Through Rushing Water (28 page)

January thaw brought the temperatures above freezing. Men from Hubdon and Point Village filled the church Friday for the meeting with the inspector from the Office of Indian Affairs.

“You don't have to be here,” James told Will. “You have other work.”

The rev took Will's side for a change, but not for a good reason. “No sense having Will build anything now.”

“He stays.” Brown Eagle settled the argument, then switched to Ponca for the rest of his explanation.

“The last council, in 1875,” Will interpreted for him, “your interpreter was Ioway and drunk. You did not understand us. We did not understand you. Big mistake.”

“Tell him—” Henry pointed at Brown Eagle. “Inspector Kemble brought two interpreters—”

“They are Omaha,” Brown Eagle said.

James scowled. “The language is the same.”

At least close enough for the Indian Office's purposes. Will leaned toward them and took a deep breath in through his nose. “Are they sober?”

Reverend Hinman, visiting from the Santee Reservation, weighed in on the issue. “Few interpreters are competent in the language of treaties and negotiations.”

Inspector Edward C. Kemble, thick of frame and mustache, also had 1875 on his mind. “The Ponca chiefs signed an agreement to move to Indian Territory.”

“No, we agreed to live with the Omaha,” Standing Bear said.

The interpreters exchanged a look. The government had already shrunk the Omaha tribe's reservation down to a tiny square, then without asking, squeezed the Winnebagos in. Could their land hold a third tribe?

The inspector ignored the discussion and continued in a louder voice. “Last year Congress allocated funds to move the Poncas to Indian Territory.”

“Money?
Now
they send money?” White Swan held up his empty hands.

Smoke Maker shook his head. “I do not believe in money until I see it.”

Long Runner muttered, “We will never see it.”

“We want an accounting of all the tribe's money,” Standing Bear said. “Back to the first treaty.”

The inspector banged his gavel on the pulpit. “What an insubordinate bunch of malcontents. I thought you said these Indians were well behaved,” he muttered to James in an undertone that carried to the back pews.

“Well behaved but not dead.” Brown Eagle crossed his arms.

The whole proceeding paused for a spiritual dressing-down by the rev. Henry wrapped up with, “God wants His people to live in peace.”

“How can we live in peace when our children are starving?” Standing Bear asked.

Inspector Kemble jumped on that idea. “For the sake of your children, you must move to Indian Territory. You'll be able to plant and harvest. You won't have to work so hard. The Indian Office will pay you for this land and provide what you need: farm equipment, cattle, houses, schools. You will live as American farmers. Other Indians live there—”

“What other Indians? Friends or enemies?” Chicken Hunter asked. “Maybe we do not want to live near them. Maybe they do not want us.”

“Kaw, Cherokee, Quapaw, and Osage, who speak a language similar to Ponca. They have agreed to give you some land.”

“Some land? Good for hunting or farming?” Big Elk asked. He'd done enough of both to know the difference.

“Are there buffalo?” Black Ghost had been too young to go on the last hunt.

“Is there water? Does it rain and snow?” Buffalo Chip asked.

Henry recited a verse about God giving rain on the good and bad. Will counted the question unanswered. In fact, most questions went without a decent answer.

White Eagle stood. “This land is a gift from God to the Ponca people. We did not sell it. We will not desert it. Here we live. Here we will die and be buried with our ancestors.”

Henry scowled. “You must give up this childish ancestor worship and accept the Christian understanding of heaven.”

Will couldn't stand it anymore. “The Poncas don't worship their ancestors. They believe those who've gone before will greet them on the other side. Brings to mind how you said your father would meet you at the heavenly gate.”

The creases in Henry's forehead deepened to canyons. “Don't you have work to do?”

Inspector Kemble brought out a map. “The Indian Territory is better.” The men squeezed in close and frowned at the chicken scratches on the paper.

“No rivers.” Big Snake shook his head.

“Where are we?” Buffalo Track asked. “How far away is this Indian Territory?”

The inspector didn't have a US map, but Will knew someone who did. “I'll be right back.” He borrowed a horse from Clear Sky Walker and rode to the school.

The students clustered around the map.

“How is the meeting going?” Sophia asked, looking not a bit ruffled by the addition of a dozen children from Point Village and Hubdon.

He gulped. Sophia's beauty always made him lose his thoughts. Probably best to go the Ponca route with her and not look her in the eye. “More asking than answering. Don't suppose I could borrow your map?”

“Of course. I am surprised the inspector did not bring one.”

“Afraid of sharing too much knowledge. Kind of the opposite of what you're doing.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Her cheeks pinked up, making her even prettier than before.

“Thank
you
.” He saluted her with the rolled map, then galloped back to church. The inspector didn't look too happy about Will's contribution. And the men weren't happy about the distance.

“How far is it?”

“One finger's width to the Omahas. Eight finger widths to Indian Territory.”

“Long way.”

“We will not be able to come back.”

“That is just to the line. What if the Indian Office puts us down here by Texas?”

“Texas. They have no rain. Plants with needles. Cattle with horns that go out.” Crazy Bear stretched his arms wide.

White Eagle said, “I want to see the paper saying we must move to Indian Territory.”

“Why? You can't read it.” Kemble raised his voice. “Sit down. I have more instructions.” He turned to James. “I told you I only wanted to meet with the chiefs.”

The Indian Office didn't want chiefs. And they didn't want white farmers. They wanted puppets who would follow instructions and not ask messy questions.

“Order!” James pounded the pulpit and yelled over the hubbub. “Sit down.”

“They don't have hereditary chiefs anymore,” Henry told Kemble, neglecting to mention the government's role in breaking down that tradition. “Each family head has a say.”

“Think of it like Congress,” Will told him.

The inspector's jaw clenched. His lower lip jutted out like the prow of a steamboat. “This is nothing like Congress.” The inspector's tone said Will spouted foolishness.

If pressed, Will would have to admit he'd never been to Washington City, never seen Congress. But he had seen the city of Omaha's officials in action, throwing chairs and insults with eager abandon. So it seemed to him this Ponca meeting was more than civilized.

“All right.” Kemble pointed at the men. “Choose ten of your chiefs or heads of families or whatever you call them. We'll take ten of you to Indian Territory so you can see for yourselves. Then we'll go to the Great White Father to talk it over. If you don't like Indian Territory, you can stay here.”

Voices rose, most asking why they would even consider leaving.

“Enough! We're done here.” Inspector Kemble snatched up his map, then reached for the US one.

Will caught his arm. “That's not yours.”

“I'll put it away, for safekeeping.” Meaning no one would ever see it again.

“I return what I borrow.” Will tightened his grip, wrinkling the inspector's fancy suit sleeve. “I keep my promises.”

Kemble narrowed his eyes. “You're the one stirring up all this trouble.”

No sense holding back. Will's job was over when the tribe left. “Much as I'd like to take credit, the Indian Office made its own mess.”

Kemble pointed an angry finger at Will's nose. “I'll have you know, thousands of dollars have been spent on these people.”

Will took the opportunity to rescue Sophia's map. “Thousands of dollars might have left Washington, but only a few hundred made it here. What's that work out to per acre? Four cents? Two cents?”

“Ridiculous claim. This small tribe never owned all the land from here to the Rockies.”

“I will bring the paper to the school,” Will told the men in Ponca. “And the map.”

Kemble pointed at Will, then asked his interpreter, “What did he say?”

Standing Bear stood. “We will pray about this tonight and give you our decision tomorrow.”

Brown Eagle walked out with Will. “When we have a council, everyone has a say. We listen and consider all opinions. We respect each other. But that man thinks his is the only voice.”

Over his shoulder Will heard the inspector tell James, “Get rid of the carpenter. The Agency no longer needs him.”

Will's gut clenched. He wasn't worried about the job itself. His brother wanted him back. Harrison's last letter said work was piling up, waiting for him.

But . . . how could he leave the people?

And Sophia?

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-E
IGHT

S
ophia helped a little boy from Point Village button his coat. “Where are you going? Where will you find your father?”

John Adams took the child's hand. “I can take him to the church.”

Will and Brown Eagle stepped into the school. They drooped with battle fatigue. “Your fathers are coming here. You may as well wait inside.”

“The meeting is over?”

“For now.” Will hung her map on the front wall. “I have to get back to the agency house now.”

“Shall I wait for you here?”

“No, I need your help now. Brown Eagle has my key. He'll lock the school after the children are picked up.”

Every afternoon Sophia had been so careful to secure the school and the supplies donated by the churches back east. She studied Brown Eagle's round, strong face. Will trusted him as a brother in Christ. His children were honest. She never lost any of the money she passed around during her lessons. “Thank you,” she told the man, then hurried to join Will on the path back to the house.

“The meeting was difficult?”

“Arguing in two languages.” He set a brisk pace. “You didn't get off easy either.”

“Thirteen extra students attended today. Three needed new English names and five could not remember their names given to them at the Fourth of July. I am embarrassed to say I cannot recall either.”

At the village Henry slammed and locked the church door, then marched with James and a third man back to the house.

“The inspector.” Will kept his hands in his pockets and his gaze on the slippery path. “I need you to keep him busy in the kitchen. And James and Henry too. I'm going to find that agreement the chiefs signed in '75. James has a copy in his office.”

“James will give it to you, will he not? He objects to the removal of the tribe too.”

“His loyalties are divided. He wants a career with the Indian Office.” He squeezed her elbow. “I have faith in you, Sophia.”

Foolish girl that she was, she warmed, head to toe. Will needed her. She could be useful, heroic even. Will dashed for the house. Sophia had just enough time to hang up her coat when the door opened. “Gentlemen.” She stepped forward, reaching out to the inspector. “And this must be—”

Henry remembered his manners. “Sophia Makinoff, may I present Inspector Edward Kemble.”

“Welcome.” She gave him her best smile and a stiff-armed handshake. He responded with that predatory gleam common to men from the tsar to the roustabouts on the steamboat. Sophia would have to take care around this one.

“Miss Makinoff. I've heard about you.”

She raised a flirtatious eyebrow at James and Henry. “None of it true, I hope.”

“Sophia teaches.”

“You are all exhausted,” she cooed. “Nettie made tea. Please have a seat and tell me all about it.”

“I'd prefer whiskey,” James said.

“Of course.” Sophia reached for his coat, hoping he did not expect this service to become a habit. “But I simply must know what happened. Perhaps tea and—” She inhaled, trying to discern what Nettie had prepared.

“Oatmeal cookies.” Nettie bustled into the kitchen. “Yes, have a seat. Sophia's right. Once you men disappear into James's office for a tot, we'll never find out how the meeting went.”