CHAPTER

15

Before the sun rose, Aénhé’ke and I snuck out of the bachelors’ quarters and went for a walk. True to his word, Kindle woke early and stumbled to his room, pale, bleary eyed, and reeking of alcohol. It was the second night in less than a week he’d drank to excess. If I was honest with myself, I didn’t like the Kindle who came to my bed when he had been drinking. He’d been on his best behavior last night, but he felt like a different man from the one I fell in love with at Fort Richardson.

If pushed to describe the Darlington Agency, I would say it was the US Army’s idea of a town. Plain buildings laid out on a grid, with a wide thoroughfare leading to nowhere. The single men’s quarters were at the end of the thoroughfare, with the few erected buildings spread out across a plain so flat and vast I thought I was back on the Llano Estacado.

Aénhé’ke tugged at my sleeve and nodded in the direction of the tipis by the river. I paused, the idea of walking voluntarily into an Indian camp too terrifying to consider. Aénhé’ke patted her chest, then pointed at me, and I knew she promised my safety. I thought again of Bell’s admonishment about Aénhé’ke. I’d always prided myself on being able to read people, especially other women. In the last few months, I’d had that particular bit of hubris thrown back in my face more than once.

“Come,” she said. “Safe.”

I let her lead me on.

The Indians were camped on the bank of a river that was indistinguishable from every other river I’d crossed since leaving Austin four months earlier: muddy and shallow, with cottonwood and hackberry trees clinging to its banks. Down the river a ways the banks were denuded, and I knew as the number of agency buildings increased, the number of cottonwoods and hackberries would decrease. I wondered if Cairns was cognizant of the threat of dysentery with this many people sharing the same water source. I paused and turned, instinctively wanting to discuss the situation at Fort Richardson with him. I stopped and grasped my stomach, again afflicted with the sense of longing and anguish at the loss of my profession. Aénhé’ke, ignorant of my past and what I’d lost, looked puzzled. I smiled weakly, turned from the agency, and walked toward the tipis.

The tipis were arranged by band in half circles on the bank of the river, with a large area in the center for communal gatherings for the entire tribe. Farther downstream I saw a herd of picketed horses being tended to by young braves. Women and girls were laughing and talking as they hauled water from the river. Children too young to work ran around the camps. Old men, their faces maps of wrinkles, walked toward the river.

I counted six half circles as I followed Aénhé’ke to a cluster in a place of honor next to the main area. Two dogs darted in front of me, licking their snouts and looking guilty. A woman brandishing a metal ladle pursued them, yelling admonishments in Cheyenne. She stopped when she saw us, and her irritated mien changed immediately into one of joy.

“Aénhé’ke!” Even if I had been able to understand Cheyenne, the rest of what the woman said was lost in a jumble of joyous female voices as they descended upon Aénhé’ke from seemingly nowhere. The women surrounded the young woman, touching her, all speaking at once. Aénhé’ke’s happiness at being reunited with her tribe animated her usually plain features into a thing of beauty. She spoke as loudly and rapidly as the women surrounding her who touched her injured face and gestured wildly as questions were asked and answered. How they could understand anything in the cacophony, I had no idea. I was forgotten, or unnoticed, pushed back by the crowd of women until I found myself surrounded by a gaggle of curious children talking as rapidly as their mothers and grandmothers.

Little hands touched and patted me as if making sure I was real. One little girl turned my injured palm up, touched the bandage, and raised her eyebrows, as if knowing instinctively I didn’t understand a word of what they said. Her eyes were so large, brown, and innocent I couldn’t help but smile and answer, “I burned my hand.” I mimed touching my hand and pulling it back quickly, and said, “Ouch.”

The children went silent and all stared at me in astonishment. “Burn,” I said. One little boy said something, and the chatter resumed, but now it had the tenor of an argument. The little boy tried to lift my skirt. I quickly removed his hand and said, “No.” The little girl who asked about my hand stepped in front of me and appeared to be my defender. She turned, poked my breast with her finger, and returned to arguing with the little boy. I kept hearing the same phrase over and over, from all the children now. I was perplexed and searched for Aénhé’ke, but she was nowhere to be found. Instead, Bob Johnson walked up. “They are debating if you are a man or woman.”

“Heavens. And have they decided?”

He spoke to the children, who had quieted on his arrival. They continued their fierce debate until he held up his hand. He said one word and my little defender raised her nose in the air, crossed her arms, and nodded. The little boy waved the girl away and walked off, disgusted at being bested by a girl, most like.

The little girl looked up at me and said the phrase they had been repeating.

“She’s given you a name,” Bob Johnson said.

I knew Indian names were given based on any number of signs, events, or characteristics of the baby, even when they weren’t necessarily complimentary. I thought of Little Stick and his unfortunate name. “I’m afraid to ask.”

Bob Johnson smiled. “Talks Like a Man Woman.”

“Oh.” I glanced down at the little girl who was obviously proud of naming me. “Thank you,” I said. I touched my fingers to my chin and brought them forward. “I suppose it could be worse,” I said to Bob Johnson. Today he wore a breastplate adorned with bone beads over a Union soldier’s coat with golden epaulets on the shoulders. His hair was braided on either side of his head, on top of which sat a tall hat with a turkey feather stuck in the headband. “You look nice this morning. What is the occasion?”

He nodded upstream. “There is a photographer from the East here taking pictures.”

“Indeed?” One more person to avoid. “Have you had your picture taken before?”

“No. Have you?”

“Once. I wish I had smiled. No one ever smiles. We will be viewed by people in the future as a dour, unhappy lot with our serious expressions.”

“I should smile?”

I chuckled. “Probably not. The photographer will tell you to look serious and will think the smile ruined the picture.”

“How do you feel this morning?”

“Woozy, but better. Thank you.”

“Where is John Oscar?”

“Asleep, I think.”

“Tell him if he has questions he should come to me.”

I furrowed my brow. “Why?”

“He is not …” Bob Johnson eyes searched the sky as if it would provide the word he needed. “Unobvious.”

“Subtle?”

He pointed. “Yes. Subtle.”

I thought of Kindle stumbling drunk. If people weren’t suspecting us before, they probably were now. Bob Johnson watched me and I wondered if he’d put two and two together.

“Your English is good. Where did you learn it?”

“My father was a white man. Had a trading post up on the Arkansas River. My mother was Cheyenne. When she died, my father sent me to school in Saint Louis, married my mother’s sister, and had four more children. The Cheyenne culture is matrilineal. When I returned, my mother’s clan took me in.”

“Those men who were killed, they were your father’s sons?”

A hint of a smile crossed Bob Johnson’s face. “They were Arapaho. We are allies, the Cheyenne and Arapaho.”

“You cheated us.”

“I learned my negotiating tactics at the foot of my white father, and more recently, the American Army.”

“You work for the Army?” I stared at the officer’s coat he wore.

Bob Johnson nodded. “I have not always been on their side but now I am a tracker and interpreter.”

The little girl took my hand and tugged me toward a tipi and said the one Cheyenne word I recognized: “Aénhé’ke.”

“I’m being summoned. Excuse me.”

I let the girl lead me away and I thought of Bob Johnson. He was shrewd and I suspected his loyalties shifted based on what would benefit him in the moment. I would need to talk to Kindle about him.

We stopped outside the largest tipi in the semicircle. The top was blackened from years of smoke. A stick figure representing a woman was painted above the door. In one hand she held a spray of flowers and leaves, in the other she held a stick of fire. Above her head were dots with tails trailing up toward the moon. The girl was halfway in the tipi and tugged on my hand again. I pulled my hand from hers and stepped back.

I pressed my hands against my throbbing temples as images of a similar tipi I entered as a battered and abused captive flooded my mind. Yahuea Muea beating me with a stick. Anna helping me bandage my hands on the bank of a creek. Cotter Black sitting across the fire from me. A horse neighed in the distance. Someone touched my shoulder. I yelped and jumped away.

Aénhé’ke stood next to me, hand outstretched, a contemplative expression on her face. Aénhé’ke waited while I calmed my rapid breathing. “I should go back,” I said, pointing in the direction from which we came. “You have found your family, and I am glad. You are safe now.”

Of course, I knew it to be a lie. She would be bombarded with memories of being raped in the weeks and months to come. Possibly for her entire life. The idea I might never be free of what happened revolted me. Would the sound of water splashing and horses neighing always bring the Canadian River into my mind? Would Kindle ever be able to touch me without me flinching, without me thinking of warriors standing over me, waiting their turns?

Aénhé’ke moved to stand mere inches from me. She took my right hand and ran her thumb over my knotty fingers, fingers that had been broken by the Comanche, fingers that Kindle massaged daily, almost absently, fingers that were becoming more limber and aching less as a result. Her dark eyes bored into mine and she placed her left hand on my shoulder. “Laura, you are safe.”

My skin hummed and tingled where Aénhé’ke touched me. A feeling of contentment and well-being washed over me. I wanted to bottle this feeling and carry it with me so whenever memories intruded I could unstopper it and be soothed with a sip. I believed happiness was possible and a surge of affection for Aénhé’ke flowed from me like a river. She returned my smile and pulled me toward the tipi. I followed, as trusting as a child. I walked into the tipi, and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the realization of what she’d said hit me.

Aénhé’ke knelt down to the right of the woman who sat in the place of honor. All of the Cheyenne women who had crowded Aénhé’ke outside sat on their knees around the fire and watched me expectantly.

“Aénhé’ke?” I said.

“Yes?”

“You speak English.”

“Please, sit.”

The woman in the center was younger than I would have expected the leader to be. She motioned to the vacant place next to her. When I moved to the right, a woman shooed me to the left and motioned for me to walk on the outside of the circle. I did, and sat to the left of the woman whose tent I suspected I was in. I sat on my knees as the other women did.

My young defender walked to the woman in the center and gave her a small tin cup. The woman smiled her thanks and turned toward me with the cup cradled in her hands. She drank from the cup and offered it to me and I repeated her actions. She then passed the cup to Aénhé’ke who sent it around the circle. After everyone had drank, the woman spoke.

“Thank you for bringing my daughter back to me.”

I dipped my head in acknowledgment.

“You saved Aénhé’ke from savage men. She is in your debt.”

“There is no debt.”

“You paid for her.”

“I did, but to free her, not to own her. She has found her family and is happy. It is payment enough.”

“A white woman who doesn’t expect something from an Indian. You are a rare person indeed, Talks Like a Man Woman.”

“You know my name, but I do not know yours.”

“My name is too difficult for white men to say. They call me Falling Stars Woman. Running Brook named you Talks Like a Man Woman, but Aénhé’ke says your name is Charlotte.” The English name fell from her tongue with difficulty.

Kindle and I had talked around Aénhé’ke, thinking she did not understand what we said. Was she now one more person whom I couldn’t trust? “Yes. And you can speak English.”

“Yes. I learned from one of our captives when I was a child,” Aénhé’ke said.

“Weren’t you a captive?”

“I adopted her,” Falling Stars Woman said. “I had lost my daughter to a raid and Stone Calf brought her to me to replace her.”

“So you stole another woman’s child to assuage your grief?”

“I do not know that word.”

“Did you ever give a thought to the other woman’s feelings about losing Aénhé’ke?”

Falling Stars Woman shrugged. “It has always been done this way. Though our way of life is coming to an end. The white man wants to turn us into children who rely on him for handouts, to plant us in the ground like corn, instead of letting us roam our land as our ancestors did for hundreds of winters.”

I thought of my abduction and abuse at the hands of Comanche warriors, of the Salt Creek attack, of Aénhé’ke being stolen from her true family with the possibility of never seeing them again. “It is not a way of life I would mourn. The violence, the uncertainty. At least with our way you will not live in fear of being attacked and killed, of your children being taken away. Freedom from fear is a better life than violence begot by a freedom to roam.”

A man’s voice carried through the tipi. Falling Stars Woman called out and the flap of the tipi flew open as he entered and walked to the right, talking loudly in Cheyenne. The women around the circle who had been silent until then rose and left with knowing smiles on their faces. Falling Stars Woman stood and spoke as loudly and as quickly as the man. They talked over each other until the man stopped suddenly. He stared at me, then at Aénhé’ke as Falling Stars Woman continued to speak, gesturing between the two of us. The old man smiled and patted Aénhé’ke on the head before planting a kiss there. Aénhé’ke grasped his hand, kissed it, and said something to him. He patted her shoulder, then turned back to Falling Stars Woman and continued his harangue, this time with gestures. Aénhé’ke rose and motioned for me to follow her out of the tipi. The man ignored me completely.

Once out in the bright sunlight, Aénhé’ke said, “He is searching for the medal the Great Father gave him when he visited Washington in forty-six. He thinks Falling Stars Woman put it somewhere wrong when she was cleaning.”

I smiled and thought of the same argument Maureen used to have with my father who would invariably find the missing item precisely where it should have been.

“Why didn’t you tell me you could speak English?”

“It was the only defense I had. Listening to the men who raped me, knowing about their plans, was the only chance I would have to escape. I wanted to know why you helped me.”

My throat constricted. “And do you?”

“No.”

“Wouldn’t you help a woman being violated as you were?”

“If she was the enemy of my people, no.”

“Even now, with what you went through, you would stand by and let it happen?”

“We understand it is what happens when we are taken. It is why our men fight so when we are attacked by our enemies, to allow their women and children to escape.”

“If your warriors return today with a female captive and violate her, you will stand by and watch it happen? Knowing what your enemy is going through?” When Aénhé’ke didn’t answer I said, “I do not hate anyone so much I would allow them to suffer that.” My throat closed up and I turned away and thought of how a Comanche woman had hated me on sight, had relished beating me. That the Comanche considered me her enemy I fully believed. Aénhé’ke and Falling Stars Woman, on the other hand, had taken me in and treated me as an honored guest.

“I would never let it happen to you,” Aénhé’ke said in a quiet voice. “I owe you a debt.”

“You owe me nothing.”

“You have been through what I have. It is why you helped me.”

I nodded once.

“White men or Indian?”

“Comanche.” Aénhé’ke inhaled. “Somewhere on the Canadian, I was told. We’d ridden through the night. I had no idea where we were, don’t remember anything about the place other than the sound of water, laughing men, and their grunting.” I turned my head away and tears leaked from my eyes. I remembered more; I remembered everything. But I did not need to explain my experience to Aénhé’ke. “I have no love for your kind, but when I found Tuesday in the tent with you, I didn’t see an Indian being violated. I saw a helpless woman.” I sniffed and wiped my eyes. “I would do it again. For anyone. I only wish I’d killed Tuesday with my bare hands.”

I lifted my hand to shield my eyes from the sun. A sharp pain pierced my temple. “What is wrong?” Aénhé’ke asked.

“Nothing.” Maybe Dr. Cairns would have laudanum. The thought of floating away from everything was enticing. The old man walked past wearing a large silver medal. “Who is he?”

“Falling Stars Woman’s father, Tall Buffalo. He is the medicine man of Stone Calf’s tribe.”

“Is he how you learned of the thistle tea?” My burned arm was now bandaged with one Dr. Cairns had applied, but Aénhé’ke’s crude bandage had been more soothing.

“Yes, and Falling Stars Woman. Her medicine is better than her father’s, but no one in the tribe will say so.”

“Sounds familiar,” I murmured.

Tall Buffalo and other men, all dressed carefully, formed a loose cluster and walked upriver, each inspecting the others’ choices of attire. At least I assumed it was the subject, based on their gestures and laughter. Falling Stars Woman returned carrying two long sticks sharpened at one end and padded with hide at the other. She shook her head with a smile and spoke in Cheyenne to Aénhé’ke, who laughed.

Falling Stars Woman interpreted for me. “If it would’ve been a snake, it would have bit him.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” I said. “I must get back.”

“Come tonight. We will be celebrating Aénhé’ke’s return.”

“Thank you, but we are to have dinner with Mr. Darlington, I believe.”

“You will be finished before the sun sets,” said Aénhé’ke. “We celebrate under the stars.”

“Bring your husband,” Falling Stars Woman said.

“Mr. Oscar isn’t my husband,” I said.

“Aénhé’ke said he was.”

I remembered Aénhé’ke witnessing me satiating Kindle at the whisky camp. “Oh. I’ll bring him,” I said.

Falling Stars Woman waved and returned to her work, Aénhé’ke following, laughing and talking with the other women. I searched my memory for a time when I’d had such camaraderie with a group of women and came up blank. I seemed to form attachments with individuals easier than groups, as evidenced by my relationships with my cousin Charlotte, Maureen, Camille, Harriet in the end, and now Aénhé’ke. I had always striven to break into the men’s world instead of being content to live with the women. Nothing about the female situation appealed to me, even now, but as I watched the women go about their work together, I wondered at what I’d lost.