The Savage Ones

"Jaynie!"

The hesitant call came from behind me and I turned, watching Nettie emerge from the trees, hurrying toward where I stood.

"Jaynie! What did your ma say?" she was breathless, having run for a little way. I regarded her cautiously, despite my rapidly growing liking of her.

"Why do you call me Jaynie, Nettie?"

"Well," shyly she grinned. "I don't wanna get confused in front of your ma, so I figure to just call you what she does. You mad?"

The simple truth pleased me, making me like her more. Shrugging my shoulders, I met her eye.

"No."

"So, Jaynie," she giggled a little. "What'd your ma say?"

"She is trying to understand my ways, and I hers."

Nettie paused, confused.

"She don't ken you? She's your ma..."

"We are different," I responded curtly. "She thinks like a white."

"You don't?"

I spat in disgust, watching Nettie's dark features go from shock to pity.

"She treat you like an Injun, Jaynie, like them kids at school?" Her brown eyes were brimming with sympathy, and it made me uncomfortable. I looked away but her touch on my arm turned me back.

"She ain't like them really, is she?"

"No," the reply was instant, but my cheek was still tender from the harsh blows of last night, and I wondered. Nettie's innocence had brought my mother into bright light, and it hurt my heart. I knew she loved me, but now I fully understood her. Mamma saw me as an Indian first, then her daughter, and she resented it. I had skipped breakfast and raced from the house without talking to her this morning, so we were still unresolved.

"I didn't know Jeb had gone to see your folks 'til he come home. He said your pa was a right nice man, and how perty your ma is. You didn't tell me that."

"She's like the dawn," I muttered absently, my mind far away. What would happen to me if this new baby were a girl-?

"The dawn?" Nettie brought me back to the moment. "Like watchin' the sun rise?"

"Something like that." I allowed a small smile to touch my lips. "What are your parents like?"

"Like me." She grinned, pulling at the thick, bunchy rope that made up her hair. "Ma's hair is longer'n mine, but still real curly, and I have her eyes. Jeb, he's a good lookin' fella, but his face is always itchy 'cause his beard, even though he keeps it shaved close. They both love to sing, and taught me all the old songs, and ever' night we read a little bit from the good book."

"What's that?"

"You ain't never read the Bible?" her surprise put my guard up, but I shook my head, expecting a rebuke. She only giggled, grabbing my hand in hers. "I guess Injuns don't have much use for it, but it's got some real nice stories in there."

She talked on endlessly as we walked to school, but I was only half listening. I could not take my mind off the easy, genuine feel of her hand in mine, and how nice it was to finally have someone who didn't care what I looked like, or what blood ran in my veins.

The schoolyard was busy with children when we arrived, but despite a few sullen, disapproving looks, there was no time to bother us. The bell rang, and we all lined up. Miss Hazel watched as we filed inside to take our usual seats, then began class. It was a long day of numbers, letters, and geography, and I had a hard time concentrating, but I forced myself to listen. Both my fathers would want me to, and I had to make an effort to make Mamma happy. When the class dismissed for lunch, Nettie and I settled into a corner of the classroom, near the open window.

"You like schoolin', Jaynie?" she asked, chewing on a pork sandwich. I shrugged a shoulder, unwrapping my own lunch.

"I learn many things here."

My answer was vague, but Nettie startled me with her reply.

"But they's white man's things, not injun, right?" Her grin was toothy. "What would you be learnin' now, if you was in your village?"

"My father taught me many things," carefully chewing, I considered what I should tell her, then abruptly decided to be completely forthcoming.

"I know how to use a bow and arrow, and how to hunt and track. I can find water without help in the middle of the prairie, and can easily ride a horse. Many times I've made clothing from buckskin, and baskets from water reeds. Frank is teaching me a little about using a rifle. Mamma has helped me learn to cook, and I can make a fire, and my own shelter. None of those things require the use of letters or numbers!"

"Wow," her awe was genuine, but there was a little puzzlement in her eyes too. "Them is all fine things, Jaynie, but, what about readin' a letter from your ma when you grow up and move away, or how you gonna write her one so she knows you're okay? Jeb says if we can't use numbers, we'll never be able to handle money right and will always be broke. That's important too, ain't it?"

"To a white man, but that is not important for an Indian."

"You gonna go live with them when you grow up?" her question hung in the air between us, then she quickly added. "If not, you's gonna need to know what Miss Hazel's teachin' us."

It made me think, and I was still deep in thought when I said goodbye to her at the trail fork after school. Walking along, I found Frank shoeing his horse out behind the barn. Having not heard me approach, I watched him work for a while, impassive even when he caught the tip of his finger with the hammer and used a few words Mamma would not have approved of. Then he saw me.

"Thunderation! What in the world are you doing just standing there? When'd you get home?"

"A little while ago." I wanted to talk to him, but hadn't quite made up my mind how to start. Frank Colter and I were not intimate, and we both knew it. He sensed something was on my mind, but wisely did not pry.

"What do those words you used mean?" I asked innocently. Instead of answering me, he went back to his work with a grin.

"Just don't tell your ma what I said, alright? You wasn't supposed to be listening."

"I will not."

His hands were skillful in their work, and despite the fact he was not my father, I admired him. Shuffling my feet a little, I wandered nearer to where he was.

"Why do you put metal rings on his hoofs?" I asked, just for something to say. "He can run just as well without them."

"The shoe is to protect his hoof," Frank paused in his work, glancing at me. "A horse with a rider carries a bit more weight than normal, and the metal shoe helps keep his hooves from splitting, and gives him better traction in the snow and ice. In the wild, horses only really take to their heels when running from a predator, but with a saddle, they go where the rider wants them too, and as fast as they're asked to. It ain't really normal, and we wanna do our best to keep them healthy."

"There are many things white men do that change the natural way, is that so?"

"I reckon." Finishing, he stood and let the gelding into the corral with the others. "You're pa's people, they only use horses when they need to, so shoeing them isn't necessary. He tell you anything about that?"

"No sir, not much. Horses are valuable and the more a man had, the richer he was, but one man cannot ride ten ponies at once."

"No, I don't suppose he can." Frank knelt at my side, pushing his hat up to look in my eyes. "You learn somethin' new at school today?"

"Yes. Numbers that add together to make other numbers, and how to write long sentences with letters, and where the white Father of this country lives, by the big water."

"You likely don't see much use in that, do you."

"No sir, but I still learn."

"That's good. It'll serve you well when you grow up to have the knowledge of two peoples, not just one. It'll give you an advantage most people don't have."

I stared at him, surprised, and he saw it. Chuckling, he gently clipped the bottom of my jaw.

"I've never seen your mouth hang open at me before, little Butterfly, and I'll be honest. It's downright disturbing. What'd I say?"

"For a moment," hesitating, I looked into his eyes. "You sounded a little like my papa."

"I take that kindly, girl." He winked at me. "Next thing you know, you'll be telling me you like me."

"I would never insult you," I shot back, trying not to smile.

It was an understanding we had between us, since the day he'd married my mother. I had disliked Frank Colter intensely but he'd known it, so getting me to say I liked him now had become a game. So far, I had been winning. His gray eyes searched mine briefly.

"You got something on your mind?"

"I was wondering..." gathering my courage, uncertain how he would react, I sucked in a deep breath and spoke quickly.

"When I'm grown, will I live with the whites or my own people?"

Frank looked at me like I'd stabbed him, his surprise so great he said nothing for a long while, just staring. It was only minimally comforting that he didn't look angry. Finally, he put a hand on my shoulder, guiding me gently off to one side, settling to the ground in the shade.

"What's got you thinking on that, Kimimela?"

"I..." wavering, I was ashamed of how uncomfortable I was. "I will not be a child forever, and I wish to know what my freedom will be. Can I decide where I live, or will Mamma, or you?"

"Which one do you want?" He asked it gently, but I could see the wariness in his eyes, the tightness around his mouth. He carried the look of a prairie fox, curious, cautious, uneasy.

"I want to live with my father's people..." I meant to say it confidently, but my voice faltered, fading. "But, I've never been away from Mamma. I will miss her."

"That's a big decision, Butterfly, and not one to make fast, or to take lightly. You've got some growin' to finish yet, and then we can talk more about it. That okay with you?"

"You are not angry, Frank Colter?" Managing a glance up into his face, I was surprised at the tenderness expressed there. His hand closed over mine for an instant, and before I could pull away he let go.

"I'm not angry." Voice genuine, he grinned. "I wouldn't talk about this with your ma though. You know how she feels about the subject."

"She doesn't want me to be Indian. She is ashamed of me." Fully expecting my words to be met with rejection, I spoke them spitefully, but no chastisement came. Frank pulled his hat off, looking away across the gently sloped hills as he turned it in his hands.

"Jenny hasn't had it easy either, Butterfly. She's got to deal with the same people you do, and they don't look too fondly at her, knowing how it was she came to have a half breed girl. Don't assume she's been made any more welcome than you, most places."

"What do you mean?" Anger was never far from me, and it flared hot at the idea of strangers causing grief to my mother. Frank noticed, and tried to hide his grin though his eyes were serious.

"I'm just tryin' to tell you to think, Butterfly. Jenny doesn't mean to take her frustrations out on you, but she endures a heap of people giving her the cold shoulder because she lays claim to you. They whisper she ain't fit society for proper folk, and she feels it deep. Most think she should have left you behind."

"That's what I wanted-!" the words bolted from my mouth before I could stop them but Frank shook his head.

"Mother's ain't made to abandon their young. When she ran, Jenny couldn't leave you behind, your hearts beat with the same blood."

I considered that in silence for a while. The idea that my mother suffered grief and ridicule because of me was a new thought, and one I did not like. How could white people be so cruel to one of their own? My father's people never treated him that way because his wife and child were not of full Yanktonai blood, and I had been well loved and cared for. That turned me back to my original question, and I glanced at my mother's husband, chewing softly at the edge of my lip.

"How long until I am old enough to decide?"

Those smoke gray eyes swung back to mine, curiously soft, pained.

"You hate it here that much?"

"I want to go home." Inching a little closer to him, I let my eyes plead for me. "I do not belong here, Frank Colter."

"You do, you just haven't figured out how to fit in yet."

"You will not allow me to go?"

"Just wait, Butterfly, a few years," reaching out, his calloused fingers brushed over my cheek very gently. "When you're older, we'll sort this all out. For now, just try and enjoy bein' a kid. You only get one ride on that pony."

"Do you mean that, Frank Colter?" I moved back just enough to evade his touch. "Do you promise?"

"Will you start calling me pa, and not Frank?"

We had a test of wills, our gazes holding for a long while. Finally I lifted my chin.

"I will consider it."

"Sounds like a deal." His smile was warm, pleased, but my mother's husband wasn't finished with me yet. "When you figure to tell me about this morning?"

It caught me unprepared and I sat motionless, just looking up at him. A startled flush warmed my cheeks.

"Well?" Frank's prompt was gentle and I managed to swallow, averting my eyes to the trees beyond our yard.

"I wanted to be outside, to feel the air, and the earth."

"Your clothes were covered in mud." He hinted. "You decide to try your hand at being a prairie dog?"

"I fell," my answer was soft, but at least I could be honest. "Down by the brook."

"I know, I saw your tracks." Frank's eyes were dark, serious. "I saw something else too, Butterfly, something I reckon needs a little clearing up."

"Like what?"

"You gonna make me ask it?" Shifting to face me, Frank looked right into my eyes. My throat was constricted, making it hard to swallow. It was my secret, for my heart only!

"What do you want to know?"

"There's another set of tracks down by the water, Indian sign. I don't like the thought of them sneakin' about my family, even though I've nothing against them. You got something to add to it?"

"Chee-yea-wah'yea kee," I murmured softly. The skin around his eyes tightened a little, as if he was unwilling to believe he'd understood me.

"You don't have a brother, Kimimela." Rising to his full height Frank stared down at me. "This buck give you his name?"

The way he said it made anger flare inside me. Pulse throbbing in my neck, I lifted my gaze to clash against his as I rose.

"He is not an animal!" Hissed out between my teeth, the words were sharp. "I am not an animal!"

"Butterfly-"

"I will tell you nothing!" hurling the words like stones, I balled my fists. "You are just like all other whites! Indian is savage, Indian is bad, Indian is not human, does not feel! I hate being here, I hate being white-!"

"Stop it!" with startling swiftness, Frank's hand clamped over my lips, damming the flood of bitterness spilling from me. He held on while I fought back, but I couldn't get free, my slim, small body nothing against his adult strength.

"I didn't mean it that way! You know better than that, or you should!" His gaze open, he let me go. "This brave, he's a stranger to me, and I don't figure to like a stranger prowlin' about my home. You spoke to him, this...boy?"

"Yes." Only slightly mollified, I glared at him, arms crossed tightly in front of me. I could feel my heart beat pound against my ribs, the pressure from his hand over my lips still pulsing.

"What's he want?"

"Nothing." I knew that was not strictly true, but Wind Runner had not spoken of his intent, and I would not cast doubt on him. "He only spoke to me."

"That's it? Nothin' else?"

"Nothing."

"Okay." Letting out a puff of breath that smelled like coffee, Frank rubbed a hand across his jaw. "I think we should keep this between you and me, for now."

"You- you would keep it secret?" he surprised me, for Frank did not keep things from my mother, yet this was the third time today. His eyes seemed a little kinder than normal when he answered.

"She'd only be upset, and this...boy, hasn't done any harm...and Butterfly?"

I paused, for I had been about to walk away.

"You tell me if this Indian comes back. You're not my blood, but you are my daughter, and I figure I've a right to worry about you."

"Perhaps."

"No," he took my shoulders gently. "I'm not asking this, I'm telling. You've got a lot of choices ahead of you little one, some of 'em mighty hard, but if you're to make the best ones you've got to listen. I'll not say yes or no about this boy, yet, but I want to know when he's about."

"If he comes to me again," I answered carefully, "I will tell you."

"Good girl." Getting up, Frank resettled his hat over his hair, glancing up at the sun. "You in the mood for a ride?"

"Right now?" instantly interested, I began to smile. "I haven't done my lessons yet."

"If you wanna come, I aim to fetch home some venison for the dinner table. Tell your ma I'm takin' you along."

"But Mamma doesn't like it when I go hunting!"

"I'll worry about that." He flashed a brief wink at me. "Put your things in the house and bring along my rifle. Be quick."

"Yessir!" Wild with delight, I ran for the house, eager to tell Mamma I was going with Frank. I had not been hunting since school started, and barely waited for her to answer my breathless announcement. Grabbing up the rifle, I ran back outside to where Frank sat in the saddle, waiting.