Follow The Stars Home

by Masters, Cate

  The snoring in the next room quieted but didn’t stop. Samuel put on his shirt, and then struggled with the overalls. Baggy as they were, the pants legs presented a challenge. Worse was putting on his shoes, and time slipped by fast, with little accomplishment. Once finished, he lifted the pillow case and his coat, and checked his money roll. All there. Maybe the old man hadn’t thought a Lakota would have anything worth stealing, so hadn’t looked.

  No, if he’d wanted to, he could easily have stolen everything Samuel owned. Had him hauled off to jail. The old man had done the best he could to heal him. What a puzzle.

  He had no more time to waste. Grabbing his things, his hand found the knife. He gripped the handle with one hand, the rest of his things in the other. When he turned, the old man stood by the kitchen table.

  Samuel braced for an argument. “I must leave.”

  “Why, is my company that bad?”

  Clenching his fist tighter around the knife, he couldn’t see himself using it against the old man. If he had to, he’d threaten him. “I cannot stay.”

  The man glanced at his hand. His eyes narrowed at seeing the knife, but otherwise his friendly expression didn’t change. “That’s fine.”

  Relaxing his grip, Samuel shuffled to the door. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me.”

  “No need for thanks. I had a selfish motive.”

  Confused, Samuel halted. “What?”

  The old man eased onto a chair. “I hoped you’d stay on and help me awhile. My arthritis has grown worse, and I could use some help around here. Milking the cows, tending the chickens and such. But I understand if you’re in a hurry.”

  Was this a trick? The old man gave no signs of lying.

  Uncertain what to do, Samuel hesitated. Staying would allow him time to think, make a plan.

  “Of course, I’d pay you,” the old man offered. “I’ll have to hire someone to help. I’d like to think it’s someone who needed the money.”

  The old man had given him no reason to doubt him.

  He studied the man’s face. “For how long?”

  “However long you want.”

  Samuel closed the door. “All right.” Staying would allow him time to think, to plan.

  Nodding, the old man stood. “Good. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going back to bed. If you get up before me, you can start the coffee. Seeing as how you’re feeling so much better.”

  The last of Samuel’s tension drifted away.

  On the way to the back of the cabin, the man turned. “By the way, my name’s George. What should I call you?”

  Samuel’s throat constricted. Besides not wanting to give a name, he didn’t know which he should use. He no longer had to go by the name the whites forced on him. But no longer was he Black Bear, and might never piece together all of his lost spirit.

  George gave a wave. “Never mind. You let me know tomorrow. Good night.”

  In a few hours, the sun would climb into the sky. Not enough time to decide who he was.

  ****

  Too much studying constricted Rose’s senses. She needed to relearn the ways of Mother Earth. Too long had she been indoors, away from the scent of budding flowers. Away from the rhythm of the world, the one beyond the school grounds.

  She hurried down the dormitory stairs.

  “Join us, Rose,” one of the girls called, laughing.

  “Sorry, I have a piano lesson,” she lied, and continued out the door. Her long strides took her swiftly across the yard. She’d nearly made it past the dining hall when William ran toward her.

  “Rose.”

  “Hello William.” Cordial and polite, she kept her voice even, and kept walking. He would always be one of her tribe, and special to her because of that, but from now on, she’d speak to him the same as everyone else.

  He fell into step with her. “Where are you going?”

  “For a walk.”

  “If you wait twenty minutes, I’ll be done with my shift. I can come with you.”

  “No.” He couldn’t, she wanted to say.

  At his frown, she hastened to add, “I have a piano lesson later, so I must go now.”

  His brows twitched together. “But you don’t want to walk by yourself, do you?”

  She could think of no one else she wanted to walk with. No one here, at least. “I won’t be gone long, I assure you. I have only time for a short walk.”

  “Well…”

  “Did you need something?”

  “No.” Confusion edged his tone.

  In a perky voice, she said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Good night.” Before he could recover his senses, she walked away.

  Since he’d joined The Invincible Debating Society, he’d become even more argumentative than before. She enjoyed the challenge of a good debate too, but William’s temper surfaced when she outwitted him. Later, he’d joke it was too bad women couldn’t join the team, but she knew he said it to make her feel inferior.

  From now on, Rose would not let anyone make her feel inferior.

  Her connection to William had been severed with Samuel’s abrupt departure. Black Bear would have smiled at the irony, that he had been the only thing tying her to William.

  ****

  Despite his claim to need help, George did most of the work the first few days, showing Samuel the details of his chores. For someone who described himself as old and slow, the old man moved with the grace of a former warrior. Samuel wondered whether he could best him in a fight. Not that he could imagine himself fighting with George. He had a natural gift for teaching, and seemed pleased when Samuel learned quickly.

  While they worked side by side, he asked for details about tribal life. Somehow, he already knew many Lakota stories. The Stone Boy, the Ghost Wife, the myth of creation, remaking the world. In his lifetime, he knew white tricksters, he said, so Coyote wasn’t confined to Lakota.

  Over dinner one night, George considered him. “I still don’t know what to call you.”

  Not knowing himself, Samuel had no idea how to answer.

  George set down his fork. “Someone told me a story about the Thunderbirds. That you can only see them one small part at a time.”

  Tensing, Samuel listened. How did this man know of the Wakinyan?

  With the intensity of a summer storm, his grey gaze bore into Samuel’s. “People are sometimes like that. Broken down into bits. It doesn’t mean they’re not whole.”

  The man’s words were like a punch to his gut, and his breath burned in his lungs.

  The creases on George’s forehead deepened. “I also heard if you dream of a Thunder Being, you might become a heyoka. Someone who has power, yet goes in too many directions at once. But you can have a ceremony to bring you back to your old self again.” He leaned forward, his voice soft. “Sometimes you don’t need a whole ceremony, but just the prayer.”

  The Lakota word, the first he’d heard in months, shook him to the core. Something clicked inside. The first step to becoming who he wanted to be, he decided, was to call himself by that name.

  “My name is Black Bear.”

  “Black Bear. A good strong name. It fits you.”

  “I used to be strong.” In body and spirit. He’d lost his strength in both.

  Leaning an elbow on the table, George winked. “You will be again.”

  He snorted. If only he could believe it.

  “I can see it,” George insisted.“In your eyes.”

  He swallowed hard. He wanted to think his spirit shone strong enough for others to see. Maybe if George saw it, he could hope a glimmer existed.

  Outside, a horse whinnied.

  With a wince, George rose. “Hell. Who’s that?”

  Black Bear stiffened at the sound of a man calling George’s name.

  Inclining his head, George paused at the door. “Why don’t you go in the back room? I’ll see who it is.”

  Relief untangled his nerves, but he did as George said. After he slipped out of sight, the door opened.


  George’s voice carried to the back of the cabin. “Tom? What brings you here?”

  A man answered, “I was on my way back from town, thought I’d stop in and see if you needed anything.”

  “You should have stopped on your way to town.”

  The men’s laughter echoed through the room.

  Tom asked, “So who’s helping you work the place?”

  Black Bear froze, and his breath stilled.

  After a breath, George said, “My nephew.”

  Tom asked, “Thought your son died before he married?”

  “On my wife’s side. He’s here a few weeks, is all.”

  “Where is he? I’d like to meet him.”

  “He’s out. Visiting a friend.”

  “A friend. Oh.”

  The silence was so palpable, it buzzed in Black Bear’s head.

  Boot heels shuffled against the floor, and Tom said, “Well, guess I should get home. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “Thanks. Good to see you. Tell Jane hello.”

  Tom’s voice receded into the night, with George’s muffled responses coming from the porch.

  Hooves clopped away from the house, then down the road.

  Not until George called out, “Black Bear” did he breathe again.

  Black Bear. He hadn’t realized how much he missed being called by that name. It reached inside him, and reaffirmed him. A tear choked through him, but he wiped it away before walking out.

  “Oh, there you are. I’m glad I asked your name so I wouldn’t have to yell, ‘hey you’.” Gathering up the dinner plates, he chuckled.

  “That man was your friend?”

  “Yes, a neighbor from down the road. Must’ve noticed I’ve been more efficient lately.”

  “You protected me.”

  George paused, then smiled. “I doubt you need my protection. I have no wish to harm you, Black Bear.”

  His heart swelled with an ache. “I owe you much.”

  “No more than I owe you.”

  The old man’s kindness made Black Bear marvel. He never guessed any white could treat a Lakota so generously.

  Still, the other man might not share George’s kindness. “He will be watching closer now.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I should go soon.” He’d already stayed too long. Tom’s visit proved it.

  Studying him, George sat. “Where will you go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  With a smile, George leaned his elbows on the table. “You’ve been watching the horizon. West, I noticed. But you won’t be going back to your tribe?”

  As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t. “Not yet.”

  George cocked his jaw and nodded. “I heard tell of another man making his living from the Indians. A man named William Cody. Calls himself Buffalo Bill. Good man, they say. Wants to help Indians.”

  “Help us how?” He’d overheard Pratt speak of this show with disgust, making Black Bear only want to learn more.

  “Hired quite a few for his new traveling show, Buffalo Bill’s Wild West. They play-act Indian fights, and trick riders do all sorts of stunts. Might be right up your alley, a young buck like you.”

  Trick riding. Yes, that might be, at that. “How would I find this Buffalo Bill?”

  “Newspaper said he’d be traveling to Staten Island, New York, next month. Not too far a ride from here.”

  But a long walk. Black Bear nodded his thanks. He’d find a way to get there. He’d heard of men catching rides illegally on the railroad. Maybe he could stow away on a train to New York. If they shot him, it would only hasten the inevitable.

  ****

  Marching from class to the dining hall, the girl behind Rose whispered, “Your brother’s a good athlete. He should join the football team.”

  “He has so many activities already.” The Invincible Debating Society, baseball, the track team, band—Rose had no idea how he kept up his good grades. Sometimes she wished he would take an interest in the school newspaper. That way, at least, she might be able to speak with him longer than a hello in passing.

  Especially now that the publication had gone weekly. Now called The Indian Helper, the newspaper angered Rose many times, and she had no one to speak with about it. She certainly couldn’t complain to Miss Mather.

  The banner boated, “edited by ‘the Man-on-the-bandstand who is NOT an Indian’.” To alert subscribers, no doubt, about the veracity of the content. Just the opposite was true. The editor made sure each article cast the Indian Industrial School in a good light, thus making each story vastly misleading to readers.

  Despite her indignation, Rose couldn’t change that the students’ stories were altered to reveal only their successes, not their longing for home, their exposure to whites’ sicknesses that made them deathly ill, or their confusion at having to forget all they’d learned from the people they loved. Worst of all, students were taught to mock their own people as inferior—and came to believe it.

  Someday, she vowed, she’d reverse the damage the whites had done, and restore honor to her tribe.

  ****

  The cows no longer shuffled their feet when Black Bear milked them. He’d learned the right touch, the right rhythm of handling them. George sat by and watched, rather than instructing.

  Black Bear lifted the half-full bucket. “Why do you have two beds, if you live alone?”

  Taking the bucket, George’s features hardened. “The other bed belonged to my boy.”

  “When did he die?” At George’s look of surprise, Black Bear added, “The other man, Tom, mentioned it.”

  Surprise mixed with apprehension. No smile lit George’s face when he answered, making Black Bear sorry he’d pried.

  “He ran off to join the war. Only fifteen, but I couldn’t stop him. He hated me since his mother died a few years earlier. I couldn’t stop her from dying either, but Harlan thought I could, for some reason.”

  “Your son thought it was his duty to go to war.” Black Bear understood duty. And the pain it brought. “He loved you.”

  George’s eyes filled with tears. “What?” he choked out.

  “When people love too much, sometimes it seems like hate. He was your son. He loved you.” Just as Black Bear loved his father after he sent him away, not knowing what lay in store.

  His voice gravelly, George said, “You say that with such surety.”

  “I am the son of a proud man.” So proud, he sacrificed Black Bear to the wasichu.

  Clasping his shoulder, George nodded. “I’m sure he’s proud of you.”

  Black Bear doubted it. Not since he ran away from school. He should have written to his parents, but it was better for them not to know, and he wouldn’t know what to tell them anyway.

  When George cleared his throat, it sounded like a groan. “I noticed you’ve taken a liking to Sunshine.”

  Tensing, Black Bear went back to milking. “I like all horses.” The palomino often nickered to him when he approached in the morning, knowing he’d brought his feed, and whatever treat he could find. He imagined himself riding like he used to, but knew his leg wouldn’t be up to the strain of riding bareback.

  “I expect you miss riding for pleasure as much as I have.”

  “Yes.” He couldn’t hold the surprise from his voice. But then, he’d only known the man a short while. Of course he’d enjoyed riding when he was healthy.

  “It’d be good for him to get some exercise. Why don’t you take him out after you finish your chores?”

  The offer overwhelmed Black Bear, and he had to remind himself of his handicap. “But I wouldn’t be able to work him very hard, with my leg.”

  “That’s perfect. It’s been awhile since Sunshine’s been put through his paces, and you too. You can work up to speed together.”

  Delight made him shy. “Thank you.” Not many wasichu would trust a Lakota with his horse.

  But then George seemed more like family than some Lakota.


  ****

  With the freshly printed school paper in hand, Rose sat in the newspaper office reading. Sometimes the publication gave her great pride. More often, like today, it made her chaff with irritation.

  An article discussed students’ plans to spend the summer with their Outing System families rather than return home during the break. In it, Pratt boasted that the Outing System was the “Supreme Americanizer” for students, a sign of success for his program to assimilate them into white society.

  Pratt himself had a family. So how could he not sympathize with students wanting to return to their tribes, to their own families, rather than stay with whites?

  Miss Ely had encouraged Rose to sign up for the Outing System, but Rose refused. She had no desire to work for a white family. Samuel had done so to earn money, but she charged for piano lessons, a much more pleasant means of obtaining wages. Had he earned enough to pay his way home? Or hadn’t he gone back? Of course he couldn’t write and let her know; it would give away his whereabouts.

  The thought that she might never know reopened the wound in her heart.

  ****

  The smell of roasted chicken made Black Bear hurry to pound in the last nail. He’d finished the last repairs to the fence and barn. Both he and George knew he had no more reason to stay, and every reason to go, if he intended to meet up with William Cody.

  Leaving George would be nearly as hard as leaving home. Black Bear had a better idea of what might lie ahead than before, but he’d come to think of George as a wise and kindly grandfather. With his wife and son dead, he had no family left.

  After washing up at the pump, Black Bear went inside.

  Removing the chicken from the spit, George flashed a smile. “Just in time. The bird’s perfect. Take a seat.”

  Black Bear sat in his usual seat, across from George. This would be their last real meal they’d share. In the morning, as they’d already discussed, he’d set out for New York. “I’ll finish the morning chores before I go tomorrow.”