This photograph of Casita and her brother, Jack, was taken at the Carlisle Indian Industrial School around 1879.
Text copyright © 2016 by Michaela MacColl
Cover illustration copyright © 2016 by Mark Summers
All rights reserved.
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, contact [email protected].
Although this work centers around characters who are actual persons, about whom limited facts are known, this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.
Calkins Creek
An Imprint of Highlights
815 Church Street
Honesdale, Pennsylvania 18431
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 978-1-62091-625-4 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-62979-742-7 (e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016936345
First hardcover edition, 2016
First e-book edition, 2016
The text of this book is set in Garamond 3.
Design by Barbara Grzeslo
Production by Sue Cole
H1.1
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO
SANTOS CASTRO ROMERO—
NDÉ NANTA’ ÁN SHIMA’
WHOSE ORAL HISTORIES PRESERVE
THE LOST ONES.
DANIEL CASTRO ROMERO, JR., MSW, MA
GENERAL COUNCIL CHAIRMAN
LIPAN APACHE BAND OF TEXAS
MAX AND MADI,
WHO I THINK WOULD BE JUST AS BRAVE.
—MM
“LET IT BE A CAMPAIGN OF ANNIHILATION, OBLITERATION AND COMPLETE DESTRUCTION.”
—Orders received by the 4th US Cavalry about the
Indian problem in South Texas
Spring 1873
THE CUELCAHEN NDÉ: CASTRO FAMILY CREST
by Daniel Castro Romero, Jr., Ndé Nanta’ án (meaning leader or chief)
Casita and Jack were members of the Castro Family. The Castro family crest is a modern one, designed after interviewing various family members who identified the following icons as having cultural and historical meaning.
Circle
The circle with four arrows pointing in each of the four directions—North, South, East, and West—represents the Circle of Life. The northern quarter represents mother earth, the eastern quarter represents fire and the sun’s life-giving light, the southern quarter represents water, and the western quarter represents wind.
Star
The five-pointed star symbol represents the Northern Star, which the Ndé used to guide them in nighttime travels.
Crescent Moon
To the Ndé, the crescent moon symbol represents the guardian spirits of the night. The crescent moon also symbolizes the moon’s resting place.
Three Peaks
The three peaks under the crescent moon symbol represent the highest mountains in Texas, the Guadalupe peaks.
Three Straight Lines
The three lines under the three peaks each represent a river. The first line represents the Sabine River, the second line represents the Red River, and the third line represents the Rio Grande River.
The Sun
There are five rays on the sun, one for each of the directions and the fifth represents the horizon.
Three Arrows
The three arrows represent the three directions from which many of our people fled. They crossed three rivers (the Rio Grande, the Red River, and Sabine River) to protect their families. Note that the arrows have fletching (feathers) only on one side to honor the many families who were split up. We will add a fourth arrow when the US government recognizes the Lipan Band.
Three Wavy Lines
The lines represent the Gulf of Mexico.
CONTENTS
Part One
Glossary
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Part Two
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Part Three
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Author’s Note
An Afterword
Resources
An Interview with Michaela MacColl
About the Author
PART ONE
GLOSSARY
Ndé (pronounced En-day): The name the Lipan Apache call themselves.
Cuelcahen Ndé (People of the Tall Grass): The name of the particular band of Apaches in this novel.
Indaa: The name the Lipan Apache have for the white settlers and soldiers. Soldiers are also called “bluebellies,” because of their dark blue uniforms.
wickiup: A round hut with walls made of buffalo skins and a roof of branches and mud.
Usen: The Apache name for God.
CHAPTER ONE
El Día de Los Gritos (The Day of Screams), 1877 El Remolino, Mexico
DAWN WAS COMING, BUT NOT YET. CASITA SAW A THIN RIM of gold over the mountains to the east. The moon was setting on the opposite side of the sky. From her perch on top of the enormous boulder, she looked down to the river valley and saw their village, nestled on the shore of the river. Mist floated up from the cool water.
Downstream, moving silently, a long line of raiders on horseback traveled purposefully among the clouds. Her father was at the head of the line. Just before he turned round the bend of the river, he twisted his neck to look up at her perch. He half lifted his hand in a salute. He knew she would be watching him; it was their secret. Casita hugged herself tightly. She would have loved to jump up on the rock, wave wide, and send him off properly—but she knew better. He would scold her for making herself a target—standing tall, visible to the enemy. Her people, the Ndé, were always in danger and even the smallest child learned to protect herself.
Once the sun came up, Casita’s mother would expect her back. She slithered down the rock on her stomach, her toes finding the hidden ridges to support her weight. Her little brother, Jack, often begged her, his face angry, to tell him how to get up on the boulder. “No,” she would always say. “It’s my private place.”
A few feet above the ground, she pushed off the rock and landed in a crouch. Her leather moccasins with their turned-up toes protected her feet from the sharp stones. Hurrying down the steep slope, she made her way back to the village. She had an armful of wild onions to explain her absence. They were the first of the season and Mother loved them.
In the mist coming off the river, the village was at first only hazy shapes of the occasional round wickiups and pointed teepees. Her wickiup was on the farthest edge of the village and closest to her. Casita could remember when her mother had started to build the wickiup. She knew then that they would stay in one place for a while. The thatched roof and buffalo skin walls had sheltered them for several seasons.
Casita hurried to check the agave hearts roasting under a huge mound, as tall as her head. The day before, the women of the village had harvested the spiked agave cacti and trimmed them down to the hearts. They had prepared a hole in the ground and lined it with baking stones. Casita had been chosen to go in the hole and build a fire to heat the stones. Once the fire had died, the hearts had been thrown in the pit, then covered with we
t grasses and dirt. The hearts would roast underground until they were tender and sweet. She sniffed. Among the scents of mist and river mud, she could make out the delicious smell. Casita placed her hand on top of the mound. It was still warm. Mother would want them to roast a little longer. Her stomach rumbled, thinking of the feast there would be when the hearts were dug up.
Casita thought she’d better find herself a new task before she got another one she might not care for. She built a fire in the ring of stones, spinning a wooden stick into a hollow filled with tinder until she made a spark. She wished her mother wasn’t so stubborn about using matches the Indaa, the white men, had invented. It would be easier. As soon as the fire had caught and was burning well, Casita slid the cooking stone onto the rocks so it rested above the fire. She laid the onions in a row on the stone to let them cook.
Stooping because she was so tall, her mother lifted the hide door and emerged from the wickiup. Casita always felt tiny next to her. She rested a hand for a moment on top of Casita’s head, her usual morning greeting. As a married woman, she wore her hair loose about her shoulders. Her buckskin tunic reached the tops of her moccasins. Buckskin was heavy and smelly in the heat of the day, but Mother refused to use the Indaa’s cotton cloth. Casita wished she would change her mind; she liked the cotton skirts the other girls wore.
Mother sniffed, catching the smell of the onions right away. Casita thought she was pleased. “We needed that for the stew today.” She took a hard look at Casita. “Why is your hair is so untidy?” She undid Casita’s loosened braid and redid it so it hung flat on Casita’s back. Then she asked casually, “Did you watch your father leave from your rock?”
Casita’s head jerked up. “You know about my secret place?”
Her mother nodded, smiling slightly. “Everyone needs a place to be alone; sometimes, we need silence to hear our own thoughts.”
Casita felt a pang of recognition in her heart; Mother was saying something Casita had always known but didn’t know how to say. “You never said anything before.”
“You work hard. I don’t mind that you go off alone sometimes.” Mother tugged on her daughter’s braid and easily lowered herself to sit next to Casita. “But you won’t always have the time for such indulgences. You’ll be a woman of the tribe soon.”
Her words made Casita shiver. Looking about to make sure they were alone, Casita said, “Mother, what if I don’t want to become a woman yet?”
Mother laughed, a sound that Casita rarely heard. “Daughter, you have no choice.”
“But what if I’m not strong enough for the ceremony?” The Changing Woman ceremony was four days of fasting, meditating, and dancing. Mother would work for months to collect the food for all the guests and the gifts they would give in honor of Casita becoming a woman. It was the most important ceremony that Casita would ever be part of—but what if she couldn’t do it?
“You will be ready,” Mother promised. “And the ceremony changes everything. During mine, the Changing Woman Goddess came to me. I felt as though I could fly. It will be the same for you.” Her mother touched her only jewelry, a necklace with a small mirror surrounded by blue sky stones. “My mother gave me this after my ceremony. Perhaps I will give it to you.”
Casita’s fingers went to the shell that hung on a strip of leather around her neck. “Your necklace is very pretty, but I love this,” she said. “Father gave it to me.”
“You can wear more than one necklace, you know.” Her mother smiled. “You will still be his daughter after the ceremony.”
Casita thought about her father riding away, weapons ready. “He’ll come home safely, won’t he?”
“Of course. He is very brave and very clever.”
“But the Indaa are fierce fighters,” Casita said.
Mother nodded. “They hate us.”
“Father told me we did not always fight them,” Casita said slowly.
“When they first came, they were not so greedy. We sometimes helped each other, especially when we had the same enemy.”
Her mother did not need to name the Comanche. Every Ndé child knew the Comanche were their greatest foes.
“But the Indaa are greedy.” Mother’s voice was quiet, but Casita could hear the anger in it. “They want everything: all the land, all the water, all the buffalo. We stand in their way, so now they hunt us.”
“They won’t come to Mexico, though,” Casita reassured herself. “We’re far away from the land they want.”
“It’s forty miles to the great river that is the border. The Texans aren’t welcome here, so we can stay and prosper. So long as we can offer the Mexicans cheap horses, they will protect us.”
Casita counted in her mind the summers they had spent at El Remolino. Two, no, three so far. They hadn’t stayed in one place for as long in her whole life. “Will we stay here forever?”
Mother shrugged. “The hunting is good. Our corn grows well. The river gives us clean water. If the Army stays on their side of the great river . . .” She did not need to finish the sentence.
“That’s why Father has to ride so far to find a good fight.” Jack spoke from the entry to the wickiup. He wore only buckskin breeches and he was rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His face was streaked with dirt.
Mother made an exasperated noise when she saw him. Rising effortlessly, she dipped a rag in a gourd of clean water to scrub his face. He complained, but she paid him no mind. “How do you find so much dirt?” she asked as she rubbed her cloth on his bald skull. Jack, like the other boys, shaved his head except for his long tail of hair that sprouted from the top of his head. Jack shook his head irritably.
Casita started to giggle. Jack scowled at her. “What are you laughing at?” he asked.
“You look just like your pony when a fly is pestering him. He swats his tail around too,” Casita said.
Mother smiled and continued to scrub.
“You would not talk to me like that if I was a warrior,” Jack said. “When I grow up, I’m going to raid with Father and show the Indaa that they can’t take our land. I will steal more horses than any raider has ever stolen. We will be rich.”
“We only steal the horses to trade with the Mexicans for safety. We have no use for more horses than we need,” Mother said calmly. “You want glory and wealth. That is why it will be many summers before your father lets you join a raid. The Ndé fight only to survive. And if we can survive without fighting, that is what we will do.”
“Even if we had to live on a reservation?” Casita asked. They had come to Mexico rather than be confined to a plot of land the United States government chose.
“That is not living at all. But the best living is when we can be peaceful here, growing our food and watching our children grow.” Mother moved away to check the agave hearts.
Jack crouched next to the fire, warming his hands at the flame. Quietly, so Mother couldn’t hear, Jack said, “I bet Father would say differently. He would say to fight to the death. He needs me in the raiding party. Aren’t I the best wrestler in the band? Aren’t I the one who can keep the burning sage on my skin the longest?” The boys of the tribe trained in many ways to be strong fighters. The burning sage taught them to withstand pain without crying out.
“You are still a little boy,” Casita said. “Father will not let you fight for many seasons yet. I will be a woman before you are a warrior.”
Jack grimaced at his sister, while his arm snaked out to snatch a wild onion. But Casita was wise to his tricks, and just as fast she smacked his fingers away. Before he could retaliate, their mother’s voice interrupted, “The horses need watering.”
“I’ll do it,” said Casita, quickly getting to her feet. It was stifling next to the fire, even in the cool morning air. When the sun started to rise the heat would be unbearable.
“It’s my job,” Jack cried, unwilling to give up time with his beloved pony.
Mother’s eyes went to the fire and the baking stone where the onions were starting to smok
e. Casita sighed and returned to the fire to poke at the singed greens. Jack grabbed an onion before she could stop him, and he took off running toward the river.
The sun rose higher and the rest of the village woke up. With no set pattern to their mornings, everyone did what needed to be done. All the able men were with Father on the raid; only the elderly, women, and children remained. Jack and the other boys pretended they were the protectors of the tribe while the warriors were away—but where would any real danger come from? The village was safe enough.
Finally Casita decided the onions were ready and she moved them to a clay plate to cool. The round baking stone, empty for the moment, seemed to be calling to her. She found a dried cattail among the kindling. She dipped the furry head into a clay pot of water and began quickly drawing a figure on the hot stone. As the wet cattail met the stone, it sizzled and spat. Two parallel lines, connected by a rounded one—and she had a horse’s head. The image remained for just a few seconds before it steamed away. Casita smiled and tried again. This time she managed the whole horse before the image faded.
“Was that a coyote?” The voice startled her. She looked around to see her cousin Juanita watching her with solemn eyes. Juanita was a few summers younger than Casita, but they were close friends. Juanita held the hand of her little brother, Miguel. He wobbled as he stood; he was only a few weeks out of his cradleboard.
“It was a horse,” Casita retorted. “Not that it lasted very long.”
“Maybe you should draw with this. It might last longer,” Juanita said, offering a long stick with a charred end.
“Thank you.” Casita smiled at her favorite cousin. A few swipes of the stick and she had a warrior on his horse, sitting tall with a bow and arrow strapped to his back. Her father.
“I like that one,” Juanita whispered.
Mother appeared. She frowned when she saw what was in Casita’s hand. “You are too old to be playing instead of working. You must put away your toys.”
“But the onions are finished,” Casita protested.
The Lost Ones Page 1
