Fifteen

The years that came and went passed by all too swiftly. Nettie and I grew from children into young women, sharing secrets, laughter, and friendship. She was a common sight at my home, nearly as a part of my family as I was, and I spent many nights at her home over the years. She turned into a young woman ample in form, full figured and soft spoken, while I grew tall and lithe, prone to a quick temper and sharp tongue. Despite the vast differences between us, our friendship strengthened. Nettie made me feel as though my heritage did not matter, and I loved her dearly for it.

Our teenage years also brought drastic change and bouts of emotional upheaval. We often banded together against the world, feeling rebellious and misunderstood, even by our own parents. During the more difficult years, Nettie and I even quarreled, bringing us to teary reunions and sincere promises to be kinder next time. When we turned thirteen, we began to blossom from children into young women. Being that we were not viewed as proper young ladies, the boys in our class chose to exercise their growing manhood on us.

During a heavy downpour of rain one afternoon after school, Bobby Nash and his inseparable friend Sammy Hayes cornered us behind the school. Surrounded by George Harris, Charlie Gruff and his younger brother Bert, there was nowhere for Nettie and I to go. They grabbed Nettie, throwing her to the ground as they pulled and tugged at her dress. Bobby and Sammy tackled me, trying to kiss and touch me. Full of righteous fury, I let my rage go. Twisting, kicking, biting, scratching and hitting, I got free of my attackers and threw myself at the ones pinning Nettie down.

The solid toe of my leather boot connected with ribs, arms, backs and faces as I kicked and stomped them loose. It was feral, the savage emotions I felt snaking through me. Being boys, and knowing they'd done something truly punishable, it did not take long to convince them to leave us alone. Once they'd run away calling insults behind them, I pulled Nettie to her feet. Her hair was wild, her dress torn, her face wet with tears. Pulling her into my arms, I sought to comfort and assure her that I was going to protect her. The next day, word spread of more Indian attacks on the boys, attempted kidnapping, knife wounds, even broken bones. The worst of it was bestowed upon Sammy Hayes, and deep in my heart I was glad.

The parents all got together to discuss what had happened, but the majority of the town was white. They looked down on Nettie's family, and me, with a judgmental and critical eye. Although Frank called for justice, the feeling was that we girls would simply have to endure...for our troubles were our own. It settled the determination within me that I would keep Wind Runner out of it, and if he was going to avenge my honor I was going to let him, come what may.

In my fourteenth year, Nettie and I snuck out of our houses and met at the trail during the middle of the night. Wild with jubilation we ran all the way to town, walking the streets and peering in through the windows of the saloons until the marshal caught us. He sent Nettie home with a kind young deputy, but I was his personal charge that he escorted home.

Mamma was furious and said if I wanted to behave like a wild child, then I could sleep in the barn until I appreciated having a nice home. Frank sent me to sleep in an empty stall, but came along with me, 'to make sure I stayed there' he claimed. He never said a word about my sneaking away, but had told me interesting stories of his travels as a young man until I fell asleep. It was a week before our parents let us see one another again, but it did not stop Nettie and I from our bold adventures.

Later that year we again endured persecution from the town boys, this time having to protect ourselves from stoning, as they pelted us with large rocks on our way home from school. Bobby and Sammy were again the leaders in the assault, and though I carried only bruises, Nettie suffered a fractured shoulder and a split lip. Before the week was out, Bobby vanished from his home and was found three days later, naked, staked to the ground and covered with fire ants. He was sick for weeks from the toxin in their painful bites. Sammy Hayes was snatched away on his way home from town and strung upside down, the bottoms of his feet badly beaten, the lobes of his ears cut off.

I tried hard not to feel victorious when we got word of it. Frank suspected that I knew what was going on, but try as he might to get the truth out of me, I would not be persuaded. Not even the smallest part of my heart felt badly for those boys, and even their deaths would not have saddened me. It worked though, for after Sammy recovered sufficiently, the boys began to avoid Nettie and me, eventually leaving us solely to our own company. Rumors of witchcraft and bad luck spread around us, and my already tainted reputation grew darker. Those that did not fear me hated me.

At fifteen, I stole two of Frank's saddle horses, and along with my determined friend, we skipped school to ride the prairie in search of buffalo. Nettie had never seen a herd moving across the landscape, and I wanted to share the beauty of it with her. We did not come back until after dark, successful in our quest but directly into the wrath of our parents. As young ladies, we had not been whipped for a few years but that adventure cost us both. I was forbidden from seeing Nettie for over a month, but our friendship only grew stronger.

During my outright rebellious sixteenth year, when Mamma lost all patience with me she sent me from the house. The outdoors had a way of breathing calm into my young fearless heart, soothing the vibrant unpredictable nature of my temper. Frank would take me on long overnight trips, camping along the river that ran through our land. He would talk to me during those trips, his patient guidance and wisdom getting through my stubborn and willful young mind. Instead of approaching through a white man's viewpoint, he would tell me stories about war chiefs, the good and the bad, the beloved and the despised. He had a way of speaking to me that made sense, teaching me without my really realizing it.

We would hunt together, and my father sharpened my skills with the rifle, letting me use his. Although I liked the feel of the weapon, the thought of using one was disdainful to me. Frank once asked me why.

"The weapon of the whites allows them to kill from a great distance," I'd answered boldly. "They do not even have to have the courage to face the one they intend to kill, shooting from far away. It's a coward's way."

"Maybe," he'd ruffled my hair as though I were still a child. "But it makes huntin' a sight easier."

"Have you killed men with this, father?" Frank had studied my face a long moment before nodding slowly.

"It's not a thing I take easy, Butterfly, killin' a man...but if it's him or me, I tend to back myself. You ken?"

"Yes."

During those turbulent years my baby sister Rose also grew, transforming into a beautiful, gentle, sweet natured girl that would follow at my heels nearly everywhere I went. It was good fortune that she was not prone to copying my trying behavior and antics. Despite my original misgivings, I found more love in my heart for my little sister than I ever dreamed possible, and protected her fiercely. It was also a vast relief that none of the evil in my dreams made an appearance, and the frequency of the dark phantoms lessened. When most would have grown impatient at Rose's constant presence, I soaked it in like spring rain, savoring each precious moment.

I was there when she took her first step, my name her first word, her favorite toy the corn husk doll I made myself. We would play and sing, and though I was not allowed to teach her my native language, I spoke to her sometimes, much to her delight. She would walk with Nettie and me as we went to school, along with Nettie's younger siblings. I listened to her in all things, soothed her worries, suffered over her tears, rejoiced in her laughter, my heart soaring as she smiled. Even our mother could not love her more than I.

Wind Runner was a continued element in my life, growing and changing even as I did. The camp of his people was not many miles from our home, and I was always impatient for his infrequent visits, though withheld our encounters from my family. It was especially important due to his involvement with such violent events on my former schoolmates. Wind Runner was mine, a carefully guarded and treasured piece of my past that I would not let go of. When he would call to me from the brook during the night, his voice a perfect imitation of an owl, or coyote, I would slip silently away to meet him, eager to see his face, hear his voice.

Nothing he had done impaired my delight in his company, and I longed for each moment of his scent, his touch, his voice. He kept my Indian heritage from fading away under the constant onslaught and tutelage of white thinking and culture. We would talk, laugh, sing, and I would listen to him tell stories of glorious hunts, and recount ancient legends passed down by word of mouth from generation to generation. He kept my old way of life active in my mind, and I cherished him deeply for it.

Ill winds ushered in change that shattered it all.

Eighteen years passed since my entry into this life, and I woke on a summer morning with a smile in my heart. Rose was nestled in my arms, sound asleep and rosy cheeked. We shared my original loft space, yet I did not mind. Yawning, I stretched out my legs, feeling my bare toes poke out from beneath the blanket we shared. Looking down at them, I wiggled the brown digits playfully, marveling at how tall I had become. How swiftly the years had flown by.

"Sissy-?" Rose muttered the word as she turned, eyes still glued closed, having felt my movement.

"Back to sleep," whispering it against her hair I lightly kissed her brow, waiting until she was gurgling softly before slipping from bed. Wrapping a shawl over my shoulders, I descended the ladder.

The coffee was made and I was drinking a cup when Frank came from the bedroom he shared with Mamma. Often I wondered if he wanted another child, perhaps a son, but Mamma never was pregnant again. It occurred to me the passage of years had altered him very little. Frank made time for me, teaching me how to think, to walk two worlds while keeping my heritage intact. He'd shown me by example how to deal with those whose prejudice blinded their minds to color other than white. Then he saw me studying him.

"Mornin' Butterfly," rubbing a hand over his jaw Frank yawned, eyeing me. "You're up early."

"Yes." Pouring him a cup, we drank in silence for a while. He seemed pensive, and I found my eyes drawn back to him. Very little disturbed the man who had raised me, and my curiosity piqued.

"Father?"

"It's nothing."

"The fact I do not even have to inquire means that there is something." Raising my brow, I watched him. "What troubles you?"

"Don't worry yourself about it."

"Father,"

He took a swallow of coffee considering me intently for a moment, then nodded, scowling.

"I reckon you have to know, it's just...it ain't an easy thing."

"Is it Mamma?" My heart instantly squeezed a little but Frank shook his head.

"You know I been tryin' to get this range into a working horse ranch, and we finally have the stock to make a go of it, but...we'll need hands, a few at least, to help me run it."

"I know," swiveling the cup in my fingers, I tried to understand why he would think that should bother me. "You've built the extra corrals, and the bunkhouse."

"Yesterday, when you and Rose were out, your ma an' me, we had visitors, and I hired them on. He should be here 'bout breakfast time, with his saddle partner."

"Who? Not Sam Hayes?" I tried not to wrinkle my nose at the name, for I still heartily hated the boy, but Frank shook his head. "One of the Gruff brothers?"

"No," he was reluctant, and it began to worry me.

"Who is it Father? Everyone one else around town has refused to work here...because of me. I can't get work in town because no respectable business wants someone like me working for them. I'm worse than an abomination, I'm a curse."

"They don't come from around here, Butterfly. You recall Al Baily, and Toby Whitney? They're grown men, an' on their own, willin' to put in a full days' hard work."

He hadn't finished before I'd shoved up from my chair, fury seething in my veins like fire.

"Al Baily? Al Baily, that disgusting, vile, prejudiced excuse for a human being? You invited him here- and Toby Whitney? Why Frank!"

"Butterfly-"

"No!" My voice was loud, echoing off the walls. "Don't you call me that, not when you've just told me the two most loathsome white men I've ever met are coming to our home! I don't want them here!"

Memories surface unbidden and uncontrolled in my mind, their vicious taunts, the pain of their fists and boots as they'd beaten me, the ugly, triumphant looks on their faces as I'd lain still. It was shocking how much I still hated them, but I did.

"They've done growin' up since then, and I-"

"Sissy?" Rose poked her head over the railing, disturbed by my outburst. "What's wrong?"

Normally I would have comforted and soothed her, but this morning shock and anger had stripped away any softness. Glaring at Frank I slammed my coffee cup on the table as I stalked to the front door. Mamma came from the bedroom as I opened it, concern in her eyes. I had awoken her too.

"Jaynie, what on earth-?"

"Ask Frank!"