by Vella Munn
Her father? How could he possibly understand what was happening to her?
How could she?
Reaching the bottom, she turned around. The back of the cave was so dark she couldn’t be sure how large it was, but that could wait until later. For now she had all she could do to accept that she was being watched by a half dozen people.
“My mother, Walks At Night.” Morning Song indicated a heavy-set woman sitting on a woven mat. Because of the way the woman was situated, Kayla couldn’t read her expression. Her loose-fitting blouse reminded her of the gingham dresses she’d seen in pictures of pioneer women. What had the employee at the visitor center said, that the Modocs quickly adopted what they admired about the settlers’ clothing. But why would the Modocs want what belonged to their enemy?
Morning Song was saying something; she tried to concentrate. “—her leg trying to take back my son. The shaman says it will not heal until her grandson is in her arms again.”
Morning Song’s mother said something. At first Kayla couldn’t make heads or tails of it and couldn’t have duplicated those harsh sounds if her life depended on it. About to tell Morning Song that she’d have to translate, Kayla realized she wouldn’t have to after all. Syllable by syllable, word by word, finally phrase by phrase, it made sense. Caught somewhere between disbelief and acceptance, Kayla concentrated.
“—foolish,” Walks At Night was saying. “I was so wrong to believe my arms were enough to protect him. If only they’d taken me.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Kayla told Walks At Night. As she did, Morning Song said the same thing. The girls exchanged a glance.
“You did everything you could,” Kayla reassured Walks At Night, who looked as if she hadn’t slept for a long time. “Your daughter told me how hard you fought. No one blames you for wanting to get your grandson out of the cave. You were hungry.”
“If it was not for my action, he would still be with us.”
Morning Song made a low whimpering sound. Hurting for her, Kayla ran her fingers over Morning Song’s forearm but didn’t say anything.
“I want you to meet my grandfather,” Morning Song said after a moment. Sorrow lingered in her voice.
“Your grandfather? Is he a warrior?” She swallowed. “What kind of weapons does he have?”
“Do not be afraid of him. He will accept you because we are together. And he gave me the courage to begin my journey to you.”
“Your–I hope you know what you’re talking about.”
Like Walks At Night, Cho-Cho was sitting. A boy some eight or nine years old stood nearby obviously fascinated by what was going on, but Kayla concentrated on the old man. His hands were gnarled, and there was a long white scar running up the back of the right one. He regarded Kayla with watery but intense eyes. She couldn’t tell whether he approved of her or not, but at least he wasn’t pulling out a knife.
“You are sent by Sacred Stone?” he asked. As he spoke, Kayla saw that several of his teeth were missing. Her own grandfather had had dentures he hated wearing because he didn’t like the way they fit. When he’d died last winter, her first thought had been that he wouldn’t have to wear the darn things again. “Not Coyote?” Cho-Cho continued.
“No, Grandfather, not Coyote,” Morning Song assured him before explaining to Kayla that Coyote was a trickster and could never be trusted. Kayla didn’t have time to ask what she meant by trickster because Morning Song asked, “Where is my brother?”
“Hunting,” the boy piped up. “He and three others left at dawn.”
“It is too dangerous!”
“They had no choice,” Cho-Cho said abruptly. “We must have food.”
“Cannot they wait? Surely there is enough for a few more days.”
Walks At Night pointed out that there were some water-lily seeds, wild parsley roots, and potatoes, but no meat. “They are men,” she reminded her daughter. “It is their role to hunt. If they sit and watch the women work, they will grow restless. Maybe they will think too much about what has been done to us and want to shed blood.”
“I-I know. I have heard them talk about attacking the army. It frightens me.” Morning Song shuddered. “Who has been watching me, making sure I did not do something unwise?”
“Pulls Teeth and his brothers, because your brother asked them to. True Hand said you would not listen to him, and his strength was better used finding game. He is a man of action, you know that.”
“Yes.” Morning Song bit on her lower lip. “But if something happens to him—”
“If he and the other hunters remain in the caves,” Cho-Cho interrupted. “starvation will come to all of us.”
No one said anything after that. By moving a few steps to her left, Kayla was able to more clearly see both Cho-Cho and Walks At Night. It was obvious that they’d spent most of their lives out-of-doors, but despite the lines and rough skin, she was struck by the concern in their eyes.
Her own grandfather had sometimes had the same expression. Although he’d been proud that she was nearly old enough for a driver’s license, he’d lectured her about other drivers and how he didn’t want her to let anyone ride with her for the first year. What would happen if her grandfather and Cho-Cho had a chance to talk to each other? She guessed they’d share many of the same concerns, but could her grandfather comprehend Cho-Cho’s fears or the kind of life he’d been forced to live?
Even as she felt engulfed by memories of the tall, lean man she’d always called Papa, she became aware of how cool it was down here. The air was stale, and it sure wouldn’t hurt if everyone took a shower—only there weren’t any showers, bathrooms, or electricity. There was a fire pit not far from the ladder, but no fire burned in it. Instead, a baby who’d obviously just learned how to crawl was trying to scramble over the rocks circling the fire area. She wasn’t sure who the nearly-naked child’s mother was because everyone seemed to be watching it. She wanted to know who everyone was, how they felt about having her here, and whether everyone was afraid.
A thought flashed in her mind. Despite everything Morning Song had told her about the threat from ranchers and soldiers, she hadn’t seen any of them. If Morning Song was delusional—no, she no longer considered that possibility.
Squatting in front of the little crawler, she tickled under his chin. The baby tried to grab her finger but lost his balance and tumbled over onto his side. Laughing, the maybe ten year old boy picked him up.
“My sister’s youngest,” the boy explained. “She has gone to visit her husband’s family, but I asked her to let him stay here. He thinks I am wonderful.”
That was obvious by the way the baby was now trying to chew his uncle’s chin. The boy waited until the baby had thoroughly soaked his chin and then growled at him. The baby giggled and squirmed.
“It’s beautiful,” Kayla said to no one in particular. “Everyone cares for the children, don’t they?”
“You thought they would not?” Morning Song’s mother asked.
“I didn’t—I hadn’t thought about it before now. Yesterday I didn’t know this existed. But everyone loves everyone else, don’t they?”
Walks At Night laughed. “Love, yes, but there are times when each of us needs to be alone, when what one person says touches another in the wrong way.”
“That’s how it is where I come from.” She could still feel eyes on her, but she no longer felt like a bug in a specimen jar. A couple of women were working on baskets—repairing them from what she could tell. A girl—she might be five—was trying to duplicate their efforts with her own mound of reeds. Although the girl wasn’t particularly successful, no one made fun of her.
“She wants to become a woman,” Walks At Night explains. “Already she knows what a woman does.”
“Don’t men make baskets?”
The basket-repairers laughed. “Never.”
“But—”
“Men hunt and fish, and now they have gone to war,” Walks At Night broke in. “Women gather food and make
clothes.”
Kayla wondered what her mother would say to that. Although her mother sometimes came home so tired that she wasn’t hungry, she obviously loved having a career. Of course if it took all her time just to hunt for food and fashion clothing, she wouldn’t have time to go off to work.
Mom, you’d never believe what’s happened to me. I wish you could. I wish I could talk to you, ask your advice.
Cho-Cho stretched out his hand to let Morning Song know he wanted her to sit beside him. The young Modoc did, then leaned against his shoulder. He eased the doll out of her hand and placed it in his lap. Tears sprang to Kayla’s eyes as she remembered the many times she’d snuggled against her grandfather.
“I will not try to tell you not to grieve,” Cho-Cho said softly. “I have seen into your heart and know that is not possible. I will not tell you to be patient, and your child and husband will be returned to you, because I do not lie to you. But I do ask you to continue to walk and breathe, to think of more than the past.”
“I want to, Grandfather.”
“But it is not easy,” he whispered, hugging her.
“No,” she whispered back.
****
Kayla wasn't sure how much time had passed when she heard approaching hoof beats. Morning Song jumped to her feet and scrambled up the ladder. Kayla waited until several others had done the same before joining them. Despite Morning Song's reassurance that the men would accept her, her stomach tightened. What if they hated her because of the color of her skin?
Four men on horseback had just reached the entrance to the cave. As if by prearranged signal, they all dismounted at once. She wasn't sure what she'd expected—maybe feathered headdresses and colorful face paint. Instead, the horses had saddles and bridles, and the men wore an assortment of pants. Two were deerskin, while the others had obviously been made for pioneers or settlers. Like the men she'd seen yesterday—it had been yesterday, hadn't it?—they carried both rifles and bows and arrows. Their expressions were somber.
Morning Song launched herself at a tall, shirtless young man. Certain that this was her brother, Kayla looked for a resemblance between the two. She thought she saw it in their deep-set eyes and high cheekbones, but couldn't be sure. They obviously loved and were concerned about each other. That saddened her because she couldn't remember her own brother ever holding her that tightly, but then she and Chuck had never feared for each other's lives.
Still holding onto his sister, True Hand regarded her. The young man was what her imagination expected a warrior to be like–somber and athletic. His cheeks looked wind-burned, and his medium-length black hair was tangled and dusty. His eyes said he didn’t trust her or want her here.
At the young children's insistence, one of the men held up what they'd brought home. No one had to tell Kayla that two geese wouldn't feed everyone.
“We did not dare travel to the marshes,” True Hand explained to Cho-Cho. He sounded both angry and frustrated. “The soldiers are too close, and we could not be sure that there were not others waiting to kill us.”
Kill, Kayla thought. So that's what they had to deal with all the time. No wonder their expressions were so grim.
“You did as you had to,” Cho-Cho said.
“But not as we wanted.” With his arm still around his sister, True Hand approached Kayla. “Who is she?” he demanded. Despite herself, Kayla backed away from him.
“The one Sacred Stone sent to me,” Morning Song answered. Before Kayla could guess what she was going to do, Morning Song reached inside her top and pulled out the necklace.
“What more proof do you need?” she demanded of her glaring brother.
Chapter Six
“You are not a man,” True Hand insisted as he continued to glare at his sister. “When a woman seeks a spirit helper, she asks for someone to guide her in food gathering and preparation and in having healthy children, not hunting and fighting. What does a woman’s spirit know about battling the enemy?”
“Spirits hear our prayers and know our hearts,” Morning Song retorted. “Mine feels my tears and says what must be done.”
“And maybe you hear what you want to, not the truth.”
“You are wrong!” She placed her hands over her heart. “I trust my spirit’s wisdom. Look at what the newcomer wears. How can you deny what you see?”
Kayla wasn't sure whether True Hand agreed with his sister because he studied her necklace for a long time before turning his attention to his mother. His expression gave away nothing. He answered his mother’s questions about where they'd gone and told her they hadn't come across any soldiers, but Kayla couldn't help but wonder if that was true. Maybe he didn’t want to worry her any more than she already was.
She watched True Hand water his horse and check the animal's feet, impressed by how thorough he was. Once that chore was over, he consulted with his grandfather and another elderly man about whether everyone should move further back into the lava beds. The discussion went on for quite a while with the older men listening attentively to True Hand's opinion that they could remain where they were for now, but tomorrow he'd look for another cave. She couldn't imagine her brother assuming responsibility for twenty people, not when Chuck didn't always remember to gas his car. Certainly their father and uncles wouldn’t think of deferring to Chuck’s expertise about anything, because as far as she knew, he didn’t have any.
While a couple of women busied themselves with plucking the geese, other family members went back into the cave. Kayla remained near Morning Song and True Hand. True Hand made her uncomfortable, but she didn’t know what else to do.
“I don't understand why you and your people are here,” she finally said. “I won't even go into why I'm here, because I really don't know. Where were you living before? Why did you leave?”
True Hand folded his arms across his chest and looked down at her. From some of the things he and Morning Song had said, she figured he was no more than two years older than Morning Song, but he looked so mature.
“You are not from our place and time.” True Hand spoke each word slowly. “I do not expect you to understand.”
“Not now, but I want to.”
“Why?”
There was no ignoring the challenge. “Maybe I'm just curious,” she said when it went much deeper than that–so deep she didn’t understand herself. “I certainly don't have a clue what's going to happen–nothing good that’s for sure.”
“Clue?”
“It doesn't matter.” She'd have to be careful not to use words she thought might be foreign to them. “The ranchers—Morning Song, you told me that before whites came, your people had the run of the place. I mean, I mean—you did what you wanted, and life was pretty easy, at least a lot easier than it is now.”
“We were blessed.”
“And then whites came.”
Reacting to the anger in True Hand's voice, she wrapped her arms around her middle but refused to back away. “What happened then?”
He closed his eyes and lifted his head, maybe seeking a cooling breeze. His expression was so sad. “When the first wagons came to our land, we welcomed them because they brought many new things with them–rifles, horses, cooking pots and clothes that were already made. We thought maybe they had been sent by the spirits. But they killed many of our deer and birds, more than they needed. And they brought disease.”
If anything, True Hand appeared even more upset than he’d been a moment ago. He opened his eyes and stared at her. “Your people call it smallpox. Our grandfather called it white witchcraft. It killed many, so many, of our people.”
“Then miners came,” Morning Song added through clenched teeth. “Men who dug in the creeks and rivers for rocks they called gold and believed had great value until the salmon runs were ruined.”
“We took the settlers' cattle because their animals ate the grass the deer needed,” True Hand continued. “That angered the settlers who said the grass and land it grew on belonged to them, not us. Th
ey attacked our people and killed many including women and children. One side and then the other attacked. So much blood stained the ground. White chiefs who live far away and have never been here sent papers that said our land belonged to the newcomers. That we did not belong.”
She'd taken history classes of course and remembered reading about the conflicts between Indians and whites. She'd been particularly interested in what had taken place on the plains where fierce Apaches and Cheyenne sometimes swooped down on wagon trains. Much as she hated having to admit it, she couldn't remember the details of the resolution, just that many Indians had been sent away to reservations. She was certain the books hadn’t said anything about the emotional impact on the Indians.
“If you didn't belong here anymore, where were you supposed to go?” she asked.
“Reservations.” True Hand spoke the word as if it made him sick. “We were ordered to live next to our enemies the Klamaths. We were given no way to feed our bellies, told we could no longer go to where generations of Modocs traveled for their spirit quests and buried their dead. We could not live like that.”
No, you couldn’t. “What did you do?”
She couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t seem to be quite as angry at her as he’d been at first. “I was a small child then. One day Kientpoos picked up his belongings and left the reservation. Many others went with him to our old homes on Lost River which is near the mother lake. The white man who called himself the Indian agent promised changes, and Kientpoos and the others returned to the reservation, but the Klamath were still our enemies. Modoc and Klamath are like wolf packs, always fighting, each protecting their territory.”
“We have countries like that,” she said softly. “Nations that will never get along.”
He nodded. “Again Kientpoos went back to Lost River because our hearts sing there. Our shaman Cho-ocks led us in dances that he promised would make the whites leave, but they did not.” True Hand’s mouth tightened. “When soldiers tried to force us back onto the reservation, they were caught out in the open during a freezing rain. Their horses could hardly walk because there was so much mud. Our scouts were certain they would turn around and leave, but although some did, others continued on. Finally they found us.”
