The December wind had a bite to it. The cold stung my hands and froze my breath when I spoke.
“Anna Thunder not tell Sister Enid Tay spoke to Jacob Five-Wounds.”
The Comanche gave me a haughty look before pulling a fourth turnip from the ground. “Apache do what Anna Thunder say.”
“No!”
“Then Anna Thunder tell Sister Enid. Apache talk to Jacob Five-Wounds. Send Tay to the attic.”
“I say Comanche lie.”
“Anna Thunder not care. Boys saw Jacob Five-Wounds talk to Apache.”
I held my tongue but I knew she read the fear in my eyes.
“Anna Thunder and Apache be sent to attic,” she sneered.
I swallowed hard and stuffed my shaking hands into the pockets of my skirt. My hate for Anna Thunder was strong, but not stronger than my fear of the attic. The Comanche knew this and smiled before she spoke.
“Attic dark. Cold. No blanket. No window. Only crack in wall. Small light. Anna Thunder see rat. Anna Thunder hungry. Rat now have one eye.”
I glared at the Comanche, my back stiff with pride. “Tay no care about rat. . .cold. Comanche afraid of dark not Nde.”
“Bird of darkness live in attic,” she told me. “Bird of the night song come for mice.”
I felt my blood turn to ice. Bird of darkness—the owl. Bringer of evil. Death. My people were not to look upon the bird, or speak its name.
“Bird of darkness come for Apache.” Anna Thunder glanced up at the attic. Her body still while she listened. “Hear the cry? Tay hear song of white man’s owl?”
I shivered. She was trying to bring fear into my heart. Grandfather told me never to listen when someone speaks of evil. If I did not listen, evil could not touch me.
I thought of home. . .Apacheria. My heart pounded and panic pounded in my head. I looked at the early morning sky and my vision blurred. Yellow-Bird had seen the owl, was touched by its falling feather. Now, Yellow-Bird was dead. Death had fallen upon Apacheria after the owl came.
I thought of Anna Thunder’s one-eyed rat. But in my mind the rat became my grandfather. I remembered Grandfather as he lay on the ground, his black eyes open, unseeing.
I tried to fight the image, but it would not go away.
The Comanche had won.
To buy her silence, I would do as she asked.
Anna Thunder tossed the turnips on the porch. I watched the soil; cling to the white roots as one turnip rolled along the wooden step.
“No more talk,” she said, her breaths coming had against the cold air. “Anna Thunder find Sister Enid.”
My shoulders slumped. Defeat, did not come easy to me. “What Anna Thunder want from Tay?” I ground the words though clenched teeth.
She turned to face me. “Give Anna Thunder bread.”
“Bread?”
“Bread from kitchen. Hide in pocket. Give to Anna Thunder.”
My gaze narrowed. Each day I watched Anna Thunder hide her slice of bread in her skirt pocket. I did not know why. Each night I watched. She did not bring the food from her pockets, nor where there crumbs leaving a trail among her belongings.
“Why? Why do you ask this?”
The Comanche was thin. Her arms like the bare branches of a sapling tree. Anna Thunder did not eat the bread she hoarded.
“Will Apache bring bread?” she hissed.
My stomach growled. Sister Enid had returned last evening and supervised the breakfast meal today. The oatmeal had been thin. There was little nourishment for my growing body. The bread Sister Kathleen gave me kept the pains of hunger from my stomach. I did not want to give any food to my enemy.
“Tay no trust Anna Thunder.”
The Comanche stared at me with hard, black eyes.
“Anna Thunder keep word.”
“Tay think Anna Thunder keep bread. Tell Sister Enid of Jacob Five-Wounds.”
“No! Anna Thunder keep bread. No tell Sister Enid of Jacob Five-Wounds.”
“Why? Why I trust you?”
The Comanche lifted her chin a notch and glared at me. “Anna Thunder keep word.”
“Why Comanche want bread?”
“Sickness. Anna Thunder need for sickness.”
“There no sickness here. Comanche lie.”
“Sister have coughing sickness. Keep her in house of the doctor. Nurse say food make little sister well.”
I had head of this coughing sickness. Some of the Nde had died after trading with the white man. I saw the sadness in Anna Thunder’s eyes and knew she spoke the truth.
“I will give bread for Anna Thunder’s sister. When sister well all is ended.”
The Comanche nodded her head. “When sister well Anna Thunder no tell of Jacob Five-Wounds.”
During the week that followed, I hid my bread in my pocket when Sister Kathleen’s back was turned. Then, so not to listen to the painful rumble of my stomach, I quickly finished my assigned tasks. When Anna Thunder walked past me carrying the slop bucket, I shoved the slice of bread into her eager hand.
Today, as I swept the floor, I was filled with uneasiness. Sister Kathleen was more watchful over us, her gaze often scanning the doorway, as if waiting for someone’s arrival. Mary Billy, I noticed, was not well. A feverish glaze covered her eyes and sweat beaded her forehead.
I glanced down at my skirt. Even with the covering of my apron I was fearful the folds of fabric would not hide the sharp outline the slice of bread made. Stealing from the kitchen was forbidden. Sister Enid would not care if the food was mine. In the teacher’s eyes, the food belonged to the school. Students were not given extra portions of food. If I was caught, no explanations or excuses would be heard. I would be punished.
Stealing, lying, and running away all carried the harshest punishment. The price for these transgressions: a beating and ten days in the attic.
Jenny Blackhawk, Mary Billy said, carried the scars of Sister Enid’s beating. Large and strong, the Cheyenne girl had fought back when the teacher struck her. This had enraged Sister Enid. She had called Sister Louisa and Sister Bernadette to her office and ordered them to strap Jenny into a chair.
Sister Kathleen had heard the shouting and followed Sister Bernadette into the room.
Arguing with Sister Enid, Sister Kathleen had told the head mistress that it was Jenny’s first offence. The student didn’t understand what stealing was. Having Jenny sent to the attic was punishment enough.
My rules are to be obeyed! Sister Enid had shouted.
Sister Enid had used a riding crop on Jenny’s legs. Ten lashes. Mary Billy said. Not once had the Cheyenne girl cried out. It was not until the final lash had creased Jenny Blackhawk’s face that Jenny had even whimpered.
That day, Mary Billy said, was the only time she had seen Sister Kathleen cry. Sister Enid and Sister Louisa dragged Jenny Blackhawk to the attic. Even Sister Bernadette had protested the harsh treatment. The young sister had gone to her room and stayed there for the following two days.
Six months had passed since then, but Jenny’s legs still bore the angry red welts of Sister Enid’s riding crop. Her pretty face was marred by the raised ridge running from her left cheekbone to her rounded chin.
Sister Enid’s shrill voice interrupted my thoughts, and I jerked, feeling guilty. I swallowed hard before I glanced toward the dining room. The teachers sat and talked after finishing their mid-day meal. In a few more minutes they would return to the classrooms.
I wondered if Sister Enid had cut out Jenny Blackhawk’s tongue after she too the girl to the attic. Never, since I had come to this school, had Jenny Blackhawk spoken.
“Sister Kathleen,” Sister Enid called. “I wish to have a word with you.”
The teacher frowned at the headmistress’s summons.
“I’ll be there in a moment, Sister,” she replied. Turning to Mary Billy she said, “Make sure all is in order. Tay sweep the floor and make certain every speck of dirt is placed in the pail. Cover the container with the lid when you are finished. When Anna Thunder returns instruct her to leave the slop bucket on the back porch.”
Turning on her heel, Sister Kathleen walked to the dining room.
My heart pounded. Glancing toward the back porch, I searched for Anna Thunder. Why was she late? Soon Sister Enid and Sister Louisa would come to the kitchen for inspection. Afterwards, I would be sent to the classroom. I could not dispose of the bread without getting caught.
I swept the dirt from the floor into a small mound and knelt down to brush it into a metal container.
Sister Enid’s angry voice carried into the kitchen and I cringed.
“Up to now, Sister Kathleen, I have given you the benefit of the doubt. I even let your defiance regarding Jenny Blackhawk pass. This, however, is a mistake I cannot over look. Sister Louisa said was hidden beneath the hutch.”
“Hidden? Or simply placed there by Sister Louisa?”
“How dare you make such a statement,” Sister Louisa sputtered. “You have no right to question me.”
“I have every right. Sister Enid has assigned me to overseeing the kitchen and dining room, not you. It is to me the students are answerable. I am held accountable to Sister Enid for their actions. At every turn, Sister Louisa, you have snooped into matters which do not concern you—"
“How dare you!”
“Sisters, this is not the time nor place for such a discussion. Need I remind you, Sister Kathleen, you are held accountable to me, as is Sister Louisa. As is each and every student in this school.”
“I’m certain the items were misplaced or dropped. My students have no use for a place setting of silverware!”
“No? This knife would make an adequate weapon, don’t you think, Sister Louisa?”
“Weapon? When the kitchen is filled with carving knives. They would--”
“Steal those first?” Sister Louisa interrupted.
“I did not say that!” Regaining her composure, she continued. “Each kitchen knife is counted by Sister Louisa and myself during inspection, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“Then what better way for one of the girls to make a trade?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Isn’t that what Jenny Blackhawk’s intended to do after she ran away? Sister Enid asked.
“No. Jenny didn’t understand that the items were to be used. . .that they weren’t hers to keep.”
“Jenny Blackhawk understood, all right.” Sister Louisa said. “All those Indian girls understand.”
“Understand what, Sister Louisa?” Sister Kathleen asked, her voice shaking with anger.
“They understand what they steal, they can trade.”
“Trade for what? The students in this school own nothing of value.”
“Jenny Blackhawk knew all about the trading post. It’s only a two day walk from the school. “Anything of value may be traded there, no questions asked. The girl planned to trade for provisions and passage back to her home.”
“That isn’t true!”
“Let me enlighten you about the character of your precious heathens, Sister Kathleen. They have no sense of honor. They will lie to you and steal from you every chance they get. Every Indian in this place will do the same. Even your pet, Mary Billy. Not one of them will amount to anything but trouble.”
At the mention of her name, Mary Billy let out a sharp gasp.
I turned and watched her face become the color of ash. “Sister Enid is angry. Very angry, “she whispered.
I watched her hands shake as she dried the china plate.
“Mary Billy!” Sister Enid shouted.
The plate slid from Mary Billy’s hands. The fragile dish hit the floor and shattered, tiny slivers of china dancing all over the polished floor.
“Oh, Tay, what have I done?”
I believe much trouble and blood would be saved if we opened our hearts more.
I will tell you in my own way how the Indians sees things.
The white man has more words to tell you how things look to him, but it does not require many words to speak the truth.
Chief Joseph
Nez Perce