Between Earth and Sky(73)

Asku smiled amid a swell of applause. A tide of handshakes, backslaps, and hugs carried him back to his seat. Alma leapt to her feet, and the rest of the crowd did likewise. Only seemed unmoved. His hands banged together a couple of times, then knotted in his lap. His eyes wandered the sky. She could read the war playing out inside him by the way his forearms tensed and knuckles blanched. He hated what Asku said, and yet . . . and yet he cared for her.

A listless Mr. Chase distributed certificates of accomplishment to all the graduates and the ceremony concluded. The guests rose from their seats and drifted toward the large buffet of refreshments Mrs. Simms had set up at the far edge of the yard.

Alma moved to follow, but her mother grabbed her arm. Ahem. She examined Alma’s appearance with a roving eye. “You hit the wrong chord halfway through the first verse of the ‘Battle Hymn.’”

Was that all her mother had taken from the ceremony? “I’m only the accompanist.”

“The details matter, Alma. Let’s just hope Mrs. Pierce did not notice or she’ll have nothing else to say about the event. You know she fancies her daughter a better musician than you.”

Alma’s eyes drifted toward the cluster of people holding cups of punch and plates of cookies. As always, she sought . He stood in the shade of an oak tree talking with Mr. Wallis, who owned a carriage company in La Crosse.

“Alma! Are you listening to me?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, more care next time.” She hurried off before her mother spewed further admonishment, and slipped into the crowd, addressing no one until she reached Asku. “Your speech was wonderful!” She laced her arm around his and squeezed. “Gigiiminowe. Very eloquent.”

He beamed. “Thank you. I had not expected such a crowd.”

“Father’s been waiting for this moment for nine years. I’m surprised he did not invite the entire state of Wisconsin.”

They both laughed. She released his arm and they strode side by side to the refreshment table. The cups of lemonade and punch brought back memories of an earlier day, the sun slanting down on a similar spread, anticipation quickening her blood, waiting for the very first Indians to arrive. Her throat grew tight and tears caught in the web of her lashes. “How I shall miss you, Asku.”

He grinned and handed her a drink. “Come east with me, then. Enroll at Vassar or Mount Holyoke.”

“Mother says I already have more education than I shall ever need.” Her eyes flickered toward the oak tree where still stood. “Besides, I think I should miss it here too much.”

Asku followed her errant gaze to the oak tree. The rosy exuberance drained from his cheeks, leaving his expression wistful.

Alma bit her lip and hastened down the buffet toward a towering tray of butter cookies. “You’ll meet hordes of terribly interesting people at Brown.” She heaped a pile of cookies onto a plate and handed it to him. “The bustle of Providence will sweep you up, and you’ll forget all about me and this little school.”

Their fingers brushed as he took the plate. “No, I shall never forget you, Azaadiins.”

Before she could reply in kind, her father parted through the crowd with Mr. Chase. “There you are, Harry! Allow me to introduce Mr. Chase from the Indian Bureau. Mr. Chase, our valedictorian, Harry Muskrat.”

The superintendent’s thick lips curled and his nose wrinkled. “Muskrat?”

“The muskrat is an honored animal among my people. He gave his life so that the world could be built anew after the flood.”

“Hmm . . . interesting . . . Mr. Blanchard tells me you’ve been accepted to Brown. Bully for you, my boy! I’m a Yale man myself.”

The man’s watery gray eyes fell on Alma. The flat expression he’d worn throughout the ceremony livened. His thick lips, crowded between a graying mustache and beard, curved upward. “This must be your daughter.” He raised his top hat, exposing a crown of baldness beneath. “Miss Blanchard.”

Alma held back a grimace and bowed. Thankfully, her father steered the conversation back to Harry. Out of politeness, she endured a few more moments of the man’s sideways glances, then flashed Asku an apologetic smile and slipped away.

She scanned the crowd for . He no longer stood beneath the sweeping arms of the oak. He was not by the refreshment table, nor had he sought shade on the veranda.

At last, she spotted him through the dense gathering, standing with Frederick and a few boys from La Crosse. Their eyes met and he inclined his head toward the back of the house. He’d made his decision.

Alma hesitated. Could she bear to hear he was leaving? Just when she’d screwed up enough courage to follow, Lily Steele captured her arm. “There you are, Alma. What a quaint little affair. Almost feels like a real graduation ceremony.”

Alma grimaced. “It is a real graduation ceremony. They worked hard. They’re going off to jobs, colleges.” She slipped her arm free from Lily’s grasp. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, the . . . um . . . the cookies need replenishing.” She hastened to the buffet, grabbed the tray with the fewest shortbreads, and sped around the schoolhouse.

The vast backyard was nearly empty. Mr. Simms lounged in the open doorway of the wood shop, arms crossed, his cloudy expression untouched by the day’s gaiety. His hooded eyes followed the movement of the few guests who milled about inside, viewing the equipment and machinery. Alma wondered if they noticed the stain, the dark patch beside the lathe where Charles’s blood had seeped into the floorboards. No, she decided. Her father was a man of details. He would have made sure it was covered for the occasion. The boy had recovered, after all. Still, Alma lingered, the tray growing heavy in her arms. Yes, he’d recovered, but he would never be the same.