Miss Evans glanced back at Sam, searching his face. He gathered she liked what she saw because she drew nearer. Her thick, floral perfume tickled his nose.
Sam took a polite step back just as the grandfather clock in the corner chimed. “Eight o’clock. I don’t suppose you want to keep your dinner waiting.”
“No, no … Cook will have a conniption,” Mr. Evans said. “Come along.”
Relief coursed through Sam … until Miss Evans coiled her arm around his.
In her basement room Kristin dressed, stepping into a chambray dress that proved plenty sturdy for doing chores and cooking. Once she’d hooked the many front closures, she donned a white apron and tied it in the back. Earlier Mrs. Sundberg had come downstairs just after Kristin lit the stove and announced she felt much better. Happiness pulled at Kristin’s mouth. She’d been worried about Mrs. Sundberg.
After brushing out her hair, Kristin strode into the kitchen to make coffee for Mr. Sundberg. Once more she missed Sam’s presence. Today was the day of the meeting, and she prayed God would put His words in Sam’s mouth.
Setting the coffee onto the stove to brew, Kristin went back into her room and braided her hair. But it was too short to wind around her head, thanks to Running Deer, so Kristin made a ball and pinned it at her nape. By the time she returned to the upstairs kitchen, Mr. Sundberg stood at the stove, pouring himself a cup of the steaming coffee.
“Good morning.” Kristin felt her heart begin to hammer, since she didn’t quite know what to expect from this man. He was as ornery and unpredictable as Onkel. And, just like her Uncle Lars, Mr. Sundberg disliked her.
He grunted out a greeting and left the house.
Kristin sucked in a breath, allowing it to fill her lungs and calm her nerves. More and more she realized how much Sam had been a necessary buffer between her and those who disliked her. If he did as good of a job today at the meeting as he’d done for her, the outcome would surely be in the Indians’ favor.
Sam lowered himself onto the hard bench, two places down from the Menominee chief, Oshkosh. In between them sat Oshkosh’s representative, Soaring Eagle. In the row behind them, a dozen braves were perched with erect posture and attentive expressions. The Menominee had set aside their own garments for the white men’s clothes and looked quite respectable for this very official and important meeting.
Sam eyed the committee. He didn’t recognize any of the seven men. Something about the way their gazes roved over the Indians, never making eye contact, gave Sam a sense this conference wouldn’t go the Menominees’ way. After speaking with Mr. Evans yesterday before dinner, he realized how little he knew federal law. Certainly he could plead the Indians’ case, explain why they felt the amendment to the treaty was wrong. However, he couldn’t wield the law like Mr. Evans did during their conversation.
At that instant the object of his thoughts appeared. Sam stood and made introductions. Mr. Evans shook each Menominee man’s hand before greeting the committee members. Sam suddenly felt a little more hopeful.
When Mr. Evans returned, he motioned for Sam to move over on the bench. Seating himself, he placed his leather case on the table in front of them. “Had you not departed so abruptly after dinner last night,” Mr. Evans said in a low voice, “I would have had the time to offer my counsel in today’s meeting.”
A sense of chagrin filled Sam. “My apologies. I am afraid my journey caught up with me.”
In truth, it was Mr. Evans’s daughter whom Sam wished to escape. For whatever reason, Miss Evans had taken a liking to him and quickly changed her plans to include him—plans that Sam had no desire to be a part of, like escorting her to the symphony, a harvest ball, and some neighbor’s fall garden party. Sam just wanted to do his best at this meeting and get himself back home.
“So you don’t mind my interference this morning?” Mr. Evans arched a brow.
“On the contrary. It would be most welcome. Thank you.”
Before more could be said, the meeting was called to order. Mr. Evans stood and introduced Chief Oshkosh, whose round, somewhat pudgy face almost disguised the fact that Oshkosh was no stranger to the battlefield. Soon he’d be no stranger to bureaucracy as well.
Next Mr. Evans introduced Sam. Then he sat down, giving Sam the floor.
Pushing to his feet, Sam sent up a prayer for wisdom. He’d been on his knees at the predawn light, but another petition certainly wouldn’t hurt.
“Sirs …” He addressed the committee. “As you may know, the Menominee have been ordered to cede the remainder of their land for a reservation west of the Mississippi River, in the Minnesota Territory, specifically the Crow Wing River area.”
The men nodded.
“However, the Menominee feel they were both pressured and ill-represented when they signed the treaty in 1831 and its subsequent amendment. While they have agreed to share their land with first the Oneida, originally from New York, and then with white settlers, they never intended to give it up entirely.”
“Now see here!” An older man with a corrugated countenance held one finger in the air. “The Indians were paid some one hundred and forty-six thousand dollars for five hundred thousand acres. They took government money for it. It’s ours.” He lifted his gavel.
“Just a moment, Thaddeus.” Mr. Evans stood. “Let’s not be hasty. The last thing we need in our new state is more war with the Indians.” He walked around the table and toward the committee. “I beseech you and the rest of this distinguished committee, lend an ear to young Mr. Sundberg here.”
The men grudgingly agreed.
Pivoting around, Mr. Evans nodded at Sam.
Taking a deep breath, he relayed the Menominees’ request. “Due to an article in the amendment that changed the boundary lines, and the fact that they were not redrawn to the full understanding of the Indians at the time the treaty was signed, the Menominee Nation hereby requests to keep the land it now occupies.”
“That’s out of the question,” one committee member blurted. He didn’t even look up from the papers on the table at which he sat.
Mr. Evans stood. “Well, then, we will take this matter to a higher jurisdiction.”
The reply smacked like an insult. Still, Sam translated to Soaring Eagle.
He replied to Sam who, in turn, addressed the committee.
“Sirs,” Sam began once more. “Chief Oshkosh asks that if you cannot see your way to allowing the Menominee Nation to reside on the western half of their land, where they are presently living, you would, at least, allow them to stay for the next five years. This would give the Menominee time to make an exploratory trip to the Crow Wing River area before the Nation is relocated there.”
The men of the committee murmured amongst themselves.
“Wonderful stall tactic,” Mr. Evans muttered to Sam. “Good work, son.”
“Wasn’t me. I merely translated to English what Soaring Eagle told me.”
“Nevertheless …”
Sam exchanged a glance with the Menominee man on his right-hand side. Was that amusement dancing in the brave’s dark eyes?
“We must confer about this matter,” said the committee chairman. “This meeting is adjourned until Friday morning, when we will give you our answer.”
After a moment’s pause, Mr. Evans turned to shake Sam’s hand. “Well done, Sam.”
“A week? They really need a week to think about this?”
“I’m sure they need to contact the federal government before they grant the request. But I think we’ve got a chance here. I commend you for waxing so eloquently.”
Sam shook his head. “I really didn’t do anything other than translate.” He turned to the chief and his men and stated the outcome of today’s meeting.
They mumbled among themselves before filing out of the hearing room.
“We will see you here Friday morning, then.” Chief Oshkosh spoke to Sam directly and in perfect English.
Stunned, Sam clasped the man’s right hand. “Yes, I will be h
ere.”
“Thank you for your help.” Soaring Eagle too spoke English and shook Sam’s hand. Then he and Oshkosh took their leave.
Sam laughed and gave Mr. Evans a sideways glance. “Guess I wasn’t needed after all.”
“Not true. You see, there are men on the committee who are quite prejudiced against the Indians. If they had their way, they would run the Indians up into British Canada and let the English deal with them.” Mr. Evans grabbed his leather case and slid it off the table. “Had a white man not done the Menominees’ talking for them, I doubt we’d be awaiting an answer. The matter would have likely been immediately cleared from the committee’s docket.”
Sam marveled at how easily he’d forgotten that hatred abounded. “Then I’m glad I was here.”
“Indeed. And now you’ll be staying the week.” Mr. Evans gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. “I’ll have time to show you around our state’s capitol and introduce you to members of the legislative branch.”
“I’d like that. Thank you.”
“Oh, and I know Samantha will be pleased too.”
The smile on Sam’s face withered. “Mr. Evans, I—”
“Sam and Sam.” He chuckled.
Nonharmonic chords of dislike sounded inside of Sam each time he heard the equation. To him, the phrase was far from amusing. However, he didn’t want to hurt Miss Evans’s feelings, and he certainly wouldn’t offend his host.
Squaring his shoulders, he sensed an impending skirmish. Sam only hoped he could talk his way around it without causing insult or injury. Out in the echoing, marble hallway, Sam prayed this week would pass quickly.
CHAPTER 16
KRISTIN WORKED HER needle in and out of the fabric of Jackson’s torn shirt. The afternoon rain had moved out, and now the October sunset flared gloriously in the western sky.
“Let us continue our lessons,” Mary said.
Sitting on the front porch, Kristin smiled to herself, thinking that young Mary was a relentless instructor.
“Say ‘kornet er gul’ in English.”
“Um …” Kristin had to think. “Corn is yellow.”
“Correct!” Mary clapped, and Kristin laughed softly.
“Now, ‘himmelen er blå.’”
“Sky is blue.”
Mary smiled and clapped her hands again.
Her actions tickled Kristin.
A rider on horseback suddenly appeared on the soggy road, leading to the area between the house and barn. He slowed his horse as he neared.
Kristin paused, needle in hand.
Mary stood. “It is the sheriff! I will fetch Pa from the barn.”
Setting aside her sewing, Kristin rose from her chair and entered the house. She found Mrs. Sundberg in the kitchen, preparing the freshly laundered clothes for tomorrow’s ironing.
“The sheriff is here.”
“Oh?” She stepped back and wiped her hands on her apron. “Will you make a pot of coffee and pull out the leftover biscuits? We’ll serve them along with some apple butter. In the meantime, I will greet our guest.”
“Ja, of course.” Kristin set about the task.
She could hear Mr. Sundberg’s voice boom outside. Was he angry? Minutes later he stomped into the house. He glared at Kristin, and her eyes grew wide. What had she done now?
Mrs. Sundberg and the sheriff came in shortly afterward and settled at the dining room table. Kristin carried in a tray containing the coffeepot, cups, biscuits, spoons, and a small dish of apple butter. She set her burden down on the table a bit harder than intended and sent her employers an apologetic look.
Cool fingers came to rest on Kristin’s wrist. The simple gesture, along with Mrs. Sundberg’s gentle expression, let Kristin know no harm had been done.
“So you think these silver spoons are the ones that were taken from your home years ago?” the sheriff asked.
Kristin’s gaze flew to the ruby-colored velvet bag in Mr. Sundberg’s fist.
“Ja, these are the ones. I can tell by the silversmith’s stamp on the back.” Mr. Sundberg opened the bag and inspected each little spoon.
Kristin had seen such spoons before. From what she understood, people who wanted to avoid paying income tax took their coins to silversmiths and had them made into spoons. The government didn’t tax spoons, after all. Only coins.
As she left the dining room, Kristin heard Mr. Sundberg ask, “Who found them?”
The sheriff stroked his beard. “A pawnbroker in town.”
Kristin shooed Jack and Mary from the doorway where they stood eavesdropping. “Up to your rooms and do homework.”
“Shh—” Jack put his forefinger on his lips.
Before she could shake her head at the children’s naughtiness, Mr. Sundberg shouted for Kristin to return to the dining room.
Her heart hammered, but she made her way back, feeling as if her shaking legs might give way. What did she have to do with stolen coin silver?
“Tell her, Sheriff.” Mr. Sundberg stood, his face reddened with anger.
“Miss Eikaas …” Sheriff Brunette’s gaze was inquisitive but not condemning. “Mr. Errens, a pawnbroker in town, said a blonde-haired, blue-eyed young woman traded in these stolen spoons for cash. He added that she was Norwegian.”
Kristin needlessly wiped her hands on her apron. She already sensed where this was going, but she waited for the sheriff to finish.
“We don’t have a large Norwegian population here in Green Bay, so the young lady in question could be any number of—”
“You!” Mr. Sundberg pointed a finger of accusation at Kristin.
“You are doing your uncle’s dirty work.”
“That is not true!” Kristin let her apron fall. “I have not spoken to my uncle since I began working for you.”
“But you consorted with the younger Olstad. He is probably in on it too!”
“Simmer down, Karl.” The sheriff motioned for Mr. Sundberg to be seated. “I have been to the Eikaas place, and Lars said he knows nothing about the silver—still claims he never did.”
“He lies.” Hard lines appeared around Mr. Sundberg’s mouth.
With a deep breath, the sheriff folded his hands on the table. “Miss Eikaas, I need to ask some questions. Do you know anything about the stolen silver? Did anyone ask you to take it to Mr. Errens’s shop?”
“No.” Kristin face flamed with indignation, although her voice shook with the fear of being accused of such a crime. “I had no part in this incident.”
Mr. Sundberg’s hand came down hard on the tabletop. “She is an Eikaas and lies like her uncle.”
“Karl, please do not get so upset,” Mrs. Sundberg pleaded.
Mr. Sundberg’s blue eyes slid to his wife, then back at Kristin. She glimpsed the hatred in his gaze.
“Sheriff, this girl here gave Peder Olstad money last week.”
Sheriff Brunette glanced at Kristin.
“It was my own money—from furs that Running Deer gave me.”
“Karl?” the sheriff asked.
“Well, that part is true, but I think it is safe to say Lars used the two of them as go-betweens. And it is obvious Lars needs the money to fix his barn and that sorry excuse of a house before the bad weather hits.”
The sheriff wagged his head. “The Olstads are not involved. Both father and son left on Saturday at sunup. I know that because I, personally, saw them out of town. Peder got into some trouble Friday night at a tavern. A man was killed.”
Kristin inhaled sharply.
“It was clearly self-defense. However, it wasn’t the first time that I’ve had a run-in with the young man. I asked him to leave Green Bay, and he agreed. His father went with him, and as I said, I rode them out of town.”
“Where did they go?” As angry as she’d been with Peder, it was disheartening to hear he’d left without saying good-bye. What would she tell Sylvia now? Would she ever see her best friend again?
“They are headed out West—California, maybe. Peder has go
t ideas about gold-digging.”
“Ja … he said as much to me.” Kristin murmured. She stared at the black laces in her boots.
“See!” The accusation in Mr. Sundberg’s voice could not be ignored.
“Mr. Sundberg”—Kristin lifted her chin—“Peder mentioned California to me the day he hurt Jackson. Please believe me when I say I have done nothing wrong.”
“And how could she, Karl?” Mrs. Sundberg rose to her defense.
“She has been helping me every day.” She looked at the sheriff. “I had one of my episodes.”
“Sorry to hear it.” The sheriff turned momentarily pensive before pushing back his chair. “Well, Karl”—he stood—“it appears Miss Eikaas has an alibi. I believe she is innocent of any crime.”
“But—”
“To tell you the truth, I hated to bring up the matter of this missing silver again. It has divided our small Norwegian church and affected our community. I wish Reverend Wollums would do something. I wish I could do something. The contention between you and Lars Eikaas is … shameful.”
“But my family has been greatly wronged.” Mr. Sundberg got to his feet once more. “I am surprised you cannot see the connection between Lars stealing these silver spoons and his niece taking them to a pawnbroker.”
“There is no evidence to back up your theory, Karl.” The sheriff gathered the spoons and put them in their velvet bag. They clinked together as he dropped them in. “I will keep these locked up for now. I realize you want your silver back, but Errens paid out on them. Until I discover the identity of the young lady in question, I must keep the silver under lock and key.”
“Well, see that you do.” Mr. Sundberg looked away, his angry expression leveled at some point on the dining room wall.
The sheriff glanced at Kristin. “Miss Eikaas, may I have a word with you, please?”
“Take her to jail is what you should do!”
“Karl, please …” Mrs. Sundberg stood and walked over to him. She rubbed his shoulder as if to calm him.
Kristin thought the woman ought to slap him for how he behaved. Nonetheless, Kristin trailed the sheriff out of the house.
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