He tossed the ball up and caught it. “When the ball returns to the earth, it means that we have reunited with God, we have received knowledge. Everyone who is in the game must do his very best. Then he shows how much he wants to be near God and to have knowledge.”
Soaring Eagle was more interested in the spiritual application of the game than the game itself, but he quickly realized that Sterling and Samuel were waiting impatiently for him to stop philosophizing and play. He stopped talking abruptly and tossed the ball to Sterling, beginning a rollicking game that ended with the three lying on their backs, looking up at the sky, panting for breath.
Late in the evening, long after the boys had retired and Soaring Eagle sat in his room poring over a philosophy text for a recitation the next day, a knock sounded at the door. Robert Davis was standing in the hall. “Jeremiah,” he offered, “I just wanted to thank you for spending so much time with the boys.”
“It is I who should be thanking you, Robert, for allowing me into your home. You have two fine sons.”
Robert nodded. “Yes, God has blessed us. But sometimes they can be demanding and rambunctious. I know they’ve interrupted your studies often, and I appreciate your patience.”
Soaring Eagle indicated the stack of books on his table. He laid his book down thoughtfully and said, “It takes no patience for me to talk with Sterling and Samuel. If everyone I have met were as kind and as honest as those two boys, I believe the ‘Indian question’ would have been answered long ago. Then all these philosophy books could be set aside. I could go home, and perhaps have sons of my own.”
Robert Davis cleared his throat. “Well, just the same, I wanted you to know that Nancy and I appreciate your putting up with them.” He closed the door behind him and Soaring Eagle returned to his studies.
The following evening found Soaring Eagle on his way to yet another meeting of potential “Friends of the Indian.” Julia and George Woodward and Robert and Nancy Davis sat near the front of the auditorium. As soon as Soaring Eagle was introduced and stepped through a small side door onto the platform, the auditorium grew quiet, with participants inspecting the native dress of what they had been told was a cultured Sioux Indian, and wondering what he would have to say.
“Honored guests,” he began, his voice projecting throughout the hall. “Thank you for coming to hear me. I come to you to talk of the Santee Normal Training School in Nebraska. This school was established by the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions for the purpose of raising up preachers, teachers, interpreters, businessmen, and model mothers for the Dakota Nation. You will have some idea of whether or not they are successful as you hear me this evening.
“This year, between the Dakota Home for Girls and the Young Men’s Boarding Hall, the school at Santee will reach into the lives of over seventy young people with the gospel of Jesus Christ and the instruction they will need to make a new life for themselves and their families.”
Soaring Eagle stepped to the edge of the podium so that his costume could be readily investigated by his audience. “When I came to Santee, I was dressed as you see me now. I was mounted on a pony, and I carried a few belongings with me, including deep anger in my heart against what was happening to my way of life. At Santee, I learned that there were people like yourselves who looked upon the Indian with compassion.”
Soaring Eagle went on to share his own conversion to Christ before outlining the advantages of the Santee school in training children. “Santee is situated at the very gateway to the wild lands now inhabited by the Sioux. The staff at Santee understand the Indian character. There, the work of Indian education can be carried on more cheaply, more thoroughly, and with better results than by institutions farther removed from the Indian country.
“Only you can decide if Santee has been successful. You must hear what I have to say and judge for yourselves. I have told you of my former life, and you see me now. Santee is successful because at Santee the Indians hear the gospel of Christ. No influence is so effective in civilizing Indians as the gospel of Christ.
“The government wants to take over the education of the Indian. The government wants to say that the Indian cannot be taught in his own language. But a good knowledge of the English language does not change a bad Indian into a good white man. An Indian needs a new heart just as much as a white man. And nothing can give that but the Holy Spirit, through the gospel of Jesus Christ. The only effective way to civilize Indians is to lead them to Jesus.
“There are churches that have been founded as a result of the work at Santee. They cover only a little corner in the eastern part of the state you call Nebraska. But their light is spreading. The Christian Sioux are trying to do their duty. Hope for taking the gospel to the entire Sioux nation was never so bright. Hearts are open to the truth. Now is the time to work.
“A great many tribes, under Red Cloud, Spotted Tail, and Sitting Bull, have not as yet had any religious teachers. Until they have native religious teachers they are not likely to receive the gospel in such a way as to be benefited by it. We are anxious to engage your interest to help us carry the gospel to the wild part of the Sioux Nation.”
Soaring Eagle concluded with a ringing plea. “Men, brothers, sisters, fellow Christians—for the sake of our risen Lord who bids you, come! Come to the Indian, not with bullets, but with Bibles. Replace the ‘theory of extermination’ with the gospel of Christ.”
Soaring Eagle left the podium, listening to the singing of hymns while he changed into his “Boston clothes” and returned for the discussion that was to follow his speech.
He was joined on the podium by George Woodward and Robert Davis. As soon as the session concluded, Soaring Eagle left to escort Nancy Davis and Julia Woodward home.
“It was a fine lecture this evening, Jeremiah,” offered Nancy Davis. When Soaring Eagle didn’t seem to hear her, Julia Woodward echoed Nancy. The two women soon gave up trying to engage their friend in conversation.
Hope was never so bright. . . . Hearts are turning. . . . Now is the time for work. Soaring Eagle felt his own words rising up to condemn him. Suddenly, his restlessness of the past few weeks, and his unhappiness came to mind. Are you leading me to do something else with my life, God?
The answer came as Soaring Eagle imagined God challenging him. Who is better to take the gospel to the wild Sioux than another wild Sioux? Tonight you begged for help. You spoke of native Christians taking the gospel to the people of Sitting Bull. I called you out of the village of Sitting Bull. I called you to Santee where you learned of Me. Now, I ask you, who is better suited to take the gospel into Sitting Bull’s village than Soaring Eagle?
When the carriage arrived at the Davises, Soaring Eagle automatically bid Julia Woodward good night. Ignoring her proffered hand, he followed Nancy Davis into the house and mounted the stairs to his room where he spent a sleepless night, wrestling against his responsibility to represent Santee Normal Training School to the Easterners.
If any man lacks wisdom, let him ask of God. The verse called him to prayer and to study. Soaring Eagle began to do both. Over the next few weeks his desire to return home to the west grew, and the burden for his own people grew. It became a weight so heavy he felt its presence physically.
Dear Father, he finally prayed. I want to return home, but I am a new child. How can I be certain that this is what You want? I ask, dear Father, that You show me this is from You. I tell no one of it but You. Please, Father, You tell Alfred Riggs what I am to do. It seems good to me, Father, to trust his advice.
Soaring Eagle continued to speak, continued to study. His longing for the prairie grew until he daily had to fight the battle against melancholy. Those around him noticed, and grew concerned.
“I don’t know, Julia,” George Woodward said one day. “Perhaps we’ve expected too much. The studies are certainly demanding. Perhaps he just needs a break. Whatever it is, I’m concerned.”
“He’s lonely, George,” Julia said.
“L
onely? He has more friends than he knows what to do with. They practically fight over who’s going to entertain him next.”
“He’s not lonely for entertainment, George. He’s lonely for companionship .”
George looked suspiciously at his sister. “I suppose you mean female companionship?”
Julia Woodward didn’t answer her brother.
“Be careful, Julia. Be very careful.”
Chapter 11
He that refraineth his lips is wise.
Proverbs 10:19
E verett Higgenbottom, indeed! Standing in the foyer of the Hathaway House Hotel, Carrie Brown stared in amazement at the note in her hand. Looking up at Silas Kellum she stammered, “But, but, this can’t be. It just can’t.”
Silas Kellum turned the guest register towards Carrie and pointed to Everett’s name. “There it is, Miss Brown. He checked in about an hour ago and left this note for you. Said he’d be in the dining room.” Grinning, Silas teased, “What’s up, Kid? Long lost lover from St. Louis? He must have some crush, following you all the way to Nebraska.”
“Silas Kellum,” Carrie retorted. “Just because you are tutoring me in Latin, and just because you have saved me from certain death at the hands of Miss Smith, does not, I repeat, does not give you the right to be impertinent.” Carrie slapped the card back onto the desk and headed for the dining room where the card had promised she would find Everett Higgenbottom.
He was there, having folded his long legs under the smallest table available in a corner by the windows that faced P Street. At sight of Carrie, he jumped up, hitting the edge of the table so hard it overturned his water glass.
“Here, Everett, let me help you.” Carrie grabbed a towel from a nearby bussing tray and mopped up the spill. Everett blushed and gushed his joy at seeing Carrie until she finally ordered him to sit down. She poured them each a glass of water and asked bluntly, “What on earth are you doing in Lincoln, Nebraska? What about Washington University?”
Everett shook his head. “Hated it. I’m transferring. Mr. Kellum said Mrs. Hathaway doesn’t board college students. But she boards you, Carrie. Maybe you could get her to give me a room, too?”
He’s coming here. To this university. He wants a room here. At the Hathaway House. Carrie leaned her forehead on her hand and contemplated a year of Everett Higgenbottom. Then she shook her head. “No, Everett, I can’t. Mrs. Hathaway doesn’t board college students for a good reason. She’s too expensive. She boards me because I work here and because she’s a family friend.” Carrie looked at Everett convincingly. “But I know you wouldn’t expect her to take less than her full rate for a room. I couldn’t ask her to do that.”
“She doesn’t need to lower the rate. I can pay my way. Mother fought it like—well, like you know she would—but when she finally realized I was headed here and she couldn’t do anything about it, she finally gave in.” Everett grinned. “I think she was almost glad about it when she realized how much less expensive the tuition is.”
“But, Everett, the university doesn’t even have a music department.”
“I guess I know that,” Everett said with a winning smile. He grew suddenly serious. “I never wanted to be a pianist. That was all Mother’s idea.”
“But why come here, Everett—when there are so many other institutions—older and probably better? Why not go back east?”
“There are good schools back east, all right,” Everett agreed. “But there’s one thing none of those other schools have.”
“What’s that?”
“A student named Miss Carrie Brown.”
“Oh, Everett.” Carrie moaned.
“I know, I know. You’re going to grow up and go teach the Indians and marry Jeremiah King.”
Carrie looked about the dining room. “Sshhhhh. Everett. You have no business talking like that where someone might hear.”
Everett grinned. “Yeah, all right. All right. Look.” His watery gray eyes were serious. “You’ve got this dream. I know it. I know I’m only your friend. But I am your friend. That’s something. Who knows?” Everett shrugged his bony shoulders. “Maybe you’ll get to like me. Maybe something will happen, something that makes you change plans.” Everett looked hopeful.
“Everett Higgenbottom. You followed me through high school like a—well,” Carrie hesitated before continuing. “Everett. This is for your own good. You followed me through high school like a puppy. I don’t want to be hounded all over Lincoln.”
Everett Higgenbottom beamed at Carrie. His devotion to her was so complete that he knew no shame. “I won’t hound you, Carrie. But you’ll need an escort from time to time. That Indian fellow isn’t exactly living in Lincoln, is he?”
“Soaring Eagle is in Boston. Attending Harvard. I don’t expect to see him for a long time.”
“Good.”
Carrie agreed. “Yes, Everett, it is good. I have some serious learning to do. Some serious growing up to do. Some serious teaching to do before Soaring Eagle will ever take me seriously. But he will take me seriously, Everett. Someday he will.”
Everett snatched Carrie’s hand and pressed it. “Listen, Carrie. I worry about you. What happens if this thing doesn’t work out for you? What then?”
Carrie pulled her hand away. “It will work. I’m not considering failure.”
“Carrie, I’m going to say something that’s going to make you mad. I’ll only say it this once, but somebody needs to make you face facts. You’re building a future hope on a past memory. You haven’t been back to Santee since you were a little girl. How do you know you’ll like it? How do you know you even want to live there? Things change, Carrie. People change. You remember the way things were when you were a little girl. You played and had a great time. But your mother, God rest her, basically worked herself to death. Have you thought about that? Have you thought about how much work it is to be a missionary? Or,” Everett bit his lip. “Or do you think about that at all? Do you just have this romantic picture of the tiny redhead with the handsome Indian husband who lectures and travels? It’s a pretty romantic picture. I admit it. But what if it doesn’t work out?
“Sometimes, things just don’t work out. What will you do if they don’t work out? What if you hate things at a mission school? You’re not exactly used to ‘doing without,’ you know. What if you don’t even like teaching? What if this Soaring Eagle guy meets someone else in Boston?” Everett waved a hand at her. “All right, Miss Brown, all right. There’s no need to explode. I can see you’re really angry with me now. But think about it, Carrie. Think about it and remember.” He smiled brightly. “If things don’t work out, you can always call on me to, well, to do whatever. I care that much, Carrie. I really do.”
“Why did you really come all the way to Nebraska?”
“I really did come to be near you.” Everett laughed suddenly. “Although, in the meantime, I plan to get a degree in something. That should be useful for the future, don’t you think?”
“A degree in what?”
“Don’t know yet. Guess it doesn’t really matter much. I’m not much to look at, Carrie, but I’m pretty smart. I figure I’ll try a few things until I land on something I like. One thing I know for sure. It won’t be music. ”
Everett Higgenbottom checked into the Hathaway House Hotel, a fact which made him instantly well-known on campus as the one student rich enough to afford a real hotel and tuition without taking a job. He proved useful to Carrie Brown as an escort to every evening lecture she wished to attend. He also proved popular with his classmates. He was genuinely kind, lending a hand wherever he could and participating in enough pranks to almost get expelled. (It was Everett Higgenbottom who master-minded the entire affair over Thanksgiving when the cadets moved a cannon into Haymarket Square and set it off to protest the university policy that required military drills of every male student.)
Everett was on the staff of the student newspaper, the Hesperian. He played in the orchestra and was a favorite on the debate team.
Everett Higgenbottom was a success in every undertaking except one. He could not get Carrie Brown to fall in love with him.
Although Carrie had been furious with Everett when he attacked her plans for her future, she finally admitted to herself that he had made some valid points. She hadn’t been back to Santee since her childhood, and she didn’t really know if she liked teaching. She set about planning to overcome those obstacles.
An opportunity to visit Santee in the spring presented itself when Jim and LisBeth Callaway came to Lincoln for Thanksgiving. As soon as LisBeth had settled on the couch in Augusta’s parlor, Augusta launched into plans for the spring clothing collection for Santee. “We’ll have several barrels of clothing, LisBeth. You’ll have lots of sorting to do up at the mission,” Augusta said.
LisBeth cleared her throat and said, “Well, Aunt Augusta, I don’t think I’ll be able to go this spring.”
Augusta looked at her sharply. “Not go? You always go to Santee in the spring.”
LisBeth blushed and said softly. “Yes, I know. But this spring I’ll likely be, indisposed.”
“LisBeth Callaway! You mean?” LisBeth nodded and Augusta engulfed her in a hug. “Praise be. I’m going to be a great-aunt!”
LisBeth beamed. “We’ve waited so many years, Aunt Augusta. I’d almost given up hope. But we just came from Dr. Gilbert’s, and he assures me it’s true.” LisBeth looked thoughtful. “I’ll miss going to Santee, of course, but—”
“I’ll go to Santee to help, LisBeth.” Carrie Brown had been in her room. Now, she stood in the doorway. She was apologetic. “I didn’t mean to be eavesdropping, but Mrs. Hathaway’s voice does carry and I couldn’t help hearing.”
Carrie stepped into Augusta’s parlor to explain further. “I haven’t been back to Santee since I was a child, Mrs. Hathaway. I’d love to go back and see things. See if things are the way I remember. Get reacquainted.” She turned to LisBeth. “I want to go back there to teach, LisBeth. But friends have said I don’t have a realistic view of what it’s like. Maybe they’re right. Going back with Mr. Callaway would take care of that. And I could be of help. I know I could.”
Red Bird (Prairie Winds Book 2) Page 8
