Through Rushing Water

by Catherine Richmond

  A lightweight wagon slogged up behind them. Sophia recognized Pumpkin from her jaunt with Lieutenant Higgins. The other horse, a sorrel mare, appeared equally unenthusiastic about working.

  “Dr. Girard, surgeon from Fort Randall,” the trim man introduced himself. “You’re welcome to ride along. Although I expect this rig was left over from the Civil War.”

  Henry muttered, “God answered this prayer, but not—”

  “We’d love a ride, Doctor.” Nettie accepted his hand up onto the seat. The ministers and Sophia climbed in back.

  After an hour of bumping across the reservation, they heard the roar of rushing water. The view from the crest of the hill showed the soldiers had herded the people to the shore of the Niobrara. No one spoke. Most were too exhausted to cry. Sophia heard Thomas Jefferson’s high-pitched cough, but could not find him in the crowd. As she handed out the food, Will interpreted for Standing Bear and Lt. Higgins.

  “The river is fast,” the chief noted.

  “All the rain we’ve been getting.”

  “The bottom is sand. The horses will not be able to pull the wagons.”

  “Listen, I’ve crossed the Missouri plenty of times. Guess I can cross this little stream.” The lieutenant gave the command to move.

  The soldier taking the lead was swept off his horse. Long Runner and Black Elk jumped into the icy water to rescue him.

  With a sigh, the lieutenant gave the order to unload the wagons.

  Sophia found Brown Eagle’s family huddled on the riverbank. “Please write to me.” She handed Marguerite the envelopes. “I will pray for you every day.” Would she ever see them again?

  “Thank you, Teacher.”

  Sophia gave a second look at the canvas duster draped over Brown Eagle’s family. It was Will’s. She found Moon Hawk huddled with White Buffalo Girl in the next wagon and gave her coat away. Nettie glanced over, nodded, then passed hers to Prairie Flower and little Walk in the Wind. The agency kitchen’s oilcloths went to Fast Little Runner and his wife, Eloise, White Eagle’s wives and children, and the Jefferson children. White Swan wore Henry’s rubberized slicker with dignity.

  “You women will catch your death,” said Lt. Higgins.

  “I have a house and dry clothes to change into.” Sophia traced his poncho with her gaze. “Perhaps you would care to make a donation?” He shook his head and rode away.

  The Ponca men carried the elderly, sick, and young on their shoulders. The soldiers pulled the wagons across with ropes.

  “What a mess.” Henry shoved his fists into his pockets.

  “No crossing of the Red Sea, that’s for certain.” Reverend Hinman gave his canvas coat to the elderly Walks with Effort, hoisted the man on his shoulders, and joined the swim.

  Finally the entire group reached the far side of the river. Canvas tents rose between the wagons.

  “How can they start a fire?” Drying out would be an impossibility. Sophia crossed her arms and shivered. The icy sleet cut through her basque, dragged her skirts in the mud, and weighted her hair until it hung down her back in a lump.

  “Half those people should be in a hospital,” Dr. Girard muttered as he brought the wagon. “Uh-oh. Someone’s trying to escape.”

  It was Will. Sophia hurried to help him.

  Will shook his head. “I’m wet.”

  “Imagine that.” She pulled his arm over her shoulders and walked him to the wagon.

  “Inspector wouldn’t let me stay. Mary and Brown Eagle’s children are part of the Bear Clan. They’ll watch out for her.”

  He wiped his eyes. His gaze took in Sophia, Nettie, and Henry, all soaked and coatless. He wiped his palm down his face and swallowed.

  “Greater love hath no man. Thank you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Will changed into his driest clothes, then hurried to the kitchen. He pulled a chair up to the stove and sat on it backward, resting his head on his arms. Rain pelted the house. No matter how cold he was, the people were colder.

  Sophia came in wearing a dry dress. She, too, pulled a chair close. “These long nights, the crying . . . I wanted it to stop. Now it is too quiet.”

  Until she started talking. Which he’d gotten used to. Gotten to liking it, as a matter of fact.

  Sophia let down her hair and fanned it out near the stove. Even wet it shone so pretty. He should talk to her. But in the chaos he hadn’t figured out what to say. Still, he’d better grab this chance. He might not have another. “Sophia?”

  Her soft blue eyes met his gaze, then looked over his shoulder as Henry staggered in. The rev gave Sophia’s hair an appreciative nod, then growled at the empty coffeepot.

  “You are welcome to share my tea.” She nodded at the canister on the shelf.

  “At least it’s hot.” He grunted and poured a cup. “No fire in my stove.”

  “We’re out of wood.”

  His fire-and-brimstone glare should have been enough to heat the room. “You haven’t had to build anything since Christmas,” he said to Will. “What have you been doing with your time?”

  Nettie clumped down the stairs, her hair wrapped in a towel. “Now, Henry. Will’s been doing the blacksmith’s job, getting the wagons ready. And he’s been helping everyone pack.”

  Sophia came to his defense. “And he has stored equipment in the warehouse, keeping inventory.”

  Inventory. A fancy word for writing a list of what belonged to who. A list that would never be seen again, now that Inspector Howard had taken it.

  “We’ve got enough to keep the kitchen stove going until morning.” Nettie fixed herself a cup of tea. “Sophia, thank you for sharing.”

  Sophia tipped her head toward the back porch. “Did you hear a noise?” On brisk, light steps, she hurried to the door.

  “Be careful.” Will pushed his weary carcass upright.

  She leaned close to the window. Her left hand shielded her eyes. Her right held her pistol at her shoulder, barrel pointing up. “Oh,” she said several times, with a mix of surprise and sadness. She pocketed her gun. “I think . . . it is Zlata!”

  Will stood by her as she opened the door. The yellow dog trudged in, her head and tail down. Her eyes blinked in the lamplight as she looked around the circle. She settled her gaze on Sophia. Her tail wagged once, just a little, as if asking permission, then she pushed her nose into Sophia’s hand.

  Without caring that the floor was muddy and the dog muddier, Sophia sat and pulled the dog into her lap. “Zlata. You are so thin. Where have you been? I have missed you so. And you have missed your people.”

  Will passed Sophia his last clean handkerchief. The dog’s tail started up a regular rhythm.

  “Thank you. How foolish of me to cry over a dog, when seven hundred people—” Sophia looked up at him, her face a battleground. “Oh, Will. I cannot take her where I am going.”

  Henry said, “Will can swim her over to the Poncas in the morning.”

  “Swim that river again?” Nettie asked. “Absolutely not. He’s risking pneumonia as it is.”

  “Then leave the animal here. Indian dogs are fairly resourceful. She’ll be all right.”

  Nettie looked over Sophia’s shoulder. “She seems like a nice dog. We could take her on the boat. See if we can find a farmer who needs her.”

  Sophia wouldn’t go for either of those ideas. Will reached to pet the dog and a long pink tongue licked his hand. “She’s friendly, gentle with children. I’d be glad to take her.”

  “Oh, Will. Could you? Do you live in a place that allows dogs?”

  “Sure.” It was his house after all.

  “Well then, if you’re taking her, she’ll need a bath.” Nettie brought the washtub and a cake of soap in from the porch. “The good Lord’s gifted us with plenty of water. May as well make use of it.”

  “Drown the fleas while you’re at it.”

  Nettie propped her hands on her hips and gave her own version of a lightning-bolt scowl. “Henry, go to your room.” />
  Will mixed hot water from the stove with cold from the rain barrel, then he lifted the dog in. She shivered and tried to climb out.

  “There, there, Zlata. You will be all right.” Sophia rolled up her sleeves, showing smooth white arms.

  “She’ll shake.” Will found a worn string around her neck and cut it off. Tomorrow he’d use some old harness and make a collar and leash. “You’ll get wet.”

  “It will not be the first time today.” She soaped up a rag, then cooed to her charge, “Zlata, you are going to live with Will. He will take good care of you.”

  Will wanted to make that same offer to Sophia: Come with me, let me take care of you. But Nettie was standing by with a towel.

  “Nice markings,” the older woman observed. “Red as a fox down her back and buff on her chest.”

  “I’m not sure my American mouth can reach around her Russian name,” Will said. “Would you mind if she went by Goldie?”

  The dog’s ears pivoted toward him.

  “Goldie?” Sophia rinsed her. “You will answer to Goldie? Yes, I think you like your name. Out of the tub, Goldie.”

  The dog didn’t need any coaxing. Will dumped the muddy water into the yard, trying not to look at the empty village beyond.

  “Come along.” Sophia called her out to the porch. “Now, shake, Goldie, shake. No, do not lift your paw.”

  “Someone’s worked with her. Someone who spoke English.”

  “Perhaps she has been on a neighboring farm all this time.” Sophia’s eyes brightened as the idea kindled. “And perhaps her troika, her puppies, also.”

  “How’re you going to get her to shake the water off?”

  “Like this!” Sophia twisted and wiggled, flinging her hair around. The dog watched, head tipped, tongue hanging out. “Zlata, Goldie, shake!”

  “I thought I wouldn’t smile for a long time.” Will hung the tub on the wall. “You do that again, I just might have to laugh.”

  But she didn’t have to because the dog caught on, spraying the porch and everything on it, including Sophia.

  “Humph.” Sophia put her nose in the air, but he could tell she wasn’t really angry. “Come inside then, Goldie, and we shall dry our hair by the stove.” Sophia took the towel, then paused to wipe Will’s face first. “Never mind what Henry thinks. I know how hard you have worked here. Thank you for all you have done. And for taking Zlata. You must rest now, before you fall over.”

  He took the other end of the towel and caught the drops on Sophia’s cheeks and nose. “See you tomorrow?”

  And all the rest of our tomorrows? his heart added.

  Sophia smiled. “But of course.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Sophia sat on the agency house porch, watching the sun rise over the Missouri River one last time. Her heart ached to leave this beautiful land. She could not imagine the Poncas’ grief at being torn from the only place they had ever called home, with its generations of memories.

  A damp breeze gusted from the west, and she tightened her wrap. A dozen mosquito bites clamored for her attention, a reminder she had finished Julia’s ointment last month. Her stomach growled, but the pickles Nettie had found for breakfast had not appealed any more than the tin of oysters constituting last night’s supper. It did not matter how hungry she was, the Poncas were hungrier.

  Behind her the village echoed with soldiers’ voices and the crash of houses being dismantled. Similar action was under way at the other two villages. From their camp on the opposite bank of the Niobrara, the Poncas would be able to watch the demolition of Point Village.

  Dear Lord . . .

  Sophia had learned to pray here, but this morning the words could not surmount her heartache.

  Will came around the corner, trailed by Goldie and carrying his toolbox. He set it beside the rest of their luggage—Sophia’s trunks, Henry’s boxes of books, Nettie’s kitchen gear. A steamboat would come for them this morning to ferry them to the railhead at Yankton.

  The dog spotted her, bounded onto the porch, and put her head in Sophia’s lap. “Hello, sweet Goldie.” Somehow the wagging tail and bright eyes eased her heart. She found the itchy spot behind the dog’s left ear and gave her a good scratching. The dog leaned into her hand with an expression of bliss on her face. “Did you behave for Will last night?”

  “Sure did.” Will joined Sophia on the bench. He wore his Sunday clothes, black pants, and vest. He had rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, revealing his well-muscled forearms. “Someone’s been keeping her inside.”

  Sophia reached for his hand, warm and strong, his calluses evidence of the work he had done. “It must be awful to see the houses torn down. Such a waste. Why do they not save them for the Sioux?”

  “The Indian Office is afraid our friends will escape the wagon train if they have a place to come back to.” He squeezed her hand and swallowed. “I was reading this morning in Philippians about forgetting what’s behind and looking ahead. I’ll never forget my Ponca friends, but as for ahead . . .” He turned toward her. “Sophia. I’ve been building houses in Omaha with my brother. The city is growing. Business is good.”

  Was he proposing? Oh dear. Had she failed to maintain an appropriate distance? She withdrew her hand. “There are so many things you could do, Will. Have you ever considered a line of work other than carpentry? You have a spiritual depth and compassion exceeding that of many ministers. As easily as you learned the Ponca language, perhaps you could be an interpreter. Or a diplomat. The foreign service.”

  The hope in his eyes collapsed like a razed house. He looked down, rubbed his palms over the shiny knees of his pants, and swallowed. “Uh. No.” Goldie wriggled her nose into his palm. “I’d best find a leash.”

  Will jumped off the porch, the dog at his heels, and loped around the back of the house.

  Nettie pushed through the door and let her valise drop with a thud. “Sophia Makinoff. Have you no sense whatsoever?”

  “After this week?” She leaned her aching head against the wall. “None at all.”

  The older woman planted herself in front of Sophia, hands on her hips. “Will was trying to propose to you.”

  “Out of pity. He does not know I have a teaching position.”

  Nettie’s gray curls trembled with indignation. “He’s desperately in love with you. And you reject him because he’s less educated than you? Because he hasn’t been to college? Because he doesn’t meet your high-and-mighty royal standards for husband material?”

  Will loved her. But of course. God commanded his people to love one another, and Will obeyed God. “Perhaps—”

  “Willoughby Dunn’s ability to build a single house here, much less 236 of them, is nothing short of a miracle.” Nettie’s eyes blazed. She pounded the porch rail, as fierce a fire-and-brimstone preacher as her son.

  The rail fractured with a loud crack. “Look what he had to work with: a broken sawmill, third-rate tools, a limited supply of screws and nails and such. You’ve seen the shoddy stuff sent for clothing; imagine the same as lumber. None of the Ponca men had ever lived in a wood house, much less knew anything about building. Yet he took them in hand and taught them well. Measuring, calculating square feet and roof angles, leveling, repairs, furniture making. You’re a good teacher, but I’d say he’s better.”

  “I know.” Sophia had been crying so much lately that tears came easily. “But, Nettie, Will is tied to Omaha, by his family and his business. I have never stayed in one place long.”

  “Will’s a fine man, worth hanging up your traveling shoes for. Doesn’t your Bible have the book of Ruth? There’s a time to pull up stakes and a time to put down roots.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?” Nettie took hold of Sophia’s shoulders with a little shake. “Then what’s holding you back? Are you afraid you won’t be a ‘woman of influence’ married to a small town carpenter? Sophia, influence doesn’t come from being married to a big, important man, living in a big, important
city. It comes from being in God’s will, wherever He puts you, and doing whatever He tells you, no matter how big or small.”

  Sophia could not speak over the lump in her throat.

  Nettie sat next to her and pulled her head into a motherly embrace, complete with reassuring shoulder-patting. “You told me Russian fathers have a say in who their children marry. Well, Mr. Makinoff isn’t here, but your heavenly Father is. Look at what He’s saying to you, the incredible man He’s provided for you. Look at how many times this year Will has partnered with you to work for justice and mercy. You’re a woman of words and he’s a man of action. What better match could you make?”

  “I am so skilled at parrying proposals, I do not know how to accept one.” Sophia wiped her face with her hands. “I will never find a more dedicated, noble, compassionate—”

  Nettie handed her a handkerchief. “Don’t forget handsome. The two of you will make beautiful children.”

  Her heart managed to break and send hot blood to her face at the same time. “But I promised Reverend Hinman I would go to Brownell Hall.”

  “Sophia.” Nettie burst into a big grin. “Oh, dear child. Does God have a surprise for you!”

  Will leaned on the support post of the steamboat and trained his spyglass on Yankton. The frontier town had boomed since he passed through on his way upriver in ’73. Frame buildings had been replaced by brick. Houses with cupolas, tall windows, and wide porches dotted the hills. Will itched to get back to work. He could build something interesting, something unique, something more than bare-bones shelter.

  No more coffins.

  He closed his eyes and prayed the Poncas would find better shelter in their new home in Indian Territory.

  The boat let loose its deep whistle. Will put his hands over Goldie’s triangular ears. Since he traveled with a dog, he’d stayed with the cargo. Although, being a carpenter, not a preacher or teacher or anyone important, he might have had to stay below anyway.