The Savage

Four

I heard the birds before I saw them, felt the sun on my cheek before my eyes opened, the cool touch of the spring breeze through the open window. Blinking, I rolled over, looking up at the fresh beams of timber Frank had hewn out by hand, carefully fitting them together for a tight seal against the weather. He'd done well, building mamma and me a house to live in, planting a garden to sustain us, and occasionally taking me hunting when he brought home meat. I was trying to like him, trying to fit into this new life. It had been months since we left the wagon train to live here. There was a town not two miles distant from our house.

"Jaynie! Get up sweetheart, breakfast is ready!" Mamma's sweet call came from downstairs in the kitchen.

My bed was in the warmest spot of the house, the cozy loft reached by a stationary ladder Frank had built. Pushing the woven blanket off me, I swung my feet to the floor, smothering a sigh. Today was another tedious exercise in silence, for I had been sent to school with the other children at the beginning of fall. I did not get along well with the others, and the first month the schoolteacher had sent me home early every day for fighting. Mamma had been upset, Frank mildly irritated, but both had tried to be patient.

Mamma was the first to stop waiting for me to start acting 'civilized'. I hated that word. Each time she said it, I felt she was calling me savage and wild, even though I did not believe that's what she really thought. I think Frank sensed something of how I felt, for his approach to my temper was different. While Mamma scolded and spanked, Frank explained and reasoned with me. The result was my pulling away from both of them, resentful and sullen. I hated school.

"Jaynie!" Mamma's voice was a little sharper, and I hurriedly shed my sleeping gown and began pulling on my clothes.

"Coming Mamma!"

Skirt slightly wrinkled, blouse leaving a little duck tail hanging out the back, I scrambled down the ladder, skipping the last three rungs. I hit the floor with a solid thud, beaming. My mother threw a disapproving look at me.

"Try to act like a young lady, Jaynie. You're not a little boy."

"Yes Mamma." I was grinning impishly as I said it, hoping to provoke her to smile and play with me but she only frowned, her eyes narrowing.

"I am serious, Jaynie. I won't have you jumping all over the house. You could break something, or hurt yourself."

"I would not-!"

"Jaynie!" My protest was sharply cut off. "Do not argue with me! Get outside and wash up before breakfast. And tell Frank we're ready to eat."

"Yes Mamma." Feeling as though she'd just slapped me, I went outside, sulking inside. Ever since coming here, my mother had changed. Even though I was only eleven, I began to sense her shame in me, publically forced to acknowledge having a half breed child in a town of whites.

I was not allowed to touch my bow and arrows or wear my favorite buckskin dress, fringed in beads and bone, and my hair was never plaited into twin braids. Forbidden to speak my papa's tongue, I spoke it in my mind, or aloud when I was alone, begging the Great Spirit for the Yanktonai warrior to come rescue his lost and sad daughter. Stolen away at seven, forced to leave behind the life I knew and loved, it had been traded in for prejudice and mistrust. Bitterness was on my tongue, and I spat, suddenly angry. She should have left me at home-!

"Morning Butterfly."

Frank Colter was just coming from the small barn, wiping his hands on his pants. His gray eyes were warm and friendly, but I could tell he'd seen my anger.

"Food ready?"

"Yes." I grudgingly gave the one word answer, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Kimimela has anger in her eyes this morning." He spoke quietly, for Mamma did not approve of the use of my real name. "Does she long for another day of freedom?"