by Wendy Lawton
Once after singing, Mary Ann said, “Olive, I think I’m going to die soon.” She paused and then shook her head. “No. I already know I’ll die, but you’ll live and get away.”
“Don’t talk like that, Mary Ann!” Her calm frightened Olive.
“Oh dear, don’t be sad for me, Olive,” she went on as if Olive had not spoken. “I’ve been a burden for you. I hate to leave you all alone, but God is with you.” Mary Ann’s voice became almost dreamy sounding. “Our heavenly Father will keep and comfort those who trust in Him.”
Olive didn’t know what to say. She wanted to reassure Mary Ann, but her sister’s words came from somewhere deep. Olive did not refute them with empty words.
“I’m so glad we were taught to love and serve the Savior, aren’t you, Olive?”
Olive wished that, like Mary Ann, her faith grew stronger with trouble. Instead, she wondered where to find God in all this suffering.
Mary Ann drifted off into sleep soon afterward. Olive wrapped her in blankets and sat beside her. She no longer coughed, but her breathing seemed so weak. Sometimes she woke briefly to sing a piece of an old hymn. Many Mohaves stopped by to see her. To them it must seem so strange, this slip of a girl sleeping and whispering songs.
Topeka’s mother came to sit with them. Putting her hand on Mary Ann’s face, the older woman broke into sobbing. Olive looked at her for a long moment and saw the love and sense of deep mourning.
“Olive,” Mary Ann’s voice woke Olive out of a restless sleep that night. “Sometimes I remember the story of Beauty. I keep thinking I can almost see Ma and Pa in a mirror. If I just close my eyes, I feel as if I could be there.”
“Oh, Mary Ann, that was just a story.”
“I know,” she said smiling. “But I’m not afraid to go. I’ll be so much better off there.”
“I know, little sister.”
Soon afterward, Mary Ann fell asleep for the last time.
War and Plenty
Olive,” Topeka shook her gently. “You must wake up.”
Olive pulled the blanket around her shoulders and tried to ignore the voice.
“Mary Ann insisted that you not grieve. I heard her request that of you many times. You must respect that last wish.”
Olive turned toward Topeka. “I want to respect Mary Ann’s memory, but I do not want to live without her. My sister went to be with our family. I am left here alone.” Olive began to cry. The tears surprised her. They were the first shed since her sister died.
“The warriors prepared her body for burning, Olive. Won’t you be part of the ceremony?”
A new wave of despair crashed over Olive. Her whole family had perished in the desert, left to the wolves, and now Mary Ann—the sister who’d become so precious to her in these years of captivity—Mary Ann was to be burned in a pagan ceremony.
Olive stood up, dropped her blanket and ran to the river. As her feet slipped on the rounded stones at the water’s edge, she caught herself and shouted to the sky. “How can You let this happen, God? Even when Ma and Pa died, I continued to believe Ma’s words that You walked alongside us.” She reached down to pick up a stone. “The whole time we ’ve been here, we ’ve clung to You . . . hung on for our very lives.” Olive’s voice wobbled. “Mary Ann barely had enough strength to breathe in and out, but she sang hymns to You. How could You let her die?” She hurled the stone into the stream. Because the river ran so low, she heard a loud thunk as the stone hit the muddy bottom. “And why do You make me live?”
She picked up another stone, a jagged one, and flung it into the water after the first one. She threw another, followed by another. She kept casting rocks and weeping until her strength gave out and she sank to the ground.
“Come, sister.” Topeka lifted Olive to her feet.
Olive had no idea how long she’d sat by the water’s edge. She felt strangely comforted by Topeka’s gesture.
“My mother wishes to speak to you. She needs your help.”
Olive struggled to her feet, brushed the dirt off and followed Topeka without speaking. They went into the chief ’s yard where Olive saw a bundle wrapped in a beautiful Indian blanket. She knew that the blanket contained her sister’s body. The pain in her throat threatened to choke her.
“Aluitman, my little daughter, I need your help.” Topeka’s mother took both of Olive’s hands in her own workroughened hands.
“I will help, Mother. What do you need?” The word mother seemed to come naturally after hearing Topeka use it for so long. It somehow felt right. Topeka’s mother would never be Ma, of course—there would only ever be one Ma.
“The chief decided that our Mary Ann should be buried in the way of your people, not in the way of our people.”
Olive stood stunned.
“He gives two blankets in which to wrap little daughter, but you must show the warriors how to plant her into the ground. We do not understand these customs.”
Olive fell to her knees and kissed those worn hands. She could not put her feelings into words. Is this You, Lord?
A sad party carried that blanket-shrouded body out to the garden plot that Olive had so carefully tended that autumn and over which Mary Ann had so earnestly prayed. The warriors dug a grave about five feet deep and gently lowered the frail remains into the cavity, covering it with fine sand. It was the first and only grave in that entire valley.
Olive walked back to the chief ’s house beside her friend. Her grief was so deep; she still could not find words to speak to Topeka. Speaking seemed unnecessary; besides, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the Lord walked unseen beside them. Even after she had screamed her frustration by the river’s edge, Olive somehow sensed that the Lord had not left her.
As she walked along, she even looked at the sand once to see if there was a third set of footprints. Forgive me, Lord, for doubting Your presence. I still don’t know why You would allow such suffering, but when the chief offered a Christian burial for Mary Ann— a thing for which I never thought to ask— I saw that it was Your work. The chief’s kindness broke my heart. Help it break my anger as well. Olive continued to walk and think. Despite what Ma said, God, I’ve felt so alone during most of this journey. My faith has been shaken. I need to understand.
Hmm. She thought about that. If she really had faith, would she need to understand? How does one reclaim the blazing fire of faith when it’s dwindled to nothing more than a wobbly wisp of a candle flicker?
Just ask.
That word intruded right into the middle of Olive ’s thoughts. Ask? She remembered Ma saying that faith was a gift—not something a person could ever attain. That made sense. At least she thought it did.
OK, I’m asking then, Heavenly Father. I may never understand why all this evil happened, but I’m all alone now and I don’t want to live if I can’t trust You. Trust is so difficult. I can’t understand why You didn’t save Mary Ann and me. We prayed so hard to be ransomed and rescued. Now Mary Ann is dead and I remain a captive. Olive’s thoughts went in circles. One minute she reached out to God in faith and then the next minute asked,Where are You?
Olive saw that they drew near to Topeka’s home. Forgive me again, Lord. You tell me to ask for faith, and all I can do is cry out, “Why?”She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Please give me the gift of faith. I want to believe again.
Topeka led Olive into the house and helped her lie down on blankets. As she closed her eyes she thought to herself,I’ve obeyed that voice and asked. Now I need to figure out how to listen for an answer.
Olive woke to a grinding sound.
Topeka’s mother sat crouched by Olive, holding a grinding bowl and a wooden spoon filled with more than a handful of corn mush. “Eat this, daughter, and live. We have enough for you to eat for three days.”
Olive sat up and ate her first nutritious meal in weeks. She’d grown too weak to even wonder where the corn for this mush had been found. By the second day, she began to revive enough to see that no one else had food
—only her. Topeka’s mother had ground this food for Olive and fed her, spoonful by spoonful, while the older woman continued to starve.
On the third day, Topeka came to bring the mush to Olive.
“No, Topeka. It’s not right that I have a belly full when you and your mother starve.”
“My mother wishes you to have this.” Topeka pressed her lips together in that way that meant she would hear no more arguments.
“But why?”
“She longs for you to live, even if it costs her own life.”
“Her own life?” Was Chief Aespaniola’s family that close to death and Olive had missed the signs?
“Forgive me. I should have held my tongue, sister.”
Suddenly Olive understood where Topeka’s mother got the corn. The corn mush was made from the stash of seeds Topeka’s mother had saved to plant in the spring. It represented the only flicker of hope for their entire family. Olive began to weep.
“Please, Olive, do not cry. My mother would not wish her gift to wound you.”
Olive swallowed her tears. She took the bowl and ate— slowly and reverently. Through this sacrificial gift, Olive would live. She must find some way to honor Topeka’s mother by her life.
That winter, the rains finally came and, in the spring, the banks of the Colorado River once again overflowed, depositing rich silt on the land. Wild game and fowl came back to the valley in time to stave off any more deaths from starvation.
With plenty of food and more crops in the ground, Olive looked for a sense of peace to settle on the Mohave valley. She was wrong. Part of the reason that peace had reigned the whole time she lived with the Mohaves was because finding food took up all their energy.
Topeka once told Olive that the Mohaves had fought the Cocopas—a large tribe 700 miles away—for generations. The Mohaves believed they were destined to eventually conquer the Cocopas and had fought them many times—always winning.
When the first words of war crept into village talk, Olive became frightened.
“Topeka,” she said while helping her friend hoe corn, “will they fight here in the village?”
“No. The warriors plan to leave on a raid tomorrow. They will go all the way to the Cocopa village.”
“Then we are safe.” Olive felt relieved.
Topeka did not answer, and Olive realized she might have seemed heartless. “I know our warriors are at risk, and we will worry. I just meant that immediate danger would not touch us here in the village.”
Topeka’s continued silence frightened Olive. “What, Topeka? Tell me.”
“The thing I worry about may never come to pass.”
“Tell me!”Olive’s voice held a touch of hysteria.
“We have an ancient tradition that requires us to sacrifice a slave for every warrior killed in war. You must not worry, however, for our warriors are always successful.”
“Sacrifice a slave? You mean kill someone?”
“Yes.” Topeka stayed silent for a time. “The reason I tell you this is that some of our warriors argue with my father, insisting that you are a slave. Until all our warriors are back safe, you must stay by my side.”
Olive began to shake.
“I did not tell you this, sister, to alarm you. I only want you to be on your guard.” Topeka put down her hoe and took Olive’s hand and pulled her down to a rock where they could both sit. “Do you not believe your God can protect you?”
Olive looked deeply into Topeka’s brown eyes. “Sometimes I’ve doubted His protection.”
“When Mary Ann died, in your grief, you forgot much.”
“Forgot much?”
“Yes. Do you not remember how your God spoke to me about ransoming you? During that time, I was consumed by the urgency to rescue you from the Yavapai.”
“I had forgotten.” Olive mulled Topeka’s words. “Oh, not that I forgot the great risk you took to ransom me, but I forgot that you told us you believed it was God’s nudging.”How could I forget this proof of God’s protection?
“When my father called us together to say that he wanted your sister to be buried according to the custom of the white men, I suspected a Great Spirit planted that idea. I saw how much it comforted you.”
Olive felt shivers run across her shoulders. “And when your mother gave me her corn seed to save my life?”
Topeka nodded her head. “Even the discovery of the oth-to-toa berries—our people believed it to be a great miracle.” Topeka took Olive’s hands. “Remember. That is what we tell our people. Remember and tell the stories of great deeds. If you keep remembering the great deeds of your God, you will see His protection.”
Olive had asked God for faith. Maybe this friend who didn’t even know God had the answer. Instead of asking why bad things happened, Olive needed to remember the miracles. She needed to remember the times the Lord took care of her and the times He whispered to others to take care of her. When Topeka recounted God’s faithfulness, Olive saw what Ma had said all along—God walked alongside. Olive felt sure He had wept with her at Mary Ann’s grave. Maybe the Lord had even remembered His own sacrifice when He watched Topeka’s mother grinding corn.
The Final Ransom
Olive!” Topeka shook her awake. “They are back.”
“The warriors?” Olive shook off the last fuzziness of sleep.
“Yes. They are all back and you are safe.” Topeka’s voice rang with happiness. “You are safe.”
The warriors returned with much ceremony. They had won again, and this time they suffered no losses. Topeka looked at Olive and smiled. Yes,Olive thought,I’m beginning to see God’s protection.
Thinking that perhaps life would finally settle down to a quiet routine, Olive harvested her garden and stored up food against the winter. As she gathered the seed for the next year’s crop, Olive couldn’t help but recall God’s care for her over the last five years.
She touched the tattoo on her chin. How disfigured she had felt when they first applied it. Now it no longer bothered her. It had become the ransom’s mark—the remembrance of the price that had been paid for her by the Mohaves and their promise of protection. As Olive began to understand what God had done, and, as her flame of faith rekindled, she also liked to think about her ki-e-chook as the remembrance of the ransom price that Christ had paid for her with His own life and His promise of protection.
“Olive.” The tone of Topeka’s voice shook Olive out of her reverie. “Come into the house quickly. Trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” Peace never seemed to last very long in the valley of the Mohaves.
“A Yuma has come with a letter from the fort. It is written in English.” Topeka shook her head in concern. “It is about you.”
“About me?” If whites had known she lived with the Indians, why had it taken five years for them to contact her?
Topeka looked at her closely. “Do you know a man with a name something like Low-renz?”
Olive felt shivers run across her shoulders. “My brother’s name was Lorenzo.” She could never forget the last time she saw him—that horrible night—as he squeezed his eyes shut. Lorenzo . . . the big brother who always took care of them . . . who boldly promised that if they were ever taken captive he’d never rest until he’d rescued them.
Topeka hadn’t spoken.
“Topeka?” The blood began drumming in Olive’s ears. “Why did you ask about Lorenzo?”
Topeka took Olive’s hand. “My father tells me that the Yuma—his name is Francisco—says that your brother, Lowrenz, did not die in the Yavapai attack . . . that he has looked for you for all these years.”
Lorenzo alive? Could it be?Olive thought back to that attack and remembered him being clubbed and falling to the ground. Could he be . . .?
Olive came into the house, and Chief Aespaniola held out a letter. “Can you read it, Aluitman?”
She took the letter and read it aloud:
Francisco, Yuma Indian, bearer of this, goes to the Mohave
&nb
sp; Nation to obtain a white woman there, named Olivia. It is
desirable she should come to this post, or send her reasons
why she does not wish to come.
Martin Burke
Lieut. Col., Commanding
Headquarters, Fort Yuma, California
27th January, 1856
Question after question came to Olive ’s mind—Why now, after all this time?If she did leave, where would she go? Wasn’t she now more Mohave than white?
Was Lorenzo alive?
Chief Aespaniola worried aloud. “The Yuma not come at urging of white chief, Colonel Burke. Our people know scout at Fort Yuma. He say Colonel only agree to send short letter. A man, carpenter, the one they call Carpentero. He believe Low-renz, and he get Francisco to come trade for you.”
She did not want to talk about the Yuma man or the people at the fort. It was too much for Olive to consider. Lorenzo alive?
The debate began right away. Topeka and her mother did not want Olive to go. They worried that the letter was a trap of some kind. They wanted Olive to stay in the safety of the valley.
But many of the warriors feared keeping her in the Mohave valley now that the soldiers knew her location. They didn’t relish the idea of fighting the soldiers from the fort. Other Mohaves, who had come to accept Olive as one of them, were once again reminded she was an outsider. Olive felt a new wave of hostility.
Oh, Father, let them make the right decision. Olive knew the decision was not hers to make. What was the right decision? She knew she loved Topeka like a sister. But what if Lorenzo was alive?
The debate lasted for weeks, but Chief Aespaniola finally agreed to let Olive go. “You have become daughter to me and sister to Topeka, but if your brother lives, you need go.”
Olive didn’t know how to respond. As the drama swirled around her, Olive continued to work her garden patch, getting it ready for spring planting. Work kept her from worrying. Oh, Mary Ann,she thought as she turned the dirt over,How I wish you were here with me. How I’d love to hear you sing one more time.
