Broken Feather Read online

  “Way down in old Virginy, beneath the southern skies. A little pickaninnie was closin’ sleepy eyes. His Mammy rocked him to and fro, as she crooned a tune soft and low. But pickaninnie baby kept crying for the moon. He didn’t want his Mammy to leave him quite so soon, for he loved to hear her sing and sigh, to the pickaninnie lullaby. Go ta sleep ma pickaninnie go ta sleep. Close yo eyes so shinnin’ bright. Don’ yo weap, ma pickainnie don’ yo weap, till yo Mammy’s sweet goodnight.”

  The room was quiet for a moment, when she stopped singing, as Broken Feather took in his breath and tried to shake off the effect her voice had over him.

  “That was beautiful,” he murmured. “You have a lovely singing voice.”

  “You know, I miss my old Mammy. After the war, everything changed. All the slaves were freed. They didn’t know what to do, and we didn’t know what to do. Many of them came back to their old plantations later, because there was no other place for them to be. They sometimes offered to work for their food, which was pretty much what they had been doing as slaves, only then, no one had any say over them like before.

  “The slave overseers and slave hunters didn’t have a job anymore. No one could beat the slaves if they didn’t do a proper job. It was frustrating for the old owners and the displaced slaves as well. Many went looking for their family members, who had been sold. It was hard to keep track of where they went. No one had any last names, unless they took on their owner’s last name, and all of the slaves had been given names by their owners, when they first bought them, or kept the names given to them by the owner that they were purchased from.”

  “I never knew what it was like to be a slave,” Broken Feather admitted. “They tried to make us slaves of the Creek, which is why my family escaped Indian Territory and went to Mexico. There, we were treated decent, given land to work and allowed to build houses to live in. We never lived in tepees like most plains Indians do. We had a different kind of background, and we made little houses to live in. The Seminole Indians had always built huts, and the Maroons knew a lot about building, which they learned when they were slaves. They taught the Seminoles things they never knew how to do before the Maroons started joining their tribe. It was a good relationship until they sent us to Indian Territory and the Seminoles decided to disown us because they thought the Maroons had betrayed them for surrendering to the white army. They were probably right. It didn’t turn out well for any of us.

  “In Mexico, the Maroons and Seminoles joined together again, only the main tribe in Indian Territory won’t accept us, and the white leaders think of us as blacks, rather than Indians. It is like we have no country and no place to call our own.”

  “Yet they let you be scouts in the army. You have the fort to call your home,” Vanessa insisted.

  “It is not the same. How can we start a family if we have to live at a fort? Like your father said, it is no place for women. What do we call our land, if none is allotted to us? When the scouts were stationed at Fort Duncan, before we were relocated to Fort Clark, we were given our own plots of land to live on. We were expected to grow our own food to support ourselves, but when the land would not produce enough for us, the government wouldn’t supplement us any. We could barely survive. Only once we agreed to be scouts, we couldn’t leave without permission, or we would be considered deserters.

  “It is a lot better at Fort Clark, though. Only now, we have nothing to look forward to because, once again, the promises we were given are all being broken. As past slaves, we have nothing, and as American Indians, we are given nothing. We were known as Maroons, the Mexicans called us Mascogos, we call ourselves, Black Seminoles or Freeman Seminoles, only no matter what we are called, no one will agree on who we really are!”

  “They say America is the land of the free, but sometimes I wonder about it. Only men in power are truly free. Indians can’t even keep their own land. Women are under the rule of men and can’t vote. None of the free slaves can vote either. It seems some people are only able to make choices when they are given permission to do so by someone over them,” Vanessa murmured.

  “I’m thinking of going back to Mexico and joining my people there, if the government won’t let me join the Seminole Nation here. I can’t remain a scout forever.”

  “Papa believes you are the best scout they have. I suppose it would be a shame to lose you.”

  “I have my own dreams,” Broken Feather sighed.

  “What kind of dreams are they?” Vanessa asked, wondering what he could even look forward to, other than scouting, which he seemed to be good at.

  “I think farming is in my blood. The Maroons farmed for the whites, and Seminole Indians are farmers too. They didn’t move around like other tribes do, following the buffalo. They stayed put and built up the land, farming and raising what animals they could, even though they did hunt. I wouldn’t mind having a small farm of my own, where I could plant something to keep me alive, and maybe sell a little on the side.”

  “I have a plantation that my great aunt left to me and Papa when she died. Papa will never go back. He is dedicated to the army now. I don’t have anyone to work the plantation and can’t afford to pay someone to work it. I suppose I could let the free blacks sharecrop the land, which a lot of the plantation owners are doing to stay alive, but I can’t do it on my own. No one respects women in charge of things. They think we are simple-minded and don’t have the aptitude to run a business.”

  “The land, where Fort Clark is located, is owned by a wealthy woman. I suppose if you have money, others will respect you if you are a woman in charge,” Broken Feather pointed out.

  “Well, it is a sure thing, I am not wealthy, and we can’t even sell the plantation unless Papa decides to do so. It has been in his family for generations, so I don’t think he is about to do that.”

  “When you get married to that rancher, you will have plenty of money,” Broken Feather suggested.

  “No, everything will belong to my husband. Even if I had my own money, once I got married, my husband would then be the owner of everything I had. Like I say, a woman has no power because men will always be in charge. That wealthy woman you speak of is probably a widow, and that is why she has control of her money.”

  “Then I suppose you will just have to be happy living on a ranch,” Broken Feather mumbled. It was merely his job to get her there, and not worry about her welfare once she arrived.

  “I suppose living on a ranch is a little like living on a plantation. Only we grew sugarcane crops, and he raises cattle.”

  “You probably won’t have to do much except for housewife duties.”

  “I do have experience in that, only we usually had slaves or servants doing things for us,” Vanessa admitted feeling a little unsure of herself.

  Broken Feather didn’t know what to tell her, so he said nothing, and the conversation seemed to come to an end. Eventually, he fell asleep.

  When Broken Feather woke up, Vanessa was already up and dressed, packing her small carpetbag she had brought inside with her.

  “Do you think they serve breakfast here?” she asked when she saw that Broken Feather was awake.

  “I think we can get something down in the saloon,” he offered. “I still have money left from what your father gave me to pay for the room. We can use that to get something to eat,” he suggested.

  When the two went downstairs to the saloon area, where tables were set up for playing poker or eating, it was fairly empty. The Saloon was more active at night, and those staying in the hotel part of the building did not appear to be early risers. Then they were informed that the place only served lunch and dinner when the patrons started to frequent the place. The stage station was the only other place to get ready made food, since it served those traveling through, when the stage stopped to change horses, they were told.

  “I wasn’t that hungry anyway,” Vanessa mumbled. “I guess I can wait until we stop to eat along the way.”

  “There are crackers and cheese in t
he wagon with our food supply,” Broken Feather told her. “I also took a fresh loaf of bread from the kitchen and some sliced beef if you would rather have that.”

  “I suppose it will do for now,” Vanessa agreed, and Broken Feather rummaged through the food in their wagon, cut some bread and put meat and cheese between the slices, handing it to Vanessa.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “I’ll pay the livery stable man, and then we can be on our way,” he said, leaving Vanessa sitting on the bench of the wagon eating the food.

  As the wagon pulled away from Brackettville, Vanessa tried to resign herself to her situation, but she was having a hard time doing it. Not only did she not wish to marry a stranger, but she didn’t think she would enjoy being a rancher’s wife. She looked around at the stretch of wilderness before her, which looked bleak. One, long, dusty, road rambled out from the town with scrub brush, a scattering of trees, mixed with the sight of endless nothingness filled with mostly grass and occasional jutting rocks pushing towards the sky, all a panorama leading towards the Pecos mountains in the distance. As the wagon rolled along, they were surrounded by dust, kicked up by the horse’s hooves. Not a single breeze offered relief from the relentless heat of the day, and it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet.

  “I hope it doesn’t get much hotter,” Vanessa grumbled as she pulled a parasol out from under the canvas tarp, covering the wagon, and opened it against the streaming rays of the sun.

  Broken Feather turned and looked at her. He thought she was much like a misplaced flower, transplanted where she just might wilt if she wasn’t pampered and cared for. He wished he could be the one doing that.

  “We are heading north, so maybe there is hope the weather will be cooler where the ranch is located,” he said optimistically. He glanced up at the sky and frowned, though. “I see thunder clouds in the distance. I don’t think that is a very good sign. I hope we don’t get caught in a downpour.”

  “I feel a slight breeze picking up. Maybe the wind will blow the clouds away,” Vanessa predicted.

  “The breeze is blowing in our direction, which means it will probably blow the storm to us, if it gets stronger, or it is merely caused by the storm itself.”

  “The clouds are so far away, though. It will probably rain before we ever arrive to where they are.”

  “Let’s hope you are right,” Broken Feather mumbled. “At least, if it does rain, it will cool everything off.”

  Sitting in the wagon, covered only with a tarp to protect their supplies, would give no shelter to them if a storm broke. They would have to stop and pitch the tent if it looked too threatening, when they got closer, he decided. Only if the wind picked up too much, they would just have to take shelter under the wagon.

  The closer they got, the harder the breeze began to blow, and soon, it was turning into a full-fledged wind storm.

  “There is no way we can pitch a tent with this much wind blowing,” Broken Feather grumbled.

  Vanessa had almost lost her parasol when the wind whipped up, so she closed it, putting it back under the tarp that was over the supplies. Now she was grasping at the strings of her bonnet to keep it from blowing off of her head, but she was too late and it tumbled away in the distance.

  “Oh,” she cried in despair, only Broken Feather wasn’t paying attention to her.

  “There is a bluff in the distance, which might shelter us from the wind. We’ll park the wagon up against it and wait until the storm passes. We can shelter under the wagon, but there is so much dust blowing around, I don’t know if it will be much of an improvement. If it starts to rain, though, it will settle the dust and the wagon will probably keep most of the water off of us.”

  When they finally reached the bluff, the tarp tied over the wagon was ruffling madly, threatening to be pulled off by the strength of the wind. However, once they were up against the bluff, it blocked most of the wind. Broken Feather put on the brake, so the horse couldn’t pull the wagon away, if it got frightened for some reason. He helped Vanessa down from the bench, and the two of them crawled under the wagon.

  “This is a bad omen,” Vanessa grumbled.

  “It probably can’t get much worse than this,” Broken Feather tried to remain cheerful. “I have lived through some very bad storms, and this in nothing compared to what it could be. At least, I didn’t see any tornado funnels in the clouds.”

  “Thank God for small miracles,” Vanessa chirped, giving him an exasperated expression.

  Just as she spoke, a gust of wind whipped under the wagon, grabbing her skirt and blowing it up over her head as she lay on her stomach. Broken Feather started laughing as he tried to help her pull her skirt and petticoats back down. Vanessa started slapping his hands.

  “You keep your black hands off of me!” she bellowed.

  Broken Feather stopped short. “Black hands? What about the black hands of your Mammy Sue, you miss so much? You didn’t seem to mind her rocking you in her black arms. Is it the fact that I am black that irks you so, or is it because I am part Indian? I was just trying to help.”

  “I don’t need you touching me!” she hissed.

  “Fine, if you hate my company so much, I will leave you alone!”

  He crawled out from under the wagon, and walked away, hunching down against the shelter of the bluff, looking out at the dust blowing around, catching tumbleweeds and other debris in its path, his eyes squinted and his hands clamped into fists, trying to calm his anger at her insolence towards him.

  Vanessa glanced over to where she could barely see Broken Feather through the swirling dust, leaning up against the bluff, his knees pulled up and his head leaning against his knees. She suddenly felt drained and angry, not only at her father for putting her in this position, but at herself for being so rude to Broken Feather. After all, he was just there because her father ordered him to go with her, and he probably didn’t like it any more than she did. She felt impatient with herself, as tears started streaking her face making trails through the dust on her skin.

  “Come back, Broken Feather!” she called through the rumble the tarp was making as it flapped in the wind. “I’m sorry! Don’t be angry with me.”

  Broken Feather lifted his head and looked over at her. He gave a shrug, and came back to the wagon.

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” Vanessa apologized. “I really don’t have anything against you. I am just upset at all of this, and now we are caught in a wind storm.”

  Just as she spoke, large drops of rain started plopping on the ruffling tarp.

  “Looks like it’s turning into a rainstorm, now,” Broken Feather stated, as he crawled back under the wagon with her.

  He could see the streaks the tears made on her cheeks, and against his better judgment, he gently took his finger and attempted to wipe her tears away. At first Vanessa stiffened, but then she smiled, and allowed his small act of kindness.

  “Don’t worry, Vanessa. I will get you safely to the ranch, and then you won’t have to be bothered by having a black Indian tending to you.”

  “It’s not you. I am just upset, is all. You don’t know how much I hate the idea of having to marry a stranger.”

  “You might end up liking him,” Broken Feather said with a crooked smile.

  “If he is my father’s friend, he is probably as old as my father is… or probably close to it. I just have a bad feeling about it all.”

  “Wait until you meet him before you judge him,” Broken Feather suggested.

  Now the noise of the rain pelting against the tarp on the wagon seemed to drown out any possible conversation, so the two continued to lie under the wagon on their stomachs, watching the rain pour down around them. The wind had let up a bit, but it still blew rain at them under the wagon. However, the dust was no longer a problem, and Vanessa took in a deep breath.

  “I love the smell of rain,” she murmured. “It almost makes me want to eat the dirt, it smells so good,” she giggled.

  “I assure you
, it does not taste the way it smells,” Broken Feather smiled.

  “Goodness, look at all the water rushing past,” Vanessa said, changing the subject.

  “It looks like it’s turning into a flash-flood,” Broken Feather grunted.

  “The water is coming under the wagon, and I’m getting all wet!” Vanessa bellowed.

  “It may not be safe to remain here,” Broken Feather exclaimed, as he started pulling Vanessa out from under the wagon.

  “Just look at my dress!” she cried. “It is covered in mud!”

  “I think that is the least of our worries,” Broken Feather cried. “It looks like a river rushing towards us! Quick, get back up into the wagon! We need to get it out of here before we all get swept away! It has been so dry the water can’t soak into the ground fast enough and doesn’t have any place to go.”

  Already, the horse was stamping in the water, eager to leave, and Broken Feather jumped up onto the bench, pulling Vanessa up beside him, and released the brake. The horses started splashing through the water, but there didn’t seem to be any high ground in sight. All they could see was a torrent of water rushing over the grass and rocks that were barely visible now.

  “What are we going to do?” Vanessa screamed. “It’s getting deeper!”

  The water was as high as the bottom of the wagon, which made it harder for the horse to pull it. The horse started losing ground, and the wagon began turning around as the water worked harder to sweep it into the current. They were up against the bluff again, the wagon banging against the side of the bluff.

  “There’s only one thing to do,” Broken Feather told her. “Grab onto that bush growing out of the bluff. We are going to have to climb to the top.”

  “I can’t climb in my dress,” Vanessa whimpered.

  “I know,” Broken Feather said, and the next thing she knew, he was ripping her skirt and petticoats away, leaving her clad in her pantaloons. “Start climbing,” he said, pushing her up above him. “I am right behind you, I won’t let you fall!”