Soaring Eagle

by Stephanie Grace Whitson

  Quickly, he carried her off and plunged her into the nearby creek. Her entire body except for her face was submerged. Soaring Eagle crouched over her prone body, enduring the stings. When at last the bees were gone, Soaring Eagle picked Carrie up and, with a groan, staggered out of the creek and back toward the mission. Carrie sobbed and called for her mother. Hearing her, Rachel came running from the church. Upon seeing her child soaking wet with several red bumps on her pale face, Rachel turned angry eyes on Soaring Eagle and raged, “What have you done?!”

  Through her tears, Carrie protested, but Rachel didn’t hear her. Angrily she railed at Soaring Eagle, who stood, dripping wet, until Rachel had swept Carrie inside to tend to the bee stings.

  James Red Wing hurried up the path from the ravine with the full beehive in his arms just in time to see Soaring Eagle hurry away.

  When Carrie had finally changed into dry clothing and explained what had happened, Rachel was mortified. She found Soaring Eagle in the church, solemnly scrubbing the floor. A loose shirt covered his back, and he moved very carefully.

  As she stepped inside, he looked up and said, “I would never hurt Red Bird.”

  “I know that, Soaring Eagle. How can I tell you how sorry I am?”

  Rachel sat down in a pew, her crooked face miserable. “Come to the Birds’ Nest. We can put something on the bee stings.”

  “It will be well.” Soaring Eagle bent to his work.

  When a dejected Rachel got up to go, Soaring Eagle took the locket from around his neck and held it out to her. “Tell Red Bird that I am sorry about the bees. Tell her she may keep this until she is better. Perhaps it will help her to forget the bees if she tells you the stories about the pictures inside.”

  Rachel turned to go, then she looked back at Soaring Eagle and apologized again. “Mr. Soaring Eagle, the Bible teaches that Christians should be quick to hear, slow to speak, and slow to wrath. I am ashamed to say that today, I was slow to hear, and quick to speak, and quick to wrath. You, on the other hand, behaved like any Christian gentleman would. I hope you can forgive me.”

  Soaring Eagle quoted from Ephesians, “Be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another.” As Rachel’s crooked jaw dropped open in amazement, he added, “I am not a Christian, Rachel Brown, but I am not what the whites call a savage Indian. I listen to Pastor Thundercloud, and I hear much wisdom in what he teaches. I forgive you.”

  Chapter 22

  Go ye therefore, and teach all nations.

  Matthew 28:19

  LisBeth!” Augusta called from Sarah’s room. “Someone’s knocking at the back door like there’s a fire in the barn. Could you see who it is? I’m trying to get Sarah’s bed made.”

  LisBeth peeked out the window. “It’s all right. It’s only Agnes Bond. I’ll take care of her.” With a sigh, LisBeth headed for the door. The moment the latch was turned, Agnes launched herself into the room, her bonnet askew, a rolled up newspaper in one hand.

  “Did you put her up to this, LisBeth?” she demanded, pacing back and forth. Not waiting for an answer, Agnes added. “I declare, I’ll have someone’s head for this nonsense! Where’s Augusta?” She paced back to the door where LisBeth stood. “The very idea! Charity, of all people!” She paced across the room again.

  LisBeth interrupted. “I’ll get Aunt Augusta, Mrs. Bond. Please, sit down.” LisBeth fled down the hall and summoned Augusta. “She’s in quite a state. You’d better come quick.”

  Augusta continued to smooth the sheets on Sarah’s bed. “Agnes is always in a state about something, LisBeth. I’ll just finish the bed and—”

  Agnes stood in the doorway, her eyes blazing, thumping her open palm with the rolled up newspaper. “That may well be, Augusta. I happen to be one of those people who feels things more than others. But this—this—outrageous notion of Charity’s. Well, someone’s got to talk her out of this foolishness. She won’t listen to a word I say.” Agnes glared at LisBeth. “Someone’s put it in her head, and someone’s going to take it right back out of her head, or there’s going to be serious trouble around here!”

  Augusta smoothed the last quilt over Sarah’s bed and took Agnes’s arm, piloting her down the hall. “Now, Agnes, sit in my rocker and have a cup of tea and tell me what the fuss is all about.”

  Agnes sat on the edge of the rocker. “No tea, thank you. I’m not here to relax. I’m here to put a stop to it!”

  “Put a stop to what, Mrs. Bond?” LisBeth asked.

  “This fool idea that Charity has of becoming a missionary—to the Indians, of all things!”

  LisBeth and Augusta both sat down with a thud, staring speechless at one another. Agnes’s voice lost its accusatory tone. “So, you didn’t know about it either?”

  LisBeth said, “No, Charity never said anything. She’s been, well, different lately, but I had no idea—”

  Agnes’s chin began to quiver, and a tear trickled down her cheek and dripped off her ample chin. “Here it is, all in this dreadful newspaper. Charity says she’s going. Well, she can’t. I won’t let her.”

  Agnes handed the newspaper to LisBeth and began groping for a handkerchief. To the accompaniment of her sniffing, LisBeth opened the paper and read to Augusta,

  I left my place at Santee just for a time, but now I must stay here at Oahe Mission, and no one has made her appearance there to take up that work. What am I to do? Strange as it may seem, one person cannot work in two places at once. Truly there ought to be someone, somewhere, who would be a very real mother to these twenty girls, who would be willing to stay with them, year after year.

  The duties of the field matron include:

  —care of a house: cleanliness, ventilation, warmth, furnishings, refuse disposal

  —preparation and serving of meals

  —mending

  —laundry

  —adornment of the home: selection of pictures, curtains, rugs, planting of flowers and grass

  —care of domestic animals with necessary milking, butter making, beekeeping

  —care of the sick

  —organization of games and sports for the children

  —teaching Christian Endeavor Society meetings on Sundays and Sunday school when required

  —religious improvement of the children in your care.

  The students are expected to assist their field matron. At least eight hours a day is considered necessary for five days a week to fulfill the tasks required.

  Augusta stifled a smile as LisBeth read the last sentence. “Yes, I should think so.”

  Agnes sobbed, “Oh, it’s not funny! Charity broods over every issue of that mission paper. Now she insists she’s going to fill that position, for heaven’s sake. She won’t listen to me. Someone has to talk some sense into her!” Turning to LisBeth Agnes pleaded, “You’ve got to talk her out of this. It’s ridiculous. Why, Charity doesn’t know the first thing about missionary work.”

  “It doesn’t sound like they expect any special training. Charity’s been doing all of your housework,” Agnes pursed her lips and glared at LisBeth, “I mean, you’ve certainly trained her well in domestic duties, Mrs. Bond. So I think she could do the job.”

  “Of course she could do it, LisBeth. That’s not the point.” Agnes began to cry again. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to go to that place!”

  Augusta asked, “I know you can’t imagine it, Agnes. We’re not talking about you. What has Charity said about it?”

  Agnes sniffed again before blurting out, “She’s been mooning about for weeks. Ever since that Reverend Oakley held the revival last year, she’s been different.”

  As Agnes Bond talked, describing the change that had come over her daughter in the past year, LisBeth was thinking, remembering the little things that she had noticed about Charity. First, there was the slow withdrawal from the gossip that went round the quilt at the sewing circle. Then Charity had taken a new interest in the missionary society, volunteering to be the recording secretary, and
corresponding regularly with Priscilla Nicholson, a Lincoln girl who was serving in Eastern Turkey. Finally, Charity had recommended the Ladies’ Missionary Society sponsor two Dakota children at the Santee Normal Training School, subscribing to the Word Carrier, the mission newspaper, with her own money and reporting on its contents at each meeting. LisBeth had been jealous of Charity’s newfound zeal, especially when it spread to the Sioux.

  Agnes was finishing. “I told her she doesn’t need to throw her life away like that. I told her some man’ll come along to marry her and give her a family.”

  Augusta repeated her question. “And what did Charity say to that?”

  Agnes sniffed, “She said that she didn’t care about that, that God’s called her to serve him and she’d go where he called her.” Agnes looked up at Augusta. “Now I ask you, Augusta, where’d she get a fool idea like that? Since when does God need beautiful young women to throw their lives away like that. And what, I ask you, am I to do without Charity about? With Mr. Bond gone on before, I’ll be all alone.”

  Agnes begged, “Please, LisBeth. You’ve got to talk to her. I know I’m not exactly your favorite person. I’ve been . . . difficult sometimes, but surely you must care something for Charity. Please, LisBeth, talk to her. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

  LisBeth looked from Agnes to Augusta, the latter of whom nodded encouragement and raised her eyebrows in sympathy, then she answered, “All right, Mrs. Bond. I’ll speak to Charity.”

  Agnes bounded from her chair. “I’ll send her right over!” As Agnes bustled to the door, LisBeth called out, “Mrs. Bond, here’s the paper you brought.”

  “Burn it!” Agnes shot back over her shoulder as she hurried out the door.

  In only a few moments a soft knock came at the kitchen door. Charity stepped quietly into the room and removed her bonnet, trying to tame her unruly curls as she waited for LisBeth or Augusta to speak. When neither woman said anything, Charity started, “Well, mother ordered me to come have you talk some sense into me. I suppose I should warn you that I am, I believe, completely sensible—perhaps for the first time in my life.” She smiled confidently at the two women and sat in the same rocker her mother had recently occupied.

  The Word Carrier lay open on the table, and LisBeth picked it up and read the advertisement aloud again. “Charity, this article describes an incredible amount of labor. Are you certain you know what you’re committing to?”

  “I’m not afraid of hard work,” Charity answered confidently. “When Father died, Mother pretty much turned over the running of the house to me. I was only twelve at the time. But I’m twenty-three now. I’ve had many years to perfect housekeeping. I think I know what’s involved—although,” she laughed a low, pleasant laugh, “the twenty children will no doubt provide some interesting challenges.”

  Augusta took over the discussion. “What do you know about the Santee Normal Training School?”

  “I’ve read every issue of the Word Carrier for the past few months. I’ve talked to Miss Abbott, who used to be a matron there.”

  “And why did she leave?”

  “Her health just didn’t hold up. It is a prodigious amount of work. But I’m as healthy as a horse. There’s no reason why that should be a problem for me.”

  “What do you know about the Sioux, Charity?”

  “Nothing, really. Except what I’ve learned from the Word Carrier.”

  Augusta settled back, a look of doubt on her face. Charity went on, “But what did Paul know about Ethiopians when he shared with the Ethiopian eunuch? What did he know about Macedonians before God called him to Macedonia? What did Miss Nicholson know about Turks before she left for Eastern Turkey? I don’t really see that that’s an issue.”

  “Go on, dear,” Augusta invited.

  Charity smoothed her soft brown hair with a trembling hand and looked boldly into Augusta’s eyes as she shared. “All my life, I’ve been a selfish, sinful girl. When Dr. Oakley preached last year at the revival, I only went because I thought that Jim Callaway might show up, and I wanted to—well—I wanted to flirt with him.” Turning to LisBeth, she blurted out, “LisBeth, I’ve been dying of guilt over the way I treated you at the church social that time—with MacKenzie. I was so rude to you both. I’m ashamed of myself.” Charity’s eyes grew moist as she earnestly pleaded, “I hope you’ll forgive me. I’m sorry for the way I behaved.”

  LisBeth blinked rapidly a few times before answering mechanically, “Of course I forgive you. It was a long time ago.”

  Charity went on, “When I think of the way I behaved. . . I was so hateful, and then what happened later . . . I wanted to come and offer my condolences, LisBeth. Really, I did—I was just so ashamed of myself. And, you know,” Charity lowered her head, “I’ve been so insincere all my life, doing what’s expected, scheming of how it might help me. Then, when I felt honest sympathy, I didn’t think you’d believe me. I didn’t think you’d want me.”

  You’re right, LisBeth thought. I wouldn’t have wanted you here. But even as she thought it, Charity continued. “Well, there I was at the revival, and Jim Callaway didn’t come. So I was stuck. Thank God for that. I had sat near the front so everyone would see my new hairdo and my new bonnet. But something funny happened that night. It just seemed like Dr. Oakley was talking right to me. It seemed like he knew all about my schemes, and I can’t exactly explain it, but something changed inside me. I decided I wanted to be different. But I knew I couldn’t do it on my own. So I asked God to help me change.”

  Charity sat back in the rocker and sighed. “And he did. Not all at once, of course. Little by little. I began to feel ashamed of the gossip at the sewing circle. So I tried to stop. Then I began to care about other people—people far away, who don’t have all the advantages I’ve had. When I started to read the Word Carrier, I remembered how your mother,” Charity turned to look at LisBeth, “used to get so mad when folks would rage about the ‘savages.’ I started to read the Bible, and it changed how I felt about things. I’ve tried to change.”

  LisBeth spoke first. “You have changed, Charity. And it’s all been for the good. What do you hope to do at the mission?”

  “I want to make a difference. Working there would be a chance to make a difference. I prayed that I would have a burning faith. I’m not just spouting youthful enthusiasm. When I talked to Miss Abbott, she dispelled any romantic notions I might have. She told me all about the flooded cellars, the bedbugs, the mice that perch on the edge of the cream cans, the rats in the corncrib, the lazy students who don’t want to work and don’t want to learn. She made it sound awful.”

  “And what did you think about those things, Charity?” Augusta asked.

  “I thought,” Charity said firmly, “that if the Lord Jesus could suffer death for me, then I can suffer a few rats and bedbugs for him.”

  Augusta Hathaway and LisBeth Baird walked Charity home that evening. When Agnes opened the door, Charity kissed each of the women on the cheek and went inside. Agnes stepped out on the porch where Augusta said, “Agnes, your daughter has been called by God to serve him. The gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable. My advice to you is to accept that call and make the best of it. Charity will not be dissuaded, and if you fight her, you may do irreparable damage to your future relationship. Besides that, if you fight her, you are fighting God, and that is not a position any human should willingly assume.”

  “Well!” Agnes huffed. “Fine friends you two turned out to be. I’ll thank you to stay away from Charity. I’ll see to this myself. She is not going to Santee.”

  Two weeks after the late-night session in the Hathaway House kitchen, a news item appeared in the Daily State Journal:

  Miss Charity Bond left today for service at the Santee Normal Training School in the northern region of the state, where she will take up duties as house matron at the Bird’s Nest, a residence hall for Dakota Sioux girls. Those wishing to correspond with Miss Bond may address her in care of The Santee Normal Traini
ng School, Santee, Nebraska. At Miss Bond’s request, we remind our readers that the Ladies’ Missionary Society of the Congregational Church will be accepting donations of clothing to be distributed at the school. Donations may be left at the Hathaway House Hotel where Mrs. LisBeth Baird will oversee the proper cleaning and mending of used items. Overcoats and shoes are especially needed. Ladies are encouraged to join the Society on Wednesday afternoons. They are currently knitting scarves to be given to the twenty young girls in Miss Bond’s house. Donations of yarn would be appreciated.

  Chapter 23

  Let not thine heart envy sinners: but be thou in the fear of the Lord all the day long.

  Proverbs 23:17

  Sarah Biddle sat beside Jim Callaway and stared at the Braddock mansion in amazement. Behind them in the wagon were boxes filled with linens and kitchenware that had arrived the day before at the Burlington station. Jim had been in town to accompany Joseph to a livestock sale, and when he and Joseph had stopped by the railroad station and viewed the immense stack of crates, Jim had quickly offered to help Joseph do the hauling.

  “I’d appreciate it, Jim—I surely would,” Joseph had said with relief. “I hate to admit it, but since that accident, my strength just ain’t what it used to be.”

  Sarah and Tom Biddle had been “given leave” to precede the Braddocks in returning to Lincoln. Abigail had charged Sarah with seeing to all the details of moving in, cleaning, and setting up the manse—with abundant instructions surreptitiously sent to Augusta in the event the task proved too monumental for Sarah.

  Jim stared up at the mansion and whistled low. “I knew the Braddocks had money, but I sure never thought they had this much.”

  Sarah just sat, her heart beating rapidly, her blue eyes blinking in disbelief. “I didn’t come over when I got back—the builder insisted I wait until he had it finished. Augusta and LisBeth never breathed a word. I certainly wasn’t prepared for this.”