It has been seven years and
what seems like hours ago since my mother and father died. My little brother Red Eagle, well, I have no idea what became
of him. He was only four winters at the time.
I do not like this place as I wear their clothes, speak
their language and they teach me things to serve others, not to better myself. I am discouraged from seeking the friendship
of an Apache boy I truly admire. All my friends are separated from me and when we speak our language, we are severely
punished. I do not remember my father's name. They did not want me to and I did what they said cause they put
me on the "iron horse" and told me I would not see him again if I speak it. So I forgot. They gave me this Anglo
name Beatrice.
Before the bluecoats captured me, I ran for a long time
and was so hungry. I had to be my mother, father, a man and a woman. There was no food, so I ate what vegetation
was available and whatever small animals I could bear to sacrifice. They found me and brought me to this place called
"Carlisle."
They got my name off a bag of flour. "Baker's"
it was called and they called me Beatrice. This was not my name and all I could wonder was where was my brother.