Reloading, she said, “Try it again. But don’t try so hard. Relax. Like this.” Again, with five clicks, she knocked off the remaining cans. With a smirk, she said, “Why don’t you set up a few more?”
For the rest of the morning, they practiced, switching to rifles halfway through. Black Bear learned the feel of each weapon, the particular kick of the shots. By midday, he averaged half his targets.
When Cody strode out and stood beside him, Black Bear’s focus wavered, and he missed every shot.
“You’ll need to forget about everyone watching. There’s hundreds of people every show, whooping and hollering. Sometimes they’ll yell insults to try and throw you off. Your job is to ignore them and run through your act.”
“Yes sir.”
Disappointment flickered over Cody’s face. “And don’t act so white. You’re Lakota. Let’s see the strength and spirit of the Lakota man.”
The words galvanized Black Bear. He had been holding back those very aspects of himself. Trained by the Indian Industrial School to reject his beliefs and traditions, he’d repressed his true nature. Hearing that he no longer had to do so freed him.
“I will.” His spirit would require time to fully heal, but the process had begun.
After only a week of practice, Cody declared it was time for Black Bear to begin. “Time you earn your keep.” Behind his grin lie a steely truth.
The thought of performing set Black Bear’s nerves on edge. “I haven’t learned anything yet.” Hopefully only one act to start. Some men appeared in three or four different ones.
“We’ll start you off in the raid on the cattle round-up. Should be easy enough.”
Every night he stood on the sidelines, the troupe ran through every portion smoothly. The program described the act as “ILLUSTRATING A COW OUTFIT STARTING ON ITS ANNUAL ROUND-UP, CROSSING THE PLAINS, and while camping is attacked by marauding Indians who are repulsed by ‘Buffalo Bill’ and a number of cowboys.” Imagining himself as repulsed by Cody, Black Bear chuckled. Never having marauded before, he’d need advice on how to go about it.
“Is that all?” He hoped Cody didn’t hear the relief in his response.
“And the Grand Review, of course.” Cody winked. “I don’t think you’re up to the races yet.”
“No.” Though he’d love to. Watching the others race made him think of when he and Yellow Bird rode their horses at top speed, until their hooves seemed to lift from the earth.
“Good.” To the rest of the troupe, he said, “After tonight’s show, folks, we’ll head to Montreal.”
“Canada?” The Geography lessons at Carlisle proved useful after all. Black Bear had heard some Lakota escaped to Canada, including the father who removed his boy from school after the Carlisle teacher broke the student’s collar bone.
“Yes. Canada.” Cody gazed in wonder for a moment, then went on with his instructions.
In passing Susannah, she caught Black Bear’s shirt, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “For luck.”
Uncertain how to respond, he nodded and caught up to the others. After a brief description, the men took their places. Black Bear kept up the best he could. When the time came for the Indians to surprise the whites around the camp fire, Black Bear’s horse crowded the one in front, and the rider glared. His paint’s rump bumped another rider’s leg, and the man yelled, “Watch it!” Black Bear jerked the rope reins in warning to the horse. He’d had enough of the animal doing as it pleased.
Afterward, Cody slapped Black Bear’s back good-naturedly. “Not bad for your first time.”
“Really?” He thought it couldn’t have gone much worse, unless his paint had kicked another horse’s leg and caused it to go lame.
Cody considered him. “It’s time we made you look the part.” He steered him to the audience seats and lifted a pile of clothes. “Wear these. I have a feeling it’ll make a big difference.”
Black Bear held up the buckskin pants and shirt. Both appeared the right size. “Thank you.” The words couldn’t convey the gratitude in his heart.
The group broke to prepare for the show. Black Bear dressed in the clothes Cody had given him. In his hair, he twined a few eagle feathers. They hung below his hair, but made him remember he was a Lakota. The moccasins, soft from wear, felt good on his feet. When he stood in front of the mirror, he resembled the boy in the first photo taken by the Carlisle school photographer, one unafraid to stare back. His spirit again felt strengthened. His blood flowed stronger in his veins. His muscles flexed, ready to spring.
“Time to go,” said a Cherokee man.
Black Bear followed him to the stable.
Susannah hooted when he strode to his horse. “Oh my. Look at you.”
The back of his neck tingled with heated embarrassment.
“If your hair were longer, I’d be mighty impressed.”
He ducked his head. His hair nearly reached his shoulders, but needed to be longer.
“I’m just joshin’,” she cooed. “You’ll do fine. Don’t you worry.”
An older woman called, “Susannah!” and waved her over.
“I’ll buy you a drink later.” Hitching up her skirt, she hurried to the woman.
At seeing the smirks on a few of the others’ faces, Black Bear hoisted himself onto the horse.
“A few shots of tequila, and she’s yours for the night,” one said.
“I don’t want her.” Black Bear squeezed his knees to urge the horse ahead. Since putting on the buckskins, images of Quiet Thunder came to him like flashes of lightning. By the stream. Under the stars. Her smile, her warmth. He could think of no one else.
Riding bareback also came back to him. He’d blamed his muscles, but the overalls had no grip on an animal’s back. And the paint responded to his commands, as if it understood Black Bear had taken control.
Of the twenty-one acts in the show, the cattle round-up appeared sixth. While waiting for the cue to attack, Black Bear found it difficult to stand still. He adjusted the horse’s halter, smoothed its mane, inspected its hooves. The cowboys herded the cattle through the arena, sending them around the ring several times before penning them.
“Mount up,” said another Indian. “It’s almost time.”
In one swift movement, he was on the horse, taking his place in the rear of the raiding party. When the leader signaled them forward, Black Bear imagined himself at home, in the fields with Yellow Bird. Black Bear moved with the horse as one animal. Instead of an arena full of people, Quiet Thunder stood watching. His heart raced with joy, followed by infinite sorrow when the silence burst wide with noise, a great hungry noise that threatened to swallow him alive.
****
Couples swung round to the music of the fiddler and pianist, twirling to a halt when the music ended. Rose laughed, glad to be away from her studies, her dormitory, her housemates.
William clapped. “That was great.”
Dancing had exhilarated Rose. “I’m sorry the night’s over.”
“It did pass too quickly. But we should be going.”
“Of course. We wouldn’t want to be late.” The house matrons would punish them. She’d grown tired of their senseless rules. So what if she wasn’t in her bed by ten? Chaos would not break out among the other girls. She was the oldest girl at the school, and deserved more privileges. Not that the school administrators would entertain such a notion.
Taking her arm, William escorted her to the door. “I have an early morning tomorrow anyway.”
Though her exuberance was gone, Rose flashed a smile. She knew better than to bemoan school rules to William. He helped enforce them.
“What a night. Look at those stars.” He halted and threw his head back.
Stars brought painful memories she’d rather not relive. “They’re lovely, but we should go.” She tugged at his arm.
Catching her around the waist, he pulled her to him. “Soon.” His lips brushed her cheek and worked toward her mouth.
Tensing, she
pushed at his shoulders. “William, what are you doing? We have to go.”
“We have a few minutes.” He crushed his lips to hers.
The air seemed to thin, and Rose fought to breathe. “Stop,” she managed.
He furrowed his brows. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” When she didn’t answer, he asked, “Rose?”
“I…” She couldn’t say her heart wouldn’t allow anyone else inside, that it was too fragile to entrust to anyone again.
Pursing his lips, William held her gaze. “We’re perfect together, Rose. You know that.”
No response came to mind. On the surface, they did seem a good match. Both top of their class, both from the same Lakota tribe, among the first ones to arrive at Carlisle. They understood each other.
“If not me, then who, Rose? No one else here is suited for you.”
His hard glare softened when she pulled back in fright. He was absolutely right. The other boys here were too young. She certainly wasn’t interested in any white boys, although some of her housemates were. There was no one else but William.
“No one,” she repeated.
“Exactly.” He slipped his arm around her shoulder. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
Not home, she wanted to say. This would never be home.
****
The last of the audience members exited, a troupe member barred the door shut.
Buffalo Bill let out a whoop and went to the center of the arena. “I hereby declare the Wild West a success in Staten Island. Pass out the bottles, Jim.”
The man pulled whiskey and tequila from a crate and passed to those reaching for them.
Grabbing a bottle and Black Bear’s hand, Susannah led him to the barn. “Let’s celebrate in private.” Giggling, she climbed to the loft and lay back on the hay.
Uncertain what to do, Black Bear stood waiting.
“Well sit down. Take a load off.” After opening the bottle, she took a swig and grimaced. “I needed that. Here.”
He took the bottle she offered. His father had warned him about drinking, how it ruined some Lakota. Surely a little wouldn’t hurt. He sipped.
“You gotta drink more’n that, silly.”
Gulping down more, the liquid snaked through him like fire. He blew out a sharp breath.
Reaching for the bottle, she scooted close and giggled. “Good stuff, huh?”
He had to admit it was. Tequila erased his aches, smoothed the rough edges in his mind. For the first time in too long, he laughed. “Yes, I like it.”
“I thought you would.” She took another long drink and put the bottle in his hands.
While he tilted it to his mouth, she nuzzled his neck. “Black Bear,” she whispered. Twining her fingers through his hair, she curled against him.
For some reason, it struck him as funny. “What?”
When he turned his head, her lips crushed his. Taken aback, he scrambled to the side. “What are you doing?”
Caressing his thigh, she crawled atop him. “What I’ve wanted to do the minute I laid eyes on you.” Sliding up his chest, she clutched his head, her mouth suctioned to his.
A tumult of emotion churned through him. Urges overtook his thoughts. The same urges he’d felt with Quiet Thunder. He took hold of her shoulders and moved her to the side.
Confusion clouded her face. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t.”
“Bull. It’s plain as day that you can. And that you want to as much as me.” She glanced pointedly at his crotch.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Hooking her leg behind his, she pulled him down. “I want you so much. You’re smarter’n any man I ever knew. Shoot, we could get kilt any night. Don’t hold back on me.” Gripping his head, she kissed him.
Her kiss awakened such yearning, he didn’t want to stop. He groaned in Lakota, “Quiet Thunder.”
She pulled away. “What’d you call me?”
Dazed, he stared at her. This girl was tough, but crude. She wanted nothing more from him than a night. A night he’d be all too willing to give, if he could get Quiet Thunder out of his head. “Not what. Who.”
Pouting, she gazed up at him. “Aw. She’s your old sweetheart?” She linked her arms around his neck. “I’ll make you forget her.”
When she ground her crotch against his and kissed him, something snapped inside him. Closing his eyes, he imagined Quiet Thunder’s hands moved along his waist to push away his pants. Quiet Thunder’s legs coiled around him. Quiet Thunder’s breasts crushed against his chest. Quiet Thunder’s hips bucked and swayed. He unleashed years of longing, and fell into a deep sleep like he hadn’t had in years.
When he awoke, she’d left. His head pounding, he dressed and went to the arena. There, the Cossack was teaching her to dance, his hands wandering freely up her waist. Tonight, his hands would likely be all over her naked body.
Another girl walked past, and clucked her tongue. “That girl will flirt with anyone with three legs. You best be careful, she’ll be after you next.”
“Yes, I noticed she likes many men.” Maybe after so much tequila, it made no difference who the man was, only that he was willing.
“You said it. Sometimes more’n one at once, I heard.”
Black Bear grunted in acknowledgement. She hadn’t seemed to need more than one last night. He wished he hadn’t given in, but he’d been so lonely. And she’d been more than willing. And definitely able. She rode him like a bucking bronco, and had come back for more.
If he’d worried before she’d be like Effie, Black Bear saw with relief he’d been wrong.
Chapter Twelve
For the next few months, Buffalo Bill’s Wild West toured. At each new town, crowds jammed the venue every night. For any orphanages along the way, Cody made sure they received free passes.
The amount of Black Bear’s wages astounded him. The others waved it off. “Cody’s makin’ loads. It’s only right he pays us well.”
“And pays us equally well,” one of the women said. “We work just as hard, and he knows it.”
“So he pays you the same?” Even Black Bear knew this practice was unheard of.
“Sure does. He thinks we should be able to vote too.” Walking away, the woman laughed. “Like that’ll ever happen.”
Black Bear understood that if people believed in something enough, they could make it true.
Hearing Cody defend Indians filled Black Bear with pride. Black Bear read a newspaper account of the Wild West. It quoted Cody as saying, "The defeat of Custer was not a massacre. The Indians were being pursued by skilled fighters with orders to kill. For centuries they had been hounded from the Atlantic to the Pacific and back again. They had their wives and little ones to protect and they were fighting for their existence."
Seeing the Wild West posters that labeled the Indians as “The American” filled Black Bear with a perverse sense of revenge. How Pratt would choke with rage! No wonder he’d spoken with such anger about Cody and his show. Black Bear wished the troupe could parade through Carlisle to show the townspeople the true nature of Indians: proud, strong and wise. Without need of white schools to educate them.
****
With the arrival of new students, Rose volunteered for the program to care for children. One girl, a Cherokee renamed Martha Owl, tugged at her heart, so Rose spent more time with her. Only seven years old, Martha wept every day, but Rose brought her treats from the kitchen to cheer her. Within a few days, Martha responded with a small smile.
The girl’s English improved with Rose’s tutoring, and Martha confided her fears she’d never see her parents again.
“No, I’m sure you will.” Rose pulled the girl onto her lap. “You can go home over the summer to see them, and after you graduate, you can go home.”
“But they won’t know me. I’ll be grown by then.”
“Of course they’ll know you. Their hearts will recognize you no matter what.”<
br />
Martha picked at a loose thread in her skirt, and whispered, “My mother and father hid me for a long time.”
“They hid you?”
“Every time the men came from the school. They wanted to bring all the young ones here.”
Rose’s heart threatened to split, it ached so badly. “But they found you?”
“They said they’d keep our food rations. So my father came and got me.”
Her heartache turned to anger, but Rose kept her voice even. “That was a hard thing for your father to do. I’m sure they miss you very much.”
Wiping a tear from her cheek, Martha nodded. “They did the same to my friend’s family.”
A chill came over Rose. “Is she here too?” How could Pratt condone such heartless behavior?
Martha nodded, and whispered, “I have to call her Sarah now. When I forget, the house matron sends me to bed early. Then she yells at me because I cry. But I can’t stop.”
Rose cradled Martha against her. “I know.” Too many nights, Rose couldn’t stop crying either.
****
The Wild West traveled to Iowa, Buffalo Bill’s home state. The wind whipped the tall weeds, and the cold nights signaled the onset of winter. Black Bear longed for news of his tribe. When another Lakota joined the troupe, something about him seemed familiar to Black Bear. After introducing himself, Black Bear asked Dog Looks Back where he’d come from. When Dog Looks Back said, The Rosebud Reservation, Black Bear peppered him with questions. Though Dog Looks Back came from another tribe, Black Bear had witnessed his Sun Dance—the last ceremony he’d taken part in before leaving five years earlier.
“It’s bad there. Deer are scarce, and no one’s seen a buffalo in a long time. The Indian Ring steals our food, our supplies, our power.” Anger glowered in Dark Cloud’s eyes.
For many years, government officials colluded with suppliers to cheat tribes. Black Bear’s parents had spoken with bitterness of the Indian Ring’s actions.
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