The Drums of Change (14 page)

So she drifted, feeling that while at the school she had no connection with God, any god, in any way. She was an observer, apart. Merely looking on as the others went through their simple ceremony that involved no fire, no good medicine, no drums, and no dancing. There was singing, but it had little in common with the chants Running Fawn had grown up with and understood.

Everything seemed to be centered on the big Black Book. It looked much like the Black Book that the missionary had brought to Running Fawn’s band, and Running Fawn heard many of the same words read from the Book. It seemed strange to her that both Black Books should carry the same words, until she realized that many of the books in the chapel and in the classrooms were also duplicates. That seemed to take away the mystery.

On most days, Running Fawn was content to lay all thought of worship aside. But on certain days, days when she looked at the turning leaves or heard the honking of the geese that passed overhead, she remembered that such events had significance for her people and would mean a ceremony would take place in the camp. On those days Running Fawn longed for home with renewed passion. She felt increasingly alone and lonely, shut away from her people and the life she had known and loved.

An unusual amount of excitement swept along the corridors and throughout the classrooms. Something known as a was to take place. Running Fawn had no idea what the excitement was all about, and she didn’t suppose that she would care too much anyway. She decided to retreat to a corner of the large playground and let the girls chatter on in their noisy, high-pitched voices.

There was a good deal of activity in the field. For a moment Running Fawn let her eyes drift over the running to and fro of busy figures. She had never seen the white people running about with such animation. Perhaps there was to be a hunt. New structures had been raised here and there across the open field. Yet they did not look like corrals for rounding up mustangs, nor blinds from which to shoot wild game. They were not piskuns, the Blackfoot word for buffalo jumps. But then, that would be foolish. There were no more buffalo.

Running Fawn turned her back. Whatever it was, it was of no interest to her.

In spite of her determination to remain aloof from the present events, Running Fawn felt her pulse quickening. The track meet had turned out to be a sporting event, and Running Fawn had always enjoyed the competitions held among her people when the young men and braves contended wholeheartedly in various events to prove their strength or valor. She found it hard not to be interested now, though many of the events were foreign to her and she could not understand the rules that governed the activities.

It was of particular interest to her when Silver Fox turned out to be one of the athletes. The other girls seemed to each pick a certain young man whom they cheered on noisily. No one was calling out the name of Silver Fox, who was now called Thomas by the members of the school. There were calls of “Run, Wilbur,” or “Go, Carl,” but she heard no urging on of the dark boy named Thomas.

Running Fawn, known in the school as Martha, did not call out his name either. But inwardly she gloried each time he bested the other boys. He was particularly skilled in running, and won most of the events in that sport. He also placed in the discus and outthrew all the boys with the javelin. Running Fawn felt pride—not personally, but for her people. Suddenly she felt challenged to prove her race superior. Perhaps she should not withdraw from the sports events. She was sure that she could do as well as the other girls. Maybe even better. Perhaps, for the sake of her people, she should become involved in the white man’s sports. There was honor at stake. She should have realized it earlier. She would help Silver Fox uphold the dignity of their people.

From then on Running Fawn allowed herself to be drawn into the games and physical activities. The girls soon realized that whenever she played, she played well and played to win. This was a matter that caused discord when they played against one another in their own schoolyard, but changed quickly whenever they played against another school. Then Running Fawn was not just pushed to the front and cheered on, she was expected to win for the student body. Then the honor was not hers—it was theirs. Running Fawn found the whole thing confusing. How could girls who normally turned their backs when she entered a room suddenly begin cheering loudly when she competed against other schools? It did not make a bit of sense to the young Indian girl.

Nor did she understand their anger when she occasionally failed to win one of those competitions.

“What happened? Why didn’t you try harder? You could have won.” These comments came her way on the playing field or in the quietness of the dorm later that night.

Running Fawn soon learned that though she may not have sought it, she had taken on the responsibility of representing their school in all sporting events. But inwardly she was not representing them, she was representing her people. When she won, it was for Blackfoot honor. When she failed to win, it was not because she had not given it her best. She would willingly die before she would disgrace her Indian blood—her heritage.

She did not attempt to explain this, for they would not have understood anyway.

“You did really good.”

The words were spoken by Marilee, a girl who shared Running Fawn’s table at mealtime and dorm room at night. Apart from necessary polite exchanges, they had not spoken to each other, though the girl had offered tentative smiles on a few occasions. Marilee seemed as shy and withdrawn as Running Fawn herself, so the few brief words of affirmation after the track meet came as a suprise to the young Blackfoot.

Running Fawn’s eyes lifted to the blue eyes before her. She saw the uncertain smile flicker briefly. She nodded in recognition of the compliment but did not respond further.

She was not sure of the meaning in those few words. Was the white girl simply making a statement—or offering friendship?

Running Fawn nodded again and paused for a moment to try to better understand the approach. Marilee did not move away.

“Would you like to play catch after supper?” the white girl asked, still in the same shyly quiet voice.

Running Fawn shook her head. “I have to work in the kitchen,” she answered, relieved for the excuse. A look of disappointment filled the blue eyes.

As Running Fawn moved away she puzzled over the brief encounter. The girl seemed genuinely friendly. Perhaps, just perhaps, she should have been more responsive.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, she felt herself withdraw. She wasn’t sure of the ways of the white people. Of the motives. She must be guarded. Must not reach out too eagerly. It was wise to be cautious.

That evening Marilee offered Running Fawn a cookie from the box her mother had sent. Marilee had also offered a cookie to each of the other girls in the dorm room, and they exclaimed and smacked their lips in appreciation. Running Fawn inwardly longed to taste the treat, but she shook her head and retreated silently to her little bed and picked up the book she had brought from the library. As she did each night, she would read until it was time to turn the lights out.

She was quite aware of the good-natured chatter that went on in the room, but she tried hard to block it out.

When she peeked around the opened book, she saw the other girls lounging about the room in their long nighties as they chattered about frivolous things—all except for Marilee. Marilee was also already in her bed, her own book opened before her.

Over the days that followed, Running Fawn was invited to share various activities, not only by Marilee but from other girls as well. Running Fawn always carefully assessed each situation. If it was a game they were playing, a sporting event, she would gladly take part. If it was something of a more intimate nature, she declined with a shake of her head. Never did she feel comfortable entering into their light and lively conversations.

So she held herself apart—part of their world, but always an outsider. They seemed to accept her on her own terms. Including her in their playground activities, leaving her out of their girlish conversations.

Running Fawn could not have expressed it, but the shy yet warm smiles that Marilee sent her way were important to her well-being. She watched for them, and in her heart she considered the young girl her friend.