The Road Home

Chapter 17

"Good to see you, Ben." The man beamed as he opened the door.

"How are you, Charles?"

"Very good. Let me help you with those." Charles took the books from Harper and turned down the long hallway. Ben followed while the man began telling him about the day's events at the school.

As they walked through the school, large murals along the wall held Harper's attention. She handed the bag to Ben who was still in a deep discussion with Charles then walked back up the hallway to examine more of the artwork. The intricate detail of the native women and children standing and playing in front of large teepees in a massive village scene was impressive. She was so engrossed in the painting that she didn't hear Ben walking up behind her.

"One of the students did this."

"It's beautiful."

"This is supposed to be Sitting Bull." Ben pointed to a drawing of a man on a horse. His slouched shoulders proclaimed his weariness yet the artist had succeeded in capturing the dignity that shone in his eyes. "Have you heard of him?"

"I think so." Harper nodded, still taking in the artwork. "Wasn't he a chief?"

"He was a holy-man. Defeated Custer at Little Big Horn." Ben continued to tell Harper about the battle and Sitting Bull's arrest and ultimate death as they walked to the parking lot. She listened intently as they drove, asking questions at various times. Later he spoke of Wounded Knee. "It was December 29, 1890, when the Calvary returned to this area. My people were being forced off this land and had to give up their weapons. However, there was one who was deaf and couldn't understand the orders. When Black Coyote wouldn't give up his gun, the Calvary panicked. His reluctance was taken as rebellion. Before it was over, hundreds of women, children, and many of our elderly were dead."

Harper swallowed hard and her stomach turned at the thought.

As Ben described the story, Harper wondered how he could do so without any resentment in his voice. It had been his people that were killed so cruelly. Hunted down like wild animals. Some even shot in the back. Images of mother's cradling their children while gunned down in cold blood were disturbing. Like everyone, she had heard the stories of the white men taking the land from the Natives and the atrocities that followed but it had all been irrelevant to her then. Hearing it from Ben made it real and personal. An offensive thought, even to her.

Coming to a stop sign, Ben's cell rang. He paused as the caller spoke. "That's fine, I'm here already so I'll drop by and pick it up." He laid his phone down on the top of the arm rest that divided the two front seats. "We've got to stop by my aunt and uncles for Jan. She left a dish there." He turned down a small road with tiny rundown homes and pointed to a small dilapidated box-shaped house on the left. "I grew up in that house."

That piece of knowledge shocked Harper. "How long did you live there?"

"Moved away when I was seventeen. One of my cousins lives there now."

She eyed the property. The carport, or what looked like it had been a carport, had caved. The grass had grown up making it appear that no one had lived there for years. The gutters dangled haphazardly from their hangers. It looked uninhabited but then again, so did most of the houses she had seen on the reservation.

Ben pulled into a narrow driveway. "I'll be right back." Harper watched him walk up to the house and knock on the door. She saw the door open, but couldn't see the person he talked with. He glanced back at her as if to check on her then turned back to the person at the door. The ringing of his phone startled her as it vibrated against the armrest. She glanced at the phone. The name, Lisa, flashed on the screen. Looking up, she saw Ben still standing at the door and a few seconds later, saw an arm stick a dish out of the open doorway. He took it, talked a couple more seconds then walked back to the Jeep.