“What language is your book?” Grandmother Eagle pointed to the Bible in Soonie’s hands.
“English.”
“White man’s language, white man’s God.” Grandmother Eagle gathered the powder into a little pile, then poured it into a tin cup. She added a dipper’s worth of water and handed it to Soonie. “There. Soothe your headache.”
“How did you know I . . . ”
Grandmother Eagle reached out and touched Soonie’s forehead between her eyes. “Lines are here too soon for such a young girl.”
“Well, thank you.” Soonie peered into the cup, but knew better than to smell it. She’d experienced a few Comanche home remedies already. Downing the brown liquid in a gulp, she held back a grimace. So bitter!
The wizened little eyes never left her face. “At your church, you will feel better. Go have a good day with your God.”
“I will. Won’t you . . . won’t you come with me?”
“Comanches do not need a God. We have our spirit animal guides, and our own minds to follow. Some say Peyote helps the men speak with God, but they are mistaken. We do not need anything more than what we already have inside.”
Sadness enveloped Soonie like a sudden, soaking rain. How she wished she could be the one to help Grandmother Eagle see the truth. But she sensed the woman's spirit was shut tight like a steel trap.
Molly came in the door with an apron full of eggs. "Good morning." She went to the washbasin and wiped hay and dirt from the smooth, brown ovals before placing them in a box by the stove.
“I could have helped you gather these.” Soonie touched one of the still-warm shells.
“You help me every morning,” Molly answered. “My, don’t you look beautiful.” A hungry look swept over her face; one Soonie had caught a few times when she brought out something pretty from home. She pushed back her hair, which swung freely.
“Would you like me to put up your hair? It wouldn’t take very long. I used to arrange my friend Zillia’s hair all the time.”
“No. I wouldn’t want you to take the trouble. My hair’s too short to fix.” A flush crept up Molly’s cheeks. The soft brown eyes darted over to Grandmother Eagle, who only grunted and went back to her pile of blankets.
“I can still make it look pretty. Mine isn’t much longer than yours, now. Please. Let me.” Soonie pulled the silver comb from a pocket, sat on the floor and gestured in front of her.
Molly giggled. “Oh, all right.”
Soonie combed through the shoulder-length, glossy tresses with her fingers. All the women of the camp washed their hair with mint to keep away bugs. The herb gave a shine the women of Bastrop would have envied.
“I miss my hair,” Soonie murmured while she braided and looped. “I’m going to let it grow again.”
Molly shrugged. “Most of the women here don’t have time to fix long hair, and it is our custom to cut it short. Only the men let it grow.”
“It's the opposite where I'm from,” said Soonie. “My grandmother would whip out her scissors any time the boys’ hair passed their collars."
“Men here only cut their hair when in mourning.” Molly played with a piece of leather tie, weaving it through her fingers. “Sometimes they even take hair the women have cut and use it to make their braids look fuller.”
“Certainly different.” Soonie parted sections of hair and began to braid them.
“My mother used to fix my hair for me,” said Molly.
“Mine, too.”
“She was young,” Molly continued. “We told each other secrets. We were friends.”
“I learned so many things from my mother.” Soonie tied off the braid to one side and began on another. “Sometimes I wonder if she knew her life would be cut short.” Lucy Eckhart, also known as Sparrow, had taken every possible opportunity to teach her children about their culture and heritage. Her mother had strained to hold on to the past, like someone who gripped the light of a dying sun.
“I think that will work nicely.” Soonie finished the second braid.
“Thank you.” Molly patted Soonie’s handiwork and stood up. “We’d better go. All the best places get taken quickly.” She shook out her skirt, which was made of rough-woven cloth like most of the other clothing in the settlement.
Soonie picked up her Bible and waved to Grandmother Eagle. “Have a nice morning. Thank you for helping me with my dress.”
The woman grunted once more, but this time the corners of her wrinkled lips turned up slightly.
Outside, women rushed by with small children. Some greeted Soonie, but most simply hurried. All were dressed in their best and brightest, but no one else had anything as nice as Soonie.
“Are all the people who passed by Christians?” Soonie asked Molly. Almost everyone in the settlement seemed to be heading to church.
“Most. But some attend out of curiosity, or boredom. A few come just to keep an eye on the pastor, to make sure he’s not spying on us.”
Soonie stopped short and stared at Molly. “Do you think the pastor would do such a thing?”
Molly laughed. “Not Brother Jenkins.”
Everyone entered the school house, which served for meetings when the months became cooler, and a church for rare visits from men of the cloth. True to Molly’s prediction, the room was packed. Elderly men and women sat on the floor while the children and younger adults leaned against the walls.
A white man with a black coat and an ivory collar stood at the room’s front, in the place she usually taught. His head was thrown back in song, his thick mane of brown hair sweeping the starched collar. He couldn’t have been older than thirty.
After a quick scan of the wall, Soonie found a spot to stand. Sweat trickled down the back of her dress. Despite the cool September morning, the building was sweltering. She tried fanning herself with her Bible, but decided it might be disrespectful. Men and women turned to stare. Why are they looking at me? Oh, it must be the way I’m dressed. Oh dear, I wasn’t trying to bring attention to myself.
In Bastrop, for many years she had insisted on wearing the Comanche style clothes her mother made for her. People had always stared and whispered when she came into town, but she’d never cared. Why do I care so much now? This is part of who I am.
Brother Jenkins finished the hymn and opened his eyes. He picked up a worn leather Bible from the bookshelf.
“Before I read today’s Scripture, I want to make a note . . .” His voice trailed off as he caught Soonie’s eye. He blinked and shook his head, then glanced up at her again.
Her cheeks grew hot as heads swiveled back to stare at her. She straightened her back and lifted her chin. Surely I can’t have done something so terribly wrong. I’m just wearing my church clothes. We are here to worship Jesus, not worry about our clothing. She returned Brother Jenkins’ stare with what she hoped was a cool look.
“Forgive me,” he stammered to the congregation. “Let us open our Bibles to Romans 6:5-8.”
“For if we have been planted together in the likeness of his death, we shall be also in the likeness of his resurrection:
Knowing this, that our old man is crucified with him, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin.
For he that is dead is freed from sin.
Now if we be dead with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with him:
Knowing that Christ being raised from the dead dieth no more; death hath no power over him.”
Brother Jenkins closed the Bible and stared into every eye before speaking. “Paul is saying, Christ has died for us, now we must die for Him. Death means putting away our old ways, our old manners.” He pointed to a hide spread across the wall behind him, painted with a Kiowa hunting scene. “We must leave behind the old cultures, and embrace what is civilized.”
Soonie put her hand over her mouth and looked around to see the people’s reactions. All the faces were blank, as though resigned to whatever was brought before them. Surely I am not understandi
ng. I must have misheard.
At Bastrop First Methodist Church, Soonie had listened to hundreds of sermons, given by the many pastors who rotated through the wooden doors, as well as guest speakers who came through town on occasion. But rarely had she seen one delivered with such gusto and spirit. Brother Jenkins pounded his Bible with a clenched fist and shouted with more zeal than a traveling salesmen. She soon lost track of the message completely, and by the closing hymn, she felt convicted, rattled, and slightly ill.
At the end came a long prayer, where Brother Jenkins prayed for “mercy upon this savage land and its peoples.”
Is he implying my people are savages?
The congregation left the small building. Children yawned and adults fanned themselves.
Soonie headed up the path to her home to help Molly with the food they were contributing to the town feast in honor of Brother Jenkins. I must hurry. She was determined to have a word with the young preacher before he took his leave.
7 Brother Jenkins
A ring of large stones had been arranged in the center of the settlement. Councils were held there when the schoolhouse was too sweltering, along with storytelling nights, dances, and feasts which Molly described as rare and wonderful events.
Women spread bright blankets out over the largest stones. Children skipped in to arrange baskets and platters of food from their mothers’ kitchens. Breads, roasted meat and corn sent heavenly aromas into the early fall air.
No one waited patiently in lines like the church functions back home. People crowded around the food, shoveling portions onto tin plates and scurrying back to family blankets.
Brother Jenkins was not among the mob. Scanning faces, Soonie saw him seated beneath the largest oak in town, in a rickety wooden chair someone must have brought out from one of the homes. It was the first chair she had seen since her arrival.
Wind pulled at his clothes and he attacked the food with the same exuberance used to deliver the sermon. His fork stopped half-way to his mouth when he caught her eye. With an almost ethereal wave of a thin hand, like the flutter of a dove’s wing, he beckoned to her.
He’s probably going give me a lecture on vanity. Oh well, I have a few issues with his ideals as well. Soonie picked up her skirts and marched over to his shady spot.
As she drew closer, Brother Jenkins placed his loaded plate of food to the side, stood, and bowed sharply. On closer inspection, everything about him was sharp. He had a sharp chin, cheekbones, and sharp shoulders on either side of a severely starched coat. Skin peeled beneath a light tan on every inch of visible skin, but his face was pale and pasty under a broad-brimmed minister’s hat.
“I have discovered your name,” he said, taking her hand. “You are Miss Susannah Eckhart.” He stared at her palm, as though not sure quite what to do with it. Finally, he gave it a quick shake, and pushed it back towards her, like he was returning a package. With a shaky chuckle, he let go of her fingers.
“Yes, and you are Brother Jenkins.” Soonie glanced around, but there was no one nearby to witness the awkward exchange. This is absurd. I will gather myself. “I—thank you for bringing the sermon today. It was very—enthusiastic.”
“Trifle, trifle.” He waved thin white fingers. “But you . . .” sharp gray eyes reached up to search her face. “Why would a white woman come all the way out here, into such danger? Mr. Isak said you were a school teacher?”
He certainly doesn’t beat around the bush. “I am one-fourth Comanche,” she said rather coldly. “Isak is my uncle.”
“Extraordinary,” the pastor breathed. “I wouldn’t have thought . . . in those clothes. I mean, you don’t look. . .”
“These are my church clothes,” she said, like that explained everything.
“Oh. I see.” His eyebrows knitted together above the long, sharp nose. “Say now, would you like to walk with me? It’s cool out here today, and this is only my fourth visit to the settlement. I’d like to see more of it.”
Soonie opened her mouth to refuse, then closed it again. Perhaps I should give him a little more grace. After all, he is risking so much to bring his teaching … even though I don’t agree with his interpretation.
“All right.” She slipped her hand into the offered elbow. The absurdity of the situation was not lost to her as they strolled past gaping students. Tomorrow I think we’ll have a little lesson about the impoliteness of staring.
Feet stepping high to avoid shuffling dust, they walked past tipis and homes, towards the paddocks.
A dozen horses grazed near the fence. They were long, lean beasts, used to wilderness life.
Stone Brother lifted his head, shook his golden mane, nickered and trotted up to the fence.
“Hello there, sweetheart.” She stroked his velvety nose as he whiffed over her hand, searching for snacks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t bring you anything.”
Brother Jenkins stood back to watch the exchange. “Is he yours?”
She nodded. “Since I was fourteen. Uncle Isak brought him to me on one of his yearly visits.” She pushed the horse away from her skirts as he nipped at her pinafore. “I never realized how dangerous those trips were for Uncle Isak, until now. It was so important for him to keep in touch with our family. He risked everything.”
“Yes, yes, quite dangerous.” Brother Jenkins threaded his fingers together and turned his back to the fence. “So you teach school, then?”
“Yes. I received my certificate last year.”
“Surely other schools needed teachers.”
A feather of irritation tickled the back of her mind. “I could have taught in my home town of Bastrop, if I wanted.”
“Even though . . . they knew of your heritage, of course?”
Soonie swallowed and fought to keep her voice even. “My town, for the most part, accepted my brother and me. I never tried to hide my heritage. Either one of us could have worked wherever we wanted.”
Brother Jenkins removed his hat and studied it intently, as though ancient inscriptions covered the brim. He flicked off a piece of lint and placed the hat back on his head. “You are very fortunate. Not all have found such a welcome.”
“I know.”
Brother Jenkins rubbed his chin. “It is only because of Captain Wilkerson’s mercy this settlement is here at all. In my understanding, your uncle spared the captain’s life during a battle twenty years ago.”
“I have heard there was a reason, but no one has told me the full story.”
“It’s quite naive to assume your own safety without knowing the, ahem, full story, don’t you think?” He must have caught the dismay on her face because his eyes softened. “Oh, but you are young. Your generation did not watch fathers march to war, never to return again, or see mothers shivering in homes, wondering about owl calls in the night. Well, here’s the truth, Miss Eckhart. I can assure you if the elected officials in Austin or Washington D.C. had any notion of this settlement, you would all be driven out, and perhaps imprisoned.”
Soonie pulled burrs from Stone Brother’s mane, refusing to look at the preacher. “I fully realize that.”
“Then why, Miss Susannah Eckhart, did you choose to throw your lot in with these natives?”
A lump formed in Soonie’s throat but she choked it back and faced him, hands clenched at her sides. “I was called by God, Brother Jenkins, to be here for such a time as this. I don’t know why I’m in this place, or how long I am to stay. But there is a reason. You understand what it means to be called, sir, I would daresay. When the still, small voice of your beloved Father God speaks to your heart, you are compelled to do whatever He asks.”
Soonie’s heart quickened, and she relaxed her fingers and wiped them on her skirt. She hadn’t meant to react so strongly. Lone Warrior’s angry face invaded her thoughts. What did he think of Brother Jenkins’ visits to the settlement? He’s probably watching us right now. Craning her neck, she studied the trees and bushes surrounding the corral.
“We can only surmise what our
God wants from His holy scriptures,” Brother Jenkins broke into her musings. “My family wanted me to be a minister, and so I pursued the cloth. As for why I am here, my district assigned me to Fort Sill. When I caught wind of the settlement, I felt it was my duty to shepherd these lost, pagan souls.”
Every word pelted Soonie like a hailstone, and she stood frozen and at a loss for words.
The pastor glanced at the sky. “I have to leave soon in order to reach Fort Sill by sundown.” His eyes slanted back to her. “We need all hands, working together, to bring the savage man to civility. I hope I can count on you to be of assistance.”
On the way back to the settlement, Soonie’s head swam with anger. She ignored Brother Jenkin’s offered arm and kept her hands folded tightly into themselves.
###
After the walk, Soonie went back home intending to spend the rest of the day reading her Bible or in prayer. The pile of blankets was empty when she walked through the door. Once in her room, she settled down on her cot.
Closing her eyes, she opened her heart to the torrent of words pent up inside. “God, I don’t know what to do about the preacher who has come. He says he serves you, but every word he speaks goes against what I feel in my heart. All men are created equal. You love us the same. God, please help me to know the truth. Give me confirmation that I am supposed to be here.” As she prayed, breathing became easier, and her hands stopped trembling.
She took her Bible from the shelf and turned to Jeremiah 29:11.
“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”
A tiny shiver went down her spine. “Thank you God. Every time I need an answer, you always help me.” She smiled wryly. Even if it’s not always exactly what I want it to be.
The familiar peace and joy of the Holy Spirit flooded through her being, and she opened her heart to His presence. For a while, she lost all sense of time and place.
The bedroom door banged open. “Soonie, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Molly stepped in, a few wisps of hair fluttering around her face. Her hand crept to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb your prayer time.”
The Comanche Girl's Prayer, Texas Women of Spirit Book 2 Page 5
