Didn’t matter. He couldn’t recall a bit of what Harrison had said anyway.
“So, we have settled our curiosity about the bonfire, attended a party without an invitation, and congratulated the tribe on successfully ending warfare with the Brulé. I suppose we should leave them to their celebration and return to the house before full dark.” Sophia wished the girls a good night. “Should we collect James and Henry?”
“Already went down.” Will raised his chin toward the house where the men stood. Then he grabbed the lantern and led her to the path. “Aren’t you tired? You’ve been standing all day.”
“I sit frequently.”
“Only for a moment. Like a chickadee.” A chickadee? He sounded like a fool.
“Will. How poetic. I keep thinking, if I were a better teacher, I could run the classroom from my desk, the way a pilot runs the steamboat.”
“The pilot steers the steamboat from on high. But he’s got the leadsmen on the bow checking the river’s depth, the engineer watching the boilers, the fireman feeding the fuel. The school only has one person. You.”
Sophia smiled at him. “So. I steer the classroom, but must also check the depth of knowledge, watch for snags of frustration, feed new material to the students. Brilliant analogy, Will. How many years did you attend school?”
“A few. Here and there.” What’s an analogy?
“A self-educated man. You must read a lot.”
“The Bible mostly.” He reached a steep part in the trail and turned to help her. Her hand slipped easily into his. It was less easy to let go. “Other books when I get a chance.”
“Thanks to your help, my library has recovered from the deluge. Please feel free to borrow whatever you like.”
Now, that was a grand offer. When Will had asked the rev, he’d been turned down flat, probably out of fear he might get sawdust on the pages. “Thank you kindly. I’d be glad to take up your offer this winter, when I’ve more time.”
Sophia nodded at the house, where sunset glinted off the peak of the roof. “Speaking of my books,” she said, “I am curious about what you used to patch the hole.”
“Ran out of shingles but we had plenty of empty cans. I flattened them out. Let me know if you have more leaks.”
They reached the bottomlands and could walk side by side. Her hand slid up to rest on his elbow. The wind blew her hair across his forearm. He wanted to run his hands through it, from her scalp down to the curls at the ends. It might be worth getting slapped, but it wouldn’t be worth losing Sophia’s kind regard.
“James said Congress voted to move the tribe. But now that the Brulé are no longer a threat, the tribe will not have to leave.”
Will stifled his frustration. Just when he thought he was making progress, Sophia took to quoting the agent. “Hope you’re right. Most often money disappears before it makes it all the way out here.”
“So you are not worried.”
“Plenty to pray about.”
“What do you think of this treaty?”
“Henry says it’s not worth the paper it’s not written on.”
“As the Russians say, written with a pitchfork on water.”
James and Henry stood on the porch, looking as grim as parents whose daughter has been brought home late. “Where have you been?” the rev demanded, as if he had no idea.
Sophia spun in a circle, arms out. “At the dance. What a blessing to be relieved of the constant threat of raids! And to see my students are safe and planning to return to school. How American of them to take the initiative and make their own treaty!”
Will didn’t have to say a word.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Blast, it’s time to fetch Sophia.” James stepped into the kitchen. “Will. Good. Solomon Draper’s visiting, you know, from the Niobrara newspaper.”
Will didn’t know Mr. Draper, but he did know a bit about Sophia. If no one arrived to escort her back to the house, she might take it into her head to walk back alone. He took off at a run as fast as the July heat allowed. Besides, he enjoyed watching her teach. She got as excited as the children about learning. And maybe she’d play that gosling.
Will wasn’t the only one visiting the school today. Bear Shield was just leaving, having exchanged Gulliver’s Travels for Jules Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth. Then Lone Chief and Little Chief made their entrance, accompanied by Lone Chief’s black-and-brown dog.
Sophia looked up from helping Rosalie with her numbers. Her gaze took in the elderly men, then shifted to Will with a questioning arch of her eyebrows. She greeted the chiefs in French, gave the dog a pat, and shook Will’s hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Dunn.”
Why was she being so formal? Oh. She was teaching, setting an example. “Good afternoon, Miss Makinoff.”
In Ponca the chiefs told her they had come to see the ball of the earth.
The what? Will started to interpret, but Sophia raised a regal finger in his direction—wait—and nodded at Joseph.
“They have come to see your round map of the world,” said the boy.
She nodded. “You may show it to them.”
Will peered between the chiefs’ shoulders. He’d heard of globes and seen one in a store window once, but his schoolhouse had only a flat map. Both old men were losing their eyesight, so the boy moved their fingers to show the men where the Poncas lived, where Washington City was, and the many places their teacher had lived. They asked about Belgium, where the Catholic priest Black Gown had been born, and had Sophia recite the Lord’s Prayer in Russian.
Sophia unrolled a map of the United States. Frank showed the chiefs the locations of their friends, the Omaha tribe, and their old enemies, the Brulé. And they showed her the Ponca hunting grounds, from the Black Hills to the Rockies down to Kansas.
Then Joseph held the globe, one hand on each pole, in the sunbeam and showed how the earth rotated for night and day.
“Whose hands hold up our earth?” Lone Chief asked.
“God’s,” Little Chief answered. The two elders and the dog headed out.
Sophia thanked Joseph for interpreting, then dismissed the class. Eyes sparkling, she turned to Will. “Shall I count that as a science or Bible lesson?”
“Both, I figure.” He smiled back. She was smart, beautiful, had a sense of humor. Compassionate, dedicated to God, hardworking. What was wrong with the men in the rest of the world that they hadn’t asked her to marry?
Will put the globe in its stand. “Speaking of lessons, I’ve got one for you. If you don’t mind.”
Her hands stilled on the window. For several long seconds, he figured she did mind. What could a carpenter from a one-room schoolhouse tell a teacher from a fancy New York college? Then she turned and smiled like a lantern had lit up inside her.
“Will.” Her voice had a surprised note to it. “Yes, I would appreciate knowing all you would like to teach me. Please. Go ahead.” She perched on the middle bench, motioned him toward the teacher’s desk with a fancy turn of her wrist, then folded her hands in front of her.
Will looked down at the scuffed toes of his boots. “It’s nothing big. About the names. Of the people. They’re all one word. No first and last names. Like, Standing Bear is Ma-chú-nu-zhe. White Eagle is Ke-tha-ska. Buffalo Chip is Ta-zha-but. All one word.”
She closed her eyes, put her fingertips to her mouth, and shook her head. “Oh, Will. Names are so important. I have been saying, ‘Mr. Eagle,’ when it ought to be ‘Mr. Brown Eagle’?”
He nodded. “Mission Board should have told you.”
“I have erred with all I have met.” She winced. “Are they terribly offended?”
Offended? After smallpox and broken treaties, bungling a person’s name didn’t make the list. Yesterday, he’d heard Yellow Horse and Long Runner joking about coming up with a Ponca name for the new teacher.
“Maybe if you wrote a note of apology, had the butler take it around . . .”
He glanced up, wondering if he’d gone to
o far.
He hadn’t. Sophia burst into a hearty laugh, giving him an “ahh” feeling, like when he measured a trim piece and it fit perfectly, without a gap.
“So.” She locked the school. “The butler, not the footman?” Her smile faded, replaced by a sad, longing look. “No. A stable boy towing a three-year-old thoroughbred.”
Back to wishing they could solve the tribe’s problems. “If wishes were horses . . .”
Such good memories, these children. Sophia held out a handful of coins. “Which is the penny?” she asked Martha Jefferson.
The little girl pointed to the small copper coin. A murmur of approval rippled through the students.
“Correct. The three-cent piece? The two-cent piece? The nickel? Good. The half-dime and the dime?” She held her breath. The students called these tricksters, but they did not fool Martha. The little finger touched each coin. Sophia stood, stretching the ache in her back from bending over her small students. “Bravo! After only a month of school everyone in our class knows the coins! Let us celebrate with a song!”
All smiles, the class stood and sang what Will had told her was their warrior song. Sophia added the simple accompaniment she had worked out on her gusli.
Halfway through the third stanza, Henry barged in. “Stop!” He marched to the front of the room. “They must speak English. No other language.”
Wide-eyed, the children cowered on the benches. The little ones, Martha and Rosalie, hid behind their older siblings. How dare he interrupt her class and frighten her students! Sophia stepped in front of him. She would keep them from harm.
“Students, let us show Reverend Granville what we have learned. All together.” She held up a coin. “This is a—”
Matthew and Frank gathered their courage. “Half-dollar.”
“Very good. Everyone, please. This is a—”
Most of the class said penny. They correctly identified the nickel, dime, and half-dime too. What was Henry here for anyway? Sophia glanced at her watch. Four o’clock already? “Reverend Granville, do you have a closing song for us?”
His frown had her students hiding their faces again. “No. Class dismissed.”
The children escaped. Sophia crossed her arms and glared at Henry. He propped his hands on his hips and scowled like Ivan the Terrible. “Miss Makinoff, I was perfectly clear. The children must speak English and only English during the school day. They have plenty of time at home for Indian gibberish.”
“But—”
“Authorities at high levels in the Department of Interior are questioning the entire concept of Indian education.” Henry went into fire-and-brimstone mode, complete with pacing, pointing, and pontificating. “If the children do not learn in day schools, the Commissioner of Indian Affairs may require boarding schools. The children would be taken away from their parents and sent hundreds of miles away. Maybe you didn’t mind boarding school, but these parents dote on their children. Do you want that on your head, that because of you, these children could not grow up in their homeland?”
“Certainly not! Catharine Beecher disapproves of boarding schools.”
“The inspector can visit at any time. And he expects to hear children speaking, reading, writing, and, yes, singing English. Do I make myself clear?”
Sophia clenched her fists. She refused to cry in front of this man. “You have no right to interrupt my class.”
“I have every right. I am your supervisor.”
“Is that what you want to teach the children?” she asked. “The one who has the loud voice wins?”
“I wasn’t through talking. You interrupted me.”
Will walked into the classroom carrying a plank and hammer. “Ah, Christian harmony.”
Henry snorted. “If the Board had sent an American teacher, he’d be teaching American songs.” He stomped out.
Sophia’s jaw ached with suppressed words. Taking as deep a breath as her corset allowed, she forced her fingers to straighten.
With a few quick bangs of his hammer, Will attached the piece under the chalkboard.
“A chalk tray. Thank you.” She locked the windows, collected the slates, and righted the books on the shelf. “Students at the College sang ‘My Grandfather’s Clock.’ But timepieces are scarce in this community.”
He wiggled the wood. It held. “I’ll teach you some American songs, if you bring your gosling back to the house.”
“My gosling? Oh, the gusli. That would be so kind.” Sophia wrapped the instrument in its cloth bag. Her mind pictured Julia wrapping baby Timothy in his blanket, Black Elk hugging White Buffalo Girl, Brown Eagle pulling his children close. “Is it true, that the government might take the children away?”
“You’re asking me what the Indian Commissioner’s planning?” Will set the wiping rag and chalk on the tray.
“Does this inspector visit often? Are we notified of upcoming visits? Should I prepare a program?” Sophia collected the lunch pails and walked out with Will, pausing to lock the door. “Does he inspect you? Is he quite strict?”
Will waved his hammer at the bluffs where wildflowers bloomed in abundance. “Lilies of the field.”
“Ah, yes. Do not worry. Besides, compared to the many worries besetting the tribe . . .”
The yellow dog and her puppies dashed to the edge of the path and sat in a row, watching her with eager brown eyes and wagging tails.
“Ah, Zlata, if everyone was so happy to see me . . .” She divided the remains of her sandwich among them, then continued along the path with Will. “I have some ideas.”
With an easy swing of his arm, Will tossed his hammer in the air. It circled twice. He caught it by the handle. “I bet you do.”
“Will kindly offered to teach me American children’s songs,” Sophia announced to the others around the table at supper. “If any of you would care to join us.”
So much for having Sophia to himself. Will set his plate in the dishpan. Well, he couldn’t expect a lady to sit alone with the likes of him.
Nettie clapped her hands under her chin just like little Rosalie. “That sounds like fun. Let’s meet on the front porch, where it’s cooler.”
“I have a sermon to write.” The rev stomped off to the office, earning a glare from his mother.
“Be glad to help.” The agent didn’t pass up a chance to impress Sophia.
While Nettie washed up and James tanked up, Sophia unwrapped her gusli. Since it was Will’s idea, he took the seat next to her. A brisk wind off the river kept the mosquitoes away. Far to the north lightning lit up a line of clouds.
“What is that?” Sophia nodded at the pieces of wood in his hand.
“It’s a limberjack, to help keep time.” Will showed her the dancing doll attached to a stick. “Let’s try ‘Pop Goes the Weasel.’ I’ll show you how it works.” He put the thin board under his leg and held the limberjack over it. The loose-limbed man at the end danced on the board, keeping a smart pace. At the ‘pop,’ he jumped with a loud snap.
Sophia laughed. “A percussion instrument. How delightful. Could you bring it to school?”
“Sure. I made one for Frank, if you can get him to play it.” He motioned for Sophia to join him on the gusli. She turned out to be as good at playing by ear as she was at everything else. “Do you know ‘Camptown Races’?” he asked.
She frowned and whispered, “Yes, but are you certain singing ‘do-dah’ is permitted for missionaries?”
“Sure. My mom sang it.” They had made it through “Turkey in the Straw” when Nettie and James joined them.
“You’ve been talking to your students about sheep for ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ Do you know ‘Baa, Baa, Black Sheep’?” Will sang it.
Sophia joined in. “But of course! It is a French melody. Mozart used it for his piano variations.”
When they finished, James put in his two cents. “Same tune works for ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’”
“And ‘The Alphabet Song,’” Nettie added. “That’ll he
lp your students.”
They sang those three.
“One melody for three songs. How efficient.”
James wasn’t finished trying to impress. “The tune for ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ goes to ‘London Bridge’ also.”
“We should teach you the game that goes with it.” Nettie collected Henry from inside.
“London? As in England? This is considered an American song?”
“Sure.” Will grabbed the opportunity before James could. He led Sophia down the steps to the grass in front of the house and took her soft hands in his. The sun set straight down the Missouri, making her hair shine like gold. “We’ll be the bridge.”
The others crept under their linked hands until “my fair lady,” when they caught James.
“My students will love this.” Sophia’s eyes glowed.
“I’m getting a crick in my back.” James traded places with the teacher, leaving Will with the much less satisfying job of holding the man’s sweaty hands. They sang through the verses and caught each other.
“And that’s the last,” Will said after “Give him a pipe to smoke all night.” He let go and dried his hands on his pants.
The agent knew better. “No, there’s a verse or two about a dog.”
From the shadows came a chorus of giggles and snickers. The entire village had gathered to watch their antics.
The rev muttered about dignity and ordered the staff inside. Only James followed.
“Guess we’re a pretty funny bunch.” Nettie joined in the laughter.
Will rocked back on his heels and chuckled. “About time we gave them something to smile about.”
Sophia grabbed Little Chief, who was about as short as she was, and formed a bridge. Will started the song. Nettie bent and wiggled under, then the rest of the people and Sophia’s yellow dogs followed. The bridge captured Little Rosalie on the first verse, Good Provisions on the second, and Moon Hawk with baby White Buffalo Girl on the third. Then Big Snake, at close to seven feet the tallest man in the tribe, got caught. Sophia’s hearty laugh echoed against the bluffs, joined by hoots and howls from the people.
Through Rushing Water Page 11
