Through Rushing Water

by Catherine Richmond

  “I will bring the paper to the school,” Will told the men in Ponca. “And the map.”

  Kemble pointed at Will, then asked his interpreter, “What did he say?”

  Standing Bear stood. “We will pray about this tonight and give you our decision tomorrow.”

  Brown Eagle walked out with Will. “When we have a council, everyone has a say. We listen and consider all opinions. We respect each other. But that man thinks his is the only voice.”

  Over his shoulder Will heard the inspector tell James, “Get rid of the carpenter. The Agency no longer needs him.”

  Will’s gut clenched. He wasn’t worried about the job itself. His brother wanted him back. Harrison’s last letter said work was piling up, waiting for him.

  But . . . how could he leave the people?

  And Sophia?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Sophia helped a little boy from Point Village button his coat. “Where are you going? Where will you find your father?”

  John Adams took the child’s hand. “I can take him to the church.”

  Will and Brown Eagle stepped into the school. They drooped with battle fatigue. “Your fathers are coming here. You may as well wait inside.”

  “The meeting is over?”

  “For now.” Will hung her map on the front wall. “I have to get back to the agency house now.”

  “Shall I wait for you here?”

  “No, I need your help now. Brown Eagle has my key. He’ll lock the school after the children are picked up.”

  Every afternoon Sophia had been so careful to secure the school and the supplies donated by the churches back east. She studied Brown Eagle’s round, strong face. Will trusted him as a brother in Christ. His children were honest. She never lost any of the money she passed around during her lessons. “Thank you,” she told the man, then hurried to join Will on the path back to the house.

  “The meeting was difficult?”

  “Arguing in two languages.” He set a brisk pace. “You didn’t get off easy either.”

  “Thirteen extra students attended today. Three needed new English names and five could not remember their names given to them at the Fourth of July. I am embarrassed to say I cannot recall either.”

  At the village Henry slammed and locked the church door, then marched with James and a third man back to the house.

  “The inspector.” Will kept his hands in his pockets and his gaze on the slippery path. “I need you to keep him busy in the kitchen. And James and Henry too. I’m going to find that agreement the chiefs signed in ’75. James has a copy in his office.”

  “James will give it to you, will he not? He objects to the removal of the tribe too.”

  “His loyalties are divided. He wants a career with the Indian Office.” He squeezed her elbow. “I have faith in you, Sophia.”

  Foolish girl that she was, she warmed, head to toe. Will needed her. She could be useful, heroic even. Will dashed for the house. Sophia had just enough time to hang up her coat when the door opened. “Gentlemen.” She stepped forward, reaching out to the inspector. “And this must be—”

  Henry remembered his manners. “Sophia Makinoff, may I present Inspector Edward Kemble.”

  “Welcome.” She gave him her best smile and a stiff-armed handshake. He responded with that predatory gleam common to men from the tsar to the roustabouts on the steamboat. Sophia would have to take care around this one.

  “Miss Makinoff. I’ve heard about you.”

  She raised a flirtatious eyebrow at James and Henry. “None of it true, I hope.”

  “Sophia teaches.”

  “You are all exhausted,” she cooed. “Nettie made tea. Please have a seat and tell me all about it.”

  “I’d prefer whiskey,” James said.

  “Of course.” Sophia reached for his coat, hoping he did not expect this service to become a habit. “But I simply must know what happened. Perhaps tea and—” She inhaled, trying to discern what Nettie had prepared.

  “Oatmeal cookies.” Nettie bustled into the kitchen. “Yes, have a seat. Sophia’s right. Once you men disappear into James’s office for a tot, we’ll never find out how the meeting went.”

  “Perhaps you would prefer coffee, Mr. Kemble?” Sophia held out a chair for him, and the buffoon sat in it. “And where are you from, sir?” Sophia was quite able to perform the social niceties. What she wanted to say was, What rock of ill manners did you crawl out from?

  “Pennsylvania. Pittsburgh area.”

  “Oh, Henry and Nettie are from Pennsylvania, are you not?” She got Henry settled, but James headed for his office. Sophia linked arms and swung him around like a country dance. “And James is from—”

  “Ohio.” He finally stopped resisting and collapsed into his chair.

  “The next state over. Remarkable.”

  With Nettie’s help, coffee was served and cookies distributed.

  Sophia sat opposite the inspector and leaned forward. For the first time ever, she wished missionaries wore dresses with décolletage. She was not in the habit of flaunting her assets, but at the moment any distraction would help. “So, Inspector, was it a terrible trial, this meeting?”

  “No smoking the peace pipe.” He sprayed crumbs over the table. “Reports sent to Washington”—he glared at James—“indicated this bunch was docile, almost civilized. But they’re putting up quite the fuss about moving to Indian Territory.”

  “After all you have done to them,” Sophia murmured.

  The sarcasm eluded him entirely. “Yes, Congress allocated—Well, money’s hardly a fit topic for a lady’s ears.”

  “What happens next?” Nettie asked.

  “I’ll powwow with the chiefs again tomorrow, make them see the light. They’ve got to understand, the Indian Office can’t keep subsidizing them. It will be much more efficient to have them down in Indian Territory, under the agent for the Osage.”

  Subsidizing? Sophia dug her fingers into her palms. “With your powers of persuasion, I am certain acquiescence is within proximity.” As close as the moon. “Do you speak Ponca, then?”

  “No. I brought two interpreters.”

  Sophia looked out the window. “Are they coming? Perhaps we should have held tea—”

  “Lands, no. They’re Indians. One of their own took them in.”

  “Standing Bear,” James said, pressing a knuckle to his forehead. “He’s part Omaha. The interpreters are kin to him, I believe.”

  Henry started to push back his chair, but Nettie passed him another cookie. Hurry, Will!

  “This is a momentous undertaking.” Sophia managed to sound breathless. “How might we assist in the effort?”

  James gaped at her from under his fist.

  Inspector Kemble warmed to his subject. “Assure them the Great White Father has their interest at heart and will take care of them. They must put their utmost confidence in him, trusting him to fulfill his promises.”

  Just as he has kept his promises and taken care of them for the past twenty years, Sophia thought, with an irritation unbecoming a missionary. Silently she urged Will to hurry. She could not stomach much more of this nonsense, and if he did not finish soon, she would surely say something she would regret.

  But . . .

  Maybe that was the answer. Perhaps Kemble would be better occupied by battle than banter. After all, Will had not said to keep him happy; he had told her to keep him busy.

  “I am a missionary,” she said. “I must speak the truth.”

  Kemble choked on his self-importance. “My dear woman, I most certainly am not asking you to lie.”

  “Do you count being destitute, starving, and naked as being well cared for?”

  Nettie gasped. Henry groaned. American women were rarely this confrontational. Perhaps, as with Esther, God had brought her here for such a time as this.

  Kemble blustered and reddened. “The root of the tribes’ problems is the Indians’ innate laziness. These children of nature like to r
un around naked. What do you think they wore when Lewis and Clark found them?”

  “Lewis and Clark found very few Poncas, as the tribe had been decimated by smallpox. The rest had gone west to hunt buffalos for food and to fashion into warm clothing. Due to the treaties they can no longer hunt, no longer provide their own food or clothing. The Poncas do not choose to starve and freeze to death.”

  “Another meddlesome troublemaker.” He turned on James. “Why do you tolerate such insubordination?”

  “The church sent her,” James mumbled into his coffee mug.

  Kemble redirected his wrath to the reverend. Henry raised his hands and backed away, a gesture Pontius Pilate undoubtedly used at Jesus’ trial.

  “Sophia’s a fine addition to our staff.” Nettie took the cookie plate away from Kemble, her own style of confrontation. “She’s an experienced teacher. When school’s not in session, she visits her students’ homes to continue their education. And she’s secured donations of fabric from church groups out east to make up for the shoddy stuff you sent us.”

  The inspector raised his nose, trying for an imperial pose, but coming across as a simpleton. “We stretch the allotment by giving contracts to the lowest bidder.”

  Nettie slapped a bolt of cloth in front of him. “You’d wear a suit made from this?”

  Kemble knew better than to touch the fabric. “Well, obviously the Indian does not have the same needs as a white man.”

  “No, Indians live in houses made of warped, knot-holed boards.” Will leaned in the doorway. “So they need warmer clothes than white men.”

  “Troublemakers.” Kemble pushed back from the table. “It’s a good thing this Agency is being disbanded. I’m ready for that whiskey, James.”

  Nettie scowled at Henry’s back as he followed the other two into the office, then she offered Will a cookie. “Maybe you should take Sophia to tomorrow’s meeting.”

  “Maybe I will.” He winked.

  Crash!

  In a single motion, Sophia sat up in bed, pulled the pistol from beneath her pillow, and aimed. “Arrête ou je tire!” she shouted. No, that was not right. She was not in France.

  “Stop or I will shoot!” Correct.

  Moonlight off the snow showed a stout man in the hall. The tinware Sophia had stacked against her bedroom door now lay scattered across the floor.

  Nettie barreled from her room, rolling pin raised like a broadsword, fearsome in red flannel gown and mobcap. “What in the name of Job are you doing up here, Kemble?”

  Sophia raised the pistol to avoid hitting Nettie.

  “I was looking for the bathroom.”

  “You know good and well we don’t have indoor plumbing at the Agency.” Nettie prodded him down the steps.

  Will met him halfway, lantern raised high. He still wore his flannel shirt and wool pants from the previous day. With lowered eyebrows and raised jaw, he looked nothing like the kind man who helped small children learn their numbers. “You have no business setting one foot on these steps, Kemble.”

  “That crazy Russian pointed a gun at me!”

  Sophia stowed her pistol in the pocket of her dressing gown. “It is my policy for dealing with invaders.”

  Henry stepped into the front room, tying the belt on his robe. “Did I tell you Miss Makinoff shot a wild turkey through the head? Made a fine Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “You allow an insane woman to go about armed? The Board of Missions will hear about this.”

  “The commissioner of Indian Affairs and the secretary of interior will hear about you,” Sophia countered.

  Will steered the inspector back to James’s room. “I’m sure your boss will be interested to know what you’ve been doing tonight.”

  “Man can’t get any sleep in this asylum.” Kemble pushed past. “You’re all fired!”

  “Sweet dreams, Inspector.” Nettie winked at Sophia. “Smart bit of work, setting up a trap.”

  “I recognize a weasel when I see one.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Saturday morning Sophia slipped into the pew next to Will. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

  “Sleep? What’s that?” He blinked and scrubbed his face with his palms. Whiskers outlined his jaw, showing he had not wasted any time on himself. “Jab me with an elbow if I start to snore.”

  Sophia battled an odd impulse to smooth his wayward curls, to pull his head to her shoulder, to take care of him. “I have taken up serving coffee as a hobby. Shall I bring you a mug?”

  Her reference to last evening’s subterfuge earned a smile. “Thanks for your help last night. But you’d better stay put if you want to keep your seat.”

  The men of the tribe squeezed into the pews. Sophia greeted Frank and Joseph, who joined the older boys on the floor.

  “I know proper protocol to address members of royal families and heads of state,” she whispered. “And how to set a table and plan a menu for any number of occasions. I even know how to occupy a certain inspector. But I do not know how to pray about this. What are you asking God for?”

  “For His will to be done. For Him to tell me what He wants me to do.” Will frowned. “Are you worried about finding another job?”

  “God will provide. He always has.” God’s provision was not merely the right thing for a missionary to say; it had become a certainty in her heart. “And you?”

  “My brother needs me back home.”

  Oh dear. If Will left, how would she manage? And more importantly, what would the tribe do without him? “When—”

  The chiefs filed in, dressed in their traditional clothing, including impressive bear-claw necklaces and fur hats similar to those worn by Cossacks. They marched, slow and dignified, up the aisle. The audience silenced as one.

  Inspector Kemble attempted to start the meeting, but the chiefs reached the front and turned to address their people.

  Standing Bear spoke first. “We talked to each other. We prayed.”

  White Swan nodded. “We will go to Indian Territory. We will see if it is a place for our people.”

  “Who is preaching?” Sophia asked as she and Nettie walked up the frost-covered path to the Church of the Merciful Father. Friday, Henry had left with James, the inspector, interpreter Charlie LeClaire, and ten chiefs for Indian Territory.

  “I thought you were,” Nettie joked.

  “Poor Henry would have an attack of apoplexy.” Sophia opened the door. “Please believe me, it is not my intention to try his soul or add to the enormous burden he carries.”

  “I had so hoped you would suit. He does need a strong woman.” Nettie plopped onto the pew with a weary sigh.

  Will sat next to Sophia. Brown Eagle’s family joined them. Rosalie climbed onto Sophia’s lap for a hug. Had this little one lost weight? Had not they all?

  Brown Eagle stepped up to the pulpit. “Welcome,” he said in Ponca, then English. “Let us worship.” With Sophia’s accompaniment on the gusli, he led the congregation in singing “Blest Be the Tie That Binds,” then a song in Ponca.

  “Could you interpret for me?” Sophia whispered to Will.

  “We know the Lord watches over us, so we will not worry.”

  Not worry? When they had nothing but problems? When they might be forced from their homeland? All around Sophia, people raised their hands in worship. Their tribulations would shake anyone’s faith. In comparison, Sophia’s problems were mere inconveniences. She had always had money, food, and a warm place to sleep, none of which the Poncas had. Yet through all their suffering, they still believed in God, still celebrated His love. They had a faith anyone would do well to emulate.

  At the end of the song, Brown Eagle faced the congregation again. “Today our thoughts and prayers are with our friends in Indian Territory. If anyone would like to share, please step forward.”

  After reciting the Twenty-Third Psalm, Midst of Eagles said, “God is always with us. Maybe this land along the Niobrara has become a valley of death. Maybe God leads us to green p
astures.”

  Walk in the Wind prayed for safe travels for the group and clear vision so they would see if the Indian Territory was good land or not.

  Yellow Spotted Buffalo spoke. “I hope for a place without disease, without grasshoppers. I hope for a place where my children will grow strong and my crops too. If that place is Indian Territory . . .” Choked with tears, he sat.

  Brown Eagle closed with “Rock of Ages,” then another Ponca song. Will sang both in a beautiful deep voice.

  Sophia and Nettie linked arms on the return walk. “I am impressed. Those men have great spiritual maturity. Henry must have been tutoring them.”

  “He tried.” Nettie shook her head. “But Will succeeded.”

  “The Bible study in the warehouse?”

  “Yes, but it’s more than that.” Nettie searched the cloud-streaked sky, as if the answer might be written there. “Maybe because he works with them.”

  “Have not others worked with them?”

  “Not really. The agency farmer lost patience when they didn’t understand. He’d do the work himself instead of teaching them. And the blacksmith deflowered so many of their daughters, they wouldn’t go within fifty feet of him. The rest didn’t stay long enough to get to know anyone.”

  Nettie climbed the porch steps, her grip on the rail showing how tiring this winter had been for her. “I know it’s against the rules, but Will learned the Ponca tongue. He learned their ways. He’s able to reach them when no one else can.”

  Sophia considered the officers who served under her father’s command—those who were successful, and those who were disasters.

  “Yes,” she said. “Will leads, but he does not lord it over them.”

  Thomas Jefferson stood in the sunbeam and held the globe between fingers positioned at the poles. Wearing Sophia’s gloves, Rosalie held a snowball to signify the moon. “The moon is always there. Sometimes the earth’s shadow covers part of it. Sometimes it covers all. Yes, Luke?”

  “Will we have a moon in Indian Territory?”