by Mari Collier
They dragged her into the segregated tent for women and several Comanche women entered. One was pushed forward while an older woman spoke in Comanche.
“Stop fighting them,” the pushed forward one hissed in English. She was dark-haired, brown-eyed, tanned from the Texas sun, but white. “We will make you a human. One of our brave warriors has chosen you as a mate for your courage and strong boys.”
“They are mine.” Anna was screaming. “Gott gave to me them. Vhy are du helping them? Du are vhite.”
The woman glared at her. “I am Comanche.” She threw the buckskin dress at Anna. “Cover your body.”
Then the woman pointed at the pile of cattails. “Open them and use them for the flow. When it stops, you'll be allowed out. If you don't calm down there won't be any food and very little water.”
“My baby needs my milk.” Anna was speaking slowly to get the English words out correctly.
“You have no more children. They are with their new families. You must never go near them again. The baby is going with his family to a different group.”
Anna threw herself at the speaker intent on destroying her tormentor. She used fists, elbows, and kicks as though she were still fighting her twin when they were growing up. Her blows were hard and the attack furious.
“Mein sohns,” she kept shouting. “Mein sohns!”
The two white women in the group thought she was screaming, “mine sons,” which was exactly what Anna was saying. They explained to the older woman why Anna was so upset. At first her face softened, then hardened.
“Hold her down,” she commanded.
It took six of the women to accomplish this while Anna continued to struggle and scream damnation at them. The older woman held a knife in her hand.
“Explain to her we understand her grieving for those children are dead to her. When Comanche women grieve for their sons they show their loss by giving part of themselves.”
This was duly translated.
“Now hold one hand down.” The old woman bent and with one expert stroke sliced off the end of Anna's right little finger.
The pain was so unexpected it stilled Anna for a moment, but only a moment. She almost heaved herself free.
“The next hand,” commanded the woman. Just as quickly she cut the end of the left little finger off at the knuckle.
“Hold up her hair.” Anna's long, curly dark tresses had come unbound. It was so thick the woman had to grasp first one side and then the next. Instead of hair that hung to her hips, Anna's hair now hung to her shoulders.
“Tell her to use the inside of the cattails as a bandage for her fingers. If she starts acting like a human being, she will be allowed to become a Comanche once the other stops. If she tries to come out of here before it stops she will die. Someone will push in food and water. It will be enough to keep her alive. She will be cleansed once this is over. When one of the other women enters, she is to stay away from them or she will die.” After the translation, the group filed out.
There was no fire in the fire pit as it was summer. The upper tepee flap stayed open in summer, but now it was laced shut. Since Anna had no pelt or blanket to bring with her, there was nothing to sleep on but the ground. Anna came up on her knees. Gall was in her mouth and frantic thoughts of her children in her mind. Should she rush out and end it all? But her children, where were they? Where were her sons, her beautiful Margareatha? If she died, she would never find them again, and she closed her eyes. A low moan escaped from her lips and she began praying. She found she could not. Her body ached from the blows and her hands were wracked with pain. The bleeding from her fingers had slowed. If she let it continue, she could still die and what of her milk? It had diminished because of that strenuous trek and insufficient water, but there was still milk. If it hardened inside her breasts, she would have mastitis.
“Oh, my God, my Lord, help me to understand. What am I to do?” The wail became a primeval scream. She beat her fists on the ground, unmindful of the pain and the blood. She stood and stalked the width of the teepee and back. She wanted to kill, but she was naked and had no weapon. The dress they had given her lay crumpled where it had fallen during the fight.
Exhaustion finally stilled her wild movements and occasional scream. She collapsed onto the hardened dirt floor and slept.
In the morning, someone pushed in a water bag and a bowl of cooked squash. Anna looked at it with distaste. What sort of disease lurked there? Since no one had left anything like a commode here, she had used a spot on the far side of the tepee. The smell had dissipated, but Anna dreaded what the odors would be like if she ate the squash. Her hands had swollen, but she used them to milk her breasts into the bowl. Her own milk she would drink. By afternoon she had drank some of the water and her mouth was still dry. She barely touched the squash but what little she ate was with her fingers. She needed to wash them, but there was no basin, no soap. Dear God, she would die here. She hid her face in her hands, but no tears came. Nothing emerged from her mouth but that wild scream.
* * *
The next morning another bowl of food and bag of water were pushed in. The woman peeked in to see if the other bowl was close and saw Anna. She began running, screaming for the old woman.
“Her hair, her hair, it has turned white.”
They found Anna glaring at them as they entered. The group stared. Anna had donned the buckskin dress, but it was ill fitting and far too short for her tall frame. The bodice was pulled tight. It was stained from the leaking milk. No one had arrived to escort her to a place of privacy and nature's leavings were in a pile in one corner; the odor permeated the entire area.
Whispering broke out. What could cause this? They had taken everything she brought with her. There was nothing in here that could have changed her hair color. Finally the oldest woman pointed at Anna and commanded.
“She is to clean that mess. Nothing has changed, but someone will escort her to the woman's area. Others will need to use this soon.”
The white woman who translated had light brownish hair and blue-green eyes.
“Clean it yourself.” Anna was still seething, anger overriding good sense.
The younger women looked at each other, and to Anna's ears, they began jabbering. One middle-aged woman stepped out of the tent. She returned within minutes carrying a flat piece of wood and a large stick.
“If she doesn't clean it, we will use this on her.”
They left Anna bruised and stunned on the dirt floor. Most were certain there was a trickster involved or she had gone mad.
That afternoon, one of the younger women moved into the tepee. Two others accompanied her for her protection.
Chapter 14: The Woman Who Would Not Listen
“Why have you not listened to us?”
Anna's woman's cycle had ended. Her clothes smelled. The tent reeked, her body was a mass of bruises, her hands were swollen, but healing, and still she glared at them.
“Do you promise to act like a human being?” It was the dark-eyed white woman.
“Vhat does dot mean?”
“You will be given to one of our warriors and never speak to the one that came with you.”
“He ist mein sohn.” There was no mistaking her words. “I vill not such a promise make. God vould punish me. I vill not go mitt von of your men. Du are all savages.”
This time they left Anna lying on the ground with both her ears cut off. Blood streamed down both sides of her face. They had not killed her as they were not sure she was sane. Her hair had turned white overnight. Women did not fight as she had when the warriors raided the ranch. Women were to run and hide. Women accepted what men decided for them.
“If she lives, the Great Spirit wills it. She will become a slave. Let her be. She will remain on starvation rations. Sane people soon eat.” The old woman led the others out.
Anna crawled over to the cattails and split two down the middle and then held them against the sides of her head. The white woman had stayed just lon
g enough to translate.
She stopped at the tent flap before leaving.
“Stop being so stubborn. You can have a good life here. My man doesn't beat me like the one in my other life. All of the men here ain't like him, but most are.” Pride was in her voice. “They got a really good way to live. It's just different. Just remember, you caint ever talk to that boy you called son. He has another name and he likes it here.” She stepped out into the sunshine.
Anna had tried not to hear her words. How could Daniel like it here? Didn't he remember any of her lessons, her hugs, her blessings, her prayers, the joy of sitting in church, and at the holiday family dinners?
She felt dizzy, her stomach ready to heave, and her chest was hurting. It was the heartache of losing all of her God-given children. She would not give in to their pagan ways. She was Christian. She prayed she would be brave enough to hold onto her faith in Christ. Anna collapsed on the fur pallet one of the other women had left.
The next morning another woman entered the tent. Anna was still asleep, her face flushed with fever. The woman set the water jug and bowl of food down and backed out of the teepee. There was no need to wake this mad woman. Maybe she could be the slave of her family. Her warrior was a brave hunter with many coups.
Chapter 15: Schmidt's Corner
A discouraged Kasper Schmidt returned to the Rolfe ranch house where his wife, Gerde, and son, Hans, were waiting for him. Dirty, rough workmen's clothes and boots comprised his outfit. His features, his carriage, his speech all seemed ill-suited to any hard toil. While he had been in Arles, the town's women had looked at him with approval; rough clothes and boots made no difference to their lingering eyes. He was a handsome man, standing five feet and ten inches when most men were at least three inches shorter. His shoulders were broad, his features straight, the mouth firm, and a small cleft split his chin. The dark mustache was luxurious and glossy.
When the word of the Comanche attack on a small ranch in Texas reached the Schmidt's in St. Louis, he had not been surprised. Anna was his twin. He had known she was in mortal danger that summer of 1854 when he doubled over in pain at the parochial school where he taught. His frantic search for information from Texas was futile. Who should he write to beside an unknown lawman in a town called Wooden, Texas? No one knew. His father was too busy with his new family and farm to pursue a lost daughter and her children. Their father felt that all had been murdered by the wild men of the West. Kasper had decided then that he must go to Texas to look for Anna and her children. He knew it was not Christian, but he had always disliked that cold, arrogant man she had wed. He felt honor bound not to read the letter she had given him when she left until he was certain she was no longer living.
The pastor in St. Louis had mentioned that a former parishioner had been a hunter and a trapper who had moved his family to a ranch in Texas. The man still did hunting and tracking on the side. Rolfe's partner was serving as a scout for the 2nd Dragoons. Perhaps both men could help in locating his sister. Kasper had eagerly written down the name, Herman Rolfe and his address. He had written to Rolfe with the offer to hire him as a guide to the town of Wooden. Perhaps they would discover or detect something at his sister's burned homestead. Gerde insisted that she and Hans travel with him.
“What if you never return from that wild place? We are your family.”
She was very efficient in packing what they needed. Kasper had spoken wildly of a new beginning, perhaps even farming his sister's farm. Gerde set her lips in a straight line. Her brown eyes smiled only at Hans and Kasper. She was quite aware of the wild schemes Kasper could propose when he was really a teacher or a pastor by nature. The latter was too late for he had married her before finishing school, but he was more than qualified for any teaching post. She would make sure he stayed on the right path.
Rolfe had met them in Arles. Gerde had been horrified at the primitive buildings, the rough men, the streets of ruts, mud, dust, and a whorehouse but one block off the main street. She refused to stay in that sinkhole of iniquity with their three-year-old son. Worse, there was no Lutheran church and no one who spoke Deutsche. Rolfe had solved the problem by suggesting they stay with Mrs. Rolfe and their two children. Mrs. Rolfe was in the family way and needed someone there. She, like Gerde, did not like the town of Arles. Gerde would act as midwife and defray part of the cost of searching for Anna and her children.
Wooden had been a terrible disappointment for Kasper. A plantation owner by the name of O'Neal with the lilt of Ireland in his speech had shown them the Lawrence's farm and two graves.
“We buried two of the children there. Tis said the Methodist preacher came out to say their prayers for the dead”
“Which two did you bury?” Kasper found it difficult to get the words out.
“There was but one girl in the family that wild, redhead of a daughter, and she's buried there.” He pointed at one of the graves. “I can't say which one of the older boys it was. The baby they took.”
“Comanche don't kill redheads. They avoid them. Young girls they take.” Rolfe had objected.
“Sure, and someone forgot to tell them that. Maybe it had something to do with Lawrence.” O'Neal had sneered on the surname. “One of my hands saw him talking with the Comanche before the attack. He probably set it up. No good Yankee bastard. Why else would they kill a young lass and not the man? We didn't find a trace of him. I've heard he headed south towards Galveston.”
“Who told du dot?” Rolfe could see that Kasper was looking sick.
O'Neal stared at him. “You talk like she did. I thought he was the relative.” He jerked a thumb at Kasper.
“Gentlemen, please, what happened to my sister, Mrs. Lawrence?”
Both men looked at him puzzled. Who would ask such a fool question?
“They took her and the other boys. Do ye want a description of why?”
Kasper had turned white. “No.”
“Did anyvon trail them?” Rolfe was insistent.
“No, we had better things to do than go riding after them without any soldiers. Good day, gentlemen. My Christian duty here is done.” O'Neal mounted his horse and rode off leaving Kasper and Rolfe standing beside two graves set along a crumbling stone fence.
Kasper's voice was bitter when he spoke. “That man did not like my family. Do you have any idea why?”
Rolfe shrugged and spoke in German. “It could be because he considered them white trash. Southerners are that way. If you can't afford a plantation and a couple of slaves, you are white trash. If your brother-in-law had an education, that probably upset him too. He's what they call a 'Mick on the make.' He's not going to admit that his people had nothing when they arrived here.”
“Will it do any good to pursue this in Wooden?”
“No, they directed us to O'Neal. You must have noticed the man that owned the general store had the same surname, and the sheriff directed us to him. I think they pretty well own this corner of Texas.”
“But why is there animosity for Germans? O'Neal has a brogue.”
“Who knows why? Maybe he wanted this land. Maybe your brother-in-law made him feel inferior.”
Kasper had not understood then and he never understood their thinking or the prejudices in all the towns they went through. Men seemed to respect Rolfe, but were not particularly friendly when they heard Kasper was from St. Louis. Too many Yankees lived there. It was good to be back at the ranch where a certain amount of sanity ruled.
Gerde appeared in the barn doorway. “Welcome home. Mr. Rolfe, you should go in immediately. Your wife has given you another son.”
“Is anything wrong with either one?”
“Why, no, there isn't. Young James is a handsome young boy that looks very much like Mrs. Rolfe.” Gerde was staring at him as he turned back to the horses. He was as rough as the rest of the male populace. She addressed her next question to Kasper.
“Were you successful?” She knew they were not as Kasper looked dejected.
“No, me
in Frau, we weren't. There was nothing but two graves and no information on the rest of the family other than Mr. Lawrence might have instigated the attack and had traveled south.”
Kasper dumped some hay into the manger, walked to his wife, and gently hugged her. Society forbade a more vigorous reunion in public.
“Where is Hans?”
“He is outside somewhere with Martin and Olga. I let them have a bit of play between now and chore time.”
All three walked into the house. Kasper paused to wash his hands at the basin set outside, but Rolfe hurried into the house.
Gerde looked after him with distaste. “I hope he is going in to see Clara. She and I have become good friends.”
Kasper smiled at her. “That is good news as I have decided to settle here.”
“What?”
“Yes, I used my inheritance from my Grandfather Zeller to buy five acres from Mr. Rolfe. The deed is filed at Arles. We will be to the north by two lots. I'm going to build a general store and livery stable for people traveling through here. A man in Arles has already bought two acres from me. If I sell the next lot, we will come out even on the land. The man bought the two acres that are next to Rolfe's home. He told me that he was moving his horseshoeing and ironworks business here as Arles already has two smiths.
“We stopped at the lumberyard and they are shipping the lumber and work crew here through Blue Diamond. They'll start building as soon as they arrive. I've drawn a rough sketch of our new store and home.”
“But, Herr Schmidt, there is no school here for Hans.”
Kasper smiled. “I intend to start one for extra income. I'll be teaching Olga and Martin for now, and Hans when he is old enough. Herman tells me that the older Tillman brother has a boy that is of school age and Ben Tillman, the younger brother, and his wife have two girls. Both are younger than Martin.”