Full Circle

by Rosanne Bittner

  More dust rolled as Janine drove the clattering mission buck-board around several buildings. Besides an old white mare that Janine said Reverend Phillips rode, the rickety wagon and the two aging red mares that pulled it were their only means of transportation about the reservation.

  Evelyn was lost in thought, picturing the horror the Sioux must have felt the day Sitting Bull was shot down, remembering Wild Horse and his own awful death. How ironic that such a renowned, once-feared Indian leader like Sitting Bull should die so shamefully. “Why would Agent McLaughlin be so against Sitting Bull? Isn’t his own wife half Indian?”

  Janine brushed dust from her dress. “I feel Mary McLaughlin contributed to the feud. As with most half-bloods, she is a woman torn between two worlds. She has tried to fit in with the officers’ wives here at the fort, but they are not friendly to her. She is always striving to be respected and rid herself of the title some people have given McLaughlin: “squaw man.” She has little use for her Indian blood. She hated Sitting Bull since the year she could have gone with him on a world tour with Buffalo Bill to act as an interpreter and Sitting Bull changed his mind and refused to go. She felt he had cheated her out of the chance to do something that would have given her a little more status—traveling to several countries with the Wild West show.”

  Janine smiled then, meeting Evelyn’s eyes. “I think Sitting Bull’s own personality was also part of the trouble. In spite of his years of working among the Sioux, McLaughlin still does not seem to understand their sense of humor. That is very important, Evelyn. They love to joke with you and pull tricks on you.”

  Evelyn pushed a strand of blond hair back up under her hat. “I remember a Cheyenne Indian man I knew back in Oklahoma when I was very small. He had a wonderful sense of humor. I am familiar with that part of the Indian personality. But how did that make trouble between Sitting Bull and McLaughlin?”

  Janine headed the wagon to a large house at the center of the reservation. “McLaughlin wanted Sitting Bull to give up one of his two wives. He feels that having multiple wives is sinful and only contributes to the Sioux continuing to practice old ways. Sitting Bull said that was fine. He would give up one wife, but he asked McLaughlin which one it should be. He wanted to know who would be father then, to the children of that wife.” She laughed lightly. “I am sure you can see the predicament it would pose for any man with two wives to have to choose which one to give up.”

  Evelyn joined in the laughter. “What did he do?”

  “He told McLaughlin it was impossible to decide. He said he’d make it equal and give them both up if McLaughlin would find him a white wife. Anyone who understands the Sioux knows it was just a joke, but McLaughlin didn’t like being made a fool of, and he was convinced Sitting Bull meant it. That only cemented in his own mind the fact that Sitting Bull was nothing more than a dirty-minded old savage, which was not true at all.”

  Janine pointed out a few other buildings—quarters for the Army men present, a trading post. The agency was much bigger than Evelyn had imagined. “Mr. McLaughlin lives in this big house where we’re headed, which also serves as agency headquarters. John is probably around there somewhere. He must have decided to stay a day or two to spend time with the Indians here and try to talk them into school or church, find out if any of them have health problems that need tending. We need a doctor here for the Indians. The only one around is the Army physician, but he’s thirty miles away.”

  Again, Evelyn could see the government was providing only the bare necessities to the Sioux, but her thoughts were disturbed when a uniformed man rode up to the wagon, tipping his hat to Janine. “Good afternoon, Miss Phillips. Good to see you back from your trip. Who is your lady friend?”

  Janine halted the wagon. “Hello, Sergeant Desmond. This is Miss Evelyn Gibbons, from Wisconsin. She has come here to teach at Little Eagle Station. Evelyn, this is Sergeant Jubal Desmond.”

  Evelyn met the man’s pale-blue eyes, seeing a cockiness there she did not like. His hair was light brown, and his skin was burned dark and ruddy from many hours in the sun. He had a slender but strong-looking build, and she supposed he could be thought of as handsome if he did not put forth such an arrogant attitude. “How do you do, Lieutenant,” she spoke up.

  Desmond remained on his horse, but he removed his hat and bowed slightly. “I do just fine, ma’am, as long as I can look at something pretty as you. You watch out for those Indian bucks. If any of them gets any fancy ideas, you just come running. Jubal Desmond is at your service.”

  “I will remember that, Sergeant.” Evelyn struggled to keep her dislike of the man from showing.

  Desmond grinned. “We keep the Sioux pretty much in line now. Since Wounded Knee, they don’t bother putting up much of a fuss anymore, but you never can totally trust them. You remember that. So far the older ones aren’t too cooperative in letting their little skunks go get taught by whites, so you’ll have a time getting the wild little savages to school.”

  Evelyn found it incredulous that in so few words this man could make himself look the ignorant, prejudiced fool that he was. It was also clear by the look in his eyes what he was thinking about her.

  “I will do my best, Sergeant.”

  “Well, they aren’t too smart to begin with. You’ll have your hands full. Pardon me, but you look more like a lady who belongs in a city back East, being wooed by some fancy lawyer. You sure don’t fit the picture of a schoolmarm come to work in a place like this with hopeless people like the Sioux.”

  Evelyn wondered if the man realized he had just insulted poor Janine, as though she was plain and unattractive enough to fit in just fine here. The temper she always had trouble controlling battled to be released. “And you don’t speak with the intelligence I would expect from an officer, sir,” she replied.

  The remark wiped the smile off the man’s face, and Janine put a hand over her mouth to hide her own grin.

  Desmond tipped his hat again, a hint of anger coming into his eyes. “Sorry if I somehow insulted you, ma’am. You just do like I said and watch yourself, and remember where you can come if you have any problems.”

  The man turned his horse and rode off, and Janine laughed lightly. “What a wonderful answer you gave him, Evelyn! It is exactly what I would have wanted to say, but I don’t have the courage to speak up like that.”

  “The man is an arrogant, prejudiced buffoon who has no business being out here around the Indians!”

  Janine got the wagon rolling again, heading toward agency headquarters. “You’re going to be so good for the Sioux,” she commented. “I am already sure of it. I’m so glad you decided to do this, Evelyn.” The wagon neared the large frame building when she suddenly drew in her breath and waved. “John!”

  Evelyn watched a man approach them as Janine halted the wagon. He reached up to lift her to the ground. “I was just about to head back to Little Eagle Station,” he said. “I wasn’t sure when you’d finally return—” He looked up at Evelyn, and the pleasure in his dark eyes was unmistakable.

  Evelyn knew this had to be Janine’s brother, Reverend John Phillips. He was an average-looking man and stood only a few inches taller than Janine, who was not herself a tall woman. There was nothing ugly about him, but also nothing that could be called handsome, although his eyes sparkled with kindness. He sported a neatly trimmed mustache but was otherwise clean-shaven, and he wore a black, double-breasted serge suit jacket that looked well worn, as did his dark gray flannel trousers. She admired and respected both Janine and her brother for their willingness to give up the comforts of life and the chance at having more money and better clothing if Phillips preached in a church in some city back East. There was not a lot of money to be made in mission work. Most things they needed were provided through donations, and most money went into building and buying supplies for the church and to help supplement government rations of food and clothing to the Indians, which was never enough. The man came closer to help her down
, and she noticed his shirt collar was frayed.

  “Well! You must be our new schoolteacher.”

  Evelyn allowed the man to take her hand as she climbed down from the wagon. “I am Evelyn Gibbons, from Waupun, Wisconsin. I was teaching there when Janine came to speak at my father’s church.”

  “Gibbons. Reverend Edward Gibbons? I’ve met him. It’s been a few years, but I remember him.”

  “And you are apparently John Phillips.”

  “Oh, forgive me! I didn’t even introduce myself!” John looked Evelyn over again, surprised and pleased at what he saw. When he had gotten the wire from his sister that she was bringing a teacher back with her, a single woman, he had envisioned a plump, plain spinster woman… not the slender young beauty who stood before him in a soft green checked gingham dress, its high collar and puffed shoulders trimmed with bands of lace. “And what brings a young, educated woman like yourself out to this desolate place?” he asked with a smile. He finally let go of her hand.

  Evelyn knew the man was thinking the same thing most men thought seeing her out here. She had felt the stares of other soldiers as they had driven through fort grounds, and Jubal Desmond’s hints at the fact that she would have to protect her person just because she was young and pretty and single still irked her. In the case of John Phillips, she did not feel offended. She knew he was a good man, and his eyes did not show disrespect. She felt comfortable around him already.

  “I’m not even sure myself yet what I’m doing here, Reverend,” she answered. “I just felt a calling. My parents both worked among Indians in Oklahoma when I was young, so being around them is not completely foreign to me. I fully understand the needs here, and the problems.”

  “Well, you do have your work cut out for you,” Phillips was saying. “Have you met Anita Wolf yet?”

  “We’ve only been here for a couple of days, John,” Janine answered for Evelyn. “We spent most of that time resting and getting ourselves clean. I haven’t shown Evelyn much of anything yet. When I found out you were here, I decided I would show Evelyn where agency headquarters are, perhaps introduce her to Mr. McLaughlin. Is he here?”

  John scowled. “He’s here. As always, he promised to do something about the whiskey smuggling, but with such a big area to cover, I don’t expect a lot of progress. Too many of the Sioux are eager to get their hands on the firewater. They’ll find a way to get it, and the whiskey dealers will oblige them. They don’t care what the stuff does to the people who consume it, and they don’t care that the Indians spend their government rations for watered-down slop.” The man sighed, looking back at Evelyn. “Some of these men would starve before they’d go without their whiskey.” He turned to tie the horses. “It’s getting worse all the time, and part of the reason is that their spirits are so broken, they see no future for themselves. They drink themselves into oblivion just to ease the pain in their souls. It’s a never-ending battle, Miss Gibbons,” he said, taking her elbow. “We might as well go and meet McLaughlin so we can head back.”

  “One thing in addition to the Indian situation concerns me, Reverend,” Evelyn told him before going inside. “We passed a farm home when first coming to the church a couple of days ago. Janine said it was owned by a Seth Bridges. He has two adopted girls, and the one I saw looks poorly cared for. Janine says the man won’t even send the girls to school. He seems to use them like little slaves. I can’t help worrying just how abused they really are. Isn’t there something we can do?”

  Phillips sighed. “They are private citizens farming government land and under no agency or mission jurisdiction. Bridges supplies food to the agency and the fort. I agree it’s a sad situation, and I’ve tried to talk to the man, but he’s mean and crusty, threatened me with a shotgun more than once. I feel all I can do at this point is pray for him and those poor girls. We suspect him of being involved in whiskey smuggling but haven’t been able to prove it.”

  Evelyn had already made a secret vow that she would try to get through to Bridges. There had to be a way to help those girls. She could not get the picture out of her mind of the younger one watching her with those big, sad eyes.

  As they stepped up onto the porch of agency headquarters, Phillips opened the door for them. A soldier sitting at a desk looked up, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Evelyn. He glanced at John. “Back again, Reverend?”

  “This is Evelyn Gibbons. I’d like to introduce her to Jim McLaughlin. She’ll be teaching over at Little Eagle.”

  The soldier nodded and rose, walking to another door and opening it. Somewhere in the back of the house Evelyn could hear a woman talking and children playing. She walked inside McLaughlin’s office, where she saw a large man with white hair and a white mustache sitting behind a desk. “Reverend’s back, Mr. McLaughlin,” the soldier said. “He’s got his sister, Janine, with him, and a newcomer, Miss… what was that again?” The man turned to Evelyn, who stepped forward, holding her chin proudly and facing McLaughlin squarely. McLaughlin had a domineering look about him, and Evelyn made up her mind right away that she would make sure he knew he could not intimidate her.

  “Miss Evelyn Gibbons,” she said, reaching across the desk and offering her hand. “My Father is Reverend Edward Gibbons. He taught and preached for some years on Indian reservations down in Oklahoma. Perhaps you have heard of him?” She put on her sweetest smile, declining to appear to be someone who would fully cooperate with whatever the rules were on the reservation. Deep inside, though, she had no intention of doing any such thing.

  “Well, Miss Gibbons, how very nice to meet you.” McLaughlin took her hand and shook it lightly. “I believe I have heard of your father, but I’ve never met him. Where do you hail from?”

  “My parents moved to Wisconsin when I was twelve. I attended Ripon College and have a degree in teaching.” She explained what had led up to her decision to come to Standing Rock. “I have agreed to teach for one year.”

  “Well, that was quite a courageous decision, considering the things you must have had to give up. What do your parents think of it?”

  “My mother died about six months ago. My father, of course, understands about mission work, although I am not working for the Mission Association. I am being paid through them by a special grant from the government.”

  “Well, I am sure that Reverend Phillips and his sister can fill you in on the situation. They have worked here for about three years now. You’ll find you have your work cut out for you.”

  Evelyn was getting tired of hearing that remark. Just about everyone she had met so far had said the same thing, and the challenge they all alluded to was beginning to make her anxious to get started.

  “I am ready to do what needs to be done,” she answered. “I do have some experience already from working with my parents.”

  The man nodded. “You’ll need it. Of course, things have been more peaceful around here since Sitting Bull left this world, but there is still a problem getting most of the adults to cooperate and allow their children to be taught. Since the majority of them won’t hear of sending their children off the reservation, we have decided to set up some schooling right here, in hopes we can reach them that way. There are about six thousand Sioux here, Miss Gibbons, many of them still restless and hostile. I have a bit of a reputation for being quite stern, but it’s necessary, and I do call many of them ‘friend.’ I try to be fair about everything. As I said, with Sitting Bull gone, things have been better, but we still have one stubborn fellow out there who keeps things stirred up. He’s called Black Hawk. So far I have decided to let him be. We don’t need any more disasters like Wounded Knee around here for a while. As long as Black Hawk stays out in the hills and canyons and leaves things alone, I’ll let it slide.”

  “Yes, Janine told me about Black Hawk,” Evelyn answered. “I am going to make it one of my goals to get the man’s little boy into the reservation school.”

  McLaughlin looked at her as though she had lost her mind. �
��I don’t think you realize what a project that would be, Miss Gibbons. You leave Black Hawk to me. Don’t do anything foolish.”

  “Well, I can at least talk to his sister, Many Birds. I am told she lives on the reservation.”

  “Yes, with an old grandmother, Dancing Woman. If you can reach the sister, there is a remote possibility you can reach Black Hawk, but it isn’t likely.”

  If this Black Hawk won’t come to me, then I will go to him, Evelyn thought. She decided it was best for the moment not to voice the words. None of them understood that she had more reason to meet this Black Hawk than just trying to teach his son, nor had she ever liked being told that anything was impossible. “We shall see, Mr. McLaughlin. We shall see.”

  Conversation turned to other problems on the reservation, but Evelyn’s thoughts kept turning to the elusive Black Hawk. Some of her weariness left her as an eagerness to get started began to grow in her soul. In spite of the hardships and deprivations she would face here, she knew in her heart she was doing the right thing. The more she heard that she had her work cut out for her and that some things would be impossible, the more determined she was to prove them all wrong. Already she knew the key to reaching most of the stubborn Sioux who clung to the old ways and refused schooling. That key was Black Hawk. If she could reach him, the others would follow. And eventually, somehow, she would also find a way to help those poor young girls living with Seth Bridges.