tree, only his hair shifting in the breeze. She felt his spirit reaching for hers, searching like a lost soul in unfamiliar territory.
Voices and laughter sounded from beyond the trees and grew louder.
His gaze flicked toward the intruders. The indecision left his face and his features hardened. He lifted his chin. “Then that is your decision.”
She stepped backward. Rigid as a mountain, his coldness chilled her. He looked nothing like the man who lured her to his side with his flute song.
He watched with the empty eyes of a ghost. Her lip quivered as she turned and ran blindly past the approaching group. She ran until she reached her tipi, then halted. Something about the way her mother and father stood stiffly, mouths set in thin lines as they spoke with lightning in their eyes.
She approached slowly. “What’s wrong?”
The veins in Pretty Eagle’s neck stood out as she lifted her chin, her gaze cast to the ground.
Flying Horse, too, stood tall. “The Four Great Leaders met with the whites. They leave it to each tribe’s head man to decide whether or not to allow children to go to the school.”
Quiet Thunder gasped. “No!” By her mother’s clenched fists, Pretty Eagle disagreed with the decision.
Her father appeared resigned. “Captain Pratt says it’s inevitable that the Lakota and whites will mix, and it’s in the children’s best interests to learn to interact with whites.”
She couldn’t hold her tongue. “How can it be best to leave their families?” Her fists clenched at her sides, she wished she could pummel those men.
“We are all to meet soon. To listen to this captain.”
She need not ask why. He sought to take their children. Her father’s weak spirit frightened her. She wanted to ask whether he would consider such a thing, but wasn’t sure she was prepared for his answer.
Flying Horse led them to the cen
ter of the camp where all the tribes were gathering. The Four Great Leaders stood with the whites. The long-nosed captain smiled at the mothers and fathers, who met his gaze with pride in their faces.
One of the Four Great Leaders asked everyone to listen to Captain Pratt.
Pratt spoke as one of the medicine men interpreted. He repeated what Flying Horse had already said: that all tribes must learn the white man’s ways if they wanted their nations to survive in this changing world. Already much had changed, but much more was to come. If tribes sent their children to be educated by whites, the children would grow to be great leaders.
When he finished speaking, murmurs spread throughout the camp.
“Why should we believe you?” one angry father yelled.
Pratt answered without hesitation. “Because I speak the truth.”
Another father said, “Our children should learn Lakota ways, not wasichu ways.”
The captain held steadfast in his bearing. “In the coming years, more and more whites will move into your territory. If you send your children to my school, they’ll learn to understand our language and our ways to their advantage. To your advantage.”
Sadness weighted Quiet Thunder’s spirit when some parents nodded.
Black Bear slipped into the crowd. His gaze met hers, then flicked away.
Her cheeks burned with the sting of his rejection. Why would he not listen? She set her jaw to stop her quivering lip.
The white captain stepped toward the center. “Your children will learn to negotiate with whites. Had you known how, you would not have lost some of your territories. Your children can learn to forge better treaties.”
Her mouth fell open when a tribal head man spoke.
“If any of my tribe wishes to send their children to this white man’s school, I give my blessing.”
A wave of talk went across the people, pausing when one father stepped forth. “My sons will go to your school.”
Quiet Thunder’s breath strangled in her throat. Black Bear stood expressionless, staring ahead, his eyes cold as winter’s frost. Her heart grew heavy waiting for some acknowledgement, but he gave no sign.
She glanced at her father, whose face held great sadness. Her mother’s downturned mouth made her appear as though she’d eaten something bitter.
Two more fathers offered their children, aged from ten winters to sixteen.
The Four Great Leaders nodded their approval.
Captain Pratt looked at each of the fathers in turn. “Your children will thank you someday.” He spoke louder. “Will anyone else give their children this great opportunity?”
An uneasy silence met his question.
Quiet Thunder couldn’t help glancing at Black Bear. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t even blinked. He appeared empty inside, as if his spirit had been stolen.
Families left one by one.
Pretty Eagle stared into Flying Horse’s eyes with an unspoken urging. He turned toward their tipi. She poked Running Wolf’s shoulder toward his father, and jerked her head at Quiet Thunder to follow.
Quiet Thunder gave one last look at where Black Bear stood, but he had gone.
Chapter Three
In the morning, clouds like red robes spread across the sky as Black Bear stepped outside his tipi. Smoke from cooking fires curled upward, making his stomach grumble despite his lack of appetite. To him, it seemed much longer than eight suns since the ceremony began. Much had happened. Instead of being in a stronger place, he no longer knew where the path ahead would lead—for him, for Quiet Thunder, for their people.
They broke camp within minutes, packing their belongings onto pony drags and smaller bags on the backs of dogs. Each tribe within the Seven Council Fires went its own way. Chief Red Horse led them west, but Black Bear knew no matter where his people went, more and more wasichu would follow.
He forced his gaze ahead as he rode beside Yellow Bird, but always sensed where Quiet Thunder walked. His heart told him she sensed his presence too. The few times he allowed himself to glance, she always faced away, and the sight of her stiff back stung worse than a snake bite. Their argument had confused him; he’d always thought they would share a life like every other couple. Quiet Thunder’s stubbornness sometimes made his head feel full of bees, swarming so loudly he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. No medicine could ease his pain except her soft words, the feel of her arms around him again.
The plains rose into hills with the cool shade of trees. Chief Red Horse halted and declared they would make camp. Before the light faded, all tipis stood in a circle, the horses grazed peacefully nearby.
When almost a moon passed, Black Bear still could not approach her, though the ache of loneliness grew. The past few days, he’d made a show of wanting her attention, whooping as he rode his horse past, or speaking loudly to Yellow Bird. She raised her chin high carrying the skin buckets to the stream, or picking berries, hiding her gaze, but he felt its weight. Wherever he went, she always seemed to be in sight.
The few times their gazes met, he turned away with a wild fluttering in his chest, not knowing whether he wanted to hold her or scold her. Whenever she walked away, she carried his heart along. He had to get her attention the only other way he knew.
****
Frogs sang at the stream, their trills echoing through the tipi. Sleep would not come to Quiet Thunder. The mournful cry of the flute, so lonely and sorrowful, mixed with the night sounds. She arose and paused at the tipi flap. She remembered Black Bear’s harsh words and cold eyes, and went back to her buffalo skin. When the warmth of his embrace returned with the memory, she sat up. His refusal to treat her with respect cooled her, and she laid down, covering her ears. She wouldn’t be his wife if he couldn’t treat her as she deserved.
The next morning, she walked to the stream for water.
Black Bear followed on silent feet, and then stood beside her. “Did you sleep well last night?”
Afraid his sad eyes would tempt her to hasty forgiveness, she kept her gaze on her task. “Yes. Very soundly.”
He hesitated, seemed to struggle for breath before responding. “Good. I thought the night noises might have kept you awake.”
His anguish tempted her to admit the truth, but she couldn’t. Not until he admitted his wrongs.
“Nothing except my father’s snores, but I no longer hear those.” She set one skin bucket on the bank and the other into the stream. “And you–did you sleep well?”
“Yes. The heat kept me awake a little while, so I went for a walk. But after that, I slept very well.”
His bold lie caused her such pain, she jerked up her bucket skins and water sloshed out as she hurried away.
He stepped toward her, but kept to the side of her path. “I will help you.”
“I need no help.” If she had to prove her equality to him through deeds, she would. If she had to, she would hunt a bear, skin it, and throw it at his feet.
When he halted, the camp appeared far away, the stretch between too lonely.
Her mother lifted her head from her work as Quiet Thunder approached. Hastily, Pretty Eagle set the pouch aside–the one she’d planned to give when Black Bear became her son.
As if she hadn’t noticed, Quiet Thunder set the skin buckets by the tipi.
Pretty Eagle stood. “Come. We’ll look for blackberries.”
Until now, her mother had cast worried glances at Quiet Thunder but said nothing. Quiet Thunder followed, wishing she could be alone instead. They walked across the field toward the trees. Quiet Thunder’s gaze skimmed the brush without seeing.
“There.” Her mother walked ahead and bent to gather the berries. “You’d have trampled them if I hadn’t warned you.”
No use in arguing. Quiet Thunder crouched but two horses galloped across the field, their riders racing. Black Bear and Yellow Bird, always competing like boys. She kept her head down, but could not look away. Black Bear moved with his horse’s turns as if they were one animal, strong and graceful. His long l
egs gripped its sides with powerful muscles.
Pretty Eagle smiled as she picked fruit. “Black Bear is trying to get your attention.”
Quiet Thunder turned away and forced her hands to stay busy. “I no longer care.”
Pretty Eagle’s brows twitched together. “If that is what you wish me to believe.”
“It’s the truth. I won’t marry a boy who doesn’t know how to treat me well.”
Her mother plunged her knife into the ground. “Did he hurt you?” She glared, as fierce as the eagle for which she was named.
Quiet Thunder softened her tone to reassure her mother. “Only my heart.”
Pretty Eagle sighed and went back to her work. “I saw that girl speak to him several times. You mustn’t let jealousy-”
“What girl?” The words flew from her mouth before she could stop them, her work forgotten again.
Her mother raised only her gaze from her work. “At the Sun Dance.”
“Did he…” Tears stung at her eyes. So that was why he became so full of himself again. Another girl flattered him with her attentions. Now the tribes had separated and he couldn’t see the girl, so he slithered back to her.
Pretty Eagle’s shoulders slumped, and she opened her mouth helplessly. “I thought… then what did you mean?”
“It…” Quiet Thunder steadied the trembling in her voice. “It doesn’t matter now that I know the truth.”
“You don’t know for sure.” But her mother’s voice held doubt.
“It explains why he wouldn’t consider me his equal once we marry.” She tossed berries hard into the bag.
“His equal?” Amusement edged Pretty Eagle’s voice. “Not many would agree to that.”
“But you are equal to Flying Horse.” Warmth flushed her cheeks at her own whining tone, that of an inexperienced girl.
Her mother paused, her voice soft. “No. He listens to me because he loves me. I never claim to be his equal.”
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