The Lost Ones

by Michaela MacColl

  She had to know. After making sure there was no one to see her, she plunged down the hill.

  Halfway, she slowed when she saw a small group of huts with mud roofs along the creek. Several dark-skinned Indians of all ages were moving about. This must be where the Seminole scouts lived with their families. She saw a tall, familiar figure. It was Seminole Jim. She hadn’t seen him since that night on the trail from El Remolino. In fact, she hardly ever saw the scouts. They kept to themselves and didn’t train with the rest of the soldiers. They weren’t welcome in the mess hall either.

  The boys welcomed Jack like he was an old friend. He opened his knapsack and handed rolls from the bakery to the youngest children. Was that why he was here? To feed the children? Charles and Mollie would never allow that.

  Jack would never admit it, but she was almost as skilled as him at remaining unseen, so she tucked herself away in the brush so she could watch. It was the only way to find out what mattered so much to her little brother. Spying on him from up here reminded her of her favorite rock. But the circumstances were different.

  Jack and some of the boys quickly paired off and began wrestling. Ah, he’s training, Casita thought. Of course. Casita had watched such scenes more times than she could remember; it was how the Ndé boys were taught to fight. She had rooted for Jack to win ever since he started.

  The two boys grappled each other, each seeking to trip the other or use his weight against him and bring him to the ground. When Jack was slammed on his side, Casita flinched for him. When Jack turned the tables and pinned his opponent, she had to stifle a cheer. Even among the Seminoles, Jack was still very good. He bested several boys before finally falling before a boy who towered over him. Father had taught him well.

  When the wrestling was done, Seminole Jim handed out knives to each of the boys. When Jack took one, Casita buried her head in her hands. “Jack, you are a fool,” she breathed. She shuddered to think what Charles would say if he caught Jack with a knife.

  The boys threw their knives at a target. Over and over again. The thump of the knives slamming into the wood brought her back to the clearing at El Remolino where the children trained. She had practiced her bow and arrow there, and knife skills, too. Every Ndé child could defend herself. Even though she was angry with Jack for jeopardizing everything she had worked for, she understood why he had. He must have missed this training most of all.

  Once Seminole Jim was satisfied with their progress, he took the knives back.

  Casita decided she had seen enough and she climbed up the hill. The sun was rising in the sky and the climb was difficult. She was trying to catch her breath when she reached the top of the ridge and forgot to be cautious.

  The sun was in her eyes. She blinked and then somehow the sun went away and she was in shadow. A tall figure loomed over her. “Wait until I tell Lieutenant Smith that you tried to escape.” Caleb grinned at the prospect. “You’ll be at Fort Gibson before the week is out.”

  “I did not try to escape,” Casita insisted. “I’m still here.”

  “I knew you couldn’t be trusted,” he said. “You bided your time until you thought no one was looking. But I kept my eye on you.”

  What did he suspect? Had he seen Jack, too?

  He advanced on her, not taking his eyes from her face. “The Smiths think they’re being so good by taking you in. . . . They’re just letting a pair of coyotes into the henhouse. Are you trying to get a message to your tribe? Are you telling them about our defenses?”

  She stepped back. Her heels were on the edge of the steep drop. A quick shove from Caleb and she’d be lucky not to be seriously hurt. He thought she was a danger; he’d do it just to protect the fort. “Our tribe is gone. Your army killed them. Let me alone.”

  “Not until you tell me what were you doing out here,” he said suspiciously.

  Edging forward to firmer ground, Casita thought quickly. “Drawing.” She pulled out the little notebook she always kept in her skirt pocket.

  “Let me see that.” He grabbed it from her and flipped through the pages. He ignored all the portraits she’d done and found sketches of the fort. “You’re spying on us. You’re giving this information to the Apaches.”

  “It’s a picture of the mess hall,” she said. “Not dangerous at all.” She took another step forward and tried to put him on the defensive. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on duty?”

  He craned his neck to look past her and see where she had been. “What’s down there?” he asked, not budging.

  “A pretty view.” Casita had to divert his attention away from Jack and the Seminoles. “Excuse me, but I have to go back to Mrs. Smith. You could take me there and talk to her about my dangerous pictures.” Anything to get him away from here.

  “I won’t be seen with a dirty Indian,” he said. He was sure he had caught her doing something wrong, but he wasn’t sure what.

  “Do as you like,” she said, finally moving beyond him. This time he let her go, but when she looked back, he was still watching her. Her quick walk was almost a run, and she didn’t stop until she reached the parade grounds.

  A regiment was drilling with bayonets. The soldiers ran toward stuffed dummies and stabbed them with the blades attached to their rifles. The thudding noise reminded her of Jack’s knives. Captain Carter was commanding the drill. “Again!” he shouted. Her stomach clenched. What was she doing here, living among soldiers who practiced to fight Indians like her? Caleb might be the only one to say so, but they all hated her kind. In Mollie’s house it was easy to forget that she and Jack were surrounded by enemies. Which was exactly why Jack had to avoid attracting their attention. She’d tell him so as soon as he came home.

  Jack didn’t return until dinner. After the meal, Mollie and Charles sat on the front porch watching the Retreat Parade. Casita held her tongue until she and Jack were doing the dishes.

  “You are a fool,” she accused, shoving the dishes into soapy water.

  He handed her the tin cups. “Why?”

  “I saw you today at the Seminole camp. You are training there.”

  “How dare you follow me?” Jack demanded.

  “It is a good thing I did,” she said, scrubbing the dishes hard. “I don’t want to be sent to the reservation for what you did. You must not go there again.”

  “If I can’t be with the Ndé, the scouts are the closest I can find,” Jack said. “I must train so Father won’t be disappointed when he comes.”

  Of course, she thought. He’s doing this for Father. She turned to him, drying her hands on a towel. She had to be honest with him. “Father isn’t coming,” she said. “It’s been too long. And even if he did, he couldn’t rescue us.”

  “Father can do anything.” Jack said.

  She grabbed his arm and took him outside and around the corner where they could see the parade ground. The band was playing and the troops were marching back and forth across the parade ground at double time. The rifles were polished and the brass insignia on their uniforms shone in the setting sun. “Look at them. All the Ndé and all their allies aren’t enough to fight them. We are a handful of sand against a whole desert.”

  The soldiers had finished the march and been dismissed by Captain Carter before Jack spoke. “Better to die with honor than to give up,” he said.

  “I haven’t given up,” Casita said slowly.

  “You’ve done worse. You’re becoming one of them. Before the raid, you would have been proud of me for finding a way to continue to train. Now when you talk, you sound like Charles and Mollie. Where is my sister?”

  “I’m right here,” she said. The soldiers had quickly disappeared and the Parade Ground was almost empty. But they would return to train the next morning. They drilled every day without fail. They wouldn’t stop until the Ndé were dead. Jack dreamed of honor, while Casita only hoped to keep them alive. How could she make him listen? “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I’ve been there every day for weeks,” Jack
said. “It’s safe.”

  She hesitated, knowing he would be angry once she confessed. “Not anymore,” she said. “Caleb followed me today.”

  “You led him to me—how could you be so careless?”

  “I’m sorry. But watch out for him. He’ll make trouble for you, Brother.”

  “If he does, he will be sorry,” Jack retorted.

  “He’s older and heavier than you,” she warned.

  “But I am a Ndé warrior.”

  That is exactly what you must not be, she thought sadly. But no matter how she tried to change him, Jack would always be a warrior of the Ndé. It was Casita who had forgotten who she was.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE NEXT MORNING, CASITA LEFT THE HOUSE TO FETCH THE BREAD from the fort bakery. She timed the chore for when most of the soldiers were in the mess hall. She preferred not to see them drilling with their bayonets or rifles. Walking around the perimeter of the enormous parade square, she realized that she now looked only at the path in front of her and felt small. When had she forgotten to look around her and off into the distance?

  Lost in her thoughts, she jumped when she heard Caleb’s voice in her ear. “I know what your brother was doing yesterday,” he said before he shoved past her.

  Casita watched him walk away. If Caleb really knew about Jack, he wouldn’t keep quiet. She was sure of that. She hurried home to warn Jack, but of course he wasn’t there. All day long she waited for the axe to fall. Mollie had to scold her several times for not paying attention to her lessons.

  Evening came and Casita began to hope that the danger would not come.

  Rat-a-tat.

  Sitting with her embroidery in the parlor, Casita stared at the door, willing whoever was there to go away.

  Rat-a-tat.

  “Casita, why don’t you answer the door?” Mollie called from the kitchen.

  Reluctantly, Casita forced herself to open the front door. Captain Carter was standing there, filling the doorway with bad news. “Good evening. I’d like to see Lieutenant Smith and his wife, please.”

  A few minutes later, Casita pressed her ear against the door to the parlor, but she could only make out the muffled voices of Charles and Captain Carter. She raced out the back door to circle round to the front of the house where the parlor windows were open. She crawled onto the porch and crouched under the window to listen.

  “What are you doing?” Jack asked.

  “Where have you been?” she whispered. “Never mind. Listen!”

  “Is it about me?” he asked. After she nodded, he joined her under the window.

  Captain Carter was in mid-sentence: “—reported that the boy—”

  “Jack,” Mollie supplied.

  “—Jack has been seen in the Seminole camp. Outside the fort.”

  Next to her, she felt Jack’s body go still.

  “Only just outside,” Mollie argued. “And he wasn’t trying to escape.”

  “No, no,” Captain Carter said hurriedly. “There’s no question of that. But he was practicing with knives and those axes they carry.”

  “Surely that is just boys playing games,” Mollie said.

  Charles contradicted her. “Mollie, this is serious.”

  “You see, Mrs. Smith,” Captain Carter said, “knife contests and the like are how the Indians train their boys to fight our men. Why else would he learn knife skills? You can see why I’m concerned.”

  “I will speak to him immediately,” Charles said.

  “And confine him to quarters unless he is with you or your wife,” the captain insisted.

  Jack started to speak, but Casita placed her hand on his arm to quiet him. There was movement inside as if the captain were getting to his feet. Casita and Jack scurried back into the kitchen.

  “You see what you’ve done!” Jack accused. “I’ve lost the only thing that made living here bearable.”

  Casita was relieved and told him so. “You could have been sent away.”

  “What difference does it make now?” he muttered. They both looked up guiltily when Charles appeared at the kitchen door.

  “Jack, come into the parlor. I have to talk to you.” Jack followed Charles. Mollie stood in the doorway, pulling back so Jack could pass. As Casita watched him disappear, she hardly noticed that Mollie had come to sit with her.

  “Did you know Jack was playing with the Seminole children?” Mollie asked.

  There was no point in lying; Mollie already knew. “I only found out yesterday. I told him not to go again.”

  Putting her arm around Casita’s shoulders, Mollie squeezed. “You are a good girl, my dear.”

  Casita had to think about that word, “good.” A good Ndé girl would be proud of her brother’s resourcefulness, not ashamed. A good Indaa girl, on the other hand, might betray her brother’s confidence to keep peace in the house. Did Casita know which kind of good girl she really was?

  For the next few days, Jack refused to speak with anyone and even moved back into their hot stuffy room. Casita’s relief soon turned to irritation. Mollie was frustrated, too. One sweltering evening they were sitting on the front porch to watch the sunset. Silhouetted against the sun, a defiant Jack stood in the corner of the tiny yard, kicking the dirt.

  “Can’t you do something?” Mollie asked Charles.

  “What do you expect me to do?” he asked reasonably. “He broke the rules and he’s being punished. I’d be more concerned if he were happy.”

  “That is not helpful.”

  “I remember once I refused to speak to my mother for a week. I can’t even remember why.” Charles chuckled.

  “I have some sympathy for your mother,” Mollie replied. “It’s too hot to have him always brooding in the corners. Can you find something for him to do outside the house?”

  “He likes horses,” Casita said. Usually she let them talk and she just listened, but this was a chance to make amends to Jack.

  Charles considered. “I could find him some work in the stables.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Casita said.

  “But we don’t want to reward him for misbehaving,” Mollie said worriedly.

  “Make up your mind, Mollie. Do you want him out of the house or suitably punished? Besides, I think he’s suffered enough.”

  Casita and Mollie exchanged surprised glances. Usually Charles was a stickler for the rules.

  “Think how dull life must be for the boy. I’m not surprised he went looking for friends,” Charles said. “I’ll talk to the stable master.”

  Charles took Jack to the stable the next afternoon, and he began working the following day. At dinner every night, he was more talkative than Charles and Mollie had ever seen, raving about the quality of the horses and telling stories about their little quirks.

  “The 4th Cavalry has some of the finest horseflesh in the Army,” Charles agreed.

  Once Jack was busy and happy, the house began to feel more like a home. And the Smiths and Jack and Casita felt a little more like a family. Jack began to make friends with the stable boys, although the soldiers were still wary of the Apache boy. When Jack complained to Casita that they ignored him, she was stunned. Didn’t he remember what those same soldiers had done to them?”

  “We were at war then,” he said pityingly. “But I’m here now, and I could learn a lot if they would only talk to me.”

  So Jack wanted to continue training as a fighter, but with the only fighters available to him: the 4th Cavalry riders. It made sense, she supposed, but something felt wrong. It was one thing to accept Mollie’s help, another to befriend the soldiers who had massacred your village.

  “The soldiers will never accept you, so it does not matter,” she answered practically.

  “They might if I give them a good reason.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Wait and see, Sister,” he said with a mischievous grin.

  That grin made her worry most. He was too reckless. What might he do to try to be n
oticed by the soldiers? She watched him closely for the next few days—even spying on him at the stable—until he told her to stop.

  One morning when she was washing up after breakfast, Jack handed her the last plate and asked very casually, “Will you and Mollie be sewing on the porch this afternoon?”

  Casita gave him a hard look, but he returned it with an innocent expression that made her more suspicious. “We will. Why?”

  Smiling, he said, “There’s no reason.” And then he left for the stables.

  Casita thought all day about what he might do. And that afternoon she made sure that she and Mollie did their needlepoint on the front porch where they had an excellent view of the parade ground. Mollie was patient as she tried to teach Casita how to sew, but Casita struggled with the fine thread and the tiny needle. Today, Casita was distracted. What did Jack have planned?

  Finally Casita saw Jack lead an enormous horse to one corner of the square where new horses were often trained. Casita pointed him out to Mollie and they both put aside their sewing.

  Jack looked tiny next to the skittish horse. Cavalry horses were trained to be calm, but this gelding shied at every unfamiliar noise. Jack handled him well until he handed the reins to Corporal Brody, who trained the new horses. Brody adjusted the stirrup irons and hoisted himself into the saddle. With a shrill whinny like a human scream, the horse sank back on his rear legs.

  “Whoa, boy!” Brody shouted.

  The horse bucked forward, kicking first his front legs out and then his back. Brody was thrown off. The riderless horse took off at a gallop, barreling through a group of soldiers who flung themselves out of the way. Not Jack, though. He sprinted after the animal.

  “Look!” Mollie cried. “It’s our Jack.”