Song Of The Warrior

by Georgina Gentry

  “Hmm.” He readjusted his glasses. “Nothing too profane or sensual?”

  Willow thought about the love story in the novel, decided her guardian would not approve. She shook her head.

  The reverend began to cough.

  “Oh, sir, are you all right?” Willow went to his side, but he waved her away.

  “I’ll be all right, just a mild case of the grippe, maybe. I was planning on driving you out to the camp myself, but I’m none too well—”

  “You don’t seem to be in any shape to go out in this early morning chill,” Willow said, deeply concerned. “I can drive a buggy.”

  He stifled a cough. “A lady out unescorted in this wild country? Why, it’s unthinkable.”

  “Perhaps I can find someone at the livery stable who would escort me.”

  He took a deep breath and the coughing subsided. “Nothing, really. What’s been bothering me are these shooting pains in my left arm—”

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “He says it’s probably rheumatism at my age. You know, I really don’t feel like driving this morning. Lieutenant Warton has been wanting to meet you, perhaps he would be available to escort you.”

  “I’ll ask about him down at the livery stable; I don’t want to delay my first day of school.” Willow began to gather her things.

  The old man looked relieved as he leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Remember to set a good example, Willow. We want to show all the Indians that they, too, can be like you.”

  In her mind, Willow saw Bear’s sneering, dark face. “Not all of them would want to be.”

  “Then, praise God, it’s your duty to change their outlook, my dear.” He looked smug. “There’s no room in this world anymore for those who won’t conform, go along with the majority.”

  Willow nodded, then went to get her big wool scarf to wrap around herself and her little bunch of supplies. She walked down to the livery stable and got the buggy, but she didn’t ask about the lieutenant. That would only cause a further delay and if he weren’t available, the reverend might not let her go and she was eager to meet her little students.

  After asking for directions, Willow started off at a brisk clip. It wasn’t more than a couple of miles through some beautiful rolling hills and tall trees. The spring wildflowers were in bloom and the breeze carried the scent of fresh blossoms. It had been so many years since she had left here as a small child and she had forgotten the joy of the big frontier, the heady feel of freedom. Willow gave herself over to the enjoyment of the buggy ride, reminding herself that she must remember to pray about her rebellious spirit. It was ungrateful to have such feelings when the Reverend Harlow and his sickly wife had taken in an abandoned bastard Indian child and seen to it that she got an education.

  “If they wanted me to teach, though,” Willow grumbled to herself, “they could have seen to it that I got a few books and some slates.”

  Oh, well. The children could write in the dirt with sticks and they didn’t need textbooks until they were all further along. Because the Nez Perce had been friendly to the whites for almost seventy-five years, some of the children could probably speak a little English and she would teach them more. Willow would also read aloud to the children; she at least had her dog-eared, favorite novel. She would translate into Nez Perce for them.

  Such beautiful country! How could she have forgotten how lovely, wild and free the Northwest was? Deep in her heart, she was certain that she never wanted to live any place else and helping children was surely her calling. Whether the Nez Perce went to a smaller reservation or not, it would be good that the children learn to read and write. Perhaps as Reverend Harlow had said, the sooner the Nez Perce children picked up white men’s values, the better off everyone would be.

  Little children peeked around tipis shyly or from behind their mamas’ buckskin or trader calico skirts as Willow drove the buggy into the rundown camp known as Indian Town.

  She smiled and nodded, attempting to put the curious, nervous children at ease as she reined in. “Taz meimi,” she said, smiling. “I am Takseen. I have been to the shoyapee’s schools and now I want to teach you their magic.”

  She climbed down from the buggy, holding up a book. Slowly at first, the children approached the buggy.

  “Takseen is here,” a child yelled, “everyone come! The Nez Perce girl with green eyes has returned.”

  The boys and girls crowded close, reaching out to touch Willow’s dress, the cover of the book. A very small boy peeked at her from the safety of an old lady’s skirt.

  Willow smiled at him. “I can teach you, too, maybe.”

  Shyly, he hid his face. The old lady reached down to pat him. “He too little; maybe some time. You teach only boys?”

  “No, I will teach girls, too.”

  At that, a chubby girl about eleven or twelve came out of the lodge and looked from the old woman to Willow, hope in her big brown eyes. “Me? You teach me?”

  “If you like.” Willow gave the girl her warmest smile. “Will you help me with the children? I am called Willow.”

  “I am called Atsipeeten by my grandmother. I will help with the others.”

  “I will call you Atsi.” Willow nodded toward the elderly woman. “Is that your nakaz? Your grandmother?”

  The child nodded. “She is called Intetah.”

  The children began to gather. Willow could not help but notice how ragged and thin some of them were. She wondered what had happened to the ration and cloth allotments the Indian agent should be giving out. “Today we will just sit in the shade of a tree and talk,” Willow said, “so we can get to know each other.”

  The children came from every direction, coming close to look Willow over curiously as their mothers watched from a distance. The very little toddler boy peeking out from behind the old woman was so adorable, so shy, that Willow’s heart went out to him. To the girl called Atsi, she said, “Is that your little brother?”

  “No,” Atsi said shaking her head, “Wolf’s mother is Rainbow, my big sister, who is never here much.”

  “Where is she?” Willow asked.

  “She hangs around the fort,” a bigger boy shouted, “she sleeps with soldiers for whiskey.”

  Willow felt herself go red and the other children shushed the bigger boy. Willow could feel their shame. “Wolf is a very big name for such a small boy,” she said, “perhaps until he gets bigger, I will call him Cub. Let us all begin now and I will show you my book. Someday, maybe you can read from it, too.”

  “Is it magic?” the plump little girl asked soberly.

  “In a way; white man’s magic,” Willow answered.

  Just then, a group of men came out of a big lodge led by a grave, but still handsome man of almost forty years. Accompanying him were a half-dozen warriors including the pair she had seen yesterday, Raven and his older brother.

  Bear looked at her with disapproval, nodded to his leader. “Joseph, this is the girl I told you about.”

  So this was the renowned Chief Joseph. Willow was impressed. What was his Nez Perce name? Oh, yes, Heinmot Tooyalakekt, Thunder Traveling to the Mountains. She nodded in a modest manner. “If you allow it, I come to teach the children.”

  Bear snorted and crossed his arms. “She comes to teach them white man’s ways so they will go like cattle to the new reservation without a fight.”

  “That is not true!” she snapped back, forgetting even an Indian woman was expected to defer to a renowned and respected warrior like Bear. “I come to do good things for my people.”

  The chief looked at her silently a long moment, evidently amused by her spunk. “You are the girl who was taken from us many winters ago?”

  Taken from them? Of course that was not right, but it would not be polite to correct a chief and remind him she had been abandoned by her Nez Perce mother. “I am Takseen.”

  “You are dressed like a white girl,” Chief Joseph said.

  She wasn’t sure what he expected her to say, bu
t Bear was already speaking. “No doubt she will soon teach the children to dress and think like little white children.”

  Several of the men laughed under their breath and nodded. Evidently Bear was a major leader.

  Raven came to her defense. “Maybe it is not a bad thing that our children learn the white man’s ways. Has not Joseph himself said it is better to deal with the whites than to spill blood?”

  Willow glared into Bear’s dark, hostile eyes. “Raven thinks more clearly than his brother. I have no interest in politics, I only want to help the children.”

  Chief Joseph sighed. “The Nez Perce have always prided themselves on being a friend to the white man ever since those called Lewis and Clark came many years ago. My father was a friend to them and I have tried to be.”

  Bear kept his arms folded and his expression like stone. “And see what it brings us; our children are ragged and often hungry because the whites kill the game and pollute the rivers as they dig for gold, killing the great salmon. This half-breed girl here is a prime example of what the whites do to our women.”

  “Enough, Hohots,” Chief Joseph said. “Like it or not, Takseen is one of us; her mother was the sister of a good friend. She may teach the children.”

  “Kaiziyeu-yeu,” which meant “thank you.” Willow nodded modestly, knowing that warriors did not usually stand out under the trees and carry on discussions with mere girls. She wanted to ask about her mother, but the chief walked away, followed by Bear and most of the warriors, so the opportunity was lost.

  Raven loitered, grinning at her. “I offer abject apologies for my big brother. There is much trouble right now and talk of war, so he and the others carry great responsibility.”

  She remembered yesterday. “You don’t seem to have any such problem. How do you feel?”

  He touched his head sheepishly. “I have felt better. Did I make much of a fool of myself?”

  She turned to look after the older one, remembering his strength, his touch; the way Bear had come to their rescue. “It is a good thing your brother showed up.”

  Now Raven frowned and shrugged. “That is what everyone says; no one ever lets me forget how fortunate I am to have a brother who is so brave and strong. Someday, I will do something even braver than he has done so they will sing songs of me around the campfires.”

  He was so young and immature, Willow thought, but at least friendly, and she would need friends here if she were to help the children. She smiled warmly. “I’m sure you will.”

  “Here,” Raven gestured, “I will show you a good place to sit and dream; I go there often.”

  He led them all to a magnificent, towering tree on the edge on the camp. “See? Here it is quiet and the breeze will keep it cool.”

  “Thank you, Raven. Here, children, sit around in a circle and we’ll talk.”

  “Is it all right if I stay, too?”

  She looked out toward the camp. “Don’t you have things to do like your brother?”

  Raven shook his head. “Bear looks after everything; no one expects much from me, ever since ...”

  Willow waited, but he didn’t continue. “Perhaps you idolize your brother too much, Raven.”

  “You don’t like him?”

  Willow thought about it a long moment. Something about Bear made her uneasy. He brought out emotions she had never felt before. She shook her head. “I-I don’t know what to think. He certainly makes no secret of what he thinks of me. He must have been named for his disposition.”

  “You wrong him,” Raven hesitated, “if you knew ... well, you are the only girl who doesn’t think he’s much man, but he does not choose one.”

  Willow settled herself on the grass with her book and motioned the children to sit down, too. “He has no woman?”

  “Neither do I.” Raven grinned at her and she felt herself blush at the amusement on the older children’s faces.

  “You aren’t old enough for a woman, Raven,” Willow said.

  “You think me a mere boy?”

  “Aren’t you?” She wanted to end this conversation. “You are no older than I.”

  He jumped up. “You are plenty old enough to be some warrior’s woman and I am old enough to take a wife.”

  “I did not mean to offend you,” Willow said softly. “Now can I get on with my lesson?”

  “I just wanted you to understand about Bear,” Raven said, “he has looked after me ever since our mother died.”

  The adoring younger brother, Willow thought, blinded by hero worship of his older brother. “You are pretty special, too, Raven, don’t underrate yourself.”

  He smiled. “You are a very nice person, Willow. Why when I tell Bear what he said is wrong—”

  “Oh? I’m certain your brother does not think highly of me.”

  “I don’t know what he thinks.” Raven shook his head. “No one knows what Bear thinks deep inside; except that he always puts the people ahead of his own wants and needs.”

  Willow didn’t want to talk about the stoic older warrior anymore; just the way Bear looked at her disturbed her and made her feel hot all over. Raven was right about one thing: surely no one knew much about what the big, broad-shouldered warrior thought or felt.

  “It was dangerous to offend Deek Tanner,” Raven said. “Besides the fact that he scouts for the soldiers, he was raised by the Blackfoot; our old tribal te-wel-ka.”

  Te-wel-ka; enemies, she translated in her mind. “I’m sure you overstate the problem.” Willow brushed a fallen blossom off her skirt. “When I tell the reverend—”

  “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Raven cautioned, “Lieutenant Warton thinks highly of Deek.”

  Lieutenant Warton. Wasn’t that the man Reverend Harlow was so eager for her to meet? That wasn’t today’s problem, and she was more than weary of the discussion about last night and ready to begin with the children. “All right, class; today we are going to start on our alphabet. I will draw the letter in the dirt and then you see if you can draw it, too.”

  “Is it all right if I stay and watch?” Raven asked.

  “What will people say?”

  He looked deep into her eyes. “Does that concern you?”

  She wasn’t certain.

  “Perhaps you are right.” He sighed and started to get up. “Bear will be very annoyed if he sees me here; he hopes you will not come long to this camp.”

  “Wait,” she said, gesturing him back down. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, it gave her a great deal of satisfaction to think Bear would be annoyed if she taught civilized ways to his brother. “There’s no real reason I can’t add a few adults to my classes if they really want to learn.”

  Raven gave her his warmest, most enthused smile. “I didn’t know it before, but I’d really like to learn all the things the white schools have taught you.”

  “Good! Maybe you’ll be a good example for the others. Now take a stick and I’ll show you how to draw your name.”

  The plump girl picked up a stick eagerly. “Once I can write and read a little, Teacher, will I have the good things you have?”

  Willow looked into the child’s hopeful face. “I-I don’t know; certainly anything is possible if one can read and write.”

  “What I want is a white lady’s dress.” Very shyly, Atsi stuck out her small hand and stroked the calico of Willow’s skirt.

  Willow noticed again how ragged all the children were. “Doesn’t the Indian agent provide anything for these people?”

  Raven frowned and shrugged. “The agents cheat us and keep everything for themselves. In the meantime, with the white farmers crowding into our land, the hunting is less so there’s no fine deerskins anymore to make things.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll see what I can do about the agent,” Willow said with grim determination as she smiled at the little girl. “Perhaps I can cut down one of my dresses for you.”

  The child brightened. “I will be your very best student. Is it all right if sometimes I bring Hemene? He needs to
learn to read, too.”

  “Who?” Willow looked blankly at Raven.

  “You know, that little boy, Wolf, the old grandmother was watching,” Raven explained, “his mother is often ...” He looked around at the watching children. “Sometimes his mother is not around to care for him.”

  Willow sighed. “Yes, Atsi, sometimes you can bring the Wolf cub, too.”

  The children’s faces smiled as if convinced that yes, they were going to like this teacher who was one of them yet had learned all the magic of the white men.

  Clothes, Willow thought, along with food. Perhaps later she could find one of her old dresses that might fit Atsi. In the meantime, it appeared she was going to have to have a confrontation with the powers that be back at the settlement. Reverend Harlow would probably lecture her about humility and a woman’s place. Well, as desperate as these children looked, she might as well give her guardian something major to pray over. “Now, class,” she said, “we will begin. Since there are few books in your language and you will be dealing often with whites, you need to learn their language.” She picked up a stick and drew in the dirt. “This is how you make an A. Watch me, then see if you can do it.”

  For over an hour, the children watched intently, then attempted to imitate what Willow did as she wrote in the dirt. However, all too soon, the little ones seemed restless and kept gazing wistfully toward the horizon.

  “What is it?” Willow asked Raven.

  He smiled and shrugged. “We are an untamed people, used to roaming at will. The little ones are thinking of riding their ponies or maybe wading in the brook. When you break a wild thing, you have to do it gradually.”

  In her enthusiasm, she had made the children sit too long. “All right, class, you have done well today. You may all go now, but tomorrow, we will meet here again at midmorning and perhaps I can teach some of you how to write your name.”

  With glad shouts, the children scattered like a flock of quail. Willow couldn’t help but smile as she watched them run across the prairie. She stooped to pick up her slate and books, but Raven reached for them first. “You can go, too,” she said.