The Sparrow's Choice

By Cynthia Doll

The Mitchells were a great team . . . a Boston doctor and nurse with dreams of venturing West with their son and medical skills to Pony Ridge, a boarding school on the Nez Perce Reservation. But when Calandra finds herself widowed in 1907, she bravely journeys West with her son Everett to fulfill the dream.

Calandra and Everett quickly understand the appeal of the West and settle into their roles as school nurse and student. Calandra soon falls for Sky, a Nez Perce man who traveled with Chief Joseph as a child and was one of the first Indian children to experience Indian boarding schools and attempts at white assimilation.

Not nearly as overjoyed as his mother, Everett finds in himself surprising resentment towards Sky. Is it jealousy, prejudice, or loyalty to his father?

And when tragedy strikes on a school campout that leads to the death of a young Indian boy, the chain of events will drive Everett to strike out on his own and experience the hardships of war—all while battling the war in his heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eLectio Publishing
• Release date: Oct 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781632130600

Book preview

The

Sparrow’s Choice

Cynthia Doll

eLectio Publishing

Little Elm, TX

www.eLectioPublishing.com

The Sparrow’s Choice

By Cynthia Doll

Copyright 2014 by Cynthia Doll

Cover Design by eLectio Publishing, LLC

ISBN-13: 978-1-63213-060-0

Published by eLectio Publishing, LLC

Little Elm, Texas

http://www.eLectioPublishing.com

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Publisher’s Note

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Prologue

February 1932, Nez Perce Reservation, Idaho

The cluster of forlorn buildings huddled on the windward side of the hill, braced to withstand this latest onslaught of weather. Everett could just make them out as the wipers brushed the dry snow blanketing the windshield. Back and forth, quick swaths, the scene obliterated and then revealed, a repeated peek behind a white curtain, brushed aside for only the briefest moment then covered again. Exposed then gone. It was just how this valley came and went from his mind. The ridge line and half-moon curve of buildings would appear suddenly in his mind and his heart would flick them away with a quick stroke of pain. The old memories would stay banished until some new change, a barometric rise or fall of pressure in his subconscious, whipped up and blew them to the surface again.

He looked toward the north and felt the familiar prod to look away. He couldn’t see anything anyway; maybe there was nothing even out there, not anymore. Was little Blue’s spirit wandering out there in this cold? He wanted desperately to erase the thought. He couldn’t distinguish the mountains he knew were there, crouched behind the trailing edge of this brutal front. He had missed them the eighteen years he’d been gone, but not some of the memories. Everett hoped to have at least a glimpse of their peaks before he left for a second time.

He slowed the Ford as he passed underneath the wooden arch. It sagged on the upright poles that suspended it over the road. Made with a great curve of ponderosa brought to the school before Everett was born, it looked weary from years of welcoming residents and visitors alike to the Pony Ridge School. The arch was stripped smooth now, grayed with age, a relic. Snow was settling in a hole made where a knot had weathered away and fallen out. The identifying words were letters made with sticks by the younger classes and had been replaced several times, the old nail holes looking like small black eyes.

Snow drifted against the administration building, dorms, and meal hall in the middle of the complex. The windshield wipers played rhythm with the wind rushing past the car. The buildings looked the same, upgraded now with electricity. There was the weed patch where he and Billy played marbles between classes, and there was where the tipi stood for the annual Founder’s Day celebration. Approaching the first of the buildings, the chapel, Everett was surprised at the pang of nostalgia he felt. As he had packed his bags and boarded the train to Bovill, he wondered what he’d feel when he saw the school again. He had hoped he would feel that empty ache of homesickness, hoped he would feel something, at least for his mother’s sake, but now Everett didn’t like the vacuum trying to cave in his chest and wanted to feel nothing again. He wondered where Grass was.

Everett pulled into a parking place in front of the admin building and turned off the key. Gusts of wind buffeted the car. He sat for a few moments listening to the storm, his mind traveling back, looking out at a world he had known in another lifetime. The swirls of misty snow and low-hung sky transformed the scene to match the hazy memories he had carried with him all these years. He got out of the car and clutched his coat close, the wind whipping it against his legs.

Everett went up the front walk, limping slightly after the long cold car ride, and stood looking at the office door. He felt the years fall away. The office door was still the same institutional green, weathered and worn with old paint showing through the scratches and nicks, the result of many hands and careless moving in and out. He’d repainted it himself once, a punishment for some forgotten misdeed, but it always looked aged and dented.

Everett recognized the man who rose to greet him as he stepped inside, Hatch Perkins. Everett glanced around quickly. His gaze lingered down the hallway to the left. Fresh paint, different furniture, and new tile had modernized the front office. Before he could say anything, the man held out his hand.

Everett. You look more like your mother than ever! Gosh, what a day to have to drive out.

Nice to see you again, Mr. Perkins. The road isn’t too bad yet. Everett shook off his hat and coat and draped them over one of the chairs facing the desk.

Well, c’mon and sit down, Everett. Have some coffee. Hatch turned and poured a steaming cup from a pot on a sideboard on the back wall and handed it to Everett. It doesn’t seem like eighteen years, does it? He motioned Everett to the empty chair and took a seat behind the big desk. Hatch had been the one to call Everett when his mother died. Everett studied the man’s face. He looked to be about sixty, clean-shaven, laugh lines being his dominant feature, crinkling around blue eyes fringed with wild gray brows.

I remember this office, and you, too, of course, Mr. Perkins, but it seems like a lifetime ago to me.

Please, call me Hatch. You’ve been through a lot since leaving, grown up, seen a whole different world out there. I’d love to hear more of your stories. Your mother shared all your letters with me, read them out loud from right where you’re sitting. I think she’d read them a dozen times by the time I heard them. Hatch smiled with the memories.

So that’s how Hatch had known where to find Everett. Of course, he would know all of Everett’s stories.

How long can you stay? The big celebration is just next week and you have to stay for that! Now Hatch was excited.

Hatch, I can only stay a few days. I need to leave by Monday. I really just want to see Mother’s cabin. The rest isn’t important anymore. Everett knew right away he’d said the wrong thing. Disapproval briefly flamed in Hatch’s eyes, but when the superintendent spoke again, he continued with the same friendliness.

Well, we’ll get you settled. I’ll take you out there first thing in the morning. No one’s been in the cabin. We knew you’d want to see it as she left it.

* * *

Everett woke long before dawn. The wind whistled under the rafters of the old building. A lonesome sound, it made him sad for something he didn’t understand. It died down, letting him doze, only to rattle the building again and leave him staring into the dark, the same blackness he’d stared at all the nights in the cabin. He’d dreamed of leaving this place, getting away from Sky. He could barely remember the reasons. He thought of his mother listening to the same wild wind all these years, how lonely and desperate it sounded. It swept the snow to some unknown eastern place or piled it in drifts against her little cabin, sometimes leaving her housebound until the wind shifted on a whim and released her again. In the summers, it sifted dust in small gray drifts and called out the same whining plea. Sometimes in the city, when the spring wind swept off the water, he’d hear that same desperate sound in a gust of cold wind, and he imagined it was his mother calling him. He could never tell if it was in reproach or a wish to have him home. The sound made him shudder now.

Hatch knocked on his door just after dawn, and Everett was up and ready. He greeted Hatch with his most earnest smile and they walked together over to the meal hall. Faculty members, getting an early start, were looking through stacks of papers or reading while having breakfast. Several nodded good mornings to Hatch and a few followed their passing with questions in their eyes. Hatch regaled him with news of the school, teachers Everett had known, the growth of nearby towns. Everett was polite, feigning interest. He was glad to know his mother had such a good friend here. He asked about Tawny and Lucas. Hatch knew these to be polite, superficial inquiries, and he politely answered.

Tawny lives in Bonner’s Ferry, has a wife and three little kids. Lucas worked at the mill, always sends a short update in a Christmas card. Not sure what he’s doing with the mill shut down. Remember Clay? He headed for Seattle after he graduated and sends a note now and then.

Know anything about Grass?

No word about Grass. Hatch sounded apologetic.

And what about Ruth? Ruth Summer Wren?

Hatch turned and gave him a conspiratorial smile. You can see for yourself if you stay for the party. She’s doing just fine, has the prettiest daughter you ever did see. She married Sam Harris; they’ll be here in a few days.

Hatch had two horses saddled and waiting at the stable. The horses blew frosty breaths as the men mounted. The wind had died down just after sunrise. As they turned the horses out on the crossroad, Everett hoped more snow would hold off until they returned. Thick clouds still hung like old bunting across the peaks in the west. Neither man spoke for the first twenty minutes of their ride, both lost in private memories of the same woman.

They headed west from the school into the ashen sunlight, out from the shadow of the mauve hills standing guard east of the school, and followed the bend that pointed them north. The road curved and swayed, rose and fell, and the horses plowed ahead. Hatch’s Appaloosa fluffed the snow ahead of her as she led the way, her thick winter coat the color of smudged charcoal. The gelding that Everett rode seemed content to follow at a steady plod, allowing Everett to study the landscape. The men shared small talk, memories of a different time. As they rode out of a swale thick with drifts Everett stood up in the stirrups and caught his breath. He could just make out that odd wedge of rock, Hidden Lodge Butte, thrust up like a glacial erratic, separated from the foothills and some ten miles north of Pony Ridge. And there was the cabin, resting in the foreground of that distant hill. Calandra’s squat little home glowed in the eastern wash of light. It had slumped in the middle, looking resigned and tired from years of fighting the elements, but he only remembered the building’s unyielding stoicism, the home his mother loved through all those hard winters, all those hot summers.

Again they rode in silence, approaching almost reverently. Everett tied his horse to a corral post. He looked across the ice-crusted railings, but there was no sign of the headstones he knew to be there under the fresh hillocks of snow. Hatch waited for him on the front porch. Standing under the shake-covered overhang, Hatch casually studied the scenery, like that’s what he had come to see. Splintered stairs squealed in the cold as Everett stepped onto the porch. Everett hesitated and then gave Hatch an almost undetectable nod. Hatch lifted the latch on the door and stepped aside.

The initial survey of the cabin was a marvel to Everett. Such eclectic decor he would never see again. The rustic sofa in the corner was made of peeled lodge pole. His mother had upholstered it with the green linen her sister in Chicago had sent her one Christmas. The kitchen table was rough-hewn, the top polished with use. Calandra’s favorite china cup still sat as she had left it, tea leaves now crusted in the bottom. Draped across the hickory rocker was the quilt his mother made from his old shirts. He traced the patterns with his finger, still recognizing some of the prints and plaids. His mother spent many nights by the fire piecing it together. Sky’s rifle was propped by the front door. Moccasins were lined up on a mat by the hearth. The wolf on the stone above the mantel stared down as usual, guarding no one in this empty cabin.

Everett cleared his throat, smoothing his mother’s lavender knit shawl hanging on a hook by the door. He told Hatch it was exactly as he remembered. He cleared his throat again. Thank you, Everett said, for leaving it as she loved it.

Chapter 1

July 1907

It was the anticipation that had her so on edge. William asked her several times if she was all right and was surprised at her curt responses. William could have been Calandra’s twin with his sandy blond hair and caramel brown eyes. He brushed his wavy bangs out of his eyes and watched the scenery go by. The planning and good-byes and sleepless nights on the train were wearing her down. William was sympathetic. He couldn’t imagine how hard it had been for his sister and her towheaded little boy. As much as he had looked forward to this trip, he was anxious to get Calandra and Everett settled and have this transition behind them. When Calandra was sure she had chosen correctly, that she and Everett could make their lives here, William would head home with reports to their family that all was well.

I don’t know what possesses me sometimes, William. I’m so sorry. I feel like two people these days, one who’s all excited about finally being here, and also one who misses Douglas and wonders what she’s doing heading into this new life without her husband.

Douglas would be so proud of you—you’re doing exactly what he’d want; you know he wanted to be here, too. William tried to sound enthusiastic, but Calandra turned to look out the window, feeling again like a lost little girl. Looking at herself in the window glass, Calandra saw a pretty face framed with blonde hair loosely pulled up in a knot high on her head, strands of curls playing around her forehead and neck, loose from too many days of travel. Sad tawny eyes stared back at Calandra. She looked tired and pale, her few freckles more prominent than usual.

Everett was torn, too. He missed his papa. He didn’t understand about death. Doctors weren’t supposed to die. He thought doctors made people better and never died. He pictured his papa’s face in the train window as he watched miles and miles of countryside blur before his eyes. He sure wanted to tell his papa about this trip, all the amazing things he was seeing. He would never forget his first survey of the West. The mountains that had looked like a line of rickrack in the distance grew to savage teeth and then to towering wonders that pulled the train into their purple depths; they were unbelievable to him. There was still snow on the highest peaks, even though it was July. When would they see Indians? Would the kids like him? What games would they play? He hoped they knew about baseball. He was already feeling homesick, those swelling waves that rolled through his chest and made him clench his eyes closed. He hadn’t slept well on the rocking train coming west and wondered where they would sleep at the school.

Just after dark on the sixth day they stepped off the train into a new world. The family spent the night in Troy, Idaho, in a room that overlooked Main Street, all three sleeping hard and long after the constant jostling of days on the train. Everett stood at their hotel window the next morning watching activity percolate on the street below.

The women wore long skirts, practical blouses, and wide-brimmed hats pulled low over their faces. One woman came out of a shop wearing a pretty dress like his mother used to wear to tea, her hat erupting in flashy feathers. Most of the men dressed like laborers back East, broadcloth pants with suspenders and heavy boots. They were loggers and railroad men. There was a distinguished-looking man in striped trousers and pressed shirt hurrying down the opposite sidewalk, a banker, Everett guessed.

Many horses and even a steamer car stirred up thick dust, clouds of it billowing in the still morning. The air smelled of horses and cinders. Somewhere close by he could hear a train grinding its brakes through town. The hills skirting the town rose in undulating folds of dense green.

After lunch, Calandra met with the man sent from the school who would drive them out to Pony Ridge. Calandra stowed her purchases and supervised their trunks being loaded into his wagon. William and Everett walked around Main Street, looking in shop windows and watching passersby. Everett kicked at the dust while pestering the blacksmith with questions, a horseshoe taking shape with repeated, metallic blows of the man’s hammer. The smithy thrilled Everett by presenting him with a small hammered ax.

Calandra squinted down the street and wondered how many of the passing women she might meet and become friends with some day. She met Beffie Garrow just after breakfast. Beffie was a petite little blonde with pretty curls that she kept piled on top of her head. She ran the general store with her husband, Lars, and she would surely be a good friend if Calandra weren't going to be out at the school. Beffie helped her pick fabric for appropriate dresses and skirts, and warned her not to expect to see many white women. There were only the nuns and teachers, and maybe a rancher’s wife now and then at the school. Sometimes the Garrows’ store sent supplies to the school, and Beffie said she would try to come with the next delivery. Calandra squeezed Beffie’s hand as she left the store and felt another wave of misgivings. Not many white women—it scared her more than she would ever admit. She had clung to Everett’s hand until he pulled it away.

Everett had already seen all there was to see here from a six-year-old’s perspective. He hadn’t seen any Indians yet, but was excited to talk with a man who stepped out onto the sidewalk near the hotel carrying a rifle.