Follow The Stars Home Page 8
Her heavy sigh snapped his attention back to her.
To avoid reprimand, he followed the last of the Lakota out of the room.
Close behind, Quiet Thunder asked, “How are you?”
He steeled himself against her soft voice. “Fine.”
“Do you have enough food?”
His narrowed gaze pierced hers. Like a snake, he released his venomous tongue. “No one has enough.”
She pressed closer. “I’ll give you mine.”
His brows twitched together. “What will you eat?” He could stand the pangs of hunger, but could never stand a full stomach knowing her food eased his discomfort.
Frowning, she stammered, “I need only a little. They’ll supply us with more soon.”
His chuckle held a bitter edge. “Yes. They always do what they promise.”
“Black Bear-”
“Stop. You’re only making it worse.” He didn’t know what he was saying, but the words choked him.
Her head jerked up as if he’d slapped her. “How?”
His shoulders went rigid as he said hoarsely, “It’s better for both of us. Go.”
“Go? I cannot go anywhere. I came here because of you.” Accusation edged her voice.
Agony twisted his thoughts, and pain mixed with pleasure when his gaze caressed her lips.
Her eyes widened, and she stepped closer as they walked.
The pain of not being able to hold her cut his flesh deeper than the Sun Dance. He snapped the pain inside himself. He wouldn’t dishonor his parents with weakness. “Leave me alone, Quiet Thunder.” He strode down the hall toward the door, bumping others from his path.
Outside, a teacher frowned. “Are you all right?”
Black Bear nodded, the lie cutting him, too. It would never be all right. Not here.
****
The photo sessions stretched across days. Girls preened to look their best, dressed in their finery. When the teacher finally called for Quiet Thunder, she hoped only to catch another glimpse of Black Bear. Seeing him again would confirm or deny her suspicion: he told her to leave him alone because it pained him too much to be near her and not touch her. Did he think she didn’t suffer the same agony?
Running Wolf waited outside the room. The teacher ushered them both inside, motioned Quiet Thunder to the chair.
The photographer conversed with the teacher, who nodded. “Stay still until Mr. Choate finishes. While he’s taking your photo, think of your families far away.”
Quiet Thunder could not help but be saddened by the thought. Her brother slumped against the arm of her chair.
The photographer murmured in a slow, approving tone as he worked the black box. When he’d apparently finished, he stood straight.
“Very nice.” The teacher smiled. “You may go.”
Quiet Thunder paused at a table against the wall where rows of photos sat. Black Bear’s likeness staring from the paper startled her. Standing alone, sorrow lurked behind the fierce façade, but also a glimmer of fear. She shared his fears–not knowing whether they’d ever see their families again, or their homelands. Or even sleep under the wide star-filled sky again, instead of shut inside a white-walled box. Lakota constructed their tipis to be round like the sun and moon because circles held great power, but this place held no power except to make them miserable.
How she missed hearing the chants of their sacred rituals, even the sound of her mother and father murmuring to one another in her beloved language. She missed the smell of meats cooking over a fire. The yip of a coyote in the night. The mournful cry of Black Bear’s flute floating on the breeze. That memory bit hard as a dog bite.
She missed their tipi’s buffalo skins, weathered from many winters and decorated with the symbols bearing testament to their lives: the sun, the crescent moon, hunters aiming their arrows at buffalo. The walls of the Indian Industrial School bore no such decoration. They stood as empty of meaning as the wasichu’s lives.
Her ache deepened as she remembered the night by the stream, when Black Bear played his flute for her alone. Would she ever hear tender words from him again? His lips appeared too tight with anger now.
The photographer approached. “Someone you know?”
She nodded, and asked, “May I see our photo?”
Choate smiled. “You and your brother’s? Sure, I’ll show it to you later.”
His words made little sense to her, but he seemed pleased. Running Wolf glared at him, and then left. Unwilling to risk the man’s disapproval, she forced a smile and followed.
During the evening meal, Quiet Thunder overheard two teachers say Pratt would return the next day. She had trouble keeping track of days; living inside the dormitory made her feel disoriented, disconnected from Mother Earth. The hard wooden floors prevented her from feeling the ground beneath. The walls and even the windows prevented her from hearing the animals chatter, the birds sing. She disliked the barrier between her and all she knew and loved.
More teachers had been arriving each day, bustling in and out of classrooms. As the time neared for classes to begin, the atmosphere changed.
As predicted, the next morning Pratt brought more youngsters, Cheyenne and Kiowa, from as young as five winters to the age of Quiet Thunder and Black Bear. After arriving from the train station, Pratt gathered everyone outside to greet the newcomers.
Though Black Bear stood across the yard watching, Quiet Thunder felt him tense. She went to her brother, who stood near him. Her brother turned to speak to another boy.
Quiet Thunder slid next to Black Bear. Miss Mather watched, as Quiet Thunder knew she would.
Her heart aching for these new children, she heaved a ragged breath. “The teachers say someday children of all tribes will come here.”
“Yes, even Crow. They would leave us alone with our enemy.” His eyes glittered with hatred.
Understanding his feelings, she touched his arm. The Lakota befriended the Arapaho and Comanche people, so knew of their ways. Although wars with other tribes grew less frequent as the whites moved west, Blackfoot provoked Lakota by stealing horses, sometimes attacking villages.
“You must not endanger yourself.” If he prepared himself now, maybe he could accept the notion in time.
When he turned his hard gaze on her, the hairs of her neck prickled.
“We are all in danger, all the time. Most of all from ourselves.” Abruptly he strode through the crowd.
His words sliced through her, and made her want to cry out, pull him close. Quiet Thunder opened her mouth to call him, but a glance at Miss Mather silenced her. The teacher’s furrowed brow and narrowed eyes might signal concern, but Quiet Thunder couldn’t risk unwanted focus on her and Black Bear.
He was right. They all faced the same predicament now: how to survive in the white man’s world.
****
The next morning, a teacher roused the boys from their beds. “Get dressed. After breakfast, we’re having an assembly.”
As he dressed, Black Bear wondered how an assembly differed from the usual speeches. Maybe a more formal talk to students. Or maybe the photographer would be there to document it—whites seemed to like to show their photos off so much.
In the cafeteria, a somber mood prevailed. Students glanced warily at the doors and at each other while they ate. After they’d eaten, Mr. Standing, the assistant superintendent of the school stood.
“Because we now have a full complement of teachers, along with 82 students, today marks a new day—the day the school officially begins its curriculum. We’ll begin each day with drill exercise. You’ll attend class for half the day, and spend the other half learning trades. After class, you’ll have ample opportunity to engage in extracurricular activities such as sports or music.” With the eye of an eagle, he scanned the faces of the students before him.
Not having had time to learn any English, the newer students exchanged confused glances.
The assistant superintendent flashed a tight smile. “Many of you
have only just arrived, but beginning classes right away will allow you the benefit of immediate exposure to English lessons. Let me stress again that English is the only language you will speak here. This is very important to remember. Any student who speaks his or her native tongue will be punished. Is this clear?”
Students sat unmoving, their focus concentrated on the man.
His nostrils flared, and his hand came down hard on the table. “I said, is this clear?”
Miss Mather stood. “Rest assured the teachers will reinforce this.”
To that, Black Bear could attest. He’d slipped once, commenting in Lakota about the poor condition of the bread at dinner to the boy beside him. A male teacher had raised his hand to strike him, but withdrew when Black Bear crouched, poised to return the blow.
Shrinking back, the teacher had hissed, “You will speak only English! Nothing else.”
Shuffling down the line, Black Bear had glared, and the teacher had dropped his gaze.
The assistant superintendent had the same intent look in his eye as he spoke. “We’re depending on you to make this school a success because we want you to succeed. With sustained effort, you will. You each are in charge of your own destiny. Make it great.”
At that, Black Bear ground his teeth with a bitter chuckle. If he were in charge of his own destiny, he wouldn’t be here.
The man paused and gazed into student’s faces one by one. “Because Superintendent Pratt believes in you, he is entrusting you all with a duty.”
The hair on the back of Black Bear’s neck bristled in warning. For a wasichu to entrust a Lakota with anything, the thing was likely to be deadly. Like a wise man’s test, the Indian must be able to pass the test in order to survive. Sometimes that meant not accepting the thing being offered. Still, he’d listen with an open heart to be sure.
“That duty,” the school official lifted a finger, “calls for you to rise above. Not all will heed the call. Only the most courageous, the most ambitious, the most wise will answer the call.”
Something in the man’s tone—the challenge, the taunt of it—set Black Bear on edge. Like a madman, the white’s eye gleamed.
“What do we ask? For the best of you to step forth.”
The best? Black Bear glanced at Eagle Elk, entranced by the man’s false promises, his attention unwavering.
Standing held his head high. “We need the best among you to volunteer as captains of the guard.”
At the word ‘guard,’ Black Bear tensed. Never had a white used the term in any way to benefit anyone but themselves.
The school official clasped his hands behind his back like a trickster readying to reveal a trick. “Who among you will answer the call?”
Eagle Elk’s arm shot upward. A few others raised their hands too.
With a self-satisfied smile, the man nodded. “Very good.”
A silent warning went off within Black Bear, like watching a fellow Lakota fall into a trap and being helpless to prevent it.
The assistant superintendent went on to describe the duties—overseeing other students while they marched between buildings, keeping everyone in line, restoring order when others broke the rules. Reporting any who broke a rule.
To the volunteers, he said, “Report to me personally, beginning now. The rest of you are dismissed.”
Eagle Elk stood tall, his head high. When Black Bear passed, Eagle Elk smiled the hard smile of a victorious warrior.
If only he could tell the boy he would be fighting the wrong battle.
Chapter Five
The November air held a chill, and caused Quiet Thunder to shiver. Miss Mather and another teacher led the girls on a walk around the school grounds’ perimeter. Quiet Thunder kept close to listen to the teachers’ conversation. Not only to improve her English skills. Lately, she’d found listening proved useful in learning other things. The teachers spoke freely to one another. From what Quiet Thunder gathered, Pratt felt pleased with the photography sessions but also eager for Choate to do more.
“The uniforms will arrive soon. Then we can begin assimilation in earnest.” Miss Mather glanced back. Her eyes widened when she met Quiet Thunder’s gaze. “Well hello. You walk so quietly.”
Quiet Thunder forced a smile and gave a nod. Hopefully the teachers would think she understood little.
“Quiet Thunder, isn’t it?” Miss Mather slowed her pace. “What a strangely beautiful name. This week, you’ll choose a new name. Won’t that be nice?”
To hide her alarm, Quiet Thunder furrowed her brow to appear confused. The only thing that confused her was why they thought would she want another name. And why more photographs?
The other teacher smiled. “New uniforms, new names… soon, you’ll all fit in nicely.”
Fit in? With the wasichus? She doubted it, but returned the woman’s smile.
Miss Mather murmured, “As the captain says, ‘Kill the Indian, save the man’.”
Quiet Thunder shuddered. Did assimilation mean erasing all traces of Lakota from them? She had no wish to be saved.
“You poor dear. You’re trembling.” Miss Mather touched her arm. “We’re almost back. You can warm up inside.” To the other wasichu, the teacher said, “We simply have to work harder to teach these youngsters English.”
The woman nodded. “Yes, all our efforts depend on it.”
As they neared the dormitory, the teachers discussed the photography schedule: girls first, because the boys would be busy. Then the Carlisle townsfolk–and the world–would see how completely the natives had been transformed.
Quiet Thunder stiffened. So that was why the photographs held such importance. Captain Pratt would appear a hero, and each student would seem to embrace the wasichu ways. Difficult as it was, she held her tongue–and her anger–in check. Her heart ached to think of Black Bear in a wasichu uniform. How he would hate it!
When they rounded the building, two wagons sat near the main building housing Pratt’s office.
Miss Mather clutched the other teacher’s arm. “Look, delivery wagons. The uniforms must be here. And if I’m not mistaken, our rations too.”
From one wagon, two men hauled sacks. From the other, the men unloaded boxes.
“Take the students inside.” Miss Mather hastened across the expanse of grass to the main building.
The teacher pulled open the door. “Let’s go, girls.” Her tone sharpened whenever Miss Mather could not hear.
Quiet Thunder shuffled behind the others, and watched Miss Mather greet the men, speak to them, and clasp her hands together, smiling. Something inside her released; finally, the school would provide a full meal. Hunger pangs would not keep her awake tonight.
****
In the Dining Hall, she sat at the end of a table to wait. Strange, the boys had not yet arrived.
A ruckus sounded from the hallway, then the door opened.
Gasps filled the room, mixing with the din: boys chanting, crying. Their long hair cut short.
Horror gripped Quiet Thunder. Had their parents died? Who did they mourn? She scanned the crowd for Black Bear, but located only her brother. Horror turned to fear. Surely, he had not been killed! Was this the wasichu’s revenge? Scalping them?
With that thought, she rose and rushed to Running Wolf. Without thinking, she blurted in Lakota, “Where is Black Bear? What’s happened?”
A male teacher attempting to herd the boys to their tables shot her a sharp glance. “In English!” He waved the boys forward.
In his language, she repeated, “Where is Black Bear?”
His teeth clenched, Running Wolf spat the words. “They cut our hair!”
Her heart wrenched in her chest. “Why?”
Tears welled in her brother’s eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Black Bear—where is he?”
“In the guard house.”
Fear twisted her stomach. “Why?”
“He refused to let them touch him.”
Relief flooded her. He was alive.
But imprisoned. She had to see him.
Through the commotion, she slipped out the door, ran down the hall, out the door and across the lawn with no disruption.
The guardhouse sat at the far end of the boys’ dormitory. Black Bear’s chants echoed louder.
One boy stood guard. Eagle Elk. Shorn of his long hair, his features appeared sharp. At seeing her, surprise turned to irritation. “You must leave.”
“I must speak with Black Bear.”
“I’m not allowed—”
“Eagle Elk, I beg you.”
His scowl faded and he glanced left and right. “I can’t let you inside. But there’s a window around here. Do it quickly. Then go.”
With a nod, she rushed to the side of the guardhouse. Too high for her to see through, the barred window would at least allow him to hear her. “Black Bear?”
His chants paused, then continued. A mourning song.
She still did not understand. “What happened? Why did they cut the boys’ hair?”
Silence cut the air. “To make us alike. To make us white.” He spat the words.
She heaved a ragged breath. No one had died, then. “But what about you?” What would happen to him?
Again, silence. Splaying her hands against the boarded wall, she whispered a prayer for Wakinyan Tanka, the Great Thunderbird, to protect him. “I am with you in spirit, and share your sorrow.”
A choking sound echoed from within, brief but unmistakable.
Eagle Elk peered around the side. “Go. A teacher comes.”
Quiet Thunder’s breath hitched in her chest. How could she leave him alone? How else would Pratt punish him for his stubbornness?
Glaring, Eagle Elk repeated, “Go.”
Biting back a sob, she fled to the Dining Hall, which was still chaotic. The boys had been seated, but loud conversations filled the room.
As she slipped into her seat, a woman’s arched brow and cold stare told her she’d been missed after all. Gripping her stomach, she sipped a glass of water, hoping to appear ill. She could always claim her emotions had overcome her. Only she would know the truth.