“And the new students will have their photographs taken today. I will bring you to the art studio immediately after our meal.”
A special space just for making art? Casita was eager to see it and get her hands on some paper and pens. She could draw thousands of pictures of all the new people and places she’d seen since Fort Clark.
Before they left, Casita found Jack. “How are you, Brother?” she asked. She didn’t need to break any rules, because his English was quite good. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“Why?” he asked. “I love it here. I haven’t had friends my own age for a long time.”
Jack’s last friends had been the boys in the Seminole camp. She understood why he seemed so happy now.
“Are you settling in?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “Last night one of the girls told me about being beaten just for taking some food. And being punished because she spoke her own language.”
“She sounds like a troublemaker,” Jack warned. “Didn’t you hear Lieutenant Pratt? We will learn faster and better if we only speak English. And his rules are to protect us all—if everyone stole food, there wouldn’t be anything to eat.”
Casita felt sick. How had Jack become such a supporter of Carlisle overnight? How did Pratt do it? In the distance she heard a bugle. Here it wouldn’t be the signal for drills or fatigue—it was probably for class. Pratt used Army discipline to make his school work. Jack hadn’t really become a convert overnight. He had been absorbing the Army’s lessons all along, from Charles and from Corporal Brody in the stables.
The workshops were behind the boys’ dormitory. There were four long buildings; Casita tried to count the windows of each one and stopped when she reached fifteen. Jack abandoned her to run with the other new boys. Miss Mather told them that they would work in one of these buildings depending on their skills. For the boys, there was tin-making, carpentry, printmaking, shoemaking, or blacksmithing. For the girls, there was dressmaking and the kitchens.
The art studio was tucked behind the woodworking shop and it was everything Casita had hoped. A dozen easels stood around the room and the students’ works-in-progress were there for her to see. They had written their names on the bottoms of the pictures. She felt like she was actually meeting the students. The current task was to draw a bowl of fruit that was placed on a table in the center of the room. She looked from Joshua Lozen’s picture to the fruit and back again. Somehow, Joshua had made it so that the fruit in front seemed closer in his picture than the fruit in back. Casita had no idea how he did that.
Miss Mather saw her interest and said, “We have two art instructors who come each week.”
“I would like that more than anything.” The words came easily to Casita. Maybe this was how Pratt won over his children; he offered them opportunities to do what they loved best.
A photographer had set up a backdrop of a fanciful landscape behind a chair and table. Miss Mather called him Mr. Choate and said he was from the town of Carlisle. He would take their picture today and then again in a few months.
Lenna’s hand crept into Casita’s. “Is it true that the camera will take our souls?” she asked in a whisper.
“No,” Casita assured her. “Jack and I had our picture taken in San Antonio and we are fine.”
To her surprise, Miss Mather wanted to photograph her and Jack together. “We like to keep families together for our records,” she explained.
When he saw them, Mr. Choate asked Miss Mather, “Is this the before or after?”
“Before,” she answered.
He lifted his eyebrows. “They came here already looking like that? They’re making it easy for you.” Casita wondered what they were talking about. But she had no one to ask before Mr. Choate seated her on a stool and positioned Jack standing next to her. “Ready, children?” Mr. Choate called.
This time Casita was more relaxed than the first time she was photographed. She even leaned on a table with her arms crossed. While she waited, she wondered about the others and why the school wanted pictures of them in their buckskins and beads. Wasn’t the whole point to take away any signs of being Indian?
Once Mr. Choate released her and Jack, she wandered about the art room. Near the entrance, she found a series of framed photographs hanging on the wall in pairs. She found Hazel, wearing a camp dress and a colorful patterned blanket around her shoulders. Her hair was loose and she wore a headband with intricate beading that Casita recognized as Chiracahuan. In the next picture, Hazel wore her dark dress and had her hair neatly pulled back. She didn’t look like an Apache anymore: she even looked paler. Ah, thought Casita, that is the key. They want before and after. Savage and Civilized. Casita wondered if her “after” picture would show any difference.
She returned to the photographer. It was Eyota’s turn. She looked proud and strong in her blue dress. Casita tried to picture what she might look like in a few months. It was hard to imagine that Eyota would let the school change her much. Next it was Lenna’s turn. She looked so small. Even Miss Mather seemed to soften when she saw how frightened Lenna was of the camera. She sat with her until the picture was taken.
Holding Lenna’s hand, Miss Mather beckoned to Casita and Eyota. “I know you are eager to start classes, but first we have a few administrative tasks.” She brought the three girls to the infirmary, a tiny square stone building at the edge of the quad. The infirmary contained one large room, cut in half by a screen. It smelled of bleach, reminding Casita of the hospital at Fort Clark. Miss Burgess sat at a desk, filing papers into folders. She introduced them to a tall, stooped man named Dr. Granger.
“I am just going to take some measurements and see if you are healthy,” he said. “Who is first?”
“Casita Roosevelt,” Miss Burgess announced. She gave Casita a hard look, as if she expected her to complain about her last name again.
Dr. Granger and Miss Burgess brought her behind the screen. He put her on a scale while Miss Burgess recorded her weight and height. Next, he wrapped a long cloth measuring tape around her chest and had her inhale deeply. If that wasn’t bad enough, then he unbuttoned her dress. He placed a flat metal disk against her bare skin. Casita saw that it attached to tubes that went into his ears.
“Casita, breathe in. Breathe out.” The doctor paused. “What’s this?” He touched the scars on her shoulder. “She has some deep scars on her shoulder and neck.” Without asking, he lifted up her hair. “And her head. I’d guess they are a few years old.” Miss Burgess took down every detail. He stepped back to see Casita’s face. “How did you get those scars?” he asked.
Casita hesitated. Should she tell them the truth? It probably wasn’t a good idea to lie on her first day. Since hearing what Hazel had experienced, Casita wanted to be a good student. After all, what did it matter? Her mother had tried to kill her, but Mother was dead now.
“My mother hit me with a rock,” she said quietly. “Three times.”
Casita could only hear the scratching of Miss Burgess’s pen.
“Why?” Dr. Granger asked.
“The soldiers were attacking our village. She did not want me to be taken prisoner.” Such a simple explanation for a complicated thing. Mother had loved her children, and she had died to protect them.
“She tried to kill you?” Miss Burgess demanded. “Doctor, I have to say that I can still be shocked by what these people will do.”
“It will make a good story for that newspaper of yours,” Dr. Granger said.
“You’ve read it, Doctor?” Miss Burgess blushed.
“I think it is excellent. Our donors need to know the good we are doing here. Look at this poor girl. She’s much safer with us. Her own mother tried to kill her. If we can keep her away from her people, we can save her.”
A thousand memories flashed in Casita’s mind. Her mother teaching her to cook. Her mother’s cool hand on her brow when she was sick. Casita perched high on the rocks watching her mother clean a hide
for Casita’s ceremony. She had been angry with her mother for so long. But did one desperate act really erase all the love and care that came before? Was she better off at the Carlisle School than she had been in El Remolino?
The doctor dismissed her and she walked out to the waiting area.
“What did they do to you?” Eyota asked. Before Casita could reassure her, Miss Burgess came to collect her.
“Does it hurt?” Lenna asked.
“Of course not,” Casita said. She sat down and began to explain everything to Lenna, when they heard Eyota shouting.
“Stay away from me.” There was a scuffle and a slapping sound.
Casita hurried behind the screen to see Eyota standing like a trapped animal in the corner.
“Do not touch me,” Eyota cried.
“You will do as we say,” Miss Burgess said angrily. Dr. Granger was moving toward Eyota with his measuring tape and listening device.
“Doctor,” Casita said urgently. “Eyota speaks excellent English. Maybe if you explain to her what you are doing . . . I am sure she will cooperate.”
Glancing at Miss Burgess’s red face, he said, “I suppose it can’t hurt. Young lady, I am going to listen to your heart with my stethoscope.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” Casita assured Eyota.
The doctor listened. “Breathe in. Breathe out.” He looked concerned. “She seems to have some congestion in her lungs. Make a note, Miss Burgess.”
Casita waited with Lenna during her examination, too.
Afterwards, Miss Burgess took Casita aside. “You were very helpful today.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” she answered. “I want to do well here.” Maybe Miss Burgess would forget how Casita had challenged her the night before if Casita was humble enough now?
“If you continue this way, you have a bright future at Carlisle,” Miss Burgess said, smiling kindly.
Which Miss Burgess was the real one? The one who beat Hazel or this one, who handed out promises and kindness? Last night, Casita had protested angrily when her name was changed. Today, she had helped keep Eyota from making trouble. She had told herself she was rescuing Eyota, but wasn’t Casita also making sure that the authorities liked her?
Was this how Carlisle broke the Indian children? By alternating kindness with threats? Scare one with a belt but offer another the chance to draw? Frightened children were easy to mold into Pratt’s idea of a civilized Indian. But Casita saw through their tactics. If she became “civilized” it would be because she chose to, not because they tricked her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MISS BURGESS BROUGHT LENNA TO A CLASS WHERE THE STUDENTS would learn English, but Casita and Eyota were sent to Miss Mather. Seated at her tidy desk, Miss Mather explained how their education at Carlisle would proceed.
“You have classes in the morning and work in the afternoon,” she said. “We sort the students by their abilities. Casita, I think your brother said you read and write English?”
Casita nodded, distracted by a strange wailing noise outside. Like hyenas howling in the desert.
Miss Mather made a note in Casita’s folder, then turned to Eyota. “What about you? Did you go to the school at the reservation?”
“Yes,” Eyota said, “I can read a little.”
“For now, I will put Casita in the sixth grade class, and Eyota, you are in the third grade.”
“Why is she so much higher than me?” Eyota asked, bristling.
“Because writing is a difficult skill to master,” Miss Mather said with a frown.
“If you like,” Casita offered, “I could help you.”
The noise outside grew even louder.
“What on earth?” Miss Mather said, hurrying to the window and opening the sash.
Casita and Eyota exchanged glances.
“What is it?” Eyota whispered. Casita raised her shoulders.
Miss Mather started to chuckle. “Never mind. It’s just the new boys.”
Jack? “What’s happening to them?” Casita asked.
“Nothing. The barber has arrived to cut their hair.” Casita and Eyota stared at her, horrified. “Lieutenant Pratt thinks that long hair is just too Indian.”
“That is because a boy’s hair is like . . . himself,” Eyota cried.
To an Indaa, it might seem like a simple haircut, Casita thought, but to a Ndé it was the worst cruelty. No wonder the boys were crying. Casita touched her own braid, and a horrible thought occurred to her. “Will you cut our hair, too?”
“No,” Miss Mather assured them. “I persuaded Lieutenant Pratt that a girl’s best feature is her long hair, whether she is Indian or white.”
Closing the window, Miss Mather returned to her desk. “The next thing is your names.”
“What about our names?” Casita asked. She had already lost Smith the night before. Did they want to take her first name, too?
“All of our students take a white first name,” Miss Mather said. “We’d like to change all the Indian last names, too, but it is too difficult for our recordkeeping.”
Casita frowned, remembering how Miss Burgess had changed her name from Smith to Roosevelt for no reason at all. Maybe the school changed their names to prove to the students that they were powerless.
“First our hair, now our names,” Eyota grumbled. “Do you leave us anything?”
Miss Mather narrowed her eyes. “You just have to trust that we know best.”
“Casita is a Spanish name,” Casita said quickly.
“It’s very pretty. It doesn’t sound Indian at all. You can keep it if you like. But Eyota is definitely too Indian.”
“Among my people, it means ‘the great one,’” Eyota said.
“Exactly,” Miss Mather said. “Not precisely the message we want to send, especially given your father’s situation. He is counting on you to be obedient. Do you have a name you like?”
“Eyota.”
“A white girl’s name,” Miss Mather said. “What about Eunice? That sounds like Eyota.”
“No it doesn’t,” Eyota said boldly.
“Eunice Flying Hawk,” Miss Mather said, writing it down. “Very well. Now we need to pick your workshop in the afternoon. We want you to learn a skill so that when you are finished with Carlisle you can find meaningful work.” Miss Mather craned her neck to see Eyota’s dress. “This is very detailed work. Did you make it yourself?”
Eyota nodded.
“Then I think I will place you with the seamstresses. They make all the uniforms. You can learn to use a sewing machine.”
Brightening in spite of herself, Eyota said, “I’ve heard about sewing machines.”
“They are very useful,” Miss Mather said, pleased with her progress. She turned to Casita. “Now, Casita, do you like to sew?”
“I am not very good,” Casita said quickly. “Is there a workshop for art?”
“I’m afraid not. Art is a class, not a trade.”
“What about the newspaper?”
Miss Mather beamed. “I think that could be arranged. Miss Burgess has asked for some girls. It seems the boys have trouble using the small types for the letterpress. Class has just started, so I will bring you to your rooms now.” Eyota and Casita followed her out into the hall. “Oh, Eunice, our students must wear appropriate clothes. We will issue you both uniforms this afternoon.”
“You want to take my dress?” Eyota’s face was pale.
“Don’t worry. You can make yourself a new one. One that suits your life at Carlisle better.”
“I won’t do it,” Eyota insisted.
“You don’t have a choice, my dear.”
Casita realized that Miss Mather had only let Eyota keep her dress for the photograph. “It’s only a dress,” Casita whispered to Eyota. She was bound to lose more than a dress at Carlisle. The school was robbing the students of their pasts as easily as the Army had taken all their land. Casita decided that she would never use the name Eunice. It might seem like a small thing, but names wer
e important. Too important to give up just because the school thought they were too Indian.
Casita worried all day about Eyota, but she didn’t have a chance to talk to her until they were back in their room. Even then, she didn’t want to ruin Lenna’s night. Lenna was delighted with her new friends and her new name.
“There was a board with names. I didn’t know what any of them meant. The teacher told me to just pick one. So now I’m Nelly. You have to teach me how to write it,” she told Casita.
Feeling like a big sister, Casita folded back the blanket on Nelly’s bed. “Time for sleeping.”
Nelly leapt into bed and was asleep within a few minutes.
Eyota lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
“It was a hard day,” Casita said.
There was no answer.
“My teacher gave me a pen and ink and paper. I’m going to write to my family and tell them about the school. If you want to write to your father, I could help.”
Turning her head to the wall, Eyota said, “Didn’t you hear her mention my father’s situation? The Army sent me here so he would not start a war. If I tell him I am unhappy, he might do something bad and the Army could send him to prison. I can’t write him.”
Casita had thought Eyota’s father had to be good because the government had his daughter. But now she saw that Eyota had to be good to protect him. She missed Mollie terribly, and she was grateful that there was nothing to keep her from writing home.
She dipped her pen in the inkwell and began to write.
March 5, 1880
Dear Mama,
I have been at the school for a few days now. We can write a letter home every two weeks. I give it to Miss Mather (she is the second in command at the school) and she posts it for us.
Jack is well. He is already a favorite of Miss Mather’s. The boys are organized like they are in the Army. Even though Jack is young, he thinks he will be a captain soon. They practice marching and drill with rifles once a day in the quad. If the weather is bad, they use the gymnasium. The girls don’t have to learn the rifle, but we march all the time. It reminds me of the soldiers at home, so I do not mind too much.
The Lost Ones Page 14
