Wili

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

They rode the train from Goodland to Denver. Wili had ridden trains when he went with Papa Dieter to Boston or Philadelphia and as far as St. Louis before Marvilla got them put off. Declan had been on the Orphan train and had just had the long ride from Chattanooga. Vaasco rode all the way from New Bedford so it was kind of fun but not that exciting.

Wili hated Denver. There was nothing to do. Denver kids didn't know anything about lacrosse and rolling a hoop was kind of lame after hoop and lance and galloping a horse at breakneck speeds and whooping and yelping. Wili didn't think he was playing unless he had a knot on his head, a black eye or was bleeding somewhere.

A group of teenage kids wandering by John's house noticed Wili and Declan playing in the yard. They began to harass Wili about his braids and his Indian appearance. One, who may have been as old as fifteen, pushed Wili and before he had time to catch another breath, he was flat on his back being pummeled by that angry little German Indian. Declan was scrutinizing the group deciding which one he should engage. The others were too shocked to join the fight immediately and by the time they were so inclined, the commotion had brought General Reid to the porch inquiring into the situation. Several of the teenagers were sons of military personnel and knew the general.

"Who is that boy?"

"He's a good friend of mine."

How old is he?"

He's eleven."

"Eleven?"

"He can't be eleven. George is fourteen and he's the toughest kid in Denver."

"Well, then, the toughest kid in Denver just got beat up by an eleven-year-old."

"Why did you do it, Wili?"

"They were pulling my braids and saying mean things about my people."

John looked at the group spokesman. "Is that right, Dickie?"

"Yes, sir." Oh my God, the general recognized him.

And then to George, "Well, George, did you learn a lesson?"

George nodded.

"I'd advise you not to forget it, particularly when Wili's in Denver, and Dickie Chester, now that your father's a colonel, folks will expect more of you."

"You won't tell my father, will you, General?"

"No, I won't, but if anything like this happens again, I'll put Wili on you."

Wili was not harassed again by kids while in Denver. George Dixon, the town bully, skulked off bruised, bleeding and mortified. Actually, Wili and Dickie Chester got to be pretty good friends before Wili went back to the village.

Wili's knuckles were bleeding. He finally felt like he had been playing.

But Wili was harassed by some army guy. Wili made it clear that if they planned to put Leah Sidell in jail, he would tell them nothing. When the judge advocate told Wili that if he didn't testify, he, Wili, would go to jail, Wili's response was, "Go ahead. Put me in jail."

The very frustrated Captain Hartley complained to General Reid that the boy would not cooperate and became downright annoyed when the General burst out laughing.

Red-faced and almost too angry to talk, Hartley said, "I'll put the little rapscallion in jail a few days. He'll talk then."

"Unless you're prepared to wait for the duration of his life, I wouldn't advise that course of action, Captain. You are dealing with the most stubborn little German I've known, and, believe me, I've known a many of them."

"What do you suggest I do?"

"Negotiate with him."

"You don't negotiate with a child. You tell them what they must do and if they don't do it, you punish them."

"Well, I agree, Captain, that's the conventional wisdom, but you are not dealing with a conventional child. He's smart and he's tough. I'd advise negotiation."

"Is that an order?"

"No, it's not an order, but it's very good advice."

"But, General, the woman broke the law. She must be punished. That's the law, not just conventional wisdom."

"You have the testimony of the troops that rescued him. Isn't that enough?"

"In most cases I'd say yes, but this boy must be made to obey the law."

"So, this is more about the boy than about the defendant?"

"No, it's about the length of the sentence. I can get a conviction, I'm sure of that, but think of the effect a frightened, tearful little child would have on the jury. It would be good for at least ten more years."

"Is the woman really that much of a danger to society?"

"Perhaps not, but she broke the law and should be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."

"So, you think that putting a middle-aged woman in jail for what amounts to life makes you a good lawyer. You are aware that I studied law at the Point. A good lawyer thinks about justice, not showing how tough he is. He also has the wisdom to know which fights to pick. You fight this one, you'll lose it.

"And, another thing… you'll never get a frightened, tearful little child thing from Wili. He wants the woman to be made to live with his Indians and he's not the tearful kind. If you aren't willing to compromise, he'll probably end up testifying for the defense."

"Good God, General, he's living with you. You can tell him what to do."

"I can tell him what to do but I can't guarantee that he will do it. Further, I do not intend to tell him what to do. I'm not sure that his suggestion is not a good idea."

"But, General Reid, there is no legal precedence for such a sentence."

"You could establish precedence, you know."

"I'd probably be overruled."

"This, Captain, is a military jurisdiction. There will be a three-judge panel: Colonel Chester, Captain Douglas and Major Simmons. Should they not accept your recommendation for sentence, it will be appealed to me. You already know how I will rule."

"There's no reason to have a trial, then."

"I suppose there isn't."

"But the woman hates Indians. That's why she held the boy and lied to the military."

"I don't think she really hates. I agree with Wili. She just doesn't understand."

"But what if the boy's wrong?"

"Believe me, Wili's seldom wrong."

"Where will she live?"

"We'll build her a cabin."

"If I may, General, the woman breaks the law. We don't jail her. Instead we build her a house?"

"Tell, me, Captain, if you got the sentence you wanted, how much would it cost the government to keep her in jail?"

"Well, I don't exactly know…"

"More, I'll wager, than the cost of a cabin. She sold her ranch and has more money than she can use the rest of her life. Buford may have been a religious nut but he was a good businessman. As part of the sentence I suggest she will support herself. I wouldn't be at all surprised if she eventually offers to buy the cabin from the government."

"It seems to me that you're putting way too much confidence in a boy."

"If it were any other boy I'd say that you were right, but this is Wili Fox we're dealing with. He's an amazing boy: smart as a whip and tough as nails. We can't go wrong trusting Wili."

Leah Sidell had been placed under arrest at the time of Wili's rescue but had been allowed to remain on her ranch until it was sold. Then, as she had promised, she surrendered to the army in Denver. John Reid would not allow her to be held in the stockade with miscreant soldiers so she was housed in a hotel—free on her own recognizance. She had grown quite fond of Wili and was glad to see the boy again. Wili was equally glad to see her. He insisted that Mrs. Bartlett invite her for supper.

John sent his carriage for Leah. When she arrived Wili shouted, "Aunt Le," and ran up and hugged her.

Leah was surprised. "I thought you'd hate me."

"I don't hate you. You were dumb but not mean. I knew that you'd let me go home even if the army didn't find me."

"I know now that I was wrong, but don't you think foolish is a better word than dumb?"

"No, you were dumb. You were dumb for letting Buford boss you all those years, and you were dumb because you hated people you didn't even know."

"First of all, Wili, dear, when I married Buford he was a fine loving man. He was a good husband and father. I was proud of him when he got involved in the emancipation movement. It was the right, godly thing to do, but somehow, Buford stopped being godly and thought he had become God.

"I agree that I put up with it way too long, but I kept thinking he'd come to his senses. When I saw him about to horsewhip you, I knew that he had to be stopped.

"And, Wili, dear, I don't hate anyone."

"You hate Indians."

"I don't hate them. It's just that they are savages and that they kill white people."

"What would you do if your people had been living on the land for maybe a million years and somebody tried to take it away?"

"I would submit to the will of God."

"Who said that it was God's will to kill Indians and take their land?"

"President Monroe sent Andrew Jackson to conquer the land from the savages. God gave white people all this land to the Pacific."

"Was President Monroe God?"

"No, of course not."

"How did he know that God gave the land to the whites?"

"Well, I suppose God told him."

"Why didn't God tell the Indians then?"

"Indians don't believe in God."

"How do you know that the Indians' Great Spirit and God are not the same?"

"I never heard of such a thing. Indians don't have churches and they don't know about Jesus."

"Oh, they know about Jesus. They think He's a weak chief. They say He has people going around telling what Jesus wants folks to do but nobody does it."

"Why, they do."

"Do they? The man with the high black hat says that Jesus says to love everybody but most white people hate Indians. He says that Jesus wants everybody to be kind to poor people. After the buffalo went, most Indians were poor. But white people weren't kind; they killed Indians and took their land."

"Wili, you're just a boy. You don't understand these things."

"What don't I understand?"

"Indians are savages."

"All Indians?"

"I'm sure, yes."

"See, that's dumb. You knew Rub Midderding. Are all white people like him?"

"No, of course not."

"You've heard about Indians fighting and killing, but they were trying to keep their land. I know that some of them were bad, like Rub, but just as not all white people are like Rub, not all Indians are like all the stories you've heard."

"Wili, this is why I tried to keep you from those Indians. You have not learned proper respect. You are a child and I am an adult. Children should respect adults."

"I respect you, but you're wrong."

"Wili, it's impolite to tell an older person they are wrong."

"I'm sorry, I don't agree. If someone is wrong and you don't tell them, then you don't respect them."

John was not surprised at the boy's forthrightness. He was, however, constantly amazed at the eleven-year-old's insight.

"Well, I never… General, tell this boy he's wrong."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, madam. He's not wrong."

"But, General, it's rude for a child to correct an adult."

"In Boston, maybe, but not where I grew up. I understand that social class and status are important in Boston. Where I grew up—and where Wili is growing up—it's truth that's important."

There was some indignation in her voice when she said, "General Reid, I am not a Boston Brahmin,[1] but I do believe in proper decorum. Children should be seen and not heard, and should certainly not contradict an adult."

"I overheard you complaining to Mrs. Bartlett that none of your children will have anything to do with you."

"That's true. It's because of Buford's rigidity."

"Is that the only reason?"

"Well, I… You're not saying that I may have caused some of it?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there. But if I were you, I'd think about it."

Leah already knew that General Reid was a very intelligent man. He had graduated West Point with honors. He had become a favorite of President Grant. He was commissioned general at a much younger age than usual. But how could he believe such outrage? Children were to be docile and compliant. A properly raised child would never talk back to or correct an adult, would they?

John Reid allowed Leah some time to ruminate. Her facial expressions and body language seemed to migrate across the spectrum of emotions. She seemed first to be confused. She had maintained more of Boston than just its provincialism. She was inherently gentle and impulsively kind. She was too much a lady to become angry, but her face and the rigidity of her body indicated that she was definitely annoyed. John sensed a reticence to question her heritage.

But if Leah was anything, she was impeccably honest. She was not of a Brahmin family, but one of some means and stature. She had resented the condescending aloofness of much of Boston society. But now her honesty forced introspection. Did her station make her condescending and aloof toward those of lower stations? Had she in a social sense become a Buford—assuming that her values were, indeed, God's values? She was a truly good person, so she wanted that not to be the case. But, as she thought, she realized that she had brought too much of Boston to Colorado. Moral decisions were so easy in Boston. A person knew his place and knew what was truth. One did not have to think. One only had to follow the traditions.

But Colorado was new. It had no traditions. You had to think in Colorado—to make moral judgments. Leah had learned to do that, but, she now realized, she had never allowed her children that freedom. While they were small, Leah prided herself that she was raising proper Boston children on this God-forsaken prairie. She tried to force them into the Boston culture where there was no such culture. They were taught to fit in but there was no place in Colorado for them to fit. In order to survive and be compatible with the prairie, one had to think, innovate, and become tough—not be passive as proper children in Boston were. While they were growing up, Leah was proud that she had nurtured the independence, innovation and toughness out of them. Her ethnocentrism, as much as Buford's insane religiosity, had driven her children away. She knew that now and she quietly wept.

Wili went to her and hugged her. "I've wasted my life, Wili."

"No you haven't. You can start over. I had to start over twice. When my first mama died I had to start over, and when my first papa died I had to do it again. Starting over is hard but it's better than dying or being sad all the time."

"You're such a good boy, Wili. I love you."

"I love you, too, but not as much as I love my mama and papa, and my sisters and brother."

Leah looked at John and smiled through her tears. "Blunt little rascal, isn't he?"

"That he is. And I agree with Wili. You have not wasted your life. You are a good person. I know that because Wili thinks you are good, and he does understand people. He said that starting over was hard, but if you listen to Wili I think he can make it easier for you."

"My life is over. I'll probably die in prison."

Wili hugged tighter. "No you won't. I want you to come and live with us."

Leah was horrified. "Live with the Indians?"

"Yes. I want you to live with us. The general said they would build you a house, and you don't have to be an Indian if you don't want to. Paul Mann has a lot of white people who buy stuff from him. Billy Hawk's sister married a white boy in Colorado and we go to their ranch a lot. He's got a sister that's kind of my girlfriend. Billy thinks she's his, but I think she likes me better. Don't tell Billy I said that.

"My people are starting to be white. You can help them."

Leah looked at John. "General, are you going to make me live with the Indians?"

"No, but you have a choice of doing that or going on trial. You will be found guilty in a trial and probably go to prison. I don't want that, and Wili doesn't want that. Please think hard about it, Mrs. Sidell."

Leah Sidell didn't talk much during dinner. She didn't eat much either. Wili didn't want her sad. "Aunt Le, eat. Don't be sad."

"I'm not sad, Wili. I'm afraid. I don't know which I am more afraid of: going to prison, or living with Indians."

"I love you, Aunt Le. You know why? I could tell that you loved me. You would never let me help Buford with his cattle even though I wanted to. I was mad then, but I know now that you did not want me alone with Buford. You took care of me then and I will take care of you now."

"Wili, how can you love me? I didn't let Buford hurt you, but I kept you from the people you love. I thought I was right, but I realize now that I was wrong. How can you love a person that wronged you?"

"Easy. Just think about the good things."

"Wili, you are amazing."

John's smile was almost a smirk—a kind of I told you so.

Leah made the decision while she was helping Mrs. Bartlett with the dishes. Mrs. Bartlett told Leah how much she had enjoyed the village. She told her how eager Leona Mann was to learn the new ways, and she told Leah how much Amos needed someone to nurture and love him.

Leah Sidell would go live with the Indians—but she would do so with much trepidation.

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Copyright © 2006 Gordon Klopfenstein