The Lost Ones

by Michaela MacColl

  “Not yet,” Mollie said. “First I have to make sure I can do it. You’ll have to trust me.”

  “I do trust you,” Casita answered with a spark of hope.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CASITA KNEW SHE WAS RUNNING OUT OF TIME, ALTHOUGH THE only way she could mark it was by the never-ending bugling. From sunrise to sunset, the Army seemed to have signals for every hour, reminding her that any day now, she and Jack would be shipped out. The only thing that stood between them and the reservation was Mollie’s promise. Had Casita made a terrible mistake trusting this white woman?

  It was three days after they met when Mollie came to check on the wound on the back of Casita’s shoulders. “Does that hurt, my dear?”

  Casita shook her head.

  “You will always have the scars, but the pain will fade.”

  Casita fingered the healed wounds. Jack was the one who was supposed to have battle scars. Mollie had managed to find out that he was alive, but not much more. Casita had to believe that she would see him soon and they could compare whose scars were worse.

  Dr. Mallory appeared from behind the screen. “How is she?” he asked. Mollie peeled back the bandages and he examined the wounds closely. “Very nice, Mrs. Smith. You’ve done a remarkable job.”

  “I hope I haven’t healed her just so she can be carted away to a reservation,” Mollie said.

  “Best place for them.” Dr. Mallory let out an impatient snort. “Besides, it’s not for us to question our orders.”

  “Your orders,” Mollie said sharply. “I’m not in the Army.”

  “You’re an Army wife now,” Dr. Mallory pointed out. “You had better get used to obeying orders without question. As your husband does.” He paused and then said very pointedly, “Lieutenant Smith has a promising career in front of him.”

  Casita’s eyes darted between the doctor and Mollie; she knew a threat when she heard one. “So if I don’t toe the Army line, Charles will pay the price?” Mollie asked.

  Casita feared that Mollie would never help her if doing so hurt Mollie’s husband.

  The doctor’s voice softened. “Look, Mrs. Smith, I’m just trying to help. I know you are a Quaker and sympathetic to the Apache, but that attitude will only cause you grief here. We’ve all lost friends to these Indians’ savagery. As he left for his rounds, he instructed, “Make sure she has extra bandages for the journey.”

  “Yes, sir.” Mollie’s voice was respectful but still defiant. She peeked around the screen. “Wait until he hears that you are leaving here today with me!”

  Casita sat up straight, wincing a little as her shoulder pulled against the bandage. “How?”

  “You’ll see in just a minute!”

  “Mollie?” A tall man in a blue officer’s uniform arrived. He had a slight limp. He wore the bushy sideburns that all the soldiers seemed to like. His face seemed naturally stern, but when he looked at Mollie he seemed to soften. Mollie quickly introduced them. “This is Lieutenant Smith, my husband.” Lowering her voice, she added, “He knows you understand English.” She was beaming, but Casita noticed how carefully she watched her husband.

  “Hello, Casita,” he said, extending his hand.

  She hesitated. Casita had seen her father complete this ritual, but it was not for a child to do.

  Mollie watched anxiously—she was nervous, Casita could see. “Shake his hand, Casita,” she said.

  “Only a chief shakes hands,” Casita explained. “Not a girl child.”

  Charles was surprised, but he only said, “It’s all right, Mollie,” his hand back at his side.

  “Hello, Lieutenant.” Her tongue stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

  “Call me Charles,” he said. “My wife tells me you are almost well.”

  Casita nodded. This military man was not soft like his wife. She had better tread carefully.

  “Do you hate us for raiding your village?” he asked abruptly.

  “Charles!” Mollie cried, grabbing at his arm. “She’s only a little girl.”

  He removed her hand from his elbow. “Mollie, I need to know this girl won’t murder us in our beds.” He turned his attention back to Casita. “The Apache women are as fierce as the men. I’ve seen what they can do.” He smiled wryly. “In a way, it’s a compliment. So, do you hate us?” he pressed.

  Casita thought quickly. “Did you go on the raid?

  “No,” he answered. “I was injured during the war. Now I work for Captain Carter handling the paperwork to run the 4th Cavalry.”

  That made things easier, Casita thought. She wasn’t sure she could live with one of the raiders who had massacred her village. As for the rest . . . what did he expect? Of course she hated them. But hate would only turn Charles against her.

  “I am sad about my home. I miss my family.” She spoke slowly and carefully. “But Mollie speaks of forgiveness. She has been very kind to me and I am grateful. I could not hate her.”

  “Don’t you see, Charles, she can be taught!” Mollie said. “It is just as I always thought—the solution to the Indian problem is not war. It is love.”

  “What about the boy?” he asked. “Maybe you are right about the girl, but her brother would have grown up to be a warrior.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s even younger than Casita. We’ll teach him our values,” Mollie assured him.

  “You don’t know anything about him,” Charles protested.

  “My brother will be grateful, too,” Casita said. “I promise you that.”

  Finally he said, “All right, but there are some conditions.”

  “Conditions?” Mollie said. “What conditions?”

  “Captain Carter said they could stay and be our servants.”

  “Servants?” Mollie said indignantly.

  “Not even you can get around this, Mollie,” Charles said, holding up a hand. “There are rules for prisoners of war, which these two are, even though they are children. Officially, they have to be servants.”

  “But unofficially . . .” Mollie prompted, “. . . we can be a family.”

  “Maybe.”

  The next morning Casita would finally see Jack. She dreaded what shape he’d be in, but she was glad they would finally be together. When Mollie arrived, it was the first time Casita had seen her without a cap. Her blond hair was drawn back in a tight knot and curly tendrils of hair bobbed about her ears.

  “I have a new dress for you,” Mollie said, handing Casita a small bundle. “You’ll want to fit in at the fort.”

  Casita held the bundle and was unable to move. It wasn’t Mollie’s place to give Casita a new dress. That was for her mother.

  “Casita?” Mollie nudged her. “Open it!”

  She slowly unwrapped the paper to find a dark blue dress made of cotton. She stroked the fabric, softer than any buckskin could ever be.

  Mollie watched nervously. “Do you like it?”

  “I always wanted a dress like this,” Casita said truthfully. She couldn’t say that her mother had forbidden any Indaa clothes. But she really didn’t have a choice; she didn’t have anything else to wear.

  Since Casita’s shoulders were still sore, Mollie helped Casita out of the linen shift she wore. As Mollie started to fasten the buttons, Casita moved away.

  “May I do it myself?” she asked.

  Mollie looked hurt, but Casita knew she had to learn to fasten the dress by herself. She’d accept Mollie’s clothes, but only on her own terms. It was the only way to keep faith with Mother.

  Mollie watched as Casita figured out the buttons, her fingers mimicking the correct motions. Casita smiled to herself: Mollie would make a good mother someday. But she would never be Casita’s.

  “I don’t have any shoes for you yet,” Mollie said. “But we still have your boots.” She pulled Casita’s moccasins from under the bed. She held them up and looked at the upturned toes curiously. “I’ve never seen boots like these.”

  “They keep snakes away,” Casita said.

&nbs
p; “Oh,” Mollie said. “Well, then you’ll feel right at home at Fort Clark. I’m always finding snakes in my yard.”

  Casita stood up. The dress fell below her ankles, almost hiding the moccasins her mother had made for her.

  “We’re ready, Charles!” Mollie pushed the screen back.

  Charles smiled at Casita. “You look very pretty.”

  “Doesn’t she?” Mollie asked.

  Casita wiggled her toes in the familiar moccasins. What the Smiths really meant was that Casita looked white. She would wear their dresses and do whatever was needed to fit in, but she must never forget that no matter how she dressed she was still Ndé.

  “Hello, Lieutenant Smith,” Casita said.

  “You should call him Charles,” Mollie said.

  “I am your servant. Shouldn’t I call you Lieutenant Smith?”

  “Nonsense,” Mollie began.

  “No, Mollie, she’s right,” Charles interjected. “In private, you may call us Charles and Mollie. But around others, call us Lieutenant Smith and Mrs. Smith.”

  “Is that too hard to remember?” Mollie asked.

  Casita shrugged, noticing the strange way the cloth dress constricted her chest. She was afraid it would rip if she took too deep a breath. The cloth was not as strong as buckskin. Maybe Mother had been right when she said the old ways were best.

  “At home we have different names for people. My aunt is Alta around the fire, but when we ask her for spiritual advice, she is a medicine woman we call Altagracia. It is more respectful.”

  Charles stared. “Perhaps their ways aren’t so savage after all,” he said to Mollie.

  “Can we go to Jack now?” Casita asked.

  “I’ll fetch him.” Charles spoke too loudly, his voice echoing in the small space. “You two wait at home.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Mollie said, playfully hitting his arm. “We’ll go together.”

  “I’d rather bring him to the house,” Charles said, not meeting Mollie’s gaze.

  “Why can’t we all go to get him?” Mollie demanded.

  “The conditions aren’t really suitable for a lady.”

  Mollie’s blue eyes turned the color of gun steel. “Take us to him. We will see for ourselves.”

  Surrendering, Charles led the way outside, Casita following, quick on their heels. What had the US Army done to her little brother?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CASITA HESITATED ON THE HOSPITAL STEPS. A COMPANY OF SOLDIERS marched by, rifles held at their shoulders. One turned his head to scowl at her. He wasn’t fooled by this new dress. He knew an Apache girl hiding in plain sight when he saw one. She straightened her back and set off after Mollie and Charles with as much confidence as she could find in herself.

  They went past a long building that was apparently only used to house horses. She counted twenty horses, then realized that this building was the first of several just like it. How many horses did they have?

  Charles threaded a path through the stables to a large canvas tent. Its flaps were tied shut. A solitary guard sat outside, dozing with a rifle propped against his leg, until he heard their footsteps. He jumped to his feet and saluted Charles. Mollie pushed past the guard and began untying the tent flaps.

  “Ma’am, you can’t do that!” the soldier protested. He was young, and despite his weapon, Casita guessed he had never seen battle. He certainly did not know how to handle Mollie Smith.

  “Private, it’s all right,” Charles reassured him. “Captain Carter has given us permission to bring out one of your prisoners.”

  The private looked beyond Charles and noticed Casita. “What’s that Indian doing here?” His rifle was already pointing at her.

  “She is with us,” Mollie said. “Now kindly put that gun down.” She finally managed to undo the tent ties.

  Charles nodded at the guard and the gun was lowered. Mollie grabbed Casita’s hand and they went inside. Before their eyes adjusted to the dark, the smell hit them like a blow.

  “Where are the sanitary facilities?” Mollie demanded, covering her mouth and nose with a handkerchief.

  “We give ’em buckets,” the soldier said helpfully.

  Mollie started to argue with Charles and the guard. Casita couldn’t wait a moment longer to find her brother, but it was hard to make out the dozen or so children huddled inside. Casita went up to each child, each as familiar to her as Jack was. Each miserable face stabbed at her heart. Somehow when she was plotting to save Jack, she had managed to forget the suffering of these children. They were all going to the reservation while she and Jack would be saved. She wanted to take each one with her, but she knew it was impossible. She could only rescue her brother, if only she could find him.

  A low groan caught her attention. In the far corner, a body lay on the ground. She moved closer. It was a boy on his side, his back to her. His long ponytail was crusted with dried mud. Casita hurried over, but then stopped short. It was Jack, she was sure of it. But he was so still. She hesitated, afraid of what she might find. She touched his shoulder and felt him move. He was still alive. “Jack?” she whispered. “It’s Casita. I’m here.” She tried to turn him over on his back, but his body clenched into a ball.

  “Is that him?” Mollie called from the tent entrance.

  “Yes,” Casita said. “Wait there, please.” Then, “Brother, it’s me,” she whispered in their language. “I’ve come for you.” Slowly his body relaxed and she was able to turn him on his back. Jack’s face was bloody and bruised and he was only able to open one eye. The other was swollen shut. Casita tried hard not to let her anger show.

  “Sister?” he whispered.

  “I’m here to rescue you.”

  His cut lip twisted into a smile. “That’s not right,” he said. “I’m supposed to save you.”

  She clapped her hand over her mouth to keep a sob of relief inside. “We can argue about it later,” she promised. “I’m here to take you with me. We can be together.”

  “They’re going to take us to the reservation at Fort Gibson,” he said, his voice raspy as though he had not used it in days.

  “We’re not going.”

  “But . . . how?”

  “I don’t have time to tell you now. Just follow my lead. Can you stand?”

  He lifted his wrists. He wore manacles attached to a tent pole. A wave of hate swamped Casita and she couldn’t speak. Fortunately, Mollie couldn’t keep quiet when she saw the chains. She rushed over, followed by Charles and the guard. “You’ve chained a little boy?”

  Charles put his hand on her forearm. “Mollie, please, calm down.”

  “Ma’am, the boy tried to escape,” the guard said. “Twice.”

  “Wouldn’t you try to escape this?” Mollie asked.

  Looking straight ahead, the guard said, “My orders are to keep these kids locked up.”

  “I’m going to have a word with Captain Carter about this,” Mollie promised. “Now free the boy. He’s coming with us.”

  Glancing at Charles, the guard said, “Sir, are you sure? He’s a slippery one. And no offense, but you can’t run very fast.”

  Charles grimaced. “Just unlock the chains,” he ordered.

  The guard brought out a key and the handcuffs fell off Jack’s wrists.

  Mollie’s eyes went from Jack’s bloody face to the bruises all over his body. “Casita, bring him out when you’re ready,” she said tactfully. She drew Charles and the private back outside, where no doubt she would have something to say about Jack’s injuries.

  Let her rant, Casita thought, as she helped Jack to his feet.

  “Where are we going?” he asked, pressing his arm against his ribs as though they pained him.

  “With them.” She pointed to the Smiths.

  He shook his head, puzzled. “They are Indaa.”

  “They’re helping us,” she answered.

  “What about the others?”

  “They’ll be sent to the reservation,” Casita said matter-of-factly, alt
hough her heart was breaking.

  Jack straightened up and broke free of her. “Then I shall go to the reservation too.”

  “Brother, they will have their mothers to protect them. We are alone.” Casita wanted to shake him. It had been hard enough to save the two of them. Jack could ruin everything if he didn’t agree. “Listen to me, Brother. Mother died rather than go to the reservation.”

  “I’m a Ndé warrior. I’d rather die than hide with the pale faces,” Jack said, examining the raw patches on his wrists from the manacles.

  Leaning in close to his ear, she whispered harshly. “Think of Father. What did he tell us was the first thing the Cuelcahen Ndé must always do?”

  Jack bowed his head. “Stay alive,” he muttered.

  “Our best chance is to stay here. Will you do as I ask?”

  He thought long enough to worry her, but finally he nodded.

  Casita led him outside to Mollie and Charles. “This is my brother, Jack.”

  While Mollie greeted Jack, Charles stared. Streaked with blood and the river mud he had used as his war paint, Jack looked wild and fierce.

  “You can’t go walking about like that,” Charles said. He unbuttoned his coat and tried to drape it around Jack’s shoulder, but Jack ducked away like he’d been struck.

  “Jack! He is a friend,” Casita warned in their language. She picked up the coat and placed it across his shoulders.

  Charles drew Mollie toward him and said, “For God’s sake, Mollie, he’s a savage. Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she insisted. “More now than ever. We have to make up for the cruelty he suffered.”

  “What if he decides on revenge before we can do that?”

  “He won’t.”

  Casita was glad to see Mollie defend Jack, but she was afraid Charles might change his mind. She was determined to make sure that didn’t happen.

  As they left the tent, one of the other children called Jack’s name. Casita pulled him away. “Don’t look back. It will be easier.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  AS CASITA AND JACK TRAILED BEHIND THE SMITHS, THE SOLDIERS drilling in the parade ground stared. Casita tried to look small and harmless, but she noticed how Jack and Mollie straightened their backs and walked as though they had something to prove. Just a few minutes before, Jack had been chained to a post. But now he wore Charles’s coat like it was his own, walking as if he were about to go into battle, his long tail of hair swinging as a challenge.