Chapter 13- Tribal Duties
Now as all of you can probably figure out I was pleased as punch that Mr. Wayne, I mean Bruce wasn't forcing the issue any more on calling Patrick Hamilton "Dad." If Bruce could stay like this I could probably accept that he was my real father some day in the near future. I could probably even accept that he was the Batman some day.
It was a little hard to think of him as Batman, though. Even though I had seen him in the suit, when he kissed Rachel or kissed, hugged, and told me that he loved me it was hard to imagine that he was Batman. True, Bruce sulked and was gloomy, but Batman was way more serious than the man next to me and holding me in his arms.
For the moment though I was just glad we had an understanding and was perfectly content to let him hold me and play with my hair. In some ways I think he had laid claim to my hair which was so much like his. He just couldn't keep his fingers out of it.
"You know, I never thought you'd look like this. Your mother and I had an age-progression photo done of you when you were ten. We just took one of the last photos we had taken of you and had it done. It was supposed to be a picture of what you'd look like now, but it doesn't look like you now," Bruce said, methodically rubbing my head, face, and forehead with his fingers.
"Really? I'd like to see it, Bruce," I said, standing up. Bruce stood with me.
"I have it with me. Your mother and I each have a copy. I thought at the time that if this was the only time I'd see what you looked like now, I'd better keep it," Bruce said, pulling out an old leather wallet that looked older than my grandfather. He pulled out a picture and handed it over to me.
The picture was folded and showed signs of being looked at often. I unfolded it and stared at the photo. The girl in the picture did have some of my features, but had higher cheekbones and a lighter color of hair than mine. Bruce was right. The age-progression photo didn't really look like me by a long shot.
"This isn't me," I said as I folded the photo and handed it back to Bruce.
"I know that. Age-progression photos aren't exact science. It's more of a guess of what you'd look like. Now a DNA test will prove you're my daughter. That's why we have you scheduled for one when we get back to Gotham," Bruce explained.
A feeling of horror filled me at those words. "A DNA test?! No one told me I'd have to get a DNA test!" I squeaked. The shocked look that filled Bruce's eyes was a little alarming. No one had apparently yelled at him before in living memory unless when he was Batman.
"Calm down, Robbie. DNA tests are a standard procedure if people like your mother and I ever get a kidnapped child back," Bruce said, putting his hands on my thin shoulders.
"They aren't standard with me. Isn't my word good enough for you that I'm your daughter? Why do I have to be poked like a pincushion? I'm afraid of needles!" I protested, my shock giving way to the one thing in life I absolutely pass out over if I'm in the room with it.
"Roberta, your mother said that even though we've taken your word a DNA test still has to be done. It's not enough that all of us know that you are my daughter. Now I know you are afraid, but I'm asking you to trust me. I would never ask you to do something if it was going to harm you. You trusted me a long time ago when I was "Daddy." Could you trust me like you once did?" Bruce asked, looking deep into my eyes.
"I guess so. Can my dad be there with me?" I asked, the tears starting to fall. Bruce wiped my face with his fingers.
"Of course Dr. Hamilton can be there if you want him. Both of us and his wife will be there if you want us," Bruce said, as I buried my face in his chest. The rich smell of his cologne was pleasant.
"Yeah. I want my Dad there, Bruce," I said, my voice shaking slightly. It was hard not to panic at the though of a needle going into my arm just so people could determine my DNA, but if Bruce and Rachel would be there with my mom and dad who was I to worry about a little blood.
"How long have you been afraid of needles, Robbie?" Bruce asked, his breath tickling my ear.
"I think I was five and was getting ready to start school. My dad had to hold me down on the account that I was crying, struggling, and screaming like they were killing me. They also had to hold me down when I swam so much one summer and got Swimmer's ear to show for it. The doctor gave me a shot then and I was ten," I said, starting to feel drowsy as Bruce's hands rubbed my face, hair, and back slowly.
"We're all afraid of something. When I was your age I was afraid of bats," Bruce said as they started to walk back to the village. I looked at him, feeling slightly mystified.
"Bats? Then what made you decide on- you know?" I asked, trying not to say "Batman."
"Bats frightened me and I wanted the criminals to share my dread of them," Bruce said casually.
"You're not still afraid of them? Are you?" I asked.
"No. I got over that fear a long time ago. I was attacked by bats when I was a boy that caused the fear, but your grandfather helped me with some sound advice. He said that scary creatures only attack what they are afraid of themselves," Bruce said as we stepped to the edge of the village. Some of the women and girls were coming out of their houses, burden-straps on their backs as they made their way to the cornfields.
"Well, I guess I should go get my basket," I said, wishing that I could still talk to Bruce. This was the easiest conversation with him I had had since I found him.
"I need to talk to your mother. I need to tell her what me and you talked about and not to feel alarmed if you call her by her first name," Bruce said as I opened the heavy oak door of Grandmother's house.
All of my female cousins were there and they all turned as one to look at me Julie bounced up to me, an ecstatic smile on her face. "Uncle Patrick said you'd be back soon since our break was almost over. Daddy said he has some important news for you. Jane hates it," Julie whispered the last bit as she nearly squeezed the breath out of me.
I looked up at my uncle. He was stricter than my father by a lot. My father had gotten onto me as a child, but not nearly as much as my uncle did with all my cousins. "So, what's so important, Uncle Peter?" I asked, feeling Bruce's arm tighten around my slim shoulders.
"You do remember that in our tribe that we get to pick our successors, right?" Uncle Peter asked.
"Yes and that affects me how?" I asked skeptically, not realizing where Uncle Peter was going with this.
"Well, I picked mine," Uncle Peter said as casually as if he were pulling teeth.
"Oh? Then congratulations. Who'd you pick?" I asked.
"You," Uncle Peter said. That one simple word caused me to feel dizzy. If it wasn't for Bruce holding me up with his muscular arm I would have collapsed in front of everyone.
"Me? You picked me to take your place? I'm not even Seneca by blood," I managed to squeak out. I was Seneca by adoption into the tribe, but was adoption legal grounds for me to be a chief among the People of the Iroquois Nation?
"That doesn't matter. If you have been adopted into the tribe and have lived as one of us for many years. You have just as much right to be a tribal chief as any of us," Uncle Peter said firmly.
"So on a legal basis my being white has nothing to do with it?" I asked, grabbing a thick handful of the back of Bruce's shirt.
"None, whatsoever. To all of us you are as Indian as your grandmother. How did you feel the other night when you were served hamburgers?" Uncle Peter asked, reminding me of that first horrible night with Rachel and Bruce.
I felt my face heat as if someone had just changed the temperature in the house. "Sick. I had a feeling that if I ate it I might get sick. Dad says it's all in my head, but I don't think so," I said in a timorous voice.
"Exactly. You reacted as a member of the tribe, Daughter," Uncle Peter said. Even though he's my uncle he calls me "Daughter" as if I really were. Like Cherokee men Seneca men, or Seneca men from this area, call all girls that whether they are or not.
"I don't know if I can do this, Uncle Peter. I am still white and not everyone here has treated me as if I was part of the tribe. Long Eagle said that I'll never be part of the tribe to him because my eyes are green," I said, feeling a release as I said all of the things that meaner members of the tribe had said to me over the years.
It still doesn't matter. I am your uncle by adoption and when a family member picks who his or her successor as one of the tribal chiefs no one can debate that choice. Not even on the grounds that you have green eyes or that you came into the tribe by being stolen from your real home," Uncle Peter said, quieting whatever argument I had left.
Like my father arguing with my uncle is a pure waste of breath. I rolled my eyes and blew out my breath, lifting a strand of dark hair away from my face. "So, what do I do now?" I asked, accepting my uncle's choice and moving away from Bruce.
"First thing you do is read this," Uncle Peter said, handing me a thick leather-bound book. It looked as thick as Gone with the Wind that I read last year over the summer.
"It looks like the book Gone with the Wind I read last year," I said as much as the book weighed down my thin hands. It felt as if the huge volume could snap the bones of my wrists in half.
""Just not as interesting," Dad quipped, his dark eyes smiling at me.
"It is important though. And also if you decide you don't want to be a tribal chief at any time after today you can come to us and tell us you quit and then we'll pick someone else," Uncle Peter said.
"I'll give it a shot, but if I don't like it I'll let you know," I said. This was the best promise I could give him since my only reasons for not doing this was because I was nervous over what others in the tribe might think. In this tribe you had to think you couldn't do it. Everyone else saying you couldn't because you were technically white, wouldn't count as an excuse.
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Bruce watched as everyone went back to their business. Roberta went with her cousins, grandmother and Mrs. Hamilton back to the cornfield. Bruce sat down. Rachel and Alfred sat across from him.
"So, how did it go?" Rachel asked, taking Bruce's hand in hers and gently probing his fingers with hers.
"Better than I thought it would. She is going to live with us, but I think it'll be best for her if she's still part of these people's lives. Also she's not going to call us by our last names any more," Bruce said. Rachel smiled in relief.
"That is good, Sir. It would be extremely awkward if young Miss Wayne referred to you by your last name in public," Alfred joined into the conversation.
"What is she going to call us, Bruce?" Rachel asked, cocking her head quizzically.
"I have given her permission to call us by our first names. So if she uses your first name I don't want you to be alarmed," Bruce said. Rachel's eyes widened.
"Bruce, it's not polite for children to call parents by their first names," Rachel protested.
"I know it's not, but, Rachel, she doesn't know us any more. If we force her to call us 'Mom and Dad' she is going to resent us and will run away again. This time I don't know if even I could stop her if she did. I told her I would, but I would rather have her call me by my first name and be happy than to see her miserable while I forced her to do something she hated," Bruce said firmly.