The Drums of Change (15 page)

Chapter Ten

A Visitor

After what seemed like years of being away from her own people, the school term came up to the Christmas holidays. Running Fawn breathed a deep sigh of relief as she watched excited classmates pack their things in little rectangular valises and ready themselves for the arrival of their folks. Running Fawn couldn’t understand all the fuss about Christmas, but she wished she could pack too. Her heart beat faster at the mere thought of seeing family and home again. She would be only too glad to leave behind the strange pale faces and jeers from the other girls along with the snowy white shirtwaists, gray pleated skirts, and unfamiliar undergarments.

She went looking for Miss Brooke to inquire about her own clothing, but it was Miss Brooke who found her instead.

“There you are,” she said cheerily. “I’ve been looking for you. Mrs. Nicholson would like to see you in her office.”

Perhaps she is going to tell me where to find my things
, thought Running Fawn. She hurried after Miss Brooke, who was leading the way down the hall with long strides.

“Martha. Come in, my dear,” Mrs. Nicholson greeted her. “Have a seat.” She indicated the chair across the desk from her own.

Running Fawn knew this was more than the whereabouts of her possessions if she was to sit down. She did so woodenly, then lowered her head to stare at motionless hands in her lap.

“I suppose you have heard all the commotion about Christmas vacation?” asked Mrs. Nicholson.

Running Fawn nodded.

“We always take a bit of a break this time of year before starting second term.”

Running Fawn did not even bother to nod again.

“We have decided that you and Silver Fox will stay on over Christmas. There really is no way to transport you—home, with winter storms being so unpredictable and all.…” Her voice trailed off as Running Fawn sat motionless.

The woman smiled pleasantly, not seeming to notice the alarmed expression in Running Fawn’s eyes, as she continued. “Staff will care for you here. They are all quite willing to share the responsibility. This will be new for us. We have never had students stay over the holiday before. But … it seems to be the best solution.”

Running Fawn slowly looked up from the fingers in her lap.
No
, her mind shouted,
no, it isn’t the best. I want to see my people. My mother. She will have a new baby by now. I haven’t seen it. I don’t even know if it is a boy or a girl. I need to go home. I need to
.

But she did not speak. She merely nodded her head, while her heart broke with longing to return home to those she loved.

Mrs. Nicholson’s smile widened. “Well, then,” she said, “I guess it is all cared for.” She stood, indicating the interview was concluded.

Running Fawn struggled to her feet and left the room without so much as a further glance at the head matron. There was nothing she could say or do. She allowed herself to be shepherded back to her dorm room, now vacant of other girls.

“We will be able to teach you all sorts of special chores over the vacation time,” Miss Brooke enthused. “Mrs. Nicholson said that I might show you how to do the laundry and polish the silverware.”

Running Fawn did not respond. Miss Brooke added, “And if things go well, they might even let you learn to use the sewing machine.”

Running Fawn tried hard to swallow away the lump that persisted in trying to choke her. Miss Brooke was trying to cheer her, she realized that—but nothing could take away her deep hurt in being kept from her people.

When spring rolled around and the students were getting ready to leave for the summer months at term end, Running Fawn was a bit more prepared when she was called to Mrs. Nicholson’s office again. The story was the same. It was wisest for her and Silver Fox to stay on. There would be special lessons, just for them, over the summer months. Advanced work for Silver Fox to bring him up to the standard of the boys his own age who had been in school since their early years, and lessons in homemaking for Running Fawn. Sorrowfully she conceded, though she could not keep her eyes from drifting frequently to the southeast. Somewhere out there on the plains, her people lived. She wondered if they even remembered her or if she had been totally forgotten, totally given to the white man’s world.

“Hello.” The one word of greeting was spoken in English, and then the speaker repeated the greeting in the Blackfoot language. Running Fawn’s head came up. It was so long since she had heard the soft, melodic tones of her native tongue.

Silver Fox stood before her, a wooden-handled hoe in his hands.

“So we are to keep the garden,” he commented. “That is good. When we return you will know more about making the plants grow.”

The brief reference to the little garden Running Fawn had planted on the Reserve both pleased and upset her. For some reason, she was glad that Silver Fox remembered her small plot of ground, yet saddened as she thought again of its loss along with everything else that was important to her.

She nodded now and turned back to her weeding.

“Do you like working the garden?” he persisted.

“Better than working the iron,” replied Running Fawn shortly. She looked up quickly and caught a smile on his lips.

“It is silly work, the ironing,” hissed Running Fawn. “Why take out the wrinkles with a hot iron in the heat of the day, when they will be back as soon as the clothes are worn?”

Silver Fox laughed outright.

He laid the hoe on the ground and knelt down to Running Fawn’s level. For a time he was silent, lifting handfuls of fine soil and letting it sift through his open fingers.

“Do you like it here, now?”

The personal question, spoken in a low and guarded manner, made Running Fawn wonder how much he knew, how much he had guessed about her feelings.

She slowly shook her head, not raising her eyes to his.

The silence settled between them. Running Fawn kept on with her weeding.

At length he spoke again. “I want to learn as much as I can. This is a new world. I do not want my people to … to be left behind. We can help them—with our knowledge. We can teach them how to survive—without the buffalo. We can bring them medicines. Food. Implements for farming. They can only use them—if they have the knowledge.”

He was so earnest that Running Fawn could not any longer refrain from looking into his face—his fathomless dark eyes. He really meant his words, she could see that, and for the moment he convinced her that he was right. She longed to believe that these days of loneliness and sacrifice would bring something of benefit to her people.

The face of Silver Fox was intense, the flashing dark eyes filled with passion. She wanted to believe him—whatever he spoke.

“Running Fawn,” he said, and the use of her Indian name sounded sweet to her ears, like she had just been given back a very part of herself, “we are the first ones to go to school. We need to prove that we can be students—learn. So we can teach—our people.”

She nodded silently. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps they had a duty to perform. A duty toward their people.

But she hoped with all her heart that the days would pass quickly. She was so anxious to go home.

In the fall three more Indian students were brought to the school. They were from the Blood tribe, but all part of the larger Blackfoot Nation. There were two boys whom she gave little attention and one girl, slightly younger than herself. Running Fawn did not recognize them from any of their joint campsites in the past.

Running Fawn could see in the young girl’s eyes the same fears, the same confusion that she herself had felt when she first entered the doors of the school. But by now she could go through all the proper motions, doing her work and living her life, taking her place at the table and sleeping in the white-sheeted bed, as though she had been living in such a manner all her life. Inwardly, though, she had never totally adjusted. She held a certain resentment toward the white man. Her ways were just as good. No—in many instances, they were better. Much better. Not so rigid, so confining. One could breathe more easily, walk more quietly, stand with greater comfort in the clothing of her people. And one could sleep much more soundly bundled in warm wool blankets and buffalo robes, snuggled up against the back of another family member. She still didn’t care much for some of the ways of the white man.

When introduced to the new girl, who would be called Esther, she stepped forward and held out a welcoming hand. She did not want the trembling youngster to go through the same fearful experiences that she herself had faced. The very first thing she would do when they were alone would be to explain to the young girl how white people took a bath.