Full Circle

by Rosanne Bittner

  “You look very nice tonight, Anita,” Phillips told her.

  Her heart fell. He had said the words the way he might say them to anyone, as though just to be kind but with no special meaning. She kept a forced smile on her lips.

  “Thank you, Reverend.”

  “Well, let’s have ourselves something to eat. It looks as though they’re cutting into that side of beef that’s been roasting over there.”

  He put a hand to Anita’s waist and led her over to where some women including Agent McLaughlin’s Indian wife, were serving punch. Anita had no appetite, but she would force herself to eat just to be nice. How was she ever going to make Reverend Phillips understand how much she loved him? He probably didn’t even care. She could tell his sister Janine, with whom she now lived since Evelyn had moved into her own cabin, but she hadn’t had the courage so far, for she was not sure if Janine would be pleased or upset. She only knew that at this moment she had never been more miserable. It would have been better not to come to the dance at all than to be here with the man she loved and have him hardly notice her.

  Evelyn sat alone in the schoolhouse, a lantern on the desk turned up so that she could see what she was writing. She had decided that before beginning to teach her Indian pupils about the history of her own people and how they came to America, she would first get them to talk about their own history, to tell her some of the tales handed down to them by their grandfathers and grandmothers over tipi fires in the dead of winter, when there was nothing else to do but sit and tell stories and try to keep warm. She hoped that would stir their interest in history, and show them and their parents and grandparents that their own heritage was just as important as learning about the white man’s history.

  She wrote down a few things she already knew about North American Indians, wondered if perhaps there were things they didn’t even know about themselves, such as the possibility their ancestors might have migrated from Russia, China, and Asia into Alaska and south through Canada, looking for a warmer climate. She would have to be very careful in presenting the theory, as their parents might be offended. After all, most of them believed the Great Spirit created them and planted them right here in America, and who was she to say they were wrong? In her mind Wakantanka could very well be the same God as Jehova. Her father had never liked that theory, but she believed it nonetheless. If it was true, who was she to question where and when God created and placed the first people on earth? The only thing she knew for certain was that in recent history the Sioux had first dwelled in Minnesota and were forced farther west by white settlement and by fleeing eastern Indians. Most eastern tribes were totally gone now, wiped out by white man’s diseases and by methodical annihilation. She prayed that would not happen to these plains tribes, who had fought with such heart and bravery against tremendous odds to keep a little bit of land for themselves.

  Yes, that was it. She would be sure to mention how brave and skilled the Sioux were. The best way to impress them and make them listen was to compliment them and show respect. She would gradually implant new ideas in their minds, carefully make them think and wonder if perhaps there was more to their being here in this land than they realized.

  She quickly scribbled down more thoughts, perfectly content to have been left alone tonight. She would have loved to go to the dance, but not with Jubal Desmond. She had actually been relieved when his messenger told her the sergeant had already asked someone else. She wondered who it could be, as most of the white women she knew at the agency were married. Whoever it was, she was just glad it was not her, although it had been embarrassing to try to explain the situation to Reverend Phillips. It had been even more embarrassing to watch him fuss and fume in front of Anita, making it obvious that if he had known she was still available, he would never have asked Anita. She prayed the man was giving Anita the attention she deserved and would begin to see the love in her eyes. She was determined that if he did not soon realize how Anita felt about him, she would flat-out tell him.

  She leaned back in her chair and studied her notes, when suddenly she sensed the door was opening slowly. A chill moved through her when someone moved quietly inside. Because the oil lamp on her desk did not lend its light far enough, she could not see who it was, except that it was a man. No woman was built as large as the tall, shadowy figure that loomed near the doorway, then closed the door and just stood there, saying nothing.

  She told herself to remain calm. Whoever it was must have a legitimate reason for visiting her here. She did not want to think about any other reason for his presence. She realized then just how alone she was. The reverend, Janine, Anita, the only whites who lived nearby, were all gone. Were there any Indians around who would help her if she needed it? And who even knew she was here in the schoolhouse instead of home in her own cabin? Why hadn’t she made sure to lock the door? She swallowed and took a deep breath to calm herself. “Who is it?” she asked, surprised she could even find her voice.

  The figure moved forward, closer to the light. “It is I. Black Hawk.”

  Evelyn sat stunned, not sure what to think of this unexpected visit in the night, especially from the unpredictable, sometimes volatile Black Hawk, who seldom ever came this close to the settled area of the agency. The last—and only—time she had met the man, he had been very angry with her. She felt herself breaking into a mild sweat, every nerve end alert, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and fascination. “Hello, Black Hawk.”

  Was that really her own voice she heard? It sounded so far away. Black Hawk stepped even closer, only a couple of feet in front of her desk now, standing tall and powerful, wearing buckskin britches and vest, his chest and arms bare, his dark skin glowing in the lamplight. His hair was brushed out long, with a circular beaded hairpiece braided into one side with one skinny braid that mixed into the rest of his hair. His handsome face had a stern look to it, his dark eyes drilling into her with unreadable force. Was that anger she saw there? Curiosity? Apology? She swallowed again. “I am sorry for the way I talked to you last week,” she said, not sure what he wanted, if it would help to apologize. “You were right. I probably had no right attending a sacred ritual of your people.”

  “I have come to ask you why you say there is something more to settle between us, why you say we should meet again. That day when I sent you away, why did you look at me as though you knew me?”

  Evelyn felt heat moving through her whole body, her cheeks flushing. How could she tell this Indian man she hardly knew that he had been in her dreams? It seemed ridiculous and bold. He would probably laugh at her. Still, it was he who had come to her, and to her surprise he continued to speak to her in English. Coming from a man like Black Hawk, that was an obvious sign of respect for her. She saw an opportunity to get closer to him. She scrambled to think how she could use this moment to her advantage. “I… can’t explain it. Not yet. You would think I was a crazy white woman.”

  Was that a hint of a smile she saw at one corner of his handsome mouth?

  “All white women are crazy,” he answered.

  She felt offended for a moment, then realized he was teasing her. One thing she had learned about these people was that they had a very wry sense of humor, so subtle that sometimes one could not be sure if they were serious or just joking. Black Hawk was joking with her now. How strange to realize that this feared, rebellious warrior had the same sense of humor as the rest of his people. Still, there was a deep, lingering hurt and hatred in those dark eyes, and she knew it was from his terrible personal loss at Wounded Knee.

  “A lot of white men think the same way,” she answered with her own soft smile. To her relief, she got even more of a grin out of Black Hawk. She breathed a little easier. “I was engaged to be married before I came here,” she added. “I broke it off, deciding this was something I had to do first. The man I was supposed to marry certainly thinks I’m crazy, along with several friends back in Wisconsin. The fact that I left a very comfortable life and a man wh
o loves me to come here and teach your people should tell you something about my sincerity, Black Hawk. I am not like all the others.”

  He frowned, his eyes moving over her, then around the room, back to meet her gaze. “Perhaps not.” He reached out and picked up a beginner’s reading book. He opened it, studied it a moment. “You can teach Indian children to know what this writing says?”

  “Yes. I think you know how important that will be to them from here on. They cannot survive, Black Hawk, without learning the white man’s language and writing and numbers. I know you hate to hear that, and in some ways I don’t like it, either. I greatly admire your old way of life. I understand it better than you think, and I hate to see it have to end. But one must face reality, and the reality is that you will never be able to live that way again. I’m very sorry for that, but it was not my doing. I can only hope to help your people adjust to what must be. I understand what a shock it is for them, how hard it is for them.”

  He met her eyes again, and she felt as though he could see through to her soul. “Can you teach a grown man to read these marks?”

  The question surprised her and filled her heart with hope. “Certainly, especially if he is as intelligent as you are,” she added, hoping the praise would help win his trust even more. She saw the instant pride in his eyes.

  “You will teach me then,” he said, more as a command than a request. “When we have talked many times, perhaps you will be honest with me about the things you said when we first met.”

  Evelyn could hardly believe her ears. Black Hawk wanted to learn to read? She reminded herself not to get too excited. Maybe this was some kind of trick. And she decided that the only way to win with this man was to continue to stand right up to him and not get overwhelmed with gratitude. She had to remain stern and brave. She wanted to jump up and tell him how wonderful it was that he wanted to learn the white man’s writing, but somehow she felt that might only chase him away. “Why do you want to learn?” she asked carefully.

  He dropped the book on the desk in a show of belligerence. “To keep the white man from cheating my people even more, it is not enough only to understand the language. I must also understand what he puts in writing, in treaties.” A sneer came to his mouth then. “Although it does not make so much difference. Your people not only do not keep promises they make with their forked tongues, they do not even keep the promises they put in writing! Still, it is best that we know how to read his language, not just speak it.”

  “What about Little Fox?” she asked guardedly. “Do you also want him to learn?”

  Black Hawk folded his powerful arms. “I will let him learn. But he will not come here. He is all I have left. I seldom let him out of my sight. For now he is at my camp, with Otter Woman, who sometimes visits and sleeps with me and cooks for me. She will take good care of him.”

  Evelyn felt a surprising wave of jealousy. She had not thought of Black Hawk taking another woman. Why had he made a point of telling her the woman slept with him? Was he wanting to see her reaction? She forced herself to appear unconcerned, but was shocked at her own inward reaction. Why should she care if he had a woman? “How can I teach him if you don’t let him come here?” she asked.

  “You will come to us,” he answered. “Two days each week. When I have decided I can trust you, perhaps then I will let Little Fox come to the school. If I do, and white men come and take him away to one of the faraway schools off the reservation, I will kill you.”

  A wave of fear pierced Evelyn’s chest like a knife. She knew by his eyes that he was serious. Again she had to remind herself she must stand up to this man. It was her only way of keeping his trust and respect. “I would not blame you,” she answered. “But I tell you now that if such a thing ever happened, it would not be my doing. I would never allow it.” She rose from her chair. “Letting your son learn the white man’s language will be a good sign to your people that they should do the same, Black Hawk. You would be helping them, because I think you understand what is necessary to their survival.”

  “Perhaps. But for now I do not want them to know. You will come to me two days a week, the days you do not teach. Tell your friends whatever excuse you choose, but do not tell them you come to me and Little Fox. I will decide later whether to allow my son to come to this school.”

  Evelyn was not sure how she was going to manage it, but she was not about to pass up this surprising opportunity. “I will come. Saturdays and Sundays. How will I know where to go?”

  “You will ride to Falling Eagle’s settlement northwest of here. Do you know where that is?”

  “Yes. I visited there with Anita Wolf. Falling Eagle now sends his son and daughter, Fast Arrow and Laughing Girl, to school. Black Hawk, surely you can see from the eight children already attending that no harm has come to them. It would be so much easier—”

  “I will not send my son here!” he barked. “Do you want to do it this way or not?”

  Evelyn sighed in resignation. “Yes. I already said that I would. What do I do when I get to Falling Eagle’s village?”

  “Head directly north. You will see twin hills with rocks at the top of each. They look like a woman’s breasts and are called Mother’s Nest. Ride between them and on down into a canyon that drops below the earth, much like the Badlands. When you get there I will be watching you and will come to you and take you to my camp.”

  Evelyn ignored his description of the two hills, realizing he was not even aware it might embarrass her. “How long will this ride take? I would not want to ride back after dark.”

  “It takes perhaps an hour, longer if you walk your horse the entire way.”

  “In another couple of months the days will grow shorter. I will have less daylight. By then I would want you to start bringing Little Fox here rather than my riding out alone.”

  He nodded. “We will decide then.”

  “What about Otter Woman? Maybe she won’t like my coming there.”

  “She will not be there. I will make sure of it.” He leaned forward, pressing his hands on the edge of the desk and bringing his face close to hers. “It will be just you and me. Does that frighten you?”

  How could she tell him that she was more afraid of the emotions he stirred in her own soul than of him? “No,” she answered without a flinch. “You have asked me to come. I trust you to respect my willingness to take my only two days of rest each week to make a long ride to your camp just because I think it is so important for you to learn. I don’t believe you are a man of dishonor.”

  Black Hawk studied her beautiful face. Did this woman realize what she did to his insides? Of course not. She did not know she had been a part of his vision. She did not know that when he made love to Otter Woman, it was this delicate, light-haired woman whom he saw lying beneath him, her lily-white thighs parted in welcome, her pink-and-white breasts hard and peaked, aching for his touch, her soft skin on fire for the feel of his tongue tasting it.

  How could she know his thoughts? A woman like this one would never have the same thoughts for an Indian man… or would she? What was that he saw in those big blue eyes? A hint of desire? A flash of passion? Was not her chest heaving a little too heavily? Perhaps her heart was pounding harder, not with fear, but with something else. Whatever the meaning of his vision, he would discover it by getting to know this woman better. He only knew he could not ignore her without offending Wakantanka. Perhaps in reaching out for her in his vision, it meant he was to learn from her. He had to try this and see where it would lead him. If this white woman was to share his bed, he would know that, too. Never before had he had any desire for a wasicu woman, but a man could not ignore his dreams.

  “I will not dishonor you,” he promised.

  Evelyn studied his face. He was close enough that she could lean forward and press her lips to his own. The thought made her quickly turn away. “Then I will come,” she answered, feeling fire surge through her blood. Was she insane, like Steven claimed? S
hould she tell this man about her dreams? Perhaps he would read more into her revelation than what was there. Perhaps he would think it gave him license to take advantage of her. With all she supposed she knew about the Sioux, how could she fully understand the thoughts of a man like Black Hawk, who was wild and free and took what he wanted without asking questions? Still, the man had a strong sense of honor. She had to trust in that.

  She faced him again. “I will come next Saturday then. Watch for me. I prefer not to ride into such country alone.”

  “I will be waiting.”

  He had straightened to his full height again. Evelyn wondered at the size of him, since most Sioux were not so tall. His features were also a little softer than most of the other Indian men, with the startling handsomeness usually enjoyed only by those of mixed blood. Perhaps there was some white blood in his background… perhaps some poor captive white woman forced into submission… or maybe a French trapper who had taken an Indian woman for a wife. “You have chosen wisely, Black Hawk,” she told him. “What you are doing will be good for Little Fox’s future, and once you tell your people you trust me and that it is a good thing to send their children to school, it will be better for everyone. I do not lie, Black Hawk.”

  Their eyes held for several silent seconds, each lost in their own dreams and visions, each wondering how this had come to be.

  I think someone else’s spirit lives within you, she wanted to tell him. I think you are Wild Horse, come back to me now that I am a woman, still loving my mother through me. No, she could not tell him these things yet. There would be a right time.

  Your skin is white, but your heart is Indian, Black Hawk in turn wanted to say to her. I do not yet understand how it is you are so close to me in spirit, but some day I will know. “I believe you,” he told her aloud. “I go now.”