Song Of The Warrior

by Georgina Gentry

  The children ran toward the buggy, laughing with delight when they saw her. “She’s come! The teacher’s come!”

  Their little faces gladdened her heart. Oh, she was going to teach them, all right, no matter how much Bear objected. Thank goodness, after Willow’s remarks at the party, the Indian agent had brought her a few more slates, a speller, and two arithmetic books. A bunch of readers were promised for later. Right now, she would attempt to teach reading from her ragged copy of A Tale of Two Cities.

  Here came Atsi, the plain, chubby girl, leading the toddler, Wolf, by the hand. The little boy actually brightened at the sight of Willow. She smiled and nodded back, wondering sadly if his mother were in camp today or drunk somewhere around the fort?

  “All right, children,” she called, “gather everyone at the tree.”

  Like playful puppies, they scampered off to do her bidding. She looked toward Bear. Their gazes locked. He frowned, made a gesture of dismissal and walked away.

  Why did he hate her so? Was he jealous that his hero-worshiping little brother had found a new idol? Did he really not want her to bring white culture to the Nez Perce children? Soon the old ways would be no more and if the children didn’t learn the white man’s ways, they would always be cheated in dealings or tricked into signing papers they could not read.

  Before she could step from the buggy, Raven came around and helped her, put his hands on her waist and lifted her down. He was perhaps more handsome, but he was not so tall or strong as his brother. “I will get your things, Takseen,” he said.

  She was most annoyed with Bear. A plan began to form in her mind as she walked to where the children waited. If it annoyed Bear for her to teach Raven, she would teach the younger brother twice as hard. Besides, once Bear saw how much it helped Raven, he would change his mind about Willow and her work. Why should she care what the taciturn warrior thought of her? She didn’t know herself.

  Willow settled herself on the ground and the children sat down in the shade of the tree around her. Atsi sat close and the toddler sat with her, smiled, reached out to touch Willow’s hand. She smiled back at him, patted him. “Hello, Cub.”

  “He thinks you’re his mother,” Atsi whispered.

  “Well, that’s all right,” Willow said, pitying the tot. Someday, she would like to have a little boy of her own much like this one. Raven leaned against the tree.

  “Today, children,” she cleared her throat, “as a special treat, I am going to show you what you can do when you finally learn all the letters I’ve been showing you.” She held the book up, opened it.

  Atsi nodded solemnly. “Magic marks.”

  “But what good are they?” Raven challenged.

  “Because they open up whole new worlds, truly magic,” Willow said. “When you can put these marks together, they form words and with words, you can make stories.”

  Everyone’s eyes widened. Stories and legends were magic and sometimes very powerful, too.

  Raven looked skeptical. “You truly mean that when we know these marks, we can read that book?”

  Willow nodded. “This is one of my favorites; a story that you will understand because it is about a very brave man who dies to save another.”

  All the little dark heads nodded. Yes, Indian children could certainly understand a story about a brave warrior who died to save others.

  A little girl piped up, “Please, teacher, does he die in battle against the Shoshoni or the Blackfoot?”

  Willow shook her head. “Both these men are in love with the same girl and the one she loves, the good, honorable one, is condemned to die.”

  The children looked at one another. All had heard that the white soldiers had executed warriors who fought them.

  “Good and honorable,” Raven said wryly under his breath, “just like Bear.”

  She decided to ignore that. “The other man does not think much of himself. He feels his life has been a waste, but he loves the girl more than anything; more than his own life.”

  It was so quiet, she could hear the children breathe. Anyone could identify with a classic story of love and sacrifice, whether white or brown.

  Now she had Raven’s full attention. “So what happens?” he demanded.

  “Tamtaiza uatiskipg,” Willow shrugged that tomorrow would tell, “you’ll have to wait.”

  “If I learn to read these marks,” Raven asked, “I will be able to read this book for myself?”

  Willow nodded. “I will teach some of the letters and words every day, and finally, if you are patient enough and work hard, you will be able to read it yourself.”

  All the children crowded closer, their eyes bright as chipmunks’.

  “Now let us begin, I will read a few words and then I will explain what the words are in the Nez Perce tongue. Next, I will show you some of the words. This way, you will learn the white man’s language.” She opened the book. “It was the best of times and the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredibility, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair....”

  When she stopped a few pages later, the children urged her to keep reading, but she shook her head. “No, now we must learn some letters so you can begin to read for yourselves.”

  For several hours they worked, even Raven diligently drawing his name in the dirt. By then, little Cub was asleep with his small, dark head in Willow’s lap and some of the others were fidgeting. “I suppose we’ve done enough for today,” Willow said. “Class dismissed.”

  With a shout and squeals of delight, the children scattered like quail, Atsi carrying the sleepy little boy.

  Raven hung around as she gathered up her things. “I wasn’t ready to quit; teach me more words.”

  She looked into his urgent eyes and was moved by the intense interest she saw there. “All right, but you must be patient; it will take awhile to learn to read.”

  They worked another hour until Willow sighed. “I’m tired, Raven; you must be, too. We’ll do more tomorrow.”

  He reached out and took the book in his hands and stroked the cover reverently. “This is indeed magic. I want to learn it all so I can read it for myself.”

  Willow was touched. “I will teach you as much as I can.”

  He looked at the book in his hands. “Is it very hard to own such a thing?”

  “Raven,” she said, “perhaps when you get so you can read enough to teach others, I will give you this book.”

  “No.” He shook his head and handed it back. “No, it is too great a gift. To accept such a present means I must give something of equal wonder in return; I have nothing so magic.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll think of something you can give me in return.” She smiled and stood up. It was not proper to insist that he accept the book, even when he had earned it, without him losing face if he could not give her a gift, too. Besides, it would take some weeks or even months for him to be able to read that well and he might lose interest.

  “If I could read,” he seemed to be thinking aloud, “I could be as respected as Bear.”

  She winced at the longing in his voice. “Perhaps you could even teach Bear to read.”

  “He reads a little; one of the Blackrobes taught him before our people lost faith in the white people’s religion because so many have cheated us.”

  How, in the name of God, could the missionaries have done this thing? She was troubled now as she thought about Reverend Harlow and the new settlers he’d talked about bringing to the Northwest as they ate supper last night. She dare not confront him; the old man was irascible and ill.

  She looked around for Bear as she and Raven walked back to the buggy, but she didn’t see him anywhere. The camp did seem to be humming, people talking in whispers, men gathering in little groups. There seemed to be some kind of excitement in the atmosphere and Willow wondered what was happening?

  “Takseen
, amitiz,” Raven said, indicating they would go now. “I will escort you safely home.”

  She nodded and got into the buggy before he could reach to put his hands on her waist. Willow looked around as he put her satchel in the buggy, her eyes searching in vain for his older brother. Raven mounted his Appaloosa and they started back to town. The silence between them was awkward, but it was difficult to carry on conversation with him riding ahead of her anyhow.

  Willow hadn’t told Reverend Harlow Billy Warton was no longer escorting her because he didn’t ask and she’d just as soon not tell him the details. She didn’t think he’d like a Nez Perce brave escorting her, although she felt much safer with Raven than with Billy, but she wasn’t sure why. She had Raven leave her at the edge of town and returned the buggy to the livery stable herself, then went to the house.

  Reverend Harlow was sitting in a chair, wiping his nose with a handkerchief. “Oh, there you are, my dear, I’ve been worried to death about you.”

  Oh my! He must know about the trouble between Bear and Billy or what had happened yesterday. “What do you mean?”

  “The Indians didn’t say anything? Why, General Howard has given them a final ultimatum; they’ve got to pack up their horses and things, move right away to the new reservation.”

  Willow felt her heart plummet as she set her books down. “That’s away from here, isn’t it?”

  The old man nodded, looked at her over the tops of his spectacles. “Guess that will end your going out to see those little heathens every day, it’ll be too far.” He looked positively delighted. “Maybe you can replace the white schoolmaster here in the settlement or maybe just get married.”

  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She didn’t want him to see her distress. “It seemed to me almost as if God had sent me to help these children and now I won’t be able to do so.”

  Reverend Harlow frowned and coughed. “Well, there’s other children, white children.” He shrugged as if to dismiss the topic. “I’ve got to go out early this evening for a while.”

  “Oh, but you’re ill,” Willow protested, “you can’t—”

  “There’s no one else to christen the general store owner’s new baby, and he’s one of the most substantial citizens in town.”

  She looked at him. “Are you saying you wouldn’t bother if he weren’t rich?”

  “Cast your bread upon the waters, as the Good Book says. It’s the prominent citizens who build fine church buildings, help poor pastors get better salaries.”

  “That’s despicable,” Willow said.

  “No, my dear, it’s reality.” The old man peered at her over the tops of his spectacles. “You’re a fine one to play holier than thou, after I scrimped and bullied and begged to make sure your tuition to the finest school in Boston was paid for.”

  Stung by his biting criticism, Willow bent her head. “You’re right; I’m sorry. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll lie down awhile.”

  He nodded dismissal. “You’re really a white girl in your heart, anyway, Willow; too fragile and delicate to keep trudging out to that camp all the time like some squaw.”

  She didn’t answer as she fled to her room. The Nez Perce were being sent to that far reservation; had Raven known? She remembered Bear’s troubled face. He knew, she realized suddenly, he had known this morning, but no one had bothered to tell irresponsible Raven; perhaps he might get drunk and create trouble, maybe blab to the whites if the Nez Perce made any plans. She remembered him holding the book, running his fingers over its pages. In some ways, Raven was like the irresponsible, n’eer-do-well Sydney Carton in A Tale of Two Cities.

  Back at the camp, Raven was as upset as Bear had known he would be. “There was a gathering of warriors and no one told me?”

  “You weren’t here,” Bear soothed, “you had gone to get the teacher; otherwise, you would have been sitting there in council next to me.”

  “No one would know or care if I were there; no one pays any attention to me.” Raven began to pace their lodge. “What was decided?”

  Bear shrugged. “General Howard has shown us the rifle, not the hand of friendship. We must meet the deadline, despite everything.”

  Raven whirled on him. “Didn’t anyone tell him we cannot gather up the livestock and cross raging rivers so soon?”

  “We have told him,” Bear said with infinite patience. The young, he thought, expect too much and their tempers run impatient and hot.

  “I would show the soldier boys the rifle, given the chance!” Raven gestured with his closed fist.

  Bear only nodded, weary of this discussion. He would do as his chief asked him, no matter that it meant swallowing his pride. “Joseph thinks first of the old ones and children.”

  “The children.” Raven paused. “What will happen with the teaching when we go?”

  “It will end. It is too far, you know that. Perhaps someday, another teacher will try to help the children.”

  Raven’s handsome face twisted with anguish. “She was teaching me to read.”

  Bear’s heart was touched. “Is this so important to you, then?”

  Raven nodded. “At first, I only meant to catch her attention, then the magic caught me. She has a book with a wonderful legend. She says she may give me the book when I have learned more; when I have earned it.”

  “I am truly sorry, Rave,.” Bear sighed. He was sad, deep in his heart sad, and it surprised him. He hadn’t realized in only a few short days how he had grown accustomed to Willow’s delicate face and bright green eyes, her laughter. He saw in his mind the way she had looked when he had swung her up in his big arms, looking up at him with lips moist and half parted. He remembered now the warmth of her body against his as she rode the horse in front of him, the softness of her body, the scent of her warm skin, the shiny blackness of her hair and how he had had to fight a terrible urge to kiss the nape of her neck.

  “I-I took the book from her satchel today.” He looked shamefaced as he held it up.

  Bear was aghast. “Like a common white thief? Where is your honor?”

  “I will give it back,” Raven said defensively. “I only wanted to examine its magic. Besides, that means she will have to come to the new reservation to get it back.”

  Bear sighed loudly. In spite of everything, Raven was still so immature. “You can’t expect her to come many miles out to the smaller reservation; the reverend wouldn’t let her anyway.”

  “If she were married, he couldn’t stop her.”

  “What?” Bear started out of his thoughts.

  “I want her; I want Willow for my woman.”

  Abruptly, Bear felt as if he’d been stabbed deep in the heart. Raven and Willow. He had not realized his brother was that deeply attracted to the girl. “Does she feel the same about you?”

  “I think she does; the way she looks at me the way she smiles and makes conversation. Isn’t that what a girl does who is attracted to a man?”

  Bear shrugged. “I’m not sure I know.” Of course Willow would be attracted to Raven. His brother was young, not much older than Willow. She probably thought of Bear as an old man since he was past thirty. Raven was handsome, so she might be attracted to him. Bear clapped him on the shoulder. “I am glad for you,” he said gravely, “and our mother would be glad that you will be happy. Still, I don’t know how—”

  “I will marry her and take her with me if I have to steal her.”

  “You can’t do that, the army will come after you; the parson will be in a fury! He hopes to marry her to some white man.”

  “But if she goes willingly and I suspect she will, they can do nothing, can they?”

  “No.” He turned and looked away. Raven had never sounded so happy. So this was what it was like to have a woman love you in return. In his mind, in his dreams, Bear had held Willow close and kissed her, now perhaps his handsome brother would be the one to take her virginity, put his son in her belly. Bear winced at the image of his brother making love to the woman and real
ized abruptly that he cared for her himself, had since the first moment he had seen her getting off that stagecoach, all slender and sturdy, her hair black as a crow’s wing. “Have you asked her yet?” In his mind, he saw Raven taking off her delicate doeskin wedding shift in the firelight of the lodge.

  “No, but I’m sure she feels the same way, just the way she looks at me. I-I don’t know the words to say to her.”

  Bear tried to laugh. “I am afraid I’m no help there, little brother, I’ve never asked a woman, either.”

  “Many girls have wanted you to ask them; they know what a brave warrior you are and that there would always be much meat in your tipi because you are also one of the best hunters.”

  “I have never yet met a girl who takes my heart enough that I would want her for my own,” he answered. He lied, he knew, he had met such a girl, but she and his brother were in love. “We have no time for this talk now.” He started to leave the lodge, wanting to go off to round up his horses for the move that would surely be leaving tomorrow or the next day whenever Joseph returned. If he were riding hard, he wouldn’t have to think about Willow.

  “I intend to take her with me if she’s willing.” Raven caught his arm.

  “You are a stubborn one,” Bear conceded. “What is it you want of me?”

  Raven hesitated. “You speak well and are a respected warrior, even among the whites.”

  “So?”

  “It is proper among all tribes to send an envoy to the girl.”

  A dread began to build in Bear and he wanted to shout at his brother not to say it, but it was too late.

  “I-I want you to speak for me,” Raven pleaded. “Will you go to Willow and ask her if she will be my woman?”

  Nine

  Bear felt as if he had been struck hard across the chest with a stout kopluts. Of course it was only natural that Raven would desire Willow and that she would love him in return. After all, they were about the same age; both young and good-looking.