Free The Long Journey Home by Don Coldsmith

said between the main course and dessert. “Well done. Coach McGregor tells me that you’re also interested in the track-and-field events.”
    â€œYes, sir. But that seems to be seasonal. Springtime, Coach said.”
    â€œYes. Quite true. But I have something in mind. Are you familiar with the Olympics?”
    â€œThe Greek contests? We read about them in literature.”
    â€œNo, no,” the Senator chuckled. “The modern Olympics. They’re held every four years. A different place each year. The next one is to be in Paris , in 1900. The last one, incidentally, was held in Athens, a year ago. More coincidence.”
    â€œBut what has that to do with … ?”
    The Senator waved the query aside.
    â€œLet me continue, John. As you know, I’m deeply interested in Carlisle, and specifically in athletics. It is my hope to help athletes with potential. And I would hope to have world-class competitors in the Olympics to represent our Carlisle program in track and field. I want the world to know about our Indian athletes.”
    â€œYou mean … Me ?”
    â€œOf course, John. You and others. I’m always looking for talent.”
    John sat numbly, still not quite understanding, still distracted by the blue eyes and friendly smile of Miss Jane Langtry, across the table.
    Â 
    â€œThe girl really likes you,” said Little Horse later in the dorm.
    â€œNonsense!” snorted John. “She was just being friendly because of her father.”
    He knew better, of course. And Horse didn’t even know about the chance encounter under the table. John’s foot had chanced to touch that of Miss Langtry. He had jerked it back quickly, hoping that she hadn’t noticed, or that she’d think it was an accident. But her smile suggested that it was no accident. It was a smile of intrigue and shared secrets. Oddly, it did not seem to him that she was experienced in such things. On the contrary … She was as new and fresh and childlike as he at the ways of romance. They shared something for a moment or two that was new to both; mysterious and wonderful and full of promise.
    â€œShe does like you, though,” Horse was saying as John returned from his wonderful daydream. “Your attract-medicine is good. A lot better than mine.”
    â€œI don’t believe so, Horse. I have hardly any, I’m made to think. You are far better looking.”
    Little Horse chuckled. “Not really. But it has little to do with looks, anyway, no? Your medicine and hers are good together. It could be felt.”

    John admitted to himself that it was true. There had been a wordless communication, a promise not yet fulfilled … . One that had hung there between them so plainly that it nearly shouted its presence. Little Horse had felt it. It seemed odd that Senator and Mrs. Langtry had not been aware of it, too. But the Senator had been preoccupied with his talk of the Olympics, and Mrs. Langtry … Well, she might have noticed, but said nothing. John had been concentrating on the daughter, not the mother, and could not be sure. But, he had found that whites were less attuned to such things of the spirit, anyway. He had thought that to be strange. It was as if they were taught to deny things like medicine-feelings, rather than enjoying them as gifts.
    Maybe it had something to do with the white man’s strange approach to religion and God. Many whites, especially their holy men, seemed to think that if anything was fun, it must be wrong.
    His thoughts were interrupted by Charlie Smith, who observed that neither John Buffalo or Little Horse had much attract-medicine anyway, and that he and Will Clark should have been selected for the dinner party. The four laughed together.
    â€œSeriously,” Smith said finally, “what did the Senator want? White men don’t do favors with no reason.”
    â€œHe wants John to work hard on his sports,” suggested