Wili could hear Wina crying. He became angry. Marvilla always just let her cry. Wili could make her stop crying and soon would have her giggling. Even if Marvilla would yell at him for touching Wina, Wili was not going to let her cry.
***
He opened his eyes. Where was he? It was hot and he seemed to be in a tent. He sat up and a flash of light pulled his attention to an opening in the side of the tent. He saw someone leaving the tent. He heard some loud talk he didn't understand - like someone was calling for someone. Soon Eagle Shadow was beside him. "You gonna get up? You been sleepin' near 'about all day. Everybody thought you was dead. I knowed you wasn't. You get a scare like you done, wears you plumb out - and all that runnin' you done. It's a pure wonder you ain't dead. What for you do that? Didn't go nowhere. Just run a big circle around the village."
"I like to run."
"Got your talk back like I said. I knowed you would.
"Got me a new name. Chief give it to me. I told you he be real proud of me. He call me, Thunder Echo, and make me his son. Had a big ceremony. It a damn wonder didn't wake you up all them drums and yipping and singing. See, got me some fancy buckskins. No more breechcloth or running naked for me. I'm the chief's son. He might even give me his squaw's two girls for my wives."
"You're not old enough to have a wife and you can only have one wife anyway."
"You got to get used to bein' a Indian. They do things different."
Indian? Indian? Wili stared blankly for a moment. He remembered. He started to cry. "Where's my Papa?'
"You sleepin' all day. Couldn't leave him and that baby lay in the hot sun. Get to stinkin'. Had a ceremony and buried them." And then with extreme pride, "My Pa, he the chief, say do it again when you can be there if you want."
Wili's sobbing became more violent. "What for you bawlin?"
"My Papa's dead."
Echo was puzzled. In his mind he couldn't see the problem. Things happened. So - his papa was dead. He could be an Indian now. "Don't mean nothin'. You can be a Indian now. Fern want you for a son. So do Abraham. They got nothin' but girls and they want a son. They got this tepee and a cabin. Lot of folks here got a cabin and a tepee 'cause they just startin' to be white."
Echo's "don't mean nothing" made Wili angry. "It does too mean something. I loved my Papa!"
Echo was puzzled. The word, love, always puzzled him. He hadn't heard it very often and he wasn't sure what it meant but it gave him a lost, empty feeling and he never could understand why.
***
Obadiah Dugood didn't understand love because he had never been loved. He had been taken care of but Effie Dugood's concern for homeless children never extended beyond custodianship to love. Perhaps she knew no more about love than did Obadiah.
Effie had been born into a large very poor family. They lived in a series of sod shacks called soddys - never large enough for the fourteen of them. Actually it was not fourteen long. When the twelfth baby came, Effie's pa told almost fourteen year old Jessie, "Time to go. We ain't got no more room." As each reached about that age, they left - most gladly but not in anger. It was just time. It's what happened. One just went. They had no idea where. They disappeared - never to be heard from. There had been no connection between them other than the crush of the soddy. They didn't love each other nor did they hate each other. The "other" was just there. There seemed to be no verve in them. Generations of meager, subsistence living robbed them of spirit. They did not feel devoid of spirit. They didn't even know they were supposed to have one. They existed but did not really live.
Effie was the eighth to leave. She bore the first of her six children at age fourteen. Ruf Dugood had lived the same childhood as had Effie. After a period of aimless wandering, they settled near what would eventually become Denver. They came together because their bodies demanded it. It was what people did. There was no love - perhaps no feeling other than the sensual - between them and there was none toward the children that kept coming. Children were fed and in a manner of speaking, clothed, but all the interaction had to do with survival - not affection. There was some faint protective instinct, similar, perhaps, to that of a bitch for her pups, but nothing more.
The Dugood children continued their parents' mode of living. In turn they left never to be heard from. Effie was not quite forty when the last one left. After the sixth one, Ruf had stopped coming to her bed. In fact, most days he stopped coming into the shack. He would sleep under the stars. On the very rare occasions when it rained, Effie would wake to find him sleeping on the floor in the shack. But, it was of no consequence. By forty Effie's body did not need Ruf and Ruf's taciturn, aloof nature made it impossible to know what he needed. He would bring food and very occasionally money but usually said nothing.
The strange thing about these people is that they were not stupid. Effie, in fact, was quite intelligent. Until a traveling preacher on a kind of missionary trip stopped at the shack, she had just never considered that there was another way to live. She did not grasp his talk of being born again, heaven, hell, sinners and his other preacher speak but she did accept the Gospel of John booklet he offered and the idea that paper could tell you things fascinated her. The preacher wasn't all that interested in educating Effie but he did feel that teaching her to read would facilitate her soul's salvation. He gave her a primer, showed her the rudiments of reading and stopped by occasionally to check on her progress. She never did become proficient but she showed enough facility that the preacher eventually gave her an entire Bible.
Actually, what she learned about religion was from the stories the preacher told her. She worked diligently over her Bible but never did see it as other than a text book - a thing from which to learn reading. Theological intricacies eluded her all her life. It wasn't that she was reprobate. Her barren childhood and youth had made matters of essence incomprehensible.
But, the preacher did not give up. He kept coming back and Effie pried more stories from him. He told her of Ezekiel and the wheel, of Daniel in the lion's den - stories of many of the prophets. He told her of Jesus saying, "Suffer the children to come to me." She began to get the vague idea of good and evil and that Jesus was good and certainly she wanted to be good. So, after the last of her children had left, when the preacher brought a foundling to her, she took it in and cared for it. That happened twelve times. Children whose parents had died, children who were abandoned, unwanted children of prostitutes - Effie took them in and did what was necessary for them to survive. Occasionally, the preacher brought her food items and much more occasionally, small amounts of money. Ruf said nothing but he saw children so he continued as he always had. He brought in enough to keep them alive.
As each new child came, Effie gave them names. Girls got names like Rachel, Rebecca, Ruth, Naomi - names from the stories the preacher told her. But the prophets fascinated her so as each new boy came, he got the name of a prophet. Effie started with the first, Ezekiel, and then down the list. She got to Obadiah before she died.
Effie was about sixty when she died. Only Amos and Obadiah were still there. Neither they nor Ruf knew how old they were but Amos must have been about twelve and Obadiah ten or eleven. When the boys told Ruf that Effie had not gotten out of bed for three days he went in and looked. He said nothing. He took his shovel, dug a grave, buried her and went about his business - whatever that was. He did move back into the shack, however.
About three months after Effie died Amos just didn't come back one night. Obadiah didn't wonder. That's had happened several times before but he did feel a strange kind of empty feeling. He wondered about that. He had never felt that way about the others but since Effie had died, he had come to see Amos as his protector. It was the closest thing he'd ever felt to fondness for another person. For the first time in his life he didn't have someone to "take care of him." Ruf still brought food but never talked and never really interacted with Obadiah. Effie would touch him when she bathed him and even after he was too old to be bathed (which, by the way, seldom occurred) Effie had learned to give remote signals that Obadiah was other than just there. He had taken that same feeling from Amos. It never occurred to Obadiah that what he felt for Amos might be brotherly love.
Sometime after Amos disappeared, (weeks, days, months - the sun just rose and set. No one kept track of how many times.) a fancy dressed man rode up to the shack. He told Ruf that he had run across a fellow named Daniel in Arizona territory and was told of Ma Dugood and all them orphans. He come to see could one of them be his. This man, Jacque Labauc, said he had had a dalliance with a whore in Denver about ten years ago and was sure that Obadiah was his son. Ruf just nodded and Labauc rode off with Obadiah behind him on his horse clinging to Labauc in fear. Obadiah had never been on a horse before.
It took only a matter of a few hours before Obadiah realized that Jacque Labauc was neither his father nor Jacque Labauc. When they got close to Denver, Rath Noland, bank robber, murderer and escaped prisoner, made it clear to Obadiah that he would stay alive as long as he did exactly as he was told. Rath was hiding from a U. S. Marshall who had followed him all the way from Illinois. The bastard just wouldn't give up and Rath was tired of running and he didn't feel good. Now was a hell of a time to get sick. He hoped it was bad water but he was in denial. He knew what it really was. Whatever, he had to get some rest. He would hole up in the Dugood's shack and Obadiah would go to Denver and get him the things he needed. What Rath didn't know was that Obadiah had no idea of what went on more than a hundred yards from the shack. The boy had no idea how to buy things, much less steal from the stores as he was told to do.
Rath dropped the boy off near Denver telling him what he was to pay for and what he was to steal. Told him to get back to the shack 'fore dark.
Obadiah, however, figured that if Amos was big enough to go off, so could he. He wandered around Denver for three days, money in his pocket but no idea how to get food so the boy was half starved when a very sick, very angry Rath found him. He may have killed the boy if Zeke (Ya, that Ezekiel) had not hit Rath with an ax handle and rendered him unconscious. Zeke told Obadiah to get on back to Ma.
"Pa dug a hole and put Ma in it."
"Well, get on back to Pa and Amos. I reckon them others is gone by now."
"Amos gone too. He done like you did. Never come back to the shack."
"Well, get on back to Pa"
Obadiah did but all he found was a new mound of dirt next to the one almost sunk-in where Pa put Ma.
Obadiah decided wasn't no sense goin' back to that there place do Zeke just send him back again so he just stayed around the shack. He found a little to eat but by the time Rath came back the boy was right puny.
Rath wasn't in any shape to beat the boy again. He had never been as sick. He was coughing and spitin' up blood and felt like pure shit. Could hardly get on his horse.
Rath thought probably someone in Denver would be able to describe him well enough that damn marshal would know he was in the area so he took the boy - he wasn't sure why - and headed east. In the back of his mind, he was thinking that when he got better - then he'd give the little shit the rest of the beating that had been interrupted in Denver.
They rode for two days, sleeping on the ground and eating jerky. Rath knew nothing about the prairie so they had been out of water for a day and a half. When Rath heard the ripple of a stream, he rode hard to the sound. What they found was almost a river and - a naked squaw bathing. Rath, sick as he was, could no longer deny it. He had the TB - no doubt about it. He was going to die but he wasn't going to die slow and he wasn't going to kill himself like a coward. He'd take that squaw and see could the Indians catch him. Might as well go out with a smile on his face. Obadiah watched as Rath tried to do to the squaw what he and Amos many times had watched Hosea do to Naomi in the tall grass by the shack.
The squaw could see what she thought was evil in Rath's eyes so allowed the man his atrocity. She knew that she may be killed but she was also cunning. She knew men well enough to know that after their appetence was sated, they were briefly vulnerable. Then, she schemed, she possibly could take her revenge.
There was no recovery time. Rath was too sick, his body too weak to respond. It could not even prepare itself. To the squaw's surprise, Rath just rode off. He didn't get far before he was surrounded by what looked like a hundred very angry Indians. Rath did not show fear or anger. He showed no indication that he might resist. He knew that he was a dead man. He had seen men in the Illinois prison cough and bleed themselves to a slow, painful death. It was the TB. That prison had been full of it. Rath had killed three guards as he escaped. He not only escaped the prison but he hoped the agonizing death of TB. He knew now that he had not. His instinct was to fight but he was too weak. At least he was not a coward. He had not killed himself out of fear. Now he hoped for a quick death at the hands of the Indians. Even the torture he had heard of would be better than the deaths he had watched in the prison. The squaw had provided the means and possibly one last pleasure. She did provide the means but not the pleasure. He was too sick to take pleasure from anything.
The death wasn't that bad. The brave whose squaw Rath had attempted to violated had scalped him and then, almost ritually, cut his throat and cut out his heart. They skewered the heart on a poll for the carrion eating birds - a deep prairie Indian insult.
Assuming that Obadiah was Rath's son, the angry brave turned his attention to the boy. It was his intention to repeat the ritual on the boy. In his mind, an evil father begat an evil son. Obadiah showed no emotion - no fear. Thunder Eagle took that for bravery. At this juncture, it was to Obadiah's advantage that he had no spirit - no vitality.
Thunder Eagle had noticed that the boy bore no resemblance to Rath. The boy was obviously part Indian or Mexican. He could have had an Indian or Mexican mother but he showed no fear and that impressed Thunder Eagle. Being the son of the Chief, Thunder Eagle had the authority so claim the boy as a slave. He did and saved Obadiah's life.
As time went on in the Indian camp, Obadiah came to feel the way about Thunder Eagle as he had Amos. He saw him as his protector - or maybe more his custodian just as Ma Dugood had been his custodian. Obadiah had no idea what a slave was so he entered his new life with the same detachment with which he had lived his old one. Slaves are supposed to be subservient and frightened. Thunder Eagle saw none of that in Obadiah. That, too, the Indian boy saw as bravery and strength. Thunder Eagle began to look on Obadiah more as a friend than a slave and Obadiah developed a deep "respect" for Thunder Eagle. He followed his "master" everywhere he went. Soon he was jokingly called Thunder Eagle's shadow. When Thunder Eagle convinced his father that Obadiah should be adopted into the tribe, Thunder Shadow became the boy's name.
Shadow soon saw himself as an Indian. He did the chores he was given to do and soon realized that Eagle was not making him do the chores assigned to Eagle. They were working together. They were playing together. They were, indeed, more like brothers than master and slave.
Thunder Eagle had not planned it that way. He was the son of the Chief and he should be strong and deal harshly with enemies and - slaves. But his father had said that the days of the Indian were over. That it was now the day of the white man and the white Colonel had sent the man in the black coat and tall hat who told them about a Jesus who loved everybody and wanted everyone to do that too. If this was the day of the white man and the Indians had to learn to live like the whites, to Eagle it made sense to do what Jesus wanted. Eagle was pretty sure Jesus was a powerful chief of the white man if he had people going around telling folks what he wanted them to do.
Eagle was more than a little confused about this Jesus, however. If Jesus wanted everyone to love everyone else, why did the white men kill so many Arapaho and make most of those still alive go to Indian country? Why did they kill Indian women and children while they were sleeping? Why did they kill all the buffalo so the Indians had no food or hides to make tepees? Perhaps Jesus was not such a strong chief if so many white men paid no attention to him.
But Eagle liked the colonel and he liked the people who were sent to his village to teach white man's ways. He liked to learn to make the paper talk. He liked the white man's songs. They were not as powerful as the shaman's songs but they were not meant to call down the spirits like the shaman's. Eagle wasn't sure what the songs were for but he liked them - especially "Mine eyes have seen the glory..." He didn't care that he had no idea what the words meant. He just knew that he felt like he was dancing inside when they sang it.
It was hard to be fourteen and half way between two worlds - an old world he knew and loved and a new world that was there - no one had been able to stop it coming. It was fascinating but also frightening. He thought long and hard about why he didn't want to leave the old one but he also wanted desperately to go to the new one. His body would always be Indian but his mind wasn't sure what it would become. It was sad and hard.
Perhaps that's why he had made a brother of Obadiah. His only brother had died with his mother of the white man's sores. The white man called it Small Pox but the Indians knew it was the Great Spirits curse for not having become brothers with all the tribes and protecting mother earth from the knives which the white man used to cut her open. The white man called them plows but the Indians knew that they were instruments of murder - swords with which to kill mother earth. The white man's sores were the Great Spirit's curse for not protecting the gift of life - the buffalo. The sores came because the Indians loved fighting each other more than they loved mother earth. If they had fought together rather than against each other, Eagle knew they could have kept the white man from killing mother earth.
But - she was dying and taking with her the Arapaho way of life. The Arapaho had to learn the white man's way or go to Indian Territory and die with the earth. Tall Man had chosen to learn the new ways. He had chosen for his people to live.
So, Eagle, without realizing it, had found in Obadiah the brother he lost to the Great Spirit's curse. He just slowly became aware that Shadow was his brother, not his slave. He was proud of Shadow. Shadow was not only fearless, he was tough. Indian boys played very rough games - games that often resulted in hurt bodies, hurt feelings and anger. If Shadow was set upon he did not whine and run off. He fought back and after he had been fed properly for a few months, usually won. He would become a good warrior - but for what? There was no need for warriors any more. Again, being half way between two worlds made Eagle sad.
But Shadow was not sad. For the first time he realized that life held more than just staying alive. He learned to laugh, to cry and, yes, to love. He loved Eagle but he did not know that's what he was doing. Just as he felt empty when Amos left he felt empty when the Breed found Eagle alone and killed him. But there was now something more in Shadow. Shadow was not like Obadiah had been. Shadow felt things and he felt strong anger at having lost Eagle. He did not tell Tall Man but he vowed to find and kill the Breed.
Shadow had loved Eagle but he understood only the feeling, not the word. He did not understand Wili's tears were the result of the same feeling at the death of his Papa that had made him angry at the death of Eagle. Shadow had seen few tears when he was Obadiah and almost none since he had become Shadow. Now that he was Echo, he needed to be strong like Eagle had been. In Indian life, babies cried. Hurts were dealt with by fighting back or rage. Echo liked Wili but he could not understand this love Wili was talking about.
Had Gray Fern been born white in Amherst, she may well have outdone Emily Dickinson. But she was born Arapaho, a woman, trapped in the ancient traditions of a hardy but primitive ethos. She did not feel trapped. She lived happily the only life she knew and her unusual insights were respected but suspected. She thought like a shaman but she was a woman so surely the spirits could not speak through her. Gray Fern didn't mind the suspicion. She wasn't sure that she believed in spirits anyway. She believed more in what the white teachers were saying. As did most Indians, she wondered about the ambiguity of this Jesus but, to Gray Fern, what the man with the tall hat was saying about "God" made more sense than what the shaman said about the Great Spirit. The world of the white man fascinated her and she wanted to be part of it. At Colonel Reid's suggestion she dropped the Gray from her name and became Fern - a respectable white woman's name. She revered her Indian past but it was the past.
Had Red Fox been born a white man in the east, he would have been a Union General. He was brilliant but he was Arapaho. His blood line would never make him a chief but he did not want that. He was a highly respected brave, a member of the tribal council, the most trusted advisor to Tall Man. Red Fox knew before Tall Man that the day of the Indian was gone. It was Red Fox's counsel as much as Tall Man's suspicions that led Tall Man to trust Colonel Reid, to build cabins, to try farming. It was Red Fox's counsel to Colonel Reid that was moving the village from dirt farming to cattle ranching. And, it was Colonel Reid's stories about the Great White Father, Abraham Lincoln - the man who knew that people who were not white should not be thought of as less than human and who fought a war to start making other people think the same - it was that idea and that man that made Red Fox choose his white man name. He would be Abraham Fox and his squaw - no, his wife - would be Fern Fox and they would live in a cabin like white folks - but, he found in his heart - only sometimes. The ways of the whites pulled him and he knew that he had to go there but the old ways, the tepee and the campfire and - well - all that was Indian loathed to yield its hold on him.
So Fern and Abraham Fox lived in the cabin in the winter and were white. But in the summer, even though it would never be the same, they tried to be Indians, living in the tepee and, like the rest of Tall Man's band, nostalgic and pretending. They were happy and more financially successful than even Tall Man. Abraham now had fifty head of cattle. He had a good wife. He had three daughters but he had no son. But - perhaps now he did. When that white boy had run himself to exhaustion, it was Abraham Fox who had carried the sleeping boy to his tepee.
Wili stopped his crying as quickly as it had started. He stared blankly. He was remembering. He remembered the running. He remembered the feeling that with each item of clothing he shed, he was shedding some horror - some evil. He remembered that as he ran he had stopped running from something and started running to something. Maybe being an Indian was what he was running to. He was ten. He was a child but he was a child who knew loss and who knew that loss did not end life. He remembered that until Marvilla came, he had learned to be happy. His life had changed but it had been a good life. He missed his Mama but he still loved her. Now his life had changed again. He would miss his Papa but he could still love him. If he could learn to be happy without his Mama, he must learn to be happy without his Papa.
Again he heard the baby crying but now he knew it was not Wina. "Where's the baby."
A woman's voice answered him in English. It was a little hard for Wili to understand. It did not sound like the English in New Bedford. It did not sound like his Papa's English nor Vaasco's Mama's English. It was different English. It suddenly became light in the tent and he realized that the voice had said, "Echo, make it light in here."
Echo moved toward the tent wall and pushed it apart.
Wili looked toward the voice. The baby had stopped crying and was again eating from her mama. The mama smiled at Wili and Wili knew that smile was part of his new life, his new happiness. By the mama were two other little girls. They were about as big as some of Vaasco's brothers and sisters, Wili guessed about six and three. Yes, he could find happiness in this place. He wanted to hold and hug that baby as he had yearned to do Wina but she was eating from her mama. Wili thought it might be just as good to hug the three-year-old. He stood to walk to her but she pulled back into her mama. Wili was wise enough to know he had to go slowly. He thought of hugging the six year old but she seemed just as shy. Anyway, he needed to pee really badly. He asked Echo where he could do it.
When he got outside, he became somewhat excited. He had been sleeping in a real Indian house - a tepee. He had read books about Indians and seen pictures of tepees. He, Vaasco and the other kids had played Indians and it had been fun. But this wasn't play. Wili had slept in a real Indian Tepee and maybe he was going to be a real Indian.
Wili had no more left the tepee then he and Echo were surrounded by the boys he had run with last night. There were also some girls there - all curious about this strange, running boy. In New Bedford when he had to pee he always went into a privy but while on the wagon, he peed wherever he was. He really had to go but Echo was leading him to a place away from the village that started to smell really bad. There was no privy but Wili could tell that if he had to go, this is the place to do it. It was just a hole in the ground with a pile of dirt around it. Echo asked if he had to shit. Wili said, "No. Just pee."
"OK, but when you do shit, always put some dirt over it." Echo was proud of his newly acquired sanitation habits. When he was Obadiah he just went anywhere away from the shack. He was rather smug. He felt now that he was well versed in proper elimination and other hygiene protocol. He went to the river and bathed at least once a week - even if he has been swimming every day with the boys.
Wili felt hungry but he didn't have to ask. When he returned to the tepee, the mama had a bowl of broth for him. It was good. He ate, handed the bowl back to the mama and said, "Thank you."
"You live in this tepee? Abraham be very happy. Fern be very happy too. I Fern. You live in this tepee?"
Wili was quick with his answer. "Yes."
Fern smiled and pulled Wili to her. She touched her forehead to his. "Fern very happy. Abraham be very happy."
The baby was now lying on a mat on the ground. She wasn't sleeping. She was playing with her hands and cooing. Her full tummy had again made her the happy baby that was her wont.
"Can I hold the baby?"
"Yes. Name Sadie like Colonel Reid's mama. Colonel Reid tell Fern all English name. This one - she pointed to the six-year-old - Ruth and this one - the three-year-old - Mary.
Wili cuddled the tiny girl. Fern could see the tenderness and joy in the boy. He would make a fine son. She knew that he was strong. One not strong could not have run like he did last night. But he was also soft - like Abraham. He would be a fine son and he had said he would stay. There only remained the matter of the colonel. Would he let the boy stay with the Indians? Fern was hopeful. The Colonel had let Echo stay.
Wili soon had Sadie cooing and giggling. Ruth and Mary moved closer and were soon playing with Sadie and allowing Wili to hug and kiss them. Wili had loved Vaasco's babies and younger brothers and sisters. Already Wili felt that he now had a baby and little sisters of his own. He thought briefly about Wina and was sad but Wina and his Papa were in heaven and Wili was now an Indian with a new Papa and Mama and sisters. He reflected a moment on happiness and sadness but quickly realized that he had run to the happiness. The sadness could hide somewhere in his head like the sadness for his mama to be felt only occasionally but not to control him. Wili was a wise ten-year-old.
But he was a ten-year-old so after Sadie went to sleep he needed to run. And he ran - this time in pure joy. Again the other boys ran with him. When does it happen with boys? When the running was over they were all friends. The Indian boys showed Wili how to play hoop and lance and Wili went into his wagon and got his top. The Indians were amazed at how long it would spin and each soon became quite proficient at the winding and tossing. Wili got his hoop and stick. Being the son of a cooper, Wili was rather renowned as the provider of hoops in New Bedford. The hoop and stick were new to the Indian boys just like the hoop and lance were to Wili. Each could see the fun in the other's games but it was some time before they had mastered the others' games. Echo had, perhaps, broken the color line so heritage made no difference. Any residual resentment of whites had not been passed to the preadolescents in the camp. By the time Abraham came back to the tepee and the meal was ready Wili felt completely Indian and went "home" a happy boy.
The sadness did come to him when he was going to sleep on his mat. The older girls had gotten into a minor tiff over who was going to have her mat next to Wili. Their Mama resolved that problem by putting one on either side. The children played and giggled briefly but soon the girls were asleep and Wili was alone with his thoughts. He tried not to let his "Papa and Mama" hear his crying but soon his Papa was at his side. He said nothing but stroked Wili's hair, then carried Mary to the mat with her mama and Abraham lay down beside Wili. That was all Wili needed. His new Papa was like his old one. He knew how to make Wili feel safe and - loved.
The next few days were good. Abraham rode off on his horse each morning and Fern began to give the boy minor chores to do. Wili really began to feel Indian. He was given the same chores as were the other boys: going to the river for water, gathering grass and dried cow chips for fuel, occasionally watching the girls while his Mama was otherwise busy - really not that much different from the kind of chores he had when in New Bedford. But most of his day was playing with the boys. He learned quickly that one reciprocated when hurt or offended and his determination and strength brought him respect. At ten, Wili was a bigger boy than even the Indian boys of twelve and thirteen summers. Wili had always believed that Indians were giants and fierce but the reality was that most American Indians were not as tall as the average white but they were agile and powerful. Wili had the advantage of size and determination and could hold his own in the strength department
Wili's Mama was different than his other mama. She did not cuddle and caress but then neither did the other Indian mamas. Wili realized that Indians did a lot of things differently than he was used to. His Mama was not like his other mama but he could tell that she loved him like his old mama had. And his Papa - he was teaching Wili how to ride a horse. He gave the boy a horse - black and gray paint. Like his new Mama, his Papa was not demonstrative but he was proud of his boy and Wili knew that his Papa loved him. Wili now had the love the past and the love of the present.
Wili had been with the Indians a week and felt fully Indian. He had fallen quickly into his new life and was happy. Then, one day he heard hoof beats and saw a tension in his Mama. Colonel Reid and a small troop of soldiers rode into the camp. Wili's Papa was with them.
Wili was alarmed. The white Colonel was speaking harshly to Tall Man. Tall Man was acting like a kid at school who was caught doing something wrong. That both surprised and annoyed Wili. Tall Man was the chief. He was usually poised and confident. What was this colonel saying that was making him act like a frightened child. Wili asked his Mama.
"Colonel Reid is angry because your mama was not buried."
Now Wili was angry. "SHE WAS NOT MY MAMA!"
Colonel Reid looked at Wili, surprised at the intrusion for a moment and then with a knowing smile on his face. He recognized the boy accent. He was from south central Pennsylvania. He knew Germans. This feisty, naked little rascal was, indeed, German.
Wili now had the Colonel's complete attention. He told his story and made it clear that if the Colonel wanted Marvilla buried, he should go bury her himself. Abraham was appalled. "Wili! No son of mine will show such disrespect. The colonel is a white man and you must show respect."
Wili was still angry. "I'm white and he shows no respect to me."
"You are a boy and he is a man."
"But, Papa, he is wrong."
"He is white. He can't be wrong. You must learn that those who have the power are never wrong."
The Colonel understood Abraham's irony but was not offended. As far as white, Indian relationships were concerned, Abraham was right. He considered Abraham a good friend and a very wise man.
Wili was still angry but he was also apprehensive. Had he made his Papa angry? He had never heard his papa speak so sternly. "I'm sorry, Papa. Please don't be mad at me."
"I am not angry but I am disappointed. I want my son to be an honorable man. Speaking to the Colonel in anger is not honorable."
Abraham constantly amazed Colonel Reid. The man's fluency in a language he had spoken for only about two years was phenomenal. The man was a genius. What a waste, the Colonel thought, that his race prevents him from being more that a cattle rancher. Cattle ranching was an honorable profession but this man's facility and wisdom, were he not Indian, would be of great value in Washington.
"But Papa..."
"Hush now, boy. Let the Colonel speak to Tall Man."
"I think I'm finished with Tall Man. You'll forgive me, Sir. I jumped to a wrong conclusion. The wagon master did not know that the woman was not the boy's birth mother. I was told that she was a very difficult woman but did not know that she was also cruel to this boy. And Abraham, I am not offended by the boy's ire. He is of German extraction and I understand Germans well. Many live around my home in Strasburg, Pennsylvania."
Colonel Reid looked at Wili. "Son, we need to talk. Come with me into your wagon."
Fern and Abraham watched them enter the wagon. They were sure that when they came out, they would no longer have a son.
"You call Abraham, Papa?"
"He is my Papa. I love him and my Mama."
"Son, many folks around here don't like white children living with Indians."
"Why?"
"Whites and Indians have fought each other in this area for many years. Many whites think all Indians are savages."
"They are liars!"
"I know that and you know that but it would be a lot easier for both of us if you come back to Denver with me. We can contact your relatives back east and you can go back to them."
"I have no relatives back east. My papa and mama came from Germany. All my relatives are there." Wili remembered Horst. "Well - except Horst but I don't really know him and I don't want to go back there."
Wili told the Colonel about Horst and the brewery in Golden. Wili guessed they would have to get their barrels somewhere else now.
"Wili, some things are bigger than want we want. Do you know what the law is?"
"Yes."
"The law says that Horst has a right to take care of you. I know it's wrong but Indians have no rights in the law. I have to send you back to Horst."
"What if Horst don't want me? He has no wife and I don't know him. I want to stay with my mama and papa. I like being an Indian."
"Sorry, Wili, I have to send you back."
"I won't go!"
"You are German, aren't you?"
"I won't go! I will stay with my mama and papa and my sisters here."
"I have a whole army, you know. I can make you go."
"I'll come back!"
The Colonel laughed. "Lord, boy, you remind me of another Wilhelm I knew. We played together when we were boys. He was just as stubborn as you are."
"I won't go!"
John Reid was no longer listening to Wili. He was staring wistfully into the distance. "He died at Chickamauga." He said to no one in particular.
"I won't go."
"I can't let you stay with the Indians."
"You let Echo stay."
"Obadiah was different. He was what folks around here call a prairie rat. He was no better than an Indian to most folks."
"Wili was again indignant. "Echo is my friend. He saved my life. If he can be an Indian, so can I!"
John Reid chuckled. "You're not being very respectful to this white man. Shall I tell your Papa that?"
"See, you know I'm an Indian and that Abraham is my Papa so, I'm staying! And now more subdued, "Please don't tell my Papa. I love him and don't want him sad."
"Wili, please don't make this any harder than it is for me. I know you've had a lot of hurt and I don't like hurting you any more but I can't leave you with the Indians."
"OK, let me live with you. I know my Papa will let me take my horse and I can come out and be an Indian any time I want."
That took John Reid by surprise. "Uh ... I can't let you live with me. I don't have a wife."
"My first Papa didn't have a wife for a long time and I lived with him."
This was getting painful. There was too much in John Reid's past that this was awakening. What the hell difference did it make if he let the kid stay until Horst could come and get him. Let the bigots complain. That would be easier to deal with than the raw nerve the kid had inadvertently found.
"Tell you what. I'll send Horst a letter. You can stay here until he comes for you."
"I won't go!"
"We'll see."
"I won't go!"
"Let's forget it for now. You can stay until Horst gets here."
"I won't go!"
"Look, you can stay - for now. Let's talk about something else."
Wili could see hurt in John Reid's eyes. "I don't want to hurt your feelings but..."
"Wili, you didn't hurt my feelings but you made me think of something that did. Don't worry about it."
"Can I call my Papa in here? I want to show you something."
"Yes."
Wili called Abraham into the wagon. He asked the men to move a heavy box behind the driver's seat. He pointed at a strip of wood that was holding a panel in place. "Pull that off."
When the strip was removed, Wili could easily remove the panel. Under the seat, Dieter had built an iron lined compartment. Wili opened the hinged door and withdrew several leather bags and three lock boxes. Each was full of money - ten thousand dollars total. It was to have been Dieter's start-up money in Golden. Dieter felt someone other than he should know about. He knew that Wili would never tell Marvilla.
Wili looked at his Papa. "What should we do with this? We can't leave it in the wagon."
Abraham was dumbfounded. He looked at the Colonel. When John gathered his wits he said, "I'll take the wagon back to Denver. I'll take care of your money."
"But it's our money and what if my Papa need some. And, I think my Papa could use this wagon and our big horses."
Abraham said, "Let the Colonel take the money but I could use the wagon."
"Look, Abe, I can't get all that money safely back to Denver if folks know about it. Let's put it back. When the money's safe, I'll send the wagon and the horses back."
"I can keep my boy?"
"For now. There'll be hell to pay if I ever have to take him from you. That boy loves you."
"Damn right, I do."
"Wili!"
"Sorry, Papa but I won't go!"
John Reid looked at Abraham, raised his eyebrows and shook his head.
John had two of his men drive the wagon. He had no one who was an experienced driver of four horses and he knew the men would have to change off. Their mounts were tied behind the wagon. John followed with a heavy heart. He couldn't get Andersonville and Strasburg out of his mind.