4 Chapter 3 The Keeper of the Drum

Chapter 3 The Keeper of the Drum Maria learned about her Osage heritage from her grandmother. Eliza Tall Chief wore her black hair in a long braid, as was the custom for Osage women. She wrapped her shoulders in a colorfully striped tribal blanket. She told stories of the past. Many, many years ago, Maria's great-grandfather, Chief Peter Bigheart, had traveled to Washington, D.C., to work with the white government leaders in planning the Osage reservation. Grandma Tall Chief also spoke of the powwow, a great festival that was very important to the Osage people.

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Each spring, Grandma Tall Chief said, the Osage held a powwow. The women wore their finest shirts and wide-beaded belts. They rubbed chalky gypsum over their doeskin leggings. Silver and turquoise bracelets ringed their arms. The dancing began in the afternoon and lasted for hours, Grandma Tall Chief said. Only the men danced. They fastened hawkbells around their legs below their knees. As the men raised one leg, then

the other, the bells jingle-jangled. The men didn't dress in feather bonnets. They didn't spin or flail their arms. The Osage danced with dignity, Grandma Tall Chief said. One June afternoon, Daddy took Maria and Marjorie to a powwow. This was even more exciting for Maria than finding arrowheads in the grass. The Osage sat in semicircles. Their tribal blankets covered their shoulders. Just as Grandma Tall Chief had said, the women in their moccasins

and silver jewelry did not dance. "Instead," Maria remembered, "they formed a circle around the men and did a little side step, shifting their weight from one foot to the other in time with the drumbeat." The keeper of the drum was a boy. The Osage always chose a boy for this honor, Grandma Tall Chief had explained. His beating on the kettledrum brought honor to his family.

The men sang as they danced. The stories they sang told of times long ago and were as important as the dance itself. The story was the dance—mysterious and solemn. The men circled the large drum in the center of the dance ground. When the drumbeats stopped, each dancer froze, an uplifted foot in midair. Maria was entranced. Even as the sun slipped closer to the sandstone hills, the drumming and the dancing continued. In the shadows, the blackjack trees bending over the stream could have been the ghosts of Maria's Osage ancestors. "The powwow was a journey to the past," Maria said. She never forgot the rhythm of those ancient songs. One day, in her own way, she would become a sort of keeper of the drum.