He left me as quietly as he must have come, startling the maid. I had to smile, because quaintly enough, Omaha was in the way. I was no closer to Hawk, except that I now had a heartful of hope from Old Mary in Lapwai.

* * *

Winter followed, and I learned no more. No, that isn’t true. I learned a great deal about myself. I have always been an active person, working hard and involved in busy-ness. Thomas Adams’s visit brought me to a complete halt and the stark realization that there was nothing I could do to change my situation. In Nez Perce eyes or the eyes of my family and society, I had no way or means or reason to go to the reservation at Lapwai. I was a white woman and an outsider. No doors were going to magically open.

All I had, ultimately, was a heartful of hope. I would have to wait in patience and humility for my circumstances to change. The matter was out of my hands. All I could do was wait and hope, and do it bravely, such as I had witnessed among The People as they traveled toward that forty-miles-too-far Canadian border with their own heartful of hope. It could be years, it could be months, it could be never.

My tears were bitter and angry at first, matching the mood of that interminable winter, with blizzard after blizzard. I began to long for bedtime, when I could put aside the mask I wore of a proper lady, safely back in the fold of her privilege and society. In bed, I could press a pillow to my face and sob out my frustration and sorrow. I looked forward to that like a drunkard yearns for the next bottle.

Things changed as time passed so slowly that winter. A little at a time, I let myself hope. I started remembering Blue Mountain Woman’s many kindnesses to me, from helping me find that moss I needed, to combing my hair and braiding those little shells in it. She had given her life for me and her son and I honored that memory with the resolve to never shame her with poor conduct.

I remembered the mothers shielding their children with their bodies, every time the cannon roared. No one shook a fist at the Bluecoats who rained down hot metal and terror; they simply kept digging until that which they prized the most was safe, their little ones. They accepted the terror and the hunger and the vast disquiet of going toward…what? They were kind to each other because this struggle belonged to all The People.

I doubted I could be that good, then I remembered times when I was that good on the march. I guess what I am saying is that I finally allowed myself the privilege of being human. I knew I was not perfect, and I knew Hawk knew it, too.