Repatriation—A bath—Tea
After several more days had passed, Anne’s rebellion in the stockade was becoming more pose than reflection of her true state of mind. Much time had passed in her former captivity, but she still understood the rules of white society—the sooner she acquiesced to outward appearances, the sooner she might gain her liberty. Each meal with its piece of milled bread flooded her with memories of home, memories she had not allowed herself to indulge because of their mournfulness. When after two weeks the troops returned empty-handed—the Cheyenne camp had disappeared, Solace and Thomas along with them—it was clear that she would have to journey alone to find them or risk losing them forever. A plan solidified in her mind when she overheard gossip of General Custer’s wife paying a visit to the commander’s wife that day. She would beg her to help get her children back.
She requested an audience with Colonel Montrose and apologized at her folly in refusing his wife’s offer of refreshment. That afternoon, a contingent of women invited her into the colonel’s quarters. Notably, Neha was not included in the invitation, nor would she have obliged. Anne knew it was on her shoulders to purchase freedom for them both.
Before she was allowed to sit in the parlor, or enjoy a cup of coffee, or eat a single bite of food, a black servant girl took her to the back of the house. In a shed she found a zinc tub of hot water and a bar of homemade soap. The servant seemed frightened of her and kept her distance. Anne guessed that outlandish stories of barbaric ways were being circulated through the fort at her expense.
She declined the offer of help and turned modestly away to undress. As she stepped into the tub, lost in memories of her mother washing her hair, the servant girl gathered her discarded clothes, including the pocket that held her prized icon, and hurried out of the room.
Anne yelled after her. When the girl did not return, she jumped out of the tub and ran naked outside chasing her. In the courtyard, the girl plopped the pile of clothing into a brick fire. She shrank back as Anne screamed at the loss of her clothes and burned her hand trying to retrieve the icon from the obliterating flames.
The colonel’s wife, russet curls and dumpling face, stood in the doorway, horrified. The other women crowded in behind her to gape, including a striking brunette in a military-style riding habit whom Anne guessed to be the famous Mrs. General Custer. She was the only one who seemed genuinely stricken by the captive’s distress.
Anne had no choice but turn and go back, sink into the tub, put on another’s clothes, sit in the salon, butter her bread and drink her coffee, and tell stories of her abduction for the afternoon entertainment, all to survive. Mrs. Custer had to leave early before the tea started, and they never did meet that day.