Through Rushing Water (41 page)

“I'm thinking, ‘Thank God Will's home!' The owner's a lawyer for the Union Pacific. He came out here in '54, lived in a soddy down on Tenth and Farnam, then took rooms in Herndon House. He and his wife would be ever so grateful if we can make them a showplace, as in ‘spare no expense' and ‘we've been waiting a long time for this' grateful. She wants a dark stain, walnut or mahogany to match her piano.”

“Which is it: walnut or mahogany?”

Harrison shrugged. He couldn't tell the difference. “She wants a lighted finial and their coat of arms carved into the newel post.”

“I'll need a good-sized chunk of pear wood.” Will squinted, imagining banisters matched to the columns outside, crown molding, inlaid ceilings, hardwood floors laid on a diagonal, stained glass for the window by the stairs. Best head over to the hotel, take a look at the piano.

The parlor was built with tall ceilings and grand proportions. Mrs. Spare-No-Expense planned on some parties.

Harrison rapped on the window frame. “Storm windows for winter, screens for summer. Opens both top and bottom for improved air circulation. Counter-balance system with iron weights and pulleys holds them in place. Never need to prop them open with sticks.”

As Sophia had to do at school.

Will raised the window with one finger and it stayed open. “Much safer.” He pointed to the capped pipes extending from the ceiling and several head-high places around the wall. “Gaslights?”

“All the latest.” Harrison tapped the grating with his foot. “Coal furnace. Let me show you—” He led Will through the dining room, large enough to seat twenty, and the butler's pantry with its floor-to-ceiling cabinetry, to the kitchen. “Ample windows for light and ventilation. Six-burner cookstove uses wood or coal, has a large water reservoir. Closet for the flour barrel. Pantry. Moulding board for bread. Separate cutting boards for meat and vegetables. Sink. Largest icebox in town. And out back—”

The carriage house had been built first to use as an on-site shop. A shiny new circular saw sat in the middle of the floor. Will opened a toolbox and found gimlets, saws, chisels, block planes, and hammers, each sharp and fitted to its handle without a wobble. Another box held squares, scribes, compasses, yardsticks, folding rulers, levels, all first quality. The next held nails and screws, assorted sizes.

The trim pieces stacked in the corner had been planed true and smoothed to velvet. Not a splinter or knot on any of them. Nothing like the junk he'd been forced to use the past four years. If he'd had all this at the Agency, he could have really built some decent houses.

Good enough to impress Sophia.

Will followed Harrison out. Impress Sophia? Since when had that been his goal? He didn't need to impress Sophia.

But . . . he just might.

Harrison waved his meaty hand in front of Will's face. “Hey, you with me?”

Will grinned. “How soon does Mrs. Spare-No-Expense want to move in?”

Sophia awoke before the first bell, dressed, then opened the drapes. Last night's heavy rain had ended, and the morning's sun drew a mist from the ground. A yellow dog bounded across the rabbit field, her ears pointing upward and her tail waving in a joyous curve over her back.
Goldie? Goldie!

Sophia hurried down three flights of stairs, out the west door, and ran across the yard. A pair of doves startled from the fence with flapping wings and shrill cries. Sophia leaned on a post to catch her breath and scanned the field. No Goldie. After a moment she turned and went inside.

Mrs. Windsor met her at the door. “Miss Makinoff, is everything quite all right?”

Fortunately she had not followed her impulse to yell or climb the fence. “Yes, Matron. I thought I saw—” A dog? How very foolish. Omaha overflowed with canines. “Ah, someone I knew.”

“I see.” The older woman scanned the empty field, then gave a pointed look to Sophia's dew-drenched hem and her mud-splattered boots.

“If you will please excuse me.”

The woman hesitated, undoubtedly pondering the need for a lecture on ladylike behavior. “Of course.”

Will heard a thump on the back porch, opened his door, and found Goldie. Her tongue hung out and she panted like she'd run a mile. Mud and seeds caked her paws and belly. “Where have you been? If you were hoping Sophia would give you another bath, you're out of luck.”

Her tail wagged and she seemed to grin. He leaned over the rail, eyeballing his lot. The gate was latched and the fence upright. “Did you jump over, crawl under, or wriggle through?”

She looked away.

“Not saying, eh? And not going back inside with those paws.” He moved her water bowl outside. “You'll have to stay here. I'll be home after work.” The young trees didn't give her much shade, but she could crawl under the porch to stay cool.

He left through the front gate, giving it a good rattle to make sure it latched, then headed up the street toward the Poppletons'. As he turned the corner, he glanced back. Goldie nosed the latch, went through the gate, then pushed it closed. She glanced up, realized he watched, and lowered her head and tail.
Caught
.

“Come along, then.” Will patted his leg. Any dog clever enough to open a gate could keep herself out of trouble at a construction site. Goldie galloped to him.

“Just wait until Sophia hears about you.” She grinned, and he grinned back.

Will arrived at the work site first and unlocked the carriage house. He sorted through the wood—walnut, not mahogany—measured, and calculated out the angles. Easier to do in the quiet.

Goldie barked a warning and Will stowed his pencil behind his ear. “No one's sneaking up on me with you around.”

She wagged her tail in agreement and followed him around front.

“My crew. The tall guy's Kjell, short one's Preben. From Sweden and Denmark.” Both had gained weight since Will had left. Or maybe Will's eye had gotten used to thinner people. Which reminded him to say another prayer for his friends.

“Welcome back, boss.” Kjell pumped his hand, then nodded at the house awaiting their attention. “Just in time.”

Preben bent to pet Goldie. “I see you brought a girl home with you. A fine girl.”

Will grinned. If Preben thought Goldie was so fine, he ought to see Sophia. “And we've got a fine job here. Let me show you what I'm thinking.” They toured the house, discussing plans for the woodwork, making a list for the lumberyard.

Outside, Goldie growled, then barked furiously. Will jumped down the steps and ran out the back. The dog stood at the carriage house door, her hair on end, ears forward, teeth bared, making him wonder if she had a wolf in her family tree. Inside, backed into a dark corner, shivered a kid.

“What are you doing?” Will asked.

“Nichts.”
His voice squeaked.

“German.” Preben spit on the ground. “He said ‘nothing,' but I think he is stealing.”

Will figured as much. “C'mon out here.” He pulled Goldie out of the way, then motioned for the boy. The kid looked even younger in the sunlight. His clothes were too small and his blond hair looked to have been hacked by a dull knife. Toothpick thin. If he'd been dark instead of fair, he could have been a Ponca.

“Nichts.”
The kid held his arms open.

Kjell untied the rope from a bundle of lumber. “I'll march him down to the police.”

“No
polizei
.” The boy sniffled.

Kjell could be gone half the day if he took the kid to the police.

Will asked, “Do you want to work?” With Preben's reluctant help, Will negotiated terms. The boy, first name Armin, last name Not Saying, agreed to clean up the lot.

Will gave him work gloves and buckets and wished he had shoes for him. “This.” Will picked up a bent nail from the grass and put it in one bucket. “Here. And this.” He found a four-inch splinter and pointed to the leeward side of the house, where they could safely burn trash at the end of the day. “Work done—” Will pulled three quarters from his pocket.

The boy nodded and licked his lips. Will figured he'd end up throwing a sandwich into the deal too.

With identical skeptical expressions, Goldie, Preben, and Kjell watched Armin work.

“Has to be done, and I don't want either of you wasting your time. With Goldie here, I'd rather it be cleaned up sooner than later.”

The dog settled onto the back porch with a sigh. The men followed Will into the carriage house. Soon their worries about Armin were shelved as they focused on cutting out the trim.

Kjell laid out the pieces on the workbench, then flipped them over and tried again. “Boss, this doesn't go together.”

Will consulted his sketched plan, then moved the segments around, forming the archway. “Short, short, long, short, short.”

“Ah, now I see.”

And maybe that was his whole problem with Sophia—she couldn't see how they went together. So that's what he'd pray about, that God would show her.

“Bonjour, mademoiselles
.
Je suis Mademoiselle Makinoff
,
votre nouveau professeur de français,”
Sophia said to the girls arriving in her classroom. “Please introduce yourself.” She nodded at a student in the first row to begin.

The girl's blond hair turned neatly in sausage curls. Her plaid dress and high-top boots showed no sign of wear. And her plump cheeks showed she ate well.
Ignore the rushing water
, Sophia reminded herself. These students needed her full attention.

“My name is Henrietta, but Mademoiselle Ross gave us French names at the beginning of the term. I am called Henriette.”

“Of course. Henriette.” She would have to tell Will that Ponca students were not the only ones who had their names changed. “So tell me, Henriette, why are you learning French?”

“Because my mother said so.”

Sophia smiled. “And we must obey our mothers.” Henriette's answer was echoed by the next three students until Grace.

“Graziella?”

Long lashes fluttered over dark eyes. “French is the language of romance,” the girl said with a mock swoon, setting off a fit of giggles throughout the room.