Charity (23 page)

Gustie had no idea of the time, but she thought she could not have slept more than two or three hours. The wind still strained the moorings of the tent, but she no longer heard the sound of rain pelting the canvas. She lifted the tent flap. The sky was very dark except for a star here and there twinkling through breaks in the clouds. She slipped outside the tent and felt the wind lift her hair, the earth wet and bristly under her bare feet. By instinct she found her footing up the incline, past the cottonwood tree by the grave, and beyond to where the land rolled in ever steeper undulations. She walked into the wind until she came to the crest of the highest rise.

She stopped, put her hands on her hips and looked up. As the wind blew, more and more stars began to shine through until the sky became a patchwork of solid black and starry black. Occasionally there was even a glimpse of moon. Her loose hair blew wildly in a constant swirl around her head. She tucked her skirt beneath her to keep it from flapping and sat with her arms wrapped around her pulled up knees and became happily a part of the storm-swept prairie.

Under the sound of the wind in her ears, she heard her name and she turned her head. “I didn’t want to startle you.” Jordis stood next to her, not looking at her but at the sky. She was wearing the clothes Gustie had first seen her in the day she appeared on Moon with the chickens for Dorcas. “Do you want to be alone?” Jordis continued to stare up at the sky.

“No,” Gustie said simply.

Jordis descended slowly to her knees and sat back comfortably, her hands resting on her thighs. “What are you doing up here?”

“Watching the wind blow the clouds around.”

The wind eased a little. Gustie said, “What are
you
doing here?”

“I saw you...when the moon came out for just a moment...I saw you silhouetted here. I...” Jordis stopped herself.

Gustie laughed softly, “...thought I might do some more scarifying?”

“No.” Gustie thought she heard a smile in Jordis’s voice. “I was just curious as to what you were doing out in a wind storm in the middle of the night.”

“I was wide awake. I like weather. I like feeling it. Not always being separated from it.”

The wind filled their ears once more, then calmed a bit.

“I’m sorry I rode away from you.” Jordis looked out over the dark prairie.

Gustie replied, “I pushed. I shouldn’t have. It’s not my place.”

A splash of moonlight tumbled over the edge of a cloud revealing Jordis’s face full of things unspoken, and her eyes, large, luminous, surprised in their sheltering darkness, unclothed—without that hard glint that dared anyone to see anything of her through them. The moonlight lingered, and Gustie looked away out of courtesy, not having been invited to see so much.

“We could not sleep in your house. We made you angry.”

“Yes.”

Neither could give or expected an apology.

The clouds made another effort to unite over the moon. They held for a few minutes before breaking up again, giving way before the insistent wind, and the high round moon shone whole.

Jordis said, “Do you know that I can quote Shakespeare; I can even read French, but I can’t speak the Dakotah language with my people?” Not exactly a question. More like an invitation.

Gustie turned toward Jordis, moving herself to a kneeling position so their eyes were on a level with each other. A thick strand of hair blew across her face.

Jordis moved the hair away with two fingers and held it back with the side of her hand. Gustie’s hair blew about fiercely with a life of its own like the clouds, and Jordis brought up her other hand and softy brushed it aside. She kept her hands there lightly framing Gustie’s face.

Gustie’s fingertips wandered over the backs of Jordis’s hands. Her left hand lingered, covering Jordis’s right hand on her cheek, while her right hand traced the outline of Jordis’s lips, her chin, her cheek bones, those heavily lidded eyes. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” she said.

“You’ll always see me again,” said Jordis, so softly that Gustie didn’t know if she had heard her or merely read the words on her lips.

The moon, fully liberated now, made silver the edges of the clouds most near to it and sailing away from it like galleons casting off from a light house—its beam flung along the shuddering grass to where Gustie and Jordis knelt and pulled themselves close together in a kiss as inevitable and surprising as a child’s first word.

The kiss lasted a long time. Then they rose and walked, hand locked in hand, back to Jordis’s tent.

That night, Gustie rode the eagle’s wing and cried hot tears on Jordis’s breast.

The Eagle beats his wing upon the drum and Eagle children fly among the stars. Their wings hum the night music. And I, who had no voice, sing. I, who had no music, dance. I, who had no place, roam the land where Eagle flies.

She brings the stars down from the skies and puts them in my hands.

Harvest Moon

A
fter just a handful of
summer, a cool breeze sifted through the hot winds of August, and every prairie dweller knew that there would be no lingering autumn to enjoy, but a quick freeze, hard ground, and heavy skies to contend with soon.

Chief Good Wolf was dead, proving Dorcas prescient that he would not see another winter. Little Bull was chief. Winnie was nearing her time to bring forth a sibling for Leonard.

Will Kaiser was released by a bored judge after a half-hearted prosecution by John Anderson and a meticulous presentation by Pard Batie on the shallowness of the evidence.

Gustie got her money back, except for Pard’s fee, which was modest. She suspected he took less than his usual. She bought herself a saddle and a split skirt and in the remaining days before the start of school rode Biddie every day. She was not good at it. She laughed at herself and frequently apologized to the mare. Yet, somehow, they got along, and she became more and more secure on horseback.

Gustie had to learn to ride if she was to shorten the distance between Charity and Crow Kills. Even so, the weather would soon be the biggest obstacle between Gustie and Jordis. Neither could leave where they were to live with the other. Gustie had her school; Jordis would not leave Dorcas, especially not during the winter. In the coldest months, Jordis shared Dorcas’s cabin; her small army-issue tent was no weatherproof tipi. Even if Gustie could make the trip through cold and snow, Dorcas’s cabin could not accommodate three people for long.

While Gustie rode on and off the Red Sand at will, Jordis stole in and out of Gustie’s life at night. The only other visitors Gustie had were Orville Ackerman who did indeed build her a nice fence, and Will Kaiser, who gave her the lumber from the barn they had torn down—Ma’s old big barn. Gertrude had asked for it to be brought down. Apparently she didn’t want to look at the place where her husband had met his end. So the boys (even Frederick donned work pants and chipped in) dismantled it board by board. Will took what he knew Gustie needed for her fence, Walter and Oscar claimed the rest for their own purposes.

Will stopped in two or three times a week for a visit and a cup of coffee. He was casual. Always just “passing by,” but Gustie knew he took special pains to see her. Lena remained conspicuous by her absence, and Gustie stayed away from Lena. Gustie knew that word had filtered back to Charity that she had been seen at the Wheat Lake pow wow, probably even that she had left the grounds with the same two “squaws” she had befriended in Charity. She knew that there were those in Charity who, if they knew, did not care, and there were those who cared very much. Gustie had little concern for what people said about her, but she did care what was said about Lena, because Lena cared so very much. So she kept away from her friend for friendship’s sake.

Will sat at her table, sipping coffee, making the usual small talk. Gustie asked, “How is Lena, Will?”

“Like a long stretch of bad weather.” He scratched the side of his jaw. “She’s doing good,” he said at length, with a little lopsided shrug of his shoulder. He reached for his coffee.

Gustie thought he would end the subject there. In over two years with this stoical people, she had learned that that was frequently all anyone would say about anyone else, no matter what difficulties or feelings might lie beneath the surface.

Will surprised her by continuing. “She’s a stubborn one. She gets things into her head—you don’t know what they are half the time, or where they come from—but it takes an act of the Almighty to move them out again. I’ve tried talking to her but she just...You see, about Lena, she’s got to understand everything. Explain everything. Be right about everything. Always been like that. She comes up against something she don’t understand, it’s like she comes on a house with a locked door. No, she’ll try with all her might to knock that door down, peek in the windows. She’ll try everything every which way, but if the door don’t open and the windows don’t give, she’ll never go near that house again. She’ll pretend the house isn’t there. She’ll go a mile out of her way around it so she don’t have to look at it. You know?”

“Yes, I know. And what about you? The things you don’t understand?”

Will grinned broadly and chuckled in that silent way that Gustie was used to. “Hell. If I was to get worried and bothered every time I didn’t understand something, I’d lock myself up in a Johnny and jump down the hole. Oh, here, I brought you a little something.” Will fished in his big jacket pocket and came up with a parcel which he laid carefully on the table and unwrapped, revealing two goose eggs.

“I had a bunch of sausages that Hank give us, but I figured you were still off eaten’ pig.”

Gustie nodded and thanked him for the eggs.

Will tossed back the dregs of his coffee and got up. “Well, I see your screen door is a little loose on that hinge there.” He examined it more closely. “Oh, ya. Rusting out. I’ll bring you a new hinge next time. Fix it lickety split.”

“Will, I appreciate what you do for me, but you don’t have to, you know. I don’t feel you owe me anything. You and Lena were my first friends when I came to Charity. My only friends. You’ve already done a lot for me. I’ll never forget it.”

Will put his hat on and shoved one hand in a pocket, and wiped his nose with the back of his other hand. He really did remind Gustie sometimes of some of the little boys in her school. “Well, I’ll just bring that hinge by next time I’m passing.”

Gustie waved as he rode away on Tom. She was hungry and went back inside to scramble the goose eggs for her dinner. Outside sounds brought her back to the window. She saw Lester Evenson climbing down from the far side of a buckboard, Sighurd Dahl tying up the reins and hauling his great bulk down. Axel Kranhold, tall and stoop-shouldered, was already approaching her door. They were three of the twelve members of the school board.

She opened the door in welcome. “Good afternoon, Gentlemen. Please come in.”

They removed their hats and came in, filling her small house in a way that gave her a moment of discomfort. She offered them all seats and cool drinks. They took the seats and refused the refreshment.

“I’m glad to see you. I was going to ask if the school couldn’t be whitewashed this year. It is looking a bit drab. The children are always more cheerful if...”

Sighurd Dahl interrupted her. “Miss Roemer, the school will be whitewashed.” He flushed a deep red. “But that isn’t why we’re here.”

“Oh?” Gustie sensed something was going to happen she was not going to like. She pulled up another chair and sat facing them. Her hands rested in her lap.

“There’s a lot of talk around,” Sighurd made the opening sally.

“Yes?”

Sighurd Dahl was so visibly uncomfortable that under other circumstances Gustie might have felt sorry for him.

Axel Kranhold took up the sortie. “About you spending time on the reservation.”

Sighurd gained in confidence. “Are you teaching out there, Miss Roemer? We understand the new chief is building a school, and we certainly approve of that.”

“No. I’m not teaching. And the school has been built. It was completed some time ago.”

“Well...” Sighurd shifted in his seat and looked to Axel for more support.

Axel obliged him. “What are you doing out there?”

Lester Evenson lowered his head.

Gustie remained silent for some time. Finally she said, “Visiting my friends,” offering it up as the most natural thing in the world, to visit one’s friends.

“I understand that many of the people on the Red Sand are Christians,” Sighurd said hopefully.

Gustie was aware that all three men before her were deacons in the church. She, nevertheless, told them the truth. “Some...far better Christians than I, as I do not profess the faith.”

The deacons fell into a fidgety silence.

“We know you’re a fine teacher, Miss Roemer,” Sighurd Dahl began again. “I can’t tell you how pleased we were when we got your letter answering our ad for a teacher...what was it now...” he turned to Lester for verification, “about three years ago? You had such a fine education. Such a fine background.”

“My education and background have not changed.”

“No, of course not.” He fumbled, and flushed. “And as I say, you have proven to be a fine teacher. My boy and girl—why, they think the world of you.”

Gustie responded, “What has changed, Gentlemen?” It was painfully clear what they were about. She was losing patience.

Axel Kranhold spoke. From his sharp featured face, she saw beams of serenity that could only emanate from one who inhabits very high moral ground.

“Miss Roemer, we feel that someone who instructs our children should not only teach reading and writing and such, but also set a
Christian
example. We can’t allow anything to affect our children that might be harmful or misleading.” He pronounced the words ‘our children’ as if he had procreated at least every other child in the county, though, to Gustie’s knowledge, he and his wife were childless.

Axel had apparently come to the end of his say. She looked again at Sighurd, who was still pink, then at Lester Evenson, who returned her gaze without flinching, without the defense of moral rectitude. He said, “I came along, Miss Roemer, to tell you myself that I disagree with their decision. But mine was the only dissenting vote, and I failed to sway them.”

Gustie nodded her thanks.

She looked again at each of them. No one said any more. “How soon would you like me to leave this house?”

All three men started. “Oh, we aren’t asking you to leave the house.” Sighurd Dahl appeared much relieved to give her this assurance. “You can stay here until a homesteader makes a formal claim. Just as you’ve been doing. It doesn’t belong to anybody. It’s still on the books as public land. Nobody’s going to throw you off.”

“That’s generous of you,” Gustie said. She meant it.

The three men became fidgety, and sighing in three-part harmony, rose, and muttered their goodbyes.

She let them pass her and open the door themselves. Lester was the last. Before he was through the door, he stopped in the doorway and turned. “Miss Roemer, this doesn’t change anything as far as the bank is concerned. You are still in good standing...just the same. No difference at all.”

“Thank you, Lester.”

Lester shook his head sadly. “I don’t like what just happened here.” He shook his head again, and left.

Gustie closed the door and sat by the window watching them drive off.
Well, Lena, you were right.
She remained staring out across the land—a land that passed no judgment nor afforded any sympathy. She had said nothing in her defense. She could have said she was teaching Indian children, or ministering to the Indians in some way in the spirit of the missionary or the reformer. They would have accepted that. But she did not lie to them; nor tell them the whole truth. Gustie uttered a little laugh and shook her head. She thought,
They fired me for the wrong reasons.