The trip west had been grueling. It had been days since leaving the last outpost where the wagon master had picked up supplies and news of what was ahead. Renegade Indians had been attacking settlers and had hit the last wagon train that passed by. Scouts had been out for days trying to determine the best route to take in order to avoid the marauders and also maintain good sources of water.
The trail was dry and dusty as the wagons moved out. Just one more week before reaching the end of Indian Territory. There was a fort on the other side and fresh supplies could be taken on before heading out for their final destination-California. Everyone was trying to stay focused on their future home and not dwell on potential dangers or challenges of the journey. Melinda, who was the oldest of the children, was really good at entertaining the young ones and keeping them occupied when the wagon was camped for the night. Melinda had just turned 14, but was already taking on many responsibilities since her mother had died and she was needed to care for her younger siblings.
As the days and weeks passed, the prospect of a new home and new beginnings for everyone was what kept the dreams of the travelers alive. Melinda dreamed of how her father could build a home and maybe find gold so they would never have to worry about anything again. Melinda missed her mother and wished she had lived to see all the new places and how much the young ones had grown. She couldn’t dwell on that now; there was too much to do around camp and when the wagons were moving, she had to keep the young ones occupied.
The wagon train was within a day of leaving Indian Territory when marauding Indians attacked. Melinda was frantically trying to get her brother and sister to safety; then she could help her father by reloading rifles. The Indians were everywhere. It seemed that for every one shot, two more would appear. The battle seemed unending. Melinda’s father was attacked and killed. Melinda was beaten down and left for dead. The younger ones were killed as they tried to escape. When the battle was over, the marauders had killed or captured just about everyone. They looted the train and took away all the horses. Melinda came to just as the band was leaving the train after setting the wagons ablaze.
Still dazed, Melinda tried to find her family. She came across the bloody bodies of her brother and sister. There was nothing left to cover them with. Even the rifles were gone, everything was gone. How was she supposed to bury them, she couldn’t just leave them to the elements and animals. She carried the bodies of her siblings to a small area of scrub brush. Then she found her father’s body and dragged it to the same area. Using whatever she could find from the burnt out wagons, she managed to cover the bodies of her family. She had no idea what to do or even which way to go. In despair, she sat next to her family and wept for hours. After a while, she simply fell asleep, exhausted. Early the next morning, before the sun was even over the horizon, Melinda was awakened by a tall, dark Indian man. Terrified, she tried to get to her feet and run but he caught hold of her arm. She was too weak to struggle with him. He dragged her out of the scrub brush and took a long look at her. When he saw that her wounds would probably heal with time, he bound her hands and took her over to his pony. She would be useful around camp. He mounted his pony and pulled her over the back like some captured prey. As they rode off, Melinda cried silently trying to remember where her family lay so she could come back and bury them some day. She didn’t want the Indian to see her tears; she was terrified but knew he would have no compassion for her.
When they reached his camp, he gave her over to an old Indian woman who must have been his mother. The old woman pulled her hair back and looked at her face. Then she looked her over like she was livestock, grumbling all the while. She finally took her over to some younger women and evidently instructed them to make use of her. They showed her how to grind corn and make meal for tortilla-like bread baked on an open fire. When they gathered firewood, they would take her out and load the wood on her back like a pack mule. Every day, Melinda would be worked like an animal; hauling, pulling, pounding. At night she was tied to a stake and left to sleep without any shelter or covering other than her clothes, which were quickly becoming tattered and torn from the work she did. She hadn’t seen the Indian man who had brought her to camp. She hoped he would come back and see how cruelly she was being treated. He had saved her life, but surely not for this-slavery.
The nights were growing colder now and Melinda had to scrounge whatever covering she could to stay warm. A couple of the younger women had given her some old blankets and she was able to wrap those around her and place an old animal hide on the ground to use as bedding. She had fashioned a lean-to of sorts to keep dry. The Indians mocked her for her building skills. Every night, Melinda went to bed hungry and cold; but she would never let her emotions show. She had learned to be strong and keep things to herself after her mother’s death. Now she needed that strength more than ever.
As the winter cold began to take hold, Melinda awoke one morning to the sound of hunters coming into camp. The men had been able to secure a plentiful bounty to supply the tribe for the cold winter months. The women began to work on the meat and hides. The men and boys were breaking down the camp for the move to their winter homes higher in the mountain and deep forests. The women showed Melinda what she was to do to help and she was soon too busy to think about whether the Indian man was among those who had come back from the hunt.
Soon the tribe was on the move, up the steep hills into the forests. Melinda had wrapped every blanket and animal hide around herself for warmth. The cold wind still found its way through the layers and chilled her through. After three days of constant travel, the winter home was reached. The women immediately began to set up the camp. It was so quick and coordinated that Melinda felt she had not even been able to catch her breath. The women worked tirelessly through the days to tan hides and preserve the meat so there would be food for everyone during the winter. The old ones predicted that this would be a very harsh winter. The snows had already started and were heavier than usual.
At night there was dancing and stories from the elders about times past, great times of famine and war, but also times of triumph and plenty. Times of Glory and blessing from the Great One. Melinda had learned enough of the Indians’ language to understand that their lives were much the same as hers had been. As she listened and learned more of how they viewed life and their world, she wondered if they could perhaps understand the settlers who were coming through and wanted the same for their families.
Melinda tried to talk to the women about how her family had come to be on the wagon train, but her stories fell on deaf ears. The women knew only work and survival. Why things were this way or that was only for the Great One and the men to know. She was able to teach a few of the younger ones English and how to write letters Still, they had no use for such things and except for a few English words, lost interest.
One person did take interest, however. It was the young Indian man who had brought Melinda into camp. While she was unaware of his being in the camp, he had kept an eye on her and saw her interest in teaching the women about her people. He had seen the white children writing and reading from books; although he wasn’t sure the significance of this. Still he was curious and wanted to know how such actions were helpful to their way of life.
One morning, Melinda was awakened by the same tall, dark Indian man who had taken her long ago. At first she was startled to see him standing there but instead of trying to run away she stood before him willing herself to be unafraid. He looked at her much as he did that first time, but in his eyes, there was a softness that had not been there before. He motioned for her to follow him. Without question or protest, Melinda did as he wanted and followed him to a large dwelling house. Inside, she was pushed to the floor by the door opening. The older men of the tribe were gathered around a smoldering fire. One arose and placed a log on the fire, then resumed his place.
The young man approached and spoke to the elders. The elders looked at Melinda. They were discussing her. Melinda tried to hear and understand what they were saying but their voices were hushed and she didn’t understand some of the words. The young man gave the main elder a pouch of something and turned to go. He reached Melinda and motioned for her to follow. Then he went to a smaller teepee and sent her inside. Melinda had no idea what she was to do. Was she supposed to prepare a meal for him? What? The teepee had hides covering its frame and plush blankets were laid out like a bed. Melinda stood there afraid to move or touch anything. An Indian woman entered and motioned for Melinda to strip off her old tattered clothes. She handed Melinda a soft deerskin dress to put on. Then she gave her soft moccasins that warmed her cold callused feet. The woman gathered Melinda’s old clothes and left. Melinda stood there feeling the caressing softness of the dress and shoes. Still not sure what to do, she knelt near the center of the teepee and began to weep.
After what seemed like hours, the Indian woman who had taken her clothes returned. She took Melinda to an area where some of the older women were preparing hides and weaving blankets. Melinda had seen the women weavers work before and had been fascinated with the intricate patterns they made. One of the women, Noami, showed Melinda how to use berries and wild plants to make dyes for the yarn. Melinda watched closely and soon was able to make bright colored wool. She learned to comb the dried wool into strands for twisting into yarn. Weaving would have to come much later. The patterns were like a story woven into the wool and only the experienced women who knew the stories could tell them.
Early every morning, Melinda made her way to the weavers’ area and worked diligently trying to learn everything she could about the women, their lives and the tribe itself. Each night, exhausted, Melinda would return to her teepee and ponder the stories she had been told during the day. She had learned much from the women and had found a measure of peace among them. In the darkness of her own dwelling, however, she was still haunted by what might have been had her father and siblings not been taken away so violently. She thought about the tall Indian man who had saved her. She had not seen him since he brought her from the Elders to this her home.
Winter was coming to an end. The signs of spring were bursting all about. Melinda awoke with freshness about her. She tried to remember back to when she and her family had first started out to find a new land. It was about this time of year. It was right after her birthday. Her birthday would be soon, but when? She had no concept of time but the first of spring was very close. She began to weep a little. This would be her first birthday without her family. Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of loud movements around the camp. She went outside to find everyone quickly working to dismantle the camp. It was time to move back to the summer camp. Melinda began to do her part and before the sun was high in the sky, the camp was disassembled and the tribe moving down the slopes to the valley below.
Once again, the tall Indian man came up beside Melinda. This time he walked with her and helped her with the sled-like gurney used to carry the hides and blankets and other things from the camp. She spoke only a few words to him; not really knowing how to or even if she should talk to him. She did find out his name-Nantan, which means spokesman. As they traveled down the mountainside, Melinda was keenly aware that Nantan was watching her. She finally asked him why he had saved her that day and what he was wanting from her now. She trembled a little not knowing if she had used the correct words or if she had been too bold in questioning him. They reached a place to camp for the night. The trip to the valley would be at least two more days. Nantan sat around the fire while Melinda prepared a meal for them. He still hadn’t answered her. After they had finished their meal, Nantan stood as if to leave. Instead, he reached out for Melinda’s hand. She put her hand in his and rose to her feet. Nantan looked deep into Melinda’s eyes. That softness she had seen before was still there. Nantan led Melinda to a small overlook. As she gazed across the landscape, she could see the vastness of the valley below surrounded by mountains far off in the distance. The sun was just below the horizon. It would be dark soon. In the distance, smoke was rising from someone’s campfire. Another tribe, she supposed. The valley was home to other native tribes. She looked at Nantan. He was looking out over the valley. He could have been a king looking over his kingdom but Melinda saw a humble kindness in his face that reminded her of her father. Nantan turned to Melinda. He spoke slowly wanting to be sure she understood. Melinda was not the first white person Nantan had known. As a boy, a mission priest had come into the Indian lands. He had tried to bring understanding between the Indians and whites. Some of his work had been welcomed. The wagon trains had been given passage across the land. The priest had tried to teach the young ones how to read and speak English. Nantan spoke in the broken English he remembered. Some tribes did not welcome the white man and when trouble broke out between them, the soldiers came and many on both sides were killed. The priest was killed, as well. Nantan had come to realize that the white man would not be stopped by constant battle. He wanted his people to prosper in the land of their ancestors. When he found Melinda, he had no motive to take her other than she was alone and he knew she would need help to survive. When he saw her trying to teach the others some of her ways especially her language, he once again saw the hope the priest had brought to the young ones. What he wanted from her now? He wanted her to teach his people and to learn from them so they could live in peace together.
The sun was just about gone and darkness had overtaken them. Nantan led Melinda back to their camp. Melinda had not responded to all Nantan had revealed. Nantan spoke no more but simply left Melinda to sleep. All night, Melinda lay by the fire trying to make sense of what Nantan was asking her to do. All the time she had been among his people, she had thought only of the day when she would be free to leave and find her way back to first bury her family and then go on with their dream of California. She had never envisioned her life as forever being part of the Indian people.
Morning came so quickly. Melinda gathered up all her things and prepared to start out for the valley home. Nantan had not yet come to help, so she assumed it was up to her to pull the sled of belongings. After making sure the fire was out, she draped the harness around her neck and shoulders and started back toward the trail. Still no sign of Nantan. As the sun moved higher in the sky, Melinda was growing weary of the load she was pulling. She was growing angry, as well. Why had Nantan abandoned her? What right did he have to expect her to take on the task of bringing peace between his people and hers. She had lost her family to Indians. She had no one. How dare he ask so much from her!
Her anger toward Nantan fueled her determination to get to the valley without his help. Then out of nowhere, there he stood-tall and strong-before her. Suddenly the anger disappeared and gratefulness that he had returned filled her. He removed the harness from her and held her as she wept silently into his chest. Neither of them spoke; there was no need. For the remainder of the journey, nothing more was said about what had passed between them.
At the valley home, life resumed as usual. The women attended to their chores and the children played games of hunt and valor. Survival always a real and present issue, the young men prepared their weapons for the next hunt. The elders still assembled to recount their past glories. One thing, however, had changed. Melinda and Nantan had met with Nantan’s family. Nantan wanted to make Melinda his bride. At first, there was resistance to this because of his place in the tribe. Then the old woman to whom Nantan first brought Melinda spoke. She had watched Melinda adapt to her life in the tribe. She saw the strength Melinda had shown when she was treated no better than livestock at the hands of the younger women. She had seen Melinda’s compassion and tenderness toward the young ones. Melinda belonged with the tribe; she belonged with Nantan. The old woman looked at Melinda. Melinda lifted her head and their eyes met. “Yes”, Melinda’s eyes said. ” I do belong here”.