The Comanche Girl's Prayer, Texas Women of Spirit Book 2

by Angela Castillo

  Soonie closed her Bible and smiled. “That’s all right. Did you need something?”

  “Yes. Come out and see. The people are having a game day in the field.”

  “On a Sunday?” Soonie frowned.

  “Yes, yes. What’s the matter?” Molly’s eyes narrowed.

  Soonie stood up. “Nothing. I keep forgetting how different things are here. I’ll come.”

  They passed by the ring of stones, which was abandoned. Molly led Soonie down a path she hadn’t seen before, through the trees until they reached a broad, clear field. People rushed around with sticks and colored scraps of material.

  “Is Brother Jenkins still here?” asked Soonie. Wonder what he’d have to say about this.

  “No, he left an hour ago. Come on over!” Molly gestured to Grandmother Eagle, who stood beneath a giant oak tree. The old woman wore a buckskin costume with fringed sleeves, covered with beaded designs of blue and white. Tiny shells had been sewn across the front.

  Soonie had never seen the eagle doctor wear anything but a plain dress and shawl. The outfit emphasized her already regal, important persona.

  “Susannah.” The eagle doctor nodded in Soonie’s direction.

  “Grandmother, have they started yet?” Molly asked.

  “They are coming.” Grandmother Eagle pointed to the corral. The men were leading in the horses. Some steeds sported colorful painted handprints on their flanks, while others had circles and spots around their eyes. Many had feathers braided into their flowing manes. Every shining hair was in place, and Soonie suspected the men used the same herb to wash the horses as the women used for their own hair.

  The men were splendid in their own right, with painted designs on their faces and arms. Some wore caps with porcupine quills or deer horns. Capes of woven grass were tied around many of the broad shoulders. In everyday life, Kiowan and Comanche men wore mostly the same kinds of clothes, but today the colors and patterns of costume where distinct for each group.

  “What are they going to do?” Soonie whispered to Molly.

  “First, they will ride.” Molly’s eyes shone, and she bounced on the balls of her feet. For an instant, Soonie saw the seventeen-year-old girl for who she truly was, apart from the tragedies and hardships that normally marked her beautiful face.

  Soonie’s jaw dropped as the men galloped past the spectators. Never had she seen such riding. The men’s bodies moved with their beasts as though part of them, wild and perfect

  Lone Warrior pressed to the front of the line. His ebony mare, Cactus Pear, pranced across the grass with dainty steps. His eyes met Soonie’s, and her cheeks grew hot.

  Why does that keep happening? She had a sudden desire to hide behind the tree. I’m a grown woman, and I have every right to be here. But her heart thudded in her chest in a way she had never experienced, like it was trying desperately to tell her something and she simply wouldn’t listen.

  She pressed her hand against the offending rhythm and focused her attention on the rest of the riders.

  Grandmother Eagle stepped out before the line of halted horses and raised her hands to the sky.

  “Why is she doing that?” Soonie whispered to Molly.

  “She is blessing the day and asking the spirit guides to protect each horse and rider so they will not be injured during the contests,” replied Molly.

  After the blessing ended, Grandmother Eagle lowered her arms, and the horses surged down the field.

  Molly tried to explain the contest as it went, but Soonie was quickly lost in the torrent of rules and traditions. The closest thing she could compare it to were the jousting tournaments from the knights of old.

  Several women stood on the sidelines, holding long sticks with padded hides tied around the ends. A man would gallop by close enough to grab a stick, and then thunder after the other men, whooping and swinging the staff through the air.

  Soonie decided the goal was to knock a rider off his horse. But this wasn’t easily achieved. When a staff came towards a rider, he would slip down his horse on the other side, so the animal would shield him from the blow.

  “And I thought I was a good rider,” she said to Molly.

  ‘This skill is passed down from the old to the young,” said Molly. “It was first used during the wars, to hide from the arrows of an enemy.”

  If a man lost hold of his stick, a woman would dart into the arena, weave through the madness of sticks and hooves to pick it up, and run back to her spot to hold it out again. Soonie noticed that the women mostly helped their own husbands or family members.

  “Who’s on Lone Warrior’s team?” Soonie hadn’t seen him drop a stick.

  “Gray Fox’s mother is helping both of them.” Molly pointed to an older woman, near the corner. “She doesn’t run very fast. But they almost never drop their sticks.”

  As the game progressed, more and more men were knocked from their horses, which meant they had to leave the game. Soon, only Lone Warrior, Uncle Isak and Gray Fox were left.

  Uncle Isak’s smile flashed across the field as his horse gained on Cactus Pear. The beast’s eyes rolled white and Uncle Isak swung his stick. Lone Warrior ducked in time, but his staff was knocked from his hand.

  Gray Fox’s mother stood with her mouth slightly opened, her hands clasped in front of her.

  “She’s too excited! She’s forgotten his stick!” Molly said.

  Soonie would never know what possessed her at that moment. Feet moved beneath her and she ran across the field, past Gray Fox, and retrieved the stick. She pressed it into the elderly woman’s hands just as Lone Warrior thundered by to fetch it.

  His eyes bore into Soonie’s with a glint of . . . was it admiration? Couldn’t be. Her breath came in short, quivery gasps.

  Lone Warrior grabbed the stick and brandished it high in the air, throwing his head back to whoop. His knees tightened and Cactus Pear swung around.

  So intent were the other two men on each other that neither noticed Lone Warrior as he bore down on them. He reached out to hook Uncle Isak’s leg with the stick, flipping him off his horse. In the same movement, he nudged Gray Fox in the ribs and brought him down as well.

  Both landed on the ground with thumps, like giant apples blown from a tree.

  Everyone cheered while the two men stood up and dusted themselves off with sheepish smiles.

  So much for a quiet Sunday. But Soonie had to admit, she wouldn’t have missed it for twenty proper sermons.

  8 Captain Wilkerson

  Fall breezes ruffled Stone Brother’s mane as he picked his way through the rocky path. Though the incline was gradual, recent rains had eroded the trail, making the trip slower than Soonie remembered from the month before.

  She missed trees. The tallest bush in the pass was waist high, and only a few of the larger boulders offered a scrap of shade. So unlike Bastrop’s pine and oak forests.

  Uncle Isak’s horse, Aruka, tawny like the deer she was named for, trotted ahead with sure steps.

  Soonie patted Stone Brother’s mane. “A few more months, and you’ll be able to keep up with Aruka.”

  Uncle Isak had agreed with her about the slates right away, but it had taken many meetings and arguments to convince Brave Storm. Her uncle had given up hunting time and a long list of chores to ride with her to the fort.

  The children were doing quite well considering they’d only had a month’s worth of teaching and the limitations they faced. For the writing portions, they moved to the shaded outdoors, to cipher letters with sticks in the fine sand. However, this only worked on days where the air was still. The slightest breeze could destroy an hour’s work in seconds. When the rains came, they couldn’t practice writing at all. We need slates before winter, or I might as well not even be here.

  “Uncle Isak, could you tell me a little bit more about your friendship with Captain Wilkerson?” Soonie had meant to ask him for a while, but they had both been so busy she hadn’t had a chance.

  Uncle Isak’s eyes grew h
ard, and he bowed his head. “It’s not a story I like to tell.”

  His horse stepped ahead again, and for a section of trail he rode in silence, with his shoulders slumped.

  Soonie urged Stone Brother alongside of his horse. “I’m sorry, Uncle.”

  He looked up quickly. “No, Little One, you deserve to know why we will always be safe if Captain Wilkerson is near us.

  “I was a young brave, only twenty. This happened before you were born, before the world of the Comanche was limited to a few thousand acres in the Oklahoma Territory.

  “Our group lived in tipis and moved where and when we wanted with no one to tell us otherwise. We considered ourselves unstoppable. Braves raided homes and outposts through Texas, stealing anything they could find. They acquired horses, goods, and even captive humans.”

  “You were part of that?” Soonie’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t realized Uncle Isak had been on raiding parties.

  Uncle Isak frowned. “You have to understand, Soonie, I didn’t follow Christ at that time, even though my mother tried to teach me. I grew up wild and free, and lived for the glory of the hunt.

  “The chief saw my abilities, and I became one of the youngest men to lead my own band. Though we spread our share of mischief, we never killed except in self-defense. The men took horses right from under guards’ noses.” He chuckled. “My band of ten could clean out a stockade before a ranch hand could light a lantern.”

  Soonie smiled. Though she didn’t condone the notion, it would have been fun to see the guards’ faces.

  Uncle Isak continued. “The white man’s government knew they had to stop the Comanche. Settlers were terrified, and horses were stolen. Families, including little children, were killed, though never by the hands of my warriors. The president of the United States made a plan. He offered bounties on the head of every buffalo in the land. The buffalo were the life of the Comanche. In two years, almost all of the beasts were killed by hunters and left to rot in the sun.”

  Soonie knew this part of the story, but fresh sadness rolled from Uncle Isak in waves. “What a terrible way to destroy a nation,” she murmured.

  “Yes.” The creases in Uncle Isak’s forehead deepened. “My wife and child died of starvation while I was away. I thought there would be plenty of food. But everything was gone.”

  Soonie struggled to find a word or gesture to somehow ease the pain. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Isak.”

  He seemed to sink into himself for a moment, as though he wished he could become a part of his saddle, or horse, or some other emotionless object. “I have never experienced such loss, not with the deaths of all other family and friends. After I found out about my wife, I left my sisters and brothers and went to join Chief Quanah in the final war. I was given my own group to lead once more, and we were fierce fighters. No white man could stand before us, anger and grief strengthened each blow.”

  “One day, we encountered Captain Wilkerson’s regiment. Winter was upon us, and we were all cold and hungry, but his men were not accustomed to dealing with the elements. They fought with valor, but soon bodies littered the ground, the whites outnumbering the Comanche dead two to one.

  “I faced Captain Wilkerson. He had run out of bullets. My quiver was empty. We pulled out our knives and ran at each other, knowing this battle would be to the death. Drops of our blood mingled on the snowy ground.

  “After a very long fight, I used a Comanche trick to trip him. I cared nothing for fair play, only lusted for the deaths of those who warred against my family. I held up my knife for the final blow.

  “He stared into my eyes, and then closed his own. A look of peace covered his face. The man sighed and lay still.

  “I realized at that moment, I wanted the peace he knew. Every bit of my heart was filled with sadness; pushing out the need for war and hate. I sheathed my knife, stepped back, and cried for retreat.

  “All of my men stared at me. We had almost won the battle that day, and my band couldn’t believe what they were hearing. But they trusted me, and followed my orders without question.

  “Captain Wilkerson and his remaining men stood in the snow and watched us ride away.”

  “And he remembered you?”

  “Yes. Five years later, when Chief Quanah ordered us to the reservation at Fort Sill; Captain Wilkerson was one of the men who fought for us to receive fair allotments of food and clothing. On the day we decided to leave, I found out where he was and we followed that path. He owed me a life-debt. At risk of his own military career and freedom, he’s made good on that debt. Over time, we’ve built a friendship beyond that one day, and we both trust each other with our lives.”

  “What an incredible story,” Soonie breathed.

  The fort looked exactly the same as the first time Soonie had seen it, an undisturbed fortress on the plain. The guard who met them outside was tall and burly, with a scar running through his bushy, black beard.

  “Howdy.” Despite the friendly word, his tone was stern and his hand moved to his gun hilt.

  “Hello. I don’t believe we’ve met.” Uncle Isak held out his hand.

  The soldier kept hold of his gun. “Just came to this God-forsaken place last week.” He looked them both over, and his eyes settled on Uncle Isak’s knife, strapped in his waistband. “They said we had a pack ‘o savages over yonder, and I don’t like it. Don’t know why it’s allowed. Why don’t you folks just move on?”

  The muscles in Uncle Isak’s cheek twitched. “The Captain happens to be a good friend of mine, and Miss Susannah here wishes to make a request of him.”

  Uncle Isak stood a little straighter, and his tone became more formal, like how the folks back home changed their mannerisms for church or a dance.

  Loud creaking interrupted the exchange, and Lieutenant Ford stepped through the gate. A large grin spread over his face. “Miss Eckhart. Mr. Isak. What brings you here?”

  The older guard didn’t flinch. “The Captain really does know these folks?” he said incredulously.

  “Of course.” Lieutenant Ford bent close to the bearded man, speaking in a low tone. Soonie only caught the phrase, “saved his life.”

  He turned back to them and said in a louder voice, “They are as welcome as the Captain’s own mother would be, not that she’d ever want to come out here.” Lieutenant Ford opened the gate wider. “Come on in. Captain Wilkerson just finished breakfast. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  Soonie had never been inside a military fort, but she found this one rather underwhelming. The front gate led to a path between two buildings. Once inside, she was greeted by several structures made from sun-bleached wood, positioned in a square around the larger command post. When Lieutenant Ford closed the gate, a cloud of dust filled the air. She sneezed.

  Lieutenant Ford gestured to a heavy wooden door, set in the command post’s wall. “If you folks will wait here, I’ll go inside and make sure the captain is ready to see you.”

  A few soldiers, some in only half uniform, leaned against the fence. One tipped his non-military broad-brimmed hat at Soonie, and the others just leered.

  She moved closer to her uncle. “How many soldiers are here?”

  Uncle Isak shrugged. “Ten or fifteen. Years ago, during the wars, fifty to a hundred soldiers would have lived here, but now most of the native people have been banished to reservations, there are no need for that many. The men here now are mostly to keep an eye on the borders and make sure trappers and drifters behave themselves.”

  Soonie wiped her eyes, still watering from the dust, and shook out her skirt. She pulled her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders.

  Uncle Isak found a bit of shade cast by a building and leaned against the wall, closing his blue eyes. His chin dipped down towards his chest before jerking up again.

  Soonie’s heart filled with tenderness. He works so hard and cares so much for his people. Everyone in the settlement would be dead, in prison, or back on the reservation if it weren’t for him and Brave Sto
rm. And he’s never asked for a thing in return, only the freedom to live as he wishes.

  Lieutenant Ford stuck his head out of the door. “Captain’ll see you now.” He swung the door open and they followed him inside.

  A fresh coat of whitewash shone on the walls. Soonie was surprised to see a large painting, depicting a ship at sea, hanging at the back of the room. A desk sat below it, wood shavings dusting the top of the otherwise tidy surface.

  A man entered the room, so tall he had to stoop to pass through the frame.

  “Mr. Isak, good to see you.” A broad smile revealed a gap in his two front teeth. Powder blue eyes twinkled under bushy eyebrows, and his mustache looked like a thin gray scrub-brush. He held out a leathered hand. “Miss Susannah Ekhart, I presume? I expected an old maid, and who comes in? Why, the purtiest girl I’ve seen in these parts!”

  Why do men always say the rudest things and believe them to be compliments? Soonie studied his face. The man was completely oblivious. She took the offered hand and gingerly shook it. “A pleasure,” she said, through a forced smile.

  Captain Wilkerson gestured to two rough wooden chairs across from the desk. He waited for Soonie and Isak to sit, then settled down behind the desk.

  “What can I do for you today?”

  Soonie glanced at Uncle Isak, who raised his eyebrows and nodded.

  “Sir, as you know, I came here to teach the children of the settlement.”

  “Hmmm-Hmmm.” The captain frowned. He pulled a Bowie knife from a drawer in the desk and began to whittle a stick. Shavings curled into the pile like twisting vines. “Commendable effort, showing the children how to be useful in society.”

  Soonie’s cheeks burned and she choked back the retort buzzing through her brain. Where do people get this idea we should ‘usher the children into civilization’ by ‘making them useful’? Why don’t we educate them for their own sakes, so they can become the people God created them to be in the first place?