He stood in the corner of the walled courtyard, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. He wished he could have stayed inside. The library was a good refuge, especially when everyone else came outside. But the Sisters had decreed that everyone had to go outside today.
So, here he was. Outside, trying to hide. With any luck the other children wouldn’t see him. He didn’t want any trouble today.
It was just like being back in the Kiowa village. When the young boys had gone out to play, one was almost always left behind. The others never wanted Running Buck, with his half-white blood, to join their games. The only times he was welcomed into their circle were the times that Red Bear went with his little brother. Then the other boys made young Running Buck a part of their games. Of course, they all knew that Red Bear was destined to be their tribe’s war chief. Currying his favor would position the boys well in his eyes as they grew to manhood.
Running Buck closed his eyes, remembering. When he had actually been allowed to participate, he had acquitted himself well. Unlike the games these children played at the Mission, the games the Kiowa children played trained them in skills they would need to survive. He could run as well as any of the boys, shoot an arrow as straight, throw a knife with high accuracy.
But none of that mattered when duty called Red Bear away.
Then, he was ridiculed, shunned, cast away from the games. Away from the boys who were each others’ best friends – the boys who should have been his friends. Frequently their taunting turned physical, and he came away bloody.
Red Bear never saw that part, of course. Running Buck always made sure to clean away the blood, and hide the bruises, before seeing his brother. Even as a child he understood that his brother was destined for greatness among the Kiowa – Red Bear’s concern had to be for the good of the tribe. And so Running Buck had hidden his sadness as best he could. His mother knew of his loneliness, and later, he took Little Bird into his confidence.
Mostly though, he was alone.
When he’d finally left the Kiowa, he’d hoped that things might be different in the white world. It hadn’t taken long to find out that wouldn’t be so. Within a couple of hours of arriving at the Mission he’d been stripped of his familiar clothing, had his knife and earring taken away, and his hair – the pride of a Kiowa warrior – was cut short. Even the name he had grown up with was taken away.
They let him into the classrooms, and he took every advantage to learn. He enjoyed learning, and he quickly found all the places in the school where he could retreat with a book and avoid the stares, the taunting, the teasing, the beatings when the groups of boys caught him alone.
He opened his eyes again, watching the children play. For all of the ways they had shown him he wasn’t wanted, there was still a part of him that wanted so badly to fit in. A part of him that wanted to join them, to be welcomed into their games, even just once.
A part of him that desperately wanted a friend.
He let his eyes roam around the yard, finally stopping when he saw the boy in the tree. It was the bald boy, the one who didn’t speak. The boy the other children called Owl Boy. Buck had heard the Sisters call him Ike.
The other children were afraid of Ike. Early on, Buck had been a little afraid too. The boy sometimes ran around with a grotesque look on his face, drooling. Fearing that bad medicine was at work, Buck had avoided the boy. But then one time he had followed Ike after one of the boy’s outbursts. Out behind the stable, Ike had doubled over in silent laughter – and Buck had finally understood. Where Buck retreated to the safety of a book, the game was Ike’s way of dealing with being ostracized by the other children.
Looking across the courtyard now to the boy sitting high up in the branches, watching, Buck couldn’t help but wonder if Ike was as lonely as he was.
If Ike wanted a friend as much as he did . . .
~~~~~~~~~~
From his vantage point high above the yard, Ike watched the games in progress. The younger children were off playing tag, or hide-and-seek. The older children were playing a game with a ball, kicking it back and forth, trying to hit a goal on either end of the game area.
It looked like fun.
He sighed and leaned back against the tree trunk. He was never invited to join in the games. Once in a while the Sisters would insist that the other children include him – but that only lasted as long as one of the Sisters stayed to supervise. Without that protection, he wasn’t welcome – and the other children made that clear in a number of unpleasant ways.
He briefly considered interrupting their games by running wild through their midst, with his crazy faces and the drooling he had mastered. At least when he did that, he wasn’t ignored.
No, not ignored – but feared.
He didn’t so much mind if the older children feared him. They were old enough to not be so silly. But it did bother him when the younger children recoiled in fear whenever he was near. One of the little girls reminded him so much of his little sister . . .
He closed his eyes, remembering. He’d had a normal childhood once. He’d been a boy full of life and curiosity. He had a loving mother, father, and sister. There were other children nearby and they played often, laughing and running through the trees and near the stream, the wind in his hair. He’d had a voice then too, and he remembered telling stories, elaborate, fanciful stories.
Things had changed so much. First the illness, and then the murder of his family, had stolen his hair, his voice, his childhood. With no other family to go to, he’d wound up here. But even though the children here were all orphans, he was different – too different to find acceptance. Even some of the Sisters had trouble with his differences. All too often they took his silence as stupidity.
He wished he could make them understand – understand that he understood.
He understood that he was different, but not through any fault of his own. He was just a boy – a boy who wanted to learn, and play, and have friends.
He opened his eyes and looked across the yard. He saw the Indian boy standing there, alone in the corner of the yard. The other boy almost seemed to be looking right back at him.
Ike knew the other boy’s name was Buck – he’d heard it often enough when the Sisters yelled at him for not understanding something in this new world he’d walked into. He heard it in the classes when the others mocked his knowledge of the English language.
As hard as he’d found it here, Ike couldn’t help but wonder how much harder it was for someone who barely knew the language. He wondered what had brought the other boy here in the first place. Was he really an orphan too? Had anyone at the Mission cared enough to really find out?
As he looked at the boy trying to blend into the wall, Ike couldn’t help but wonder if Buck was as lonely as he was.
If Buck needed a friend as much as he did.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The trip to town was supposed to be a good thing – or so all the Sisters had said. It was a treat, something the other children looked forward to. The Mission was far enough from the nearest town so that trips like this were not that common. Thanks to a gift from a local wealthy farmer, each child had been given a few pennies to spend on candy in the store.
Buck wasn’t really sure what candy was, though the other children surely seemed to be excited by the prospect of having some. What he was sure of was that the experience of trying to get some in the store wasn’t worth it, no matter how wonderful this candy might be.
He’d followed the others into the store, watching what they did. As far as he could tell, he hadn’t done anything different than what they were doing. But as he neared the display of multi-colored goods the other children were ogling, a large man in an apron had suddenly come out from behind a counter. In a loud voice the man had yelled about not allowing a ‘dirty Injun’ in his store.
As all eyes in the store turned to stare at him, Buck backed away, startled and confused. He heard one of the Sisters actually try to defend him, but all around he saw only fear and hate. He was having trouble breathing, and he stumbled against a table, then he turned and fled out of the shop.
At least out here in the street he could breathe. He walked away from the store, needing to put some space between himself and what had just happened. The space wouldn’t necessarily help him understand what had gone wrong, but it felt better to be away from all the anger.
Still, he couldn’t help but think about it. He was sure he hadn’t actually done anything wrong. But the ‘dirty Injun’ epithet rang clear in his mind. One thing he definitely was not was dirty – at least not in any literal sense. The Sisters made sure that all of the children were bathed and in clean clothes before setting out for town. So the problem here, just as back at the Mission, was his Indian blood.
It was the same as being back in the Kiowa village. Half of his blood was unwanted no matter where he went.
Buck looked up, realizing he had wandered several buildings away from the store as he thought. It was his first visit to a town, and he didn’t want to get left behind in an even stranger world than the Mission. But the Mission wagon still sat empty outside the store, so the others apparently hadn’t come out yet.
He became aware of music and loud noises coming from within the building nearest to where he was standing. The sign hanging outside proclaimed it to be the Saloon. As he considered what that might mean, the doors swung open and three men stumbled out.
“Well, well, well, look what we got here.”
“Looks like a miniature Indian.”
“Big or small, ain’t no good Indian.”
Buck backed away as one of the men stepped off the boardwalk toward him. “I don’t want any trouble,” he said softly. The no trouble rule had been drilled into all of them at the Mission.
“Too late for that, Indian,” the man said, coming closer.
Buck was considering his options for escape when he felt strong hands clamp around his arms from behind. Too late he realized that he’d concentrated too hard on the man coming from in front of him – one of the others had gotten behind him. He opened his mouth to yell, but just then a fist connected with his jaw.
“Get the other boys. We’re gonna have some fun.”
Buck heard the words through a haze as he felt himself being dragged away. But he was still aware enough to know that he wasn’t going to like their idea of fun.
~~~~~~~~~~
Ike pocketed his small bag of candy and turned away from the counter. He smiled as the crowd of children parted around him. One advantage of being considered crazy was that they’d let him get to the counter early – no one else wanted to get close to him.
He considered making faces at them, just to see what would happen in the confines of the shop. But, as much fun as it might be in the short term, it would undoubtedly earn him a severe punishment from the Sisters later.
He stepped out of the store onto the boardwalk. It was a warm early summer day, with bright sunshine overhead. He probably had at least an hour to explore the town, and he had candy in his pocket, and . . .
And that looked like the Indian boy, Buck, being dragged behind the saloon. He could see at least five men, and there might have been more already around the corner into the alley.
Ike looked quickly into the store. He should probably get one of the Sisters, try and convince her to come with him. But without a voice, that could take a while.
Given the angry way the men by the saloon were acting, Buck probably didn’t have that long.
He wasn’t exactly sure what he would, or even could, do – but he headed toward the saloon anyway.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Pain.
That was all he knew now – all that his world had become. One fist or booted foot after another connected with his body, accompanied by laughter.
Buck tried to look up, but there was too much blood in his eyes from a cut on his forehead. He wasn’t even sure how many men had cornered him in this small space. He tried to make himself very small, and slip past them, but there were too many of them. He tried to fight back, but the men were so much older, and bigger.
He considered calling out – but who would hear him? And who would care?
He tried to protect himself from the worst of the beating, but they came at him from all directions. A fist connected with his already tender ribs and he fell to the ground. Through the blood he could see the vague outlines of boots moving closer, and he wondered what it would be like to die here, alone . . .
Just then he heard a couple of the men cry out, and some of the boots backed away a few steps. Then there were different boots in front of him, smaller than the others.
Buck reached his arm up, wiping away some of the blood. As he struggled to focus, surprise overtook the pain for a moment. Standing next to him, facing down the angry men, there was someone else – Ike!
The men recovered from their surprise and moved in again. Buck struggled to his feet, preparing for the next onslaught. The odds were still bad, but he wasn’t nearly as afraid anymore. Not now that he wasn’t alone.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“And I expect the two of you to spend a lot of time over the next two days thinking about what you’ve done.” Sister Mary Theresa packed away the unused bandages and reached for the basin of bloody water. “You should both be ashamed of yourselves, fighting like that! Well, a couple of days here, then Sister Mary Clare will see to it you don’t have time to fight!”
Buck just leaned back against the pillow in the infirmary bed and watched as the Sister took the basin and left the room. Once she slammed the door, it was quiet in the room – finally. The Mother Superior had been there earlier, delivering her own lecture. And Sister Mary Clare had dropped by with hints about all the extra school work that would be required as punishment for fighting. But he was too tired to even care about any of that right now.
Every inch of his body seemed to hurt, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. Still, there was something he had to do first – something he had to know. He looked over at the next bed, finding other eyes staring back at his own. Slowly, holding his breath against the pain, he sat up. “Why did you help me?” he asked softly.
Ike moved gingerly, struggling to sit up himself. How could he answer that question? Even if he had a voice, or something to write on, he wasn’t totally sure of the answer himself. It certainly hadn’t been the smartest thing he’d ever done, rushing into the middle of that fight. On the other hand, when he’d reached the alley and seen what was going on, he knew there was nothing else he could have done except try to help.
In the end, Ike finally just shrugged his shoulders. Then he reached for his jacket that was hanging on a peg by the head of the bed. He pulled the package out of the pocket and slowly unwrapped it. Some of the candy was broken, but that was all right. He put a broken piece into his mouth, and then he took one of the few unbroken pieces and held it out toward the next bed.
Buck looked at the other boy’s hand and the item contained there. He reached out tentatively and took it, then followed the other boy’s example and put it in his mouth. At once he was struck by the sweetness, followed by a tangy lemon taste. This must be the candy the others had talked about, he decided. It was pleasant, and even though his jaw protested in pain, he smiled.
Of course, now that he had been offered a gift, it was necessary for him to give one back. He thought quickly, but nothing came to mind. Even the pennies he’d been given to spend in town had been lost during the fight. He looked over to the other boy, studying his face, trying to understand the silent world the other boy lived in . . .
And then he knew what he could give.
Buck sucked in a deep breath and put his legs over until he was sitting right on the edge of the bed. He looked the other boy directly in the eye, wondering how he could ever have been afraid of the kind soul he saw there. And then he held out his hands and made a sign. “Friend,” he said.
Ike watched the other boy’s hands move. At first he didn’t understand – and then suddenly he thought he did. He sat on the edge of the bed himself, staring across the narrow aisle between them. He watched Buck’s hands.
Buck made the sign again. “Friend,” he repeated.
Ike raised his own hands, surprised to find they were trembling. But he took a deep breath and moved his hands, trying to mimic the movements. He looked up, happy to find Buck smiling and nodding at his efforts. And then he slowly extended his right hand across the aisle in the way he knew how to say welcome, friend.
Buck hesitated only a moment before he reached out his right hand. He’d seen this gesture among the white men, and he understood it to be a good thing – but he had never had it extended to him before now.
Their hands met in the middle and their fingers tightened around the other’s hand. And they held it like that for several minutes.
Buck stared at his hand, wrapped in Ike’s fingers. And for the first time since he had arrived at the Mission, he realized he was happy – despite the pain. He could offer Ike a voice through his hands. And in return, Ike was offering what Buck most wanted – a friend.
An end to being alone.
| Email the author | Vote |
