After three days, Cynthia felt a need to change clothes, for she was still wearing the same green dress she had on when she was captured. Since she had taken no clothes with her on what she thought would be no more than a couple of hours’ drive into the country, she had nothing to change into, and she feared she was stuck with the situation.
To her surprise and delight, Chandeisi came to the rescue by bringing her a couple of dresses made from deerskin.
“These were the dresses of my wife,” he said as he handed them to her.
“Oh, Chandeisi, thank you,” Cynthia said. She looked at the dresses. “They are beautiful.”
The dresses were wonderfully soft, and prettily decorated with porcupine quills and bright, blue beads. There was nothing to wear under the dresses, and at first Cynthia was keenly aware of that fact, but after a couple more days she quit thinking about it.
Each night, Chandeisi helped Cynthia to make a soft bed of stretched skin and fragrant grasses; then he would leave the wickiup to allow her privacy while she slept. Because they spent so much time together, Cynthia was able to engage him in conversation. She did so for two reasons: because she was genuinely curious, and because she thought that it would be good to have a friend in this situation.
“Where did you go to school?” Cynthia asked.
“I attended the mission school at San Carlos,” Chandeisi answered.
“Have you ever been off the reservation to live among the whites?”
“No, I have never done that. I have spent my whole life with my people—mostly on the reservation.”
“Do you ever wish you could live with white people?” Cynthia asked.
“No, I like living with my own people,” Chandeisi replied. “But there are many things I would like to see.”
“What would you like to see?”
“I have read that in the tall buildings of the big cities, there are little rooms that you can step into, and those rooms will rise, taking you to the top of the building.”
For a moment, Cynthia had to think of what Chandeisi was saying; then she laughed out loud. “You mean elevators,” she said. “Yes, the tall buildings in the big cities do have elevators.”
“And I have read as well that one does not need a candle or a lantern. You can turn a valve and have light, for the gas is piped in.”
“Yes, that is true,” Cynthia answered. “And in some buildings, water is piped in as well.”
“And is there really a device where one person can speak to another over great distances?”
“Oh, yes, it is called a telephone,” Cynthia said.
“Have you seen such marvels?”
“I have them in my home,” Cynthia said. “The gaslights, the running water, and the telephone.”
“I am puzzled,” Chandeisi said.
“What has you puzzled?” Cynthia laughed. “I hope you are not puzzled about how these marvelous things work, because even though I live with them every day, I do not think I can explain the operation to you.”
“No, that is not what puzzles me,” Chandeisi eplied. “It is just that, with so many wonderful things for the white man to see and enjoy, why must he come to our land?”
“Do you think the white man has done nothing good for the Indian?” Cynthia asked.
Chandeisi shook his head. “I can think of no good.”
“What about your education? You have gotten a wonderful education from the white man.”
“The white man taught me how to multiply and divide, but not how to skin a rabbit. I have had to skin a rabbit many times. I have never had to multiply and divide.”
“You said you went to a mission school?”
“Yes.”
“Then you must have learned about Christianity. Do you not feel joy from knowing that your soul has been saved?”
“You are talking about the white man’s Jesus God, aren’t you?” Chandeisi asked.
“Yes, I am. Do you believe in Him?”
Chandeisi nodded affirmatively.
“Good, good,” Cynthia said.
“Why is this good?”
“Because, it is very important that you believe in the one way to the true God.”
“There are many paths to the Great Spirit,” Chandeisi said.
Cynthia shook her head. “No, there is but one path. Our Father in Heaven will not welcome you into His Kingdom if you do not come to Him through the Son of God.”
“You call Him our Father? Does that not mean we are all children of the Great Spirit?” Chandeisi asked. “Are you not His daughter? Is Delshay not His son? Are earth, wind, fire, and water not His creations?”
Cynthia thought hard, trying to remember all of her Sunday School lessons, but no matter how hard she tried, no easy answer came to her.
“I cannot answer all of your questions. I can only tell you how things are,” she finally said, hoping that Chandeisi would accept her explanation and press the issue no further.
Chapter Twenty-five
San Carlos Indian Reservation
Although there was a central area to the San Carlos reservation where Indian Agent Baker lived and where the commissary, hospital, and school were built, not all the Apache lived there. In explaining it once, Baker had said that the reservation was like an Indian state and in the state were several small villages scattered about. At the extreme northwest part of the reservation was the most remote of all the villages. Here lived Alope, the daughter of Nopoloto. Nopoloto was the nephew of Cochise and had fought with Cochise until the great chief made peace with the U.S. Army.
The sun had not yet risen, but Alope knew that it was nearly dawn, because she had heard the morning birds begin their singing. Now, as she lay on blankets in her father’s wickiup, she contemplated the events that were to happen today.
For a long time, Alope had been in love with a young man from one of the other villages. Because Cochinay, whose name meant Yellow Thunder, was from another village, he had to have authorization from the council for the privilege of going to Nopoloto to ask his permission to marry Alope. After some consideration and exploration of Cochinay’s family, the council of elders gave their consent and Cochinay went to Alope’s father to make his petition.
Nopoloto agreed to give his daughter to the young man, on condition that Cochinay give him many ponies. When Nopoloto told Cochinay how many ponies he wanted for his daughter, Cochinay said nothing; he simply rode out of the village.
Hearing how many ponies her father asked for, and seeing Cochinay ride away without so much as a word, Alope feared that there would be no marriage. She wondered why her father had been so demanding. Perhaps love meant nothing to her father. Perhaps Nopoloto wanted to keep Alope with him, for she was a dutiful daughter.
“Do not question me, daughter,” Nopoloto said. “I set a very high price to test Cochinay’s love for you. If he returns with the ponies, it will prove that his love for you is deep, and it will satisfy a father that his daughter will be well taken care of, and that there will be grandchildren to bless me in my old age.”
To Alope’s joy, Cochinay returned the very next day and appeared before Nopoloto’s wickiup with even more ponies than Nopoloto had asked for.
That was one week ago. In the week since permission had been granted, Cochinay had come to the village to make a home for them. He constructed a wickiup of buffalo hides, putting in it many bear robes, lion hides, and other trophies of the hunt, as well as his spears, bows, and arrows.
Alope had made many little decorations of beads on buckskin, which she placed in the wickiup. She also drew many pictures on the walls of what today would be her new home.
But that would not be until after the council declared them married, so for now, Alope lay on the blankets in her parents’ wickiup, waiting for the sun to rise and the marriage to be ratified. Finally, a sliver of sunlight slipped in through the opening of the wickiup, and Alope, anxious to begin the day, got up, picked up a bucket, and started toward the nearby stream to get water.