John Reid realized that this had become his favorite place in the world. It was so peaceful here, so uncluttered, so pristine. There were, of course, the few cabins of the village and cattle rather than buffalo and at this moment, peaceful was a relative term. Eleven, twelve, thirteen and fourteen-year-old boys in an Indian style lacrosse game with all the accoutrements: yelling, cheering and occasionally fighting tend to disturb peace in the conventional sense of the word but for John, it was peaceful and entertaining. The boys were having fun. What can be more peaceful in the ethereal sense than happy children?
Many of the people he loved and admired were here. Whenever he could get away, he came to the village to relax. Part of the reason was that his best friend, Abe Fox, was here and part was that Declan loved the place so much. Much of it, however, was that Wili was here. Despite the difference in their ages, they were kindred souls.
It was rare that there were enough boys in the village to get up a lacrosse game. But today there was Declan, Dickie Chester, Wili, Billy, Echo and Amos. The game broke up when it became obvious that Amos was tiring. All the boys of the village, in fact, all the people in the village made it their business to look out for Amos. In the past year he had grown and filled out but his eagerness to participate, to be one of the boys, outpaced his still somewhat frail body.
The three year difference in their ages had not prevented Declan and Dickie Chester from becoming good friends. Dickie was fourteen - possibly the same age as Amos. Echo was probably also fourteen. It had just been generally assumed that Amos was a year older than Echo but, of course, there was no way of knowing. There was also no way of knowing if it were Amos' physical trauma or his genetics that kept him small. In the middle 1870s, it was highly unusual for a boy of fourteen to have experienced puberty so the degree of sexual maturity could not be used as an indicator of age among these boys. Age really made no difference. They were all physically still boys so they were all good friends.
After the incident in Denver, Dickie Chester had become, first, Declan's protector and then his friend. The protector role was a kind of self-imposed penance which he hoped would absolve him of any transgression the great General/God might report to his father. Colonel Chester knew John Reid to understand children and not to be self-important but children, particularly military children, were in awe of the man and his rank. Dickie was also old enough to fear that any untoward behavior on his part could affect his father's career and, hence, the condition of his backside as it related to pain.
In order to protect Declan, one needed to be around him and it was impossible to spend much time with Declan without becoming his friend. Declan's mini outbursts amused Dickie as much as they did John but there was much more to Declan than his Irishry. He was gregarious and witty and basked in Dickie's attention so that the older boy became his Denver idol just as Wili was his village idol.
Declan had talked so much about the village and "his" Indians that Dickie, not wanting to be too forward, tentatively suggested that he'd like to go there sometime. This was actually the third time he'd been at the village - twice with the General and Declan and once with his dad.
When the lacrosse game broke up, most of the boys went to the creek. Wili, however, came and sat beside John. They sat silently. They understood each other. They had known and overcome loss. They had been to emotional places that others could not completely understand. They had talked little about their losses but talk wasn't necessary. Each knew the other understood and they took comfort from the other's company.
John placed his arm around Wili's shoulders and pulled the boy too him. He glanced down at Wili. The boy had grown. He was thirteen now and because of his Indian life was in many respects as much a man as a boy. He knew and took responsibility. He had the skills and understandings that the prairie demanded - skills and understandings unnecessary in the less demanding culture of the urban life.
"When did you stop being that stubborn little German thorn in my side and become my friend?"
"When you stopped trying to take me away from my Papa and Mama."
"You are my friend, you know. Probably my best friend beside your papa."
Wili thought. He did feel like John was a friend. Wili didn't know when it happened either, but he no longer thought of John as a loved uncle. Wili knew that he was a boy and that John was a man but they shared a kind of equality - an equality of soul - an equality of having been to the same emotional places - an equality of knowing things and having felt things that made them unique each to the other. In terms of time lived they were not equal but in terms of spirit, they were. At that moment, Wili felt more grown up than he had ever before.
"I know you're thinking the same thing I'm thinking. You're thinking about Paddy and I'm thinking about my first mama and papa. We're the same that way. But you got Declan and I got my new Mama and Papa. I've got all I need but you haven't."
"And just how do you know that?"
"I can just tell."
"I may have to stop coming here. You seem to know all my private thoughts."
"See, there is something else. Tell me what it is."
John looked off across the prairie and said nothing.
"Are you going to tell me?"
"No."
"Friends tell friends what's bothering them. Maybe I can help you."
"You are my friend but this is something you can't help me with."
"We won't know unless you tell me, will we?"
"Wili, if it was just me, I'd tell you, but this affects people who would be badly hurt if it was known."
"Did you do something bad?"
"No, something bad happened to me."
"But..."
"Leave it go, Wili. This is something that I can't talk about."
"Will you ever tell me?"
"I don't know."
"Does Declan know?"
"No."
"But Declan helps, doesn't he?"
"You knew about this before Declan?"
"I knew about it when we were talking in the wagon that first day."
"How?"
"Well, you said that I made you remember something bad. But even before you said that your eyes told me that you felt the same things that I had felt.
"Was it your friend, Wilhelm who was killed at Chickamauga?"
"Wili, please leave it go. I can't talk about it.
"Why don't you go to the creek with your friends?"
"Because I have another friend who won't talk to me but who needs me by him right now."
Wili hadn't sat on John's lap for almost a year but John pulled him onto his lap, wrapped his arms around the boy, laid his head on Wili's shoulder and they quietly wept together - John for his pain at his heart-wrenching and seemingly insoluble dilemma and Wili for the pain of his dear friend.
Wili had always been sad to see John and Declan and now Dickie go back to Denver but this time he was more than sad. He had always known that his friend carried a heavy burden but he did not know how heavy until now.
There had been many changes to the village in the last year. Two white families had built cabins so that the men could work for Broken Bough. His business was expanding rapidly. The men were of Italian extraction and were expert wood carvers. Bough furniture was gaining popularity and as prairie folks became more and more affluent they demanded more elaborate furnishings. The intricately carved chair backs, headboards, other carvings and scrollwork produced by these two men made Bough furniture even more highly prized. Broken Bough had a problem filling all the orders. He could not find local help and asked John Reid if the Bureau of Indian Affairs would allow him to recruit at Darlington. He had not yet gotten permission and that resulted in many long days but also a very proud and happy Broken Bough. He was not only an excellent "native" craftsman but was becoming an astute business man.
Broken Bough thought about the old ways but not much. They had been good in a nostalgic sort of way but there was much to be said about the new ways. Broken Bough liked to think about the old ways but he did not want to live them again. He now not only had the respect of the clan but of many white men. He became aware that it was a much more pleasant life to live with only respect rather than respect from some and hatred for others.
Amos was fascinated by the work of the carvers and soon was saving any scrap of any size and trying to copy the actions of the Italian carvers. When they saw the dedication and latent skills of the boy, they began to instruct him and soon Amos demonstrated that he had both the creativity and dexterity to become very good.
It had been hoped that the railroad would run a spur down to the village but it became obvious that would not happen. After Jake Russert and his cohorts were no longer a presence in Goodland the fortunes of that town took a dramatic turn for the better. The railroad had formerly made a whistle stop in Goodland but with the riffraff gone, the area had possibilities. It was a strategic location, an appropriate distance from Denver, so a station was built. As Goodland's prospects improved, Cyrus Newfeld decided it was a good place to build a stockyard. He did and the railroad built a siding so that cattle could be loaded and not block the main line. Paul Mann saw the future and built a general store in Goodland. He kept his store in the village but it was obvious now that Goodland would be the town and that the village would never be more than a cluster of homes and probably completely disappear as cultures melded.
Wili saw what was happening and was ambivalent. He loved the Indian life but was proud of his peoples' move into the new ways. But the new ways seemed to make him feel less Indian. Wili's papa reveled in the new ways. He liked learning new things. He liked knowing enough that he could figure things out on his own. That was the main reason that Abe was so fond of John. John didn't treat Indians as most white men did - as a kind of subhuman race. John knew that the average Indian was just as intelligent as the average white and that Indians had developed survival and observation skills that far surpassed the more "civilized" whites. John trusted Indians. He let them learn from their mistakes. In the old ways, one needed to know only those things that would keep one alive. Now subsistence and protection were only a small portion of life. There was time now to look past himself, his family, his clan, his tribe and what he saw excited Abe. There was so much to learn and John let him learn. John didn't lead and Abe didn't follow. John got out of the way and Abe dove hungrily into the vast sea of knowledge.
Wili kind of understood why his Papa so loved the new life. Wili had loved the Indian life because it freed him from cultural strictures. John had told him stories of white children down in Texas who had been kidnapped by Indians and later rescued and sent back to their families. They hated it. Some ran away again to rejoin the Indians. Some even fought with the Indians against their own communities and even their own families. Wili understood that. He could never go back to the New Bedford life. He didn't think he wanted to go to war with New Bedford but he never wanted to live like that again.
But the prairie didn't seem as big and as free as when he first came to the prairie. Now he had read things - things that fired his imagination. Like his Papa, he was beginning to realize that there was so much more out there - something vast and freeing was pulling on him. It wasn't a palpable thing like the prairie but it made the prairie he loved less vast, less appealing somehow and that made Wili sad.
He wanted to love the prairie as he did when he was ten. But he wasn't ten anymore. He still loved the fact that his body was on the prairie but something inside him needed to go into that vast unknown. It needed to learn. It needed to know. It needed to know what he did not know. It needed to search. It needed to discover.
Wili was thirteen and he wanted to be that ten year old boy brand new to the prairie but he knew that could never again be and that made him both excited and sad. As much as he loved the prairie, Wili suspected that it could not hold him forever. The prairie had freed the ten-year-old but the boy growing into manhood was being pulled toward that thing which would both bind and free the man Wili would become. Truth is an intriguing but cruel master. It taunts you and excites you. It pulls on you but constantly eludes you. It just keeps teasing you but it won't let you go. Wili would know one day that it was the striving as much as the achieving that was the freeing thing and he would love it as much as he had the prairie at ten.
But that was in the future. Right now he wanted to be ten again and so did Billy. There was a sense of urgency in their begging to be allowed to go on another prairie adventure. It seemed to both boys that if they didn't hurry up and do it, the riding and yipping and yelping would be there but the adventure would be gone. They had to get out on the prairie one more time as boys. To have again the will of the wind and the long, long thoughts of a boy.
Echo, however, didn't want to go. He had found his truth. Echo was a storekeeper. He may have been lucky or he may have been foolish to have decided so young but he was happy now. He felt a man. Would he one day regret that he had stopped searching so young?
Amos, on the other hand, threw a fit when Leah said that he was not ready to be away from home that long. He may have been more physically fit than his "mama", for that's what he called Leah now, would admit. If she was over protective, it was understandable. The boy had been extremely feeble and still was far from the heartiness that his fifteen years should manifest. She would loosen the reigns, but not yet. It took a swat on the behind to get Amos to not agree with, but to reluctantly accept, her thinking.
Actually, Wili and Billy were glad it was just the two of them. There was a little yipping and yelping but there was more discussion of the enigma of growing up and of life in general. Being thirteen and fourteen, even as preadolescents, this new mystery related to the sensations in and the use of their most sensitive parts dominated the early part of their discussion. Why was it so much fun last year and kind of scary now? Why did some girls make them tingle and others not? Last year, a girl was a girl. They were all fun to do it with. Now you kind of wanted to do it with some girls and the thought of doing it with other girls was disgusting. Why was that? Why did white people think it was bad? If it was bad, why did the Great Spirit or the white man's God make people so they had to do it and why was it bad for children to learn how and have fun with it. And, most confusing of all, why did Keechee like to do it with that white guy who lived with him now?
Since the new ways now held the upper hand, the traditional berdache had never been explained to the boys. Keechee was Keechee, like any other member of the clan. He just liked different things. When some of the older boys began to make the white water, Keechee persuaded them to sleep in his cabin but none stayed very long. Some went back now and then but the white guy from Nebraska and Keechee lived together like a brave and a squaw. He was about twenty and he worked the huckster route out of Goodland. When both were in the village, they were like married people.
Keechee was older than Abe Fox. Wili asked his papa why James Madison Leland would live with such an old man. Abe told Wili that white people thought what Keechee and James did was worse than little children playing at making babies. White people hated people like Keechee and James so in the white world you never let people know that you were of two spirits. If you found someone like you, age didn't matter.
That didn't make sense to Wili. If Keechee and James wanted to do it that way, that was their business. If, as the man in the tall hat said, God made everyone, how can it be bad if that's the way God made Keechee?
Abe didn't understand it either. There had always been people of two spirits and there always would be. In some things Indians were wiser than whites. Indians respected what God or the Great Spirit made in a person. Whites thought they knew better than God. They thought God made a mistake when he made people of two spirits.
They talked about why last year they wanted to but now they had to. Why did they have to but no longer wanted to do it with girls? Oh, they wanted to do it with girls but it was no longer play and it had to be the right girl. What if she didn't want to do it with them? How did they know if it was the right girl? How could they tell if she wanted to do it? What if they asked and she said no? Girls could do that now in the new ways. And even if she wanted to, did they really want to? They were learning the value of self and intrinsically knew that you do not share your soul wantonly. They knew that some other boys did and they couldn't understand that. How could anyone just throw around something as important as yourself? There were more things they needed to know - to understand before giving away themselves. They had to do it but for now they had to do it by themselves. They had talked about this before. But then it was easy. It was play. Now he didn't know what it was but Billy wanted to know. In an embarrassed, sheepish tone he asked, "Do you still do it everyday?"
Wili nodded. "Do you?"
Billy nodded.
But that primary concern of late childhood and early adolescence, probably throughout all of history, fascinating and confusing as it was, was only one of many topics. They were finding out what Longfellow knew - "A boy's will is the winds will and the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." Both boys had read Moby Dick and while the thought of all that water disturbed Billy, both boys wove an imaginary tale of adventure in which they easily dispatched the leviathan without the misfortunes that beset Captain Ahab, Ishmael, Queequeg and all the others.
Billy was sure that he could have been a better buffalo hunter than Broken Bough and thought about going to Africa and hunting elephants. Wili would own vast networks of brewery and cooperages but he'd let Horst and Wolf run them so he could stay on the prairie.
Perhaps they would combine their father's herds and become the biggest ranchers in the world. They might go to the Dakota Territory and resolve the still raging hostilities between the whites and the Sioux and Cheyenne. But then, again, they might go to Germany and live in the luxury of the Slatz estates and study medicine and come back with cures for all the white man's diseases that killed Indians.
But then they could go to Arizona Territory and convince Geronimo to stay on the reservation. They could tell him how the White Buffalo Calf Clan was doing and how much money they could make. But then the boys realized there were probably no John Reids in Arizona.
Long, long thoughts were the prerogative of boys but they knew even then, as they grew, making those thoughts realities would not depend of the fickleness of the winds' will. It would depend on knowing more and on working hard.
But this adventure was not all long, long thoughts. Wili and Billy were still boys and after they picked up Jack Raven, quite rowdy and playful boys. The Republican was in its late summer low and there were many curious bits of mineral matter that the higher spring waters had deposited on the banks as the water receded more into the channel. At one point Jack was sure he had found a gold nugget and two of what they planned to be ten days were passed "prospecting." It turned out to be iron pyrite but that was all right. It had provided two days of fun and excitement.
Wili was driven to swim across the river. He knew in his head that Ruf was gone and there was no danger but he had to do it for his heart. He did it early in the morning when the other boys were still sleeping. It was a strange, confusing need. He had not really thought about being kidnapped for more than a year. Ruf was gone. Buford was dead and Aunt Le lived right next to him. But, when he was at the Republican some hidden demon he didn't realize was still there reared its head and had to be exorcized.
He swam, then stood on the north bank, threw his arms in the air and whooped. It was a whoop of triumph and defiance and just plain boyish joy. He'd overcome a fear he didn't even know he had. He'd figuratively spit in its face and he'd had the exhilaration and boyish fun of the cool water caressing his naked body.
The boys tried to catch fish in their hands, had a contest to see who could stay under water the longest, swam races - the winner still being the one who came in second, ate pemmican and fish from the Raven's trap, tried to trap rabbits with no success and generally frolicked. It was fun but somehow not the same. It was no longer an adventure. It was fun but they now knew that they could do all the things necessary to survive on the prairie. The challenge and newness was gone. After the sixth all three decided that they were bored and started home the morning of the seventh day.
Wili and Billy rode silently for about a half hour after leaving the Ravens'. They didn't talk but they knew they were thinking the same thing. It wasn't the same. When had they stopped being little boys? True, they had enjoyed themselves but they could not recapture the thrill of a year ago.
Actually, they knew why. They were growing up. Everything was changing. They were at a tough age. At that moment they weren't sure if they were happy or sad that they were growing up.
Wili talked to his papa about his mixed feelings. Abe understood even though at Wili's age, he thought he knew exactly what his life would be. Of course, Abe understood Wili's body confusion but he also understood the boy's confusion about the future. Abe had to move from that assured future of the old ways into the unknown and somewhat frightening future of the new ways. Abe understood that he did not have to deal with his body confusion and the questions about his future at the same time as was Wili, but he understood. Abe couldn't answer all of Wili's questions. The new ways had too many possible paths and each new path had new questions. Even so, Wili felt better. Just talking to his papa had always made him feel better.
Wili sometimes wondered if he should love his papa and mama so much. Did that mean that he didn't love his old papa and mama enough? It probably didn't mean anything. It was just another of those questions that his life seemed to be full of right now. He loved his first mama and papa. He knew that he did and he knew that they would want him to be happy, to love his new papa and mama and his sisters and brother.
And did Wili love his brother. De was almost three now and he was a handful. Ruth couldn't keep up with De and he wouldn't mind Ruth. Usually if his mama was at the creek washing or doing something else that would keep her away for a long time, Wili had to watch De. If Wili was helping with the cattle, Fern would have to get Aunt Le.
De wasn't bad, he was just full of life and he really wasn't disobeying Ruth. He was teasing her. De liked to tease Wili too but, like with everyone else, Wili could work his magic on the toddler. Wili would pretend to cry and De would come running and hug him. When Ruth pretended to cry, De would tease her more. De was a bright, cute little thing whom Fern was afraid Wili was spoiling rotten. Actually, the whole family found it difficult not to fawn on the boy. He was cute and funny and he knew it. But Indians knew when it was time to stop fawning. De would grow to be an honorable man. No son of Abraham Fox could be other than honorable.
School started again and that meant more kids in the village. It made for some wild lacrosse games. Johann was a good teacher. He was more fun than Siegfried. He was closer in age to the children and "played" with them as much as taught them. But he was a good teacher. The children learned. Birdie Hawk came most days to help with the real little ones like Mary. At least that's what she said. She really came so she could sit and stare at Johann. You could tell that Johann was glad she was there. He stared at her too. Billy said that his mama is afraid that Johann is going to take Birdie to Boston. His mama likes Johann and thinks it would be nice if he and Birdie got married but she didn't think people in Boston would be nice to Indians.
Horst stopped to see Wili on his way to Golden. Wili didn't know him well but was glad to see him. His wife was pretty and his daughter was almost as cute as De. He had another boy with him a little younger than Johann. It was another of Wili's Slatz cousins, Niklas. He was seventeen and he was Horst's brother. He was going to Golden until his English was better. Then he'd come back and be the village school teacher. Johann's father wanted him to come back to go to college next fall.
Johann's father had written to John indicating that two years in the hinterlands was enough. He wanted his son in college. John wanted continued German instruction for Wili and Billy but Dr. Martyn did not know of anyone. If he had another son he would be glad to send him. It had been a good experience for Siegfried and from the letters he was getting, it is good for Johann too but he had no more sons.
It took several months of letters between John, Horst, Wolfgang - and Horst to his parents in Germany before it was agreed that Niklas could come. If it had been up to his mother, he would not have come. It was bad enough having one son so far away. But Grandma Slatz was a formidable woman. She wanted Wili to be educated in Germany. What Grandma Slatz wanted, Grandma Slatz got. Niklas liked the idea. He was seventeen and ready for adventure. He'd probably be in America only two years. He wanted to go to college too. Barrels held no fascination for him.
One afternoon just as he was leaving school Wili heard Aunt Le - he wasn't sure what - laughing or crying. Amos heard it too and they ran, fearing that she may be injured. What they found was Aunt Le doing both. She had her arms around the neck of a white woman who looked about Leona's age. There was a white man there and four children - the oldest a girl about Wili's age. The other woman was doing that laughing/crying thing too. The boys stood open-mouthed.
When the women broke their embrace Leah noticed Amos. "Amos, come meet your sister, Dolly."
It was John who had discovered that Dolly was Leah's daughter. Her husband, Lester Ferguson, was a grain broker and sold oats to the army. Lester and Dolly had been invited to a party at the home of John's supply officer. John was also at that party. In the course of the evening, they found themselves chatting. John saw raw-boned Colorado in Lester but detected a bit of Boston in Dolly. "Are you from Boston?"
"I lived there until I was twelve. You must have a keen ear. I thought Colorado had taken all of Boston out of me."
One question led to another and John made the connection. Dolly, at first, was not interested in contacting her mother. She loved her mother but the resentment of her childhood was too strong. John, however, would not let it go. He knew that if Dolly knew the person Leah Slidell now was, she would lose the resentment. John told Leah about Dolly and Leah wrote. It took several letters and a few months before Dolly knew that she had to see her mother.
It was a good visit. A visit that started a series of restored relationships. Most of Leah's children had stayed in the Denver area. Before the first snow, all seven Sidell children who had stayed in Colorado had come to see their mother. Most had not brought their families as had Dolly but when caught-up in Dolly's renewed love and excitement, they had to see their mother.
Leah had never been happier. She had her family back - most of it anyway. And she had Amos and she was in love again.
No one in the village was really surprised when Broken Bough, now happy to be called Bob Bough, announced that he and Leah Sidell were going to marry. Bob, at almost sixty, was also in love. It was a very un-Indian thing to feel, particularly for one of his generation. As Broken Bough he had owned his squaw. Bob Bough realized that Leah owned him in a sense. Actually, they owned each other. Leah was as much in love as he was.
So - the white hating Indian and the Indian fearing Bostonian married in both a traditional Indian ceremony and a Christian ceremony. Seven of Leah's nine children were there and seventeen of her twenty-two grandchildren. The two who didn't come had moved back to Boston and were outraged that their mother would sink so low as to marry an Indian. Leah wept at her children's forgiveness and Bob wept for the loss of his children. But they were happy and Amos now had a mama and a papa and all them other people who were calling him brother and uncle. Wili had to convince Amos that uncle was not an insult.