Chapter Twelve: Crow Woman

Karen sat cross-legged on the floor beside Tanya. Sue and Ellen took their seats in the metal chairs. By the light of the candles, which Tanya had relit, and the little bit of sun coming in through the front windows, Karen read the memoir of Crow Woman aloud:

 

My people called me Maisto Aakii (Crow Woman), because when I was a young girl of twelve summers, before I had begun to bleed, I was taken by a Crow to be his wife.

I did not like my Crow husband. His name was Tsikatsi (Grasshopper). He was handsome but unkind. His other wives were cruel to me. They called me lazy and unskilled, even though I worked harder than any of them. They stole the berries I picked and claimed them as their own. They stole the rabbits that I shot and the fish that I caught. If there was ever trouble, they blamed me. My Crow husband believed them and punished me. He whipped me with thorny branches.

I tried to run away three times. The third time, my husband punished me so severely, that I gave up the idea of ever returning to my people.

When Grasshopper died in a battle three summers after he took me, I asked the chief to let me return to my camp, since I had no children and since the other widows hated me. The chief said I could go if, and only if, I killed the fox that pestered and ate his turkeys.

That night, I lay in wait at the bottom of a hill where the turkeys liked to roam. The favorite male with the longest snood was busy with one of the hens while the others slept in the tall grass.

I had a bow and quiver of arrows that Grasshopper had made for me when he first took me to his camp. They had served me well. I shot many rabbits with them. This night, I would shoot a fox.

The half-moon was bright, and I saw the fox as it crept toward the turkeys. I was fascinated by his stealth. I admired his skill. I also thought he was the cutest animal I had ever seen.

Something made me love the fox. I did not wish to bring him harm. I drew my arrow and pointed, but I did not aim for the fox. Instead, I shot one of the sleeping male turkeys and killed him.

The fox froze when my arrow struck. He looked up and spotted me as I slowly made my way toward the dead turkey. The other turkeys awoke and gobbled at me, distressed by my presence. All but one went away. One looked on as I pulled my arrow free of the dead turkey, picked it up by the legs, and threw it toward the fox.

The fox took my offering and ran away. I followed him and never looked back. When I came to the river, I followed it until I found the camp of my people. I slept in the grass until sunrise. When I awoke, the fox was lying a few feet away. I got up to look for my family, and the fox followed me until others came out of their lodges. Then the fox went away. I wanted to go after him, but I wanted to find my family more.

My people did not recognize me. They saw me dressed like the Crow and called me Maisto Aakii (Crow Woman). That is what I was called from that day on.

I was devastated to learn that my father and mother and brother were no longer among our people. No one knew where my family members were or if they were alive. I suspect my family went looking for me after my Crow husband abducted me. To this day, I do not know what became of them. If it had not been for my friend the fox, who returned to me that night, I would have flung myself into the river.

I built a lodge from willow saplings on the outskirts of the Gros Venture camp. I wove thatches of long grass to cover it until I could get hides. The fox slept with me and kept me company. I caught fish and rabbits and shared my food with him. I called him Sinopa Iikanata’psiiwa (Cute Fox).

Not long after I had returned to the Gros Ventures, some men rode into the camp on horses. One was very tall and handsome. He had a white buffalo on the back of his horse.

I said, “Let me tan that hide for you.”

“Who is this?” he asked some of the others.

“Crow Woman,” they said. “She says she is Gros Venture, but no one knows her.”

I said, “My father was Piegan (Blackfoot). He was called Aawakaasi (Antelope Hunter). My mother was Gros Venture. She was called Sohksiisiimstaan (Meadow Lark). My brother was called Miikaysi (Squirrel).”

“I am Piegan,” the tall man said. “I knew your father. I am called Aisaistowa Iini (Talks to Buffalo).”

He invited me to join him and his friends at their lodge, where he watched me prepare the white buffalo hide while his friends cooked the meat. He spoke with me as I worked, and I told him about my life before and after I was taken by my Crow husband. When the meat was ready to eat, he gave me the tastiest part. That night, he took me as his wife.

At first, Cute Fox was too apprehensive to join me at the lodge of Talks to Buffalo and his friends. He stayed in my small lodge, where I took him food each day. Then one day, I lured him to the bigger lodge with pieces of meat. Talks to Buffalo was kind to Cute Fox, and they became friends.

After two new moons, Cute Fox and I went with Talks to Buffalo and his friends to his people, to my father’s people, the Piegan. I was happy to talk to those who remembered my father. I wept with joy at the stories told by the Piegan of my father when he was a boy.

When I learned I was with-child, Talks to Buffalo, who had much wealth compared to other people, had a big lodge built in the style of the whites for us a few miles from the main village. Not long after, we had a son.

First, we called him Iinaksipoka, or Baby. After two summers had come and gone, we called him A’atsita (Rabbit) because of how he walks. One leg is shorter than the other.

This was the happiest time of my life.

 

“Wait a minute!” Ellen said, interrupting Karen’s translation of Crow Woman’s memoir. “That’s the identifying characteristic we need to prove that the other body belongs to Rabbit! If one leg is shorter than the other, then it’s him!”

Ellen suddenly recalled the dream she had in which the white buffalo had told her why he was named Rabbit. She’d forgotten until now.

“Call Father Gonzales!” Sue said.

Ellen plucked her phone from her purse and called the rectory.

“Hello?” Father Gonzales said over the phone.

“Father, it’s Ellen.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you called. I was just about to phone you with some exciting news.”

“Really? What?” Ellen glanced at her friends as she put her phone on speaker.

“The Ursuline Convent has no records about a baby arriving in 1909 from here; however, Officer Jackson called a moment ago with a DNA match.”

“What do you mean?” Sue said. “What kind of DNA match?”

“Oh, hello, Sue,” the priest said.

“I have you on speaker, Father,” Ellen explained. “I’m here with Sue, Tanya, and Karen Murray, a woman of the Blackfeet.”

“Hello,” Father Gonzales said.

Ellen paced the room within the circle of protection. “So, tell us about this DNA match.”

“The authorities ran DNA from both remains through their various data bases and found someone in New Orleans, still alive today, who has a 75% match to both bodies.”

“What does that mean?” Sue asked.

“That means that we’ve found a descendant of Sister Alma and the second body, which I’m determined to prove is Rabbit,” the priest explained. “The descendant’s name is Sidney Longfellow, and he lives in New Orleans.”

“Did you say Sidney Longfellow?” Karen asked as she climbed to her feet.

“Yes,” Father Gonzales said. “That’s right.”

Karen frowned. “That’s the name of the CEO of Solonex, the oil and gas company that’s suing the U.S. government for rights to drill on the Badger-Two Medicine.”

Ellen’s mouth fell open. “Can’t there be more than one Sidney Longfellow?”

“In New Orleans?” Karen asked.

“It’s a big city,” Ellen pointed out.

“Father, how accurate are those DNA findings?” Sue asked.

“Very accurate, according to Officer Jackson.”

Tanya stood up and brushed off her knees. “What do we do now?”

“Do you have any contact information for Mr. Longfellow?” Ellen asked.

“No phone number or email address. I’ve searched the Internet every which way I know how. I may have to leave it to the authorities to get ahold of him.”

“We have exciting news, too, Father,” Ellen said. “I’ll explain later, but would you also ask the Medical Examiner to check if one leg is longer than the other on the second set of remains?”

“Of course. I’ll get back with you soon.”

“Thank you, Father,” Ellen said. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, ladies.”

Ellen hung up the phone.

Then Tanya turned to Karen. “If Sidney Longfellow really is a Blackfoot descendant, maybe he’ll change his mind about the Badger-Two Medicine.”

“I doubt it will make a difference to the man,” Karen said. “He only cares about one thing: money.”

“Well, there’s nothing more we can do until Father Gonzales hears back from the authorities,” Ellen said. “Would you mind if we finish Crow Woman’s memoir?”

“I don’t mind,” Karen said. She turned to Tanya and Sue. “Should I keep going?”

“That would be great,” Tanya said.

Karen sat back down on the floor beside Tanya as Ellen took the metal chair across from Sue. Then Karen picked up from where she had left off:

 

This was the happiest time of my life.

I strapped Rabbit to my back and rode out nearly every day with my husband to hunt or to fish or to shop for supplies in the village. Talks to Buffalo was full of Sun power. That is what our people said of him. He was full of the Sun power because he was good with hunting the buffalo. Some of our people paid him to shoot on their behalf.

Our wealth increased. I played a small part in it by tanning hides for others. I used the method I learned from the Crow. Only two good things came from my time with the Crow: Cute Fox and my skills in tanning hides.

We had many visitors come to our lodge. We fed them meat, along with vegetables we grew behind the house. After our meal, we sat with our guests before the warm hearth and engaged in storytelling, singing, or dancing. Sometimes a medicine man or woman came with a sacred pipe, and we smoked.

 

Rabbit had other children to play with every day. After we finished our daily jobs, he played with them at our house or at the lodges of our friends. We were always with our people. We were with them for the ceremonies and the rituals. We were also with them for visiting and good times.

After Rabbit’s third summer, Cute Fox crossed the Rainbow Bridge. When we visited to the Two-Badger Medicine for prayer, I felt his spirit there. I thanked him for being my only friend at one of the lowest times of my life.

During Rabbit’s fourth summer, the Holy Family Mission Boarding School came and took many of the children on the reservation away. The parents were angry. They spoke with the Indian Office, but nothing could be done. I became frightened that one day, the priests would take my Rabbit away from me. I told Talks to Buffalo that we should run away, but he said there was no place for us to go.

They came for Rabbit during his fifth summer. Talks to Buffalo and I refused to let him go. The Indian Office withheld the rations they supplied to our people from those who refused to give up their children. Many depended on the rations because the land on which we were allowed to hunt and farm had become smaller and smaller. Our people were no longer self-sufficient.

But my husband and I did not need the rations. Because we were self-sufficient, we managed to keep our son from being taken away until his ninth summer.

That summer, the men came to us with guns. They were not the priests but the officers from the Bureau. They threatened to imprison us and hang us if we broke the law, the law requiring that all Indian children go to school.

I screamed and cried when they took our Rabbit away. After that day, I was never the same. Neither was my husband.

We were promised that Rabbit would return every summer for a visit. They lied. We saw him once. They had cut his beautiful hair and had forbidden him from speaking our language or practicing our religion. They had told him he would burn forever after death if he disobeyed. They had burned his clothes and had made him wear an ugly uniform. They had even changed his name to Randal Smith.

He cried and begged us not to let them take him from us again, but the officers had guns, and we were afraid that they would kill our son if we disobeyed them. After that, we never saw Rabbit again.

I wept for many moons. Talks to Buffalo spent more and more time away from me. He came home drunk on the liquor he bought from the shady white men that preyed on our people on the borders of the reservation, tempting them with hard liquors to forget their pain and loss.

My husband stopped hunting and fishing. I found it hard to tend the garden. We came to rely on the government rations. The summers and winters went by in misery. Our house fell apart around us, but my husband and I no longer cared.

One day the white men came looking for Rabbit. I was confused.

“He’s at school,” I said.

“He ran away,” one of the men said.

At first, I was happy. I imagined Rabbit free of the white men. I hoped he might find his way back to me. My happiness did not last long. When the white men said that Rabbit had misused a nun and was a fugitive of the law, I knew they were lying. Dread filled my heart. My sweet Rabbit was doomed.

That summer, Talks to Buffalo participated in the blood ritual of the Sun Dance. I prayed daily. But when the winter came and went and we still heard nothing of our Rabbit, we fell into despair.

I don’t know how we lived. We might as well have been dead. Talks to Buffalo turned to his drink. I wanted to kill myself but the thought that Rabbit might one day need me prevented me from following through with my plans.

Talks to Buffalo died three summers ago. Before he died, he told me to sell the white buffalo hide, so I could have food to live. I told him it is against our ways to sell a white buffalo hide. He said I should do it anyway. I told him it was the only thing I had left of him and the happy times.

I would die today but for one thing: Rabbit may need me someday.

 

Karen looked up and closed the book. “That’s the end.”

“How sad,” Tanya said. “The mistreatment of your people needs to be more public. It should be taught in schools.”

“Instead, they teach your children about a friendly relationship between pilgrims and Indians. But it wasn’t like that.”

“History is white-washed,” Ellen murmured with tears in her eyes.

“We have to make things right for Crow Woman,” Sue said. “If the second set of remains are proven to be those of Rabbit, we should bury him here on the property with a special crossover ceremony.”

“What do you think, Karen?” Tanya asked.

“I don’t want to get my hopes up,” she said. “Let’s take this one step at a time. First, we need to find out if you’ve really found Rabbit. Those remains could belong to someone else.”

Ellen left the circle of protection and crossed the room to the old bench where the dusty white buffalo hide lay. Gingerly, she reached out and touched the fur. As had happened before, a jolt of electricity shot up her arm.

“Rabbit’s spirit is in this fur,” Ellen said. “I can feel it.”

“He and his mother should dwell with the rest of our ancestors at the Badger-Two Medicine,” Karen said. “They’re trapped here because of the trauma they endured in life.”

“I hope we can help them,” Tanya said.

“Me, too,” Karen said.