Through Rushing Water (17 page)

“Students, let us show Reverend Granville what we have learned. All together.” She held up a coin. “This is a—”

Matthew and Frank gathered their courage. “Half-dollar.”

“Very good. Everyone, please. This is a—”

Most of the class said penny. They correctly identified the nickel, dime, and half-dime too. What was Henry here for anyway? Sophia glanced at her watch. Four o'clock already? “Reverend Granville, do you have a closing song for us?”

His frown had her students hiding their faces again. “No. Class dismissed.”

The children escaped. Sophia crossed her arms and glared at Henry. He propped his hands on his hips and scowled like Ivan the Terrible. “Miss Makinoff, I was perfectly clear. The children must speak English and only English during the school day. They have plenty of time at home for Indian gibberish.”

“But—”

“Authorities at high levels in the Department of Interior are questioning the entire concept of Indian education.” Henry went into fire-and-brimstone mode, complete with pacing, pointing, and pontificating. “If the children do not learn in day schools, the Commissioner of Indian Affairs may require boarding schools. The children would be taken away from their parents and sent hundreds of miles away. Maybe you didn't mind boarding school, but these parents dote on their children. Do you want that on your head, that because of you, these children could not grow up in their homeland?”

“Certainly not! Catharine Beecher disapproves of boarding schools.”

“The inspector can visit at any time. And he expects to hear children speaking, reading, writing, and, yes, singing English. Do I make myself clear?”

Sophia clenched her fists. She refused to cry in front of this man. “You have no right to interrupt my class.”

“I have every right. I am your supervisor.”

“Is that what you want to teach the children?” she asked. “The one who has the loud voice wins?”

“I wasn't through talking. You interrupted me.”

Will walked into the classroom carrying a plank and hammer. “Ah, Christian harmony.”

Henry snorted. “If the Board had sent an American teacher, he'd be teaching American songs.” He stomped out.

Sophia's jaw ached with suppressed words. Taking as deep a breath as her corset allowed, she forced her fingers to straighten.

With a few quick bangs of his hammer, Will attached the piece under the chalkboard.

“A chalk tray. Thank you.” She locked the windows, collected the slates, and righted the books on the shelf. “Students at the College sang ‘My Grandfather's Clock.' But timepieces are scarce in this community.”

He wiggled the wood. It held. “I'll teach you some American songs, if you bring your gosling back to the house.”

“My gosling? Oh, the gusli. That would be so kind.” Sophia wrapped the instrument in its cloth bag. Her mind pictured Julia wrapping baby Timothy in his blanket, Black Elk hugging White Buffalo Girl, Brown Eagle pulling his children close. “Is it true, that the government might take the children away?”

“You're asking me what the Indian Commissioner's planning?” Will set the wiping rag and chalk on the tray.

“Does this inspector visit often? Are we notified of upcoming visits? Should I prepare a program?” Sophia collected the lunch pails and walked out with Will, pausing to lock the door. “Does he inspect you? Is he quite strict?”

Will waved his hammer at the bluffs where wildflowers bloomed in abundance. “Lilies of the field.”

“Ah, yes. Do not worry. Besides, compared to the many worries besetting the tribe . . .”

The yellow dog and her puppies dashed to the edge of the path and sat in a row, watching her with eager brown eyes and wagging tails.

“Ah, Zlata, if everyone was so happy to see me . . .” She divided the remains of her sandwich among them, then continued along the path with Will. “I have some ideas.”

With an easy swing of his arm, Will tossed his hammer in the air. It circled twice. He caught it by the handle. “I bet you do.”

“Will kindly offered to teach me American children's songs,” Sophia announced to the others around the table at supper. “If any of you would care to join us.”

So much for having Sophia to himself. Will set his plate in the dishpan. Well, he couldn't expect a lady to sit alone with the likes of him.

Nettie clapped her hands under her chin just like little Rosalie. “That sounds like fun. Let's meet on the front porch, where it's cooler.”

“I have a sermon to write.” The rev stomped off to the office, earning a glare from his mother.

“Be glad to help.” The agent didn't pass up a chance to impress Sophia.

While Nettie washed up and James tanked up, Sophia unwrapped her gusli. Since it was Will's idea, he took the seat next to her. A brisk wind off the river kept the mosquitoes away. Far to the north lightning lit up a line of clouds.

“What is that?” Sophia nodded at the pieces of wood in his hand.

“It's a limberjack, to help keep time.” Will showed her the dancing doll attached to a stick. “Let's try ‘Pop Goes the Weasel.' I'll show you how it works.” He put the thin board under his leg and held the limberjack over it. The loose-limbed man at the end danced on the board, keeping a smart pace. At the ‘pop,' he jumped with a loud snap.

Sophia laughed. “A percussion instrument. How delightful. Could you bring it to school?”

“Sure. I made one for Frank, if you can get him to play it.” He motioned for Sophia to join him on the gusli. She turned out to be as good at playing by ear as she was at everything else. “Do you know ‘Camptown Races'?” he asked.

She frowned and whispered, “Yes, but are you certain singing ‘do-dah' is permitted for missionaries?”

“Sure. My mom sang it.” They had made it through “Turkey in the Straw” when Nettie and James joined them.

“You've been talking to your students about sheep for ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.' Do you know ‘Baa, Baa, Black Sheep'?” Will sang it.

Sophia joined in. “But of course! It is a French melody. Mozart used it for his piano variations.”

When they finished, James put in his two cents. “Same tune works for ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.'”

“And ‘The Alphabet Song,'” Nettie added. “That'll help your students.”

They sang those three.

“One melody for three songs. How efficient.”

James wasn't finished trying to impress. “The tune for ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb' goes to ‘London Bridge' also.”

“We should teach you the game that goes with it.” Nettie collected Henry from inside.

“London? As in England? This is considered an American song?”

“Sure.” Will grabbed the opportunity before James could. He led Sophia down the steps to the grass in front of the house and took her soft hands in his. The sun set straight down the Missouri, making her hair shine like gold. “We'll be the bridge.”

The others crept under their linked hands until “my fair lady,” when they caught James.

“My students will love this.” Sophia's eyes glowed.

“I'm getting a crick in my back.” James traded places with the teacher, leaving Will with the much less satisfying job of holding the man's sweaty hands. They sang through the verses and caught each other.

“And that's the last,” Will said after “Give him a pipe to smoke all night.” He let go and dried his hands on his pants.

The agent knew better. “No, there's a verse or two about a dog.”

From the shadows came a chorus of giggles and snickers. The entire village had gathered to watch their antics.

The rev muttered about dignity and ordered the staff inside. Only James followed.

“Guess we're a pretty funny bunch.” Nettie joined in the laughter.

Will rocked back on his heels and chuckled. “About time we gave them something to smile about.”

Sophia grabbed Little Chief, who was about as short as she was, and formed a bridge. Will started the song. Nettie bent and wiggled under, then the rest of the people and Sophia's yellow dogs followed. The bridge captured Little Rosalie on the first verse, Good Provisions on the second, and Moon Hawk with baby White Buffalo Girl on the third. Then Big Snake, at close to seven feet the tallest man in the tribe, got caught. Sophia's hearty laugh echoed against the bluffs, joined by hoots and howls from the people.

Only God would know that a Russian French teacher was just the right person for the Poncas.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

F
or the first time in weeks Sophia could breathe. They had all decided, given the blistering heat, to take the day and go to the waterfall. A magnificent cataract cascaded into a large pool, then flowed into the creek. The moving water cooled the air, and the lush vegetation around the pool made the place feel like Paradise itself.

Sophia's bathing costume consisted of a blue flannel suit trimmed with white braid. The trousers were gathered at the ankle and covered by a calf-length overdress. Modest by any standard, but when she removed her long bathing mantle, jaws dropped. Henry turned purple and seemed ready to burst into a sermon. James and Will were speechless.

Brown Eagle chuckled and tapped their chins. “Going to eat flies.”

“Sophia, what an adorable outfit!” Nettie pulled the back of her skirt between her legs and tucked it into her belt. “Much more convenient than this nonsense. Well, I'm ready.”

Paying no attention to all this adult drama, the children plunged into the pool, accompanied by Zlata and her lively puppies. “C'mon, Teacher,” Rosalie called.

“Miss Makinoff!” waved Frank.

Sophia stepped into the cool water. “Heavenly!” She glanced at Henry, wondering if he might consider that blasphemous, and amended it to, “We are blessed.”

“God has provided.” He rolled up the legs of a worn pair of pants and led the way up.

Sophia watched as Will began to climb, the water sluicing down his well-muscled calves. He reminded her of the Samson statue at Peter the Great's palace. Would the rest of him be as well formed? She tried to rein the thought back in but failed. What a pitiful excuse for a missionary she was.

Sophia bent over and dangled her hands until they cooled, then splashed water on her neck and let the drips run down her back.

Every day in August had dawned hotter than the last. The school turned into a furnace, inhabitable only by flies. Will had built her a pergola, which he called a brush arbor, allowing Sophia to conduct classes outdoors in the shade. Even so, it was too hot to concentrate, so she sent the children home soon after lunch.

These deviations from the norm earned her a good measure of disapproval from Henry. She might remind him that most American schools closed for the summer, but it would be a futile argument when her students had so much catching up to do.

“C'mon, Teacher,” Frank called.

Sophia would be quite content to stay with Nettie at the pool. But Mary and Elisabeth, Brown Eagle's wives, linked hands, then reached for Nettie. Sophia held her breath, wondering if the older woman would make any comment about the evils of polygamy. Henry certainly would have, had he not been otherwise occupied. But Nettie just smiled, grabbed on, and started up the waterfall. “Save some watermelon for me,” she called.

Julia joined the chain and clasped Sophia's hand; she had little choice but to follow. The Ponca women were as sure-footed as mountain goats, even though Elisabeth was
enceinte
, and Julia carried baby Timothy on her back.

For the first few steps, through the pool at the base, Sophia had no problem finding footholds. But the slope quickly steepened and the water churned. Trees along the bank formed a green tunnel overhead. The shade mottled the surface and further obscured the view of the creek bottom.

Nettie yelled and pointed. Sophia could not hear her words over the roar of the water. She put her foot where the woman indicated and plunged into a hole.