The female teachers lined up the girls and marched them to the dormitory.
Appearing pleased, Miss Mather urged them to get a good night’s rest. “Your time will be occupied with classes beginning tomorrow.”
Classes. Another way for the wasichu to make the students like themselves. No matter. The sooner they began, the sooner they would end, and she could return home. Realization struck: no one had ever said how long school would last. Moons? Winters? When could they finally leave this place? Cold dread thickened her belly. What if they never could leave?
****
The cold seeped in through the window and under the door. The bars of Black Bear’s cell would have allowed warmth inside had anyone kept the fire going. The hard cot felt chilled as bone, the worn blanket around his shoulders little protection. Not that sleep would have come to him. All the anguish and heartbreak since they’d left home welled inside him, and he could no longer contain it. It surged from him and he had to give voice to it, call on the ancients and the Great Spirit. Confusion roiled like a storm and burst from him in a terrible cry. No one here, he knew, would listen. Or care.
Darkness descended, and hope faded. Surely his father couldn’t have known what he’d asked when he offered to send him to this place. Here, everything was backward—honor came to those who acted out of pride and for their own glory. Pratt ordered the boys to cut their hair, but not to honor any dead. The only thing that had died was Black Bear’s spirit. To escape would mean dishonor to his parents, to his tribe. To stay meant forgetting everything he treasured. Even Quiet Thunder.
Especially Quiet Thunder. How could he face her when he scarcely recognized himself? He didn’t want her to love the man the whites would force him to become.
In the morning, he would stand tall when the guard opened the door, and allow the wasichu to cut his hair, even if doing so felt like a death sentence. Not before he properly mourned for his past life. With all he had left within him, he released his chant. It carried his spirit to the sky but left only a shell of a man behind.
****
Lying in her bed, Quiet Thunder shivered, though not from the cold. One voice cut through the night: Black Bear’s, hoarse after hours of singing. In their native tongue, his mournful chant speared her heart. How different from the sweet hopeful tones of his flute!
She had to let him know she understood. Rising, she wrapped her blanket around her, walked to the window and opened it.
A few girls grumbled about the cold.
Quiet Thunder sang with all her strength so Black Bear would hear her and know her heart ached too. Across the expanse of grass, her voice echoed and mixed with his, dividing the night’s stillness.
The dormitory door opened, and clipped footsteps came toward her. “Stop that racket! What do you think you’re doing?”
Quiet Thunder chanted louder. Behind her, another girl joined in.
Clapping her hands, the woman turned. “That’s enough. Back to bed.”
More girls sang, and the rhythmic chorus gained strength, blotting out the teacher’s complaints. In a huff, she left, slamming the door.
From the dormitory across the yard, the boys’ voices filtered through the windows until the sad chant filled the darkness.
The wasichu might force them to do unspeakable acts, but the Lakota spirit would triumph.
****
Black Bear struggled to his feet when the door opened and shielded his eyes against the glare of sunlight.
Two men entered, a white and Eagle Elk, whose shorn hair and grey uniform made him appear clownish despite the hard set of his jaw.
“Long night? Was for me, with all the noise you made.” The white leered through the bars, scanning Black Bear from head to toe. “You ready to do the right thing?”
His gut wrenched in confusion. He always did the right thing, even though it landed him here.
The man shuffled closer. “Stupid! You ready to cut your hair yet?”
Steeling himself against the taunts, Black Bear nodded.
Grumbling, the man thrust a key in the lock.
Its jangle signified the cold world Black Bear was about to enter. In leaving the cell, he left himself behind, but walked forward to meet whatever fate lie ahead.
At the quick grasp of the man’s hand, he stiffened, ready to strike back, but withheld his defenses. Even when the white hissed in his ear, “After today, you won’t speak any more trash. You hear? English—that’s what Pratt says you’ll speak, so by God, you’ll speak it.”
Not even when the man shoved him against the wall and his head thudded against the wood so hard that black stars swam in his vision did Black Bear fight. The man’s cruel laughter followed him out the door.
Black Bear straightened and walked on. Other students hadn’t yet left for class, so he could at least avoid the disgrace of Quiet Thunder seeing him treated like an animal.
The white shoved him. “This way. And we better have no more trouble from you.”
Trouble? Black Bear withheld a bitter smile. If he’d unleashed the Lakota within him, the man would have more trouble than he could deal with. Instead, he followed as the white pushed ahead and strode across the yard toward the buildings.
A backward glance revealed the open gate at the main entrance behind the guard house. For a wild instant, Black Bear imagined himself breaking loose and running through it.
To where? Not home, to disgrace his parents. Not another tribe, when his heart lay with his own. Quiet Thunder had followed him east. If he left, she’d never forgive him.
The man’s boots thumped up the steps to a building, and he pushed open the door. “Quit dawdling. We’re makin’ a new man outta you today.”
Yes, a new man. It sounded fitting. The old Black Bear would be no more.
****
Two teachers roused the girls from bed. “Line up, please. We’ll hand out dresses and shoes in accordance with your size.”
Shoes? Quiet Thunder inwardly groaned. Moccasins fit her feet well enough.
When the woman held out a plain grey fabric dress, Quiet Thunder took it without argument. The black shoes, however, pinched her feet when she slipped them on. Shaking her head, she shoved them into the woman’s arms.
“Too small? We’ll try the next size. Honestly, you girls shouldn’t let your feet expand so wide in those smelly moccasins.”
Tamping down her indignation, Quiet Thunder held her tongue. Her feet fit these shoes, but barely. She slipped out of them and again shoved them at the woman. “No. No shoes.”
The woman’s nostrils flared. “Yes. You will wear shoes like everyone else.” Her brow arched, she pushed them back at Quiet Thunder.
Anger surged up, but Quiet Thunder silently whirled away. In her room, she bit back tears. The horrible black shoes cut across her toes, and the ugly grey dress made her look like every other girl there.
The woman who handed out the uniforms entered. “Hurry and line up, classes begin soon.” When she glanced at Quiet Thunder, a gleam of triumph lit her gaze.
Quiet Thunder wished she could scratch the gleam from the woman’s eye, but followed the line of girls across the grass to the main hall.
Inside a large classroom, chalk scrawling filled the blackboard. Quiet Thunder sat at a desk.
The woman standing near the teacher’s desk introduced herself as Miss Ely. Her sandy brown hair drawn into a bun, she appeared not much older than Quiet Thunder. Pointing to the blackboard, she smiled. “Today, you’ll select a new name.”
With a feeling of dread, Quiet Thunder glanced at other students. Why should she choose a name? She liked her own, especially when she thought of her thunder rumbling through Black Bear. How long would he remain locked away?
Miss Ely waved Eagle Elk to the front. Handing him the pointer, she said, “The boys’ names appear on this side. Pick any one.”
He stared at the scribblings.
“Go on,” the teacher urged.
After giving her an uneasy
glance, Eagle Elk touched the pointer to the blackboard.
“Very good! William.” She wrote down the name. “Take your seat, William. Next.” She nodded to a girl, and indicated the other half of the blackboard.
Every bit as confused, the girl pointed to a white mark.
Beaming, Miss Ely wrote the name. “Elizabeth. Lovely. Have a seat, Elizabeth.” The teacher waved at Quiet Thunder. “Your turn.”
Stiff with fear, she approached the board and scanned the markings. One scrawl looked somewhat familiar, like the name of the agency in charge of her tribe’s territory. She touched the pointer to that chalk mark.
With a smile, Miss Ely jotted it on the list. “Your new name is Rose.”
Rose. Yes. Like the Rosebud Agency. At least her name would reflect something of her Lakota self. Standing tall, she walked to her desk. Rose Quiet Thunder.
Half the students in the class had selected names when the door flew open. A man shoved a tall boy inside. His head ducked low, he shuffled in.
Quiet Thunder glanced up and gasped. “Black Bear.”
A wild gleam shone in his eyes when he glared at her, then cast his gaze back to the floor.
The man led him to a desk. “Sit.” To the teacher, he said, “If he gives you any trouble, let me know and I’ll take care of him.”
Staring ahead, Black Bear’s eyes glittered hard and cold as coal.
Miss Ely’s voice fluttered. “I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. In fact, you can be next.” Her smile wavered when he looked up. “Come to the front and select a name.”
His brows knit in apparent confusion.
Quiet Thunder tensed. He didn’t understand, she knew, but would be furious when he learned what they were doing.
“Select any one of these.” Miss Ely handed him the pointer.
Black Bear scowled at her, then at the blackboard. He scanned the chalk markings and struck the wand at a word.
With a start, Miss Ely sputtered the name. “Samuel. Very good. Please sit down now, Samuel.”
He narrowed his eyes, shoved the pointer at her, and returned to his seat.
Heaving a wavering sigh, the teacher called on the next student.
Quiet Thunder released a breath. Samuel. Nothing like Black Bear. Neither was Rose at all like her name. But Lakota altered names frequently. It mattered little what she called him. Inside, the same spirit filled the same body, and she dearly loved both.
When everyone in the class had selected new names, the teacher gave each one in class a pencil and pad of paper. “Use these to draw whatever comes to mind.”
When students exchanged confused glances, she explained, “Such as the images you painted on your tipis. Draw.” She bent over the desk, sketched an outline of a cat and held it up. “Like so.”
Next, Miss Ely handed out books. “Reading is the most essential tool for understanding. Once you learn to read, new worlds will open up to you.”
Quiet Thunder opened the text. How could a world be inside? The simple illustrations depicted children at play, and appeared made for youngsters. Still, if reading would allow her to understand wasichu writing, then she could translate contracts for her tribe. No white would be able to mislead them again. She glanced at Black Bear. With his hair chopped short, his features appeared more striking. How different he appeared–and yet the same.
Glaring at the book, his features softened when he met her gaze. Yearning filled his eyes, then great sorrow, as if he heard her own thoughts: she wanted nothing more than to be with him, but now, her decision to follow him here with that intent seemed to be the very thing to keep them apart.
“Rose.” Miss Ely tapped her desk with the pointer. “Rose.”
Quiet Thunder realized the teacher spoke to her.
“You must pay attention if you wish to learn.”
With a nod, Quiet Thunder returned to the pages spread before her. If a new world existed there, she would use it to unite–and strengthen–her old world.
****
At the end of class, Black Bear rose from his seat with the ache of an old man. Last night’s cold had seeped into his bones, and made his muscles sore. To avoid provoking more punishment, he fell into line behind the other students.
Samuel. To himself, he repeated the name. Scrawled on the blackboard, the first letter reminded him of a snake, a powerful symbol. The name fit him. Since arriving in Carlisle, he slithered through each day, cold blooded and unfeeling. He hated everyone. Everyone except Quiet Thunder.
Now she was Rose, walking up ahead in line. Already, she had changed from the Lakota girl he loved, struggling to learn the wasichu language. His ache deepened when he let his gaze wander over her. The school’s uniform fit her as if tailored for her, showing all her curves. When had she developed such a marvelous form? The nights he’d held her close, her body had fit against his as if custom made for him alone. The white women showed their bodies too boldly, instead of respecting themselves. He saw how the male teachers looked at them, even the students. No man could resist the temptation put so boldly before their eyes. If any teacher were to touch her…
His teeth clenched in concert with his fists, and anger sharpened his vision.
She glanced back. Her eyes widened and her lips parted. When she hesitated, the girl behind her grumbled for pausing the line.
Standing on the sidelines, the newly appointed Captain of the Guard, Eagle Elk—William—scowled in her general direction, then at Samuel, apparently guessing the cause of the disruption. “Keep marching.”
Samuel wanted to laugh. Marching. Another stiff, useless practice of the whites. Unlike Lakota, who flowed like a silent flock of eagles when moving together, the wasichu tromped, making themselves heard for long distances. Such an activity proved no discipline, only rigid stupidity.
That, he’d have no problem achieving. Each day here diminished his intellect a little more, and someday, he’d have none of that left, either.
Chapter Six
Quiet Thunder sighed when Miss Ely announced more photos would be taken after class that day. When the teacher read Samuel Black Bear’s name on today’s schedule, Quiet Thunder glanced at him.
With a face of stone and eyes as cold, he stared ahead.
If only she’d had a chance to speak with him yesterday, but teachers and student guards kept him under close scrutiny because of his earlier defiance. Likewise, today they focused frequently on him, ready to discipline the smallest offense. The teachers, she understood. But Eagle Elk? Even before choosing his new name of William, he’d changed. Too eager to please the whites, William went out of his way to put himself above other students. Lakota disciplined their children with love, not harsh words and never physical punishment. William frequently shoved students who marched too slowly, and always scolded in loud tones.
Class dispersed early, and students lined up to march to the auditorium.
A teacher assisted the photographer, Mr. Choate, in positioning them, using the same groupings as before. Again, Rose paused at the table before leaving, and soon found the two photos she sought, side by side: Black Bear. And Samuel. Such a difference in his eyes–fierce and proud as Black Bear, deadened and defeated as Samuel.
From the hallway, Pratt exclaimed, “This will show the Carlisle townsfolk once and for all they have nothing to fear from our students. I’ve told them repeatedly: kill the Indian, save the man.”
His jovial tone disturbed her, but she found the unspoken threat even more disturbing. Did the Carlisle wasichu mean to do them harm?
Passing the captain in the hallway, he smiled and nodded.
Her tension easing, she returned his gestures. Surely if he had doubts, he’d appear more agitated. Still, she intended to guard against any possible threat.
****
Tonight, the mattress, even stiff as it was, felt good under Samuel. Closing his eyes, he let the tension ebb away. The bed beside his creaked.
William grunted, taking off his boots. “Tomorrow, tryouts
begin for football. Are you going?”
“What’s football?” He asked in a flat tone, not really caring. If it interested Eagle Elk, it must be something trivial.
“A game, stupid. With rules you probably wouldn’t understand.”
Which meant it had taken William awhile to grasp them. “What time are tryouts?”
“Three thirty.”
Closing his eyes again, Samuel grunted.
“Well? Are you going?”
Knowing it would drive William to distraction not to know, he shrugged. Settling against the pillow, he closed his eyes.
“You can’t decide?”
As if considering, he pressed his lips together, and gave a heavy sigh.
“Never mind. You’re probably not man enough for this game.”
Holding his tongue, Samuel burned to ask: Not man enough? Or not white enough?
The bed squeaked again. Slitting his eyes, Samuel watched William plod away, glancing left and right, barking orders at students for minor infractions.
Yes, he’d go to football tryouts, if only to vex William. Someone had to oppose him, and a game would be the only place to do so without fear of punishment.
Retaliation would present another matter.
****
Rose Quiet Thunder’s days fell into a strict rhythm, like the shaking of a medicine man’s rattle to the beat of a ceremonial drum. Breakfast early in the morning followed by a half day of academic studies. Hours of bliss because she shared them with Samuel.
Afternoons stretched too long sometimes. Quiet Thunder never spent time confined inside, but Rose had no choice. She learned to bake and cook, sew and do laundry–all the “domestic arts,” as Miss Mather called them. All the while, she wondered what Samuel did, how he filled his hours. At every opportunity, she stole glances out the window. Sometimes, she’d see him on the field playing football.
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