The Removes

by Tatjana Soli

  During all of this Monahsetah said nothing. Foolishly he felt betrayed.

  He lay in his tent, the canvas lit by the dim glow of the stove, and watched the smoke seep up out the opening at the top, obscuring the stars. Reveille would be in a few hours, yet sleep had fled. The mood was dark after the Elliott party discovery. Golden Buffalo had missed their language lesson. Custer wanted the solace of Monahsetah, but she was avoiding him, too. He gave her the freedom to come and go from his bed as she pleased because it gave him more pleasure when she came of her own volition. Many nights she told him stories of her girlhood, and he fell asleep dreaming her life. He would be denied that distraction tonight.

  The truth was Elliott had been a grand soldier and a bit of a fool, too. Searching for glory, he found the grave. Here’s for a brevet or a coffin, he’d shouted, and found the latter. He had gone on his own resource, giving chase to a fleeing band of Indians, then found himself surrounded by warriors from the lower camps. Custer could not fault the officer’s bravery, yet he was dead and in a most brutal fashion. It was not more complicated than rotten luck.

  Custer was faulted for not having searched sooner, on the afternoon of the battle, as if it would have made a difference to the men’s outcome. What if his little feint had failed, and their own larger regiment had found itself surrounded as well? He would be guilty of poor judgment like Elliott. No matter. They were dead, and he was their leader. In the way that mattered, it remained his fault, in the way that had nothing to do with the politics of the army, or the misguided altruism of the pacifists. He mourned his brave, foolish soldiers and knew already that they would join the others to haunt him. Soldier’s heart indeed.

  THE NINTH REMOVE

  Thomas—Indian charity—Winter camp—Ransom—Deception at the fort

  After Anne birthed her second child, Thomas, named after her father, the women did much reading of signs and prophesied he would grow up to be a great peacemaker in the tribe. That did nothing to sweeten her captivity.

  Her camp joined a Sioux one, intending to winter together in an isolated valley. The location was chosen because they could be reasonably sure of being left alone by the army due to the difficulty of approach during inclement weather. Only Long Hair/Custer successfully managed winter raids, and rumor was that he had gone back east that year.

  When she had first been captured, still a girl, she had daydreamed that Custer, wearing his gold-braided uniform, his hair falling in long golden curls, would come to her rescue. He would be so taken with her that he would hand her up to sit behind him on his horse, and pressing against him, she would go home and live happily ever after.

  Anne despaired at the prospect of another long, freezing winter. Although her children were cared for and fed by Snake Man’s wives, she was still treated in a lowly manner, except the women never dared strike her again. During feasts of bear or venison, she was not allowed to join in, despite her growing reputation at sewing items of cotton, as well as buffalo and deerskin, which garnered her constant work. She more than earned enough to feed herself, but the majority of her money and barter items were taken by Snake Man. Regularly she resorted to begging for food and shelter from families that had taken a liking to her and did not turn her away.

  Her favorite was Running Bear, whose family invited her in often. The family consisted of the old chief, his woman, their grown children, and many grandchildren. They considered her ill-treatment scandalous, that it gave a bad reputation to their tribe, especially considering her contribution of children and labor for Snake Man. Living with this other family would make her life so much more tolerable. It was the first time that Anne looked at herself other than a prisoner and slave, but rather as an attenuated member of the tribe with her own desires.

  During the worst blizzards she was given her own buffalo robe to use when curling up to Running Bear’s fire. This was the first semblance of a home, a place where she was welcome, in many years. Often she would bring Thomas to suckle at night, and they would cuddle in the warmth. At peace, Anne would hold her infant and stay awake long into the night.

  Having such time to reflect was a rare luxury. She marveled at how much she had endured. Removed from family and home, from love and friendship, from language, books, learning. Civilization, in short. She had been removed from the normal things one took for granted such as birthdays and holidays and faith. And yet. In her new existence there were things she could only describe as sublime. Her children couldn’t be more loved by her. Neha was a true sister in all the ways that mattered. Her comfort in nature was a thing unfathomable in her previous existence.

  * * *

  ANNE WAS NOW BARELY GUARDED. She had been given more freedom after the birth of her second child for the simple reason that they were always on the move, traveling through treacherous areas where she would have clearly perished on her own. It was remarked upon even by Snake Man’s women that she was a devoted mother. Too devoted to risk her children’s lives in the wilderness; too devoted to abandon them. It would be impossible to attempt escape and survive the rigors of the landscape, and a sin to risk her children’s lives in such effort.

  All her hard-won equanimity vanished when she heard the tribe would register at a fort, vowing to reside on their assigned reservation, entitling them to “gifts” of provisions. The tribes had developed the ruse of receiving annuities and then disappearing with them, only to be wooed again the next year. They blamed their cheating on the agents who supplied worthless rotten blankets, moldy bread, barrels of sugar and flour that were half empty. Only a third of the quantity promised was in actuality delivered, and that was of shoddy quality, making Indian compliance impossible.

  Neha came and whispered in her ear. “In a few days’ time we will be close to the fort. It is your chance.”

  “How will I manage with the children?”

  Neha shrugged, unmoved. She was not yet a mother, could not understand. It would be Anne’s last chance of rescue for the remainder of the year.

  The next evening she spent with Running Bear and his wife. To her surprise they made her an extraordinary offer of adoption.

  “If it pleased you, I would be happy to live here. You know my hardship at my chief’s.”

  “Is it what you desire, child?”

  Unable to stop, tears sprang to her eyes. Her misery surprised even her.

  “More than anything.”

  “We will talk to Snake Man. He’s a reasonable man.”

  “He is not. But I will work day and night to repay whatever it costs.”

  Running Bear laughed at her eagerness.

  “I will arrange it.”

  Anne felt she had made great progress. When the right time came, she would convince the family to accept a ransom amount. If anything went wrong, she would escape alone, then beg the fort commander to aid her in retrieving her children.

  As they neared the fort, she was surprised to feel a vague guilt over the treachery of these machinations. After all, she had been taken against her will, her family slain, and been treated most harshly.

  When at last she had saviors in the form of the kind Running Bear and his woman, their offer of two ponies, an unheard-of extravagance for a captive, enraged Snake Man, who refused to trade her. On top of that he forbade her visits to them. When he discovered she still went there, he came and dragged her home by the hair, beating her until she dislocated a shoulder.

  Not only did he forbid visits to Running Bear but to other families as well. She was only to work for them. The rest of the time she was to stay near, defined not as eating and sleeping in their teepee, but being stranded and fending for herself until she was reduced to eating the dead grasses under the frost for nourishment. Her curse was in having ended up in Snake Man’s household, which was harsh compared with many others.

  Her only consolation was in watching the round, healthy bellies of her children, who were oblivious of her plight. She resolved that she would escape at all cost. She had dreams for them, be
lieving they were entitled to the gifts of civilization. She did not want to think too hard of the fact that Snake Man would feel differently on the matter. In truth, she hardly credited his fathering. She preferred to pretend her children’s conception was immaculate.

  Anne grew more and more determined as they neared the fort, but when it lay within a few miles’ reach, a small party of warriors was instructed to shelter in the nearby woods and guard her so that she was not spotted. They could hardly sue as peaceful and deserving of provisions if they held a captive, much less if that captive informed that they had recently been on the warpath and did not intend to stay on the reservation.

  Anne was in tears as she watched Snake Man and his women, along with her Solace and Thomas, join the rest of the tribe to visit the fort. They needed a show of numbers, especially children, to win the trust of the government agents. She prayed the obvious white blood in her children would give the lie to their charade but knew that the large number of half-breeds in the tribe would make this unlikely. Beside herself with distress at her plans unraveling, she ignored her guards, turned her back on them and their fire, the smell of cooking, and instead sat dejected in the snow. Hours passed in this way, and she hoped that one of them might come and cajole her with a hot bowl of food, but they were perfectly happy to let her sulk as long as she made no attempt to escape.

  The night was an especially sharp, cold one, the stars like knives overhead, and she began to feel pain in her extremities that turned to numbness. It tempted her, the idea of falling asleep and being rid of her troubles at last. She finally had surrendered to her fate, the likelihood that her hopes of rescue would come to naught, her life ending without ever returning home. Her heart froze, and she let it for fear of it otherwise breaking. Perhaps her end was the best remedy.

  Against her own volition, she found herself struggling up, body stiff, legs unbending as poles. She shuffled to the low fire and sat down, her icy skin unfeeling even inches from the embers. Only as she warmed up and felt the pain of thaw did she fully perceive how far she had almost gone. The warrior on watch merely looked at her, then turned disdainfully away. It drove her to misery that he had witnessed her vice of despair, yet did nothing to help a fellow creature. It was a hardness born of necessity, and yet that fact did not make it sit any easier. She longed for the balm of civilization.

  After three days, the Indians returned from the fort, much relaxed as if they had enjoyed a prolonged time of leisure. They had been well fed and returned laden with flour, sugar, coffee, carrots of tobacco, as well as rifles and ammunition. Looking at such bounty—bribes—Anne grew angry. How had they made off with such supplies and not been required to stay? The chief bragged that they invented a story: they would go to the main body of the camp and hurry along the stragglers, which numbered in the hundreds. The commander had been only too glad to accept the bald lie, already writing a report of his victory. How had they not noticed the blood of her children, their light skin and fine features? The golden streaks in Solace’s hair that matched her grandmother’s locks? If at least the military had kept her children, Anne would have been at peace and sacrificed her own fate. Now she must fight on. There was no choice but to endure another long winter.

  LIBBIE

  Indians haunted Libbie, whether they were before her eyes or resided in her imagination. Long afternoons were the hardest. Between lunch and dinner duties, social calls put aside, it was the moment when she could brood.

  There was the obvious fear of war parties, but there was also the more intimate fear of Monahsetah, a poisonous tale told by enemies. The truth—she was a princess, daughter of a chieftain, Little Rock, who was killed during the Battle of the Washita. By birth and by beauty she could not go unnoticed among the prisoners. Everyone knew Autie appreciated the female form and was himself admired by the opposite sex.

  To outsiders Libbie went as far as praising Monahsetah as a forward-thinking advocate of peace. Many great chieftains spoke for peace and cooperation, and she prayed that those voices would prevail, saving both Indians and themselves untold suffering. The main undoing of peace was the perfidy of the U.S. government. It did not help matters that Chief Black Kettle had been killed by the military.

  The ranchers and settlers paid lip service to the idea of coexistence, but in practice they wanted the Indians off the land. The faraway peace advocates talked endlessly about the free-roaming Indians deserving the right to use the land they were born on, although this did not stop them selling that very land—at high profit—for ranching, farming, and mining.

  In the spring of 1869, Custer asked Libbie to pay a visit to the Washita prisoners in the stockade at Fort Hays as a gesture of goodwill and cooperation. She resisted, fearful when having to come in contact with Indians, especially when they were unhappily being held captive. Above all she dreaded Monahsetah, who, having lost a father, might attempt revenge against the general by gleefully plunging a dagger into his wife. Yet he insisted it was her duty as the commanding officer’s wife to extend her hospitality and show Christian charity. She did not know his aim other than to humiliate her, but phrased like this she had no choice.

  Of course Libbie was also curious about this newest source of her distress.

  She dressed as if paying a social visit, quite more than the company required, and immediately regretted it. The women and children were gathered in the common room, Autie chaperoning and mere steps away, and yet Libbie’s heart pounded as if she were traveling a long, dangerous gauntlet quite alone. The women crowded around Libbie, as curious about her as she was of them.

  Hands touched her jacket, gloves, boots. Her hat, on which perched a small stuffed bird, created a sensation. Excitedly one of the women related through the interpreter that her father, a great warrior, wore a bird, albeit a much larger one, strapped to his head for good medicine during battle. Libbie did not understand the meaning but smiled delightedly as if she had been told the most amusing anecdote at an afternoon tea. A bracelet was pulled from her wrist. An earbob was fondled. Libbie grew panicked, claustrophobic. So many bodies crowded around. The smells of grass, smoke, and leather dizzied her. She nodded as papooses were brought for her to admire, trying not to show her terror of babies, which she’d not had practice handling.

  Monahsetah hung back from the crowd, watching. Libbie had been told the story of her outrageous behavior: shooting her husband in the leg, a potentially disabling injury to a warrior. How could such a headstrong girl stand her present circumstances? Wasn’t she furious at her captors, who had killed her father? Wouldn’t such a woman insist on exacting revenge? Libbie could almost see the blade come out of the folds of the girl’s blanket and plunge into her chest, her heart’s blood ebbing out. What a glorious coup that would be.

  Finally the moment was right, and the girl chose to come forward. The other women meekly parted to make way for her. Up close she was not the perfection Libbie had conjured from a distance during the parade. Her hair was perhaps too thick and coarse? Her face too square? Her eyes too small? But when Monahsetah smiled Libbie sensed the joy and warmth of her, the vital, fertile youth, and her heart dulled. The girl held out her papoose, an adorable velvety-skinned baby with jet eyes, and Libbie nodded as Monahsetah pushed it into her lap. With an involuntary check, Libbie noted it appeared a full-blooded Indian child, born scant months after capture. Through the interpreter, it appeared she wished Libbie to take possession of the child to care for during her imprisonment.

  Libbie flushed a deep red as Autie came between them. Through a series of gestures and words he unequivocally conveyed how honored they both were, and yet firm in their refusal of her gift.

  Somehow seeing Monahsetah in the flesh had done the trick. The venom of jealousy drained from Libbie, and she could wait dispassionately for what happened next. Would such an ambitious man end all prospects of advancement by pursuing such a union openly? She thought not.

  They never spoke of that visit, nor did he ask her to repeat it. Sho
rtly thereafter Autie was ordered out to bring in the remaining tribes or else declare war on them if they refused. He groused at the politicians back in the States who presumed to know better than the Indians themselves, or the soldiers familiar with them, what was best. If the government simply kept its promises of supplies, violence could be quelled immediately. The truth was that politicians cared for what filled their pockets, and that was railroads and settlements. Empty spaces did not.

  After Washita there was a new moodiness in Autie, and when Libbie asked about the campaign he refused to talk. She deemed it a kind of nostalgia caused by the War and not abated by Indian fighting. Tom simply shrugged his shoulders and said it was very different from the experiences of the War. Although Autie had been lauded in many papers, an equal number criticized him. He could not recapture the universal approval that he had during the War, and it ate at him.

  To cheer things up Libbie decided to hold a masquerade ball. With such limited materials each person at the fort had to employ all his ingenuity to create witty costumes. Autie took no interest in the proceedings, but she suspected he worked in secret so as to make a grand entrance.

  When the day came, the women decorated their makeshift ballroom with ribbons and candles. Members of the band picked up fiddles for the night. At the last minute she decided to dress up as an Indian princess. With much protest, Eliza was sent to the stockade with a request for a wardrobe and jewelry to be borrowed from the prisoners, counting on the universal that the women would have grabbed their best finery before leaving their homes. She would return the items the next day, along with quantities of sugar, coffee, and other luxuries as thanks.

  By the time Libbie went downstairs, the party was in full swing. Their community was so habituated to one another’s company, they did not rest on formalities such as waiting for the hostess’s appearance before eating and drinking. She was surprised to see Autie in his old Union war uniform, his large hat shadowing his face, a smart black mask covering his eyes. Usually he excused himself from these soirees and went to his study to read until she begged him to come join in. Now he stood alone, pensively looking out the doorway, glum and unsocial.