Red Dove, Listen to the Wind

by Sonia Antaki

  “Backwards? I’ll give you backwards,” screamed the nun, grabbing a fistful of hair. “How dare you question my authority… and try to poison me!”

  “Poison, poison, poison,” roared in Red Dove’s ears as her legs buckled and she fell to the floor.

  Wanichokan Wi

  The Winter Moon

  Mission Boarding School The Reservation—Winter, 1890

  ›› A Celtic Cross ‹‹

  Days passed in a haze of fever, and when Red Dove opened her eyes at last, it was evening, and the pale gray walls and cold metal beds of the empty sick room only deepened the gloom.

  She could see through the snow-covered window to the hill beyond. There, in the ashy dusk, was a small but growing clump of crosses below the windmill on the crest.

  Where other girls are buried, she thought, girls like me… .

  “Back with us at last, are ya,” came a cheerful, chirping voice, breaking into her thoughts. Sister Mary Rose hovered over her, straightening covers and fluffing her pillow. “Better now?”

  “How long have I been here?” Red Dove asked.

  “No more’n a few days.”

  “Days? What happened?”

  “Can’t tell ya much, ’cause I don’t know meself. Sister Agatha locked me in me room—for tryin’ to poison her, she said.”

  “But you didn’t—”

  “Course not. It was you who gave it to her—”

  “You said the herb was dry enough—”

  “Och, child, why would ya listen to a poor Irish girl like me? What would I know about the plants round here? I’ve no head for matters like that.”

  “But you said—”

  “An’ I’m truly sorry. D’ya forgive me?” said the nun, leaning in close.

  Red Dove nodded. “I do. But what if I had drunk it—”

  “Then I’d never be able to forgive meself… but what if she had? Now there’s a thought,” Sister Mary Rose said with a twinkle in her eye. “That kinda accident might’a solved a lot o’ problems.” She smiled wickedly. “But come now. We’re all glad you’re better—least I am anyways. First I was afraid ya did drink the poison, but the doctor said no, and then we thought it might be consumption. That’s what killed most o’ them up there.” Sister Mary Rose nodded at the cluster of graves, visible through the window. “But it was just influenza, thank the Lord, though bad enough to keep you here for days—”

  “Did anyone come see me?” Red Dove asked, longing for word of her brother.

  “Course. The doctor, Sister Gertrude, Miriam—”

  “Miriam?”

  “She was worried about ya, child. Everyone thought she was ’specially brave to come look after ya—”

  “Look after me?”

  “Sure. She could’a caught the fever herself, but she said no, she was goin’ to be a Good Samaritan and take care o’ ya—to be an example to the other girls. Not like her, is it?”

  No, it’s not, Red Dove thought, wondering what possible reason Miriam could have had for wanting to help.

  Sister Mary Rose opened a small brown jar on the table near the bed, took a sniff and wrinkled her nose. “Camphor. Nasty stuff. I’ll rub it on ya later,” she said, and shoved the top back on. She plopped into the chair next to Red Dove’s bed. “But now I want to show ya somethin’ else.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a silver cross, with a ring in the center, encrusted with bits of green and amber glass and covered with strange markings. “Celtic. Me mother gave it to me before she died, when I was but a wee babe. She told the nuns who raised me that it would help find things that were lost.”

  “But why are you giving it to me?”

  “I’m lettin’ ya use it because it holds memories,” the nun said impatiently. “I thought it might help ya find things—”

  “What things?”

  “Och, I don’t know. People ya might be lookin’ for… when ya need to, that is.”

  What is she talking about? Once again, Red Dove longed for the pouch to help her understand.

  “I’ve never shown it to anyone here but you,” Sister Mary Rose went on. “Because your magic won’t help ya find things, will it?”

  “It brings me dreams and visions, and it helps me understand what people are thinking and feeling, so it might—”

  “Well, try this anyway,” the nun said, pushing the cross towards her.

  “One bead’s missing,” Red Dove said.

  “That it is. Been gone as long as I can remember.”

  Red Dove wrapped her fingers around it and felt the metal warm to her touch.

  “Is it workin’?” the nun asked hopefully.

  “I don’t know,” Red Dove said. “It’s getting warmer.” She held the object far from her body and the metal cooled. “No… it was probably just the heat of my body. Nothing seems to be happening.”

  “Nothin’?” asked the nun, disappointed. “It’s not tellin’ ya anythin’ at all?”

  “No,” Red Dove said. “Maybe it doesn’t really have any power—”

  “How can ya say that?” A bright pink flush appeared on the nun’s cheeks. “It was me mother’s, I tell ya, an’ it used to help me find things—”

  “Used to?”

  “Yes, but not much anymore. Maybe I’m too old. I thought you bein’ so young an’ all… but if you’re so full of doubt, an’ ya don’t believe—”

  “You’re probably right, Sister,” Red Dove said, handing the cross back to the nun and pulling the covers up to her chin. “It was probably meant for you alone.” She saw the nun’s expression. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” Red Dove turned her head and stared out the window at the snow-covered graves on the hill.

  The nun caught her look. “Course ya didn’t, child,” she said, patting the covers. “You’re just gettin’ over bein’ sick, an’ you’re worried. But everythin’s goin’ to be fine, I tell ya.”

  Red Dove watched her bustle around the room, sliding jars and bottles as she dusted the shelves, humming as she went. But there’s something else she’s not telling me. The minute the nun’s back was turned, she reached over to the chair and felt the familiar lump inside the pocket of her dress. She shoved the pouch under the covers, and still holding it tight, listened for the familiar drone. At last she understood.

  “It’s Walks Alone, isn’t it?” she blurted, sitting up straight, dread coursing through her.

  Sister Mary Rose dropped her dust cloth. “You’re readin’ my thoughts again, aren’t ya?” she sighed. “Well if ya must know, I brought ya the cross so you could tell us where to find him—”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s run away. The priests were too hard on him, I think. They punished him for stealin’.” Sister Mary Rose rushed over to the bed and pushed Red Dove gently back down on the pillow. “Don’t go gettin’ alarmed—”

  “What did he steal?”

  “Sister Agatha’s diary, they said—”

  “He wouldn’t.”

  “Try tellin’ that to Sister Agatha. He heard you were sick, rushed into her office an’ demanded to see ya. She wouldn’t let him, of course, so the priests had to haul him off.” Sister Mary Rose tilted her head and leveled her cool green eyes at Red Dove. “After he left, she noticed her diary went missin’. Ya never heard a woman scream an’ yell so much. Makes ya want to know what was in it, no?” she said with a wink.

  But Red Dove didn’t share her glee. “What happened to him?” she asked, holding her breath as she waited for the answer.

  “Beat him, if ya must know.” The nun looked nervously at Red Dove. “Then locked him in a closet. He got out somehow, and run away—”

  “I have to find him.” Red Dove dropped her feet to the floor.

  Sister Mary Rose shoved her back down onto the bed. “Ya can’t. You’re too weak. Just lie still an’ get better.” Sister Mary Rose gave her another firm push. “He’s goin’ to be fine, I tell ya. If ya get some sleep, things’ll look a whole lot brighter i
n the mornin’. An’ if you’re not wantin’ this,” she said, holding up the cross, “I’ll be takin’ it back.”

  “I won’t be going anywhere… tonight,” she whispered after the nun had left the room. “But can I trust you?”

  ›› Red-Handed ‹‹

  The hours hung heavy as Red Dove waited for dawn. She longed for sleep, but was too afraid. At last, a milky glow seeped through the little window. She listened hard, but apart from a few scattered rustlings, all was quiet. She pulled off the covers and lowered her feet to the frigid floor. The morning chill froze her breath as she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and, reaching under the mattress, stuffed the pouch carefully between the thin pad and the metal bedframe.

  Pushing aside the plain white curtain and gazing through the icy pane at the fields beyond, she scoured the horizon. There wasn’t much to see—a dappled pony; trees, withered and lifeless against a leaden sky; squash and potatoes harvested; corn stalks cut; hay mowed.

  Where is he? And how am I going to find him?

  A sudden clatter from the kitchen told her the day had begun.

  Too late now, she thought sadly, pulling the blanket tighter and climbing back into bed.

  Sister Mary Rose burst into the room. “They’re accusin’ you, child. They’re sayin’ you took Sister Agatha’s diary.”

  “I didn’t!”

  “I told ’em that, but Miriam said she saw ya with it—”

  “She’s lying.”

  “That she is, but they all think Walks Alone gave it to ya before he ran away, an’ that you’re hidin’ it here, somewhere.” Sister Mary Rose tilted her head. “So I said I’d come an’ give a look. Let’s prove ’em wrong, shall we?”

  Red Dove nodded—and then realized: If she does, she’ll see the pouch. “Don’t.”

  “Why not? It’s the only way.” Before Red Dove could say more, the nun crouched down, curled her hand between the mattress and the bed frame, and jumped back. “Dear God,” she gasped.

  Did she find the pouch?

  But it was something else the nun was holding: a small, red, velvet-covered book.

  “What is it?” Red Dove asked.

  “What d’ya think? Her diary. How d’ya explain it?”

  “I didn’t take it.”

  “An’ I believe ya. ‘Cause I have a pretty good idea who did—Miriam herself, most like. Hid it here whilst you were sleepin’.” Sister Mary Rose opened the book and started scanning the pages. “That explains why she was so keen to look after ya—”

  “We should give it back—”

  “Do you know what Sister Agatha would do to ya if ya did?”

  “Then we’d better hide it.”

  “Yes… just let me have a wee look first.” The nun started riffling through the pages.

  “Don’t. You’ll get us in more trouble. Hide it. Please,” Red Dove begged, but Sister Mary Rose kept turning pages until she found something.

  “Here, read this.” She pushed the book under Red Dove’s nose.

  “I don’t want to see it,” Red Dove said.

  “Then why’d you take it?” Sister Agatha roared, sweeping into the room and grabbing the diary. “Caught you both red-handed, didn’t I?”

  “I–” stammered Sister Mary Rose, too startled to say more.

  “Reading my private diary,” Sister Agatha thundered. “How dare you? Go and wait for me in my office,” she said, nostrils flaring. “Now.”

  “Yes, Sister.” Head down, Sister Mary Rose darted out of the room.

  “And you. Come with me.” Sister Agatha grabbed Red Dove by the collar of her nightgown and pulled her, barefoot and shivering, across the room, down the hall and into the chapel, accompanied by the steady clack, clack, clack of her wooden beads.

  The other girls, sitting in their pews, stared as Red Dove was dragged to the front of the chapel. Her clothes were damp with sweat and her feet were cold against the hard stone floor.

  Sister Agatha dropped her onto the foremost pew. “Sit there. Don’t move.”

  Red Dove blinked and looked around. Pine boughs and Christmas ribbons covered the altar. Scents of beeswax and incense filled the air. She shivered.

  “I have three announcements,” said Sister Agatha, her cold eyes sweeping the room. “A boy has run away. George, a troublemaker. He made a foolish mistake, and if he’s found, he’ll see the error of his ways. And if he’s not, well… that’ll be the worse for him.” She stared at the sea of frightened eyes. “He stole my diary.” Her unblinking eyes bore down on Red Dove. “And gave it to his sister. Isn’t that right, young lady?”

  Red Dove’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

  “Stand up, Mary. Go ahead and tell everyone what you’ve done and why you did it.”

  Red Dove rose to her feet, knees shaking. She stared at the pews full of wide-eyed, anxious girls.

  “It wasn’t me,” Red Dove managed to croak.

  “You’re lying, you insolent girl. The two of you were in it together. That’s my second announcement. I caught you red-handed with the third accomplice: Sister Mary Rose—”

  “It isn’t true!” shouted Red Dove

  “Quiet,” warned Sister Agatha. “So as of this morning, Sister Mary Rose is dismissed. Immediately.”

  Stunned gasps followed.

  “She’ll be sent back to Ireland. And we won’t have to put up with her insolence—or her stupidity—again,” Sister Agatha said with a satisfied smirk.

  ›› Sitting Bull is Dead ‹‹

  Red Dove lingered in the chapel, waiting for Sister Agatha’s return. She breathed in the smells of Christmas, only days away, and stared up through the high arched windows, trying to imagine the road Sister Mary Rose would take. Ireland, she thought. How far is that?

  She reached up for the pouch, and remembered: it was still hidden, stuffed under the mattress of her bed.

  “You’re in terrible danger,” someone said.

  Danger? Who is?

  Red Dove turned her head to see through the open door of the chapel. There in the hall stood Jerusha, surrounded by Sister Agatha and a flock of squawking nuns.

  “Silence, all of you,” Sister Agatha said, frowning at Jerusha. “Just tell us what you know.”

  “The Indians are on the warpath. They could attack any moment—”

  “Ach du lieber Gott!” cried Sister Gertrude.

  “You’ve got to get the children out of here; let them go back to their families where they’ll be safe,” Jerusha went on.

  “Just tell us what happened,” Sister Agatha answered in a steely tone.

  “It was the ghost dancing,” Jerusha said breathlessly. “The reservation agent thought it was stirring the Indians up, so he ordered Sitting Bull to put a stop to it. But Sitting Bull wouldn’t. Or couldn’t. And the Indian police, the ones who work for the soldiers, went to his cabin and arrested him. But he wouldn’t go, so they shot him, and he’s dead—”

  Red Dove rushed up.

  “There you are my dear. I was so worried.” Relief flooded Jerusha’s face as she opened her arms. “But why are you in your nightdress? You look sick. That’s it. I’m taking both you and your brother home—”

  “You can’t.” Sister Agatha’s eyes narrowed. “All the children are staying with me. They’re as safe here as anywhere and here they will remain.”

  “But Sister—”

  “Nonsense.” Sister Agatha turned, raised her wooden rosary beads to her pursed lips and stared through the window. “If the children are here, the warriors are less likely to attack,” she said in a calm, even tone.

  “Less likely to attack… attack you, you mean?” Jerusha said, her voice pitching higher.

  “The Indians won’t harm their own—”

  “So you’ll use the children as hostages? For shame. How dare you?”

  “And how dare you speak to me that way,” said Sister Agatha, her eyes glinting dangerously.

  Jerusha’s eyes raked the hall. “And whe
re’s her brother? Where’s Walks Alone? What have you done with him?”

  “He’s run away—”

  “Run away? Dear God, is no one safe with you?” Jerusha straightened her spine and clenched her little fists.

  “That’s enough,” said Sister Agatha, towering over her. “We don’t need any more trouble—”

  “Oh, I’ll give you trouble.” Jerusha glared up at the nun. “I’ll see that you’re called up by the authorities, that you’re punished—”

  “For what?” Sister Agatha said with a smirk.

  “For endangerment of the children—”

  “Endangerment?” Sister Agatha laughed. “These are dangerous times, and you think I’m endangering them? Our best security is the children. If they stay here, then no one will get hurt.”

  “I’ve never heard anything so outrageous, using children to protect yourself. Surely—” Jerusha swiveled her head from nun to nun, searching for support.

  But there wasn’t any. One by one, the nuns turned their frightened faces away.

  Jerusha looked at Red Dove. “We will find your brother, won’t we? That’s the least we can do. And if he’s run away, I’m sure he had plenty of reason… and will have stories to tell about the way he’s been treated here,” she said, glaring at the nuns.

  “What do you mean by that?” asked Sister Agatha.

  “Things my brother heard.” Jerusha turned back to Red Dove and grabbed her arm. “So you’re coming with me.”

  “No!” The heel of Sister Agatha’s boot came down against the floor. “They belong to me. You saw the document. They were placed in my care.”

  “I saw some papers—”

  “That gave me the authority,” said Sister Agatha, smiling grimly.

  Red Dove looked from one to the other. Do something, she begged silently.

  Jerusha blinked in confusion. Then, suddenly, her shoulders slumped and she let go of Red Dove. “Ah, my dear, I’m so sorry, but the law is the law—”