The Drums of Change (32 page)

Chapter Twenty-three

The Book

“I have come to talk.”

Running Fawn eased her basket of buffalo chips to the ground and straightened her shoulders. She had expected to have a visit from Silver Fox now that the days of mourning for his father had passed. But the days had turned to weeks, and the weeks to months, and he had not come. She began to think that maybe … maybe she had been wrong.

He stood before her now, his face somber, his dark eyes intense. It was strange to see him in full Indian dress. Many of the men on the Reserve had incorporated the cotton shirts and vests of the white man into their own wardrobe. Silver Fox was dressed in buckskin.

She nodded silently, then modestly lowered her gaze.

The day was cool. A north wind had been blowing throughout the night, threatening to bring an early winter to the land. Overhead a flock of Canada geese flapped their way southward, large wings taking advantage of the wind at their backs to conserve some energy for the long journey. They called words of encouragement to one another as they flew, though Running Fawn had always found their honking to be plaintive.

“Do you wish to stay by the fire?” Silver Fox asked, acknowledging the brisk wind and the cool day.

Running Fawn shook her head. Her father had not yet left the tent. She knew that his aging bones much preferred the warmth to the chill of the wind. She would not disturb him, but he might soon be stirring to check what was in the cooking pot. Instinct told her that this discussion should not be disturbed.

“I will get my heavy shawl,” she answered simply.

It was not difficult for her to enter the tent and retrieve her wrap without waking her father. He slept on, his lean body enshrouded in the wool blankets of the Hudson’s Bay Company.

The two began a silent walk toward the river. It seemed like the logical place to go. Neither spoke until they reached its banks and settled cross-legged on the grass-covered ground.

“I have wished to come for a long time,” began Silver Fox. “I had many duties after my father’s death.”

Running Fawn nodded, her eyes on the gentle ripple where a submerged rock in the stream almost touched the surface.

“I have not forgotten my promise.”

Running Fawn’s heart skipped within her, much like the stone that he had thrown into the current when they had visited the stream together in a time that seemed so long ago. She could not keep her eyes from lifting to his. She knew the full implications of that promise. She would be his wife. She knew that it was what she wanted. Had wanted for a very long time. Perhaps ever since the young Silver Fox had guided her carefully, gently, home to the Reserve on the small pony.

“I have not yet paid my debt to the mission,” said Running Fawn in a trembling voice. “I gave my word.”

The promised payment still hung heavily on her mind. She had worked diligently with her beadwork, but she had no access to a trading post to exchange the work for money.

“The debt is paid,” responded Silver Fox simply. Running Fawn did not have to ask who had made the payment.

Silence—for many minutes. Running Fawn stole a glance at Silver Fox and saw a sober, thoughtful face. Troubling thoughts raced through her mind. Was he regretting the long-ago promise? Would he hold to his word, in spite of his heart? Perhaps … perhaps there was another maiden. Maybe even a white girl from the mission school. She did not want to spend her life with a man bound only by a promise. Not if his heart was elsewhere. She wanted …

But Silver Fox spoke again.

“I have taken the Christian faith. It warms my heart. It gives me hope for the future. For my people. I cannot lay it aside like a worn moccasin.”

Running Fawn nodded silently.

“You cling to the ways of the past,” he went on without recrimination. “I am not sure the two ways would go well in the same tepee.”

“But I … I would not … I would understand. You may keep your ways.”

Running Fawn had never had such difficulty trying to express her thoughts. Her feelings.

“I do not wish a wife to
allow
me my faith,” said Silver Fox seriously. “I desire a wife who
shares
my faith. Who loves my Lord as I do. Who seeks only to follow His way. Who raises our children to understand about His love—and mercy. That is what I want in a home.”

Running Fawn’s rapidly beating heart seemed to suddenly still. He had come to tell her that he could not keep his promise of old. That they would not be man and wife—ever.

Running Fawn nodded mutely, her eyes cold, her body stiff.

“For that reason I have a request,” went on Silver Fox as he reached inside his leather tunic. When he withdrew his hand it held a Black Book. Smaller than the missionary’s—yet Running Fawn knew that it was the Bible.

“I ask only that you read its pages,” said Silver Fox with intense feeling.

“But I know … I already read. At the mission.”

“Yes,” he acknowledged, “I know that you have heard many of the stories. I know that you were assigned reading portions. Memorization of passages. You put them from you. Now—I ask one thing. That you read—and that you listen with your heart to the words.”

For a moment Running Fawn wished to resist.

“This book is for the white man,” she said. “If a Blackfoot accepts the words, his whole life must change.”

To her surprise he leaned toward her and took her long, slim hand in his. “Running Fawn,” he said earnestly, “
anyone
who accepts the words must change. Any man or woman. White or red. Yellow or black. We may be different on the outside, but inside—” He laid a hand over his heart. “Inside we are all the same. Evil. Sinful. Needing someone to save us from all that. We all need to change our ways—from the inside to the outside.”

It was a new idea for Running Fawn.

“Please … just … just read the book. Promise me,” he went on. “Then … we will speak again.”

So she had not been totally dismissed. There was still a chance. She … she … Then a new thought struck her and made her swing around to face the young man. Her back stiffened, her eyes flashed. “I will not say that I take the Christian faith just to become your wife,” she said, her voice low but full of intensity.

He surprised her with a smile. “I know you will not,” he answered evenly. “That is why I dared to ask for your promise to do this—read the Book again.”

Running Fawn kept her promise. Daily she found time from her duties to spread the Black Book before her and read the English words.

She began with the book of Matthew, and for some reason that she could not explain, it seemed much different to her than when she had read it at the mission school. Then she had seen it as a myth, the white man’s way of thinking. Now she was reading it as though the people in the stories had really lived, really shared her world. She often found herself caught up in the pages, forgetting to feed the fire or stir the cooking pot. Her father only smiled.

She read strange words and ideas. A man named John had preached long ago, to white people. He had called them evil and demanded that they repent and put away their sin.
White
people. They had to
accept
Christianity. It was not just naturally theirs because they were white.

The man Jesus, who was also the Son of God, walked by the water’s edge and called out to the fisherman. They left their boats, their way of life, to follow Him. Running Fawn was amazed that these white fishermen had been called to change their whole way of living.

On and on she read through the Gospels, and again and again she saw the message,
Let go of the past. Be willing to have your life changed. You need a new life, new ways. What you have clung to in the past will keep you from heaven
. For everyone—and it meant total change. Total submission to God.

But it wasn’t until she read the words in the book of Second Corinthians that she realized just how complete that change needed to be. Her eyes widened with surprise and her heart began to race with reverent fear. “Therefore, if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature; old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.” She read the passage in chapter five, verse seventeen, again—and again—emphasizing the words that spoke directly to her heart. “Therefore, if
any man
be in Christ, he is a new creature;
old things
are passed away; behold,
all things
are become new.”

If the white man could not have access to heaven without great change, and it was
his
religion, then what hope had the Blackfoot?

No … no, that was where her logic was all wrong. Just as Silver Fox had tried to tell her, it was not the white man’s religion. Not at all. It was for all people. The verse said
any man
. Those of the Blackfoot Nation had as much right to the salvation offered by the Son of God as any white man.

The thought was both a sobering and exciting one.

Running Fawn read on.

The apostle Paul went about preaching to the people and always his message was the same. You need to repent. You are living in sin. God cannot accept you as His child until you change. You can only change, as God forgives you and changes your heart, through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ His Son. Then you will change your ways.

“The white people are no different—or better—than the Blackfoot,” observed Running Fawn. For a moment she felt a bit of satisfaction from the fact.

But a new, sobering thought quickly followed. They might be no better than the Blackfoot in the eyes of their great God, but neither were they any worse. If they needed to repent, to change their ways, to seek forgiveness and find their way back to God, then so did she, Running Fawn.

With tears in her eyes she turned her attention to the verses that explained how she was to find forgiveness for the evil thoughts and feelings in her heart.

A verse that spoke directly to her was in John chapter three. A new birth. At first it sounded ridiculous. Impossible. No one, once born, could be born again. But as Running Fawn pondered the verses, she soon realized that Christ was not speaking of a physical birth—but a spiritual. Running Fawn had no difficulty relating to the spiritual. Her people had known since their beginning that man was more than a physical being. She was quite willing to accept the fact that she had a spiritual dimension. And yes, she now was even willing to admit that it was not in a proper relationship with a Holy God.

That was the start—a new birth—regardless of one’s race. A new birth. God’s family was made up, not of a particular nation, but of all those, of any color or race, who had been spiritually born into His family. Running Fawn could easily understand the rights and privileges of birth. Her proud people had handed down those important traditions for generations.

Running Fawn allowed the truth of new birth to fill and illuminate her mind, and she found verse after verse presenting this teaching and explaining how one went about experiencing its reality.

“It is what I need,” she finally concluded with tears running down her cheeks. “It is what I have fought against. I need a new birth. Not to change who I am. I have no desire to try to become—white. I will always be Blackfoot. But I have an evil heart. Evil thoughts. I need to be forgiven. To be spiritually reborn. To change on the inside. That is where the change must be. My spiritual being—that inside part that is eternal.”

And Running Fawn bent her head and accepted the truths of the Word of God. “If we confess our sin, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sin and to cleanse us from all un-righteousness,” she whispered to herself. As she confessed, the tears of sorrow, then of joy, fell unheeded on the hands folded over the pages of the Black Book.

Her father did not need to ask what had happened in her life. Her face and manner reflected the joy and peace that filled her heart.

“I think you should visit Man With The Book,” he suggested, his face full of his own great joy. “He is planning a baptismal service before the cold of winter comes.”

With shining eyes Running Fawn nodded. It was what she wanted. She would speak with the missionary—soon. Baptism would be her first public step of obedience in her new faith.