The Personal History of Rachel DuPree_ A Novel - Ann Weisgarber [36]
Mrs. Fills the Pipe said, “This is the home of an army man?”
“Well, yes, but he’s been out a long time.”
“I was there. Fort Robinson.”
“Mother.”
I said, “Well, then, you—”
“They rounded us up, held guns to us.”
My breath caught.
“Said the Platte was theirs now. Made us live at the fort. It stank. Then they moved us here. Good enough for Indians, they said. Nobody else would want this land.”
Sweat broke out on my forehead. Mrs. Fills the Pipe was an agency Indian, the kind of Indian what Isaac hated. Agency Indians were worthless drunks; agency Indians were bloodthirsty. They stood in line, their palms up, all too willing to take government handouts. Agency Indians were the worst kind of Indians, and I had two of them sitting on my porch.
Mrs. Fills the Pipe said, “I remember those army men.”
A chill ran up my spine. Bloodthirsty. I had to get rid of Mrs. Fills the Pipe and her daughter and those boys what were playing rope with my daughters. “My ironing,” I said, my nerves talking. “It just never goes away. That’s what I was doing. Even when there isn’t any washing, there’s always ironing.”
She didn’t seem to hear me. She stared off toward the children what were running, laughing, tagging one another. From the corner of my eye I looked over at Inez. She watched her mother, a wary look on her face. She had uncrossed her ankles and had her feet square on the floor. She leaned forward slightly as if she were ready to leave.
“Wounded Knee Creek,” Mrs. Fills the Pipe said.
My skin crawled. Soldiers had been killed there.
“Buffalo soldiers,” Mrs. Fills the Pipe said. “Saturdays around dark. I remember that too.”
“Mother.”
“It wasn’t enough that they killed us. They had to have our women too.”
Her words pinned me to my chair. Hot liquid rose up from my chest, burning my throat. I swallowed. “No,” I said.
She put her porcelain cup on the floor and stood up; Inez did too. I tried to get up but my belly held me down and my hands were filled up with my cup and the china plate with two half biscuits. By the time I scooted to the edge of the rocker, by the time I put my cup and plate on the floor, Mrs. Fills the Pipe and Inez were off the porch and halfway down the rise, the wind pulling at their skirts from all four directions.
At the wagon, Mrs. Fills the Pipe whistled once, sharp and shrill. Little Luther, Liz, and Alise popped out of the low end of the wash, Rounder zigzagging around their legs.
Inez pulled herself up onto the wagon’s side step, and once on the buckboard, she gave her mother a hand up. Little Luther climbed up behind her, and from the high buckboard he jumped flat-footed into the bed of the wagon, rocking it. His trick made Liz and Alise giggle. Mrs. Fills the Pipe whirled around and said something to him. He sat down.
Mrs. Fills the Pipe whistled again. Inez put on her duster. Minutes passed before Franklin and Mary came running from the wash, Emma bouncing in Franklin’s arms. He shifted her to Mary and when he did, I saw how his hand stayed on Mary’s arm while he said something to her. Then he jumped up onto the wagon. He cracked the reins and the wagon jerked forward. The girls ran beside it, waving and calling good-bye.
Mrs. Fills the Pipe and Inez did not wave back. Neither did they look up at me. All at once furious, I was on my feet, hollering, “And don’t you ever come around here again!” The wind blew my words back at me. They couldn’t hear, and that gave me courage. “You’re nothing but Indians! Agency Indians!” Suddenly spent, I sank back into the rocker.
“Mama!” Liz and Alise had turned back from the wagon and were running up the rise, their dresses tangling around their knees, yelling about all the fun they’d had. I closed my eyes, cursing myself for inviting squaws to tea, cursing myself for giving them water and food. And Isaac. I didn’t want to think what he was going to say about all this.
The girls jumped up onto the porch steps, shaking the floor, jarring my nerves, and making my head hurt. “Hush up,” I snapped. “I hear you just fine.” They were too worked up to pay me