A trickster who could not be trusted.
“Yes.”
No, it was better not to rile him, she decided. Doing so might provoke something within his nature she didn’t want to deal with. From now on, she would conceal her true feelings from him.
****
The horses’ deep breaths and the sweet smell of hay comforted Samuel. Wrapped in its warmth, he drifted in and out of sleep, still trembling. An image of Quiet Thunder shimmered in his mind, luminous with her beauty. She spoke in hushed tones, tending to him in his sickness. He kept his eyes closed to keep the vision alive, but he knew he’d have to move on eventually.
Somehow he’d managed to climb into the hay loft last night, moving slowly so he wouldn’t alarm the animals. Soft light now filtered through the windows below, but the thought of walking made the pain in his leg deeper. Every muscle in his body ached.
The sounds of movement roused him. Below, the horses shuffled and nickered, a sign they saw something outside. Probably the man coming to feed them. Fully alert, he stilled his breathing and waited.
Whistling, the man walked into the barn. “Mornin’ Trudy. How you doing today, Robin?” He gasped, and his footsteps halted. “What the…”
His heart pounding, Samuel listened. Slowly, he reached for his jacket and the pillowcase.
Shuffling near the ladder to the loft, the man said, “Damn.”
Samuel knew then, the man had seen some sign of him, probably a trail of blood.
The ladder shook with a tentative step, then another. The man’s head came into sight. When he peered into the loft, his eyes widened. “Aw, shit.” He disappeared and the ladder slapped against the loft’s floor board until he dropped to the ground and ran outside.
Surprised by the retreat, Samuel scrambled down the ladder. The man would surely return with a shotgun. Pain seared through his upper leg. His foot slipped on a rung halfway down, and he fell to the floor with an agonizing groan. Forcing himself to his feet, he limped outside. Sunlight blinded him. For an instant, he hesitated, expecting the farmer to come out of the house with a rifle pointed at him. He might welcome the relief of a well-aimed bullet.
The house sat silent. Maybe the man aimed the gun from inside. At that, Samuel took off. He intended to run but managed only to gimp along, keenly aware of the house behind him. His muscles tightened at the tiniest noise, thinking a gunshot would come his way any second. None did. Still, he couldn’t put distance between the farm and him fast enough.
After about a half mile, he had to slow down. Chills stiffened his muscles, and his parched mouth and lips shriveled. Instinctively, he headed for a clearing in the woods, where a stream trickled through. He slumped to his knee and cupped water in his palm, then splashed some on his face. Its cold shocked his senses but quenched his thirst. If only he had a skin pouch to carry some in! He drank his fill and wet a strip of uniform to cleanse his wound. It needed something to draw the poison out soon. Would a wasichu doctor help him without asking why someone shot him? He doubted it.
Pushing himself up, he walked on. After awhile, the trees thinned, and a farm came into view. In the fields beyond, a man yoked to a wooden hoe walked behind a draft horse. Smoke churned from the house’s chimney, and the smell of stew cooking caused his stomach to rumble. Desperation took over, and he walked toward the house. Next to the barn, three large hogs snorted in a muddy paddock, with a chicken coup on the other side. Cows grazed in another field. The people must be well off. Maybe if he begged them for some food, or paid them, they’d take mercy. Maybe they’d show the goodness the minister preached about during Sunday services.
But to a Lakota?
At the edge of the yard, he turned toward the chicken coup and made his way there. He squeezed inside, and felt beneath the hens. His fingers greedily removed the few eggs he found, the birds clucking in argument. Cracking each open, he sucked out the contents. It would sustain him for a little while.
A bell clanged, and a woman called, “Supper!”
Samuel froze, fearing she’d need eggs and discover him. He flattened himself against a beam. After a few minutes, the shadow of a man passed by. A door thudded shut.
A storm raged in his head like thunder and wind. He couldn’t decide whether he should escape now, or wait. If he just lay down and allowed himself to pass out, they’d find him. They’d turn him in, and the police would bring him back to school. Rose would once again sit by his bedside until he returned to health.
A black cat slipped through the door of the chicken house, and peered at Samuel. Its eyes, wide and bright green, reminded him of Effie. The reason he’d left. The reason his life was in ruins.
He couldn’t go back. He had to leave here. Now.
Chapter Nine
Music echoed up the stairs of the girls’ dormitory. Many of Rose’s housemates were out, either at play practice or one of the girls’ societies. A small group downstairs played the piano and sang.
Behind in her schoolwork, Rose had stayed in each night all week. Lying in bed, she read her Geography textbook. At least Pratt’s school taught her some useful things. She knew the country of America extended vast beyond the imaginings of her tribe. Enough land to sustain the whites without invading Lakota territory, but wasichu drew these maps, indiscriminately drawing state’s borders, not caring who else lived on the land.
Inside the infirmary, she abandoned the last remnants of her childish nature. She decided to make pace with her choice to come here. No longer would she blame Samuel, but confront her new life on her own terms.
****
The pain in Samuel’s leg dulled to a constant intense ache, and spread through his body. Like a man already dead, he walked, not seeing or caring where. Each step grew more laborious, and his pace slowed so much he hardly made any progress.
The sun lowered beneath the horizon, and the evening chill cut to his core. Trembling, he stumbled. With a groan, he hit the ground with a hard thud, and every bone felt like it cracked. The earth smelled of new growth.
Rolling onto his back, he counted each star as it pierced the night sky. “Guide me,” he prayed to them. When they flickered in answer, he drew a long breath. They would lead him on.
The edges of his vision bled black, and he saw nothing more.
****
Something awakened in Rose, a hard spirit ready to pit itself against the world. After the doctor released her, she went through her scheduled activities each day, determined to excel. If that’s what she needed to do to leave this place, she would do it.
Without Samuel, the school seemed an unfriendly place. Teachers’ compliments meant nothing. Nor did William’s.
From the doorway, one of the girls called “Rose?”
Glancing up from her book, she said, “Yes?”
“Edward’s downstairs. He asked to see you.”
“My brother?” She saw so little of him these past few months. Setting aside her book, she followed the girl down the staircase.
Shifting uneasily from foot to foot, he waited in the foyer. “Rose.”
Despite the echoes of piano playing and singing in the next room, she heard him clearly.
“Brother.” The name Edward didn’t fit him, and she couldn’t call him that. “What a nice surprise.” It surprised her, too, how she had to look up, rather than down, at him. Tall and muscular, he’d grown into a fine man. He excelled in his studies too. Their mother and father would be proud.
“I wanted to be sure you were well.”
Another surprise. He hadn’t come to the infirmary to visit, though William probably kept him informed.
“How very sweet of you. I’m very well. How are you?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. My schedule’s been very hectic. I’m in the band now, you know.” Pride flickered in his dark eyes.
“Yes. You play the tuba?” She’d seen him during practices, marching with the huge, unwieldy instrument as if it weighed nothing. “I look forward to the next concert.”
“We’ll also participate in a town parade next month.” Excitement tinged his tone.
“How lovely.” She wouldn’t embarrass him by expressing her distaste for such events. The Carlisle people turned out in large numbers for these events, and gawked at the students.
Lowering his voice, he said, “I’m sorry about Samuel.”
Despite her earlier resolve, her stomach clenched. “Have you had any news about him?”
“Only that they gave up looking for him. He must be halfway home by now.”
“Do you think so?” Would he go home? Or somewhere else? No longer could she guess at his thoughts correctly. No longer did she know who he was.
Her brother shrugged. “He’s alive, at least.”
Rose forced a smile. “I’d ask you into the parlor, but I fear we’d never hear each other over the noise.”
“No, it’s all right. I should be going anyway. I’ll be late for practice.”
Faltering, she recovered quickly. “Oh. Certainly. I’m so glad you stopped by.”
“I’m glad you’re feeling well.”
They stood a moment, not speaking. He glanced at the door. To relieve the awkwardness, she moved toward it.
On the porch, he turned. “Oh, and tell William I’m sorry about his uncle.”
She held the door jamb. “His uncle?”
“Yes, didn’t he tell you? One of the students here became ill with measles and went home. Some others at home also caught it, but Knocks Off Two died.”
Her throat constricted. “What about Pretty Eagle or Flying Horse? They aren’t sick, are they?” Why hadn’t William told her? Because he never spoke of the Rosebud Reservation, she assumed he hadn’t heard any news.
Despite his smile, Edward’s brows furrowed. “I’m sure Superintendent Pratt would have informed us.”
Stunned he would believe so, she hesitated before saying, “Of course. Good night.”
With jaunty steps, he descended from the porch and into the darkness. Striding across the yard, he appeared little more than a shadow of a man, indistinguishable from any other.
****
The feather down pillow beneath his head was soaked with sweat. Behind closed eyes, Black Bear saw the flicker of a fire. The smell of cooking meat filled the air.
He must be back in Carlisle. Or in a hospital. He blinked heavily to focus.
Beyond a curtain in the doorway, a man bent to stoke the logs in the hearth fire. A lantern on the table beside the bed cast a pale light across the small bedroom.
The man glanced over, and then strode to the doorway. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”
Despite his sinewy muscles and lean frame, gray hair topped his head. He moved with the agility of a much younger man. Like a grandfather Lakota.
Samuel kept silent. Maybe he should pretend not to know English, so the man couldn’t question him.
With a chuckle, the old man went to the stove, poured two cups of coffee and brought them over. “Funny thing about fevers. They loosen men’s tongues. Sometimes in two languages.” He brought Samuel a cup.
He took it. “Thank you.”
The man nodded. “Guess we know you’re feeling better, then, if you’re awake. Fever broke last night. You’ll have to rest a few days before you’re up to traveling again.”
Gingerly, Black Bear probed his wound. “What did you do?”
“You’re lucky the bullet went clean through. Your legs are all muscle, so I don’t know how much damage it did on the way out. While you were unconscious, I kept it clean. Not so swollen now. Shouldn’t be so tender.” The man’s grey eyes sparkled.
Though still weakened by the fever, Samuel did feel better. The pain in his leg had a freshness to it, the worst confined to the wound area. His muscles ached in the aftermath of the fever, but he knew he’d survive.
“Thank you. I can pay you.” Maybe he could buy the man’s silence. Unless he’d already stolen his money roll.
“No need, son. Plenty have helped me along the way, and I don’t hesitate to help another in need. No matter what his skin color.” With narrowed eyes, the old man studied him. “But I have to say, you’re a curiosity. An Indian dressed like a white, speaking better English than most whites. Where’d you come from?” He spoke without accusation, only curiosity.
The coffee burned Samuel’s tongue. If he told, would the man turn him in?
His mouth turned down at the corners, the man continued, “I heard tell of a school in Carlisle run by a crazy military man. Seems to me you might have come from there.”
Tensing, Samuel tried to sit up but couldn’t. Any doubt about wanting to return vanished.
“I can’t go back. If you report me, I’ll shoot myself, and they’ll have to take me back as a corpse.” He’d be buried in that pitiable graveyard Pratt so mournfully and righteously buried students in. Maybe Rose would lay a flower on the headstone.
With a chuckle, the old man sat in a rocking chair. “Don’t go killing yourself after I took all the trouble to heal you. But I understand. A place like that must be no better than prison to your kind.”
“Yes, a prison without bars.” Obligation acted as its own prison.
How did the old man know of prisons? Had he been an outlaw?
“I never liked the idea, myself. If an Indian wanted to be educated by whites, he’d come to our schools on his own, I say. But why would any Indian want to?” He laughed. “If it were up to me, I’d go live with your kind instead. Seems you have the better way of life, living out on the land, hunting and fishing. No government to answer to but yourselves. Yessir, I’d take that kind of life any day over my own.”
“I have missed it.” But could he go back to it as half a man? He still didn’t know.
At night, Samuel dreamed of Quiet Thunder, of the precious few nights they shared before they were ripped from their lives. It had been so wonderful, and he hadn’t fully appreciated it. Now he feared he’d never get it back.
****
Try though she might to throw herself back into her life, Rose felt mired by the pain of too many unanswered questions. Why had Samuel left? How could he abandon her?
The conversation at the dinner table swarmed around her, the buzz indistinguishable as a swarm of bees. She had no interest in their gossip. Lately, she had little interest in anything.
William leaned close. “Are you feeling well?”
“Yes, why?” She lifted the glass of water to her mouth.
“You don’t seem yourself. I worried you might be… ill. Again.”
He knew perfectly well she hadn’t been truly ill, but overwhelmed by her emotions. No longer would she allow herself to wallow in despair.
Straightening, she scooped beans onto her fork. “I’m very healthy. I am, however, upset with you.”
Though he gave a haughty laugh, a gleam of fear shone behind his eyes. “Me? Why?”
“You know why. You never told me about Knocks Off Two. How could you not honor your uncle?”
Humor left him. “I didn’t want to upset you further.”
“I’m not a child, William.”
“No, but you were fragile. I couldn’t risk it.”
Fragile? She hoped never to be seen in such a way. Too many “fragile” girls allowed others to think for them. “When did it happen? Did you write to your parents?”
“Not yet.”
“William…” She couldn’t conceive of how he could be so cold.
“I intend to. I just haven’t yet.” When he spoke, Eagle Elk emerged. A boy, afraid of what might be happening on the reservation while they were gone, powerless to help.
Like herself.
Softening her tone, she said, “I understand.”
His features hardening, he frowned at his plate. “I should hope so. It was for your own good.”
“What else have you withheld for my own good?” She intended it as a joke, but when he blinked hard and turned away, she realized there might be more.
/> “William? Tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
Gasping, she held a hand to her mouth. “Not my parents. Please tell me my mother and father aren’t…” She closed her eyes to block the terrible thought.
Laying a hand on her arm, he spoke softly. “No, Rose. Your mother and father are fine. So far as I know, at least.”
“Then what?” she insisted. Her instincts told her he hid something.
“Nothing. I told you. Don’t let your imagination run away with you.”
But it hadn’t been her imagination that he flinched from guilt of some sort. She might never know why.
****
An owl called from a nearby tree. Samuel lay awake in the dark, waiting for snores to sound from the other room. That would be the signal for him to gather his things and leave. The past few days, the man roused about daybreak. Samuel would have hours before the old man discovered him missing.
Guilt nagged him for abandoning the man, who’d been kinder than any white Samuel had known. His easy-going nature might be false; how was Samuel to know for sure? He couldn’t chance being turned in.
The bed’s wooden frame groaned when Samuel eased up. Stiff from disuse, his muscles ached in complaint. A few hours of walking would loosen them. Where, he still didn’t know. Nor did he have a stock of food to bring along. If Pratt graded escapes, Samuel’s might border on failure. But he hadn’t failed yet.
The old man had neatly stacked his belongings next to the bed. All he had to do was reach down and put them on. Bending caused pain to radiate from his wound like scatter shot. His breathing became labored, and he let out a brief agonized groan.
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