Full Circle

by Rosanne Bittner

  “I am aware of the corruption, Miss Gibbons. I have written many letters to Congress about it. There is not much else I can do, and I have no control over what happens to rations between the time that they leave Washington and when they arrive here. They go through a lot of hands.”

  “I know you do your best. Many of the Sioux have a lot of respect for you.” She glanced at Gere. “I can’t say the same for how they feel about the Army. There is a lot the Army could do to remedy that, like getting rid of men like Sergeant Jubal Desmond.”

  Gere stiffened. “Desmond is a fine soldier, and so far I have not turned up anything about his personal life that warrants a reprimand.”

  Evelyn turned to wrap the paintings again. “Someday you will, Colonel. I just hope it isn’t too late to repair whatever damage he has caused. I fear it is already too late for Lucille Bridges.” She faced the man again. “One day I’m going to prove that man for what he really is, Bridges and Desmond both; and I will find a way to get poor Lucille and Katy out of what has to be a horrible situation.”

  “You’re meddling in people’s private lives, Miss Gibbons,” the colonel reminded her.

  Evelyn pulled on her fur coat, one of the few items of luxury she had brought along in her trunk when she came from Wisconsin. She picked up the paintings. “I have to take these to the freight office and get them wrapped for shipment.” She met the colonel’s gaze. “Any extra effort on your part against whiskey smugglers will help, Colonel. Have some of your men meet the riverboats. Take a look at what is being unloaded.”

  Lingering anger still showed in his eyes. “I do my best, Miss Gibbons. You stick to your work here, and I will do mine.”

  Evelyn felt spent, wondering if she had made any headway at all. The only thing she had accomplished was to practically shock both men with Black Hawk’s paintings. She could tell it had brought a new respect for the man from both of them. At least she had kept Black Hawk out of trouble… for now. The problem was that both McLaughlin and the colonel would be looking even harder for some sign that Black Hawk was the untrustworthy, dangerous renegade they claimed he was. She would have to go to his camp, talk to him, warn him to be extra careful.

  Katy stood at the gate in the cold wind and watched for Many Birds to ride home from school. She had grown to like the Indian girl more than she thought she would. Whatever Seth’s strange reasons for wanting her to make friends with Many Birds, she now looked forward to visiting with her. Perhaps Seth just wanted to show he had nothing against the Indians, or maybe it had something to do with how he got his whiskey.

  She saw the girl coming, and she smiled, waiting faithfully, envying Many Birds for being able to go to school. She wished that Seth would let her go, and she had decided she would ask him again. Maybe if she convinced him it would mean she could get closer to Many Birds, he would allow it. If Seth was suddenly trying to put on a new front of being a good father, what better way to show it. Ever since the whiskey raid he had not been quite so mean, and he had not bothered Lucille.

  Many Birds smiled when she waved, riding closer. Katy took a raggedy doll from under her coat and held it up. “Here is my doll. Did you bring yours?”

  Many Birds nodded, taking a stick doll from under her own coat. She slid down from her horse and walked up to Katy to show it to her. “She is called Moonlight.”

  Katy frowned. “That’s a strange name.”

  “She is my light in the night when I am alone. Old Grandmother says that since I have had my flowing time, I am too old to play with dolls, but I still keep her with me.”

  Katy smiled. “Me, too. Her name is Wanda. That’s the name of one lady at the orphanage who was nice to us. I don’t remember much about it, but Lucy does.”

  After they exchanged dolls, Many Birds studied Wanda. “I do not understand about these places called orphanages. With our people, when a child’s parents die, the brothers and sisters take them in. If there are no brothers and sisters, one of the other families takes them, even if they are not related. They are never homeless.”

  “It isn’t like that with us. They send homeless children to a big, ugly place where people aren’t very nice to them. Sometimes they get adopted, like Seth adopted us, but he isn’t very nice to us, either.” She pouted. “I hate Seth. So does Lucy.”

  Many Birds glanced past her to the window, where Seth Bridges watched them. “I have heard talk of your father. He is not very much liked by my brother. I have not told Black Hawk that I come here. He would forbid it.”

  Katy realized Seth was watching her, and she remembered his warnings not to say anything bad about him. “Seth is just a lazy old man,” she answered. “I wish he would let me and Lucy go to school, but he keeps us home to do all the chores while he sits around and dri—” She hesitated. She was not supposed to mention whiskey. “While he sits around.”

  Many Birds stroked the yellow yarn that made up Katy’s doll’s hair. “Indian women also do much work. Grandmother tells me that in the old days the men did much hunting and making war. Now our men have little to do. It makes them sad. Your people call them lazy, but they are not lazy. They just do not know what to do now. They hate farming, and their hearts are broken, so they just sit around. Some of them drink firewater and fall down and sleep.”

  Katy pouted, hating Seth even more for having something to do with getting whiskey to Indians. Now that she had come to know Many Birds, she saw the Indians as just people, not the ignorant animals Seth made them out to be. “Are you going to get married soon?” she asked the pretty and smart Many Birds. “Seth says Indian girls get married young.”

  “Not me. There is no one I wish to marry for now. I just want to stay with Old Grandmother and help take care of her. When she dies, perhaps I will marry then, but he will have to be a very worthy man, or my brother will not allow it.”

  “I don’t know what it’s like to have a grandmother, or even a mother. I think I would like that very much.” Katy held the stick doll close and ducked her nose under the collar of her frayed woolen coat because of a sudden sharp wind. “I like Miss Gibbons, the schoolteacher. Is she as nice as she seems?”

  Many Birds smiled. “She is very nice. She is already married the Indian way to my brother.”

  “Married! Miss Gibbons? To an Indian?”

  Many Birds nodded. “It is a secret for now. You must not tell your people. Black Hawk says she is Indian in her heart. They are going to be married the Christian way someday. She is already like a mother to my nephew, Little Fox.”

  Katy smiled. “That is exciting. I wish Seth would let me go to school. I would like to get to know her better. Someday I will be old enough to do what I want, and I will finish my schooling and be as educated as Miss Gibbons. But I won’t live here. I will live in some wonderful big city, like Chicago or New York. Perhaps I will learn to play the piano. There are a lot of things I want to do.”

  Many Birds handed back the yarn-headed doll, shivering against the cold. Katy had invited her inside once or twice, but she had always refused because she was afraid of Seth Bridges. Now that the weather seemed to be getting colder every day and the season of wind had come, she knew she could not keep refusing. Katy handed her the stick doll.

  “I must go. It is a long ride back to my village,” Many Birds said, reaching inside the deerskin coat Old Grandmother had helped her make from hides Black Hawk had brought them. She placed the doll into a little leather pouch she wore over her shoulder under the coat, where she also carried her reading book. “It gets dark earlier now, so I cannot visit for long anymore.”

  Katy scowled with disappointment. “Do you ever ride to the agency for supplies or anything like that? Can you come over someday when there is no school?”

  “I will try. I like being friends with you. I have never had a white friend before. But I am afraid of your father.”

  Katy shrugged. “Seth would never hurt you. I won’t let him. He said it was okay to make friends wi
th you, and now I’m glad I did. He’s mean to me and Lucy sometimes, but he wouldn’t be mean to somebody else, because he doesn’t want other people to know. He pretends to be good. That’s why he stands at the window and waves at you. I think maybe he’s trying to get on Black Hawk’s good side, so he would never bother you. Lucy and I don’t get a chance to meet other people unless they come here. You come over someday when you can stay longer, and we’ll go play in my room.”

  Many Birds smiled. “I would like that.” She turned and walked her horse to a big rock outside the gate. She climbed up on the rock in order to get herself high enough to jump onto the back of her big roan mare. She was glad she had worn her knee-high winter moccasins today. She thought how soon the snow would be flying. She herself enjoyed the change of seasons, though the cold weather made Old Grandmother very stiff. “Good-bye, Katy.”

  Katy waved. “Bye, Many Birds. Please come back.”

  Many Birds turned and rode off, and Katy watched after her for a moment before turning to go inside. She noticed Seth looking out the window again. Whatever his reasons, her making friends with Many Birds had made him more amiable and a little more bearable, and that was fine with her. “You’d just better not have something mean in mind, Seth Bridges,” she muttered. “I’ll never let you hurt my new friend.” She walked inside, looking forward to Many Birds’s next visit, hoping she wouldn’t wait too long.

  Twenty-six

  Evelyn was relieved that the week had finally ended so that now she could ride back to Black Hawk’s grandmother’s village. Many Birds had told her Black Hawk had come back from his camp and was staying with them again. He was ready to run, she had said if he heard soldiers planned to come after him. In the meantime, he was hunting, trying to find enough meat for Many Birds and their grandmother to smoke and store for the winter.

  She thought what a fine hunter he was. Bagging wild game was no longer an easy task in this part of the land with so much of the wild game having been overhunted by outside settlers, by miners who came through the area on their way to Montana, and by the Indians themselves, who could not bear the rotten meat offered them by the government.

  She wondered how much longer she could go on this way, aching for Black Hawk, forced to be apart from him. She knew that this time he was afraid to come to her cabin, for fear soldiers lay in wait for him. He would have to hear from her own lips that it was safe. Little Fox had come with her, since Evelyn knew his father hated being separated from the boy. Little Fox had brought some papers along to show Black Hawk he was learning to write. He had also brought his bow and arrow so he could give a demonstration on how skilled he was becoming with the weapon Black Hawk had made for him.

  Evelyn felt no fear now when she rode through the Indian villages. She thought what a long way she had come in the past several weeks, both with Black Hawk and with the Sioux as a whole. The schoolroom was full now, and the agency was planning to build a second room. Mission Services was sending another missionary couple to Oahe, a male schoolteacher to Standing Rock, as well as another missionary couple to help Reverend Phillips. So far there had been no reaction from them about the way she taught or the fact that she boldly went out alone to visit with the Indians… and that she was deeply involved with a Sioux man. She loved John Phillips for having obviously kept it all to himself. He could have written scathing letters, had her dismissed; but he had not. She knew that deep inside he realized she was reaching the Indians. Whatever her methods, they were working, and that was the only thing that mattered.

  It would be another month before the help arrived, and in the meantime she had Beverly Evans to help her. Beverly had found a new peace within herself. Her waistline was beginning to expand with the child she intended to keep and love. Evelyn had noticed a new closeness between Beverly and Reverend Phillips, but after her disastrous experience with Herbert True, she knew Beverly was not eager to jump to conclusions about any man. Evelyn prayed it would lead to something good for both of them. Beverly needed a father for her child, and Reverend Phillips needed a helpmate and wanted a family. Since Anita’s death, he seemed to judge people less and was more open to the opportunities of love. Evelyn liked to think she had in some way helped the man learn to be a little more forgiving and compassionate. He reminded her so much of her own father, whom she loved very deeply, not just because he was her father, but because he had embraced and forgiven her mother for loving another man that one brief summer back in Oklahoma. Now here she was with her own heart pounding for an Indian. She could almost feel her mother living through her. Perhaps, as she liked to imagine, Wild Horse really did live in Black Hawk.

  She trotted her horse up to Old Grandmother’s tipi, giving her greetings to the many Sioux who nodded to her along the way. She wore only a sweater, as it was unusually warm today, a teasing last taste of late autumn before winter would come roaring in. She carried her fur coat with her, realizing the weather could change drastically in only hours this time of year.

  She dismounted, but not before Little Fox, who bounded past her to go inside the tipi and hug his great-grandmother. Evelyn followed him inside, half expecting to find both Black Hawk and Many Birds; but only Dancing Woman was there. The old woman looked up at Evelyn and smiled, showing only three teeth in front, her face breaking into thousands of wrinkles. Her snowy white hair was pulled back at her neck, but pieces of it had strayed and hung limply at the side of her face.

  “My granddaughter chose to ride to the agency today,” she told Evelyn in the Sioux tongue. “I think she has a friend, but she has not said for sure. Maybe it is some young man.”

  Evelyn grinned at her playful chuckle. “Where is Black Hawk?”

  The old woman raised a thin arm and pointed to her right. “Outside. If you go that way, you will find a creek. He is there, painting. He brought us a deer and some rabbits. Isn’t that nice?”

  Evelyn nodded. “Yes, Dancing Woman. I am glad he found meat.”

  “He is a good young man, devoted to his old grandmother.” Pride shone in the old woman’s eyes. “Black Hawk thought maybe you would come today. You go to the creek and find him.” The old woman looked at her Little Fox. “You be a good boy and stay here and talk with me for a while. Let the schoolteacher go and talk alone with your father.”

  Evelyn was grateful for the suggestion. “I will stay,” Little Fox told her. He plunked down beside Dancing Woman and opened his parfleche. “I will show you my writing! And I will read to you!”

  “Such a smart boy,” Dancing Woman said, patting his head. She chuckled slyly, glancing at Evelyn. “Hurry to your lover.”

  Evelyn reddened at the words, but she needed no more prompting. She turned and hurried out, taking a blanket from her horse and walking swiftly to find the creek. She came to a little rise, and below she saw a stand of trees and the trickling creek bed nearly dry, waiting for winter snows to fill it up again. She hurried down the hillside, looking back to realize that once below, no one from the village could see them. “Black Hawk!” she called out. “Where are you?”

  She saw a movement over by a large collection of boulders that looked as though God had just casually thrown them there in a pile. She smiled when she realized it was Black Hawk, then ran to him when he opened his arms. In the next moment those arms enfolded her, and she felt safe and warm and loved.

  “I missed you, Wenonah.”

  “And I missed you. Black Hawk, everything is all right. No soldiers will come for you. I made sure of it.”

  She leaned back to look at him, and in the next moment his mouth met hers in a near-savage kiss. He held her close then, rubbing his cheek against the top of her head. “I was afraid not so much for me, but for you. You had to tell them you were riding alone with me.”

  “I didn’t care. I am anxious for everyone to know the truth, Black Hawk. I hate not being completely open about all of this.” She met his eyes again. “I showed Agent McLaughlin and Colonel Gere your pictures, and I c
ould tell they were almost shocked. I told them it was your way of discovering whether you could do something to make your own living a new way. I think they finally understand what you’re trying to do. They’re seeing you for who you really are.”

  A cool breeze blew some of his hair across his handsome face. She marveled at how he fit in with nature and the land around him, his skin deep brown from the sun, his eyes brown like the earth, his hair loose and flowing like the wind. He was strong like the elements, sometimes fierce as a thunderstorm, yet gentle as a summer breeze. Even his clothes were a part of nature, and he shared his spirit with the animals, the earth, the hawk.

  “I sent your paintings off to my father. It will probably take at least two months to get an answer. In the meantime…” She looked past him then to see a crudely made easel he had built for himself, on which sat another framed canvas. He had painted the creek, the trees around it, the dark hills far in the distance. Her heart rushed with overwhelming surprise to see he was painting a woman standing beside the creek. She had long yellow hair, hair that was blowing in the wind. “Black Hawk!” She left him and stepped closer, stunned at how he had been able to paint her face with such realistic detail, how accurate an image of her it was, except, she thought, it made her seem much more beautiful than she really was. “It’s wonderful!”