Full Circle

by Rosanne Bittner

  The Carters were a nice family, and it would be good to have them near. Another couple, Jeremy and Gladys Brady, had been sent to Oahe. They were an older couple, their children grown. The Carters’ two older children would attend school, but what had happened to Many Birds had frightened and angered many of the Sioux, and again school attendance for Indian children was down. Evelyn was sure that all that was needed now to get most Indian children to school was for Black Hawk to be freed, but that seemed unlikely. She had considered how she might help him escape, but had given up the idea. Now that she had the responsibility of caring for Lucy and Katy and Little Fox, and because of the responsibility she felt to Black Hawk’s people, she could not very well do something that could land her in jail or cause her to also have to flee, but she shuddered at the thought of possibly having to shoot Black Hawk as she had promised to do if he was sentenced to be hanged.

  The ceremony ended, and Beverly and John embraced, touching cheeks. There were tears in Beverly’s eyes when Evelyn walked up to congratulate her. “I pray this will happen for you and Black Hawk,” she told Evelyn quietly as they embraced. “God will find a way, Evy.”

  Evelyn could not reply. A sudden, painful lump in her throat cut off her words. She thought how two years ago, just about this time, Black Hawk had suffered the loss of his wife and son, had seen the horror of Wounded Knee. He had been suffering ever since, and now might die himself. She blinked back tears as she turned to Reverend Phillips and shook his hand. He squeezed her hand warmly, and she knew he was thinking how there was a time when he would have wanted her to be the woman at his side. He finally had come to understand how much she loved Black Hawk.

  “I’ve been told a Judge Hooper will be here in two more days,” he told her. “I learned it from Agent McLaughlin just before the ceremony.”

  Evelyn glanced back at McLaughlin and his wife, who had come to watch the wedding. She took a deep breath to ward off more tears. “Good. At least something will happen soon. I just wish I could have found someone to defend Black Hawk. I don’t see how he has much of a chance.” Now the tears wanted to come again, and she had to stop talking. Beverly moved to put an arm around her.

  “No tears on my wedding day,” she scolded. “You are supposed to cut and serve the cake, Evy.”

  Evelyn nodded and moved to the front of the church, where a table was set up with a lovely cake baked by Helen Carter and decorated by her daughter. Lynnette was already at the table showing the cake to Lucille and Katy. Evelyn watched the girls talk and giggle, daydreaming, she supposed, about their own wedding day. Besides McLaughlin, a few Indians and several white settlers and Bill Doogan had attended the wedding. As people began to mingle, Evelyn heard a few of them talking about Black Hawk and how he had murdered “those poor girls’ father.”

  Doogan came up to her then, holding out an envelope. “Old Dancing Eagle brought me this mail this morning, Miss Gibbons. He asked me to give it to you since I was coming here anyway.”

  Evelyn took the envelope, noticing the letter was from her father. She walked away from the others and quickly opened it. Dear Daughter, she read. By the time you get this, Christmas will have come and gone. I pray yours was a merry one. I can tell by your letter that you are very much in love with the Indian called Black Hawk. Yes, you truly have your mother’s spirit, and I worry that your heart will be broken as hers was. I pray it will all work out as you hope. Please do wire me before you marry, as I would like to come there and meet him and escort you down the aisle of your little church there, however humble it may be. Sometimes I think perhaps Wild Horse lives again through Black Hawk, and your mother through you, and the two of them will be together at last.

  Evelyn stopped reading for a moment, overwhelmed by the comparison he had made all on his own, the very feeling she had had herself so many times. Her father was an insightful man who, through her mother, had learned so much about love and understanding and acceptance of all humankind. The man did not even know yet about Black Hawk’s sad situation. She had not written to tell him.

  There were so many times when I realized your mother was more Christian and caring than I, she continued reading, even though I was the preacher and she held no official position with the church. You are very much like her in that way also.

  I am writing not just to be sure you ask me to your wedding, but also to tell you some good news. I took Black Hawk’s paintings, (and I must say, they were remarkable) to an art dealer here in Waupun. He was quite impressed by them, and he took them on to Milwaukee to someone much more learned on such matters. That dealer in turn took them to Chicago, and he recently wired me, asking me if the artist would accept four hundred dollars for the paintings, two hundred dollars each. I need you to ask Black Hawk if that would suffice, and if so, the dealer will wire the money to me, and I will send you a certified check; better yet, I will bring you the check personally. In the meantime, the dealer wants to know if Black Hawk will agree to do more work for him. He wishes to send someone out to discuss a contract for Black Hawk to paint only for his gallery. He would supply the material and send someone periodically to pick up paintings. I have enclosed the man’s name and address…

  Evelyn had to stop reading. Four hundred dollars! She had expected Black Hawk to make money from his paintings, but she had not expected that much. It was wonderful… and heartbreaking. He might not live long enough or be able to stay here long enough to do any more painting. What wonderful news this would be if he were a free man and they could marry. Here was a guaranteed income for Black Hawk, doing something he loved. He could ride out into the land where his heart lay and paint pictures of it that would preserve it just the way it was. He could paint pictures of the old ways, of Indian life as it once was. And he could earn a great deal of money doing it.

  She could not help the tears that came then over the irony of the timing of the letter. Now she would have to write her father back and tell him there might never be any more pictures… that her heart would, indeed, be broken, just like her mother’s was when Wild Horse was killed. She gripped the letter tightly in her hand and walked outside, needing to breathe fresh air and get control of herself. Her cape was still inside, but she hardly noticed the cold. All she could think of was how perfect everything would be now if Black Hawk were free. Should she even bother to tell him the news about his paintings? Her heart pounded harder at the realization that a federal judge would be here soon, a man who would determine Black Hawk’s fate; and Black Hawk didn’t have one soul to stand up in his defense. She would try to get her own say in the matter, but she already knew no federal judge was going to put much worth in the words of a female, especially a white woman who was in love with the very Indian man who was on trial. Others would make sure the judge knew of her relationship with Black Hawk, which would only discredit her. Someone would probably bring up the fact that she had already harassed and tried to make trouble for “poor” Sergeant Desmond. There were plenty of witnesses to swear that Black Hawk rode out that day with the express purpose, in his own words, of killing Seth Bridges.

  “Miss Gibbons?”

  Someone touched her back, and she turned to see Katy standing behind her. She quickly wiped at her tears. “What is it, Katy?”

  “What’s in the letter? Why are you crying?”

  Evelyn’s shoulders shook in a sob, and she breathed deeply to stop her crying. “The letter is from my father. I sent him some paintings that Black Hawk did.” She took a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose before she told the girl the contents of her father’s letter.

  Katy’s eyes widened when Evelyn divulged the sum the dealer was willing to pay Black Hawk. “Two hundred dollars!”

  Evelyn dabbed at her eyes. “It doesn’t matter much now. I’ll have them send the money and I’ll use it for Little Fox. Black Hawk would want that. I doubt…” The tears came again. “I doubt he’ll ever have the chance… to paint again.” She turned away, sobbing. “I’m sorry, K
aty. I can’t help it. It all looks so hopeless, and I know Black Hawk is innocent.”

  Katy watched her, wanting to cry herself. Yes, he is innocent, she wanted to tell her. But what about Jubal Desmond? What if no one believed her and the man went free? And if she told about the murder, shouldn’t she tell the rest of it, what Jubal did to Lucille? Tell about the whiskey? Poor Lucy wanted desperately to keep the years of rape and abuse a secret. She was so ashamed, and she had put up with it only to protect her little sister. How could she turn around and tell the truth? Besides, she would never forget the look in Jubal’s eyes the day he came to the cabin, nor would she forget watching him stab that big knife into Seth’s chest, as easily as if he was killing a chicken or a rabbit.

  She hated seeing Miss Gibbons so unhappy. She had been so good to her and Lucy, had agreed to let them live with her, used her own money to buy material for new dresses, had bought them new coats, new shoes, made Christmas the happiest one she had ever known. She was teaching them so much, at school and at home, and she and Lucy had found more peace and joy with the schoolteacher than they ever dreamed possible. It didn’t seem fair that their own happiness should be at the expense of Miss Gibbons’s. She could end all of this. She knew something that even Lucille didn’t know, but she clung to the hope that somehow Black Hawk would go free and she would never have to tell the truth.

  “It will be all right, Miss Gibbons. You’ll see.”

  Evelyn shook her head her tears dripping onto the letter. “I don’t think so, Katy.” She wiped at her eyes again. “I’m just glad I have you and Lucy, and Little Fox, and my friends here, Beverly and the reverend. I think if I asked my father to come, he would.” She blew her nose. “But nothing and no one can take away the pain of losing Black Hawk.” She sighed deeply. “The judge will be here in two or three more days. I think you and Lucille should be at the hearing. They might want to ask you some questions.”

  A sick feeling came to Katy’s stomach. “Questions? About what?”

  “I don’t even know. I am just supposing there will be questions about Seth, what you saw that day.” Evelyn watched a new terror come into Katy’s eyes, and she grasped the girl’s hands. “Katy, you must tell the truth. If there is anything you can say that could help Black Hawk, please say it.”

  The girl blinked her cheeks growing pinker. “I can only tell them what I told you… that I hid in the cupboard so Seth couldn’t find me. I heard him go outside, and that’s all I know. I was too scared to come out, even when the soldiers first came there looking for me.”

  “Why, Katy? Were you afraid of Sergeant Desmond? Are there things about him that you and Lucy haven’t told us?” Evelyn noticed the girl stiffen, and she shook her head firmly.

  “No.” She put a hand to her stomach. “I don’t feel very good Miss Gibbons. I don’t want any cake. Can I go back to the house and lie down?”

  Evelyn grasped her arms. “Please, Katy! If we can show the judge the kind of man Sergeant Desmond is, it will shed doubt on him. It might show in some way that the sergeant had cause to kill Seth himself. It could throw enough doubt on the case that the judge might free Black Hawk!”

  Katy wiggled free. “No!” She turned and ran from the church toward the cabin.

  “Katy, you don’t have to be afraid!” Evelyn called out to her. “We’re all here to help you! No one can hurt you now!” She closed her eyes in a feeling of desperate hopelessness. “You and Lucy are our last hope,” she murmured. Our last hope. Night Hunter had said that a white man would die, and that Black Hawk would be in trouble over it. He had also said that a white woman would help him. Maybe that white woman was not her. Maybe it was Lucille… or Katy.

  The tension was heavy in the packed mess hall at Fort Yates, which had been set up as a hearing room. Both Indians and whites were present, and Colonel Gere had stationed soldiers all around the outside of the building as well as some inside, worried there could be trouble with the Sioux if Black Hawk was found guilty.

  Evelyn could hardly bear watching Black Hawk, who looked gaunt from loss of weight, and whose dark eyes showed none of the fire they usually held. In spite of her urgings to him to eat properly, he’d had no appetite, and he hated the food that was brought to him. For the last few days he had refused food all together, deciding to fast and pray for freedom, although he feared Wakantanka would not hear his prayers from inside the brick jail.

  Now he sat at the front of the room… alone. At least he had clean clothes to wear. Evelyn had brought them for him so that he could make a decent appearance, knowing how much pride he took in being clean. She had been given his belongings from the day he had been arrested, and she in turn had given Colonel Gere his best bleached buckskins, fringed pants and shirt. Beads in diamond shapes decorated the sides of the pants and the sleeves of the shirt. She knew he would want to wear his best Indian dress, not the white man’s pants and shirt they were originally going to make him wear. He would want to look the proud Sioux to the end.

  There would be no lawyer to defend him. His only defense would be his word, and no white man in the room was going to believe him. Evelyn could tell by the restlessness in the crowd that some were ready to hang him on the spot. It did not matter to them that his sister had been cruelly violated. All that mattered was that a troublemaking Indian had murdered a defenseless white man.

  She ached to go to him, but there was nothing she could do for now. Seeing him sitting with a white woman at his side would only anger the crowd more. She could only watch from a few seats back, worried at what Black Hawk might try to do himself if found guilty. He would do anything to keep from being hanged or going to prison. His people believed that if a man is hanged, his spirit cannot get free and can never go to the great promised land in the sky, where they found loved ones who have died before them, where the grass grows green and high, and buffalo roam by the millions… and where there are no white men. Prison for an Indian was just another form of death. She feared Black Hawk would deliberately attack one of the soldiers and invite a shooting. Men like Black Hawk preferred to go down fighting the enemy, and to him, the “bluecoats” were still the enemy.

  Never had her memory of watching Wild Horse shot down by soldiers been more vivid than today. Would she see it happen again, this time to Black Hawk? How could she bear it? She had to hang on to herself now, for Katy and Lucy, for Little Fox, who had been allowed to visit his father only once, and who had cried all night afterward. She had left Little Fox home, against his wishes, afraid of the violence he might witness against his father; but Katy and Lucy were with her. She was glad that the colonel had ordered that they be there. It gave her an excuse to bring them, and she hoped the reality of the hearing, the finality of what could happen to Black Hawk, would force the girls to open up and tell the whole truth about Seth, and about Sergeant Desmond, if indeed they still had something to tell.

  Desmond sat to their right and one row ahead of them. Occasionally he glanced back at the girls with a frightful look of warning, and Evelyn was more sure than ever that the man had somehow intimidated them. What was his hold on them?

  It was the third day of January, 1894. Evelyn thought what a miserable way this was to start a new year. The voices of the crowd quieted when a gray-haired, rotund Judge Hooper entered the room and sat down at a head table. He pounded a gavel and ordered everyone to be still, then read over a few pages in front of him before asking Colonel Gere to explain the situation at hand. Gere told what had happened, why Black Hawk was on trial. He made it a point to tell the judge about Black Hawk’s obstinate refusal to come and live in one of the villages on the reservation, or to come and collect his supplies on rations day. He seemed to be doing everything he could to set Black Hawk up as a troublemaker, a man who had on previous occasions, by his own admission, attacked white whiskey traders. He called Black Hawk uncooperative and belligerent. The colonel said he was sorry about what had happened to Black Hawk’s sister, but as in the case with w
hiskey smugglers, the man had refused to wait for the Army to take care of the matter. He rode off to seek his revenge, in the Indian fashion, by murdering Seth Bridges, just as he had said in front of several witnesses he intended to do.

  It took all of Evelyn’s strength to keep herself from jumping up and objecting to nearly everything the colonel said. Wasn’t anyone going to point out that there had been no time for Black Hawk to do his dirty deed before the Army arrived? Wasn’t anyone going to tell the judge that when the soldiers fired on Black Hawk, he had been riding down to meet them, was making his presence known? Why would he do that if he were guilty of murder?

  More men came forward to testify, swearing they had heard Black Hawk promise to kill Seth, that he rode off ahead of the soldiers, and that he fled when the soldiers fired at him. There had been traces of blood on his knife. The rebellious warrior had gone one step too far.

  Then came Sergeant Desmond’s turn at the stand. He repeated the same things the others had said, except he had something to add. He was the one who had found the body. He seemed to enjoy embellishing the situation, describing how it looked as though Seth was lying there passed out from too much whiskey, totally helpless and unarmed. No white person in the room seemed to care about what the man had done to poor Many Birds. After all, she was just an Indian girl, and all Indian girls liked to get drunk and lay with white men for more whiskey. That was the picture most of the men presented, although, one man did seem very emotional as he described the state in which they had found Many Birds, tied to Seth’s bed.

  Desmond did a fine job of telling the gruesome details. Seth had been found with an ugly knife wound right in the middle of his chest. He was covered with blood, blood that had spurted from his own heart. It had been a vicious killing, as he put it, and someone capable of such a thing should not be allowed to live. While he was giving the details, Evelyn sensed that Katy was becoming very agitated. She noticed the girl sat there twisting her hands in her lap, and her breathing became labored. Was it because of the awful description of how Seth had died? Finally, she started crying, and Lucille put an arm around her, tears in her own eyes. Katy looked at her sister. “I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “I have to tell, Lucy. There’s something even you don’t know.”