Clenching his teeth, Samuel stared ahead, seeing nothing.
“After that, if you put one toe out of line anywhere, anytime before graduation, you’ll pay dearly. You are not to leave school premises without express permission and an escort. If you do, you’ll spend the majority of your days in the guardhouse. Do you understand me, boy?”
“Yes. I will never do anything like that again.” Beyond the immediate punishment, Samuel could put no stock in the threat. He had no worry about a guard seeing his toes, nor any other part of him. He wouldn’t be here.
****
Rose’s fingers wandered off the ivory keys, the sour notes matching her sour thoughts.
The music teacher frowned, but conducted the chorus. Tonight was the recital for the Quaker visitors, and she said the students must put on a wonderful performance. Put forth their best selves.
Today, Rose had no best self. With Samuel in the guard house again, her spirit felt confined also. Part of her wanted to go to him, tell him again how she loved him. Missed him. A weaker part of her said it would be the wrong thing to do.
Too often, he left her alone. She should never have followed him to this place. But then, he hadn’t asked her, and of course he felt no responsibility toward her.
Only she directed her own fate. And from now on, she would.
****
The morning after the third night, Samuel awaited his release. Sleep had eluded him. His thoughts clouded, he went over his plan. So much depended on chance. He would let the Great Spirit guide him.
All morning, no one entered the guard house, not even to bring him a cold breakfast. Finally, a guard came in and unlocked the cell. “Time to go.”
If he only knew, Samuel thought, standing. “Did I miss supper? I had nothing to eat today.”
“No one brought you food? Must’ve forgot. They’re serving the meal now. Come on.”
With a nod, he followed the guard outside and across the yard to the dining hall. Everyone else had already taken their seats, making his entrance unmistakable. It took only a moment to locate Rose, who stared rigidly away. Bitterness stung him. Must be his lack of hygiene, but the guard house had no facility for that. Maybe she preferred William’s slicked-back hair and wrinkle-free uniform to his slovenly appearance.
The food, at least, was hot, and he ate ravenously. If all went well, this would be his last meal on the white plates labeled in blue script: Carlisle Indian Industrial School. He had no wish to ever see those words again.
At breakfast’s conclusion, he lined up, but had no idea where to go. Instead of going to class or a trade room, he headed to the dormitory. No one questioned him.
The empty building echoed his footsteps. How he hated these shoes. Probably intentionally noisy to alert teachers of their whereabouts.
At his bed, he hurriedly gathered the few mementos he’d saved of his former life into the pillow case, then wrapped his coat around it. He shoved the money he made at Miller’s in his pocket. That was it; he had everything.
But one thing he needed to leave: a message. To stay and write would mean risking the chance of someone catching him, but once he left, he’d have no way to get it to her.
From his stack of schoolwork, he removed the small slate and wrote in chalk:
Rose,
I must go away to piece together my tattered spirit. I fear I might never find all the pieces, and may never be a whole man again. More than ever, I am undeserving of you. I wish you health and happiness and love.
Samuel
The names were all wrong. She had to know he wrote from his true being. He erased Rose and scrawled Quiet Thunder. Removing Samuel, he etched Black Bear.
He set the slate on his bed and hoped someone would have the decency to pass it along to her.
Sensing a presence, he stilled, then glanced up.
William stood in the doorway. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Oh yes, but nowhere within these grounds. He wouldn’t lie. He was through with lies. “I need you to do something for me.”
Giving a laugh, William asked, “Really? Why should I?”
“Because you care for Rose. And because you’re a Lakota.”
He gave a wry smile. “Careful, Samuel, in giving one reason too many.”
Pratt would rejoice in knowing he’d killed the Lakota named Eagle Elk. No trace of him remained in this person.
Hoping to appease William, he said, “I’m giving you what you want. I’m stepping aside.”
William’s eyes narrowed. “How so?”
“I’m leaving. You won’t have to ever see me again.” Nor would he have to see William. But neither would he see Quiet Thunder. A lump formed in his throat.
“Not if I report you,” William sneered.
“You’d be happier if I left.” And still breathing. No one would stop him from going.
William said nothing.
Taking a chance, Samuel stood. “I ask that you give this message to Rose.” As much as he hated for William to read it, Samuel handed him the slate.
“All right,” William said, his voice flat.
Surprise mixed with fear. Samuel had to leave. Now, before William changed his mind. With a nod, he strode out the door, listening for footsteps. None followed.
****
Scanning the freshly printed school newspaper, Rose admired the banner atop the front page reading: Eadle Keatah Toh. Big Morning Star. Her article about the recital appeared just beneath, along with the news of a new literary society for girls named for Quaker Susan Longstreth. Impressed with the facilities during her visit, Mrs. Longstreth donated a sizable sum to the school. No doubt, the recognition of a literary society in her name would delight the woman.
Miss Mather paused at the editing table. “Nice work.”
“Thank you.” The teacher gave out compliments infrequently, so it pleased Rose.
William rushed in, and headed for her. “Rose.”
His worried expression made her tense. “What is it?”
Nodding in greeting to the teacher, he asked, “Have you seen Samuel?”
“No.” Not since before he’d gone to the guardhouse, but she hadn’t spoken of that day to William. “Why do you ask?”
“No one knows where he is.”
“Have you checked his classroom? The dormitory?”
“Yes. His things are missing.”
Fear gripped her. “He left nothing behind?” It could only mean one thing.
“Only text books. And an empty slate on his bed.”
It seemed an odd detail to add, but welling panic made her forget the oddity. Rose wracked her brain. Where could he be?
****
Avoiding the roads, Samuel made his way through the trees with one destination in mind: Miller’s farm. He’d have to wait for nightfall, and watch for the lamps in the house to dim. Coming here posed a great risk, but would allow him to change out of his uniform and into ordinary clothes. A risk he had to take. Otherwise, police would easily identify him and either drag him back to the school or shoot him.
Hours passed, and day faded into evening. A mist hung in the sky, shrouding the stars. Not a good sign. He’d have little light to travel by. If his senses hadn’t completely abandoned him, no rain would fall, at least. Settling against a tree, he rested his eyes, wishing he’d been able to sleep the night before.
When he reopened them, the house was dark. With no stars and no moon, he had no way to judge the time. It might have been minutes or hours since he’d dozed off. He waited a few minutes, but no sound came from the house. After gathering his things, he crept toward the far side of the barn. Hopefully whoever the farmer had hired to replace him hadn’t yet fixed the wall. Or discovered his stash of clothes.
At the barn door, he glanced at the house one last time. Still no movement from within. Slowly he eased the door open, and cringed at its old creak.
A large shadow bounded toward him. And barked.
Terror iced his nerves. He
crouched. “Beau,” he whispered. “Good boy.”
The dog licked his face, whining and wagging its tail.
A light shone in a back window.
He tensed. He’d have to move fast.
“Who’s there?” Miller called.
Samuel slipped inside the barn. Too fast, he hurried to the back. Something tin clattered when his shoe hit it. Another few steps, and his knee smacked into a stack of boards. Through the windows, a lamp bobbed through the night toward the barn. Scrambling over the boards, Samuel felt the wall for the opening, but his skin found whole boards, not rotted. Panic moved his hands faster until his fingers found an opening.
A creak signaled Miller’s arrival. A click meant he’d brought his shotgun.
“Show yourself.”
Grasping blindly, Samuel’s hand connected with the familiar pile of clothing. He thrust the contents into the pillowcase, but palmed the knife. He didn’t want to use it. Instead, he crouched behind the pile of wood.
Footsteps shuffled closer. Miller called out, “I said come out, dammit!”
Inching along, Samuel held out his hand to feel his way ahead, thankful the farmer’s lantern shed some light, however dim. Something rushed at him, panting its warm breath in his face, fur brushing his wrist. The dog. So the farmer couldn’t shoot it accidentally in aiming for him, Samuel shoved it away.
Twisting around, Miller grunted. “You!”
Before he could raise his rifle, Samuel pushed him and scrambled for the door. Glass shattered and a noise burst like a concentrated rush of wind, sending a flash of light.
Horrified, Samuel paused. The oil lamp had broken, and fire spread quickly. The glint of the rifle barrel sent him out the door. Behind him, one bullet, then another split the wood, firelight flooding through the small openings.
“Stop!” Miller’s voice mixed with the clank of tin, the same bucket Samuel had disturbed.
He ran at full speed toward the trees, shots whizzing past his ear, his side.
Something tore through his thigh, leaving a trail of fire. He fell forward, let himself hit the ground where no other bullets could find him, though doing so would leave a pool of blood for trackers to follow his trail.
Peering over the grass, Samuel assessed the scene. Easily done, now that flames engulfed the barn, and tendrils of fire spiked out the windows. Miller stood outside it, Beau by his side, cursing and wailing. Effie ran across the yard in her nightgown, her high-pitched screams mixing with her father’s, drowned out by the roar of flames.
It had been his intention to leave and not come back. Now he could never change his mind. Shackles—or a lynch mob—would greet his return.
****
All night, Rose had wrestled with anger and fear. Anger at Samuel abandoning her, and fear for his safety. By rote motion, she dressed and fell into line for the dining hall. Perhaps William had heard something last night.
In the yard, another guard stood at his post. When she passed, she asked where he was, but the boy shrugged and told her to move on.
Dread grew as the meal passed and still William didn’t come. The thought that he might have run away too gripped her. But no, he’d never leave this school—unless it were to track Samuel. Would he betray another Lakota so? Her heart told her yes, though she hated to believe it.
Not until lunch did she see him, when he plopped beside her like a rag doll. “Where have you been?”
“Looking for Samuel.”
“You wouldn’t.” Anger sent fire through her veins. How could he hunt another Lakota like a wild animal? She blanched. “Did you find him?”
“No. Only…” He gulped his milk.
She had no patience for his games tonight. “Tell me!”
When he met her gaze, he almost appeared sorry. “Blood.”
Terror gripped her. “He isn’t…” No, she wouldn’t even say it. Her spirit would have felt his being ripped away from this world. It couldn’t be.
Frowning, William shrugged. “Miller shot him. He ran off into the woods.”
Her head spun. He must be all right, if William acted so casual. “He went back to Miller’s?” To the girl. Of course. His betrayal was complete.
“Yes, he burned down the barn. No wonder the man shot him.”
“He wouldn’t do that.” None of this seemed real.
“He did do it. Miller and his daughter are lucky their house didn’t catch fire too.”
“The girl didn’t go with him?” Her heart froze.
“No. Miller caught him in the barn, and shot him when he ran off. Left a lot of blood behind. Shouldn’t take too long to find him. If he doesn’t bleed to death first.”
Black stars floated before Rose’s eyes, and blocked out the light.
When she next opened her eyes, she lay in an infirmary bed. She tried to recall why she might be here, but couldn’t summon any coherent thought. When she raised her head, William sat in the chair beside the bed.
He glanced up from his text book. “Rose. You can’t get up yet.”
“Why am I here?” She had to leave, go look for Black Bear.
William’s steady voice irritated, rather than soothed, her. “Lie down and rest. The doctor will let you know when you can leave.”
He didn’t answer the question. William always found a way around dealing with unpleasantness. Too numb to argue, Rose eased back onto the pillow. A rest might clear her head, untangle her nerves, wound so tightly they might burst, though her deadened muscles wouldn’t respond to her wishes. She drifted into a deep sleep, devoid of dreams.
****
Samuel dragged himself through the woods, grateful his senses had been wrong after all. Cold raindrops pattered steadily around him, soaking him to the bone. The barking of hounds sounded in the distance, as they had all night. They’d never leave him alone, but at least the rain might dilute his scent and throw them off track long enough. He’d rather bleed to death than go back.
The strips of uniform tied around his leg had slowed the flow of blood to a trickle, but his wound needed attention. The bullet had pierced his leg twice, coming in and going out, and the ripped flesh would fester, inviting an infection. Already, his body ran hot and cold.
Somewhere along the way, he’d lost what little meat and biscuits he’d wrapped in a napkin. His stomach roiled with hunger and nausea.
Leaning against a tree, he tried to regain his bearings. With no sun, he hoped he headed in the right direction but couldn’t be sure.
West. He’d decided to go west. If his travels took him home, he would thank the Great Spirit. If not, he would take it as a sign his own spirit needed more healing before he could take his place within his tribe.
For miles, he slogged on, focused on always moving forward. He fastened the pillowcase to his belt so he wouldn’t forget it anywhere. He couldn’t afford to lose anything else.
By nightfall, he could go no farther. The rain had subsided, but the evening air held a chill. If he didn’t have some type of shelter overnight, he’d fall into a sleep from which he might never recover.
A house stood a good distance from the roadway, and the barn beyond. Samuel stopped to study the activities of its owners, apparently a young couple. Two horses grazed in a paddock open to the barn. The man went into the house and the lights moved from the front to the back windows, then the place went dark.
Chills racked Samuel’s body. How far to the next town, he couldn’t guess. Even if he could make it there, he couldn’t waste what little money he had on shelter and food. Despite his Americanized clothes, a Lakota with short hair would draw unwanted attention.
If he were careful, they might never know he’d stayed in the barn. He stood on feeble legs and stumbled toward it. Right now, it was his only chance.
****
“Rose?”
The soft voice floated in the white haze around her.
“Rose, you must eat something. Please.”
“Black Bear?” She forced her eyes to focus.
Sadness filled William’s face. He held out a spoonful of something. “No, it’s William. Open your mouth,” he gently urged.
She did as he commanded. The broth tasted sweet, and she swallowed. “Why am I here?”
“You had a shock. You’ll be out of here very soon. Back to studies and the newspaper and music class.”
“Class.” She remembered now where she was. In Pennsylvania, not on the Rosebud Reservation. Not home. With wasichu, not her beloved Lakota. Eagle Elk had turned wasichu. And Black Bear was gone.
Despair welled up, and threatened to overtake her.
William spooned more soup into her mouth. “Right. You’re one of the top students. Miss Mather and Superintendent Pratt always speak of you with pride.”
“Pratt.” Hatred replaced despair. The one whose twisted lies convinced parents to send their children here. The one who rejoiced in seeing his slogan personified: Kill the Indian, Save the Man. He’d managed to murder the true spirit of every student, and confuse each so they no longer knew who they were or where they belonged.
While she continued eating spoonfuls he proffered, she studied William. Could she still trust him? Very little of Eagle Elk showed through. Every now and then, a certain gleam in his eye recalled the boy he’d once been. His eager smile, wanting to please. When he used those traits to impress teachers, she wanted to scream at him. Rile his spirit so he’d remember who he truly was. Make him want to scream, too, send his voice up to the Wakinyan Tanka to echo in the clouds, to mix with the rumble of thunder.
“Am I not right?” he asked.
“What?” None of what he said before broke through.
“You’re already feeling better. Because you ate the soup, like I said.” His friendly tone contradicted the proud gleam in his eye. He was both William and Eagle Elk, and neither.
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