Chapter 6
Home.
It was a concept that had taken on many forms over Connie’s lifetime. She had grown up on the reservation, and it was home. Then the government decided against continuing to allow her folks to be teachers and pastors for the reservation and gave the Catholic Church the job. That was when her family had purchased land just beyond the reservation boundaries, and that had become home. When she moved to Washington, DC, Uncle Dean’s house captured the role. Later, the little house in New York had been home when she’d attended college. Seven girls had shared the cottage, along with a house mother who had kept them all accountable. For most of the girls, this was their first time away from the only home they’d known, and they pined and mourned for the familiar.
Connie always felt that home was wherever she determined it to be. Her mother had taught her this. She wasn’t one of those people who longed for what had once been, but now, upon returning to the reservation, she felt disappointed.
The reservation wasn’t what she remembered. In her memories, she had recalled a lovely place with a pleasant river valley lined by trees. In and around it were hills to climb and open land to farm and log. Spirit Mountain rose like a lone sentinel. Now, however, the place she had once loved looked desolate. Worn down. Lonely.
The storm in January had felled a great many trees, many of which hadn’t yet been dealt with. The houses lacked paint and glass windows. Perhaps the latter had been blown out in the storm, for Connie was certain they had once been there. Everything looked run-down and neglected. It wasn’t at all as she remembered. But perhaps it was just the difference of seeing with adult eyes.
She couldn’t put aside the overwhelming sense of sadness as she continued to look around. The people, what few she saw, appeared weary and depleted of life. It was almost as if their spirits had been taken away. Their gazes were hollow, striking in Connie a moment of discomfort and fear. Nothing and no one looked familiar.
“Connie!”
She heard her mother’s cry and turned to find her parents approaching. Like the land, they too looked tired and old. Mama had some gray to her hair and wrinkles that Connie didn’t remember. When had that happened?
“Mama!” She ran to her mother and wrapped her in her arms. “I’ve missed you so much.” To her surprise, Connie’s eyes filled with tears as they embraced. Had her mother always been so thin?
“How I’ve missed you,” Mama whispered against her ear.
“What about me?”
Connie pulled away to find her father’s smiling face. “What about you?” Her tone was teasing. “I suppose you’ll want me to hug you as well.” She all but threw herself into his arms, noticing the lines on his face. “Oh, Papa, it’s so good to see you again.” She let him hold her for a long time. She found herself a young girl once again, her papa dispelling all thought of trouble and harm.
It wasn’t long before Mama spoke. “It’s good to be together again. Letters do not do justice to an aching heart.” She touched Connie’s cheek. “Seven years is far too much time to let pass between loved ones.”
“Is there room for me to join this party?”
Connie smiled. “That must be Isaac.” She let go of her parents and turned to find her older brother grinning from ear to ear. “Just look at you. You’re taller still than when you went off to school.”
“I think he’s finally done growing,” Mama commented. “But there for a while we were having to let down the hem of his pants nearly every month.”
The siblings embraced. Connie felt a sense of wholeness. Their little family was all together again. Despite the changes in their lives and her worries for the future, Connie couldn’t have been happier. She was exactly where she belonged.
“Clint, thanks for bringing her home,” her father said, and she pulled away from Isaac.
“I need to introduce you all to my dear friend.” She glanced around for Tom and found him standing pretty much where she’d left him. “This is Thomas Lowell, but he goes by Tom.”
Mama was the first to reach him. She gave him a warm smile. “I feel, from all I’ve heard about you over the years, that you’re already a part of the family. Welcome.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Browning.” He smiled. “I feel like I know all of you as well. Connie has told me so much about her family and her life here.”
“Well, we’re glad you could come. The idea of the government taking a true accounting of the tribes and their culture is a promising thing,” Connie’s father declared. He extended his hand, and Tom shook it. “I think you’re going to find it all very fascinating, although sadly some tribes have already been lost.”
“I believe I will enjoy it very much, and hopefully we can still account for those tribes that are now extinct. I think it’s important to preserve our history.”
“I arranged a room for you in the government house, but Adam tells me that you’ll both be staying with them,” Clint interrupted.
Connie responded before anyone else could. “My folks live just across the way, and it will be much homier to stay with them.”
“Absolutely,” her mother said. “I wouldn’t rest a wink if Connie weren’t staying with us, and there’s no need for Tom to feel isolated in a strange place.”
Clint shrugged. “Well, if that works for all of you, then I see no harm. I’m sure the government will appreciate not having to pay for their room and board.”
“Well, the government can still pay, as far as I’m concerned,” Connie declared. “Mama and Papa don’t make much money anymore, and they’ve offered to keep us fed. The government can at least pay for food and Tom’s lodging, even if they won’t pay for mine.”
“I agree,” Tom replied. “And I already worked all of that out with them before we came West. The Bureau knows we’re going to live with the Brownings, and they were fine with the room and board fee I suggested. Therefore, you needn’t worry.”
Clint looked momentarily unhappy. Perhaps he was offended at being left out of the decision-making. His dismay didn’t last, however, and he smiled. “I’m glad you worked it out before you came. I’ll see that the Indians get your things over to the Browning house.”
“No need,” her father replied. “I believe we four men can manage it.”
Connie knew Clint used to abhor manual labor. It appeared he still felt the same way, despite his seeming helpfulness on the trip south.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Clint replied.
“I nearly forgot. There are several crates of goods for the people.” Connie turned to her mother. “Aunt Phinny sent some, and Nancy and the boardinghouse ladies sent others.”
“How kind. We can go through it all in the next few days and get it disbursed. There’s so much need here that I’m sure none of it will go to waste. Now, why don’t you and Tom come on in the house, and we’ll have a bite to eat. I’ll have it ready in about twenty minutes. Clint, you’re welcome to join us as well. We can get the crates after lunch.”
“I’d like to, but unfortunately I have some issues that need my immediate attention. Maybe another time.” He tipped his hat and looked at Tom. “I’d be happy to show you around the reservation later. It would be good to let the people see you with me.”
“Thank you.” Tom glanced at Connie.
She decided to volunteer to join them. “I’ll come along as well.”
Clint seemed surprised by this. “I figured you’d want to spend time with your folks before getting to work. The people know who you are. It’s Tom who’s a stranger. Your father and I can see that the people get to know him little by little. It should make your job easier to do in the long run.”
“We don’t have the luxury of taking our time with this project,” Connie replied. “The government has a very definite expectation of seeing results immediately. I’m sure you understand how that works. Tom and I have to send in our first report in less than two months.” She smiled at Tom. “But I know we can manage.”
“I’m going to run over and see the Johnsons,” Isaac said. “They have a cow giving birth, and she was having trouble, last I checked. I want to make sure they don’t need an extra hand. I’ll be at lunch as soon as I can.”
“Make sure you clean up before you come to the table,” Mama called after him.
“I will!”
Connie looped her arm through her mother’s as they walked toward the Browning residence. The house sat outside the reservation boundaries, but not by much. The two-story log home had a small front porch, and there were flower boxes under the windows on either side of the house. Papa had always tended to the needs of the building, and as Isaac had grown up, he learned at their father’s side what was important to managing one’s property. Mama, on the other hand, had taught Connie sewing and cooking, as well as gardening and the important art of making vinegar. Her family held a strong belief that vinegar could cure most any ailment, as well as wash or purify whatever needed it. Vinegar was every bit as important as water to Connie’s family.
She was surprised when Clint spoke up. She hadn’t realized he’d followed them.
“I think you should still consider doing things my way,” Clint said. “There have been conflicts among some of the tribal members. I wouldn’t want either of you to get hurt by wandering around without me. Things aren’t the same as they were when you left.”
Connie was touched by the concern in his tone. “Perhaps you could take us around the first time. However, Tom and I should be seen together, since we’re working together. I have a trust to build with the people as well.”
“I suppose you’re right. You have been gone for seven years.” He looked at her as if really seeing her for the first time. “A lot has changed in that time,” he murmured.
Connie felt flushed under his scrutiny. Could it be that she still had feelings for him? For so long she’d pushed such thoughts aside, knowing that he saw her as nothing but a child. Now that she was grown, perhaps his feelings were changing. But did she want them to? She looked at Tom, who was watching her with an odd expression on his face. Maybe he wanted some time alone with Clint. Maybe it would help their case if Tom could get Clint to talk about what he knew—man to man.
“You know, you’re probably right.” Connie smiled and glanced over at her mother. “We have a lot to catch up on.”
“Maybe Clint and Tom could set out after lunch,” Mama offered. “Are you sure you won’t join us, Clint?”
“No, I have some other things to tend to. I’ll find something to eat, don’t you worry.” He turned to Tom. “Just come on over to the government house after lunch.” He pointed at the small building. “I’ll be happy to escort you around and introduce you to a few folks.”
“Thank you. I’ll be there.” Tom seemed content with this.
Clint tipped his hat and walked away without another word. Connie couldn’t help but watch him go. He was still a very attractive man, and there was something about him that had always captured her attention.
“Ready for lunch?” her mother asked, and Connie nodded.
“More than ready.”
“Let us pray and give thanks,” Connie’s father said.
Everyone bowed their heads, and Papa issued a short but heartfelt prayer. “We’re so thankful, Lord, that you brought Connie and Tom here safely. Guard and guide them as they set about their work. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
Connie and her mother murmured amens, then reached for the bowls and began to pass the food around the table.
“Connie tells us that you were instrumental in getting her this job, Tom. I have to say it was a real blessing,” Mama said.
“Yes, well, she wanted very much to see you proven innocent of the suspicions against you.”
“I’m grateful you’re both working so hard to see us vindicated,” Papa said, taking the bowl of lamb stew. “Although I’ve been quite confident that God would prove us innocent.”
“Since I don’t believe in God, I will do what I can to see the matter through to a satisfactory fulfillment,” Tom replied.
Connie cringed. She hadn’t told her parents that Tom was an atheist. Well, he was more of an agnostic. She didn’t really accept that he thought there was no God. It was more that Tom had decided if there was a God, He didn’t show the slightest interest in the people of earth, and therefore Tom didn’t have the slightest interest in God. It was something she’d worked hard to ignore. Everything else about Tom was practically perfect . . . everything but the most important thing.
“Sorry I’m late,” Isaac announced, coming to the table. “The calf was stuck, but we got him out.” He turned to his mother and held up his hands. “And I remembered to wash. What did I miss?”
“Tom was just telling us he’s an atheist,” their mother replied, as if Tom hadn’t mentioned anything more exciting than the weather.
“Oh.” Isaac nodded. “That could be interesting to hear about.” He then appeared to forget about it and started digging into the food around him.
Papa didn’t seem remotely shocked. After all, he’d dealt with people who didn’t believe in his God for most of his adult life. “That is quite interesting, Tom. How did you come to the conclusion that there is no God?”
Tom shrugged and helped himself to a platter of biscuits. “My father suggested it to me, I suppose. Not exactly in words, but certainly in deeds. His underhanded business practices and cruelty to my siblings and me made it clear that if there was a God, He surely didn’t care about us. And I found it hard to believe that anyone, even God, wouldn’t care about such deception and evil deeds. So I concluded there must not be a God.”
“That makes sense,” her father said, surprising Connie. “Is it at all possible you might rethink your conclusion if I was able to share insight with you from my own encounters with the Almighty?”
“I’d enjoy the challenge,” Tom replied. “People often tiptoe around my beliefs as if I might suddenly grow horns and a tail if they talk to me too long on the matter. But just as I don’t believe in a god, I certainly don’t believe in a devil.”
Connie watched her father as he considered this. He actually smiled. “I’ll look forward to our discussions on the matter. Would you be willing to do me the favor of joining us each morning for our family devotionals?”
Tom smiled. “Of course. You are, after all, my gracious host.”
“Wonderful. I shall look forward to it. Now, tell me, you mentioned siblings. How many of them do you have?”
And that was all Papa had to say on the matter. Connie was rather stunned. She focused on the meal at hand but couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been deceptive with her mother and father. Of course, Aunt Phinny and Uncle Dean knew about Tom’s beliefs, so Connie had just supposed it was common knowledge. She was so used to the idea of Tom’s lack of faith that she rarely even thought about it. Perhaps she should have. She was, after all, a Christian, and a big part of being a Christian was sharing the faith. Yet Connie was fairly certain she’d rarely shared her beliefs with anyone. Guilt washed over her. There had been a time when she and Tom openly debated their beliefs, but when that ended, Connie had tried not to think about how different their views were. She hadn’t even prayed that he would find the truth about God for himself.
She took a biscuit and tried to put her attention on the food. Her mother’s lamb stew was every bit as good as Connie remembered. Her mother cooked in a very simple fashion, using fresh vegetables and meats. She didn’t bathe them in creams or sauces to disguise or change their flavors, and Connie found she had missed this plain fare. Even her mother’s biscuits, although heavier, were more flavorful.
“I’ve missed this so much.” She forced the words out and pushed ever harder to stuff back her guilt.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t find my cooking very satisfying after eating such fancy meals back East,” Mama replied. She took her seat after fetching a brown sugar cake. “I hope you still like this.” She cut a slice and put it on a small plate. “We don’t usually have cake for lunch, but I couldn’t resist.” She handed the plate to Tom. “This used to be Connie’s favorite.”
“I’m sure it still is,” Connie declared. “Especially if you made your brown sugar butter sauce to go with it.”
“Of course she did,” her father said, placing a small pitcher on the table. “What’s the cake without the sauce?”
“The very thought is indecent,” Isaac said.
Connie could almost taste it. What an unexpected delight. Her mother handed her a piece of the cake and then the pitcher of sauce. Connie poured the liquid all over the cake, and then handed the pitcher to Tom. “Make sure you use plenty. It soaks into the cake and is like nothing you’ve ever had.” She waited until he’d copied her actions, then picked up her fork. “Sometimes Mama makes whipped cream to go along with it, but I find it just perfect with the sauce alone.” She cut into the cake and popped a piece into her mouth.
The warm, buttery brown sugar hit her tongue in a burst of flavor that made her happy and homesick all at once. She’d never allowed herself to realize just how much she’d missed this place and her parents. Now, sitting here with her family and Tom, Connie thought she had never been happier.
Except for the fact that Tom didn’t believe in God.
Tears came unbidden.
“Goodness, I didn’t expect to make you cry,” her mother said, extending her handkerchief.
Connie took it and dabbed her eyes. She didn’t know whether she was crying for Tom or the fact that she’d missed her family. She would choose the latter for the sake of discussion. “I didn’t realize just how much I missed you all. I didn’t really allow myself to think about it while I was away. I knew I longed for each of you, but the depth of feeling that overwhelms me now was something I didn’t let come through. Otherwise I could never have stayed away so long.”
Her mother met her gaze and nodded. “I am the same way when thinking of my sisters. I dare not let myself miss them too much.”
“Well, I for one think we should eat our cake and be happy,” her father declared. He cut his own piece and plopped it unceremoniously on his plate. “Now, please pass me the sauce before Isaac gets a hold of it and uses it all up.”
Mama laughed. “There’s plenty more. I made sure of it.”
When they’d finished with lunch, Connie felt a deep longing for a nap. She was thoroughly spent and crawled atop her old bed without even bothering to undress. She would rest for just a few minutes.
She smiled at the familiar smells and textures, and as she faded off in hazy dreams, she let contentment wash over her. What a peace there was in coming back to where she had once belonged—always belonged.
Tom caught Clint at his desk, sorting through a stack of papers. “Looks like you have more than enough to do.”
Clint seemed momentarily surprised. “There’s always so much paper work to do. The government is strict about everything being recorded . . . in triplicate. Right now, I’m registering rights of inheritance. The Indian people by law can only transfer property to other Indian peoples. In particular—family. But their families are sometimes so large and extended that figuring out who the direct descendant is can be complicated. We’re trying to arrange that ahead of time to make the transfers easier.”
“Makes sense to me.”
Clint looked past him at the closed door. “So Connie’s not coming?”
“You heard her yourself. She could see the reasoning behind us getting to know each other, and besides, she was exhausted. She’s napping, and I thought that would give us a chance to get better acquainted. I didn’t get a chance to tell you that I spent time with both your father and brother in Washington. They send their regards.”
Clint put the papers aside. “Thank you. I hope they were well when you left them.”
“Very much so. They were busy with their work for the Native peoples. They are greatly admired.”
“Yes.” Clint stood and started to reach for his jacket, then stopped. “It’s too warm for coats. You might want to discard your own as well.”
“So long as it won’t make the Indians think less of me,” Tom said, shrugging out of his coat.
“I have to tell you . . . they already think less of us. They aren’t happy to be under the care of the white man, nor do they wish to be our friends.”
“That’s sad. We could surely accomplish far more working as friends than as enemies.”
Clint shook his head. “They don’t really wish to accomplish anything with us. What they want is their freedom.”
“And who wouldn’t want that? We just fought a war over freeing black people from slavery. Why would we not understand that the Indians desire freedom as well?”
“I believe we understand it perfectly well,” Clint said, his voice taking on an edge. “It’s just not something we can accept.”
Tom scratched his chin. “Why do you suppose that is?”
“Simple. The Indians have been warring with us since we arrived on this continent.”
“Is that so hard to understand?” Tom asked. “After all, we are the uninvited guests who came in and took over. I would be of a mind to fight, should someone come to take for themselves what I perceived as open to all.”
“Well, it’s easy to see how you feel about the Indians.” Clint smiled and picked up his hat. “Let me show you around a little.”
Tom was surprised at the quick dismissal but said nothing. Connie had said that Clint was acting strange and she didn’t know why. She had wondered if it had to do with her and the past, or if it was about them coming to do a job of which Clint disapproved. Tom intended to find out.
“As you know, this is the government building. My quarters are in the back. Over there”—Clint pointed across the dirt road—“is the sutler’s store. It was originally set up when the army first arrived. The government allows each of the Indian families to have an account there. They can put money on the account from what they earn and then draw on it for their needs. Other things are disbursed to them throughout the year by the government.”
Tom nodded and sized up the men standing around outside the store. They were clearly Native Americans, but they were dressed from head to toe in common clothes like his. Not only that, but their hair had been cut short. He remembered the papers he’d read prior to taking on this new job. The government believed that the more the Native people assimilated and took on the white man’s ways, the better life would be for all concerned. He couldn’t see that it had benefited these men all that much.
“Over there is the Catholic church and school. The Father is very driven to help the Indian children. He speaks Chinook Wawa—the common language between all the tribes—but is working to teach the children English. We’ve tried hard to get them to speak English only, but despite the rules, many continue to speak their Native language at home.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
Clint looked at Tom in disbelief. “It only causes irritation and fighting. There are multiple tribes here. They need a common language.”
“But you just said they had one.”
Clint shook his head. “They need to speak English for their own good. They will never be accepted into the white community—they will never be given white jobs if they can’t speak English.”
“I wasn’t suggesting they not be taught English, but why is it wrong for them to speak their Native tongue at home? Why is it wrong for them to keep their culture alive? After all, that’s why I’m here. The government is worried that these cultures will all be lost to the ages.”
“You sound like the priest. He encourages them to keep their cultures alive as well. I’ve told him before—and the nuns as well—that one of these days it’ll backfire on them, and we’ll have an uprising.”
“Maybe you’d find a more peaceful and cooperative people if you worked to incorporate their beliefs and culture into their everyday life. Maybe the children would be more eager to learn if they could share their heritage rather than shun it. I’ve always known the Indians to be a proud people.”
Clint shook his head again. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Tom. We teeter on the brink of war every day. We dare not give even one of these people a reason to fight, and that includes reminding them of the past. I’ve been fearful since hearing about your work to catalog the various tribes. Mark my words, this is only going to stir up trouble. The people, once reminded of their old ways, are going to fight to perpetuate their traditions and language. You may well find yourself undoing decades of work, to the detriment of all.”