Between Earth and Sky(72)
As valedictorian, Asku led the march, his fox eyes beaming, his shoulders back and head held high. Her own carriage swelled at the sight. His gaze flickered in her direction and he smiled broadly. They’d chosen his suit together: a single-breasted morning coat and matching striped trousers, both light brown. She’d given him the silk cravat he wore as a graduation gift. Both pride and sorrow pulled at her heart. She’d never met a more intelligent boy—white or Indian. Nor had she known a more constant friend. Already she could foretaste the bittersweetness of his absence.
The other graduates marched behind him—Catherine, Frederick, Alice, and dressed in finely tailored clothes. The rest of the students followed, red corsages pinned to their black uniforms.
. . . the looming prospect of his departure panicked her. Since their afternoon in the meadow nearly two months before, she’d broached the subject of his future several times, but his response was always vague, evasive. He had siblings back on the reservation and his mother. They needed him, he said. But she needed him, too.
The company of Indians marched down the aisle, bisecting the throngs of seated commencement guests. Heads crowned in felt hats and flowery bonnets swiveled, following the procession toward the grand dais at the edge of the yard. Red, white, and blue flounces skirted the platform. Atop it stood an oak lectern flanked by chairs. Her father perched on the centermost chair to the right, so buoyed by pride she thought he might float away. Miss Wells sat beside him like a glacier, her face pinched as if it knew no other expression, despite the day’s palpable excitement. Reverend Thomas and Mr. Chase—Superintendent of Indian Schooling, in all the way from Washington—joined them atop the dais. The superintendent’s eyes wandered over the yard and great brick schoolhouse, resting finally on the bright blue sky above, even as the parade of students approached. His plump fingers fidgeted in his lap, giving Alma the distinct impression he cared little for pomp and festivity.
She turned her attention back to the students, who had now reached the base of the dais. They arranged themselves in three lines, the smallest children in the front, each spaced a uniform distance from the next. Alma marveled at the display. They had drilled this entry every day for a month until Mr. Simms had lost his voice from shouting out commands. The result was as near perfection as any company could perform.
Her eyes lingered on the back row, flashing over her friends’ faces, until inevitably settling over . Something about him still whispered defiance. Whether it was his ruffled hair, his all-too-confident posture, or the sardonic curve of his lips, she could not tell.
Reverend Thomas approached the lectern and delivered the benediction. Alma peeled her eyes from and readied her fingers over the piano keys. When the reverend took his seat, she began to play. After a few bars, the Indians joined in with song.
Hail Columbia, happy land!
Hail, ye heroes, heav’n born band,
Who fought and bled in freedom’s cause,
Who fought and bled in freedom’s cause.
After “Hail, Columbia” ended, Alma moved right into “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” concluding her modest part in the commencement. She rose from the piano and took her seat beside her mother in the front row of the audience while the students marched around toward the back. Only the graduates remained—Asku, Frederick, Catherine, Alice, and . They took their seats atop the platform. Superintendent Chase delivered a short, generic address; then her father rose to the podium. His voice trembled with emotion, starting out quiet and ending just below a roar. The same words he had uttered a thousand times again passed his lips: progress, civility, triumph over savagery.
At the end, he wiped the perspiration glistening at the edge of his receding hairline and welcomed Askuwheteau to the stand. “And now it is my pleasure to present Harry Muskrat, a young man from the White Earth Chippewa reservation in Minnesota, and Stover’s first valedictorian. This fall, thanks to a generous grant from the Women’s National Indian Association and funds made available through Senator Dawes’s General Allotment Act, he will travel to the great state of Rhode Island to attend the prestigious Brown University.”
Asku stood and crossed to the podium. He moved with polish and grace, his posture without the air of haughtiness she saw so often in “well-bred” men. Despite his confident walk, his fingers curled and released at his side—his telltale sign of nervousness, one she knew no one in the audience aside from herself would recognize. Their eyes met and she smiled with full-toothed encouragement. His hands stilled and he pulled a slip of paper from his breast pocket.
“It is my honor to appear before you today under such great auspices. To this place, and its people, I owe an enduring debt. These walls have been my home for nine years, and I have passed here from a child to a man. From one who knew little of the world to one yet untested, but firmly set in the way of progress.”
Asku’s voice rang clear and steady. Golden sunlight lit him from above. His lively eyes swept the hushed crowd as he spoke, not once retreating to the unfolded speech atop the podium. Miss Wells’s lips softened into a smile. Her father wiped a tear.
“I come from a great and proud people,” Asku continued. “We have lived many generations upon this land. But if it be our destiny to continue, we must merge with the white man and meld to his ways. Like two forks of the same great river, our destinies lie intertwined. The course is set. We cannot uphold the past any more than we can reverse the water’s flow.” He paused. “Our hope rests in the future. A future made bright by unity with the white man. What we, the Indian, can offer we shall offer. What we can learn, we must learn so that both our peoples may prosper on this earth.”