She’d told herself not to fret; after all, the home of Ishkode, Thomas’ father, couldn’t be that different, could it? It had been the white man’s idea and must, therefore they had to resemble a white town at least in some ways.
Bridget’s anxiety still rose when she entered the reservation. True to her predictions, there were houses that looked something like a frontier man’s homestead and even a couple of shops that appeared relatively civilized. But, she was immediately confronted with the distaste and even hatred of the reservation’s occupants, receiving guarded glares and no offer of help. It was evident that she’d crossed from where her race claimed superiority to a hostile environment to which she wished she’d brought a chaperone.
Bridget knew that it would be ridiculous, a waste of time, and perhaps even more dangerous to wander aimlessly around this unfamiliar place hoping to bump into Thomas’ father. She had no other option, but to ask for directions. She lifted her chin, reminding herself that she had nothing to be ashamed of. She was here on business and hadn’t she reminded herself earlier that it was the white man who’d instigated the formation of this reservation? She had every right to ask for directions. She glanced around, making her way toward an older man who didn’t appear too hostile. He wore buckskin pants, a collared shirt, a tasseled vest, moccasins and, had a cowboy hat pulled on over his long, black hair. Another one who was only halfway converted.
“Excuse me.” Bridget had only to gain eye contact with the man to see that her assumption that he would be more receptive to her plea for directions had been totally amiss. She figured the damage was done, so she went on. “I need to find the home of Ishkode.” It felt dreadfully incomplete not to have a last name to reference, but the man knew exactly to whom she was referring. The man wordless pointed out a house to her. Bridget was grateful it was the only one in that direction or she would have been forced to ask for directions again.
The home of Thomas’ family was one residence which hadn’t been civilized, still modeled after one of the hut-like houses seen at Indian camps. Gathering her determination, Bridget knocked on the door. In spite of her ambitious plans for how this meeting would turn out, she found herself hoping that no one would answer the door.
It took a couple of moments, but her knock was answered a short time later. Bridget resisted the urge to take a step back when she came face to face with Ishkode. He was at least half a foot taller than she was and his irises were even darker and more contemptuous than his son’s. He wore buckskin and his braided, pitch black hair reached below his shoulder blades.
Thomas’ father didn’t say a word. Bridget knew that she’d been naïve, considering her reception here, to think she’d be welcomed by Ishkode. Now she was doubting that, due to his traditional Lakota appearance and obvious unconformity, he’d be capable of holding a conversation in English on the topic of his son and his future at Vermilion Lakes. She was beginning to believe that this had been a waste of her time.
“My name’s Miss Bridget Moore and I’m a teacher at the Vermilion Lake School.”
Ishkode folded his arms across his chest, leaning his shoulder against the doorway as he surveyed Bridget. “Do you expect me to be impressed?”
Bridget blinked in astonishment at his English. Instead of being turned off by the insult, she chose to instead be grateful that Ishkode was capable of conversing in her own language. “Not necessarily, but I do wish to speak with you about the performance of your son in my classroom.”
Ishkode “He’s performing now, is he?”
His quick tongue that jumped from insult to insult left no doubt in Bridget’s mind as to where Thomas had received many of his traits from.
“Just another term to explain his presence in my class. Will you allow me to speak with you?”
Ishkode moved aside, motioning with mock politeness for her to enter the house.
Bridget acknowledged the gesture as if it were sincere, giving him a nod as she crossed the threshold. Her heart began to pound when he shut the door. She wished she’d asked to talk to him outside. The house was clean and decent, but the distinctly Injun elements caused her to feel overwhelmed.
Guessing that Ishkode wouldn’t offer her a chair and knowing that she’d appear more relaxed and at ease if she were sitting, Bridget helped herself to a chair. Ishkode leaned against the wall, surveying her wordlessly.
“So,” Bridget began, squaring her shoulders. “Thomas is a disruption. He spoke out impertinently in my class on the first day and yesterday he was caught fighting with another student.” When these words still didn’t draw out a reaction, she went on. “He was fighting with an Ojibwa boy.”
Still no response.
“Is it Thomas’ goal to fight against those of his race as well as against the white man?”
“If the white man had not forced us to fight for what we have claim to, there would be no need for fighting among tribes.” Ishkode’s expression didn’t change in the slightest.
Bridget didn’t know how to respond. “Nevertheless, he needs to learn to control his temper. With his current attitude, he’ll never learn what it is the school has to offer him. He needs someone to remind him of the value of his education.”
“He is forced from the lands of his ancestors, made to go to a white man’s school to be separated from his ways and you want him to control his temper.” Ishkode made a bitter sound in the back of his throat. “You white women are as demanding and selfish as white men.”
“I didn’t come here to be insulted,” Bridget said, frustrated that this conversation appeared to be going nowhere.
“Only to insult Animkii’s upbringing. I am right?”
“No, I….” Bridget trailed off, searching for an excuse, but coming up empty. “I want your son to succeed at Vermilion. How else will he make his way in the world without an education?”
A muscle jumped in Ishkode’s chiseled jaw. “You speak as if the Lakota will disappear.” He pushed off of the wall, his gaze leaving Bridget for the first time since she’d entered the house. “If the Lakota do disappear around me, it will not be because I gave in to the white man. Animkii knows where his loyalty lies.”
Doubts were crowding into Bridget’s mind, muddling her thoughts like a fog. It was disconcerting considering she had no time to sort them out. She was unaware of how long the silence in the room stretched out until she looked back at Ishkode and found him watching her.
Forcing herself back to the present, Bridget stood. “Well, it seems that there’s nothing more to say on the matter. Thank you for your time, sir.”
Ishkode lifted one dark brow. “You were the one who came here. I did not willingly give my time.”
Bridget made her way toward the door. She turned back before exiting, her head held high. “Good afternoon.” She wasn’t surprised when Ishkode made no reply.
***
“Good morning, Uncle Levi.” Bridget would have preferred to skip giving her uncle a report on her meeting with Thomas’ father, but knew that such a forward action would need to be addressed. Essentially, she’d come away from the encounter defeated and plagued with doubts. It seemed that Thomas’ father had put her in her place far more effectively than she’d affected his way of thinking. Her goal hadn’t been accomplished—Ishkode certainly wasn’t going to encourage his son to value an education at Vermilion. Still, for reasons Bridget couldn’t put her finger on, the meeting somehow didn’t seem a complete loss. She was in Levi’s office and class started in twenty minutes and she still hadn’t the faintest idea what she was going to tell him.
“Hello, Bridget,” Levi said, removing his glass and peering at his niece with the beady gaze Bridget knew did wonders in earning the fear of the school. “How’d it go yesterday?” Her uncle had never been one to waste time.
Bridget hesitated for a moment too long, causing Levi to send her a quizzical look. “Did you speak to Thomas’ father?”
“Yes.”
Levi lifted his hand, inviting her
to elaborate. “And? How did it go?”
“It went very well.”
Well, that’s one way to avoid a difficult subject. Simply lie to your uncle’s face.
Levi looked doubtful, and rightfully so. The response from parents of the students was typically not favorable. “Did it? What did he say?”
Bridget had to think fast. “Let’s just say I don’t think that Thomas is going to be a trouble maker anymore.”
You’ve done it now, Bridget.
She had no idea where the nerve to make such a claim had come from or how on earth she was going to make her words true. The bell signaling that school was to begin in ten minutes sounded and Bridget took her leave. She thought to herself that if Thomas didn’t miraculously cease to cause trouble, she would have a great deal of explaining to do.
Chapter 3: A Second Disruption
Bridget had gotten used to the ridged standards put into place by her uncle and the other leaders of the school. She didn’t wholeheartedly agree with or approve of some of her fellow teacher’s methods, but she didn’t speak of it. She’d been taught her entire life about how the men in her family had fought to make the West what it was today and what it would be in the future. It wasn’t in her nature to question her father and uncle’s ways though acting out superiority was often taken too far by some of the teachers in Bridget’s opinion. It had taken all of two days for her to know for certain that the students in her classroom were anything but dumb. If she were honest, she’d say that they were far quicker and smarter than most of her white peers as a schoolgirl. She knew that their previous way of life had much to do with it, but kept this to herself.
It had been nearly a week since Bridget’s visit to the reservation and she’d been holding her breath, hoping that Thomas wouldn’t cause trouble and was pleased when there were no significant disruptions to speak of. She could only hope that it would continue.
Bridget scanned the classroom, glad to see that all of the students were accounted for. It wasn’t as if they had much of an option; since the student’s living quarters were located right next to the classroom building, it didn’t take long to locate a student who skipped class.
“Class, please direct your attention to the black board,” Bridget said, standing. It was time for mental math with problems that were a mixture of a couple of formulas. She scanned the room before selecting a student. “Andrew, please do the first problem.” Andrew’s English was very poor, but he was very good at ciphering. She tried to encourage the students in their strengths whenever possible.
Andrew stood, already working out the problem in this mind. After a few moments he answered: “Two hundred and sixty-four.”
“Close,” Bridget said, beginning to work out the problem with chalk for all to see. “You mean, two thousand and sixty-four. You lost the zero in there somewhere.”
“Like two thousand and sixty-four Lakota killed,” a voice said, quietly enough not to be disruptive, but loud enough for Bridget to overhear. “Your tribe made it out to be missing the zero then too, huh, Hahnee?”
Bridget turned back to the class and wasn’t surprise to find that Thomas was the one who’d spoke the antagonizing words. Just when she thought that Thomas would fulfill the false claim she’d made to her uncle about predicting no trouble from him in the foreseeable future all on his own, he instigated a disruption again. She couldn’t blame him for destroying her claim—she’d made no pact with him.
Thomas uttered another couple of sentences in his native tongue that caused Andrew’s face to contort in rage as he spat back at him in a heated tone.
“Andrew, Thomas,” Bridget said, knowing that this situation had the potential to turn for the worst quickly; confrontations involving Thomas always did.
“Was your people’s failure because of poor mathematics?” Thomas added a few choice words Bridget had heard exchanged between students who were members of warring tribes. Bridget lost complete control of the situation the moment Andrew heard these words. Without hesitation, the enraged young man was gripping the front of Thomas’ shirt. He shoved him backward, readying himself to throw a punch. It seemed that he was too emotionally worked up for good judgement though and Thomas had gained the upper hand in a moment.
“Stop it, both of you!” Bridget called out, coming hastily out from behind her desk as Thomas sent Andrew to the floor with a punch that landed squarely on the other boy’s jaw.
Knowing that she was putting herself in the position to be knocked to the ground herself, but also knowing that there was no time to run out in search of another teacher, Bridget came to stand between the boys, facing Thomas. “That’s enough, Thomas.”
Thomas had no interest in Bridget, his attention still fully on Andrew. He spoke a few more words in his own tongue which Andrew began to retort against before Bridget cut them off. “I said enough! Thomas, step outside for a few moments.”
Without giving her a glance, Thomas started toward the door. When in reach of Andrew, however, he kicked the other boy’s shoulder.
“Thomas!” Bridget once again placed herself between the two enemies, shoving Thomas toward the door. “Leave this classroom!” She was shaking and, at this point, she didn’t care whether Thomas went outside and waited to be called back in or left the boarding school grounds. She just needed him out.
Bridget moved on unsteady legs to help Andrew up. “Go wash up and get some ice from downstairs. Sylvia, you go with him.” She figured by sending the boy’s sister with him she wouldn’t risk pairing him up with another enemy to be injured further. Still, no one Bridget would randomly pick would be as dangerous as Thomas she figured.
The students generally excelled at mathematics and even enjoyed it a little, especially the ones who didn’t speak English well so Bridget had hoped that this class would pass without incident. It appeared that that was not to be. In fact, this class had ruined her entire day.
After assigning the class some reading to complete silently, Bridget glanced outside for Thomas. He was gone.
***
Bridget called herself both inane and foolish as she made her way back to the reservation without permission from the school board. Still, she felt that this second major disruption needed to be address and she doubted that anyone would speak directly to Ishkode about it if she didn’t. In fact, they’d most certainly discourage her from doing so if they knew what she was up to. Still, Bridget never promised her uncle that she wouldn’t go back to the reservation and she hung onto this fact or, rather, excuse. She wanted to try one more time, show Ishkode that his son needed to learn how to deal with people in general. These outbursts were not acceptable under any circumstances or toward any person. She only hoped that she could get home long enough before supper that her parents wouldn’t ask her where she’d been.
Bridget was grateful that she didn’t need to ask for directions this time. She chalked it up to possible paranoia, but Bridget couldn’t help feeling that the hostility of the reservation’s occupants was even more prominent than on her previous visit. It was as if they knew of what had happened and were siding against her with renewed distaste. The chill in the early evening air didn’t help at all.
Bridget waited with the same apprehension as before after knocking on Ishkode’s door.
When Ishkode opened the door, his expression was one of near disbelief. Much like last time, he leaned against the doorway, waiting for her to speak first, his gaze as penetrating and mysterious as before. Had something inside of Bridget hoped she’d see those chiseled features and dark eyes again? It was deplorable.
“Hello, sir. I’m here to speak with you once again about your son.” Her statement was punctuated by a clap of thunder before rain began to fall. Ishkode glared at the sky, surprising Bridget when he grabbed her arm and pulled her into the house. When the Indian released her after the door was shut, Bridget realized that she’d been holding her breath.
Ishkode strode away from her, stoking the fire without a word.
> “If you please,” Bridget began. “I’d like to tell you about what happened in my classroom today.”
Ishkode’s only response to her words was to look steadily back at her.
“Thomas spoke and acted in violent ways to a classmate in my room today and then left the school’s grounds.”
Ishkode didn’t appear at all surprised. “Yes. He came here. The authorities of the school came and took him back.”
Bridget could only pray that this had all been done while her uncle was out at lunch since it was during his break that this all had occurred.
“You mentioned at our last meeting that Thomas’ last fight was because of conflicting loyalties among the tribes. But, Andrew, the boy he fought with today is also a Lakota. It seems to me that your son isn’t only fighting against those his tribe had had trouble with in the past, but it seems to me that Thom— your son, needs to work on his relations with all people, not just his white teachers or enemy tribes.”
Bridget had presented her case complete with supporting evidence and her own conclusion. She figured this would be enough to show Ishkode that if his son would only cease to fight so against the school, he’d have the potential to learn quite a lot.
“I know who that boy’s father is,” Ishkode said after a few silent moments. “The one he fought with. His father was a Lakota, but his mother was of the Ojibwa tribe. They deserted and fought with the Ojibwa when trouble came.”
Bridget felt a little foolish for jumping to conclusions about things she didn’t know. She was attempting to tread in waters she knew nothing about and it had caused the very foundation of her argument to fall to pieces. The presentation and story she’d been so sure of now lack the potential to stand.
“You are as all white people are,” Ishkode said, straightening to his full height and surveying his unwelcome visitor from across the room. “You see what you want to see. My son is only angered by the tribes who nearly chased us to extinction. And the white men who started it.”
Romance: The Campus Player: A College Romance Page 113
