I Am Regina

Table of Contents

 

 

 

“
I Am Regina
is an enthralling and profoundly stirring story, historical fiction for young people at its very finest.”

—Elizabeth George Speare, Newbery Award—winning author of
The Witch of Blackbird Pond

 

“A dramatic first-person, present-tense narrative [based] on historical accounts of a German-American girl who was an Indian captive for the nine years of the French and Indian War.... It's a tribute to Keehn's skill that she makes Regina's ultimate sympathy for her captors entirely believable.... A profoundly moving evocation of a terrible experience mitigated by faith, courage, and humanity, told with simplicity, compassion, and admirable restraint.”

—
Kirkus Reviews,
pointer review

“A first-rate, gripping and haunting story.”

—
Children's Literature

An NCSS-CBC Notable Children'sTrade Book in the Field of Social Studies

An IRA Young Adult Choice

A New York Public Library Book for the Teen Age

The Cabin Faced West
Jean Fritz
Dawn Rider
Jan Hudson
The First Horse I See
Sally M. Keehn
A Lantern in Her Hand
Bess Streeter Aldrich
Moki
Grace Jackson Penney

For their help and encouragement, I would like to thank: my friends and colleagues of the Haycock Writers' Workshop; Judith Gorog; Patricia Gauch; Tracy Gates; my mother, Mary Miller; my husband, David; and
my
daughters, Alison and Molly.

PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Putnam Books for Young Readers,
345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England
Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood, Victoria, Australia
Penguin Books Canada Ltd, to Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2
Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New Zealand

 

Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England

 

First published in the United States of America by Philomel Books,
a division of the Putnam & Grosset Group, 1991
Published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Putnam Books for Young Readers, 2002

 

Copyright © Sally M. Keehn, 1991
All rights reserved

 

THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE PHILOMEL EDITION AS FOLLOWS:

 

Keehn, Sally M.
I am Regina / Sally M. Keehn.
p. cm.

Summary: In 1755, as the French and Indian War begins, ten-year-old Regina
is kidnapped by Indians in central Pennsylvania, and she must struggle
to hold onto memories of her earlier life as she grows up under the
name of Tskinnak and starts to become Indian herself.

eISBN : 978-1-101-07695-8

(1. Indians of North America—Pennsylvania—Captivities—Fiction.
2. United States—History—French and Indian War, 1755-1763—Fiction.) I. Title.
PZ7.K2257Im 1991 [Fic]—dc20 90-20098 CIP AC

 

 

A
lthough the following narrative is fictionalized, it is based on a true story. It happened to Regina Leininger and is dedicated to her memory.

The story begins in 1755 on a small farm near present-day Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania....

 

 

 

T
he rows of corn stretch out before me like long lines of soldiers. For the past week, Mother, Barbara and I have been harvesting the ripened ears. Now there are just gleanings left to gather.

It is getting on to sunset. The October wind rustles through the dried stalks and I am afraid. Rumors say Indians have been attacking settlements to the north of us. Will they attack here?

The corn must be gathered. I move from stalk to stalk, watching the surrounding woods from the comer of my eye. Watching for movements that don't belong to trees and wild creatures. Indian movements.

“Aren't you finished yet?”

The words startle me and I jump.

It is my sister, Barbara, standing now before me. She balances a corn-filled basket on her hip.

“Don't creep up on me like that,” I tell her.

She laughs. “Did you think I was an Indian?”

“It's not funny.”

“You're like a rabbit, Regina, jumping at every sound.”

I ignore her, break a ripened ear from its stalk and tear off the husk.

“Stop worrying about the Indians. Father says they'll never come over the Allegheny Mountains.” Barbara is twelve, only thirteen months older than me. She thinks she knows everything.

“The Reverend Haines says they might. He heard rumors that the Allegheny Indians are on the warpath. That they have already attacked settlers ten miles north of here. Weren't you listening to him yesterday?”

“I was listening. But Regina, those settlers had built their cabins in Indian territory. This land belongs to us.”

I search the wooded hills that rise to the north and west of our farm. Beyond them, I see the dark outline of the Alleghenies. The Albany Line, which divides our land from the Indians', runs through these mountains. Will the Indians respect this line?

Barbara tosses an ear of corn into my basket. “Remember that Sunday in July? After the French and Indians had defeated General Braddock's army at Bushy Run? The Reverend Haines said then that the French and Indians were planning to swarm down the Susquehanna River and wipe us out. They never came. I believe the good Reverend enjoys spreading rumors. It makes him feel important.”

“Barbara! You musn't talk about a man of God like that.”

“I'll talk about him as I please.” Barbara's long skirt swishes against the corn stalks as she turns away from me. I can't bear her sassiness. Yet ... I wish I had her confidence, her courage. Nothing seems to frighten her.

I watch Barbara disappear among the corn stalks and I follow one row over, keeping her light brown hair in sight. I feel uneasy. There is nothing here to protect my back.

Above the rustle of the corn stalks, I hear the sound of Penn's Creek, its water tumbling over stones. Tomorrow, Mother and John must cross this creek which borders our farm. Two oxen will pull the corn-filled wagon down the long path which leads through stands of tall fir trees to Gabriel's Mill. It is a good two-hour wagon ride. I wish my mother and my brother didn't have to go.

Barbara parts the corn stalks and joins me in my row. She takes an armful of corn from her basket and adds it to mine. “There. You have enough now.” She balances her basket against her hip, slips through the split rail fence that protects our corn from livestock, and heads toward our cabin.

I scurry through the fence and hurry after her. The sun is setting behind the Alleghenies. Soon it will be dark.

We pass the orchard where the chickens, their feathers fluffed against the wind, roost in the apple trees. They look cold and lonely there. They should roost inside the barn where the cows and oxen sleep. I smell their strong rich scent as Barbara and I unload our corn into the wagon Father has parked beside the open door.