Letting go his death grip on the podium, Soaring Eagle looked around the congregation. More than a few sat arms crossed, jaws clenched against his presence. Others seemed more receptive. Concentrating on the latter group, Soaring Eagle continued, his rich bass voice taking on a gentle tone as he spoke.
“Let me tell you of the first white I ever knew. She came to live among my people when I was only an infant. She came to love us, and she was known to me as Ina—which is mother in your language. This good woman read to me from your Holy Bible. She taught me about God. Knowing this good white and hearing the words she read from the Bible began the road which has brought me to you today.”
Soaring Eagle looked over the crowd and sought out the most challenging male countenance as he added, “When I first realized that my way of living was dying—that the land would no longer be mine to hunt in and to live in, I was filled with bitterness and rage. I think that you, too, would feel anger if someone came into your homes and said that you must go elsewhere and learn a new way to live.” Lowering his voice, he added, “That anger would become rage in any man if this person who came to say that you must leave also killed your family.”
The belligerent listener blinked and looked away from Soaring Eagle. A few feminine eyes blinked back tears. Soaring Eagle continued matter-of-factly. “That is part of my past. But the apostle Paul reminds us to ‘forget what lies behind.’ I speak of it only to help you understand the anger that lies in the hearts of my people. We feel loss and pain just as you do. We love our families. We grieve and mourn—just as you do.
“As I have said, when I realized that my old way of life was gone forever, I was filled with bitterness and rage. It was in this state that I arrived at the Santee Normal Training School. That was seven years ago. At the school, I met more whites. I observed their ways, and I waited for them to show their true feelings towards the Indian. I believed they were only pretending to be kind to us. But this was not the case. At the Santee Normal Training School, I saw children being taught how to live in the new world. I saw whites like my mother, who knew how to look beyond the skin and into the heart.”
Soaring Eagle sought out Carrie’s eyes. “Once a white girl at the school gave me a gift. It was a paper cross and on it she had written ‘Jesus loves Soaring Eagle.’ It took a long time, but I finally came to realize that truth. Through the kindness of those at Santee, I learned that Jesus loves me. I read the Bible and it told me of His love. Now I know that I belong to Jesus, and that although my people are weak in the face of this new world you have brought to us, Jesus is strong, and He will help us.
“It is difficult for older Lakota—like me—to change. But the message of Jesus’ love can change the future of every man—even the Lakota. So I come to you today, saying that my people need your help to travel a new road—a road that will take them from hunting on the prairie and into a new life. I pray that we will be able to put aside the old hatreds and begin to walk a new road. We can do this if we remember that it is Jesus who loves us all and it is Jesus who can help us love our brothers, even when their skin is a different color from ours. Even when their ways are strange to us.”
Soaring Eagle dropped his hands to his sides and stepped away from the podium. Quietly, he concluded, “I pray peace for my people, and I wish peace to you.” He walked back to his place beside Reverend Hodge, who closed the service with announcements about a clothing and food collection for Santee and a brief prayer.
People moved forward to shake Soaring Eagle’s hand—among them the man whose hardened gaze Soaring Eagle had first noticed. He was holding a boy by the hand. Impulsively the boy broke away from his father. Squinting up at Soaring Eagle from beneath his cap, the boy asked loudly, “You got any scalps I can see?”
A woman gasped. Everyone was immediately silent. The boy’s father moved forward with an exclamation of dismay, but Soaring Eagle sat down quickly on the edge of the platform and beckoned to the child, asking, “What is your name, young man?”
“Benjamin Whipple.”
With a glance at the boy’s father, Soaring Eagle asked patiently, “Why have you asked about scalps, Benjamin Whipple, when I have said that I come in peace?”
The boy jutted out his lower jaw and retorted, “My uncle rode with Custer. I read all about it in the paper. Indians scalp people.”
Emboldened by the attention he was receiving, the boy pointed to Soaring Eagle’s shirt. “You got hair tied on that shirt. Must be scalps. My pa said so.”
Thus singled out, the father offered another embarrassed protest, but Soaring Eagle remained calm, nodding soberly as he continued. “Well, I will tell you the truth, Benjamin. Do you think that you are ready to hear the truth?”
Benjamin thrust out his chin. “I’m ready.” His father shifted his weight nervously, enduring the angry glares of several adults—among them his wife.
Soaring Eagle answered carefully, “The truth is, Benjamin Whipple, that the hair on this shirt is from the tails and manes of my favorite ponies. And some of the hair is from the people I have loved who have gone on to the next life.” Soaring Eagle’s voice dropped as he added, “When I learned to love Jesus, I gave up killing. I have no scalps. I have only these reminders of the old way of life and the people I loved.”
Heartily disappointed, Benjamin made a face and turned to look at his father.
Soaring Eagle called out to a group of boys clustered by the podium. “Do you boys have questions, as well? If your parents say it is all right, you can ask me questions. I will tell you whatever I can.”
Immediately, a question rang out as one boy fairly shouted, “Where’d you get that scar? Fightin’ soldiers?”
Soaring Eagle reached up to point to the scar on his left cheek and began the story. “When I was only a boy—just about your age—my father and I went on our first great hunt. To be invited along at such a young age was a great honor, and I was filled with excitement.” Soaring Eagle went on to describe the hunt, drawing his young audience into the story as he described the skill with which Rides the Wind tracked game.
“This hunt was not only for getting meat. It was for learning my place in my tribe and for learning to be a man.” Soaring Eagle stopped briefly before going on to explain. “Our ponies were carrying much game when we returned home. We took a way along a ravine. We spotted two eagles, and then we stopped and watched as they flew down to their nest.”
Reaching up to touch the feathers that adorned his gleaming black hair, Soaring Eagle said, “Every Lakota desires to show his bravery by capturing an eagle and taking its feathers. I was no different. My father helped lower me to the nest—but we were caught by a storm. Then the grown eagles began to attack. My father came down beside me to fight—but one of the eagles raked his neck here—” Soaring Eagle lifted his chin and pointed. “There was much blood, but my father managed to kill the two grown eagles before he lost consciousness. The storm blew over. And there I was, a Lakota boy perched high on a cliff with two young eagles watching me. And beside them my father lay, dying.”
Soaring Eagle looked into the eyes of each young boy and side quietly. “And I had to find a way.”
A boy whispered hoarsely, “What’d you do next?”
“I prayed. I prayed to what I knew as the Great Mystery. I prayed to what my mother had called God. I asked for help. Among the Lakota there is a legend of a warrior who was carried from a cliff by two eagles.”
The boys who were listening looked at one another unbelieving. But Soaring Eagle nodded. “Yes—far below me in the canyon was water—it was deep, and I knew that I had only one chance to save my father—and myself. So, I grabbed each of the young eagles around the legs.” Soaring Eagle made a fist with each hand and held it above him. “And I jumped.”
After a dramatic pause, Soaring Eagle concluded. “The eagles stretched their wings and we fell together into the deep water. I swam upwards and climbed out of the water and ran for help.” He reached up to touch the scar on his
cheek. “My father was saved. My mother sewed the wound on my cheek closed.”
“. . . and you got your eagle feathers.” Benjamin Whipple’s voice croaked.
Soaring Eagle smiled. “I did not know the Great Mystery then. I did not believe that He loved me, that He had sent His own Son to die for me. But I knew that Someone helped those eagles get me down from that cliff. And that,” Soaring Eagle concluded, “is why I have this scar on my face.”
Pastor Hodge spoke up. “Perhaps we can arrange a more informal evening where Soaring Eagle can answer questions?”
Soaring Eagle nodded his agreement and Carrie Brown spoke up immediately. “I’m certain my grandfather and grandmother would be more than happy to offer our home for a gathering.”
Soaring Eagle stood up and offered LisBeth his arm. The assembly broke up, adults murmuring as they departed.
Reverend Hodge enthusiastically declared the evening a success. “You made more friends for your people tonight than you may realize, Mr. King. Those boys’ parents would never have had the courage to ask those questions—but you can bet they were thinking them. You did a wonderful job—wonderful.”
As the small group left the church, Carrie tripped happily alongside LisBeth, discussing plans for a reception for Soaring Eagle. “I’ll arrange everything.”
Much to Carrie’s frustration, Everett Higgenbottom interrupted, “And I’ll see Carrie home.”
Chapter 3
Hear counsel, and receive instruction, that thou mayest be wise in thy latter end.
Proverbs 19:20
I was formerly alienated and hostile in mind, engaged in evil deeds. But God has reconciled me through the death of Christ. Now I am striving to continue in the faith, firmly established and steadfast—never moving away from the hope of the gospel I heard.” Dressed in a dark suit, his long hair neatly braided down his back, Soaring Eagle sat in the parlor at the home of Lucy and Walter Jennings, concluding his description of his transition from wild plains Indian to educated university graduate. What Soaring Eagle had intended to be a brief autobiography had taken up most of the evening as men broke in to ask question after question, not a few of which had been whispered in their ears by their fascinated wives.
At last, the crowd dwindled to only a few influential parishioners and the talk grew more intimate as those in a position to support him discussed Soaring Eagle’s personal future. Soaring Eagle looked about the room and said quietly, “If you want to change the hostility of the Indian, give him Christ. Only Christ can change the heart and set a man on a new road.” His gaze settled on Reverend Hodge as he concluded, “I hope to be one who takes the message of the gospel to my people.”
A listener offered, “I think the missionaries are already doing a fine job of that, Mr. King. It seems to me that you can do the most for your people by speaking to groups like us—who want to help, but don’t know how. I don’t need to tell you that seeing an educated Indian who carries himself as well as you does a lot to influence us. You talk about the spiritual side of things, and that’s all well and good, but your people need a spokesperson to influence people of consequence to send money for the school—clothing for the children—textbooks—whatever else is needed. I think you are the man for that task.”
Soaring Eagle shook his head slowly. “I respect your opinion, friend. But what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? I agree that there are physical needs to be met—but making the outer man comply when there is no change of heart does nothing lasting to help the Indian.” He paused before adding, “I could have been forced to cut my hair and dress like a white man. But what good is that? What good are clothing and log cabins and education if there is no hope in the soul? The need for missionaries to share the gospel—for pastors to teach the people—is just as desperate as the need for physical help.”
“But you can’t deny that the physical needs are real.”
Remembering the thinness of the soles of his own boots, Soaring Eagle nodded in agreement. “The need is real. But there must be a balance. The Lakota believe that the earth is their mother—that there is a balance to all things. Just so, there is a balance in this matter. Of course the physical needs must be provided for—it’s just that—”
LisBeth interrupted softly, “I think what Soaring Eagle is trying to say is that his personal burden is for the souls of the people.”
Soaring Eagle smiled at his sister appreciatively and nodded.
Carrie Brown interrupted. “But surely, Soaring Eagle, you can see that you are needed here—speaking like you did. Why, I’m certain the collection for clothing and books will be a great success, just because you were here.”
Reverend Hodge agreed. “Little Carrie, here, may be one of the youngest among us, but I must say I agree with her. The Friends of the Indian have been looking for a spokesperson—and I think we’ve found him.”
Little Carrie Brown. From the doorway where she stood, Carrie listened and stamped her foot impatiently—right on top of Everett Higgenbottom’s boot. She had been hounded by Everett all evening. Everett met her at the punch bowl, insisting on pouring them both “some refreshment.” When she walked in the garden, hoping to meet up with Soaring Eagle, Everett was there, taking her arm, plucking a rose blossom for her. Now, as she stomped his foot and saw him blanche, she whispered, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Everett!” and pushed past him. Making her escape out into the garden she slipped along the back of the house, in the kitchen door and up the back stairs to her own room. She was trembling with anger and frustration.
Nothing’s working out the way I want it. Nothing. Carrie paced around her room, furtively watching the front porch from her window until nearly every guest had left. She especially watched for Everett, who was the last to go.
“Are you all right, Carrie?” A knock at the door and LisBeth’s concerned voice called her away from the window.
“Oh—LisBeth—don’t you go too. Not yet. Please. Come in.”
LisBeth complied, settling at Carrie’s dressing table. Picking up a silver hand mirror, LisBeth commented, “You certainly received some lovely graduation gifts.” She set the mirror back down before adding, “Your young man was disappointed that you weren’t there to say good evening. He was quite concerned—afraid you were ill.”
“My young man?” Carrie snorted. “Oh—you mean Everett.” She settled on her bed. “He’s not my young man.”
LisBeth grinned. “Certainly not from lack of trying.”
“He’s such a baby.”
“Just your age.”
Carrie blushed. “You know what I mean. Everett’s nice—but he has school to finish—and a lot of growing up to do. He just fawns over me, LisBeth. I hate it.”
LisBeth was suddenly serious. “Is there something you need to talk about, Carrie?”
Carrie drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, bowing her head.
“You seem, well, unsettled. Unhappy. Is there something wrong? Your grandparents are concerned too. Mrs. Jennings mentioned it over tea yesterday.”
Carrie looked up abruptly. “They needn’t be worried. I’ve just—so far to go before I—” she sighed. “When Mama and I had to leave Santee I promised I’d go back. I haven’t forgotten the promise. I want to go back. To Santee. To teach at the mission. To—” she bit her lip.
LisBeth smiled indulgently. “I think that’s a fine plan.” She sat beside Carrie before adding, “But have you prayed about your plans? Have you considered your grandparents? Everett?”
At the mention of Everett’s name, Carrie snorted. “I don’t need to pray about this, LisBeth. I know what I want to do. I know what I have to do. I have to go to the university so I can become a teacher. Then I can go back to Santee.” Carrie moaned. “It’s just that everything takes so long. I’ve been away years already. Things have changed. Soaring Eagle has changed. I’m supposed to call him Mr. King. And it’ll be years before I can really do anything.”
L
isBeth tried to assimilate the reference to Soaring Eagle into Carrie’s speech. When she failed, she responded carefully. “I understand your impatience, Carrie. Soaring Eagle has experienced the same feelings. Why, just tonight he was bemoaning the years away from Nebraska while he trains for a pastorate.”
Carrie sat up alertly. “He’s going away to school? Going away again?”
“Yes, isn’t it wonderful?” LisBeth answered, ignoring the disappointment in Carrie’s voice. “Reverend Hodge said just tonight, after you left, that he’s been in touch with Dr. Riggs at Santee. Together they are certain they can secure a scholarship for further study. Theology. Pastoral training. All the things that Soaring Eagle will need to go ahead with his life. And while he’s studying, he can do some traveling for the Friends and publicize the needs. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“How long? How long will he be gone?”
“Two years, I think—”
Two years, Carrie was thinking. I’ve waited half my life and now I have to wait at least two more years. What if—her heart began beating faster as she considered the horror of the thought. What if he meets someone else. What if he—Oh, he couldn’t. God wouldn’t let it happen, not after all the time I’ve waited. God just wouldn’t.
With a start, Carrie realized that LisBeth had stopped talking and was looking at her curiously. “Is something else wrong?”
“No, of course not. Nothing’s wrong. I’m glad for Soaring Eagle. It will be wonderful. It’s just that—” Youth won out and Carrie lost the battle to hide her feelings. “Two years is so long. And what if—”
LisBeth’s dark eyes suddenly glowed with understanding and no small amount of amazement. “Carrie Brown! You’re worried that he’ll meet someone, aren’t you?”
Carrie blushed and LisBeth laughed, “Land sakes, child, I had no idea you had a crush—”
Carrie frowned and interrupted. “It’s not a crush, and I’m not a child. I’m seventeen years old.” She drew her tiny frame to its full height of slightly less than five feet and looked unflinchingly back at LisBeth who rushed to apologize.
Red Bird Page 2
