Chapter 13

The Fourth of July passed without much ado. The Indian children performed a play about the birth of America, but Connie doubted they did it by choice. Independence Day meant very little to a people who weren’t free.

Rosy’s health improved, but Connie’s mother reminded her that Rosy was up in years and probably didn’t have much more time. The Indians had suffered such malnutrition and endured so many struggles that it had taken a big toll on their life expectancy. It troubled Connie. Why had a government who held life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness so dear believed themselves justified in treating the Indians so poorly?

Near the middle of the month, Isaac left for Oregon City in order to bring back a small herd of sheep he’d purchased from their aunt Hope and uncle Lance. On August first, he returned, and with him came Hope and Lance Kenner and Connie’s cousin Faith. Just their presence managed to cheer everyone.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Connie’s mother said, hugging Hope tightly. “How I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. It’s hard not having you and Adam close by.” The sisters pulled away and just looked at each other for a moment. There were many untold secrets between them after all they’d gone through together. Especially when they’d been held hostage at the Whitman Mission.

“How is Grace doing?” Mama asked.

Hope smiled. “She’s doing very well. She sent a few gifts and told me to tell you that she’s almost convinced Alex and Gabe to come for a visit as well.”

“That would be wonderful,” Connie interjected. “Maybe they could advise the Indians on the best way to get the mill back up and running.”

“I’m sure they would,” Aunt Hope said, turning to Connie. “It’s hard to believe you’re all grown up.”

“I hardly recognized her when she showed up at Nancy’s,” Faith said, laughing. “I suppose we all have to accept that time will never stand still.”

“Speaking of Nancy,” Mama asked, “how is she? How is poor Seth?”

“He’s recovering well,” Faith replied. “They’re both doing quite well, and little Jack is growing so fast. He’s a little cherub.”

Connie looked around. “Where did Isaac get off to?”

“The men are moving the sheep into one of the fenced pastures. After the sheep are secured, Isaac and your father hope to convince the others to help them put up fencing for another pasture so the sheep can be moved around.” Her mother turned to Aunt Hope. “I tell you, Isaac has worked hard to make those pastures perfect. He walked every inch, planted good grass seed, and got rid of any poisonous vegetation.”

“That’s the workings of a good shepherd,” Faith offered.

“He plans to get a good sheepdog too. We have promised him the pick of the litter when Dilly has her pups,” Aunt Hope announced. “But that won’t help in the immediate future. Hopefully we’ll be able to locate one already trained. We’ve advertised in several newspapers. Even the one in Salem, since it’s closer than Portland and Oregon City.”

“It’ll be nice to have a dog around the place. When our old spaniel died, we just never got around to getting another. There are so many dogs on the reservation as it is.”

“Well, a good sheepdog is worth his weight in gold. He’ll keep the sheep contained and safe. Hopefully we can find one soon.” Hope looked at Connie. “I understand you’re here to record information about the various tribes.”

“I am. Tom and I were hired by the Bureau of Ethnology to document all of the Indians on the reservations here in Oregon. For the time being, we’re assigned to the Grand Ronde, Warm Springs, and Siletz Reservations. We chose to start here so that I could be near my family.” She didn’t know how much she could say about her personal investigation. The fewer people who knew, the better, but at the same time she was pretty confident the family was already well aware of what her mother and father were being accused of.

“It sounds like quite the task.”

Connie knew Aunt Hope had gone through terrible things at the hands of the Cayuse Indians when they had massacred the men and one woman at the Whitman Mission back in 1847. Connie had heard the story from her mother only once, and then it was never mentioned again. She often wondered what Aunt Hope thought of Mama’s devotion to the Indians. After all, her mother had been at the mission as well but hadn’t suffered the things Aunt Hope suffered. Aunt Grace had once told Connie that her mother had more mercy and forgiveness than she or Hope put together and that neither were surprised when Mercy made the announcement that she wanted to work with the Indians. Connie could only imagine the things her mother and aunts had seen in the past thirty-some years. How the world had changed since the 1840s.

“You seem lost in thought, Connie.”

She shook off her thoughts. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“No harm done.” Aunt Hope gave her a smile. “We can talk about your mission after lunch. You wrote and said that there was a problem with sickness on the reservation. Has that passed now?” she asked her sister.

“Did you ever figure out what the sickness was?” Faith asked.

Mama shook her head. “Not exactly. The agent had to send for the reservation doctor—not that the people wanted to use him, but so many were ill that Clint worried it was an epidemic of some sort. The people thought they’d been poisoned by bad flour, but the doctor assured them it wasn’t the fault of the food. I’m not convinced. It could have been a summer malady. Those things happen all the time. However, it really did act more like food poisoning. Even the doctor was hard-pressed to give it a name. Everyone is doing better now, so at least no one is calling to kill anyone.”

“What are you talking about?” Hope asked.

Mama waved to the living room. “Why don’t we sit? I have stew simmering on the stove and bread warming. When the guys come back, we can eat.”

Connie followed her mother and aunt to the front room and explained, “The Indians often kill the medicine people if they fail to heal. I suppose it ensures that the healers do their best.”

Her mother took a seat. “It’s true. You must remember that was part of the problem at the Whitman Mission.”

Hope gave a solemn nod. “I had forgotten, but now I remember. The chief’s children died from measles, and he blamed Dr. Whitman.”

She and Connie’s mother exchanged a glance, and in that moment, they were connected in a way that excluded Connie and Faith.

“So many Cayuse were sick,” Mama declared. “It was a bad time for everyone. Grace even went to the Cayuse village to do what she could. It didn’t sit well with Dr. Whitman, but Grace didn’t care.”

“I can imagine.” Connie had heard all sorts of stories about Aunt Grace, and all of them involved her strong will and determination to heal the sick.

“Will your Indian agent be joining us for the meal?” Aunt Hope asked, seeming anxious to change the subject.

Mama shook her head. “He’s gone to Portland on business.”

“He has?” Connie asked before thinking it through. She didn’t want anyone thinking she cared one way or another.

“Yes. He said he had officials to meet with and reservation business to tend to.”

“I thought that usually took place in Salem.”

“It does, but two men who work with his brother in Washington were in Portland and had no plans to be in Salem. I really don’t know all the details, but Clint said he’d be gone for a week.”

“Perhaps he’ll call on Nancy and Seth, since he met them on his last visit,” Connie said. “He seemed to really like Seth.”

“Everyone likes Seth,” Faith countered. “That’s why his beating came as such a surprise.”

“Yes, but didn’t you say it was because Seth stepped on the toes of the smugglers?” Hope put her hand to her mouth.

“It’s all right. Connie knows all about it. In fact, she partially got this job so that she could work to clear our names,” Mama replied.

Hope lowered her hand. “And have you found out anything new?”

Connie shook her head. “Not really. I know that whiskey is being smuggled onto the reservation.” She thought about mentioning what she’d seen at the river, but Clint had told her to remain silent on the matter. “And I know there are some very angry men on the reservation who would probably do whatever they could to kill white people.”

“Did someone say something?” Mama asked.

“I spoke with the Sheridan men early on, and they were very hostile. If anyone is planning an uprising, I bet they’re involved. I’ve not spoken with them since.”

Her mother sighed. “They still blame your father for not helping them escape the reservation. It’s so sad, because Joe used to be such good friends with your father. And Faith’s friend Ann-Red Deer is stepmother to Samson Sheridan’s wife, Ruth.”

“Ann is here?” Faith asked, excited. “I thought she was on the Siletz Reservation.”

Mama nodded. “She was, but she remarried to Will Orleans, and they settled here to raise Will’s three children. Ruth is the youngest.”

“Oh, I’m so happy. I want to see Ann as soon as possible.”

“Tom and I plan to interview her this week. Maybe you and I could go over there first, and you could introduce us. Maybe then she won’t be afraid of us.”

Her mother’s expression turned sad. “I think the people here are afraid of anything the government does. Even something as positive as recording their history. Adam told me that there has been great interest in this area, and white settlers are seeking to drive the Indians off this land. He believes firmly that this is the reason for the whiskey and rifles. Powerful white men want to cause the Indians to start a war so the army can sweep in, kill as many Indians as possible, and round up the rest to put away elsewhere. Connie said there was even thought of moving all of them north to the Department of Alaska.”

“That frozen void?” Hope asked. “I heard a lecture on that place. It sounds absolutely terrible, and there are already quite a few Natives living there.”

“Exactly,” Connie said. “The thought is that they will round up all the Native people and put them in one place. They’ll put guards on the borders and naval ships to keep the harbors closed to all but government ships, and then they’ll leave the Natives to figure it all out for themselves.”

“That would be terrible,” her mother said. “I can’t believe anyone with even a lick of sense would think that to be sound reasoning.”

“I doubt they care,” Faith said, shaking her head. “They only want to be rid of the Indians and probably hope that they’ll kill each other off. But when it comes to organizing an uprising, the Indians aren’t doing this by themselves. And furthermore, getting rid of everyone who is Indian or even part-Indian won’t solve the issue of hatred that lives in the hearts of those people responsible.”

The conversation fell silent. Connie knew they were most likely considering the fact that Faith, the result of her mother’s rape at the Whitman Mission, was half Cayuse. If they sent the reservation Indians away, would they insist on sending all Indians away? Even Connie and her father and brother were part Cherokee, and while their percentage might not be considered all that much, there were those who said that even a drop of Indian blood was too much.

The world was going mad. Their country had abolished slavery, but there were still so many who hated the former slaves that secret organizations had formed for the sole purpose of killing them. The government had rounded up all the Indians—at least they were attempting to do so—and now was considering options for getting rid of them altogether. There were anti-Chinese leagues and people who had no tolerance of anyone whose skin color was different. Grief, there were even those who felt that anyone who spoke a language other than English should be forced out. It was madness.

“Where are my favorite girls?” Connie’s father called as the men returned to the house through the back door.

“We’re in the front room, waiting for you fellas to return so we can eat,” Mama replied, getting to her feet. “Come along, ladies.”

“I’m sure you’re happy to see your aunt and uncle again,” Tom said as he and Connie worked on their notes that evening. Connie was rewriting what they’d learned for the official report.

“Yes, I love my family. They’re all so good to one another. I’ve seen and heard of other families fighting and purposely harming each other, but that has never occurred in our family. Since I was quite young, all I’ve ever known from them is love. Of course, they have their disagreements, and once in a while someone gets their feelings hurt, but they always make up.”

Tom nodded. “My brothers and sister fought all the time as children and still fight to this day. They neither seek each other’s company nor enjoy it when they’re together. My father died over ten years ago, and they’re still fighting over the estate. I think I’ve fallen in love with your family.”

Connie laughed. “They are a good bunch. I tell you what—we’ll just adopt you and make you a part of our family. There’s always room for one more.”

Tom let his gaze settle on her for a long moment. She had no idea how much he wanted to be a part of her family, but not for the reasons she might think. Working with Connie and living so near her, Tom couldn’t deny his heart. The question was, how could he make her see his feelings? Should he just tell her how he felt and see how she responded?

“Your drawings are so good, Tom. I know this will be a special part of our report. I only wish I could draw as you do.”

“Maybe I could show you some techniques sometime,” he offered.

Connie smiled. “That could be fun.” She paused, and her expression changed. “By the way, did you know that Clint is in Portland?”

“I knew he hasn’t been around.”

“Mama said he had business with some of his brother’s associates. I wonder if it has anything to do with the whiskey smuggling.”

Tom had wondered how much Clint knew about the smuggling himself. “Has he talked to your father about it?”

“I don’t know how much, but he has in the past. He told me that Papa observed one of the deliveries. He told me not to tell my father what I saw that night at the river because he’d be upset.”

“How well do you really know Clint Singleton?”

Connie considered this for a moment. “He’s always been good help for my father. He came here and worked with Papa long before he was assigned as an agent. His father wanted him to join their cause to see the Indians properly treated. So even when he wasn’t getting paid, Clint worked with my father. I think his own father paid him a stipend.

“Clint has always been eager to please his father. As far back as I can remember, he’s talked about how important that is to him. His family has always cared deeply about the Indian cause. They are strong believers in seeing the Native peoples given citizenship and treated as equals.”

“What about Clint’s spiritual feelings?”

Connie shrugged. “He always shows up for church. We never talked about it before I left home, and now that I’m back, all he wants to talk about is giving him a chance to prove he’s worthy of my love.”

Tom looked at her. “He said that?”

She chuckled. “Yes, but he said a lot of things. He even had some opinions of you and your feelings for me.”

Tom wondered if this was a chance to share his heart with Connie. He opened his mouth to speak, but just then Isaac called to him.

“Hey, Tom, do you have time to lend me a hand?” He came into the dining room, where Tom and Connie had been working. “I’d like to get some fence up before dark.”

“I’d be happy to help.” Tom knew his declaration of love would have to wait for another time. He looked at Connie. “Sorry to leave you to work on this alone.”

“It’s no matter. Mama and the others will be back soon, and then there will be no time for it. I promised that when they returned with the berries, I’d help prepare them for making jelly and jam tomorrow. I guess we each have our promises to keep.”

Tom nodded. He followed Isaac out to the pasture, but he left his heart with Connie.