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—SARA TEASDALE
The October autumn sky was sapphire-clear. Crimson thickets lined the creeks under parasols of tall golden cottonwoods. The angry, thin cry of a red-tailed hawk could be heard from downriver. And flying higher than Strong Wolf had ever seen them fly, was a flock of circling buzzards, probably migrating.
Strong Wolf noticed the buzzards ever closer now, drifting south. Somber creatures, they drew big circles in the sky, sometimes going back north, but always ending in each swing a few yards farther south.
Astride their horses and wagons laden with their belongings tucked in deerskin pouches, Strong Wolf and Hannah rode at the lead, Swallow Song riding her gentle mare at Strong Wolf’s left side, the Potawatomis people trudged onward, their Kansas Territory village now in sight.
Touched by those who had braved the long journey, no matter their age, Hannah looked over her shoulder one last time before entering the village. One bent old grandmother trudged along on foot, leaning heavily against a crooked cane. Toothless warriors, like the old women, came more slowly, though mounted on lively ponies.
Warriors the same age as Strong Wolf sat proudly erect on their horses. Some wore their eagle plumes and waved their various trophies of former wars as they saw their friends and relatives at the village catch sight of them, now coming in a fast run toward them on the road.
As they entered the village, Hannah saw that several large black kettles of venison were suspended over the great outdoor fire, for Strong Wolf had sent a party of warriors on ahead to pass along the news to his people that he and those who followed him from Wisconsin would soon be arriving.
The tantalizing aroma of other foods cooking in the coals of the fire wafted through the air, causing Hannah’s stomach to growl. She placed a hand on her stomach, smiling, to know that she had made it just fine on the journey from Wisconsin. Her child was still safely tucked within her womb. Soon she would be able to feel its soft kicks.
Hannah rode proudly beside her husband as his people flocked around him and the travelers.
They reached up and touched.
They cried and shouted.
They clung and kissed.
It was a happy reunion, one that had been too long in coming.
But there were those who saw the importance of finishing their labors in the cornfields before the sun set in the west. They stopped and stared, their faces beaming with happiness, then returned to their labors that would feed their people, as a whole, during the cold winter.
Hannah looked in the distance and saw these men and women resume harvesting the corn, husking it, pulling the husks down so that the ears could be braided together. Those wide braids of corn, along with squash cut in circles, would be strung to dry from the rafters of their lodges.
As they rode farther into the village, Hannah saw large canvases spread upon the grass, where sweet corn was drying on it. Small children guarded it from birds and animals.
Hannah smiled as she watched one little girl playing with a doll made from an ear of corn. She was braiding the soft fine silk for hair, and gave it a blanket from the scraps found in her mother’s workbag.
Hannah was reminded of the little girl who gave her doll to her as a token of friendship. If Hannah had a daughter, this doll would be her very first toy.
Then Hannah’s gaze was taken elsewhere, when she heard some warriors talking loudly and excitedly to Strong Wolf as Strong Wolf drew tight rein before his lodge. Hannah stopped beside him, giving Swallow Song a soft smile as she also drew her mare to a gentle stop on Hannah’s left side.
Hannah listened as the men spoke in part Potawatomis tongue, and then in English. She gathered from what they said, that in Strang Wolf’s absence, several settlers had moved in on land that belonged to the Potawatomis.
Strong Wolf quickly dismounted. Hannah slid slowly from her saddle and went to Swallow Song and helped her down to the ground.
“And why did you do nothing to stop them?” Strong Wolf said, trying to keep his voice steady, when in truth, his insides were a burning inferno of frustration.
“We went and told them to leave,” White Beaver said, clutching fast to his rifle. “They looked at us as though they did not see us and resumed building their lodges. And now they are in our fields! They are harvesting corn from the patch of land they claim now as theirs!”
“And what did you do when they looked at you as though they saw nothing?” Strong Wolf said, angrily folding his arms across his chest.
“We warned them again that they were trespassing, and that no good would come from it,” White Beaver said, his eyes narrowed with hate. “But we did not actually threaten them. We did not see it as our place to start a war with whites. We did not want to feel responsible for the deaths of any of our people. We waited for you to make this decision since you are now chief and the wisest of us all.”
“And did you not go to Colonel Deshong?” Strong Wolf said, glaring from warrior to warrior.
“He is no longer at Fort Leavenworth,” White Beaver said. “He has been replaced by a much younger white man. This younger man listens, but does nothing about this invasion on our land. You can tell that he is a man of prejudice. He will see us all leave and be happy for it!”
“This land is ours by treaty,” Strong Wolf stated. “And no one, especially not a young colonel, is going to remove us from it.”
Hannah and Swallow Song’s hands were clutched tightly as they stood back and listened to Strong Wolf’s building rage.
“Nor will we allow trespassers on land that is ours by treaty!” Strong Wolf shouted, waving a fist in the air. “We will remove them and if the young colonel comes to us with threats, I will personally escort him from our land!”
