Where the Broken Heart Still Beats (16 page)

Cynthia Ann and Prairie Flower ducked into the pine woods, which had a greenish light even in winter. Presently they came to the clearing they had prepared on earlier visits. Cynthia Ann swept off the circle, and sent Prairie Flower to gather kindling.

"Lucy," Prairie Flower whispered in the language of the People, laying down a handful of dried grass. "In the bushes, watching."

Cynthia Ann didn't turn around. "That's all right," she said. "But we must not let her know we know she's there."

She built a small fire. From inside her shirt she drew out the pipe, tamped in a pinch of tobacco, and lit it.

"First," she told Prairie Flower, "we honor Father Sun by blowing a puff of smoke to him." She did this. "Then Mother Earth," she said, puffing again. Then she blew smoke to the east, west, north, and south, naming them as she did. Prairie Flower imitated her with a wooden stick.

When they had finished by singing a lament for her People, Cynthia Ann dumped dirt on the fire and carefully spread pine needles over the circle. "No hurry," she said to Prairie Flower. "We must give Lucy time to leave."

"Not tell Aunt Mary!" Prairie Flower chirped. "Not tell Uncle Silas! Not tell nobody!"

Hand in hand they returned to the cabin. They found Lucy calmly stitching on a knapsack for one of the neighbors who was leaving to fight. When Lucy raised her eyes, Cynthia Ann read the questions in them, but she turned away.

Grandfather and Ben arrived two days ago. We leave tomorrow—they are in a rush to get back to Birdville as soon as possible. I was in the shed with Cynthia Ann and Prairie Flower when we heard the clatter in the yard and the dogs yapping and people talking. I paid no attention, assuming it was someone to see Uncle Silas on business or a neighbor to order moccasins. We both kept on with our work, but Prairie Flower scurried off to investigate. Soon she returned, leading my weary-looking grandfather by the hand.

"Here's Naduah," Prairie Flower said, beaming, pointing to her mother.

My heart sank, knowing how he felt about the use of Cynthia Ann's Indian name. Grandfather frowned. "Naduah?" he asked. "Is that what she calls you?"

Cynthia Ann jumped to her feet, aware, I'm certain, of his opposition. "Sometimes she calls me that," she admitted. "Are you well, Uncle?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, fine. But I've come for Lucy." He turned to me. "Your mother has taken a turn for the worse, my dear," he said gently. "You are needed at home. I wrote a letter, but the mail is undependable. Your work here is finished now, is it not? Cynthia Ann and Tecks Ann are comfortably settled here, then?"

Before I could reply, Cynthia Ann interrupted. "I must return to my People," she said bluntly. "They try to be kind, but I do not belong here."

Uncle shook his head sadly. "Out of the question, I'm afraid. We're in for a long haul. It may be a long time, Cynthia Ann. We have to make the best of it."

She tried to keep from showing her deep disappointment, but, of course, I knew. My own feelings were unsettled. I have been here more than two months and am more than ready to go home, but I shall miss my cousin and certainly her precious Prairie Flower. I am not sure that Cynthia Ann cares that I am leaving, at any rate not as much as I do.

I do hate to see her here! Even with Grandfather present, Aunt Mary makes scant effort to treat Cynthia Ann with more than bare civility, saying once to Grandfather, "They are nothing but savages, you know. Hopeless savages."

And Uncle Silas says only, "Mary's a mite touchy just now. Her condition," referring to the baby on the way.

There is a ray of hope. I know that Uncle Silas and Cynthia Ann have a sister who lives here in Van Zandt County, and it puzzled me that the sister, whose name is Orlena, has never been among the many visitors here. But little Samuel, in the way of children, let the cat out of the bag. "My mum and her had a fight," he told me. "A big one! I thought Mama was going to scratch her eyes out!" he went on, his own eyes wide at the memory. It is my hope that Orlena will be more of Silas's disposition than of Mary's, and that somehow Cynthia Ann and Prairie Flower will end up with them.

This afternoon after I had packed up my things, I went back to the shed to make my farewell to Cynthia Ann. "I want you to know that I shall miss you, and Prairie Flower, too," I told her. "I know how disappointed you are that you have not been able to visit your family because of this dreadful war, even though Grandfather promised that you could. But I want to make you a promise."

Only then did she look up at me. "I am young and only a girl at that," I rushed on, "but if I can find a way to bring you to your son, I promise you that I shall do it. I promise that I shall never stop looking for a way." I crossed my heart as I spoke.

For a moment, she said nothing but looked at me with those troubled eyes. Then she reached down and with a ragged fingernail scratched something in the dirt: PROMISS. One word that she remembered from the times I had tried to teach her her letters. She had seemed to take to reading and writing, but in recent months there was always so much work to be done and never enough time for our lessons. Yet she remembered this word.

I picked up a stone and scratched under it my name. She nodded, and then, before anyone could see it, I rubbed it out with my foot.

I have given my pledge without the least idea of how I will keep it. I will go with Ben and Grandfather with a heavy heart, knowing that the one blessing in Cynthia Ann's life is her precious Prairie Flower.

The woman greeted Cynthia Ann with a bright, nervous smile, walked right up, and put her strong arms around her. "Hello, Sister," she said in a cheerful voice. "And this must be our little Tecks Ann."

"Topsannah," Cynthia Ann corrected her. "Prairie Flower in your language," she added.

"What a pretty name, Prairie Flower!" She knelt down and held out her arms. Prairie Flower walked into them and accepted the embrace. "Oh, she is just too precious!" Orlena cooed. "How can you bear to let them go, Mary?"

Mary struggled, Cynthia Ann saw, not to give it all away and end up having to keep them after all if she told the truth. "They don't like it here," Mary said flatly. "And with the new baby coming, it's too much."

"Well, I'm sure they'll be happy with us, won't they, Ruff?" She turned to the man with her, a tall, broad-chested man with wild red hair and a bushy beard.

The man swept off his broad-brimmed hat and bowed to Cynthia Ann. "Ruff O'Quinn, Miss Parker," he said. "And I am pleased to make your acquaintance. As my wife has said, we will do our best to make a good home for you and your daughter."

He replaced his hat and stepped back. Cynthia Ann looked him over carefully. Without a word she went to gather up her buffalo robe. She was ready to go, had been, in fact, since the hot, rainy night when Silas finally gave in to Mary's scolding.

"I simply can't bear it, Silas," Mary had cried. "That child might as well be a purebred Indian. She
looks
Indian, she
talks
Indian, she
acts
Indian, and her mother actually encourages her! Please,
please
send them away!"

"All right, Mary," Silas had said wearily. "I'll talk to Orlena and Ruff and see what they have to say." Orlena, Cynthia Ann remembered, was a sister, the baby in Mama's arms.

"Won't you stay and visit for a spell?" Silas asked now. "I believe Mary's fixed a nice dinner for us."

Cynthia Ann knew this was not true. They had been arguing about that, too, Silas insisting that his sister and brother-in-law should be offered a good meal and perhaps invited to stay the night. But Mary was in no mood for any of this. She simply wanted Cynthia Ann to leave, and the sooner the better. Maybe Anna had sent word that Cynthia Ann had cast a spell on the baby Daniel that made him sicken and die. She wanted Cynthia Ann out of any possible reach of her baby, due soon from the look of it.

But it was also clear that Orlena was not especially fond of her sister-in-law, either. Silas must have known they'd refuse, and Orlena's ruddy-faced husband had no objection to turning around and starting the journey back to a place they called Slater's Creek. She never even took off her bonnet, accepted only a tin mug of substitute coffee—Mary did not get down the fine china cups for them—and they were on their way.

Ruff O'Quinn's wagon was more comfortable than Silas's, and the well-fed mules stepped along smartly. Orlena kept turning around to make sure Cynthia Ann and Prairie Flower were all right, confiding over the rattle of the wagon wheels, "I hope you don't mind, Cynthia Ann, that we didn't stay. But I just could not wait to get away from there. My sister-in-law is a good Christian woman, I'm sure, but she and I don't see eye-to-eye on a good many things and, frankly, I spend as little time as possible around her."

Cynthia Ann nodded. "All right," she said.

"Now my brother, Silas"—she paused, laughed nervously, and began again. "That is,
our
brother Silas is a good man, exceptionally patient. But it just seemed you might be happier with us. Mr. O'Quinn was a widower when I married him, but his children are all grown and gone now, and the Good Lord has not seen fit to give me any children of my own." Here a shadow of sadness passed across her face, but she made a determined effort to be cheerful again. "It must be God's will that you and Tecks Ann are coming to live with us."

Cynthia Ann nodded. She could think of nothing to say to this.

***

It turned out that they did not plan to travel to Slater's Creek that evening but stopped instead in a settlement called Ben Wheeler to visit with friends. T. J. Cates and his wife, Amelia, were expecting them and had prepared a hearty meal. Mr. and Mrs. Cates were immediately charmed by Prairie Flower.

"Oh, what a lovely child!" Mrs. Cates cooed, scooping her up and carrying her around, although Prairie Flower was tired and grumpy from the trip. "She is simply the most precious little thing I've ever seen."

"Down," Prairie Flower said and lunged away from the strange woman toward her mother's lap.

"How old is this darling baby?" Mrs. Cates asked.

Orlena looked at Cynthia Ann for an answer. It was the kind of meaningless question white people liked to ask. Cynthia Ann remembered the night the baby was born, a hot night like this one. "We don't count," she said.

"About three, wouldn't you say?" Orlena suggested.

"Does she talk?" Mr. Cates asked, for the usually chattery Prairie Flower had said almost nothing.

"She talks."

"Maybe a good night's sleep will do the trick," Amelia Cates said cheerily and began to prepare beds for her guests.

If Mr. and Mrs. Cates and Orlena and Ruff O'Quinn were taken aback by Cynthia Ann's insistence on sleeping on her buffalo robe on the floor, they said nothing. But Cynthia Ann did overhear Mrs. Cates say quietly to Orlena before they resumed their journey the next day, "My dear, you do have your work cut out for you, I'm afraid. Forgive me for saying so, but your sister's mind has probably been addled by all she's gone through. I shouldn't wonder! But that child—I'd take her myself in a minute!"

"I think you can expect to see a lot more of us, Ruff," Mr. Cates boomed. "Seems as though Amelia here has fallen in love!"

Cynthia Ann took Prairie Flower up on her lap and held her tightly, her chin on her daughter's shiny hair. She didn't like what she had heard. What if these people who made a big fuss over Prairie Flower wanted to take her from her mother to raise as their own, the way Cynthia Ann had been taken away from
her
mother?

She remembered again her terror as a child—older than Prairie Flower, but still very young—when the men with the painted faces had seized her and dragged her away from her family. She must not allow this to happen to her child. She must be vigilant.

The first days in her new home were difficult even though Orlena was kind, completely different from Mary. She tried hard to make Cynthia Ann feel at home. There was work to do, of course; no one could afford to be idle.

"I can make moccasins," she told her relatives. "Fix harnesses. Make whips and reins."

But Ruff O'Quinn was not like Silas. His business, he explained, was lumber. He owned several sawmills. He offered to take her to visit one of them if she liked. Otherwise, she might help Orlena with the spinning and weaving. Ruff owned several slaves who worked in the mills, and all of them needed clothes. "Before this dreadful war, it was different," Orlena said. "But now we must make do however we can."

The first thing Cynthia Ann needed to find was a place away from the others where she could instruct Prairie Flower in the language and ways of the People. But those few stolen hours were not enough. Cynthia Ann watched in dismay as her daughter continued to learn to speak the language of white people, more every day. No matter how hard Cynthia Ann tried, it seemed that the white people's ways were taking over. She would not even be able to show her daughter how to make a tipi cover or how to prepare pemmican when she was older!

Every Sunday, the day that Ruff and Orlena gathered with a few of their neighbors to sing and read from their Bible, Mr. and Mrs. Cates came to visit, always bringing a gift for Prairie Flower—a little wooden dog, a new hair ribbon. Cynthia Ann made sure that she was present during these visits. Then one Sunday, Amelia Cates asked if they might take Prairie Flower visiting with them to other families in Ben Wheeler. "It will be good for her to be with children," Amelia said.

Cynthia Ann began to refuse. Then she saw Prairie Flower's mouth turn down at the corners. At last she agreed and paced restlessly until her child was returned to her at the end of the day.

The next week it was the same, and nearly every week after that. Prairie Flower loved it, but Cynthia Ann never felt easy until the visit was over and the Cateses had gone home.

"My land, you do get worked up about this, sister," Orlena chided her mildly. "Let her go! Let her enjoy whatever small pleasures she can!"