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  Hatred and unspeakable evil twisted Sister Enid’s thin face. Even Sister Louisa seemed taken aback by the cruelty of her superior’s words.

  “The girl’s trainable, Sister. She’ll be able to earn her keep,” Sister Louisa said.

  Sister Enid didn’t seem to hear the teacher. Instead, she looked at Sister Bernadette and said. “Did Sister Sarah take care of the Comanche?”

  “Yes, Ma’am, the young teacher stammered. “She told me to hold her down. . .She hit the girl. . .That’s not right. . .just like hitting Jenny Blackhawk wasn’t right.”

  “You stupid, hulking woman. Who are you to tell me what’s right?”

  “They’re only children. Girls. It’s wrong, Sister Enid. Wrong.”

  “Wrong? It seems I was wrong to accept you here, Sister Bernadette. To give you a home. Have you forgotten it was I who let you come here, I who accepted you when no other school would have you. Have you forgotten this?”

  “No, Ma’am.”

  “Not only do you question my wisdom, my authority—”

  “Ma’am, I do not. . .understand.”

  Sister Enid sneered. “You are incapable of understanding anything. That is why you are here. Now take the girl to the attic and leave.”

  “Sister Enid, is this wise? The doctor is coming.” Sister Louisa said, taking a step toward the wall.

  “Are you, too, questioning me? Defying me?”

  “If we are discovered, our actions may not be understood by the others,” Sister Louisa cautioned her superior.

  “Understood? Do you think that I care what an Indian doctor thinks, what he reports? They all have to be punished, don’t’ you understand? They have to be punished for what they did.”

  “Punished? Why?”

  “For the murders. Everyone last one of them must pay.”

  “Sister Enid, perhaps we should take this girl back down stairs. The Comanche is the one you really want to punish, isn’t she?”

  Sister Enid was no long listening. Her grip tightened on my arm. I could no longer feel my hand or my fingertips. I wanted to scream. I wanted to laugh. This could not be real, my mind cried out. This could not be happening to me again.

  If I closed my eyes, I could make it all go away. I would be back home. Grandfather would tell me a story. There would be fresh game roaster over a camp fire. If I tried very hard, my mind could force it all to go away.

  Still, even when I closed my eyes, I heard only Sister Enid’s voice. Dripping with hatred.

  “I watched. I saw it all,” she said. “Mother told me to hide under the wagon where I would be safe. When it was over, she would come back for me. Only she never came back. . . the Indians rode down the hill, their war lances heavy with human scalps. First, I watched the Comanche kill my father, then my mother. The leader, he wiped my mother’s blood on his face and laughed.”

  “Saints help us all,” Sister Louisa whispered, releasing her hold on me.

  “I still see it. Every night. Every day. Each time I look into one of their faces. All of them must pay. They will all pay.”

  “Sister Enid, the Indian Wars are over. The killing was done on both sides.”

  Sister Enid laughed. It was a cruel, demented wave of sound. Sister Bernadette turned and ran down the stairway leaving me alone with Sister Enid and Sister Louisa.

  I was more frightened that I was the night the Uniforms had burned my village and taken my prisoner.

  Sister Enid turned the door and took a key from her belt. It was a giant key, gleaming sliver.

  I stared at the large wooden door. A hot wind roared from beneath it. The hinges creaked as the door was yanked open.

  “Bring the girl here,” Sister Enid ordered.

  “I—”

  “Do as I say!”

  “No,” she replied.

  I stiffened in surprise and my gaze flew to Sister’s Louisa’s face. I saw her hard-gray eyes clouded with compassion.

  Sister Enid grabbed my wrist and jerked me to her side, then shoved me inside the dark room. Rooted to the floor, I watched the door slam behind her. Heard the key turn in the lock.

  I knew with absolute certainty that Sister Enid was leaving me here to die!

  I would die, alone, in the attic.

  Friendship is held to be the severest test of character. . .

  It is easy we think, to be loyal to family and clan, whose blood is in our own veins.

  But to have a friend, and to be true under all trials is a mark of a person!

  --Ohiyesa (Dr. Charles Eastman)

  Santee Sioux

  Chapter 10

  The wind began to blow, hot and restless. It drowned out the sound of my fists pounding against the door. It drowned out my cries for help. I felt clammy, yet the heat of the day was trapped inside the attic. The heat clawed at me like the talons of a vulture-- cruel and without mercy.

  Sweat poured down my body. My legs now heavy with fatigue, I allowed myself to rest upon the floor. White spots danced before my eyes like white moths. My head pounded with a wild throbbing pain.

  Sister Enid reminded me of Old Woman from my band. She had appeared to be like everyone else. She ate, moved about, spoke. Only she wasn't really like other people. She was a woman in an empty body. Old Woman's soul had been taken from her.

  Old Woman's son had died during a raid. It is said she knew the moment he had fallen for she dropped her basket of acorns and cried out his name in a mournful wail. Day after day she cried for him, shouting his name.

  Grandmother said the warrior’s ghost had come for Old Woman. Since the ghost could not take the woman into the other world, he had taken only her soul. He’d left behind an empty shell--we knew that soulless person as Old Woman.

  Old woman never harmed anyone. Sister Enid may have lost her soul but her eyes were not empty. Her eyes were filled with hatred and with evil.

  Her hatred was like a physical thing. It seared into my flesh and dug a path through my mind.

  Sister Enid wished me dead.

  How was I to survive in the attic for five days? Sister Enid would deny me food and water. No one would ever know. Sister Bernadette would be too frightened to tell. And Sister Louisa would never side with an Indian against Sister Enid.

  Sister Kathleen was my only hope.

  I tried to focus my thoughts on the kind teacher, but I was tired and thirsty. My mind strayed to Sister Enid and her rage. I wondered if she was a spell maker, a witch who used her power to bring harm to others.

  Spell makers could call animals and ghost to visit the living. This is why the Nde burned the homes and possessions of the dead. This is why we never spoke a dead one’s name.

  Sister Enid could not know this. She could not know of the owl, or the bear. She could not call these things to me.

  Still, my mind warned me, the Gahns, the greatest of the mountains spirits, had never given me their blessing. White Painted Woman had not come to me and I had no medicine bundle to protect me from Sister Enid.

  Hours of silence passed, and then suddenly I heard it. A soft cry, like the breast breathy rasp of an injured deer.

  Fear clutched at my throat, and my gaze searched the room. I was not alone in the attic!

  Something in the corner of the room caught my eye. It was a large mound of straw.

  The straw moved.

  A ghost!

  Grandmother had warned me of such ghosts. Evil ones who stole Nde souls.

  I watched something rise from the straw. Large and looming, the ghost stood. My heart pounded with such force my chest hurt and my mouth burned from copper taste of fear.

  Hidden from me by the shadows, I could see I could not make out the shape of a ghost’s body, nor its face.

  It moved.

  I screamed.

  The ghost answered in a low, steady groan. It’s arms reaching wildly around in the empty air.

  Misshapen shadows danced on the walls.

  Suddenly, I knew the bird-of-darkness had been summoned to
come for me!

  I prayed to the Creator, and to the white man's God, that the bird-of-darkness would not harm me. It would not be punished for not having the Gahn’s blessings.

  I knew my prayers were for nothing when I saw the ghost move slowly toward me.

  I slid back until I pressed against the hard, splintered wood of the attic door.

  I had no place to run. No place to hide.

  Still the ghost came toward me.

  “Nea-nim tag-win Apache a-me-up,” it said, “My people say Apache fool. Tay yaa-ga bo-sha-wick-up. Tay cry crazy. Apache fears shadows.”

  Then the ghost laughed.

  I knew the voice. “Anna Thunder!” I shouted.

  The Comanche moved nearer. Her damp her body damp with heat and shock. Her eyes were black, with dark circles beneath them. Her skin was ash-pale. “Stupid Apache. Sister Sarah lock Anna Thunder in attic. I not ghost.”

  She laughed again, a bitter choking sound.

  “Sister Enid hate Anna Thunder. Sister Enid hate Little Fawn. Hate all Comanche. Now Sister Enid hate Apache.”

  “Yes, Sister Enid hate Tay. She says five days in attic.”

  “Sister Enid think we kill each other,” Anna Thunder said.

  “Sister Louisa run from Sister Enid,” I told her. “Then Sister Enid lock Tay in attic. No food. No water. Say I alone. Only I not alone.”

  Anna Thunder grinned. “Tay make much noise. Pound on door. Look for a bird-of-darkness. Scream.”

  “Yes,” I agreed uncomfortable with her laughter.

  “Instead, Tay find only Anna Thunder, not bird-of-darkness.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tay scream loud,” Anna Thunder said, giving me a wide toothy smile. “Apache have much fear.”

  “Comanche hide in straw. Make noise,” I said lifting my chin. “Make Tay think bird-of-darkness near. Comanche trick.”

  Anna Thunder gave a snort of laughter. “Comanche tired, sleep. Make no trick. Tay screams wake Anna Thunder.”

  “Comanche hide like snake, under straw. Wait for Apache. Tay have no fear of Anna Thunder,” I said trying to save face.

  “Tay have fear. Tay scream loud. Comanche not scream. Comanche not scream when scared. Not even babies scream. Tay screams hurt Anna Thunder’s head.”

  She looked at me her black eyes filled with triumph. Anna Thunder knew she had won this battle.

  Trying to keep some of my pride, I gave her a haughty look. “Tay no want to talk to Comanche.” The Comanche gave a grin of agreement.

  Anna staggered over to the mound of straw and sat down. Drawing her knees to her chest, she wrapped her thin arms around her knees.

  Her soft laugh drifted across a small room. I felt my spine stiffen with stubborn pride.

  “Tay, think Anna Thunder bird-of-darkness. Stupid Apache.”

  I looked at Anna Thunder, dry straw sticking wildly from her matted hair and clinging to her clothing. Her shadow, a large dark image on the wall of the attic, filled my vision.

  This was my bird-of-darkness.

  An unwilling smile curved my mouth and I forgot about Sister Enid. No wonder Anna Thunder thought me stupid.

  With her understood truce between us for the night, we divided the straw. I carried my bundle to the corner nearest the door, while Anna Thunder remained near the boarded-up window.

  In the distance, I heard the howl of a dog. I watched the dim light of the moon finger its way across the boards covering the window while the hours passed.

  Did Anna Thunder know I saved her life? Or, did she blame me for causing us to be locked in the attic? The Comanche was smart, cunning. Was she only waiting until daybreak to punish me for keeping the bread I promised to her sister? The Comanche like, the Apache, punished those who harm their loved ones. In Anna Thunder’s eyes, I had broken my word.

  Little Fawn was very ill. She could die. Had Sister Enid gone to town for the doctor as she promised?

  I lay down upon the dry straw and closed my eyes. The Nde never begged an enemy for mercy.

  We lived and died with honor. Others might say, “tell Anna Thunder you saved her life.” But I knew these words would never be said. For though I called the Comanche, Anna Thunder, and my enemy, I knew now, that she was also my equal. I would never under estimate her abilities again.

  Sleep was slow to come. My mouth was dry and my throat ached. I felt the darkness swirling in my mind. It was a darkness that had reached up and gripped my body holding rightly holding tightly in its painful clasp. Soon I found I could not sit up. I could only lay upon the straw with my face pressed against the cool dry wood of the attic floor.

  “I did not wish for Sister Enid to hurt Little Fawn,” I whispered.

  As the night continued, my mind became confused. I remembered the bread. Sister Enid’s anger. But I grew uncertain of where I was or what day it was.

  I could not tell the Comanche of these things. I could only close my eyes and pray. I knew I was very sick. My chest was heavy. My throat was sore from coughing and I burned with a hot fever. Chills shook my body.

  If the doctor came to the school, he would visit the students in the infirmary. He would not know to search the attic. Anna Thunder and I would remain in this place until the doctor left. My eyes filled with salty tears that slid down my face to dampen the collar of my dress. There would be no white man's medicine for me.

  That night I dreamed about Apacheria.

  I dreamed of a whirlwind tracing a slanted it red line across the distance horizon. The low thunder of my grandfather's drum rolling along the air. I watched but it was Jacob Five-Wounds, not White Eagle, who led a horse into a circle. The horse pounds its blue painted hoofs on the hard earth, while it rolls his eyes. There are eagle feathers fixed on the horse's dark mane, a bright red blanket on the back of the pinto horse.

  Before Jacob could make my marriage offering of the horse to Grandfather the holy the circle is destroyed.

  Flames surround the circle and I am trapped inside. I see the Old Ones faces in the yellow and orange flames. Deep-eyed men in their hats, others with long dark braids. Round faced women reaching for me with their limbs their long thin limbs. Their long-fringed sleeves brushing fearlessly across the angry flames.

  I no longer know who I am. I only know I am lost. Lost in the flames. I fight against the arms reaching for me.

  Suddenly I feel cold icy cold water upon my face. I shiver and my body is racked with pain. Shoving aside the icy cold hands I whimper, “Leave me alone.”

  I reach out my hands. In my mind I thought I felt the cool wind and saw the night stars were all around me. Faster and faster the stars spun until they were everywhere. Shooting stars, white against the darkness. I reached for them, and I thought I felt the heat of their white light upon my fingertips. I wanted to move and to run into spread out the stars upon the sky. I wanted to rub my hands upon the darkness. I wanted to bring the stillness of the heavens into my soul.

  I cried out against the darkness.

  Moments later I found a gentle touch upon my face as if from a great distance I heard a woman's voice.

  “We-ye-quin-nah-shanti. Rest this day. Im-te-us-mah-rick-how. Eat. Drink.”

  I do not understand many of the woman's words. I only know the words are filled with kindness.

  I sipped the cool water that is offered. And I try to swallow the thin mush she fed me.

  It was as if I was trapped in a world between awake and asleep. Life and death. Soon I was uncertain whether I had slept for only moments or for many days.

  Still the woman's voice was all around me.

  Always with me.

  I became one with the low, calming chant. I rise and fall on a wave of sound. Soon the words become louder, harsher. As if the words themselves battle against the sickness which attacked my body.

  Louder and louder. Until the words were explosions of sound in my mind.

  The words held the strength of a warrior, but I sensed the woman was a healer.

 
; I felt her touch.

  Her kindness.

  I felt my body fight against the sickness.

  I knew this woman would not allow me to die.

  Then suddenly there was only silence.

  I sleep once again.

  When I opened my eyes, I knew I was not in Apacheria. My heart filled with sorrow and I nearly wiped from the pain; the dark emptiness and loss. I struggled to get up, but my body would not move. Looking into the far corner of the room, I saw Anna Thunder, sitting upon her mound of straw, watching me.

  Watching and waiting. Was she watching over me, or only waiting for a chance to punish me?

  I know I must escape from this attic or I would die.

  Crawling over to the door, I somehow managed to grip the door knob and stand. “Sister Kathleen!” I shouted over and over until my voice is silent and my throat raw. I fell to my knees.

  “Tay sick. Sleep now.” Anna Thunder said, coming over to my side. “No more come to the attic until tomorrow. Sleep.”

  People without history is like the wind on the buffalo glad grass.

  -- Crazy Horse

  Oglala Sioux

  Chapter 11

  “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.