“Don’t know,” Fawn giggled, displaying the wide gap where her two front teeth were missing. “They’re hiding. You won’t find them.”
“Oh yes, I will,” David said as he raised the edge of the tablecloth to reveal three laughing toddlers. “Come here, you three.” David reached his arms out wide and pulled the children to his chest. He whirled around once before putting the children on the bench beside Fawn.
“More!” all three yelled in unison.
“Not yet,” David laughed. “There’re still three more to find.”
“I know where day are,” Storm said in his baby-like voice.
David tousled his ebony hair and said, “Then you may help me.” Storm smiled broadly.
Jenny watched the game continue and basked in the warmth that filled her heart. The only thing she was missing was a baby of her own. Quietly, she turned away from the group and finished putting the food on the table. She didn’t want the children to see the tears that were in her eyes.
“Please Lord,” she prayed in a whisper, “please let me be satisfied with that with which You have blessed me.” She could hear the laughter in the front room and forced herself to concentrate on the happy voices of her husband and the orphans.
It should be enough, she realized, but just as readily she knew her discontentment ran deep.
“Papa David told me to help,” Raining Sky said as she took a bowl of green beans from the kitchen counter.
“Thank you,” Jenny said, composing herself and bestowing a warm smile on the ten year old. Jenny brought the roast and followed behind Raining Sky.
“Oh good,” David called. “Come along, children. It’s suppertime.”
The little ones gathered around the table and joined hands as David led them in prayer. “Dear Father, we thank You for the wonderful meal which You have provided. We thank You too, for the children who share this food and the love they give us. Bless us all and help us to serve You all the days of our lives. Amen.”
“Amen,” Jenny agreed, and the children echoed her reply.
“Let’s eat,” David said as he started cutting the roast. “Pass your plates, and I’ll put some meat on them.”
“Don’t want befajewels,” Storm said and made a face.
“They’re called vegetables, and you will eat them because they help you to stay healthy and strong,” Jenny said firmly.
“Don’t like ’em,” Storm pouted but, nonetheless, took the offered plate of food.
Later that night, Jenny sat alone in the darkness listening to the silence of the house. The children were all asleep and even David’s even breathing signaled he was deep in dreams.
“Why am I struggling so much with this, Lord?” Jenny whispered. “I love the children You’ve given me to care for. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful, because it’s not that I don’t love my life. I just can’t explain what I feel inside. It’s like an incompleteness, a longing for that which I’ve only glimpsed from afar. I want a baby, Lord. A baby of my own that won’t be taken up to heaven before I can share my life with him or be retrieved by the Indians to join his real family. I’m like Hannah before Eli in the temple: if You will but give me a child, I pledge to give him back in trust to You. But please, please Lord, let me love him on earth for a time.”
Chapter 12
Several weeks later, Jenny stood admiring her garden. The beans were up high enough to merit staking off the ground, and the onions had already yielded a nice addition to their meals. Jenny leaned over and pulled a few weeds before going into the house to finish her baking.
Spring had come in wet and cold, and Jenny was grateful for the warmth of her toasty kitchen. She pulled two brown-crusted apple pies from the oven and quickly filled the emptiness with five tins of bread dough. Checking the clock, Jenny gauged herself to have time enough to whip up a batch of David’s favorite Mexican custard before he’d return for lunch.
A ruckus of children’s voices brought Jenny quickly from the kitchen to see what the problem was.
“Look,” Fawn called out as she pulled Jenny toward the front window.
Jenny looked out across the front yard to see David approaching with three Pueblo men. She immediately recognized them as members of the council that guided the tribe in all its decision making.
“You children stay here and continue working on your studies. I’ll check your work when I come back,” Jenny said as she went to meet David. Jenny had only known the tribal leaders to leave the village when it was a matter of grave concern. She knew this time would be no different. She watched as David talked intently with the men, not even pausing to recognize Jenny’s approaching form.
Jenny met them at the gate and noted the apprehension in David’s eyes. “What is it?” she asked, uncertain she wanted to know.
David cast her a sorrowful glance. “They’ve come for the children, Jenny.”
Jenny swallowed hard. This kind of thing had happened before, but usually the relatives of the children came—certainly never the elders. “Which ones?” she asked hesitantly.
“All of them,” he lamented.
Jenny’s mouth dropped open in shock. “All of them?”
“I’m afraid so,” David said as he put his arm around Jenny’s shoulder.
“But. . .but. . . ,” Jenny stammered as her eyes filled with tears. “Why?” She looked at each of the tribal leaders with questioning eyes. “Why are you taking them away?”
“Sickness has taken many of our people,” the oldest leader spoke.
Jenny recognized him as the cacique, religious leader of the Pueblo. “Black-Cloud-Raining, why do you want to take all of the children? If there’s been sickness, won’t they be exposed as well?”
“Many children dead. My people are fewer each year. They die from white man’s fevers and walk the way of our father’s to the spiritland. We need the children to make us strong again,” Black-Cloud-Raining spoke firmly.
The t’aikabede raised his hand to speak before Jenny could comment on Black-Cloud-Raining’s words. She respected the man whose word was ultimately the deciding factor. As the head of the tribal council the t’aikabede would never have left the village if the situation hadn’t demanded his guidance.
“We would not have come without many talks. We spent many hours in the Kiva, praying and speaking of what we should do. We know that it is good for the people of our village if we bring the children home.”
Despite the fact Jenny knew the religious significance of gathering in the circular adobe Kiva, she couldn’t endure the pain in her heart. “But they have a good home here,” she protested as her eyes filled with tears. “They belong with us.”
“They are Pueblo and they belong with the people of their fathers,” Black-Cloud-Raining said with little concern for Jenny’s tears.
Jenny opened her mouth to speak again, but David shook his head sadly. “I’ve already said all of this, Jen,” he offered painfully. “They are determined to take them, and we are powerless to stop them.”
Jenny looked with pleading brown eyes to each Indian leaders’. She prayed silently that one would take pity on her and leave one or two of the youngest for her to care for. “Surely the littlest ones could stay,” she said hopefully.
“No,” the t’aikabede said firmly. “We will take all the children to their people. We leave now.”
“At least let them eat. They haven’t had lunch yet,” Jenny said as the men moved toward the house.
“They eat while they journey.” Black-Cloud-Raining’s stern voice and expression caused Jenny to realize she was powerless. How could she stand by and watch them take away her children? How could God let this happen?
“I’ll get them ready,” Jenny finally said with a heaviness in her voice David hadn’t heard since the death of their last child. “You wait here.”
/> Jenny wished she could find it in her heart to offer refreshments, but she felt the old feelings of anger toward Indians creep into her heart. “Let them die of thirst!” she thought and immediately regretted her animosity. “Forgive me, Father.”
Jenny called all the children into the foyer. “I have some news,” she said trying to sound calm. There was no need to share her grief with the children. “Your families have asked the elders to bring you home. They have come to take you back to the tribe.”
“We be gone long time?” Fawn asked, in her wide-eyed, innocent way.
Jenny’s resolve nearly crumbled. “I’m afraid so, Fawn. The t’aikabede has come to take you home for. . .for. . .” Jenny’s voice cracked as she struggled to force out the word. “Forever,” she finally managed.
“Will we see you and Pastor David again?” one of the other children asked.
“Yes, of course you will. Pastor David goes often to the Pueblo village, and I will come with him to visit you,” Jenny explained.
“Where will we live?” Fawn asked curiously. It was all starting to sound like a game to her.
“You will live in the adobe pueblo’s your people have built. Remember? We talked about the houses they live in. They are much like this house, only there are no doors or windows on the ground floor, or at least very few.”
“It is to make our people safe,” one of the older boys insisted.
“Yes, that’s right,” Jenny agreed. “You will live a different life there. You will not study from books as you do here. You will not speak English as much as you will the language of your people. Your jobs will be different, also. You boys will do more hunting and fishing, while your sisters work the hides and gather berries and wood.”
“I make dem, too,” Storm said as his little grubby fingers reached up to pull at Jenny’s hands.
Jenny lifted the small boy in her arms and buried her face against his. “I know you will make your people proud,” she whispered. “I know all of you will. Now, come give me a hug.”
Jenny was rushed from all sides by the children. Even the oldest boy felt no shame in offering affection for his temporary guardian. “Now, go pack your things. The elders are waiting.”
Jenny listened as the children’s footsteps echoed up the stairs to their bedrooms. She could hear their pat, pat, pat down the hall as they ran in excitement. Why couldn’t they seem less excited? No, Jenny reminded herself silently. She and David had worked diligently to teach the children they were to look forward to returning to their people. It would be wrong to expect any different from them now.
She took slow and deliberate steps to climb the stairs to where the children were excitedly chattering about their journey. She helped Storm to secure the small pack he would wear on his back. He looked too little to carry anything for himself, but Jenny knew the elders would expect no less. That was why she and David had always worked to teach the children the Pueblo way. She continued to remind herself it was for just this day they had worked so long and so hard. The children should be with their people to learn and preserve their heritage.
She monitored their packing and helped them to distribute their loads evenly so their little backs wouldn’t grow sore. Children should be cherished and pampered, she thought, but even as she did, Jenny realized being too soft could prove deadly for these children.
There was a small, parade-like procession back down the stairs and to the front door. Jenny kissed each child and offered some tidbit of advice or reminder of a memory they’d shared together. When she picked up Night-That-Storms, it was all she could do to keep from running—running until she was so far away that no one, not the t’aikabede or Black-Cloud-Raining or anyone else, could take him away from her.
“I wuv you, Mama,” Storm said in his babyish voice, forgetting to add Jenny’s name. She was the only mother he’d known. Would he be upset to leave her?
“I love you too, Night-That-Storms. You are a Pueblo boy with a big heart. Don’t ever forget me,” Jenny said as hot tears fell upon her cheeks.
“Don’t cry, Mama,” Storm said, wiping at Jenny’s wet cheek.
“Don’t cry,” Fawn said as she tugged at Jenny’s arm. “You say this is good.”
“It is good, Fawn. It’s just I will miss all of you so much.” Jenny put Storm down and composed herself. “Now, go and tell Pastor David good-bye, and be sure and remember your prayers. Don’t forget Jesus loves you and God is your Father in heaven.” The children promised and went running out the front door to find David.
Jenny watched as David held each child, even the older boys. He held his face close to theirs, talking in low whispers as if imparting some great secret wisdom upon them. In truth, he was praying a blessing over each one.
“Bless you, White-Fawn-Dancing. May God watch over you all the days of your life. Don’t forget you are loved and God sends His angels to watch over you and walk beside you,” David said in a strained voice. He tickled her one last time just in order to hear her little-girl giggle.
“You funny, Pastor David. I love you.”
“I love you too, Fawn,” David said and suddenly felt old. He put Fawn down and finished blessing the others.
The leaders signaled it was time to go, and because of the respect the children had been taught by Jenny and David, they quickly fell into place. They walked out the gate and past the stone wall, some so in awe of their tribal elders they looked afraid. Others seemed oblivious to the older men.
Jenny ran to the gate in order to watch the children as far as she could. The wind picked up and pulled at the strands of her chestnut hair she had so carefully pinned up that morning. She didn’t care. As the children marched away, they took her heart and the security she had enjoyed in the face of her losses.
Jenny cried openly as she pulled open the gate and walked the length of the fence to better view the children as they neared the rocky canyon that would block them from her eyes. From time to time, one or more of the children looked back at Jenny and David, offering a wave or a smile. It was a great adventure to them.
As one after the other disappeared into the canyon, Jenny could no longer bear the silence.
“Don’t take them. Don’t go,” she cried out, knowing they were too far away to hear her words.
David put his hands upon her shoulders, but Jenny wanted no part of it. She jerked away and moved forward as if to go after the children. She had taken only three steps when three-year-old Storm turned from the procession and ran back a few steps towards Jenny. He held wide his baby arms and threw out his chest, sending Jenny an open-armed hug he usually reserved for things he couldn’t touch.
Jenny sobbed and collapsed to the ground as she mimicked Storm’s actions. Her arms ached for the feel of his soft skin and satiny hair. She longed for his baby smell and his constant, questioning voice.
Storm, satisfied he’d shared his best with Jenny, turned and ran to catch up with the others. He didn’t look back again, and for this David was grateful. Jenny had fallen headlong into the sandy dirt, releasing in her sobs all the pain David felt tearing at his own heart. Lovingly, he picked her up and carried her back into the house.
Placing Jenny gently in the bed, David did nothing to stop her from crying. She needed to mourn the loss of these children just as she had mourned the loss of her own babies. Walking quietly from the room, David made his way to his study and collapsed in a chair.
“Oh Lord,” he cried, “this sorrow is too much to bear alone. Deal mercifully with us, Father.” David reached for his Bible and opened it to Psalm 88: “ ‘O Lord God of my salvation, I have cried day and night before Thee: Let my prayer come before Thee: incline Thine ear unto my cry; For my soul is full of troubles: and my life draweth nigh unto the grave. I am counted with them that go down into the pit: I am as a man that hath no strength.’ ” David closed the Bible.
/> “I am that man, Lord. I am without strength. Jenny needs me to be strong, Father, and I have no strength to offer her. Help me to accept this as Your will and to ease Jenny’s pain. Amen.”
Long into the night, David could hear Jenny’s sobs. He worried for her sanity. Surely it was too much for one woman to endure all she’d lived through.
When her crying could no longer be heard, David made his way to their bedroom. He undressed silently and slipped into bed beside Jenny’s spent form. He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. Somehow they would endure this as they had the other sorrows in their life. He was reminded of Psalm 30:5: “ ‘Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.’ ” The words comforted David as he drifted into a fitful sleep.
Surely joy would come in the morning.
Chapter 13
Joy didn’t come in the morning. David found Jenny a silent, stoic reminder of the previous day’s events. She got up before David awakened, stoked the stove, and made breakfast, and put on water in the outside caldron for the laundry.
David dragged himself down the stairs after a restless night. He was amazed at all Jenny had accomplished, yet the sight of his wife was shocking. Her eyes were void of life. When he sat down to the table, she silently served him his food and left the room.
David thanked God for the food and asked Him for guidance and peace in dealing with the loss of his family. He couldn’t explain to Jenny the pain he felt; it would only add to her burden.
He choked down his breakfast and started his day. The livestock needed to be fed, and their water trough was almost empty. It took several trips to the pump outside the back door for David to finish filling the trough.
David didn’t mind the physical labor. It gave him something to keep his mind occupied. Memories of the children laughing and singing as they worked at their chores kept intruding. The morning work always seemed to pass quickly with the sound of their small voices.
From time to time, David cast a glance across the yard and saw Jenny working at some task. When he discovered her carrying two heavy buckets of milk, David rushed to her side and offered a hand. Jenny glanced up long enough to shake her head and pushed past David.
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