George waved him off and set a plate in front of him. “Nonsense. I’ll take care of it. You need to get a good start.”
The truth of what George said didn’t alleviate Black Bear’s guilt. “Will you manage all right?”
With a grunt, he sat. “I expect so. Always did before.”
But he wasn’t in pain before, Black Bear wanted to say. Not wanting to shame George, he nodded. The old man’s will was strong. He’d do what needed to be done. He hoped the neighbors would look out for him, not only in the interest of gossip.
“So you won’t reconsider taking the train?”
“No.” Even as a stowaway, it would remind him too much of the trip to Carlisle.
“Then you’ll take Sunshine.” George scooped more potatoes onto his plate.
Stunned, Black Bear stammered, “I can’t.”
“‘Course you can. He’s yours. I’m giving him to you. He won’t be fit to live with once you’re gone anyway. Never saw a horse take to a person like he’s taken to you.”
“You need him to work the fields.”
“Not this year. I won’t be farming any more.”
“Then I’ll pay you for him.”
“You insult me, Black Bear. I just said Sunshine’s a gift.” The old man’s pretended offense faded quickly.
Why would he want to give away such a good horse? One he relied upon? “But—”
Holding up a hand, George cut in, “I won’t need him come winter anyway.”
“Why?”
George’s steely gaze cut into him. “Because by then, I won’t have a use for any earthly thing, doc says.”
With no idea what to say, Black Bear stammered a few syllables. The doctor could have made a mistake. George was too important in this world.
“Now don’t get sentimental. You’ll bring a tear to my eye.”
“You’ve been so kind. I can never repay you.” He wouldn’t say he’d come to love him like a grandfather. George already knew that.
“You already have. It’s been my privilege to know you, son. I believe you have great things in store for you. I feel it—here.” He tapped his fist to his heart.
Swallowing hard, Black Bear nodded his thanks. Knowing this made him more determined not to fail.
Chapter Ten
The new edition of The Morning Star, the school newspaper, stated the students would travel to Philadelphia to participate in Bicentennial Parade. The Carlisle Indian Industrial School was preparing hay wagons to pull eight parade floats, which would be led by the school band.
“Travel is a civilizing process,” the article quoted Pratt as saying. “It gives the students a chance to see the country. Get an idea of what life is really like.”
Angry, Rose folded the newspaper. Another opportunity for the school to flaunt students like well-trained animals. To prove to the world his program had accomplished what he said from the beginning it would: Kill the Indian, Save the Man.
Pratt had no idea what tribal life was like. How could he claim whites had better lives? How would he react if ripped away from his own daily existence and made to live with Lakota? Or if his children were forced from him to stay on the reservation?
Pratt might not like what his children would prefer, if given the chance to live free.
****
Riding long distances took a greater toll on Black Bear than he expected. The constant bounce of the horse’s trot proved too harsh for any length of time, so he allowed the palomino to walk for stretches in between. At George’s insistence, he took an old saddle, along with a bedroll and saddle bags George had packed with food supplies. Black Bear much preferred the feel of the animal’s pelt against his legs, but the saddle made more sense. If he wanted to join Cody’s show, he’d have to endure the discomfort. By the time he reached New York, his muscles would remember their former strength. And reconnecting so closely to a horse helped him to reconnect with his old self a little more every day.
The long ride allowed too much time to think, always of Quiet Thunder. He blocked thoughts of Rose, the Americanized version of the girl he loved. In his mind, he imagined the fierce, proud girl, Quiet Thunder.
To think of her as Rose caused him to remember William Eagle Elk’s promise to win her. And wonder what she might be doing at that moment, while he rode north. How long would it be before she graduated? Would she stay in the East afterward? She was intelligent enough to remain at the school as a teacher, something Pratt would love. He’d point to it with pride, hold her up as an example of how his program annihilated her Lakota aspects. Maybe she’d even marry. Certainly William would ask her. Despite himself, Black Bear pictured them married, living in a house in Carlisle, or maybe Washington. William had spoken of political ambitions, and Quiet Thunder could influence him to work on behalf of their people.
It pained Black Bear to think of her with him, sharing a home, a bed… That thought pierced his heart.
Now she’d never be his. Life had taken a cruel turn, all because of Pratt. He should return to Carlisle, find Pratt and kill him. Scalp him and run it up the flag pole so students could see it, salute it, cheer their freedom. But no, killing Pratt wouldn’t stop the school. It had grown too large, with too many teachers furthering Pratt’s work. More and more students continued to arrive, their parents either forced or convinced by wasichu lies that it would benefit them. Even if Black Bear could kill all the whites at the school, it would do no good. More would always fill their places.
Sometimes he missed Rose so much, he imagined her with him at night, in his arms, lying under the blanket of stars. The stars here were cold and distant, unlike those at home. To find his way back, he’d have to search out the stars made brilliant by his ancestors’ camp fires in the sky, and follow them home.
First, he had to follow his own path, wherever it might lead.
****
After great preparation, the hay wagons departed through the school gates. Pratt instructed the drivers to tour through the center of Carlisle, where hundreds of residents stood along the side of the road. When the wagonloads of students passed, the people cheered.
Despite the emptiness of the fanfare, Rose couldn’t help but look forward to the event. Many important whites would be in Philadelphia for the bicentennial celebration. Like a Lakota ceremony, the large gatherings had a certain energy, and all the students spoke in excited tones. In their own way, wasichu planned their celebrations as a means to honor important people or events, though Rose saw no sacred aspect in any so far.
The journey renewed her loneliness for Samuel. His warm smile always comforted her in unfamiliar situations. Traveling without him made her feel alone, even in the company of her school mates. William’s excitement made him forget her for a time. Her thoughts always returned to Black Bear. What had become of him? Her heart chilled when she pictured him shot, starving to death, maybe sick and no one to care for him.
“Aren’t you having fun?” William asked.
“Yes,” she said too quickly.
His smile faded. “You don’t seem to be.”
“I can’t help thinking of Black… Samuel.” She caught her mistake too late. William always reprimanded her, reminded her to use the names the school gave them. Before he could say anything, she asked, as she had many times, “You haven’t heard anything, have you?”
He frowned. “I would have told you if I had. You know that. Can we please not talk about him? Concentrate on us for once.”
Why William persisted in thinking them a couple, Rose had no clue. Whenever she asked about Black Bear, he turned evasive. There was something William withheld from telling her, she sensed it. But asking did no good.
Putting on a false smile, William changed the subject. “Miss Mather said there will be fireworks. I can’t wait to see them for myself, can you?”
Mustering some cheer, Rose smiled. “I hope the display is as fantastic as the stories we’ve read.”
His smile warming, William slid his hand into hers
.
Black Bear had left her. He could have taken her along, but he didn’t. Unable to follow him this time, she had to get on with her life.
****
Arriving in New York, Black Bear had no difficulty finding the place where Cody’s Wild West program was to take place. Signs were posted on almost every street. He stopped to study a poster in a shop window depicted two Indians riding, their hair flowing behind them, one shooting a rifle into the air.
A line of people stretched long outside the building, larger than the school’s dining hall. A man outside the entrance hawked tickets. The troupe must have arrived the day before. Black Bear had hoped to speak with William Cody before the show opened.
Instead, he bought a ticket. He’d view the show from the audience to learn how well people liked it. From the packed arena, he’d guess people liked Buffalo Bill’s Wild West very well.
According to the program the ticket seller handed him, the act included men of various foreign lands, unrecognizable to Black Bear, but illustrious and glorious in their colorful garb. A band played in one corner. Never had he imagined so many different kinds of people–or animals. The roster of performers included people from Canada, England, Arabia, South Africa, Mexico, Scotland, Germany and Russia. Dozens of Indians, from Arapahoe, Cheyenne and Brule tribes. Not just pretend fighting, but exhibiting their war dances and games. Hundreds of horses, almost two dozen buffalo, along with scattered elk, donkeys, deer and longhorn Texas steers. All thrilling the audience, who sat hushed in awe or wildly cheering as fit the performance.
Not since leaving home had Black Bear’s blood surged through his veins like this. Every act excited him more than the last. The horse races between a cowboy, a Cossack, an Arab, a Gaucho and an Indian. The dexterity and skill of the marksmen. And markswomen–amazing women who boasted they could shoot a horsefly from the air. They rode their horses hard, stopping in an instant on their target marks. And William Cody himself, or Buffalo Bill, to the audience, who gasped at his expertise in shooting while riding at full speed.
Black Bear ached to share these wonders with Quiet Thunder.
Before he knew it, the three-hour show had ended. He jockeyed through the exiting swarm of people, searching the sidelines for Cody.
One of the ladies from the stagecoach act stood on the sidelines. Her inviting stare beckoned him to her side.
Black Bear nodded in greeting. “Hello, miss. Do you know where I could find Mr. Cody?”
A gleam lit her eye. “I sure do. Why do you ask?”
Unused to being intentionally put off, he studied her a moment. Her arched brow and sly smile meant to tease, not insult. “I’m hoping to join the Wild West.”
“You are? As what?”
Straightening, he scowled. “I’m Lakota.”
With a smirk, she said, “I’m Susannah.”
“No, my name is Black Bear.”
“I’m sure it is.” Turning, she called, “Bill, come on over here a minute.”
Black Bear followed her gaze to the far side of the arena, where Mr. Cody walked along the railing toward the exit. The woman had distracted him with her teasing, and Cody might have left without him noticing. At her insistence, Cody approached.
Susannah’s gaze never left Black Bear. “Bill, this gentleman asked to speak to you.”
Cody extended his hand. “What can I do for you?”
Gulping back his nervousness, Black Bear recalled the proper way to introduce himself. “Good to meet you, Mr. Cody. I’m Black Bear. I enjoyed your Wild West.”
“Glad to hear it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.” Cody touched a finger to his wide-brimmed hat.
“Wait.”
“Yes?”
Hurriedly, he explained, “I wanted to meet you because I’d like to join your show.”
Cody’s features twitched in surprise. “You would?”
“Yes. It’s why I traveled such a long way.”
Peering at him from head to toe, Cody asked, “Where are you from?”
If Black Bear said the Wild West, Cody would turn on his heel. The newspapers said the man had experience as everything from a Pony Express rider, stagecoach driver, trapper and bullwhacker to a “Fifty-Niner” searching for gold, Civil War soldier, Chief of Scouts for the Third Cavalry during the Plains Wars. And Indian fighter. His Wild West show re-enacted some of his own experiences, but Black Bear had plenty of his own experiences.
Standing tall, Black Bear said, “The Rosebud Reservation.”
Cody scanned his length. “Are you a half-breed? I only take on those who act more Indian than white.”
“I’m Lakota.” Black Bear understood Cody’s confusion: his hair grew a few inches, but not long enough to pass for a true Lakota. His clothes were all wrong, but that could easily be fixed.
“Maybe you were. Hell, boy. You speak better than most whites. But son, you’re not Indian enough now. I need men who ride bareback and speak their native tongues.”
The comment cut him to the quick. In his dialect, he said, “I am, and always will be, Lakota. My hair grows fast. Soon it will be long again. If I paint my face and bind feathers to my head, no one will notice. I no longer have my own clothes, but you could give me some.”
He didn’t know if Cody understood the words, but from his confused stare, he understood the meaning.
Cody laughed. “I give you credit for gumption. Do you know what trick riding is?”
“Yes. I’m a good rider, one with my horse.”
“You have your own?”
“Yes.” Black Bear understood now why George had given him his best horse. One he knew would be up to the task of performing night after night.
Cody chuckled. “That’s one thing in your favor, at least. But I have nothing for you. Sometime in the future, you could check back.”
When he turned to walk away, panic struck Black Bear. It hadn’t occurred to him Cody would refuse him.
“But Mr. Cody—”
Holding up a hand, he continued walking. “Thanks for coming to the show. Tell all your friends.”
Cody walked away with Black Bear’s last hope jangling in his spurs.
****
The arduous journey left Rose weary, but when they lined up again for the parade, excitement overtook her. Philadelphia bustled with activity, with people on every street.
“I hope we can have our photographs taken with someone important,” William said.
“Yes,” Rose replied, not wanting to convey her nervousness. The night before in a dream, a ruddy-faced white man came out of the shadows, grimacing, and twisted her arm. He sought revenge, he said, for the wrongs committed by savages against civilized folk. In her dream, Rose stood tall and said the whites were the first to murder Indians and hang their scalps for display. The bravery in her dream had abandoned her. She intended to have no contact with anyone unless invited by the school. Even then, she’d stay close to the teachers and other students. Whites claimed to be civilized but often forgot the meaning of the term. Some seemed never to have learned it at all.
The band marched first, with Edward and his tuba to the rear. Eight floats full of students and teachers followed. Miss Mather smiled and waved at the crowd, and encouraged them to do the same.
From their wide-eyed stares, city residents had never before seen an Indian. Women in their long gowns and parasols held tight to the arms of the suited men, clutching their children against them. For civilized people, Rose thought they weren’t very well educated. The Philadelphia newspapers surely forewarned readers of the students’ participation. If they grew frightened of students in uniform, how would they react to them in their native dress?
Through street after street, people showed the same reaction. Why did Pratt insist on holding them up to the world as proof of his success? He stood in the front float, nodding and waving to onlookers on both sides.
The parade ended, finally, and the wagons drove to a large building. Miss Mather told th
em to stay seated, and went inside, leaving a few teachers with the students.
“Is this where we’re having dinner?” Rose asked.
“I hope so,” William said. “I’m very hungry. I hope they’ve prepared a feast.”
He prattled on about all the delicacies he wanted, but Rose heard little. She felt so out of place in the city, where every street closed in on her, the buildings looming over, blocking out the sun, the horizon. Black Bear would have hated Philadelphia. Or would he? She knew how the Black Bear from the reservation thought, but since coming to Carlisle, she couldn’t predict anything he might do.
The tall doors opened and Miss Mather descended the steps. “You may line up.”
At the direction of a teacher, each wagon load of students climbed down in orderly fashion, and stood in two long lines, one of boys and the other of girls. William positioned himself opposite Rose.
Miss Mather led them to a dining hall with white linens over the tables. Uniformed staff waited until they had all been seated, then delivered plates to each.
Rose’s hunger surprised her, and she finished all of her meal. The music teacher called the chorus to the stage, and as rehearsed, they sang The Star Spangled Banner. Afterward, they lined up again.
“We’ll have a wonderful view of the fireworks by the river.” Miss Mather led them to the wagons, where they boarded in rows.
Tired of sitting, Rose shifted frequently.
“Impatient?” William joked.
“A bit.” But not for the reason he thought. Her frustration grew daily with the strict ways of the school. A few times, she’d asked when she would graduate, but a few teachers had no idea. Miss Ely provided Rose with a set of curriculum standards. When Rose calculated, she was shocked to learn she was years from gaining the required credits. Never had she guessed the school would want her to stay so long.
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