The Lost Ones

by Michaela MacColl

  The long line of soldiers and prisoners started up the hill to the fort. The horses’ hooves clattered as they broke into a trot across the wooden bridge and through a wide opening, flanked by a tall guard tower. A crowd of soldiers and women cheered when they saw the prisoners, a sure sign that the raid had been successful. Casita hated them all for it. How could people cheer for the massacre of her family? But then she remembered how she and Jack used to whoop when her father returned from a raid. Had her father left a trail of broken bodies and burned homesteads, too?

  Leaving the others behind, Caleb led Choya across an enormous open square bordered on all sides by large buildings. He took them to a long white building set back from the others that lined the square. Caleb called to someone inside, “Get a doc! She’s hurt bad!”

  Casita swayed back and forth, her head dizzy. The surprise she felt at the urgency in his voice must have been reflected in her face, because Caleb muttered in her ear, “Don’t think I care if you live or die, Apache. I’m just following orders.”

  A man in uniform came running down the steps. He lifted Caleb’s rough bandage, now soaked through with blood, to look at Casita’s wounds. “Cut her off that horse,” the doctor ordered.

  “Yes, sir.” Caleb’s knife slid along the skin of her arm and she felt the tightness of the ropes fall away. She toppled to one side, but the doctor grabbed her before she hit the ground. As he carried her inside the building, a woman in a dark dress and a white apron appeared at Casita’s side.

  “Oh my!” the woman said. “She’s only a little girl.” She brushed away the hair from Casita’s forehead and caught her breath when Casita winced. “I’m sorry, honey.” They were the first gentle words Casita had heard since the raid. This unexpected kindness startled her, and Casita tried to get a better look at the woman.

  “Watch her, Mrs. Smith,” the doctor warned. “Even Apache children are dangerous.”

  “Heavens, Dr. Mallory, she’s barely conscious.”

  “You’ve only just arrived in Texas, ma’am. These people are ruthless fighters.”

  “But she’s a child!”

  “I think this one might be the daughter of someone important.” Caleb’s voice came from behind Casita. “Her mother had a necklace with blue stones that was worth a pretty penny.”

  “I don’t care if she’s the Empress of China,” Mrs. Smith said. “She needs our help.”

  “And she’ll get it,” Dr. Mallory said. “I know my duty. But I’ll watch her like a hawk. Mrs. Smith, you’ll do the same if you want to continue helping in the hospital.”

  “Of course, Doctor.”

  Lying in the doctor’s arms, Casita couldn’t get a good view of the room, but she could tell it was big and full of light. Dr. Mallory brought her to the far corner and placed her on a bed.

  “You’re safe here,” Mrs. Smith murmured. “Sleep.”

  Despite the brightness, Casita couldn’t keep herself awake. Slowly her eyes closed and she surrendered to sleep.

  Casita woke to someone bathing her wounds with a wet cloth. If she didn’t open her eyes, she could pretend it was her mother tending her wounds. Pretend that life was still the same. But a voice speaking English interrupted her pretty dream.

  “Poor thing. Who would do this to a little girl?” Mrs. Smith’s voice was as soothing as her hands. After a few minutes, she finished her work, but Casita didn’t hear her moving away. Casita slowly opened one eye. The room was dimmer now. Her bed had been cordoned off with canvas screens. Mrs. Smith rested in a nearby chair, her eyes closed. A tendril of blond hair escaped from her cap and lay against her pale cheek. Casita had never seen skin so white. Suddenly, Mrs. Smith woke up, blinking her bright blue eyes. As blue as the sky stone in Mother’s necklace.

  “Hello, young lady. Welcome back!” Mrs. Smith said. “I know you don’t understand me, but the doctor said you are going to be fine.” Pointing to herself, Mrs. Smith said, “My name is Mollie Smith. What is yours?”

  Casita was silent, not daring to reveal how much she understood.

  Unconcerned, Mollie Smith said, “Never mind about your name for now. I’ll be taking care of you. While you were asleep we cleaned you up. I would never have thought one little girl could be so dirty! We had to burn what you were wearing, but we have new clothes for you.”

  Casita’s hand went to her neck. Her fingers touched thick bandages. Where was her father’s necklace?

  Beyond the screen they could hear two men talking. Casita recognized Captain Carter’s voice.

  “When can the girl travel? The colonel wants to ship the others out in a few days,” Captain Carter said. “The sooner they are on the reservation at Fort Gibson, the better.”

  Casita knew all about the white men’s reservations: the illness, the rotten food, the barren ground, and the liquor that made brave men foolish. It was no life for the Ndé. Her mother had died rather than go to one.

  “She was badly hurt. She might not survive the trip to Oklahoma,” Dr. Mallory said.

  “Fine. What’s one more dead Indian?” the captain demanded. “Just don’t delay me.”

  “How despicable,” Mollie muttered. She pushed herself out of her chair—no doubt to scold the men beyond the screen. Casita felt a tiny spark of hope. This woman wanted to help. Casita reached out and grabbed her hand.

  Startled, Mrs. Smith looked down. “What is it, my dear?”

  “Help me! Please!” Casita whispered.

  “You speak English?” Mrs. Smith said.

  “I can’t go to the reservation,” Casita cried. “If you don’t save me, I’ll die.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  AS THE MEN SPOKE AGAIN, CASITA PUT HER FINGER TO HER LIPS to warn Mrs. Smith to be silent.

  “We can’t afford to wait for a sick girl,” Captain Carter said. “The Apache have never dared to attack the fort, but we’ve dealt them a vicious blow. They might do anything if they think they can rescue their people.”

  “Don’t worry, dear,” Mrs. Smith said quietly. “I’ll handle this.” She pushed back the screen. Casita could just make out the doctor and Captain Carter.

  “Mrs. Smith!” Captain Carter said, surprised. “Good afternoon.”

  “Please keep your voices down,” she said. “My patient is trying to rest.”

  Captain Carter snorted. “Your patient, Mrs. Smith?”

  The doctor said with a slight smile, “Mrs. Smith is a nurse.”

  “I met my husband at Gettysburg while he was recuperating,” Mrs. Smith said. “He needed rest after that terrible battle, and so does this little girl.” Both men glanced at Casita, then quickly looked away.

  “Patient or not, she’s a prisoner of war,” Captain Carter said. “When will she be able to travel?”

  “Soon,” the doctor reassured Captain Carter.

  “It may be some time,” Mrs. Smith contradicted him.

  “It’d best not be too long,” Captain Carter said. “Or I’ll take her anyway and damn the consequences.” He turned on his heel and Casita heard his boots marching out of the infirmary.

  “Doctor, may I speak with you?” Mrs. Smith drew the doctor away, out of earshot. Watching her go, Casita wondered if she could trust a white woman. Without her band, without allies, she was powerless to help herself and Jack.

  Alone for the rest of the day, Casita had time to wonder about where she was. Her little space behind the screen offered hardly any information. There wasn’t much to see: a thin bed, a chair, a small table, and a bucket to pee in. The acrid smell of whatever they used to clean the floors made her stomach churn. Beyond the screen, she could hear the doctor talking to his other patients. From what she could make out, they were soldiers from the raid grumbling about the Indian girl who was getting special treatment.

  She was anxious to know about the world outside her little space, but she had no way to see. Every few minutes, she heard the sound of a bugle, but she had no idea what it meant. Where was Jack? And what was going to happen to her?
She remembered how Mother had taught her to tackle a big problem a little bit at a time. She and Jack had survived the raid. The next step was to keep them from the reservation. Her only weapons were her cleverness, her ability to speak English, and Mrs. Smith.

  She was relieved when Mrs. Smith returned as promised.

  “Hello, dear.” Mrs. Smith made a show of checking behind the screens. “I wouldn’t want anyone to overhear,” she explained. “What is your name?”

  Casita did not hesitate. She must make this woman a friend, and quickly. “I am called Casita.”

  “What a lovely name. What does it mean?”

  “To my people it means ‘girl of the small house.’”

  “Do you have a last name?”

  “My father is called Raul Castro.”

  “So Casita Castro. You can call me Mollie. How can you speak English so well?”

  “My father taught me,” Casita said, letting her voice tremble. To show weakness would be the way to get Mollie on her side. And she needed Mollie’s help if she wanted to see Jack again.

  “Is your father a prisoner?” Mollie asked.

  Casita shook her head. “He was away when the soldiers came.”

  “What happened on the raid?” Mollie asked, leaning forward with her elbows on the bed. “I have only just come to Fort Clark and I don’t know what the soldiers have to do.”

  As Casita recounted the day, from the first rifle shot to her mother’s body being tossed into their burning home, she felt as if she were at the edge of a campfire circle, listening to someone else tell the story. In her mind, she called it the Day of Screams. Surely this was how the day would be remembered if anyone in her band survived.

  “I am so sorry,” Mollie said, horrified. “That wasn’t a fair fight at all, but a massacre of children and women.”

  Casita wasn’t familiar with the word massacre, but she agreed that the raid had not been fair. On the other hand, who expected war to be fair? This Mollie Smith had odd ideas for someone who lived in an Army fort.

  “But what happened to your brother?”

  Casita answered, “I don’t know. He tried to escape, but he was captured. I am afraid he might be hurt.”

  “He’s not in the hospital—I would know if there were another child here. I can try to find out for you.”

  “But aren’t you a soldier’s wife?” Casita asked.

  “I am, but I’m a Quaker and we believe in helping people, even our enemies.”

  “Can you keep me and Jack away from the reservation?”

  “Why wouldn’t you want to go to one?” Mollie asked. “They’re supposed to be the solution to the Indian problem.”

  “That’s a lie,” Casita said boldly. “They choose land where nothing grows and there is no game for hunting. And the water is dirty. People get sick and die. Reservations are really prisons without bars. I know. I have heard it many times. My brother would die of shame there.” She reached out to take Mollie’s hand. “You’ve got to help us.”

  “I don’t know what I can do. The Army won’t listen to me.”

  “Because you are a woman?”

  Mollie nodded.

  “My people respect women. My mother was strong.” Casita’s gaze fixed on those odd blue eyes. “You are strong, too. I heard you speak to Captain Carter.”

  “Where I am from, women are equal to men. But that is not the way in the Army,” Mollie said. “And there is only so much trouble I can make without getting my husband upset.”

  “Make trouble for us,” Casita pleaded.

  “First things first,” Mollie said. “I’ll go see what I can find out about your brother. I’ll be back soon.”

  First things first. Mollie sounded like Mother. Casita let her head fall back on the soft pillow and stared at the ceiling. Mother would never ask a white woman for anything. If she were here, she would tell Casita to rely only upon herself. But Casita had no choice but to look to someone else. And she didn’t have much time. As soon as she was healed, the doctor would send her away.

  And what about Jack? He had not waited for help; he had tried to escape on his own. But that hadn’t worked. The soldiers were too many and too strong. Had they hurt him when they caught him? Was he still alive? She couldn’t lie here for another minute without knowing. She couldn’t wait for Mollie. How hard could it be to find a group of Indian women and children in a military fort? He must be close by.

  She threw back the covers and swung her legs onto the floor. Her bare feet touched the wooden planks and she swayed for a moment until the dizziness went away. She wore a soft cotton dress that went down to her feet. Casita guessed it belonged to Mollie. Her ankle was sore, but she could walk on it.

  Peeking past the curtain, she saw the room beyond had only a few patients in beds. One patient had a visitor sitting with him, his back to her. The doctor was nowhere to be seen. Quickly, before she could think better of it, she crossed the room and slipped out the same door Captain Carter used. She found herself outside on a terrace filled with chairs for patients. No one was sitting there this late in the day. The sun was setting in a brilliant display of oranges and reds, the same as it did at home. The hospital was set back in a corner of the great square. It was like a miniature town. Everywhere she looked there were soldiers, drilling on horseback, marching on foot, lounging about, or playing games. Some, no doubt, were the ones who had murdered her people. How could she ever find Jack? The prisoners could be anywhere.

  Casita watched a soldier march to a flagpole in front of her and start playing a battered bugle. A song without sweetness or melody. But it must have been some kind of signal, because the horsemen left the square. The marching men and the others headed to a long, low building. Even from where Casita stood she could smell meat cooking. Maybe this was a good time to look, while they were all eating . . . but before she could go into the square, she was grabbed from behind.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Caleb’s mouth was so close to her ear that she could feel his spittle on her skin. “A filthy Indian’s not fit to be walking about free.” He twisted her arm behind her and shoved her back inside. She cried out before she could stop herself.

  Dr. Mallory spotted them and hurried over. “What are you doing, Caleb? You’re supposed to be sitting with Major Jameson, not walking the prisoner.”

  “I was,” Caleb said. “But then I saw her trying to leave and I caught her before she could get too far.” He twisted her arm even further and the pain made Casita feel queasy. She would have tumbled if Caleb hadn’t held her up.

  “Good job, son,” Dr. Mallory said. “I wouldn’t want to have to explain to Carter what happened to his prisoner.”

  “She’s a troublemaker,” Caleb said. “I saw that on the ride home.”

  “She’ll be gone soon. Put her in her bed. Mrs. Smith will be back in a moment and she can sit with her.”

  “But what if she tries again?”

  “If she does, I’ll hand her over to Carter, injured or not.”

  Caleb dragged Casita to her bed. “Stay there or I’ll wallop you next time,” he warned. “I wish you knew English so I could tell you what I think of you.”

  When Mollie came around the screen, she was surprised to see Caleb. “What are you doing here, Caleb?”

  “This Indian tried to escape, Mrs. Smith.”

  Mollie laughed. “She can hardly walk.”

  “Ma’am, you’re too trusting. She’s stronger than you think.”

  “I can take care of myself and the girl,” Mollie said, still smiling. “I hear you are doing well with Dr. Mallory.”

  Caleb’s back straightened and he glanced over to where his other patient lay. “I am. The doc says I have a knack with the injured patients.”

  “Good for you. And come back to me anytime you wish to continue your schooling,” Mollie said warmly. “Your parents would have wanted it.”

  Caleb’s pride was replaced by sadness. He backed out of sight. As soon as she was sure h
e was gone, Casita said, “He’s a devil!”

  “Casita! Don’t be silly. Caleb is just a boy. He was fourteen when his family was killed. He’s only sixteen or seventeen now.”

  “He threw my mother’s body into the fire and stole her necklace.”

  “Caleb did that? He must have had orders. Even good people have to do bad things in war.”

  Casita shook her head. “He enjoyed it.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “He hates my people.”

  Mollie stroked Casita’s hand. “He has cause, Casita. An Apache raider killed his father and brother and burned down his house.”

  “He was happy to do the same to my family.”

  “The only way to stop this awful war is for everyone to forgive each other.”

  “Forgive?” Casita wasn’t familiar with the word.

  “It means to learn to love your enemies. Quakers don’t believe in war or violence.”

  Privately Casita thought Mollie’s people, these Quakers, sounded weak. Sometimes vengeance was necessary. “War is not the way of Ndé either,” Casita said after a moment. “We fight to survive.”

  “Enday?” Mollie asked, trying to pronounce the unfamiliar word.

  “It is what we call ourselves. My people are the Cuelcahen Ndé—the people of the tall grass.”

  “I thought you were Apache?”

  “We are Apache, too. There are many different bands who are Apache, but only my band is Cuelcahen Ndé.”

  “The Army may see you as enemies, but the Quakers believe there is a peaceful solution to the Indian problem. I do, too.”

  Without expecting much, Casita asked, “Is there a solution to my problem?”

  “I have an idea that will keep both you and your brother here,” Mollie said.

  “Tell me, please,” she said. Even if Mother would not approve, Mollie was their best hope.