by Kim Roberts
© 2000
The beat of the drum is the heartbeat of the Earth . . . calling to her children . . . calling her children home.
Rising up like ghosts the voices encircled him. Cody's infectious laughter filled the room as Jimmy's sullen moodiness hung from the rafters. Tender words of affection between young lovers hid in the corners and Teaspoon's bark bounced off the walls. Hushed too early, Noah and Ike's presence guarded the room where children had grown into adults.
Buck fastened his saddlebags and glanced around the bunkhouse to make sure he wasn't leaving anything behind. Not that it would matter all that much if he did. He never realized how dark the bunkhouse was before or that the mantle over the fireplace was slightly crooked and the floorboards squeaked terribly. Funny the things you don't notice about a place until you leave it. The room was lifeless and cold. Buck threw the saddlebags over his shoulder, took a final look around and left the room to the ghosts.
For a moment he envied Cody and Jimmy. They had departed without ceremony. Buck steeled himself and garnered his composure before stepping away from the porch and into the crisp morning air to meet the assembly gathered on his behalf. The small group stood waiting for him beside his clay colored mare, looking more like a pack animal with the load of provisions Rachel insisted upon, than the Indian pony she was. The horse seemed impatient to be on their way, and pawed at the ground while Buck secured his bedroll, saddlebags and rifle scabbard. Delaying the inevitable, he checked and double checked his equipment before drawing a deep breath and finally turning to face the party.
"The weather could get bad any time now. You sure you don't want to wait for spring? Kid asked, grasping for anything that could change Buck's mind.
"I can't, Kid," Buck replied, searching for a way to explain to his friend the longing in his heart that he didn't quite comprehend himself. "I just feel that I need to go now. You wouldn't understand."
He was right - Kid didn't understand. He didn't understand why Buck would possibly want to return to the people who had treated him so badly that he felt forced to leave the only home he had ever known and take his chances in a different world. He feared his friend would receive the same abuse, or worse, the same rejection that he had experienced before. Kid had seen Buck verbally and physically harassed by white men, but their treatment paled in comparison to the torture he willingly submitted to when Ike was captured by the Kiowa. Buck's decision just didn't make sense - but it was his decision to make. Kid consoled himself remembering Teaspoon's explanation "an Indian thinks with his heart not his head." He could only hope that Buck's heart knew what it was doing. "I'm gonna miss you, Buck. I hope you find what you're lookin' for," Kid said with sincerity and grasped Buck's extended hand to wish his friend farewell.
Buck turned to Lou and wrapped his arms around the petite young woman, lifting her off the ground. "Promise me you won't go back to wearin' men's clothes, alright? I like you this way." Lou managed a teary eyed nod of agreement. This was hard - losing another brother. At least Jimmy and Cody were nearby, in places with actual names and she could probably find them if she needed to. But Buck was headed for another world. He might as well be going to the moon.
"You be careful," Rachel ordered, folding down the collar of Buck's jacket and pulling it tighter around his shoulders. "It's a long trip."
"I'll be fine, Rachel. Would you make sure this letter to Sam gets posted? I hope he understands why I can't take that job."
Rachel pulled the young man into her arms before accepted the neatly addressed envelope. "I'm sure he will," she answered, but at the same time couldn't help but feel that Buck was throwing away a future full of bright possibilities. Rachel smiled weakly to hide her disappointment. She gathered her shawl around her shoulders but it provided little comfort against the chilly emptiness that filled her each time her family grew smaller.
Buck had successfully retained his composure, but all self-assuredness fell away as Teaspoon ignored his outstretched hand and instead pulled him into a firm embrace. The older man had watched this boy tip-toe between two cultures, committing to neither, but the path he walked grew narrower and eventually a choice had to be made. Teaspoon suspected Buck's lingering doubts about his future would send him back to the place where all his questions originated, and perhaps that was as it should be, but it didn't make the parting any easier.
The touch of the man's strong arms around him brought a feeling of such security that for a moment Buck's convictions began to falter. It would be safer to stay. He didn't know what his reception would be. The hand that reached out to welcome him home could just as easily hold a dagger. But he wasn't looking for safety. His soul longed to sing a melody of belonging and he heard no music in the white man's world. Buck swallowed hard, and with effort finally forced his words past the lump lodged in this throat. "You never saw my color and I thank you for that, Teaspoon. I feel I owe you and I'm sorry I can't be what you want. But I've carried these questions inside me for so long . . ."
"I know. . . I know. You don't need to explain," Teaspoon assured him, experiencing some difficulty with his own words as well. He pulled Buck tighter to him, giving him his blessing - reluctant to let the boy go, but proud of the young man who made the decision to leave. "You go find your answers. If they tell you to stay with the Kiowa. . . then it's been an honor knowin' you, Buck. If they lead back here . . . then you know the way home. You do what your heart tells you, son, and you'll never be wrong."
