“No, we lived in a house. As did the Indians. They were taught carpentry by Will.”
Sophia nodded toward the man who, as her students would say, looked trig in a well-tailored tan suit and patterned necktie. The man on her mind from the time she awoke to the moment she closed her eyes at night. The man she dreamed about too. He guided his nephews toward the door.
While Sophia had been lost in her reverie, Tilly’s friend had departed. Sophia watched the back of Will’s head and waited for an opportunity to speak to him. Any opportunity. “Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!” One of her students, what was her name? May. Manon. She towed an older man toward Sophia. Despite his slender frame he carried himself with a presence of power. The crowd parted.
“Bonjour, Manon.”
“Bonjour. Je me presente mon papa, Judge Dundy. Father, Mademoiselle Makinoff.”
Sophia extended her hand. “I am honored.”
“You’re the talk of the town. May told me you’ve been working up on the Niobrara, with the Indians.”
“Yes, that is true.”
“I’d like to hear more about it. Could you come to dinner today?”
Oh, these Americans with their spontaneity. In Europe such a request would require a week’s exchange of carefully penned correspondence. Alors, if informality was the rule of the day, Sophia would break every rule in Europe’s etiquette book in her quest.
She smiled and fluttered her lashes in her most charming way. “I would love to. But, Judge Dundy, if you are truly interested in the Ponca Indians, you might also invite my coworker, Mr. Willoughby Dunn—”
She scanned the crowd as May left to rejoin the group of students walking back to Brownell Hall. Had Will left already? Her heart sank.
The judge patted her hand. “Don’t worry, little lady. My wife caught him at the door.”
“Splendid!” Sophia excused herself to Tilly, then followed Judge Dundy out. This would work well. After dinner Will would escort her home and she would—
She would what? Pummel him with her list of topics to be discussed? She would certainly frighten him off.
Will stood next to an elegant carriage with a matron in a fashionable ensemble. Time with Will. That was what mattered. Sophia’s heart lightened. She floated down the church steps with a smile.
The Dundys drove Will and Sophia down Farnam, a street lined with businesses, to a five-story building, the Grand Central Hotel. And grand it was, complete with gas-lit chandeliers in tall ceilings, archways supported by Corinthian columns, and thick wool carpet patterned with large bouquets. In the lobby they were joined by an imposing couple she had noticed in church. The judge introduced Andrew and Caroline Poppleton.
“Will is building our house,” Mrs. Poppleton said with pride.
Sophia would love to see what he could do with the proper lumber, tools, and assistance. “When will it be done?”
“The first of September,” Mr. Poppleton said.
“Sooner than that.” Will smiled.
Why the hurry? Perhaps he needed the funds so he could move out of his brother’s house. But Tilly had implied he did not live with his family. Where, then? Another question for her lengthy list.
The waiter guided them to a table set with crisp white linens and an array of utensils found at elaborate dinner parties in St. Petersburg and Paris. Sophia glanced at Will. Could she signal him to let him know which fork to use? The judge palmed his salad fork and dug in. Will knew better.
Mr. Poppleton gestured with his water glass. “So what happened up there with the Ponca?”
Will started to tell the story, but the lawyer could not resist his impulse to interrogate. Any other man would have broken out in a sweat, but Will handled the questions and his venison dinner with confidence.
Mrs. Dundy asked about her daughter’s progress in French. Mrs. Poppleton noted their daughter, Ellen Elizabeth, had graduated from the College last year. Sophia remembered her as a first-rate pitcher for one of the baseball teams. She could often be found studying the specimens donated by a local ornithologist.
When a pastry with new strawberries was served, Mr. Poppleton turned his piercing gaze to Sophia and asked, “How much progress did your students make?”
“I had two in the fourth reader.” The dessert soured in her mouth as she tried to explain the challenges of teaching at the agency without sounding defensive. She glanced to Will for reinforcement, but he was deep in conversation with Mrs. Poppleton.
Finally the meal and the interrogation were over. Sophia’s heart raced. Her time with Will had arrived.
Mr. Poppleton called for his carriage. “I’d like to see how Mrs. P.’s mansion is coming along, Will.”
Omaha was a small town. Will could walk her to school from this house, wherever it was. But no, the judge issued his verdict. “We’ll take you back to Brownell Hall, Miss Makinoff. Mrs. Dundy has to make sure May’s keeping her room in order. And I’m sure you have plenty of work preparing for the week ahead.”
Once again she found herself without Will.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Will felt like a house that had gone too long without paint: dried out, cracked, and faded. He’d spent sunrise to sunset at the Poppletons’, overseeing the house’s transformation from a bare skeleton to a stately home worthy of a lawyer from America’s first transcontinental railroad. Usually he left the actual hammer-pounding to Kjell and Preben, but this time, he’d joined in the work. The sooner they finished, the sooner he could show Sophia. After that, it was up to God.
At night when he returned home, he was totally done in, but despite his exhaustion and Goldie’s attentive company, he still missed Sophia. Missed her enough that he spent the entire church service watching her from the corner of his eye. He could see her new shoes and knew when she crossed her feet. He watched her hands as she held the Bible and the prayer book. And when the congregation stood for a hymn, he picked out her clear soprano.
Josephine tugged on Sophia’s arm at the end of the service. “We’re going on a picnic!”
“Careful, Josie-girl,” Harrison warned. “Don’t hurt Miss Sophie.”
“Tough as an oak,” Will said, then realized most women wouldn’t take that as a compliment.
Her face turned a pretty shade of pink. “Picnics are ever so much fun, are they not?”
“C’mon, Dunn family. And Miss Sophie.” Harrison herded them out. “We’re going out to Fort Omaha. General Crook has been appointed Commander of the Department of the Platte for the army, in charge of military operations from the Missouri River west to Montana, Canada to Texas.”
“Thank you, dear,” Tilly said as Harrison handed her into the surrey. “And of course, he wants the best house, so he asks the best builders.”
“Thank you, dear,” Sophia echoed when Will helped her up. This elicited a giggle from Josie—and a grin from Will. He could get used to hearing that every day.
He climbed into the front seat with Harrison and Josie. He’d rather sit by Sophia, but Harrison had decreed this arrangement balanced the load. At least Josie fell asleep leaning on him. Sophia and Tilly had to contend with boys, who wiggled, kicked, and threatened to fall out with every lurch of the carriage.
Harrison drove north, keeping up his salesman’s patter. He pointed out where he had doubled the size of the Lowes’ house with an addition. Mrs. Ruth’s vine on the south end of her porch gave her nice shade. The Abrams family had contacted him last week about a carriage house to replace their shed.
Will pointed out a cluster of saplings and abandoned buildings. “Saratoga Springs, where Brownell Hall first opened in 1863. The girls weren’t allowed out of the yard for fear of Indian attacks.”
The boys made wo-wo-wo-wo noises with their hands over their mouths.
Will hushed them. “Never heard any Indians make such a racket.”
“Saratoga?” Sophia leaned out to study the area. “As in New York?”
“Yep. A New York land speculator had a town going
here, including a hotel with sulphur springs, ferry to Iowa, homes, business, and churches. The hotel closed after the Panic of ’57. The church bought it and ran the school here for a couple years.”
They bumped along past a dozen farms. The muddy tracks had Will wondering if they’d have been better off on horseback. Sophia would have enjoyed the ride. Ah, that’s what he’d do—take her riding.
At last Harrison turned west past hay fields in mid-cutting. “And this is Fort Omaha.”
The fort spread up a grass-covered slope. Barracks, stables, and story-and-a-half houses, all painted white, formed a rectangle around a parade ground with a tall flagpole. Lafayette jumped down to open the gate in the wooden fence.
“Apparently attack is no longer a concern,” Sophia noted.
“But supplies are.” Harrison parked the surrey on the hill overlooking the fort. Will lifted his sleepy niece to the ground, then discovered Lafayette had helped Sophia out already.
The boys, hungry as usual, stretched out a blanket on the grass. Sophia helped Tilly set out cold fried chicken, biscuits, strawberry tarts, and jars of tea.
They ate, then the children raced off to roll down the hill. Harrison unfolded a map and pointed to the empty lot below. “The general’s house goes there.”
“Not on the hill?” Sophia asked.
Will told her, “A cistern up here will provide water to the house.”
Sophia took off her hat so she could look between their shoulders, bringing her cheek close enough to kiss. He would have done it too, except that he didn’t want to get slapped in front of his brother.
“This general, he is quite important? He will have distinguished guests?”
Harrison grunted. “Yeah, but the US government doesn’t build palaces.”
Will turned to her, close enough to admire her perfect skin and the glints of gold in her blue eyes. “This will be the headquarters. A few generals, maybe even the president, will visit.”
“He will be expected to entertain, then.” She smelled like a flower, like—he took a deep breath—honeysuckle. “Fine homes in New York have a call-bell system. A button under the dining table rings in the kitchen, so the lady of the house can call the servants.”
“We could wire that in.” Will made a note on his sketchpad.
Sophia glanced at Tilly, who bravely piped up, “You could call the guest room ‘The Presidential Chamber.’”
Will smiled at his sister-in-law. “I like that. Harrison should ask you for ideas more often.”
Harrison grumbled, “This is a military base. No lacy-messy nonsense.”
“The College is lit with gas. So is West Point.”
“With the gasworks in the town, we could do that.” Will wrote another note.
“You’ve been to West Point?” Harrison asked, finally showing a two-penny nail’s worth of respect.
“Sophia’s father worked there in the cavalry. She’s been in more forts than we’ve ever seen.” He tapped his pencil on the paper. “I’m thinking coal furnace with coal-burning fireplaces in each room for the worst days.”
“We need a strong design,” Harrison said, waving his fist. “Masculine. American.”
“American, eh? How about a tepee?” Will teased. “Don’t get much more American than that.”
“Will it be wood frame like these?” Sophia asked.
“No, brick. They’re planning to replace these buildings. As funds become available.”
Wasteful, Will thought. The government could afford to replace perfectly good buildings but never had funds available for the Poncas. He sent off another prayer for his friends.
Sophia said, “Italianate could look rather fortress-like.”
“Italianate? With all those curves, cupolas, and balustrades?” Harrison’s face went red. He wasn’t used to anyone weighing in on his plans. Tilly pushed another strawberry tart into his hand.
“Like the Steele-Johnson building at Twelfth and Harney. Or the Hamiltons’ house. Square off the windows, pediments, and brackets. No decorations on the columns or lintels. Keep costs and maintenance low.” Will sketched out a two-story house with a porch. “Tall, narrow windows for light and ventilation. Red brick with white trim.”
“What about dark blue?” Tilly suggested.
“Perhaps West Point gray?”
Will studied the drawing. “Keep it simple, could work.” He gave them a smile. “Could work well.”
“Hey? Hey!” A cavalry officer ran up the hill. “Sophia? Yes, it’s you! I’d recognize your hair anywhere.”
“It is Lt. Higgins.” Sophia retied her hat, put her gloves on, and stood.
The officer had shaved, polished his boots, and put on a new uniform.
Will groaned. “Is he hunting you down?”
“I told you, you should have proposed,” Tilly whispered.
The lieutenant reached for Sophia. “What are you doing in Omaha?”
“Teaching.” Sophia gave the soldier a stiff-armed handshake, then let go and took a step back. “How are my friends? How far did you travel with them?”
“You mean the Poncas?” He made a great study of tucking his gauntlets under his belt. “We were with them until last week, the first of June, when we hit the Kansas border. It was a relief to get away. It’s like they’re under a cloud of bad luck.”
Will stood on Sophia’s uphill side, giving himself the advantage. “What happened?”
“What didn’t happen?” He scratched under his neckerchief. “Stormed just about all the time. Several were injured in a tornado. Bunch of them died.”
The news hit like a hammer to the gut. “Who?” Will reached for Sophia and she leaned on him. He wasn’t sure which one steadied the other. He just knew they needed each other. “Who died?”
Lt. Higgins scuffed the dirt with his boot heel. “Three, four children. Two old women. Another little one. Had to bury them along the trail. Didn’t set well with the Poncas, having to leave their family behind. Guess I wouldn’t be too fond of it myself, leaving my loved ones in a strange land, no one to tend their graves.”
“Do you recall their names? Or perhaps what they looked like?”
“Wet. Muddy, wet messes, all of them.” He shook his head. “One good thing. The church in Milford gave such a fine burial to a young woman, making her a dress and a coffin, her father decided to become a Christian. He was one of those we arrested in April. The shorter brother.”
“Standing Bear.” Will groaned. “Must have been Prairie Flower.”
“Say, Sophia, now that I’m posted here—”
Will turned away from Sophia and her social life. Who else? Who else had died? Little Cottonwood had been sick, coughing up a storm. Smoke Maker’s mother and White Swan’s mother were close to ancient. Yellow Horse’s little one, Black Elk and Moon Hawk’s pretty little White Buffalo Girl, Brown Eagle and Elisabeth’s baby . . .
No, it didn’t matter. Whoever it was would be missed. And the tribe would ache with every grave left behind. Will bowed his head.
Sophia’s lieutenant stomped off to his horse, whacking his leg with his hat. She climbed back to the top of the hill. Tears wet her cheeks. “You are praying, are you not? Could I join you?”
She was the only one here who knew the Poncas as people, as individuals with families, dreams, quirks. Will opened his hands and she slid hers into his grip. He cleared his throat. “Dear Jesus. Please comfort our friends in their grief. Please be with them, strengthen them, heal them. Send Your sun to dry out the road. Give the agent wisdom—”
Wisdom? He’d been asking for wisdom in Washington for four years. And look where that had gotten them.
Sophia choked back a sob. “Be with all my students. Help them remember their lessons. Provide them with a teacher and school. And good houses like they had on the Niobrara.”
Good houses? Since when did Sophia think he’d built good houses?
“Lord, I don’t understand.” The words clogged in his throat. Sophia squeezed
his hands and he added, “We don’t understand. The Bible says You’ll work this all out for good, but seems like it’s going the other direction. Help us—Sophia, me, and everyone in the Ponca tribe—to grab hold of our faith with both hands and hang on tight.”
Josie’s little body hit him in the back of the knees and he stepped forward. Sophia braced him, keeping him from falling on his face.
Will scooped his niece up and threw her over his shoulder. And just like Rosalie, she burst into giggles.
“What are you doing, Uncle Will?” she asked.
“We’re praying.”
“Well, say ‘Amen’ already. I want to fly the kite you made!”
“We will not say ‘Amen.’” Sophia wiped her eyes with a lacy hankie. “Because we are not done praying.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The girls filed out of the assembly room after chapel, but Sophia stayed in her seat. In preparation for examinations, the rector had asked the students if they had studied to be approved, the same verse the missionary had used back in New York, the night she had been jilted.
Now here she was again, her thoughts entangled by a man. But unlike Montgomery, Will was intelligent, devoted to serving God, handsome, gentle, good with children, and respectful. And oh, how she felt when he held her in his arms.
Sophia folded her hands and focused on the cross over the altar. Dear Jesus, I put my relationship with Will, whatever it is, whatever it may become, in Your hands. Please keep a firm grip on it, as I have a tendency to snatch it back. Amen.
Will watched Sophia and another teacher guide the Brownell Hall girls into the first pew. The duty rotated every week and this Sunday was Sophia’s turn.
A fellow about his age, with thick brown hair and a drooping mustache, paused at the Dunns’ pew. “Will? I’m John Webster, lawyer here in town. I’d be interested in hearing about your time with the Indians. May I take you out to dinner?”
“Indians? What Indians?” A man with a wild shock of black hair leaned across the aisle. “Are you the guy who worked up at the Ponca Agency?” He shook Will’s hand. “Thomas Tibbles, Omaha Herald. I’d like to hear about it too.”
Through Rushing Water Page 28
