The Lost Ones

by Michaela MacColl

  One of the first things they do here is give us a new name. They let me keep Casita because it did not sound too Indian. But they changed my last name to Roosevelt. I don’t know why.

  I am studying in a real classroom, which is much bigger than the parlor in our house. There are desks and blackboards. My teacher, Miss Anthony, is strict but she is kind. She thinks you did a good job teaching me geography. In the afternoon I work in the print shop.

  Each week our rooms are inspected for cleanliness and to make sure we don’t have any Indian things that are forbidden. Luckily I know how to keep things spick and span. We are allowed to have small keepsakes from home, but not ones that are too powerful, like a knife or an eagle feather.

  I share a room with two girls. There’s Nelly, who is a Mescalero Apache. She is younger than me and very sweet. She reminds me of my cousin Juanita and depends on me, and I like that. I am teaching her English.

  The other girl in my room is Sioux and she is named Eyota. They try to call her Eunice but she hates it. I won’t call her that. She is very homesick. She has a bad cough and I worry about her. The doctor says it is not serious, but he doesn’t hear her at night when she cannot sleep.

  I think of you every day, from “Reveille” to “Taps.” Write soon and tell me about the baby.

  Love, Casita

  March 19, 1880

  Dear Mama,

  It has been two weeks since my last letter. I miss you and Charles very much and wish you would write.

  My teachers are pleased with me. Even though I am the youngest in my class, I know English the best. Sometimes when we study history, we get angry. The Indians are always bad in the history book. The writers of the book never talk about all the broken treaties or the land the United States stole.

  Last week the art teacher finally came. His name is Professor Little (He is really called that! And the school thinks we need new names!). He asked us to draw scenes from home. I drew a picture of you and Charles. He said I am very good, but I must learn something called “perspective.” Next week I must draw a bowl of fruit. Usually I draw things I care about, but I will do what Professor Little tells me.

  In the printing workshop I have learned how to set type. It is very boring but I have small hands and I am better at the task than the boys are. The boys are good at taking the long rolls of paper and feeding them through the printing machine. The machine is loud and fast. I am afraid I will catch my sleeve or my skirt on the roller.

  In the afternoons Jack works at the blacksmithing workshop. He likes being near the huge draft horses and the fire. I do not talk to him often. He lives in the boys’ dormitory and he is in a different class than me. If he wanted to, he could visit me in the common room of the girls’ dormitory, but so far he has not.

  The rules are very strict here about speaking English. Every Saturday night after dinner, Lieutenant Pratt does a roll call and we have to answer “Indian” or “No Indian.” If we answer “Indian,” it means we spoke our own language that week. Last Saturday Eyota said “Indian” and didn’t care when Lieutenant Pratt scolded her. Eyota speaks English almost as well as I do, so I think this is her way to keep something of herself. Miss Burgess said if it happens again, she will hit her with the cane.

  Eyota is still ill. Is it possible to die from homesickness? At first she refused to write to her people and ask to come home. But when she heard the Sioux have been cooperating with the Army, she decided to write to her father. Maybe he can bring her home now.

  Yesterday we went ice skating. There is a creek that runs behind the school and they dam it up. Dam is not a bad word if I mean they block the water to make a pond. The weather has been cold and the pond is finally frozen. I did not like skating. I like to keep my feet on the ground, not sliding away from me. Charles was right when he said that Jack would be good at it. After just a few minutes he was skating very fast. It was a lucky thing, too, because my friend Nelly slid into some reeds sticking up out of the ice. They must have made the ice weak, because it began to crack. She screamed for help, but the teachers were on the other side of the pond. Jack raced to rescue her. And now Jack is a hero. Miss Mather wants us to write an article about him for the newspaper, but I think he has already been praised too much. My teacher says the expression is “he has a big head.” But I am very glad Nelly did not drown in the cold water.

  Every time it snows, I think of you. Please, please write. I want to hear about the baby. I love you.

  Casita

  April 7, 1880

  Dear Mama,

  Why do you not write? It has been almost six weeks since I came to Carlisle. The baby must be here. Perhaps you are too busy. But when you have a moment, please write to me.

  Some new students arrived this week. One of them is from Alaska! But he could not find it on a map during geography. To be fair, I don’t think he had ever used a map or even seen one before.

  Have I mentioned the food? It is not very good. The school says it doesn’t have enough money to buy better food. We hardly ever have meat and I am often still hungry after dinner. You always told me that what we ate would keep us healthy. I am afraid that the food is making Eyota even sicker. She has not heard from her family yet.

  We are about to publish the second edition of the newspaper. The first one came out before I arrived. I set the type for the articles, so I know before anyone else what will be printed. Miss Burgess writes most of the stories but someday I might write one, too. Everything Miss Burgess writes is true, but she doesn’t tell every story. There is nothing about the boys who cried for a full night after their hair was cut. Or about the two girls who were so unhappy they tried to burn down the girls’ dormitory. Don’t worry—they did not succeed and now they are in the jail in town. Or the children who get sick. Many of us are sick. I think it must be the cold and wet weather. She did write about one boy who died, but he already had a bad disease when he came. There will be a story about me in it but I haven’t seen it yet. The paper is called Eadle Keahtah Toh, which is Sioux for The Morning Star. Miss Burgess said they might change the name to something that is not Indian.

  Lieutenant Pratt has us send the newspaper to more than 2,000 people around the country. Some are politicians in Washington who give the school money. Some are families on the reservations, so they can see how good the school is. Miss Burgess said we can send you a copy. I will help address some of the newspapers because I have fine handwriting. I will make sure I address your copy myself.

  We also print postcards. One of the postcards has my picture on it. I will ask Miss Burgess for one so I can send it to you. Maybe that will help you remember to write. Please give my love to Charles. I miss you both.

  Casita

  April 30, 1880

  Dear Mama,

  I decided not to send you the newspaper after all. I did not like what they said about me. I told them the truth, but they made it sound like my mother was a terrible person.

  I hope you are well. I am sure I will receive a letter from you soon. I think of you and home all the time. Charles will be happy that Jack has become a bugler here. We still play our game; I can almost always get dressed before he plays “Reveille.”

  Yesterday a Quaker lady came to visit the school. She wants the school to have a band and she will give us the instruments. Miss Mather says the band will play in parades all over the country. Jack is very excited because he wants to learn to play the tuba. Maybe one day he can come back to Fort Clark and be in the 4th Cavalry Marching Band. Like father, like son.

  Our days are always the same. We march to meals, then class, then lunch, then work, then dinner. After 7:00 pm we cannot leave the dormitories. There are common rooms where we can talk (in English) or study. I like studying in my room best. I have put all my drawings on the wall, just like I did at home. I hope you have left my pictures there, because when I come home I want to see how much I’ve improved.

  The schoolwork is getting harder, especially the math. My teacher says I don
’t try hard enough. That made me sad because you worked so hard to teach me. I am sorry. If only I could hear from you or Charles, I would study harder.

  Casita

  May 13, 1880

  Dear Mama,

  I wish I could see you and ask for your advice now. Jack came to visit me yesterday. He told me that Miss Mather wants to adopt him and make him her son. She is going to Florida next year and wants to take him with her. I shouted at him and told him that he was already someone’s son. But he said he wants to go with her. His new name is Jack Mather. Florida is so far from here that I’m afraid I’ll never see him again.

  After everything we have been through, I thought Jack and I would always be together. Of all the things the school has already taken from us, I didn’t expect them to take Jack, too. I told him to write to you and explain. Maybe you can make him change his mind.

  My friend Nelly is doing very well. She loves the school. Back on her reservation, she did not have enough to eat. Here she grows fat.

  I wish I could say the same for Eyota. After writing two letters home, she has heard nothing. I helped her write the letters and the envelopes, so I know they were addressed correctly. I told Miss Mather that I was scared for her. She said the mail could be unreliable and she would write to the Sioux reservation herself. I hope we hear soon. I wish you were here, Mama, to take care of her.

  Maybe the mail has been unreliable and that is why I haven’t received a letter. I hope you and Charles and the baby are well. Maybe now that you have a baby, you don’t want your Lipan children any more. No matter what, I will always love you.

  Casita

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE CALENDAR SAID IT WAS MAY. SPRING IN PENNSYLVANIA WAS full of life and color, a treat for eyes used to the desert. The trees were covered with a fur of light green growth and the bushes next to the mess hall were budding with yellow flowers. Mrs. Pratt’s little garden had sprouted a batch of tulips that looked like jewels. Casita was happy to volunteer for any errand that brought her outside in the sunshine.

  The next edition of the newspaper was being printed today. Miss Burgess had asked her to deliver a copy to Miss Mather, but when Casita got to Miss Mather’s office, she wasn’t there. Casita entered the office and proudly placed the paper in the center of her desk, shifting the folders that were there to one side. When she did, one of the folders slipped to the floor. Casita knelt to retrieve it and paused. . . . Eyota’s name was on the folder.

  Did Miss Mather have it out because Eyota was in trouble? Casita knew Eyota refused to study and often argued with her teachers. Only her poor health had kept her from being punished. Casita couldn’t resist; she had to know so she could warn her friend. She went to the door and checked that the hallway was deserted. Then she darted back to the desk and opened the folder. There was a medical form and a report card. That was expected; every student had one. But underneath these official pieces of paper were several letters addressed to Chief Flying Hawk at the reservation. Casita recognized Eyota’s labored handwriting. The letters to her father, each more desperate than the last, had never been sent. Miss Mather had kept them. No wonder Eyota’s people had never responded. Even worse, Miss Mather had lied to Casita when she’d said the letters had gone astray. Why would she do that?

  Eyota had told Casita that the largest number of students at Carlisle came from the Sioux reservations, because the Army wanted the children of the chiefs far from their families. In return, the Army helped Lieutenant Pratt raise funds for the school. Maybe Pratt didn’t want Eyota’s father to know that she was ill and unhappy. Would they really let Eyota’s heart break just to keep their reputation with the Sioux chiefs? Casita feared the answer was yes.

  She took Eyota’s last letter and shoved it in her skirt pocket. If the school could hide the students’ letters, they could do anything. But what about Casita’s letters home? Maybe Mollie had written to her and Miss Mather had kept her letters from Casita. Was there any reason for her to do that? Yes. Miss Mather wanted to adopt Jack. How much easier it would be for her if Jack were cut off from the Smiths. Miss Mather wouldn’t care that Casita was cut off too, especially if she had read Casita’s letters and knew that Casita had tried to talk Jack out of the adoption.

  She had to know for certain if Miss Mather had betrayed her like she had Eyota. There was a cabinet in the corner of the room with the students’ files. She pulled out the first drawer. The files were sorted alphabetically by last name. Would Miss Mather use Smith or Roosevelt? Her fingers were trembling as she checked each folder. This cabinet was A–F anyway. She closed it harder than she meant, and the slamming noise echoed in the room. The next drawer was G–P. The third one should have hers.

  There were voices in the hall. If Miss Mather caught her going through the files, Casita would surely be caned. She tiptoed to the door and peered out. No one. She might not get another chance at Miss Mather’s files. She had to do it now. She opened the third drawer. Racine. Rankin. Red Deer. Red Eye. Red Horse. Red Star. Red Wolf. Rinker. Romero. Roosevelt. Here it was. “Roosevelt, Casita—Lipan.”

  She opened it and saw that every doubt she had was justified. All her letters were there. The envelopes had been slit open, just like Eyota’s. And worst or best of all, there was a tiny bundle of letters addressed to “Casita Smith” in Mollie’s ornate handwriting. She traced the C of her name, feeling grateful. She had not been forgotten. Mollie could be trusted. She grabbed all the letters from her file and replaced the file where she had found it. Taking a moment to catch her breath and smooth her hair, Casita forced herself to walk slowly. She kept it up until she reached the door, then burst into a run. Casita felt free and alone. It was good not to be marching in unison with the other girls. Past the dormitories, round the bandstand, she didn’t stop until she reached the grove of cherry trees near the pond.

  Everyone was in their assigned workshops and Miss Burgess was supervising the printing. No one would miss her for a little while. Heedless of any stains she might get on her grey dress, she climbed the largest tree and settled herself on a wide bough. She inhaled deeply the sweet smell of cherry blossoms, drowning out all the lies and deceptions.

  She took Mollie’s letters from her pocket. There were six. Mollie must be frantic worrying about her. Casita wondered what the school had told her. Sorting them from the earliest to the last, Casita read each one. A baby boy had come. He and Mollie were both well. They had named him Richard. Mollie missed Casita’s corn stew. Charles was in charge of the regimental band now. Casita carefully tucked the letters in her pocket. She was going to read them again tonight and savor every word. The warmth of Mollie’s love almost outweighed Casita’s anger against Miss Mather. Almost but not quite.

  She had been on her guard from the start, but the school had still lulled Casita into accepting her life here. She had walked straight into their trap because she wanted to draw in that studio and learn to make a newspaper. It had become easy for her to overlook the ways they controlled the children.

  But everything was different now. Miss Mather had tried to keep Casita from her family. And they had wronged Eyota even more. Her father didn’t even know she was sick. The school didn’t love Indians, it hated them. Lieutenant Pratt and Miss Mather wouldn’t be satisfied until every Indian was dead or “civilized.”

  She had been asleep, but now she was awake. They weren’t going to kill this Ndé. They would not beat the Cuelcahen Ndé out of Casita. She might have to conceal herself as Casita Roosevelt, a docile student. But that was the Ndé way, too. Casita was a survivor.

  The print shop would be missing her by now, but she stayed in the tree. Decisions had to be made. Should she tell Jack what Miss Mather had done? Would he care? He was happy being Miss Mather’s favorite. He was excited to travel to Florida. It might be kinder to let him be.

  But what about Eyota? Casita was afraid that Eyota was not strong enough to hear the truth. It would be better if Casita could find a way to send Eyota’s last
letter, still in her pocket. She could add a note of her own explaining why they had not been sent earlier. How could she do that? She had no stamps or envelopes. Well, she didn’t have to decide right now. She swung down from the tree and circled around the quad to get back to the print shop.

  Miss Burgess was damp with perspiration as she hovered over the boys running the press. When she saw Casita, she frowned. “Where have you been?”

  Without a qualm, Casita lied. “One of the teachers needed my help moving some books. I’m sorry I took so long.”

  “We have the first two hundred printed. You have a neat hand, so I want you to start addressing the envelopes for the subscribers.”

  There were two lists of subscribers. The first was of donors, politicians, local businesses—anyone who could support the school with money or supplies. A second list contained the parents of the students on the reservations. Could it be this simple? She scanned the second list until she saw Chief Flying Hawk’s name. She wrote out his address on an envelope and then slipped in Eyota’s letter along with the newspaper. Carlisle would pay the postage for her. Miss Burgess had no reason to open the envelope. Eyota’s father would soon know everything. Casita wouldn’t tell Eyota what she had done—it would do more harm than good to raise her hopes.

  Tonight Casita would write a letter to Mollie and send it the same way. Miss Mather wouldn’t suspect anything. It felt good to fire a round against the enemy.

  When Casita returned to her room after work, Nelly was sobbing on her bed.

  “Nelly! What’s wrong?” Casita rushed to her side.

  “Eyota is in the infirmary. She fell to the floor while she was sewing. She started to cough up blood.”

  Casita held Nelly tightly. Blood was never good. It meant that Eyota’s illness had worsened. “She’ll be fine,” she said, rubbing Nelly’s back.

  “No she won’t,” sobbed Nelly. “My uncle caught the coughing disease after the soldiers came. He coughed blood one week and he died the next.”