“Anna Thunder, you will pay dearly for your disobedience!” Sister Enid slapped the flat of her palm against the desk top. “When I tell a student to recite, everyone is to participate.”
“I stiffened against the wooden back of my chair and held my breath. Sullen silence from the Comanche girl was a daily ritual. Never before had she challenged the teacher in front of so many students. Hatred twisted Sister Enid’s prune face in fury. “I demand an apology.”
Anna Thunder remained silent.
With her back arched and her scrawny neck stretched its full length, Sister Enid marched to the back of the room. Her heavy shoes sounding like horse’s hooves on the brightly polished wooden floor. Grabbing Anna Thunder by the arm, the teacher yanked the girl from the chair. Dragging her toward the hallway, she said, “Two days in the attic for you. No food. Only water. Afterwards, I’ll wager, you’ll remember your manners.”
During the days which followed, all the students spoke in whispers about Anna Thunder. All wondered what had happened to her. None dared to ask Sister Enid. Some said she was being starved and beaten. Others said she had died and the Sisters had buried her beneath the church floor.
On the morning of the third day, while the other girls were marching in the exercise yard, Sister Sarah ordered me to remain inside.
“You, girl,” Sister Sarah said, “Move to the bed next to the wall. Take your belongings with you.”
I kept my gaze lowered though I felt her harsh voice scrape along my nerves. Hate, strong and hot, surged in the teacher’s blood. She was looking for a reason to punish me. I held my tongue. Sister Sarah’s hate for me, and my own hate for her and Sister Enid, made it difficult to remain silent.
I had learned over my many months at the school not to show my hatred for the whites. Hatred got me nowhere. Hatred got Anna Thunder two days in the attic. I saw no reason to join her.
I, like all Nde, fought many battles to survive. When I stood my ground in this white world. It would be of my time and my choosing.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, forcing the words through the ball of emotion in my throat. Each bed had a small trunk for storage strapped underneath. Pulling out my belongings, I carried them to the other bed. This bed was against the wall, below a window. I could feel a draft from the thin glass and shivered. It would be cold here. I glanced up at Sister Sarah and saw her smile.
“Be quick about it,” she said, tapping her foot. “I have more important matters to attend to.”
I looked upon my belongings and felt anger wash over me. Among my own people I would be shamed by such lack of property. When I was in my grandfather’s lodge I had fine buckskin clothing and grandmother sewed bright dresses for me from trade cloth. In this school I had a black skirt and white blouse. My undergarments were gray with many washings, and I had one pair of cotton stockings for winter. These things I placed inside the trunk, and added one comb, one brush, one sewing needle and a hank of black thread.
I had nothing else, nothing that really belonged to me. I was without my home, my family, my band. Not even the bed I slept in all these long months was mine. What else did these white people plan to take from me?
“Anna Thunder will sleep in your old bed, girl.”
My spine stiffened. Hot rage loosened my tongue. I stood tall and glared at Sister Sarah.
“No. Anna Thunder, Comanche. I will not sleep beside my enemy!”
“Oh, yes, girl, you will sleep beside Anna Thunder. You will eat beside her. You will work beside her. You will do what I say, without complaint. If you do not, I will take you to Sister Enid and have you beaten. Do you understand me, girl?”
Fury, such as I had not known since the day the Uniforms attacked camp, pounded through my veins. I stood still and silent. Anna Thunder was my enemy.
Sister Sarah moved beside me and grabbed a handful of my hair. Yanking it, she pulled my head back until my gaze locked with hers. Tears stung my eyes from the pain and my back ached from the pressure. Still, I refused to speak.
“You defy me?” Her grip tightened and she jerked my head back another inch. Suddenly it was hard for me to breathe and my vision blurred.
I saw the hatred on her face and knew she would not stop until she brought me to my knees.
I would die before I would let Sister Sarah make a slave of me.
She seemed to sense this and loosened her grip. “Do you understand me, now?”
“Yes,” I replied bitterly. “I understand.”
“Good. Finish your task and then report to the kitchen. Sister Enid wishes to speak with you.”
Releasing her hold on me, Sister Sarah turned on her heel and left the dormitory. I stumbled over to the bed and sat down.
The cold crept up my spine spreading its icy fingers around my throat. I needed all my strength and courage when I faced Sister Enid. For now, I would fight my enemies alone.
Grandfather once told me: “We, Nde, are not like dogs that can be trained. Dogs can be beaten and keep on wagging their tails., licking the hand that whipped them. The Nde are like cats. Little cats, big cats, wildcats, bobcats, mountain lions. It does not matter what kind, but cats who are not tamed, who scratch if you step on their tails.”
I tried to gain courage from the memory of his words, but it was so hard.
“But I am only a kitten, Grandfather,” I whispered, my voice thick with tears. “My claws are still very small.”
With renewed spirit, I went to face the head mistress.
***
An uneasiness filled my mind when Sister Kathleen greeted me later that morning.
“Sister Enid has been called away on business,” she said. “She will be gone for several days.”
I glanced at her. Sister Kathleen was different from the other teachers. Her sky-colored eyes were gentle and her hair the color of winter fire. Her voice was always soft, respectful, and a smile often curved her lips. In many ways, she reminded me of my friend, Yellow-Bird. I wished my friend was with me now.
Sister Kathleen tried to understand the students. She did not call us dirty savages or heathens.
Still, I wondered why I was given this new job. Others worked in the laundry room for many school terms.
“Why? Why this kitchen? I asked.
Sister Kathleen frowned. “I don’t know. Usually Sister Enid has the older, more experienced girls work here.”
“Like Mary Billy.”
“Yes, like Mary. Mary has lived here for six years. She speaks and understands English and . . .she understands Sister Enid.”
“Tay only moons. . .months. Little English.”
“Yes, Tay. I know.”
Sister Kathleen called me Tay instead of girl. She used the white name the school had given to me. I did not like this new name. Sister Kathleen tried to be a friend to all the students, so I did not mind her calling me Tay. I found myself watchful around her, but I did not fear her, not like I feared Sister Enid.
“How many days will I stay here?”
“If Sister Enid is happy with your work you’ll remain here like Mary Billy. If you displease her—”
“I go back.”
“Yes. Sister Enid expects the staff’s meals to be perfect. Remember she makes no allowances for mistakes.”
I held my hands at my sides and did not allow her to see my discomfort. I was not certain I wished to work in this kitchen. It was hot. The smells from one of the pots made my stomach sick.
I hated working in the laundry also. I did not wish to go back there.
I learned fast. I would watch the others and listen. If I was careful, Sister Enid would not say I made mistakes. She would not send me back to the laundry room.
“You will help prepare the meals. Mary Billy will teach you.”
I glanced around the room. Mary Billy cooked beef over an open flame in the fireplace at the far back corner of the room. Two Cheyenne girls, Amy Strongbull and Wilma Owen, sat on the back-porch cleaning greens and slicing potatoes into a large bowls.
Sister Kathleen smiled. “Do not worry so, Tay. Things have a way of working out for the best.”
I watched her grab a cloth and pull open the oven door. She pulled out a metal pan filled with small breads and set it on the table.
The aroma filled the room and my stomach rumbled. It reminded me of the tortillas my aunt cooked beneath the ash of the campfire. Sadness whispered across my heart and I wished I was back home in Apacheria. Blinking back tears, I glanced at Sister Kathleen.
She seemed to know my thoughts.
“Poor, Tay,” she said, touching my cheek. “I know this is difficult for you. Try to understand. This is your home, now.”
I did not expect her touch and I stepped back. In this school a slap was the only touch I knew.
“School no my home, Sister. Someday I go home.”
“Perhaps you shall, Tay. Here, take this apron and tie it over your dress.”
I did this task quickly. The teacher motioned me to follow her.
“Tay, you will assist Mary Billy in serving lunch from now on. Anna Thunder will help in the preparation and the cleaning up afterwards.
A heavy clumping of footsteps claimed Sister Kathleen’s attention.
“Anna, I’m glad you decided to come and help.”
Anna Thunder stood, her thin arms folded in front of her chest. Her dark gaze snapped on Sister Kathleen.
I stiffened and narrowed my gaze. When Anna Thunder turned, my eyes were steady upon hers. I would not look away first.
“Tay. This is Anna. The two of you will be spending a lot of time together. It will be in the best interest of all concerned that you two become friends.”
“Friends,” Anna spat. “I no friend to Apache!”
I glared at Anna Thunder. I would not answer to Apache. Apache was a name our enemies call us. I refused to honor her by speaking.
“Tay,” Sister Kathleen said, nudging my shoulder. “Tell Anna Thunder she is welcome here.”
I shot an angry look at Sister Kathleen. The Nde and the Comanche were enemies. I would not welcome Anna Thunder.
“No. She not welcome here.”
“Ladies, the two of you will work together. If not, you will answer to Sister Enid.
“I am Comanche. I not scared of white woman.
“Perhaps not, Anna. However, Sister Enid will send you back to the attic if you cause trouble.”
“I no cause trouble. Apache cause trouble.”
“Liar!”
“Apache liar. Apache thief.”
“I no thief,” I retorted. “The Nde do not steal from Comanche. Comanche steal our land, kill my people.”
“Apache steal our women, steal our horses!”
“You take our land.
“Apache, liar.”
“You take our dogs.”
“Liar.”
“Sister Kathleen you must watch Anna Thunder,” I said, turning to the teacher. “First she steals your knives. Then she takes your dogs. Take you pots.”
“Dog? Pots? Tay, what on earth are you talking about?”
“Comanche like dogs. Comanche say dog meat good to eat.”
White man’s pictures all fade, but the Indian’s memories last forever.
-- An Indian Guide to Tom Wilson, historian- 1882