by Sonia Antaki
“It’s Wakiyela Sa,” she said with a shrug.
“Waki what?”
“Red Dove. In your language.”
“Nice. Where was you goin’, Red Dove?”
“To my people.”
“Your people, huh?” Rick laughed. “That ain’t where you’re headed now, is it? Where’d you come from? You got short hair an’ speak English like you been to school, but you’re not dressed like any schoolgirl I seen.”
“I’m going to search for my family,” Red Dove repeated, finding her courage now that she was no longer staring at the barrel of a gun.
“Maybe you don’t wanna go lookin’ for ’em right now.” The smile faded from Rick’s face. “Gettin’ colder,” he mumbled, and hunched his shoulders. “So just forget I said anythin’.”
I will, thought Red Dove, pulling her fingers from the pouch so she wouldn’t have to learn any more.
›› Where’s Your Dog ‹‹
In the distance, the gates of the fort opened, sinister and strange, as they covered the last few miles on the rutted, snowy road.
Is this where I was before? It looks so different.
Red Dove searched her memory and again was struck by the sweet stench of rotting plums. That was summer, and this is winter… what is the pouch trying to tell me?
She raised her fingers to her throat.
“Why do you keep touchin’ your neck like that?” asked Rick. “This here’s where we live,” he went on, nodding at a row of lighted windows that dotted the walls around the fort. “We’re soldiers,” he said, smiling broadly.
Red Dove didn’t answer.
“Don’t say much, do you?” he grunted. The glow from a lamp pole lit his darkly tanned cheeks, his disheveled auburn hair. “You don’t need to be afraid. I won’t let ’em hurt you. I’ll make sure you get food and a place to sleep.”
“You don’t need to,” she started to say—then stopped abruptly as his amber eyes found hers. She felt something stir inside her. “Where’s your dog?” she blurted.
“How’d ya know I had one?” he asked.
“I saw you once. Here at the fort… I think.”
“Yeah? When?”
“When I was here with my mother. Trading.” Red Dove raised her eyes to his. “You threw a rock at me.”
“Oh.” He ducked his head. “That was you? I shouldn’ta done it. Sorry… You all right?” he muttered.
“I’m fine. So where is your dog?”
“Dunno.” There was a catch in Rick’s voice as he turned his head away.
Red Dove stared at his profile: his copper-colored hair, the skin at the back of his neck, deep-tanned even in winter. She felt for her pouch and watched him remember the animal’s scruffy fur, his wolf-like snout and yellow, close-set eyes.
The wagon jerked to a stop. “Rick, go find some place to put her,” Jake barked.
“Yessir.” Rick gave Red Dove a quick smile, slid from his horse and started shuffling across the frozen ground to the barracks. “Wait here. I’ll be back.”
He’s sorry, Red Dove thought, her fingers curled tight around the pouch, so… maybe I’ll help him find his dog.
And then she remembered. He’s a soldier, he threw a rock at me, and my ankle still hurts… so no, she decided and pulled her blanket tight against the cold.
›› Safe From the Storm ‹‹
One by one, the windows surrounding the fort began to glow as men straggled into the barracks. Red Dove, stiff from exhaustion, sat on her pony, waiting. The sky turned black, the stars covered by clouds, and from the heaviness in the air, she knew the weather would get worse. She pulled her blanket over her head as Wichinchala, cold, hungry and tied to the rail, snorted in protest.
“Shhh,” Red Dove pleaded, patting the animal’s ice-covered mane. “Just a little while longer.”
She looked at the barred gate and the sentry high atop the tower. I should try to escape, but how? I’m hungry, I’m cold and I’m exhausted. And I could get lost in the dark. I’ll wait til morning.
Snow fell harder, and still no one came. Through the lighted windows, Red Dove saw soldiers around a table, leaning back in their chairs, laughing and shouting.
That’s enough, she thought. She slipped off Wichinchala, edged round the ice-covered puddles and stepped up onto the slippery plank walkway.
Then she knocked at the door. No one answered, so she knocked again.
“Heard ya the first time,” hollered a voice. There was a rattle of cups, the scrape of a chair against the floor and the click of a latch being drawn. A scruffy old soldier stood before her, dark against the light, red suspenders dangling from dirty rumpled pants. “Whatcha want?”
“I—”
“It’s an Indian,” he said, turning to the men at the table. “Anyone want ’er?”
“Dangit, Rick!” shouted Jake, throwing his cards on the table. “You was s’posed to take care of ’er.”
“I tried,” answered Rick, jumping up from a bunk in the corner. “But you wouldn’t let me. Every time I started to go help her, you stopped me.”
“Do whatever ya like. Just get rid of ’er so she don’t go interruptin’ our game.” Jake picked up his cards again. Rick looked at Red Dove and shrugged. “Sorry.”
“Get rid of her, I said!” Jake threw down his cards, walked over and shoved Rick outside. Then he slammed the door on both of them.
“This way, I guess,” mumbled Rick, staring at his feet. Coatless, he shivered in the cold.
At least I have a blanket, she thought. “Is he always like that to you?”
“Yeah. But it ain’t so bad. I report to the cap’n, an’ he’s good to me.”
Red Dove reached up to touch her pouch and look into his thoughts. She saw he was lying: the captain couldn’t always protect him. “What about my pony?” she asked, to change the subject.
“It’s an Indian pony, ain’t it? With that shaggy coat it don’t need to be inside—”
“But I want to stay with her—”
“Then tether her in there.” Rick pointed to a stable at the far end of the courtyard, barely visible in the dim light. “An’ you can sleep there, too. There’s straw and water an’ you got a warm blanket. I’ll find you some food in the mornin’.” His amber eyes reflected the light from the lamp. “Listen, I’m real sorry we left you out here in the cold so long. I tried to tell ’em that we shouldn’t treat you like that.”
“I know.”
“Heck. Well, go on then,” he muttered, slapping his arms against his chest. “Get inside where it’s warm.”
Red Dove untied Wichinchala from the wagon and guided her to the stable. The door creaked on its hinges when she opened it and the smell of horses hit her nostrils.
Safe for now, she thought, leading her pony to an empty stall and brushing her face against the animal’s soft neck. But we have a long way to go before we’re home—wherever that is.
She picked up a handful of hay and held it up to the pony’s muzzle. The little horse extended her neck gracefully and nibbled.
“You’re probably thirsty, too,” said Red Dove. Squinting against the dark, she found an ice-filled bucket. “Hope this is clean.” She made a fist and punched through the frozen crust to the liquid beneath. Cupping her hand, she raised it to her nose. Smells okay, she thought, and took a sip. Then she hoisted the bucket close to the pony’s muzzle and watched her drink.
At last, Red Dove burrowed deep into the sweet-smelling hay that lined the stall, her blanket tight against the cold, and finally fell into the delicious sleep she craved.
A woman’s voice broke the stillness. “Rushes, straw, bring whatever you can to soak this up.”
What… who’s there?
Red Dove sat up, opened her eyes and looked around. No one. She peered up at the hayloft. Still no one. She closed her eyes and fell back down again, fearing that sleep wouldn’t come. But it did. And with it came a dream.
Evergreen boughs covering an altar. The sm
ells of Christmas mingled with a sharper scent rising from the rush-covered floor. A frail little white woman moving carefully around bodies lying there, dabbing at her eyes with a tattered gray rag, using it to soak up the pools of sticky liquid from the floor, muttering to herself. “Butchers.”
Who are they? Where am I? In a church?
The old woman moving awkwardly around the broken limbs, the bandaged wounds, the suffering in the faces of the bodies lying there.
They’re dressed like people from my village… but it can’t be real.
Red Dove forced her eyes open to remind herself where she really was—alone with animals in a stable.
“Grandfather?” she croaked. “Tell me what I’m seeing.”
She listened for a response, but all she heard was the sighing of the wind blowing through the cracks in the wall. “Can you hear me?” she tried again. “Tell me what it is, so I can understand.”
But her mind was too weary, her body too spent, and instead of waiting for an answer, she closed her eyes again and fell into a dreamless sleep.
›› It’s So Cold ‹‹
A shaft of moonlight crept through a chink in the wall. Red Dove opened her eyes and pulled the blanket closer.
Almost dawn, but still dark enough to escape—and go find my family.
She knew where they would be: not in the village she had left, but in Paha Sapa, the Black Hills, their winter home.
She rose to her feet, ran her fingers through her tangled hair and stumbled to the door. Using all her strength, she pulled at the frozen latch. It gave with a groan. The courtyard, a mass of mud and freezing water the night before, was now a field of purest white.
She turned to the pony and offered a handful of hay. Then she opened her parfleche. “Not much… but here.” She laid the apple on her palm and stretched it out to the animal. “For you,” she said. “It’s what they promised at the school, but I never got one. So I don’t like them anymore.” She tore off a chunk of dry bread and ate that instead.
Walking to the door and heaving it open, she forced a gap wide enough for them both.
“Time,” she whispered, slinging her parfleche over her shoulder. Noiselessly, she guided the little mare through the opening and across the frozen courtyard up to the heavy gate. And saw the sentry slumped in the tower.
Asleep? Good.
Pushing with all her might, she hoisted the heavy crossbeam off its iron braces. It fell to the ground with a thud.
That’ll wake them, she thought with alarm and shoved open the gate.
“Who’s there?” cried the sentry. Climbs onto pony’s back after opening gate.
But Red Dove was on her pony’s back and through before he could take aim.
“We’re going home, Wichinchala—to find Mother and Grandfather and Walks Alone. And this time just let them try to stop us!”
›› You’re Comin’ With Me ‹‹
Red Dove slowed her pony to a walk, searching for the road. It was almost morning now, but snow still fell in a hard, heavy fall that erased the line between earth and sky.
“Hey,” came a shout from behind.
Rick!
Red Dove dug her heels into the pony’s firm flank. “Yah,” she yelled, “yah, yah, yah.” She kicked Wichinchala to a gallop, but the thunder of hooves grew louder as Rick, on his bigger mount, caught up.
“Where d’you think you’re goin’?” he yelled, coming alongside and grabbing Wichinchala’s reins.
“I told you. My people.”
“Yeah, an’ I told you you might not find ’em,” said Rick, jerking her pony to a halt.
“I won’t, if you don’t let me go—”
“That’s not what I mean,” Rick said, suddenly serious. “You might not want to find ’em… if they were there.”
“Where?”
“Up ahead. Don’t go.” He looked away. “You won’t like what you see.”
Red Dove touched her pouch. She saw Rick’s face, clear in the morning light, and watched as his memories began to form.
It was the same vision she had had before, the same slaughter she had seen in her dream. “That wasn’t my village,” she whispered. “Those weren’t my people—”
“Sure hope you’re right. ’Cause I don’t think you want to go to Wounded Knee Creek.”
She remembered what had frightened her most in the dream: the sight of her brother turning to face the guns.
“Either way, you’re comin’ with me.”
“I am not.” Red Dove grabbed the reins from his hand.
“You have to. You’re my captive.” Rick reached for his gun.
A stab of fear ran through Red Dove. She saw his hand reach for the holster. And come up empty.
Relief flooded through her. She dug hard with her heels and galloped past him, towards the hills, barely visible in the snow.
“Hey!” called Rick, from behind. “You know I can’t go back without you.”
“Then you come with me.”
“What?”
“Come with me. To where I’m going.”
“Aw heck,” cried Rick, closing the gap between them. “Where is that?”
“You’ll find out,” she said.
›› Captive ‹‹
The hiss of falling snow was drowned by the steady thud of hooves as the sun came out and warmed the day. Rick rode a length ahead of Red Dove. “Smoke ahead. See it? Gettin’ close to town, I think, where they’ll have food and water. But you better let me do the talkin’.”
Red Dove didn’t argue. They had a better chance of finding help if a white man asked for it.
Rick handed back the reins and took the lead again.
They rode through the slushy street, past a shuttered storefront and an empty saloon.
“Town ain’t woke up yet,” Rick muttered. “But they’re awake.” He pointed to smoke curling from a squat little cabin opposite a white-painted church. The road that led to it was slick with ice and slush. A dog yapped as they rode by.
Rick brought his mare to a halt and tied her to the fence in front of the cabin. “Wait here,” he said and pulled at the snow-covered gate. It gave with a shower of flakes. He crossed the yard, climbed up on the porch and knocked on the door.
And knocked again. “Nobody home,” he muttered, just as the door creaked open and a balding head appeared. “Whatcha want?”
“’Scuse me sir, but I’m escortin’ a captive here.” Rick jerked his thumb at Red Dove, sitting on her pony. “An Indian. Army business. An’ we need supplies. Can you spare some food and water?”
“Hmmm… ,” said the man, scratching at the stubble on his chin. He squinted against the glare. “Army business? Don’t wanna get mixed up in no trouble. Say,” He pulled up his grimy denim pants and stepped onto the snowy porch to get a better look. “Don’t I know you?” He smiled. “Why I’ll be. It’s you, ain’t it? The girl from the village, the one I brung to the school?”
“Han, Old Tom,” Red Dove replied, sliding off her pony onto the snowy ground. She tied Wichinchala to the fence alongside Rick’s mare and picked her way carefully up through the snow.
“You know each other?”
“Known her people for years, son, so come on in.” Old Tom waved them both through the door and into the house.
The small front room was spare but neat. Yellowed lace curtains hung from the window frame and a frayed linen cloth sat on top of a scrubbed wood table, the stillness broken only by the ticking of a longcase clock in the corner.
“They cut your hair, I see. Pity,” he said to Red Dove. “But Jerusha ain’t with you? She was headed back to get you. Left a while ago. ”
“She did come to the school,” said Red Dove. “But that was before Christmas.”
“She was gonna try again. Thought now the holidays was over and things had died down a bit, they’d let ’er.” Old Tom shook his head. “Stubborn, that one. Never gives up on anythin’. Once she gets going, she’s a hard woman to stop.”
&nbs
p; Good, thought Red Dove. Maybe I was wrong about her.
“Who’s this?” Old Tom jerked a thumb at Rick.
“My captive, sir,” Rick answered, stamping the snow from his boots. “She’s a runaway.”
“Runaway, huh?” said Old Tom, amused. “Well, good for her,” he snorted. “Got a look at that place myself. Grim. You really mean to bring her back?”
“He’s taking me to find my family.” Red Dove narrowed her eyes at Rick, daring him to disagree.
“Kinda makes me wonder who captured who,” said Old Tom, “and who’s the runaway here—”
“Not me, sir,” said Rick. “I’m on duty.”
“Sure y’are, son. I didn’t mean to imply you was absent without leave or nothin’.”
“No, sir,” said Rick. “Absolutely not, sir!”
But Red Dove, touching her pouch, saw the truth. He is running away from something: Jake.
“What say we go see what Jerusha’s left us to eat.” Old Tom shooed a small orange cat off the table and pulled up two chairs, scraping them against the floor. “You two must be starved.” He went to the cupboard and took out a loaf of coarse brown bread and a small earthenware jar. “Help yourselves.”
Rick reached for the bread, cut himself a thick slice and spread it with a gob of purple jam. Then he pushed the jar towards Red Dove. “Good,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food.
“Jam’s Jerusha’s specialty. Makes it from the plums that grow wild around here.”
No more plums for me, Red Dove thought, pushing the jar away and reaching for the bread.
A smile curled Old Tom’s lip as he watched the young people eat.
Rick wiped his mouth on his sleeve and pushed his chair back from the table. “Thanks. We best be goin’,” he said, before Red Dove was finished.
“Can’t leave before Jerusha gets back. She’d never forgive me. She’ll want to know what happened to you,” Old Tom said, squinting at Red Dove. “So where is it you’re really headed? Back to the school?”
“No sir,” Rick answered. “To the fort.”
Red Dove shook her head. “We’re going to find my mother and my grandfather,” she said, as firmly as she could. “And my brother too. He ran away.”
