Chapter Four
October 6, 1879 - Midnight
The stars finally settled into place in the sky when the train slowed and came to a stop. A man outside Quiet Thunder’s window called, “Carlisle–everyone off for Carlisle, Pennsylvania.”
Anticipation snapped her fully awake. Miss Mather had said those words. She peered outside.
Miss Mather climbed into their car. “We’re here, boys and girls. Take all your things.” She waited as they roused to the realization they’d arrived.
Rolling her blanket, Quiet Thunder’s hands flew. She stood, ready to get out of the prison of her seat, stand next to Black Bear again. A glance outside froze her.
Whites again crowded the platform, their faces eager. They spoke to one another in hushed voices.
A chill ran through her. What if they’d come to kill them? She saw no rifles, but whites always had guns.
The students shuffled into the center aisle and down the steps. Bright-eyed wasichu women clutched the arms of men. Some talked with Captain Pratt, or Miss Mather. Pratt spoke in a loud voice and pointed to the students, pride in his weary face. A hush fell over the wasichus. A white man shook his hand, and also spoke loudly to all.
Quiet Thunder glanced at Black Bear. He turned away angrily.
She had to explain before they reached the school, or she might not have another chance. When Pratt led them down dark streets, she hastened to Black Bear’s side. He furrowed his brows, glanced back. She did, too, and fear prickled her neck to see all the whites following.
“What are they doing?” she whispered.
He grunted.
“You can’t be mad at me for falling asleep.”
He hissed through clenched teeth, “You made yourself very comfortable.”
“I dreamed you sat by me, not him.” Not a dream, but a wish.
“I couldn’t sit beside you. You were on the other side.”
“That was the agent’s doing! I wanted to sit by you.” Her hushed tone grew hoarse with anger.
He looked at her, finally. “You didn’t have to enjoy it so much.”
“I didn’t!” Her voice rose above a whisper.
He blew through his lips, and gazed ahead.
She bit back her frustration. Weariness made them say things they wouldn’t otherwise. Others now watched warily. She inhaled deeply and marched silently. She’d find another time to make things right.
The group trudged away from the main streets down a long path. The outline of a long building showed against the stars. Pratt stopped them outside and again spoke loudly as they gathered. The words “Old Barracks” and “Indian Industrial School” seemed important.
A white man marked a paper as Pratt spoke. When the captain finished, the man asked something and pointed to the building.
The captain glanced behind him. He heaved a sharp breath before his short response. He strode to the door and went inside. A light appeared in a window and he called to Miss Mather.
The teacher smiled wearily. “Come inside, children.”
Quiet Thunder gazed at the dark building as she approached. She tensed as Pratt and Miss Mather talked in terse sentences, their brows furrowed.
With a thin smile, she turned to them, and spoke in their own language. “This building once housed military officers, and is now the girls dormitory. Unfortunately, our supplies are late. And someone should have at least lit a fire,” she said, as if to herself, then forced another smile. “But come along and we’ll get you settled.”
A boy ran ahead and looked into each room. “No fire. All empty!”
Miss Mather bit her lip. “No provisions at all? Not even beds?” she whispered, and glanced at Captain Pratt, whose large nose swelled as he exhaled, his lips pressed tight.
Miss Mather spoke to him, then said to the children, “We’ll make the best of it.” She instructed the girls to spread their blankets on the floor.
Quiet Thunder hesitated. “Where will my brother sleep?” She glanced at Black Bear, hoping he’d see her dismay at being separated.
His gaze met hers for a moment, but another boy stepped between them.
Miss Mather turned. “The boys’ dormitory is just north of here.” To Pratt, she spoke in English, and waved them off. “Boys, go with Captain Pratt. He’ll bring you to your rooms.”
Quiet Thunder stepped toward Black Bear without thinking. When would she speak to him? Or see him again? She chilled at the thought they might be separated a long time. His anger might cool, but he would hold onto the memory of it.
“No,” Miss Mather said. “You must stay here. Get settled with the rest of the girls.”
Quiet Thunder waited until Black Bear had gone–without another look–before unrolling her blanket. The night chill seeped from the floor through her blanket. She closed her eyes, but the hard wood didn’t cradle her like the earth. Tears stung her eyes as she thought of her mother and father sleeping in the tipi. Alone. Of Black Bear, whose fierce pride shielded him from her love.
****
When the sun woke Black Bear, he froze with fear. For a moment, he had no recollection of where he was or why. His neck ached from sleeping on the cold, hard floor. He rose and went to the window. Hard-edged buildings stood in place of tipis, blocking the view through the cold glass, which misted with his breath. The strangeness of the place, and their situation, seemed like a dream. The way the others stirred awake, whispering to one another, told him none of them fully registered what had happened.
Outside, Captain Pratt hurried across the grassy expanse between the buildings.
Black Bear flattened against the wall. “He comes.”
The moment crystallized, and Black Bear saw himself as if from afar–in a place he knew not where, with no inkling how to return home. He choked back anger at the thought of his father having to hunt alone, his mother sick with worry.
Footsteps sounded down the hall. Pratt opened the door and Miss Mather stepped inside. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?” Dark circles bagged beneath her eyes. “Last night was unusually late. We won’t keep you up past midnight anymore.” Her laugh sounded breathy and brief. “Come along and I’ll take you to the cafeteria. After our provisions arrive, we’ll serve you hot breakfasts. For now, bring along any food you have.”
Black Bear took some of what was left in her parfleche, but left most. These wasichu might not feed them as they promised. He’d ration his supply.
Miss Mather led them outside to another building where the girls waited with another man in a large room.
Black Bear scanned the room for Quiet Thunder. She stood near a table with some others, and caught his glance when he entered.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” Miss Mather went to Pratt and the other man. She called out each student’s name and marked a sheet as each responded. When finished, she gestured to the other white man. “I’d like to introduce Mr. Alfred Standing, our Assistant Superintendent. He is second in command to Superintendent Pratt.”
Mr. Standing glanced at the students, as if expecting a response. His short silver hair matched the silver rimming his round glasses.
Miss Mather gave a brief smile. “Welcome, Mr. Standing.”
The students exchanged puzzled looks.
Black Bear held Quiet Thunder’s gaze, but could discern nothing. Speak with her was impossible with so many people nearby.
The teacher instructed them to place their food on the table and sit, so Black Bear and the others set their pouches down and sat on the floor.
Miss Mather hurried to the nearest table. “No no. Sit on your chairs. Like this.” She pulled out a chair, sat and pulled it up to the table. “Now you try.” She rose and motioned for a girl to approach. “Go on. Sit.” She repeated the process several times, and the rest of the students followed the example.
Baskets of bread sat on the tables. Miss Mather said the school’s plates had not yet arrived, so they ate the bread along with food from their pouches.
Blac
k Bear stashed a portion of the bread in his pouch.
When they were finished eating, Miss Mather went to the head of a table. “The rest of our teaching staff will join us soon, and classes will begin after that. From this moment forward, you must never—I repeat, never—speak your own language. You will speak English, and English only. Do I make myself clear?”
Because she spoke in Lakota, she left more than Black Bear confused. A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Pratt slammed his hand against a table. “English!”
The single word communicated more than Miss Mather had been able to. Silence filled the room.
After Pratt stood straight, Miss Mather spoke up. “Anyone using any language other than English will be punished.” She paused a beat, then continued. “Today is a special day. A local photographer, Mr. J.N. Choate, will take your photographs.” She smiled.
Confused, Black Bear glanced at Quiet Thunder, uncertain what the teacher meant. He didn’t want someone taking anything of hers. Quiet Thunder appeared equally perturbed.
The wasichu had already taken enough from them all.
****
Bit by bit, Quiet Thunder ate her ration to ease her hunger. Black Bear met her gaze only once, and ignored her silent plea. He straightened, rigid as a tree, hollow as a reed. His rebuff stung, and tears pricked at her eyes.
A man entered and approached Miss Mather. She nodded as he spoke, then dabbed a napkin to her mouth and stood. “Everyone please follow me outside. Mr. Choate is waiting.”
The crowd of rising bodies obstructed Quiet Thunder’s view of Black Bear, forcing her up. Like the stars, he served as her guiding point in this strange civilization. Without him, she would lose her way. And, she feared, herself.
The students gathered on the grass outside the dormitory.
Quiet Thunder took her place beside Black Bear. His mouth dropped open, then clamped shut. When he tensed, she did too, expecting him to walk away. Her worries eased a little when he didn’t leave. He could choose not to speak to her, but she chose to be with him nonetheless.
A man adjusted a small black box sitting atop three poles shaped like a tipi. He signaled the teacher.
Miss Mather smoothed her hair back to where it twisted into a ball. “The girls first.”
Quiet Thunder forced herself from Black Bear’s side toward the cluster of female students.
With the photographer’s constant instruction, the girls huddled closer and closer. Mr. Choate held up a hand.
Miss Mather said, “Hold very still and smile.”
What was there to smile about? Quiet Thunder wondered.
The man crouched behind the black box, working the buttons. At his command, the girls moved away, and the boys lined up in the same spot.
Only Eagle Elk stood as tall as Black Bear. He grimaced at his rival and moved to the far end of the line of boys.
Mr. Choate signaled after a few minutes, and the boys wandered apart.
In the background, Miss Mather said something about the photographer, but Quiet Thunder heard only her heart beating. She had to talk to Black Bear in this crowd, where their conversation wouldn’t be questioned. She wound her way through the clusters of people to where he stood.
He erased the surprise from his face. “What do you want?”
Her teeth clenched to fight the threatening tears, she whispered, “Please don’t be angry with me.”
“I have no reason to be angry.” He glanced at her. “I have nothing now.”
“You have me. Forever.”
“This is a new place. Everything has changed.” When he glanced up, accusation shone plain in his eyes.
“Not for me.” The urgency in her voice matched her surety.
His brows furrowed, Black Bear’s dark eyes appeared pierced with pain as he searched her face as he stepped closer.
Her heart leapt. She hadn’t lost him.
A man, one of the teachers, approached with a scowl. “You must speak English only! Next time, you’ll get more than a warning.”
His rapid speech made it difficult for Quiet Thunder to follow, but she understood his meaning: if caught speaking Lakota again, they would be punished.
The teacher called for the boys to follow him indoors, and kept his suspicious gaze on them.
Black Bear stiffened and jerked away, hands balled into fists.
Stifling a cry, Quiet Thunder ducked her head. Feeling the weight of the man’s glances, she forced herself to stroll off. When Black Bear followed the group of boys toward the door, she leaned behind a tree to watch.
Black Bear turned once and met her gaze with undeniable yearning.
That one look told her all she needed to know. She would not give up.
****
Anger replaced frustration over the following days. Many complained of hunger, and boredom. Nights stretched interminably with homesickness growing almost too intense to bear. Black Bear ached for Quiet Thunder.
Eagle Elk silenced that ache one night as Black Bear lie awake.
Standing at the window, Eagle Elk stared out over the grounds. “I will rise to power here.”
Black Bear stifled a chuckle.
Eagle Elk turned. “You laugh, but it’s true.” He crept to Black Bear’s side. “I will be worthy of Quiet Thunder.”
Teeth clenched tight, Black Bear kept silent. Eagle Elk’s boastful nature would be his downfall, especially with Quiet Thunder.
His whisper hissing like a rattler, Eagle Elk continued, “She deserves the best. And I will be the best.”
Glaring, Black Bear turned to him, but saw only Eagle Elk’s silhouette framed by the window. He would not fall prey to the man-child’s taunts. Words were nothing without acts. None of them could foretell the future, or who might be best. Black Bear knew only that he’d work his hardest.
Still, Eagle Elk’s words ate into his soul. Quiet Thunder did deserve the best. Here, he had no way to judge what that might be. Maybe in this topsy-turvy wasichu world, the ways of a trickster like Eagle Elk were considered good. Being liars themselves, whites probably valued other liars. The thought weighed heavy on Black Bear’s heart.
The next day, when Pratt gathered them all together in a large room, he hoped not to glimpse her. He needed time to sort things out.
Murmurs filled the air as the students took their seats. Black Bear heard snatches of conversation, something about a boy running away. Immediately, he scanned the sea of faces. When he found Quiet Thunder gazing back, he felt stricken as surely as by lightning.
Captain Pratt strode in. “Quiet please.” He paced the front of the room, hands clenched. “The Indian Bureau failed to send text books. The uniforms they shipped appeared shoddily made, so we returned them.” His voice rose in anger as he went on. “What little food the bureau shipped, we will have to ration. I will rectify the situation. There’s no point in running away like young Blue Horse.” Pratt peered into the crowd. “Imagine how his parents will feel when he arrives home. If he arrives home.” He paused.
Black Bear knew what the captain meant to say: Blue Horse might be shot by a wasichu before reaching home. He’d overheard a teacher tell another the local police watched for runaways.
Before he left the room, Pratt spoke with Miss Mather, seated at the front.
The teacher then stepped before them. “Captain Pratt and I leave today to venture west again. While we’re away, Assistant Superintendent Standing will be in charge. You can also go to any of the other teachers with questions. Mr. Choate will set up appointments to photograph you with your family or tribe members.”
Disgust roiled in Black Bear’s stomach. More photos? Did they bring them east only for that?
When the teacher dismissed them, Black Bear met Quiet Thunder’s glance and had to stop himself from going to her.
To prevent her from reading his heart, he affected a fierce façade and pressed into the crowd heading toward the door. The ache of missing his family numbed him. His love for Quiet Thunder
was the only feeling alive within him, but from now on, he would hide even that.
“Black Bear.” Her voice carried over the din.
Unable to resist, he turned.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
No ready answer came to mind. He had no idea.
Running Wolf wound through the crowd. “The teacher said we’ll have our photo together. Maybe we can send it to our parents with a letter.”
She touched his cheek. “Yes, maybe someone at the Rosebud Agency will read it to them. Are you well?”
“My stomach grumbles all night and day.”
Wishing he could move away, Black Bear shifted on his feet. Being with Quiet Thunder and her brother felt like being with family, but only made him yearn for home even more.
With a sad smile at her brother, she asked, “What have you been learning?”
“Teaching my teacher.” Puffing out his chest, he grinned. “Showing him how to shoot an arrow into a target. He says I’m the best, and he may have me teach archery to other wasichus.”
“Our parents will be proud of you.”
Pride filled Black Bear. Her aim with a bow and arrow surpassed her brother’s, but she’d never boasted of it. And her command of English proved she’d studied hard. His speech didn’t flow so smoothly as hers.
At the mention of their parents, a shadow crossed her brother’s face. Another boy called to him. “I must go.” He shuffled away through the receding bodies.
Black Bear cast his glance away when Quiet Thunder turned to him.
Though hushed, anger sounded evident in her sharp tone. “These teachers seek to replace our parents. Pratt calls himself our ‘school father.’ And the younger ones have begun to call him that!”
He’d heard the same, and had the same reaction. “With reminders from other teachers.” If students neglected to include it, a white would add it for them. Black Bear saw one teacher “translate” a youngster’s letter home to include the phrase. False proof that the young one enjoyed the experience here.
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