Through Rushing Water (20 page)

“Don't you go talking against my ma!” The one with the oar tightened his grip on his weapon.

Sophia searched the third pail. “What would she say about your behavior, about your descent into crime?”

“Hey, a man's got to make a living.”

The well-exercised corner of her eye searched for a stick or a rock but found neither. “You have made my point. If you were a man, you would be making a living instead of taking it from others.” Was someone coming along the path?

“Oh yeah?” The whip snapped. “Well, our preacher don't think we're doing wrong. He stops by for a nip now and again.”

“He know you're threatening a missionary?” Will asked from behind them. “Don't turn around. Drop your weapons and put your hands on your head. Quick, or your preacher will be conducting your funerals.”

“Can't take two of us.” They swung around but met fists from Will and Brown Eagle. The skinny one crumpled onto his back and the oar-wielder hit his knees. Brown Eagle used the whip to tie their hands behind them.

Will poked them with the oar. “Stand up. I'm not wasting my strength carrying you two back to the Agency.”

“You broke my nose.” The oar-wielder sniffed. Blood ran down the front of his shirt. “You going to hang us?”

“Yes, but first you're going to have a good long listen to Reverend Granville. It doesn't sound like your preacher does his job real well.”

He turned to Sophia. “You all right?”

“Of course,” Sophia whispered. She was having a bit of difficulty getting a full breath of air. “And you are not going to hang them, because I intend to shoot them first. Along with whomever was supposed to be my escort.”

“That would be James. He was detained at Point Village.” Will scowled. “I didn't realize until I got back to the house. I'm sorry.”

Will and Brown Eagle marched the scoundrels to the Agency, aided by Zlata, who growled and snapped at their heels. They shackled the lawbreakers to empty stalls in the stable.

Sophia staggered into the agency house.

“You poor dear.” Nettie hugged Sophia. “You must have been out of your mind with fear.”

“Out of my mind, yes.” Legs shaking, she sank into the nearest chair. Now that the threat was behind her, she returned to her senses. “What kind of Christian calls someone a vermin and threatens to shoot him?”

Will stopped at the spring and dunked his head into the water. He didn't know who to be mad at first. Those two skunks for attacking Sophia. The government for not keeping them locked away when they were caught peddling whiskey last summer. James for being late. Sophia for thinking a gun would have saved her.

Or, most of all, himself.

He'd been trying to avoid Sophia to keep his heart safe. So he hadn't obeyed God's prompting to check on her earlier.

Brown Eagle yanked him up by his shoulders. “If you drown, the water will taste bad.”

Will gasped a breath. Then he'd have another reason to be mad.

Brown Eagle looked him up and down. “God is big. Big to love. Big to forgive.”

Forgive the whiskey sellers? Forgive himself? Will resisted the idea. But God forgave those who crucified Him.

All right, he'd forgive. Someday. Meanwhile, he'd keep guarding Sophia and trust God to guard his heart.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-O
NE

S
ophia glanced outside. Will sat on the stump, wrists resting on his bent knees, as he had every afternoon since she had been accosted. She consulted her watch: ten minutes to four. Right on time.

The scoundrels who attacked her had been delivered to Fort Randall; her safety was no longer in doubt. And while she appreciated Will's company, she sensed a new reserve in him. She did not blame him for withdrawing. She had behaved despicably. He could not be more upset with her than she was with herself.

The children finished their lessons and duties, then Sophia dismissed them. Will called each child by name. He knew them all, what their Indian parents called them as well as the name Henry had assigned to them.

Sophia locked the door. “Good afternoon, Will.”

He nodded. “The school needs a vestibule.”

An uncommon word, although perhaps carpenters were more familiar with terms having to do with parts of buildings. “Yes, a vestibule would help keep the snow and cold out. And give us a place to keep firewood.” She pulled her shawl over her head. The wind rippled through the tawny grass. A formation of geese flew high above them, headed south. Every northbound steamboat might be the last.

“Need to cut some wood.”

“The students bring sticks, but it will not be enough.” She pointed to the bluffs. “All these stumps, but no stacks of wood. Was it used to construct houses?”

“Trees were cut for firewood and sold to the steamboats. Most were cottonwood, which warps too much to be any use in building.” He nodded at the bluffs. “The tribe used the money to buy the farming equipment the government was supposed to provide: reapers, mowers, hay rakes, plows.”

“A worthy purchase, but what will they use to heat with?”

“Now that the Brulé are no longer a threat, we can cut timber farther away from the Agency.”

“Using only those cart horses and the wagon?”

“They'll make a raft and float it down. In winter, a sled.”

Zlata and her puppies greeted them at the edge of the village. Baby Timothy lay on a blanket and shook a noisy bean pod, while Julia dug potatoes in her garden. Moon Hawk ground corn as White Buffalo Girl pulled herself to standing on the pergola's post. Both women waved.

“I am trying to follow your advice.”

Will shook his head. “What advice? I don't generally give advice to anyone, especially you.”

“You told me to ignore the rushing water.”

“How's that?”

“The day we climbed the waterfall, you told me to ignore the rushing water. Ignore everything that tries to pull you under or knock your feet out, or obscures your view. Plant your feet on solid rock. I try to do so with my students. Ignore all the other problems and focus on them.”

“You keep talking like that, my head will swell.” He scuffed through a pile of yellow leaves.

“It is a wise lesson, the only one I have learned here that makes any sense. Thank you.”

His jaw moved as if chewing his words into order. Then his brown eyes focused on her. “Sophia, this is a dangerous place. To body and soul. Seems like we're all battling demons of one sort or another.” He studied the hills, making her wonder what demons he battled. “It's good to have someone praying for you. Maybe your church back in New York?”

With her abrupt departure, she had not had time to request prayers. “I do not know. Perhaps . . . the Mission Board?” Surely it was their obligation to pray for her.

“I'll ask my home church.” Will opened the door for her.

The staff stood around a new crate. “Newspapers came.” James pointed to the stack on the table.

“Excellent. I can keep my students apprised of the events of the day.” Sophia flipped through them. The Niobrara
Pioneer
, Yankton
Dakotaian
, and Sioux City
Journal
. None from New York or even Chicago. Enlightenment would be delayed once again.

Will opened the crate with a few easy pops of his crowbar. The contents included three bolts of coarse wool and two dozen pairs of brogans in a large size.

“This is all?” Sophia asked. “For seven hundred people?”

“Seven hundred seventy.” James propped his arm over the window and stared out.

Sophia lifted the wool and held it in front of the lantern. “As coarse as burlap and nearly as itchy. We need muslin and flannel.” Hot anger flashed through her. “It is wrong that these people should have so little. Wealthy women in New York City change clothes five times a day: a morning gown, a visiting dress, a carriage dress, a walking dress, an evening gown. Sixteen to twenty yards of fabric for each, not counting petticoats, balayeuses, paletots, pelisses. And each piece covered in embroidery, lace, pearls—”

In spite of her best effort, the tears welled up. New York's wealthy did not care about the poor on their own doorstep, in the tenements of the Lower East Side. How could Sophia make them care about people they had never seen, people more than a thousand miles away?

“I recognize this bolt.” Nettie cut a corner off. “Normally with loose-woven fabric, I wash it in hot water to felt it. Ends up fewer yards, but it's tightened into something useful. But with this . . .” She poured an inch of water from the kettle into a pie pan, then added the scrap. The fabric dissolved and turned the water cloudy.

“Useless.” Black dye streaked Sophia's hands. “Worse than useless.”

“The rest seem higher quality.” The other scraps passed Nettie's test. She held up a length to her round body. “None of the Ponca women has any extra padding. With straight skirts, no gathers or pleats, six yards might make a dress.”

“If they had blouses, we could make
sarafans
. . . What is the English word? Pinafore? Jumper?”

“That's a good idea.” Nettie folded the fabric. “Cover their legs. Use a shawl or blanket for their arms.”

“I estimate they have only six weeks' provisions.” James frowned at the neighbors' gardens. A few weeks ago a cow had broken through Eloise's willow fence and trampled her crop of squash. “They're slaughtering their livestock and eating next year's seed.”

“Perhaps the Mission Board should have sent a farmer instead of a teacher.”

The agent shook his head. “The agency farmer was supposed to teach modern techniques, like using a plow instead of a buffalo scapula. Unfortunately the Indian Office never sent the plows.”

Sophia strode past the stove. “Can more food be purchased?”

“I suppose you have enough money.” The agent drummed his fingers.

“Could the merchants extend credit?” She paced to the door.

“The government is six years behind on payments.” Will glared at James, as if he blamed the agent for all their problems. “You'll have to ask Fort Randall for emergency rations again.”

“I'll send soup with you, Sophia,” Nettie said. “At least the children will have a warm meal on school days.”

Her feet took her to the locked door of their poorly stocked pantry. “Mary and Elisabeth were digging by the spring for some sort of turnip.” They had prayed before digging, but Sophia would not mention that. The Ponca version of “Give us this day our daily bread” would look like a pagan ritual to Henry.

Will crossed his arms. “With so many bad harvests, they've pretty much stripped the hills bare.”

“What about all these migrating waterfowl?”

“The government won't give the Indians guns. Makes the whites nervous,” the agent said. “And we're out of ammunition.”

“What about fish?”

James's voice grew heavy with fatigue. “The allotment one year included fish hooks, but they weren't the right kind.”

“Could they seine?”

“The Seine's a river in France.”

Sophia paused. “Henry, you made a joke. Mark this day on the calendar.” She resumed pacing. How could they feed and clothe these people? “Do they have any fishing nets or anything they could make them from?”

Shrugs and shakes all around.

“We have already had our first frost.” She picked up one of the shoes. “How will we decide who goes barefoot?”

Will leaned on the crate. “Henry, how about a prayer, loaves and fishes style?”

The reverend started to argue but caught a stern look from his mother. He bent his head and did his duty.

Sophia added her own plea.
Oh Lord, I will do my best. I will write everyone I know and even people I do not. My students must have shoes
.