Through Rushing Water (10 page)

Frank, Joseph, Marguerite, Susette, and Rosalie arrived first, being the closest to school. Sophia was pleased with herself for matching names and faces. The girls were easily differentiated by size. Frank's round face resembled her cousin Yevgeny, and Joseph's pointed chin reminded her of Uncle Ivan. “Last name? Brown Eagle? Or simply Eagle? Or wait . . . tell me your fathers' names.”

“Pick a surname,” Henry said. “A white name.”

Sophia lifted an eyebrow. Perhaps she should name them all
Romanov
. If it was good enough for the Russian royal family, it should be good enough for Henry. “Should not their parents be consulted?”

“If they had an idea, they'd have made their choice by now.”

What name would fit? “What name would you like?”

Henry made an ugly noise in the back of his throat. “Washington. They were first, so they'll have the first president's name.”

A lot of letters to remember, but distinguished. Sophia entered it in the ledger. In the next group, four boys needed first and last names. Did they live in the same house? Were they siblings? A round of questions between them and the newly anointed Washington children did not resolve the issue. “How about Nicholas, Alexander, Vladmir, and Alexi Alexandrovich?” Names good enough for the tsar.

Henry scowled and pointed at each child. “Last name Adams. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.”

Sophia hoped the children would remember.

The reverend took the boys outside. They returned in tears, their hair shorn. The Washington children circled to console them.

“Reverend Granville,” Sophia hissed. “Was that necessary?”

“Our mission—”

Before he could launch into another sermon, Sophia turned to face the portraits over the chalkboard. Jesus' hair hung to His shoulders. George Washington's curled to the lower lobe of his ears. Even Abraham Lincoln had his neck covered.

“Miss Makinoff, how dare you!” Henry stormed off.

Good riddance. Er . . . Thank You, Lord
.

Fortunately the next group already had English names: Emily Knudsen, Logan LeClair, Hannah Howe, and Jim and Francis Roy.

The classroom filled with children. Twenty-seven wiggly, noisy students. How did James manage fifty? How would Catharine Beecher handle this situation?

Perspiration dampened Sophia's brow. “May I have the fifth graders up front for recitation, please.”

Unfortunately no one could identify himself as a fifth grader. John Adams started a fistfight with Thomas Jefferson.
Dear Lord
, Sophia thought, and then realized she had hit on the answer.

“Let us pray.” The children had attended enough church to recognize the words. They bowed their heads and clasped their hands. “Thank You, Jesus, for all Your wonderful students. God bless our school day. Amen.” And before they could take a breath, Sophia dove into assigning seating.

Traveling with her father, Sophia had met innumerable ethnic groups, from Finns to Tatars to Turks. Each group had customs to ensure its continued existence.

The Ponca rule against looking another in the face, however, would impede survival in a world run by Europeans. Will might disapprove, but the students' lives would go easier if they could learn to look others in the eye.

She had an idea. She directed the older boys in moving the tables and benches in a U shape, so they could watch each other. Beginning with Joseph, Sophia said “Good morning,” shook his hand, and held it.

“Good morning,” the boy said. And then for a fraction of a second, he returned her glance.

Will sat on the roof of Yellow Horse's house and paused for a drink from his canteen. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes. If this heat kept up . . .

Just past the cornfield a movement caught his eye. He grabbed up his spyglass. Several dozen well-armed warriors on horseback splashed across the river.

The school!
Dear Jesus!

The Sioux didn't have to be sneaky. They knew the Poncas had no way to defend themselves.

Will clicked his tongue to catch Yellow Horse's attention, then swung down from the rafters. They'd better not set this house on fire. He'd just about finished it.

He sent Yellow Horse to the church and took off at a run for the school. If only he had a rifle—no, a horse. He changed direction, only to find Long Runner's yard empty. Will hoped the herd was well hidden.

Behind him the church bell sounded the alarm. To the south Black Elk's wife snatched up their baby in her cradleboard and raced from their garden to the house. The yellow dog herded her puppies under her steps. Little Chief broke into a run, heading for his cabin. If Will wasn't in a hurry, he'd stop to watch. It wasn't every day you saw an elder run like a deer.

By the time he reached the school, Will's lungs burned and his legs wobbled. The children weren't outside. And they weren't wandering to and from the spring. Good. He leaped to the stoop and yanked on the door. Locked.

“It's Will . . . uh, Mr. Dunn.”

Sophia pulled him inside and barred the door behind him. “Did you bring any firearms?” The children sat on the floor in a tight circle, solemn as saints, but none crying. Tough bunch, these Poncas. The windows were closed and locked. The air steamed with sweat.

Sophia sat on the floor in a puddle of skirts. She flipped through the first part of the Bible. “I was just about to tell the story of David . . .”

David was Will's middle name, so he'd made a point of studying the Old Testament king. Most of his life seemed to be a warning: be careful around women.

Sophia closed the Bible. “. . . David and Goliath.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Fitting. Mind if I join you?”

Rifle fire echoed off the bluffs.

“Not at all.” A beam of sunshine caught in her hair. If the Brulé looked in they might see her, but the children were hidden behind the half-wall.

He took up a post in front of the door. They'd have to get through him. And once they did, the children would all be goners. He couldn't think what they'd do to Sophia. Or the possibility they'd set the school on fire.

She began in a whispered voice: “Now, David was a shepherd boy. His job was guarding the sheep.” She looked at Will. “Has the tribe considered raising sheep?”

Will nodded, but someone higher up than he and the agency farmer had decided on cattle and hogs. He told the children, “David guarded the sheep like Hairy Bear herds the cows, like Walking Together watches the horses.” The men were out in the fields now, with no place to hide. Will sent up another prayer for God to keep them safe.

Sophia resumed her story. “When lions—Do lions live here?”

“Coyotes.”

“When coyotes tried to eat the calves, David used his sling to throw rocks at them.” Sophia acted out the throwing motion, looking more like a dancer than a warrior. “He became skilled at throwing rocks. He could kill a coyote with one rock.”

The children were impressed.

“One day David's father called him. ‘Please take this lunch pail to your brothers. They are fighting a war.' David was a boy, about the age of Thomas Jefferson, here.”

Thomas Jefferson? How had White Knife become—?

Oh yeah, the rev had walked Sophia to school this morning. No doubt he was to blame for the haircuts too.

“Not old enough to be a warrior,” Will explained.

Back in the village a woman wailed. Will gestured for the story to continue.

“When David got to the field where they were fighting, he found his brothers were afraid. A big enemy walked up and down the field, saying he was ready to kill David's family. His name was Goliath.”

“Bigger than Mr. Dunn?” asked Marguerite.

“Bigger than Big Snake.” The tallest man of the tribe.

Sophia nodded. “As big as Mr. Dunn, Reverend Granville, Mr. Lawrence, Big Snake, and Brown Eagle, all put together.”

“Oooh.”

“David asked his brothers why they were not fighting Goliath.”

“Because he's Brulé,” Joseph whispered. “He's got guns.”

“No, I cannot remember what tribe he belonged to, but he was not Brulé and he did not have a gun. But he was too big for the brothers. Little David said he would fight Goliath. His brothers could not talk him out of it, so they gave him their armor.” She glanced up at Will for a substitute.

“Shield.”

“But the shield was too big for David, so he—”

“If Goliath was so big, where did he sleep?” Frank asked.

Will said, “In a big tepee. His feet stuck out the door. Now, let Miss Makinoff tell you what happened.”

More women took up the cry in the village.

“David gave the shield back to his brother. He found a good stone in the creek. Then he returned to the battlefield. At first Goliath did not see him . . . David was so little.”

Sophia moved as much as a Ponca storyteller, but with prettier motions. Had she studied that fancy dance, ballet?

She squinted and held her hand over her eyes. “Goliath said, ‘Is that a mouse? Is it a bird? No, it is a boy.' Goliath taunted him, called David bad names. Then David put the stone in his sling. He swung and threw it as hard as he could. It hit Goliath and killed him!”

“I want to kill Brulé,” said Rosalie from her hiding spot deep in Marguerite's lap.

“Me too,” said the rest of the children.

Sophia widened her eyes at Will.

“Can you kill a coyote with one stone?” he said. “No? Then God hasn't trained you to be a warrior. But He's teaching you a lot here in school.”

The floor shook as someone walked up to the school. Will put his finger over his mouth.

“They are gone,” Brown Eagle called. “You can come out now.”

Will opened the door and gulped fresh air. The village echoed with wailing. Brown Eagle pulled his children close. The other students ran for home.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Eagle.” Sophia struggled to her feet. Her fingers shook as she raised her pocket watch. “Oh dear. It is only three—”

“No one will fault you for letting school out early.”

“Class dismissed. I will see you tomorrow,” Sophia called to their retreating backs, then whispered, “God keep you.”

“Well?” Will asked his friend.

“Walking Together. Thirty of our best buffalo runners. Two cows.” Brown Eagle swallowed hard. He put Rosalie on his back and they headed for home.

Will shook his head and looked down.

“Pardon me?”

“They killed the young man who guards the horses.”

“This is an outrage. I want a rifle! How am I to keep my students safe?” Amazing how many shades of red a white woman could turn. “Could you make shutters, please? And an escape hatch in the floor. Where are the soldiers who are supposed to protect us?”

“Fort Randall might send someone over in the next day or so. If they can find anyone not on sick call.” Will took a gulp of water from her bucket, then dumped the rest on his head. “The locals object to arming Indians.”

“But the Brulé were shooting. I heard them.”

“Between buying from smugglers, stealing from settlers, and negotiating a better treaty, they've managed to stockpile quite an arsenal.” He nodded toward the river. “Those steamboats heading upriver are full of breech-loading rifles for the Sioux. The entire Ponca tribe owns one musket, a few shotguns, couple pistols, bows and arrows. No ammunition.”

“Well, it is wrong. Unjust. The situation must be rectified.” Sophia swiped the blackboard. “I have never been so frightened.”

“You hid it well.”

Her back straight, chin high, she punctuated her words with angry swings of her arms. If her students could see her now, they'd run away and never come back. “My father, Constantin Ilia Makinoff, was never afraid. Even when the tsar threatened him with exile to Siberia.”