Savage Horizons

by Rosanne Bittner

  Sarah squealed with laughter, saying something in words he did not understand and pointing at him. Tom Sax said something back to her and she sobered slightly, but Blue Hawk already realized he’d done something wrong, and shame made its red appearance on his face.

  Tom Sax only smiled and bent down, taking the plate from him. “Table,” he said, pointing to the wooden board. “Table.” Then he pointed to the hard objects on which they all sat. “Chair.” He sat down in his and held out his hands. “See? When in a house, we sit at a table.” He pointed again. “We sit on chairs.” He pointed to the hard object again, then indicated that Blue Hawk should sit on the other chair.

  The boy stood up and slowly walked to the chair, scowling at the little white girl who had laughed at him. He plunked himself onto the chair and again began eating with his fingers.

  “Oh, no, Blue Hawk,” the little girl exclaimed with another laugh. She grasped his wrist and held up her own fork. “See? Fork. We eat with a fork.” She jabbed the instrument into a piece of turkey, then put the meat in her mouth, smiling warmly at him. Blue Hawk looked at his own fork and picked it up, studying it intently before poking it almost violently into his meat. Sarah covered her mouth to smother more laughter and watched as Blue Hawk slowly put the meat into his mouth. Then he poked another piece, seemingly fascinated by this new way of eating. He put still another piece into his mouth.

  “Blue Hawk, look,” the little girl spoke up again. The boy met her startling, green eyes, seeing the gentle humor in them. He could not help but grin back at her. She held up another instrument. “Spoon,” she told him. She scooped up some of the corn which, for some reason Blue Hawk could not fathom, the woman named Cora had cut from the cob.

  Blue Hawk frowned again. Why did they use a fork for meat and a spoon for corn? These white people used too many instruments for eating, he decided. What was wrong with fingers in the first place? Still, he did not want to offend Tom Sax, nor did he want the little white girl to laugh at him again. He picked up his own spoon and dipped it into the corn.

  Tom Sax looked at his wife. “I don’t think you’ll have to work with him too awfully hard, love. Sarah will do it for us.”

  “I imagine it’s easier for him to take lessons from another child than from grownups.”

  “I can show him lots of things, Daddy,” the girl said excitedly.

  Tom grinned. “I’m sure you can, pet.” He looked back at Cora, hunger for his woman in his eyes. “I hope we can get the boy settled down early.”

  Cora Sax reddened, her eyes shining with love. “Yes. So do I.”

  Blue Hawk became almost enraptured in learning how to eat this new way. The food the white woman cooked was wonderful, potatoes and gravy, turkey and corn, followed by a wonderful treat made of thickened fruit cooked between two crusts of something flaky and sweet. “Pie,” Sarah Sax called it. Whatever it was, it was the best thing Blue Hawk had ever tasted.

  When he finished he stood up and pointed to the wooden board with legs. “Table,” he announced proudly.

  Tom Sax grinned, and Sarah clapped her hands. Blue Hawk pointed to the object on which he had sat. “Chair.”

  There was more applause, and Blue Hawk smiled, happy to show the little white girl and Tom Sax how fast he could learn. He held up the spoon and fork, naming them, then pointed to the little girl. “Sarah,” he said. He pointed to the woman. “Cora.”

  “Oh, Tom, he’s very bright, isn’t he?” Cora Sax smiled kindly at the boy.

  “Of course he is. He’ll be your project, love, when I head out again—something to keep you busy and help keep you from worrying and being lonely. You and Sarah can teach the boy things, maybe even show him how to make letters and read.” He sobered and took her hand. “I’d like to keep him with us, Cora.”

  Cora’s eyes warmed at the pleading she saw in Tom’s eyes, and she knew this boy could fill a great void in both their hearts. “You know whatever you want is fine with me, Tom. But we should give him a Christian name so he’ll be better accepted by the others.”

  Tom shrugged. “We were going to name our son Caleb. Why not give the name to the boy?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure ’n I am. Caleb. Caleb Sax. It’s a fine name.”

  Her eyes teared. “Then that’s what we’ll call him.” She looked at Sarah. “We’re going to name him Caleb, Sarah. Maybe you can help us teach him his new name.”

  “Oh, yes, Mommy!” The girl got up from her chair and grabbed the boy’s hand again. Blue Hawk was so fascinated by her that he continued to let her lead him around. She pointed to herself. “Sarah Sax,” she told him. Then she pointed to Blue Hawk. “Caleb,” she said. “Caleb Sax.” Again she pointed to herself and said her name, then to Blue Hawk again. “Caleb Sax.” She went around the room then, pointing. “Tom Sax. Cora Sax. Sarah Sax. Caleb Sax.”

  Blue Hawk frowned, realizing that for some reason they wanted him to have a name like theirs. Caleb Sax. Whatever the strange reason for wanting to give him such a name, he would go along with it until he decided whether to stay or go.

  Caleb’s sense of honor left him with little choice but to quietly accept the new ways Tom, Cora and Sarah taught him. Days turned into weeks, and his thoughts of running away began to fade as his affection grew for these people.

  It seemed everything about the white man’s world was hard or harsh or stiff, including the thick cotton pants he wore that were too hot and the long-sleeved shirt that had to be buttoned to the neck. He did not like the clothing at all, but even Tom dressed in this manner when he was at the fort. The only thing he fought wildly was when Cora Sax wanted to cut his hair. No Indian man wore his hair short without great shame, and though he was half white, he would not recognize that side of himself through short hair. Tom told Cora to leave his hair as it was, knowing Caleb had already been faced with many changes and had enough adjusting to do.

  “But he’ll never be accepted as a Christian, civilized boy with that hair, Tom,” she argued.

  “Those who won’t accept him aren’t worth worrying about, love. The boy has a spirit of his own, and certain things that are special to him. I’ll not take those things away from him.”

  Cora agreed to leave his hair long, but she insisted that Caleb sit for daily lessons in English. She began to teach Caleb to read using a little book she had ordered from the east and had used to teach Sarah. It contained pictures of objects with the names spelled out below each one, and Caleb’s ability to learn soon impressed them all.

  Caleb himself was determined to cooperate. He was, after all, half white, and he realized knowing that side of himself might be important. Small Hands would probably tell him so. His days were filled with learning new things. But at night, while he slept on the floor in front of the hearth—he had refused a bed in the loft—his heart and dreams were still full of Black Antelope and all those he had loved and lost. He still dreamed of the deep forest and home.

  One of the most difficult new lessons was bringing in wood for Cora. This he considered woman’s work, and he felt humiliated when he carried it in. At first he had refused completely, but Tom had explained that by white man’s custom, all the hard work was done by the men. He had proceeded to carry some wood in himself to show the boy. Caleb supposed that if a rugged man like Tom Sax could lower himself to carry wood, he also could do so, but only because it was for Cora, who was too thin and weak to bring in the wood herself; and for Sarah, who was too little.

  He liked Sarah, who eagerly taught him words and writing, and who quickly came to be a good friend. She was sweet and patient, and she had a wonderful laugh that made him feel good inside. It was not long before he and Sarah developed a form of communication that made it possible for Sarah to understand him more easily than the adults.

  They were soon becoming family to him, but still, deep in the night, Caleb felt restless, and sometimes he wanted to cry. He missed the smell of the earth and the plants and trees and the feel of the soft
earth beneath him when he slept. He missed the aroma of sweet smoke inside a hut, the glory of riding a horse and carrying his own weapons to the hunt, the winter nights spent huddled in a hut listening to Black Antelope speak of glorious battles or tell frightening ghost stories.

  Most of all he missed the simple comfort of being around his own people, missed the soft buckskin clothing, the young Indian children he used to play with. The few white children who lived in and around the fort were afraid of him and would not play with him. Some of them laughed at him and pointed. But he refused to be ashamed of his Indian blood, and he still wore the blue quill necklace under his cotton shirt. It was one item that linked him to his past, as did the precious tomahawk Black Antelope had given him only a little over a year before. Those were two things he would never give up, and would kill to keep if it came to that.

  Sometimes the restlessness of his spirit would overwhelm him, and he would rise in the middle of the night and walk to a window to look out, feeling like a caged animal. Sometimes it seemed he would suffocate within the four walls of the cabin, and a wildness would well up inside him that was difficult to control.

  There were many Indians around the fort, mostly Fox, Sauk and Shawnee. Seeing them made Caleb miss his old way of life. And whenever he spotted a Chippewa, it was hard to keep from attacking, but Tom Sax had warned him that he must not do such things or it could mean trouble, not just for himself but for Tom as well. The day came, however, when the boy’s Indian ways and proud spirit could not be quelled, in spite of all of Tom’s warnings.

  Caleb accompanied Cora and Sarah to the supply store, while Tom stayed home to chop wood to store up for winter. Caleb’s heart tightened when he saw Kyle Wiggins sitting on the steps of the store. Wiggins had been gone for quite some time, and Caleb had hoped he was gone for good. He sensed that if Tom Sax knew the man had returned, he would have accompanied his wife and daughter to the store.

  Wiggins put a half empty bottle of whiskey to his lips and watched with threatening eyes as they all walked into the supply store. Cora refused to even look at the man, and Sarah stuck out her tongue at him, making Caleb grin. They both giggled and followed Cora inside, where three old men sat around the stove. Caleb sometimes wondered if these regulars ever left their chairs. He stared again in fascination at all the marvelous items in the store, a place he was sure he would never get tired of visiting. Cora began to place her order, and as Hugh cut off a piece of dried meat for her, Caleb sensed that Wiggins had followed them inside. He turned, meeting the man’s eyes squarely, determined to show he was not afraid. Wiggins looked him over with an insulting gaze, smirking at his white man’s clothing. The man plunked a few skins down on the counter, and Caleb turned up his nose at the smell of the man’s soiled buckskins.

  “I’ve got more outside, Hugh,” Wiggins said loudly. His eyes moved to Cora Sax. “Lord knows I’m better at trapping beaver than Tom Sax.”

  Cora reddened but said nothing, realizing Wiggins was drunk and looking for trouble. She walked to another counter to pick out some cloth.

  Wiggins turned back to Caleb. “Bought quite a few of these here skins from a bunch of Dakota northwest of here that was hurtin’ bad for supplies. The dumb bastards gave me a whole slew of furs for a few pots and pans and some flour.” Caleb glared at him, not understanding every word, but sensing he was being insulted. “Injuns ain’t too smart these days,” the man continued, his snide grin revealing yellow teeth. “They’re out there fightin’ and starvin’ each other out. Makes things easy for us trappers, though, saves us work.” He chuckled and threw a piece of chewing tobacco in his mouth. “Where’s your pa, boy? Ain’t that what you call him now?” He laughed heartily. “Imagine that, ole Tom Sax takin’ in a Injun breed and callin’ him son. What do they call you now, boy? Injun? Breed? Bastard?”

  “That will be enough,” Cora Sax said angrily, her face red. “The boy’s name is Caleb. He was homeless, and we have taken him in. You will stop insulting him, unless you want to answer to my husband.”

  The man looked her over as though she were a delicious piece of pie, and Caleb watched cautiously, hating Kyle Wiggins with every bone in his body. Cora stepped back, pulling Sarah with her. Sarah stuck her tongue out again.

  “Go away, Kyle Wiggins,” the girl exclaimed, her green eyes blazing. “My daddy will punch you!”

  Wiggins chuckled. “That so?” He leaned closer. “You better watch what you say, you pretty little thing, or some day you’ll be sorry.” He sneered at Cora Sax. “Appears to me you and your husband are raisin’ a right spoiled brat here, woman.” His eyes shifted to Caleb. “A spoiled brat and a wild breed. Some combination.”

  “Leave them alone, Kyle,” Hugh said from behind the counter.

  “Yeah, Wiggins, lay off,” one of the men around the stove put in.

  “I don’t take orders from cowards and old men,” the man growled. He turned to Cora. “And I ain’t afraid of your man, neither. I can take down Tom Sax anytime I want.” He leaned forward and tugged at a piece of lace at the neck of Cora’s dress. Caleb was immediately enraged.

  “Do not touch her,” he said loudly, his fists clenching.

  Wiggins’ eyebrows arched and he turned to look at the boy. “What was that, boy?”

  “You no touch her,” Caleb repeated.

  Wiggins chuckled. “Well, you’ve learned some English. You’re a pretty sassy thing for bein’ just a bastard half-breed in white man’s territory, ain’t you, boy?”

  Cora screamed as Caleb lunged at the man.

  Wiggins grabbed the front of Caleb’s shirt and let the boy flail away at him while he just laughed. Then he flung Caleb to the floor, ripping his shirt and tearing off the rabbit’s foot. The blue quill necklace was revealed by the torn shirt. Wiggins threw down the rabbit’s foot and stepped on it, grinding it into the dirt floor.

  “That will teach you to smart off to me, breed.”

  “You’re a mean, ugly man,” Sarah shouted, tears in her eyes.

  “Be still, Sarah,” Cora spoke up, pulling the girl away.

  Caleb felt hot with shame at being thrown down by Wiggins. After all, he had killed two grown Chippewa men, hadn’t he? He could not look so small and weak in front of Sarah. He started for Wiggins again, but Cora grabbed his arm.

  “No, Caleb,” she said sternly. “He’ll hurt you. You must learn to control your temper, son.”

  The boy hesitated, glaring at Wiggins, who grinned. “That’s teachin’ him, Mrs. Sax,” he said with a mocking bow. “The little wild animal needs some manners, that’s a fact. Tell me, ma’am, what all are you teachin’ this boy? Perhaps there are some things he’s not quite old enough for yet, hmmm?”

  Cora Sax reddened deeply, and tears welled in her eyes. “You’re a filthy animal, Kyle Wiggins,” she replied in a choked voice.

  Caleb didn’t understand the words completely, but he knew that Cora had been insulted and looked ready to cry. He glanced at the other men in the store and thought all of them cowards, for none of them stood up to defend Cora. In his rage he kicked Kyle Wiggins hard in the shin bone, glad for the first time to be wearing the uncomfortable, sturdy white man’s shoes. Wiggins grunted in surprise and pain. Cora backed away, pulling Caleb with her. The boy backed up reluctantly, holding his chin high, ready for whatever Kyle Wiggins wanted to do. He would fight him, grown man or not.

  Wiggins glowered at Caleb, coming closer. “You half-breed brat!” He reached for the boy, but Caleb jerked away. The blue quill necklace came off in Wiggins’ hand. Caleb grabbed for it, but Wiggins jerked back his arm, grinning.

  “You want your necklace, boy? Come and get it.”

  “Give it back,” Sarah shouted, wanting to cry.

  Caleb glared at the man, hesitant.

  “Give the child his necklace,” Cora demanded.

  “No, ma’am. If he wants it, he has to take it himself.” He laughed. “Come on, boy. Come and get your necklace. It’s special, huh? Did your whorin�
�� Injun ma give it to you maybe?”

  In blind fury Caleb turned and grabbed the huge butcher knife Hugh had left lying on the counter. Cora gasped and backed away, and Sarah stared wide-eyed as Caleb waved the knife at Wiggins.

  “Give me necklace,” the boy growled, looking amazingly menacing for his age. “You no touch woman. I kill you!”

  Wiggins stood stock still, a gut feeling telling him the boy knew how to use the knife. “I ought to beat the hell out of you,” he snarled.

  Caleb held out his arms as though to tempt the man to try. Wiggins swallowed as the boy waved the knife again. “Give necklace.”

  Wiggins hesitated a moment longer, then threw the necklace to the dirt floor. “I ain’t fightin’ no damned kid. I got better things to do.”

  One of the three men at the stove chuckled then. “You lettin’ a kid back you down, Wiggins?”

  “Shut up!”

  Another man snickered. “I think he’s remembering the kid there killed two grown Chippewa warriors with his own hands. He’s not one to mess with, right Wiggins?”

  Wiggins whirled. “I said shut up! I could rip the little bastard’s guts out. But grown men don’t go around fightin’ kids.”

  “They don’t?” The first man laughed harder. “Seems to me that’s what you was just doin’, Wiggins, and the kid won.” They all laughed then and Wiggins stormed out of the store.

  Sarah bent down and picked up Caleb’s necklace and rabbit’s foot, brushing dirt from the rabbit’s foot. As she handed the items to Caleb, tears welled up in her eyes. Caleb laid the knife back on the counter, forcing back his own urge to cry, refusing to do so in front of a little girl. He suddenly did not like this white man’s world at all. He wanted to be home, in the deep woods, among his own kind.