To Dream Anew (38 page)
“What good news,” Koko said, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Well, I’m not!” Jamie slammed his napkin onto the table and jumped up from his chair. “You are disgusting to me.” He ran from the room before Koko could even respond to his outrage.
Koko started to get up from her chair, but Takes Many Horses waved her off. “I’ll go after him. It’s time his uncle George dealt with such matters. After all, I’m the one who fed his passion for the ways of our people.”
Koko sat back down. “All right. As you wish … George.”
He left the surprised dinner party and went after his nephew. “George,” he murmured to himself. It would be hard to get used to the name. His sister often called him by it, but very few people knew him by it.
It was easy to see that the boy had gone to the barn. The tracks weren’t hard to miss, but even more so, George could see that the door was open. Pushing it back even more, he entered and called to the boy.
“Jamie. If you feel I’ve been dishonorable, the least you can do is be honorable and face me.”
“I don’t want to face you,” the boy declared.
“I know you’re disappointed in me, but I only ask you to talk this out like a man.”
Jamie emerged from behind a pile of hay. “I’m here, but I don’t know what good it will do.”
George sat down on the barn floor and motioned Jamie to do likewise. “White men don’t sit on the ground,” Jamie said snidely.
“Of course they do. Have you never been to a roundup—never on a cattle drive? When white men camp out in the wilderness, they do so much the way the Blackfoot or Sioux might.”
Jamie held his ground, staring down at his uncle. “You were proud of the Blackfoot—now you’re ashamed.”
“Not at all. I was and always will be proud of my Blackfoot heritage. I will never forget that I am part of that world. But I won’t live as they live now.”
Jamie frowned. “What do you mean?”
“They live like caged animals, unable to properly hunt or fend for themselves. The reservation doesn’t have enough room or game to sustain the people. The United States government tries to help, but often the meat they send is rancid by the time it reaches our people. The government sends blankets that make our people sick with small pox, measles, mumps, and other diseases. Our people suffer greatly.”
“But at least they do not betray who they are.”
“And neither do I. Rather, I don’t want to see that life for your mother and sister. Do you?”
Jamie seemed perplexed. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because if I don’t change my ways and live as white, they very well might end up living on the reservation. The army won’t always be put off. They will eventually come back. Someone will tell of your living here, and you’ll be rounded up like the cattle in the spring. You might well survive such a thing because you are a man, but your mother and sister would probably die.”
Jamie dropped to the ground to sit opposite his uncle. “Do you truly think this is the only way? Why couldn’t we go north with you—north to Canada?”
“That isn’t any hope for us. Look at Sitting Bull. His people were dying from starvation in Canada. They were sickly and hungry. Even reservation life sounded better than wasting away in the frozen wilderness.”
“But it seems wrong to just give up.”
George shrugged. “I don’t see it so much as giving up. I see it as closing one book to open another. You read well—I know, because your mother told me. You must finish one book before you open another.”
“I can read more than one book at a time,” Jamie argued.
“Ah, but not at the same time. You must focus on one only, is that not true?”
“I suppose so.”
“I feel it is the same for me. I focused on being a Blackfoot for most of my life. Now I will open a new book and focus on being white.”
“Whites will never accept us,” Jamie said sadly.
“Perhaps they won’t, but we will not provoke them by acting or dressing in ways that frighten them.”
“Frighten them?” Jamie asked. “You think they hate us because we frighten them?”
“Fear is a powerful tool,” George said, meeting his nephew’s intense gaze. “Fear causes people to act in ways they might not otherwise have chosen. Indians have long grieved the white man. Whether because we actually did something to deserve their feelings or not, they have heard stories since first coming to America.”
“Both sides have their stories. You told me this was true.”
“Yes, but both sides did not win this battle. Only the whites won.”
“So we are supposed to just forget we are Blackfoot? Even though the whites who recognize our heritage won’t let us forget?” Jamie questioned.
“We never forget who we are—that we are a part of the Real People,” George said softly. “But just as the Real People found it necessary to adapt their habits in order to survive over many centuries, we must adapt in order to live into the next century. In time, the laws will change and the white will no longer fear the Indian.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I have to. To imagine any other outcome is too discouraging. Besides, look what happened with the black men. They were once slaves and now they are free. It’s possible that a day will come when Indians will live free as well.”
Jamie let out a long sigh. “And is this God’s will for our people?”
George shook his head. “I don’t know. I only know that God asks me to trust Him with every aspect of my life. I must trust Him with this as well.”
“I don’t think God cares about the Blackfoot,” Jamie said sadly. “I’m not sure He cares about us at all. My father is dead. I cannot own the land he worked. My mother must live in fear. What hope is there for any of us?”
“God is all the hope we need, Jamie. You must not let the way people act drive you away from the love God has for you.”
“It doesn’t seem God has any love for the Blackfoot.”
“I don’t believe that. I think that God has His purposes and ways, and I do not always understand them. However, I will go on trusting Him, just as Job did when bad times came. Besides, how do you know there will be bad days to come? You might well go and receive an education, and in doing so find a way to help the Blackfoot. Think of that. You might one day rise up to be a great advocate for our people.”
“Do you think so?” Jamie asked, his voice edged with excitement for the first time since they’d come to talk.
“I believe it is possible, because with God all things are possible. Your mother tells me that it says so in the Bible.”
Jamie nodded. “I’ve heard her say that as well. I guess it must be true.”
“I do not want you to hate me for my choices. I am doing what I feel is right. It doesn’t mean we can’t discuss the old days and some of the good times I shared with our ancestors. But it does mean that you and I both need to try harder to make changes here,” he said, pointing to his chest, “in our hearts.”
Portia listened to Chester as he stormed through the house bellowing and accusing. She rolled her eyes as she heard him contend once again that the papers were his only chance of moving the Selbys from the Madison Valley.
“You think in such narrow perspectives, my dear,” Portia murmured aloud.
She pulled on her riding boots, listening to the rumble of thunder overhead. It wouldn’t be long now before the storm passed. There had been very little rain, only a sprinkling, in fact, but the lightning had been fierce. She knew it was the very storm she’d been waiting for. She would ride out, and if fires were not already kindled, she would intercede in the matter.
“Jerrod, are you certain you haven’t seen those documents?”
“You forced Roy and me from the house, because of
her,
” Jerrod yelled back. “How would we have had any chance to get at your papers?”
“Don’t take that tone with me, boy.”
How irritating they were. How very childish. Chester’s tirade had gone on for nearly three days. It was unbelievable. He’d start in with first one person and then another. And always it was the same questions: “Where are my papers regarding the Diamond V?” “Did you see my documents?” “Have you been in my office?”
She was weary of the entire matter, and if it would only benefit her to do so, Portia would have gladly eliminated the conflict. But she was still working out the details of how she might profit from her marriage to Chester Lawrence. She’d most likely have to kill off the boys. They’d be far too inquisitive—too aggressive.
“Too bad we can’t have a good old-fashioned round of cholera,” she mused.
Looking in the mirror to make certain her hair was in place, Portia paused. She didn’t like the way time was aging her. She looked more and more haggard as the days went by. Part of that came from living in the middle of nowhere, and part of it was from living with the Lawrences.
She touched her hand to her cheek. It was almost leathery instead of soft and supple as it had been when she’d lived in the ease and comfort of Baltimore’s favored society.
“I’ve grown old,” she breathed with a sigh.
She thought back on all that she’d done—the lives she’d taken—the lives she’d wounded. As a child she’d often been lonely and sad. Most likely because her mother had also been lonely and sad.
“I can’t change the past,” she told her image. She remembered arranging for her father’s death. She’d been certain that when the old man was dead and buried, she would feel the burden lifted from her soul. But it hadn’t happened.
So often she’d rid herself of annoyances and interferences, and yet it never took away the deep, painful hole in her heart. She met her own gaze and was almost startled at the emptiness in her eyes.
“Montana is killing me. There’s just no way around that. I should probably go east and rest.”
She secured her riding hat and turned to look for her gloves. “I could convince Chester that it would be good for all of us. The girls and the boys. And who knows what might happen to them in the big city.”
But first she had to take care of the Selbys. They knew too much, or at least they thought they did. She didn’t know how much information Trenton had shared with his sister, but sometimes at night Portia’s imagination ran wild, and she couldn’t sleep for fear of the door being broken down and R. E. Langford taking her in hand.
“They’ll all pay. I’ll see to that.”
She went to her dresser and procured a box of matches. She couldn’t be sure how many fires she’d need to set in order to see the Diamond V burned to the ground, and she couldn’t take a chance that she might run out before her job was completed.
“No one hurts me and gets away with it. No one.”
Roy and Jerrod Lawrence leaned against the bunkhouse, sharing a cigar. Jerrod was livid that his father had relegated them to nothing more than common hands on the ranch.
“She’s prob’ly got his stupid papers,” Jerrod said, taking a long draw on the cigar.
“Prob’ly. She thinks she’s queen of the world, sitting on high, causing problems for everyone.”
“She’ll pay, Roy. I’ll see to that.”
Jerrod passed the cigar to his brother just as Portia let the back door slam shut. Both men looked up as she crossed the yard quickly and approached the barn.
“Where’s she headed?” Roy asked.
“I dunno, but I think we oughta follow her. Maybe we can give her a little payback for the position she’s gotten us into.”
“Pa would skin us alive if she came home all banged up.”
“Maybe we can buy ourselves a couple of witnesses who’ll swear to Pa that we was with them the whole time. Then we can knock some sense into her,” Jerrod said, trying to think the matter through.
“Maybe she could have a worse accident than before,” Roy suggested. “Maybe one that takes her life.”
“Maybe. It’s worth considerin’.”
The boys maneuvered themselves so they could watch when she exited the barn. It didn’t take long. She rode out on the back of her favorite mount and headed off toward the river.
Jerrod smacked Roy against the chest. “Come on. Let’s get those witnesses and then follow her.”
“I
’M PRETTY GOOD WITH HORSES,”
G
EORGE SAID AS HE
watched Cole work with one of the three-year-olds. “I didn’t get the name Takes Many Horses for doing nothing.”