“Does it pain?” Jenny asked, placing a torn cloth, damped in from a cup of water, upon my forehead.
I did not answer. I felt sick with the hurt. My thoughts a hazy, disoriented sound.
Was this another dream? Jenny Blackhawk did not speak. What was this place?
For several moments I thought I was dead. But as the English words continued to echo in my ears, I prayed I was dreaming. I prayed I would not wake up and find myself still locked in the attic with the Comanche. For if I was dead, all was lost to me. I was not in Apacheria, nor standing at the mountains of the stronghold with my ancestors. I was here in the Heaven of the white man.
I did not wish to spend all eternity marching beside sister Enid in a white man’s school.
Panic nearly overcame me. My heart raced and blood rushed to my heart making it pound and throb.
The strong smell of alcohol and ammonia made my eyes water. White walls glared back at me through the angry brightness of an early morning sunlight. The whimper of small children filled the room. Sickness and the sounds of approaching death were all around me. I was in a different place now. I knew it was not the attic or the dormitory.
The dormitory was also filled with sounds of crying children, and sharp squeals of laughter, and of silence. Sometimes the silence was calm and reassuring. Other times filled with tension. Still it was familiar to me. I was able to read the mood of the day as easily as I had once gauge the depth of the winter river in Apacheria.
I knew the sense of the dormitory where I lived were of wax lemon oil and sweat and dust. I was not in a familiar place.
The feelings of death and sickness seemed press all around me. The mournful wail of a sobbing child reached my ears. Fear tightened its grip around my throat. I wanted to jump up and run from the room. I wanted to clamp my hands over my ears and never listen to the sound of death again. I'd had enough of death and of the dying. Anywhere I escape to would be better than this place.
Surely, even the white man's heaven would be free of this suffering.
I must have made a sound, for I felt the woman beside me startle.
“Doctor she is awake”. I recognize the voice being that of Mary Billy.
I tried to move my head to follow the sound of distant voices but it hurt too much.
“Tay. . . Tay,” I heard Mary Billy's words but my body was heavy with fatigue. I closed my eyes and slept.
Later I awakened to find a young man leaning over me. His dark face was filled with seriousness, his brow creased in a thoughtful frown.
“Mary Billy tells me you are called Tay. You are Nde,” he said, his voice a deep pleasant rumble.
“Yes,” I managed to whisper. I was uncomfortable with a total stranger assessing me with such a penetrating gaze. It reminded me of the hawks which flew overhead at my home. Again, and again they would circle, examining every blade of grass, every leaf upon a tree branch, until the hawk found what he had searched for. And then, only then, would he come to rest.
“My name is Simon Joseph. I am a doctor. My people are Osage from the Oklahoma Territory.”
I looked up at his features of his face. His lips were large and full, his nose beaked. His eyes were sand colored not black, and his eyebrows lifted one at a time like the wings of a bird. Not an attractive face, but a face filled with kindness.
My head no longer throbbed, so I tried to sit up. The doctor placed a cushion behind me and I offered him a smile.
“You are a doctor in a white man's school?” I asked, amazed that an Indian could be permitted such a liberty.
“No. I work for the United States Government. Part of my job is to travel to the boarding schools and check on the living conditions. At other times, I work with the Army. My counsel is asked in setting up the new reservations outside of the Indian Territory,” he told me, placing his fingertips against my right wrist.
His touch was reassuring and I found myself confused at the rush of emotion I felt. I noticed his fingers were short and thick. I could not see the bulges in his knuckles. His hands reminded me of my uncle's hands. Immediately, I was since I sensed he trained with his own people as well as those of the white man, to be a healer. I realized how very much I wished to trust the stranger. I felt my fear fade away.
“Tay be well?” I asked.
“You have been very ill. The medicine is working, which is a good sign.
“Many days in attic.”
His face filled with anger and he glanced toward the door of the infirmary. “I know. Tay, I promise you changes will be made. You must not worry about the attic or Sister Enid. I want you to rest and get well.”
“Yes. Tay get well.”
“If you rest I’ll arrange for you to have a visitor tomorrow.”
“Sister Kathleen?” I asked, surprise the kind teacher isn't already here to see me.
“No. Sister Kathleen can't come to see you just yet. A young man named Jacob Five-Wounds, has been asking for you. And I thought you'd like to thank your friend, also.
“Friend?” I asked, watching Mary Billi place a pitcher of water on the bedside table. My thoughts confused about what Simon Joseph was telling me. Mary Billy was beside me, yet she did not speak.
“Yes, I thought you'd like to speak with Anna Thunder.” he said releasing my wrist. “I thought you'd like to thank her for saving your life.”
“Anna Thunder saved my life.?” I asked. I could hear the amazement I felt ringing in my voice. The doctor's gaze narrowed and he frowned down upon me.
“Don't you remember?”
“I. . . “
“Anna Thunder took care of you.” Mary Billy said, crowding beside the doctor to offer me a cup of water. “When Sister Louisa brought water and broth, Anna gave you her portions. She kept you alive Tay. If it had not been for her you would have been dead before Dr. Joseph arrived.”
I did not answer. Instead I greedily drank the offered water. The coolness of the water felt good against my swollen throat.
I would have died had it not been for Anna Thunder.
The knowledge slid over me like blinding sunlight.
I did not know how to reply. Yet I knew those words would never leave me.
“That's enough water, Tay.” Dr. Joseph said, motioning for Mary Billy to take the cup away. Mary Billy removed the cup and placed it on the table.
I closed my eyes and tried to compose myself.
Anna Thunder had saved my life, I thought as fatigue dropped its silent cloak over me. Anna Thunder hated me, but she saved by life. I felt shame for my thoughts about her while we were locked inside the attic. I had thought she wished to harm me, when in fact, she had gone hungry in order to save my life.
Though I had spared Anna Thunder Sister Enid’s wrath I doubt very much if I would have nursed the Comanche through an illness.
I knew Anna Thunder had paid a greater price than I. While we were locked in the attic,
“Little Fawn?” I whispered, glancing up at Dr. Joseph.
“I’m sorry, Tay,” the doctor said, “Little Fawn died last night.”
“Little Fawn died?” I repeated his words, unable to understand why the Creator took the life of the young girl. Suddenly, a question fell upon my troubled heart. “Anna Thunder was with sister. Here?”
“No, Tay. Anna Thunder was still with you. Inside the attic.”
“No!”
“I'm sorry.” Dr. Joseph said, “So very sorry.” The doctor patted my hand before he left my bedside. Mary Billy looked at me through sad, brown eyes.
“Tay, you must not blame yourself,” she said. “Anna Thunder is filled with sorrow. But she doesn’t blame you for Little Fawn’s death. It was Sister Enid who refused to send for the doctor. Anna Thunder knows that it is Sister Enid’s fault Little Fawn is dead.
I nodded because my sorrow was such I could not speak. It may have been Sister Enid’s fault that Little Fawn was dead; but I was the one who kept Anna Thunder from Little Fawn’s side.
It was my fault that Anna Thunder had not been with her sister when she died.
Mary Billy covered me with a gray wool blanket. After a time, I slept.
Though the doctor would not allow me to attend Little Fawn’s funeral, he did allow me to pay my last respects.
I was carried into the small chapel and set upon the first pew.
I looked at Anna Thunder sitting in a wooden chair beside Little Fawn’s small casket. My own hand clenched in a fist. Anna Thunder looked at me. Her face looked tired and older than her years. I looked into her eyes and saw only emptiness and deep sorrow.
“Sister Louisa say, Anna Thunder cannot take Little Fawn home. She told me Little Fawn bury here. On hill behind chapel.”
“I am sorry.” I replied, knowing how difficult this was for the Comanche to learn.
“White people no understand. Little Fawn’s spirit is not at rest. No go to the place of our ancestors. Little Fawn must go home.”
I nodded. What could I say? The Nde believe the same that the spirit of our dead ones would not rest in a land far from home.
I search my soul for something to tell Anna Thunder to give her hope. I wanted her to believe that Little Fawn would be watched over. Taken care of. Little Fawn was so young. Too young to be without her sister to take care of her.
I felt my tears rolled down my cheeks. I did not wish for Little Fawn to be alone in the darkness.
I listened to the stillness in my heart. I felt the love all around me. Suddenly, I knew the white man's God would take care of Little Fawn. He would take her small hand in his and guide her to a place of her ancestors. Little Fawn would never be alone again.
I knew I could not explain this feeling to Anna Thunder. Our ways were too different. But my heart was so heavy with the suffering of the Comanche, I knew I must find a way.
I recalled what Sister Kathleen had told me about her brother and his wife, of their death. And of the white man's heaven.
“Sister Kathleen say the Creator watches over all things. Over the animals. Over the white men and over the Indian. The Creator loves all people. His teachings say, we are all brothers. This Creator loves all children. He will watch over Little Fawn,” I told her.
Anna Thunder glanced over at me, her eyes filled with tears. Her lips trembled when she spoke. “How will this Creator know Little Fawn?” She not have a medicine pouch or our grandfather's sacred blessing. How will this Creator know the white man know my sister?”
“Sister Kathleen's brother is in this place. As is his wife. They were kind people, like Sister Kathleen. They will listen for Little Fawn’s gentle laughter. This is how they will find her. They will know her by her smile.”
Anna Thunder nodded. Placing her hand on the bleached wood of the casket, she said, “My sister, her heart filled with much love. For all. Even the white man’s God will know this.”
“Yes,” I said. “He will know this. Sister Kathleen will say white man’s prayers. Her people will watch over Little Fawn.”
Anna Thunder glanced from the casket to the large wooden cross hung over the altar. For several moments she was quiet, giving counsel to my words. Then she sang a soft, gentle chant.
The chant was filled with reverence and with love.
I knew Anna Thunder was praying to the god of her people. Soon I recognized that song from my feverish dreams. She offered the same power up to heavens for me. I felt shame for the way I treated her in the past.
Her song rose and fell until only its soft echo whispered around the room.
Sister Kathleen, kind to Little Fawn,” she said in a little whisper. “Sister Kathleen good. A woman of much honor. She not lie to Tay. If she says white man's Creator watch over Indian, it is so.”
I brushed the tears from my face then rose to my feet. I was weak, but I did not wish to leave the Comanche alone to deal with her sorrow.
I moved to stand beside Anna Thunder. I took her hands in mine, as I had taken Yellow-Bird’s so many moons ago.
An Indian Reservation a parcel of land set aside for Indians surrounded by thieves.
-- General William T. Sherman
1865