The Ghost of Blackfeet Nation Read online

  “Well, don’t leave us hanging,” Sue said. “What was it?”

  Father Gonzales pulled a leather-bound book from his front coat pocket and turned to a bookmark pressed between the pages. “I’d rather read it to you than attempt to summarize it—if you don’t mind. But brace yourselves. I’m afraid it’s quite scandalous and upsetting.”

  “Don’t worry about us, Father,” Sue said. “We can take it.”

  With a nod, Father Gonzales said, “This entry is dated September 2, 1908:

  A new nun has been sent to us from the Ursuline Convent in New Orleans to help with the teaching of the now almost one hundred students living at Holy Family Mission Boarding School. I requested three but will have to make do.

  Sister Alma is seventeen years old, stands at five feet and two inches, and weighs less than 100 pounds. She is shy and modest—and respectably so—but seems unhappy to be here. An initial exam proved her to be proficient in high-level mathematics and the sciences—a rarity among the sisters—but she doesn’t seem capable of maintaining order with the younger students. This afternoon, I told the Mother Superior that Sister Alma should be reassigned to the upper grades.

  At that time, the Mother Superior informed me that Sister Alma had a reputation for falling in love. Mother Drexel fears that the sister took orders only by the command of her father. The Mother Superior at the Ursuline Convent in New Orleans may have sent her to us to get rid of her.

  Father Gonzales cleared his throat. “Father Galdas goes on to write about other matters concerning the food shortage, the horrendous winds, the problems with runaway students, the conflicts with angry parents, and so forth, and then, in an entry written the very next day, he writes:

  Today I witnessed Sister Alma lunching with the senior students. I’m alarmed by the way she spoke with one of our senior boys. I found it highly inappropriate. I asked her to come see me and the Mother Superior in my office this afternoon, where I warned her not to be overly friendly with the pupils, especially the boys. Although Sister Alma was polite, she hardly defended herself or made excuses, and I’m not reassured or convinced that her behavior won’t continue.

  “Excuse me, Father,” Sue said. “Is there any way that you could fast-forward to the scandalous and upsetting parts?”

  “Sue,” Tanya chastised beneath her breath.

  “I’m nearly there,” the priest said. “Let me see. Okay, here it is. This is dated December 20th, 1908:

  Today I was visited by Mr. Vincent Marcello, the father of Sister Alma. He traveled here from New Orleans, red-faced and angry, to accuse me of neglect. He claimed that his daughter had been abused by an older student and was now with-child. Mr. Marcello blamed me for this crime, for not running a tighter ship, as he called it. He demanded that his daughter should keep her holy orders and, after a discreet birth, be returned to Ursuline Convent. Mr. Marcello also insisted that the perpetrator be arrested and imprisoned or put to death.

  When I questioned Sister Alma on the subject, she broke into tears and said she couldn’t talk about it. However, in the end, I did get the name of her abuser: Randal Smith, a twelfth grader who has been with us since the turn of the century.

  “Rabbit raped Sister Alma?” Sue asked.

  “That’s what Mr. Marcello claimed,” Father Gonzales said. “And I believed it, too, until this fell out of the book.”

  The Jesuit priest lifted a folded piece of parchment from the book and opened it.

  “This is a letter written to Father Galdas by Sister Alma on February 2, 1909:

  Dear Father Galdas,

  I wish I had the courage to speak up when my father came and yelled at you. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me. My father refuses to listen, but maybe you will. Randal Smith did not rape me. We fell in love.

  I know you think, like the others, that Randal has run away from the law, but I know the truth. My father killed him. I haven’t stopped weeping since.

  Please don’t send me back to Ursuline Convent. I will work hard if you allow me and my baby to stay. If you carry out my father’s demands and separate us, I will have no choice but to follow my poor, sweet Rabbit into the river of death.

  Yours Truly,

  Alma Marcello

  Ellen recalled her dream with the white buffalo. “What do you think this means? Did Alma’s father kill Rabbit?”

  The Jesuit priest rubbed his chin. “I can think of no reason why Sister Alma would make up this story, can you? It seems to me that it must be true.”

  “I agree,” Sue said.

  “Do you know what happened to her and the baby?” Tanya asked.

  “She delivered the child—a boy—at Holy Family Mission on June 20, 1909,” the priest said. “Not long after, the baby was taken by another Ursuline nun to the convent in New Orleans.”

  “What about Sister Alma?” Ellen asked.

  “Father Galdas writes in an entry dated June 25, 1909 that Alma went missing. They conducted a search but found no sign of her. He speculates that the poor girl either ran away or killed herself.”

  “How sad,” Tanya said. “Her father was such a bully. It makes me so angry.”

  “And we’re no closer to finding Rabbit’s body,” Ellen said.

  Sue cocked her head to the side. “What do you think Sister Alma meant when she said that she would have no choice but to follow Rabbit into the river of death?”

  “I assumed it was a figure of speech,” Father Gonzales said. “An allusion to the river of death in the Greek Underworld.”

  “Is there a river near where the school would have been?” Ellen asked.

  “Yes,” the priest said with his brows lifted.

  Ellen laced her fingers together and hesitated before asking, “Father, how do you feel about paranormal investigations?”

  The Jesuit priest frowned. “I’m afraid I’m somewhat of a skeptic. I believe in an afterlife, of course, but most of what I’ve seen on television looks gimmicky.”

  “Ellen knows just how you feel,” Sue said. “Isn’t that right, Ellen?”

  “Yes, I do. And it’s not my intention to persuade you.”

  “I’d love for you to try,” he said with a smile.

  Ellen and her friends told him about the investigation at Talks to Buffalo Lodge, about the crows, and about Ellen’s dream.

  “Rabbit said he was murdered?” the priest asked with his eyes and mouth wide in surprise.

  “It could be a coincidence,” Ellen admitted.

  “But a strange one, indeed,” the priest conceded. “What do you plan to do next?”

  “I’d like to convince the authorities to search the river,” Ellen said.

  Father Gonzales rubbed his chin. “I doubt you could make a case for it. The river runs for over thirty miles from Holy Family to the east past Rock City before joining the Marias River. Even if Alma and Randal did die in the Two-Medicine River near the school, their bodies could be miles away.”

  Sue lifted a finger. “Then we’ll get one of those tour boats to take us for a special trip, late at night, when the spirits tend to make themselves known.”

  “Great idea!” Ellen said.

  Tanya crossed her arms. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t you want to help Crow Woman find peace after all these years?” Ellen asked her friend.

  “Not really,” Tanya said. “Not after she tried to kill us.”

  “What about Rabbit?” Sue asked. “Sister Alma may be able to help us to find his body. Wouldn’t it be nice if he could be at rest?”

  “Yes,” Tanya said. “I suppose it would.”

  “Then we’re doing this?” Ellen asked her friends.

  “Please tell me I can come, too,” the priest said with a smile.

  Chapter Nine: A Different Kind of Boat Tour

  It took every bit of Sue’s powers of persuasion over the phone to convince the owner of a local tour company to allow her to charter a boat for a night cruise on the river. The owner didn’
t object to the tour taking place at night; it was the river that bothered him. He said again and again that he would prefer to provide a tour of any of the many beautiful lakes that the area afforded, for however long she wished, but he couldn’t have known that his efforts were futile.

  In the end, he yielded, and, two days later, he met Ellen, Sue, Tanya, and Father Gonzales just before sunset at a boat dock about five miles southeast of Browning.

  The Sinopah was a long white wooden barge with light blue trim. With enough bench seating for twenty people, it looked more like a trolley than a boat because of its flat roof and six windows along each side. As soon as Ellen stepped onto it from the dock, with the help of the priest, she could tell, by the way the boards groaned beneath her, that it was a very old vessel.

  The owner of the barge was Captain Scott, a man in his early fifties with brown eyes and long blond and gray hair and a short beard to match. His skin was tan and wrinkled from overexposure to the sun. Even beneath his fur-lined jacket, Ellen could tell he had wide shoulders and muscular arms, which made her feel like she and her friends were in good hands.

  Ellen found herself coveting the captain’s thick jacket and Father Gonzales’s puffer coat and kid gloves. She and her friends, having lived through decades of the Texas summer heat, couldn’t have known how terribly cold the wind blew on the rivers of Montana after dusk in July. Ellen shivered in her cable-knit cardigan, pulling it more tightly around her.

  Because her ankle was still tender, she immediately found a seat on one of the middle benches. Tanya slid in beside her.

  “Welcome aboard,” the captain said as Sue and Father Gonzales made their way to a bench across the aisle from Tanya. “Are there any particular views you want to see before nightfall?”

  “Not really,” Sue said. “We aren’t here for the views.”

  “Oh? Then why are we here?” Captain Scott asked.

  “Um,” Ellen glanced over at Father Gonzales, who waited patiently for Ellen and her friends to explain. “We’re here to conduct a paranormal investigation.”

  The captain’s bushy blond brows shot up. “Hmm. This is a first.”

  Father Gonzales smiled. “This is a first for me, too. It ought to prove interesting.”

  “So long as I get paid and you don’t break any laws, I don’t care what you do,” the captain said.

  The sun dropped behind the distant mountains beyond the grassy plains, and the wind picked up and formed waves with white caps running across the surface of the river. Although the passengers were protected from the wind in the shelter of the boat with the windows closed, the chill managed to find its way inside. Ellen covered her mouth, exhaled hot air onto her hands, and then covered her ears to warm them, but her efforts did little to alleviate the cold as the captain set off.

  “What do we do now?” the priest asked.

  Sue pulled a cannister of salt from her bag. “We create a circle of protection.”

  Since the boat rocked with the choppy water, Tanya, who had the best balance of the three friends, offered to pour the salt while Ellen and Sue lit the candles.

  When Tanya approached the captain, where he stood at the helm, he said, “Not here, please.”

  “It’s for your protection,” Tanya argued.

  “I’d rather not have salt on my dash. Keep it on the floor, where I can sweep it out.”

  “Then I can’t include you in the circle,” Tanya pointed out.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  Tanya frowned but did as he said.

  Sue put a handful of snacks on the bench between her and Father Gonzales.

  “They attract the spirits,” she explained.

  Father Gonzales seemed unable to hide his smile of skepticism. “Whatever you say.”

  “I think you’ll have to hold the candles,” Tanya said when Sue attempted to place one on the floor near the circle of salt. “What if they fall over and catch the boat on fire?

  “Good point,” Sue said. “Which way is north?”

  “That way.” The captain pointed in Sue’s direction.

  “Perfect,” Sue said. “I’ll hold the northern, and Tanya, you can hold the southern.”

  Ellen took out her copper dousing rods. “I think we should start with these.”

  “That makes sense,” Tanya agreed, returning to her seat.

  “Are we anywhere near Holy Family Mission?” Sue asked the captain.

  “I don’t rightly know. This isn’t my usual route.”

  Father Gonzales gazed through the windows on the other side of Sue. “I believe we’re still a few miles away.”

  “Well, there’s no harm in getting started, I suppose,” Ellen said. Then she took a deep breath, held the rods in each hand, parallel to one another, and said, “Oh, spirits of the other realm, or of this realm too, we come in peace. We’re here to help. If anyone is there, please look for the light of our candles. Smell the aroma of our snacks. Use the energy from the elements or from our cell phones to cross these rods, as a sign of your willingness to communicate with us.”

  She stared at the rods, which trembled because she was trembling and because the boat was rocking. She began to doubt that the rods would work under such conditions. It was too hard to hold them still.

  “I wonder if the pendulum might work better,” Sue suggested.

  Ellen stuffed the rods back into her bag and pulled out the pendulum. Although it was impossible to hold the pendant still, there was the possibility that a spirit could manipulate the movement to communicate with them.

  Ellen repeated her plea to the spirits, asking that they move the pendulum right to left if they were willing to speak with her.

  The pendulum moved in a circle. Ellen held out her arm, hoping the movement would shift, but it remained consistent. The spirits weren’t answering.

  After a while, Father Gonzalez said, “Perhaps the captain should slow down. We’re nearing the southern boundary of Holy Family Mission.”

  The captain glanced at Sue, who nodded. He slowed the boat from what had felt like thirty miles an hour to half that speed. At the slower speed, the rocking of the boat became more dramatic, and Ellen found herself having to hold on to the side of the bench to avoid bumping into Tanya.

  “The old dormitories use to be near that bank, just to the north of us,” Father Gonzales said.

  “Could you take the boat a little closer to the bank?” Sue asked the captain.

  “Aye, aye, matey,” Captain Scott said.

  Ellen reached out to the spirits again, this time calling Alma Marcello by name. Again, the pendulum did not change direction. It continued to swing in a circular motion.

  “Don’t get discouraged,” Sue said. “Do you want me to take over?”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  The sun made its complete descent, and the only light to see by came from an electric lantern hanging on a hook above the captain’s head and their two candles. The river itself became dark with only a sliver of a moon in a cloudy, starless sky. Lights on the exterior of the boat helped them to see a few yards in each direction. The horizon had all but disappeared.

  Ellen repeated her appeal to Alma Marcello. She was beginning to believe the trip had been a waste of time and money when, to her surprise, the pendulum swung sharply to the right and left.

  “Wait. I might have flinched or something,” Ellen said, wanting to be sure. “Let’s try that again.” She steadied the pendant and said, “Alma Marcello, the Ursuline nun from New Orleans, if you’re there, please know we come in peace. We only want to help you. If you’re there and willing to speak with us, please make the pendulum swing to my right and left.”

  The pendulum swung with such force that Ellen had to tighten her grip on the string.

  She looked up at her friends with excitement.

  “How can you be sure that Alma is causing that to happen and not a nasty demon?” Father Gonzales asked.

  “Usually we ask questions that only the spi
rit we’re trying to contact would know the answers to,” Sue explained.

  “And how does the spirit answer such questions?” the priest asked.

  Sue pulled the Ouija Board and planchette from her bag. “With this.”

  Father Gonzales shook his head. “No, no, no. Not that. Everyone knows that you’re only inviting demon possession by using such a thing.”

  “We’re protected by our circle,” Ellen explained.

  Tanya glanced back at the captain. “At least, most of us are.”

  “You should have told me about this before I agreed to come,” the priest said.

  “You should have asked more questions about our methods,” Sue argued. “You’re the one who wanted to come. We didn’t twist your arm.”

  Ellen gave him a sympathetic look. “I understand your concerns, but it’s the only way we know how to get specific answers.”

  The priest shrugged and lifted his hands in resignation. “This is your show. I’m just along for the ride.”

  “Good,” Sue said. “Would you hold this please?” She handed him the candle, and he took it.

  Ellen turned to the captain, “Could you stop here?”

  “Do you want me to anchor her down?” the captain asked. “I don’t recommend it.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ellen said.

  The captain did as she asked, allowing the boat to idle and drift in the rough water along the northern shore. Then Sue traded places with Tanya and put the board on the bench beside Ellen. Turning toward one another in their seats, Sue and Ellen gently placed their fingertips on the planchette.

  “Alma Marcello,” Sue said. “Please use this board to communicate with us.” Sue moved the planchette across the board as she explained about the letters, numbers, and the yes and no positions. “To start, please tell us the year of your birth.”