Chapter Eighteen

He’d nearly kissed Hattie Walker. Jumping Jehoshaphat, he’d nearly kissed Hattie Walker. Of course, she might have been suffering from a head injury and unable to read his intent, but it could have happened. She hadn’t tried to stop him. Only his good sense had pulled the reins quickly enough to save him.

Jack followed Hattie down the stairs of the warehouse, hoping she knew the way out, because right now he wasn’t thinking straight. He had thought that he was growing immune to her—that noticing her flaws and having disagreements nearly every day meant that he couldn’t be in love. On the contrary, the strengths she displayed—her ability to calm Francine, befriend Miss Richert, and persevere during the day even though she spent every night terrified—far outweighed her flaws and only increased his admiration. Unfortunately, his admiration was forbidden. He’d made her a deal—pretend to be married, and he’d let her go. It wasn’t fair to take advantage of her compliance, and it would hurt too much when she left.

He’d walked straight by Bradley Willis before the private stopped him. After a few hurried instructions on rearranging the commissary room, they headed back to the school.

The school. That was what was important. Saving the school meant everything, and until he was reassigned, he’d do what he could to help them succeed.

They reached the schoolhouse door. Jack didn’t have the heart to take Hattie’s arm. He held the door open and let her pass. Her jaw was set, her face pale. No more laughter. Was she angered by his familiarity or still suffering from the fall? He might take her by the post hospital just to make sure.

Mrs. Lehrman was greeting Tom when they passed through her office. Tom’s usually erect posture was even stiffer. After the skating, Jack was surprised to see him so solemn. With no translator available, Jack used his Arapaho to ask how he’d liked the skating. Tom said it was fun, but his eyes never left the headmistress’s desk. What could be bothering him? Jack didn’t see anything sinister.

“Tom is settling in here at the school,” Mrs. Lehrman said. “Superintendent Seger is on his way over to get him that first haircut.”

A lump formed in Jack’s throat. It might only be a fraction of what Tom felt, but he shared his anguish. Although Tom was at the school with his chief’s blessing—in fact, he was there at his chief’s command—he would still feel like he was betraying his people. Cutting those braids was an act of shame. Scalping an enemy meant total domination of your tribe over his. While this haircut wouldn’t cost Tom his life, it would cost him his pride. And yet the school and missionaries deemed it an important step in embracing their new culture.

Superintendent Seger entered with the barber. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Lehrman,” he said. “Is this the fine young man we’re going to give a trim today?”

The superintendent knew well enough the agony the young man was going through. Perhaps it was best that he kept his tone light and efficient. Perhaps it was easier if Tom could pretend to have no qualms.

“Where should we set up?” The barber unfurled an apron. “Right here at the desk?” His thick, curling mustache waggled like mouse whiskers.

“That would be fine,” Mrs. Lehrman answered. She closed a ledger and removed a stack of books from the desk. “Mr. Broken Arrow is already a handsome man. This will only make him more distinguished.”

Jack knew the words were kindly meant, but they would mean nothing to the boy. Only acceptance from his own tribe mattered, and there the results were mixed. So far, most of the children who’d quit the school had gone back to their old ways in a hurry to prove they hadn’t changed. Wearing a school uniform and hard-soled shoes and keeping a short haircut wouldn’t earn them any respect in their villages. But those who had finished the upper grades in Darlington, or who had gone on to further schooling at the Carlisle Indian Industrial School, learned to be comfortable in white culture. Some were able to help their tribe through the skills they’d learned, like farming or commerce, or through legal means once they understood the importance of the contracts and treaties signed by the tribe.

Would Tom Broken Arrow regret his decision to come to the school? Would all that he learned here be rejected as soon as possible, or would he find some benefit to the lessons and the language they would teach him? From the look on his face as he sat in the headmistress’s chair, Tom had his doubts.

Hattie leaned against the half wall that separated the headmistress’s office from the waiting area. With the entrance of the superintendent and a barber, she could hide in obscurity. Truthfully, she didn’t know what to make of Jack’s actions and wasn’t as composed as she would wish. Especially before the knowing eyes of Mrs. Lehrman.

Instead of apologizing, when Jack looked at her now, he watched her like he was evaluating her for treatment. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he react like a normal man? On the other hand, Hattie had been courted by several normal men. They were so predictable. And none of them had ever tempted her away from her independence. This was something else altogether.

She knew the Indian boy. It was Tom Broken Arrow, and from the looks of it, he was going to get a haircut. Someday she would paint children with that particular combination of the school uniform with braids. Very few of the boys had that. None besides Tom, now that she thought of it. He was the only one. And that was going to change in a matter of seconds.

Hattie looked the boy over. In the village, she hadn’t seen one Arapaho man with short hair. They just didn’t do it. Would Tom be an outcast when he went home? Would he even be allowed to go home? Leaving her spot against the wall, Hattie stepped forward.

Tom took his seat bravely, avoiding eye contact with anyone. While the barber and superintendent spoke encouragement as they draped a cloth over his wool jacket and white dress shirt, Tom didn’t understand their words. Not that they would have been much comfort even if he could.

Hattie was transfixed. The light hit his soft bronze cheeks and reflected into his eyes. What did those eyes see? Did they see a future more glorious than he could imagine, or did they see sorrow at what he was leaving behind? He was determined. His hands clutched the arms of the chair as if they were all that kept him from darting out the door. Determined, but what else? Fearful? Maybe a touch of hopefulness, too? All this Hattie saw, and she knew she could get it on canvas.

She jammed her hand into her reticule and felt around until she laid hold of a pencil. Then, flipping the headmistress’s ledger to the back, she ripped out a blank piece of paper. Blue lines sliced it up into columns, but Hattie wouldn’t be bothered by them. They might even come in handy as a graph for her next attempt, and she was already convinced that this portrait was worth a more permanent canvas.

Quickly her pencil skimmed over the page, catching Tom’s narrow face with the cheeks still rounded from childhood. The apron added nothing to the picture. It would be better to paint him in his school uniform. Who didn’t remember the pride and optimism that went along with their new school clothes in the fall? She had to hurry to get his braids. Of course, her pencil couldn’t catch the opaque sheen that reflected blue, but she wouldn’t forget.

Lastly, and most importantly, was catching the spirit of the moment. The fear and hope warring inside of him. The questions of who he would be once this change took place. Where would he fit in?

Hattie understood his conflict. Before coming to Fort Reno, she was committed to success in Denver. She was convinced that she would only be happy when she’d proven herself with her art, and if the majesty of the Rocky Mountains couldn’t inspire her, then nothing could.

But here was a boy who challenged her thinking. The mountains were beautiful works of a mighty God, but was there anything that showed His loving creativity more than people?

The barber picked up a heavy pair of scissors. Hattie’s pencil lifted, and her hand stilled. The boy’s eyes darted to the side, catching sight of the metal. His braid was tugged out to the side, away from his head, and the scissors slid against his ear. Hattie could imagine the feel of the cold blades. The boy’s chin wrinkled, and then just like that, the braid was cut and taken out of his sight. Tom’s hand lifted as the barber went to his other side. Hattie watched intently, trying to record every emotion that passed on his face. His fingers combed through his hair, then flicked free where the braid had always been. He passed over the spot again, this time going back up and ruffling the bluntly cut hair that had been tied down before. The cut on the other side was just as quick. Mrs. Lehrman exchanged a relieved look with the superintendent once the braids were dropped in the dustbin.

Tom started to stand, but the barber stopped him with a hand at his shoulder. “We’re not done yet, son. Still have to trim you up.”

“He doesn’t understand,” Mrs. Lehrman said. “Lieutenant Hennessey, can you help?”

Tom turned to look at Jack. His eyes were worried. His tightly controlled emotions had nearly broken free.

Jack knelt in front of him, and after a few words, Tom seemed to relax. Jack’s honest face remained calm and reassuring, much as it had when he’d found Hattie huddled inside that tepee. It struck her again how valuable her friend had become for the people at the reservation. His ability to mediate and his respect for them had the power to smooth over many hurtful situations.

“Go ahead,” Jack told the barber. “He’s fine.”

With a comb and scissors, the barber worked his way around Tom’s head, straightening up the ragged places. Dark, straight hair dusted the apron. He didn’t frame the boy’s face but left the hair one length, with the front locks long enough to push behind his ears.

“I think I’ve done enough,” the barber said at last. He brushed off Tom’s shoulders and untied the apron. His shoulders sloped. “There’s another one fixed for you.”

While they were morose, Jack seemed determined to brighten the mood. Hattie couldn’t understand the words he said, but she could read him like the books he loved so well. The corners of his eyes crinkled up, and his eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch. Jack was squatting at Tom’s knees and leaning forward. Whatever he was saying, he said it with warmth and gentle coaxing. A crease appeared in Tom’s smooth cheek. Although not happy, his eyes settled into acceptance. The ordeal was over. It was time to get back to class. With all the other boys in the school having undergone the same initiation, he had no reason to feel alone. In fact, he would stand out less now. The true test wouldn’t come until he returned home.

Somewhere during their conversation, Hattie had picked up her pencil again. The tone had changed, and so had her subject. This time she wanted to capture the bridge, the one who filled in the gap between the two cultures so they could better learn to understand each other. True, he might be bound by his oath to don a uniform and serve in the military, but there was no doubt that Jack’s heart was with these people.

And these were the people he would have to leave, because of her.