Song Of The Warrior Read Online Free Page B

all of them would want to be.”
    â€œThen, praise God, it’s your duty to change their outlook, my dear.” He looked smug. “There’s no room in this world anymore for those who won’t conform, go along with the majority.”
    Willow nodded, then went to get her big wool scarf to wrap around herself and her little bunch of supplies. She walked down to the livery stable and got the buggy, but she didn’t ask about the lieutenant. That would only cause a further delay and if he weren’t available, the reverend might not let her go and she was eager to meet her little students.
    After asking for directions, Willow started off at a brisk clip. It wasn’t more than a couple of miles through some beautiful rolling hills and tall trees. The spring wildflowers were in bloom and the breeze carried the scent of fresh blossoms. It had been so many years since she had left here as a small child and she had forgotten the joy of the big frontier, the heady feel of freedom. Willow gave herself over to the enjoyment of the buggy ride, reminding herself that she must remember to pray about her rebellious spirit. It was ungrateful to have such feelings when the Reverend Harlow and his sickly wife had taken in an abandoned bastard Indian child and seen to it that she got an education.
    â€œIf they wanted me to teach, though,” Willow grumbled to herself, “they could have seen to it that I got a few books and some slates.”
    Oh, well. The children could write in the dirt with sticks and they didn’t need textbooks until they were all further along. Because the Nez Perce had been friendly to the whites for almost seventy-five years, some of the children could probably speak a little English and she would teach them more. Willow would also read aloud to the children; she at least had her dog-eared, favorite novel. She would translate into Nez Perce for them.
    Such beautiful country! How could she have forgotten how lovely, wild and free the Northwest was? Deep in her heart, she was certain that she never wanted to live any place else and helping children was surely her calling. Whether the Nez Perce went to a smaller reservation or not, it would be good that the children learn to read and write. Perhaps as Reverend Harlow had said, the sooner the Nez Perce children picked up white men’s values, the better off everyone would be.
    Little children peeked around tipis shyly or from behind their mamas’ buckskin or trader calico skirts as Willow drove the buggy into the rundown camp known as Indian Town.
    She smiled and nodded, attempting to put the curious, nervous children at ease as she reined in. “ Taz meimi ,” she said, smiling. “I am Takseen. I have been to the shoyapee’s schools and now I want to teach you their magic.”
    She climbed down from the buggy, holding up a book. Slowly at first, the children approached the buggy.
    â€œTakseen is here,” a child yelled, “everyone come! The Nez Perce girl with green eyes has returned.”
    The boys and girls crowded close, reaching out to touch Willow’s dress, the cover of the book. A very small boy peeked at her from the safety of an old lady’s skirt.
    Willow smiled at him. “I can teach you, too, maybe.”
    Shyly, he hid his face. The old lady reached down to pat him. “He too little; maybe some time. You teach only boys?”
    â€œNo, I will teach girls, too.”
    At that, a chubby girl about eleven or twelve came out of the lodge and looked from the old woman to Willow, hope in her big brown eyes. “Me? You teach me?”
    â€œIf you like.” Willow gave the girl her warmest smile. “Will you help me with the children? I am called Willow.”
    â€œI am called Atsipeeten by my grandmother. I will help with the others.”
    â€œI will call you Atsi.” Willow nodded toward the elderly woman. “Is that your nakaz ? Your grandmother?”
    The