Through Rushing Water (12 page)
Both windows were bare. One had cracked glass and the other had a gap between the frame and the wall. Sophia stood in front of the one within view of the neighbors. “Perhaps we should make the trains into curtains.”
“Good idea.” Nettie helped Julia remove her dress.
The woman wore not a stitch of undergarmentsâno chemise, no corset, no vest. Of course not. Julia had been forced to rely on gift barrels from eastern churches. People never donated undergarments. Even nightclothes were worn until ready for the ragbag.
Sophia's temper rose. If the government was going to insist that the Poncas dress and act like white people, shouldn't they be provided with the basic necessities of life? Should it not be guaranteed in America to have at least a pair of drawers? The Bill of Rights did not address the issue, but then, it had been written by men.
Sophia helped Julia into her new basque and skirt. Her experience of entering in this country through Castle Gardens and the Lower East Side of New York City had led her to equate poverty with strong body odors. But Julia smelled clean. Not rank like the poor of Manhattan or overly perfumed like some Europeans, but like someone who gave careful attention to hygiene.
The ruby red silk complemented Julia's coloring, whereas the intense shade had overwhelmed its previous pale owner. And the dress fell just at her ankles. Perfect.
“The bodice is a little loose.” Nettie made a few stitches, bringing the neckline into the realm of modesty.
“Oh!” Julia spotted herself in the pocket mirror hanging on the opposite wall. She spun around, making the skirt bell out, then studied herself again. “Oh!”
Her fingers tore the thread off the ends of her braids, then unraveled her hair into a dark sheet of satin. She patted Sophia's coil. “Teach. Please.”
Sophia pulled out her hairpins and undid the knot. “Twist forward and wrap around your hand, then push the end through with the other hand. Pull tight, then wrap the ends and pin.”
Julia did not have any hairpins, so Sophia donated hers. The woman was a quick learner, and the effect was charming. The perfect oval of her face, her smooth complexion, and her wide, dark eyesâwhy, she would be the talk of any ball in St. Petersburg or Paris. “You remind me of Russia's most beautiful queen, the Empress Elizabeth.” Sophia curtsied. “Magnificent.”
“Thank you.” Julia returned the gesture, then caught Sophia's wrist. “Oh.”
“Mosquito bites.” Sophia pulled her sleeve down over the welts.
Nettie shook her head. “Fresh blood is their dessert.”
“I make.” Julia opened a round tin and dabbed ointment on the bites.
The itching stopped. “Ah. How wonderful.” Sophia sniffed the medicine. “What is in it?”
Nettie put her nose to the question. “I'm guessing some plants.”
“Plants. Yes.” Julia handed Sophia the tin. “You keep.”
Sophia thanked her. They helped her out of the dress and said their good-byes.
“What a great way to introduce the new teacher,” Nettie said as she closed the door behind her. “Let's go see how Little Flower looks in that green dress.”
“But, Nettie . . .” Sophia rolled her lips together, unable to find the words.
The older woman linked arms with her. “I knowâJulia has so many needs. But did you see the look on her face?”
Smoke Maker's cow had scratched her back against his house, pulling off the corners and splintering half a dozen clapboards. Will pried off the damaged pieces, then measured and sawed a patch.
Smoke Maker squinted at the end of the board, then waved his hand over the diagonal cut. “Why is it like this?”
“Straight cuts open up.”
“This will stay?”
“Until the next time your cow has an itch.”
Smoke Maker nodded and nailed the board into place. As they worked, Will watched Sophia and Nettie shuttle between the agency house and others in the village, carrying bundles of clothing. It reminded him of how his sister used to dress up her doll in handkerchiefs and scraps.
Girls. They might grow up, but they stillâ
Whoa.
Sophia had her hair down.
Will's hammer slid from his grasp and thudded to the ground, missing his foot by an inch.
Smoke Maker grinned and lifted his chin toward the women. “Girls playing. Gives boys something to watch.”
J
ames sprawled in his seat, his elbows on the table and his head propped up with one hand. His skin appeared yellow in the lantern's glow. “Well, Teacher, any spelling errors? Misplaced commas?”
“Your handwriting is beautiful. Perhaps you could teach penmanship to my students.” Sophia read from a ledger sheet, at the top of which he had noted
No Funds
. “Padlocks, lime, linseed oil. What is âbail of oakum'?”
“Caulking. Oakum is made out of rope fibers, hemp. It's used to seal the linings of ships, but it also is useful to stop up gaps in the walls, of which we have many.”
Sophia hoped the oakum was substantial. Her room was rife with gaps. “âTar paper, pump, ponies, sulky, reaper, rope, sashâglazed.' So what did you receive?”
“Ax handles.”
Each of the agent's letters began, “I have the honor to report . . .” even when the news was grim. She closed his file. “You write a thorough, factual account. All requests are well justified. But, as no action has been taken, I shall cast a wider net. Appeal to the public, to men of influence. Speak out for justice and mercy. Speak the truth.”
“Tap into their vein of sentimentality.”
“It is necessary.”
Footsteps echoed in the front room. Sophia watched the carpenter exit, bound down the steps, and stride off on his long legs into the evening. Where was he going this late? The village lacked any of the usual entertainments distracting men on a Saturday night. She curbed an odd impulse to call him back. Will was not in a position of authority, did not know those who were, and showed no inclination to eloquence.
“Miss Makinoff.” James leaned toward her, exuding a cloud of whiskey fumes. His hand shook as it reached toward hers. “I perceive you are quite independent.”
“And I perceive you are a bit
dependent
.” She studied his reddened eyes, his pallor. He had been a handsome man once. She gentled her tone. “Are you not concerned about the example you set?”
“I never imbibe outside the house.”
Which, Sophia suspected, did not disguise his problem from anyone in possession of a working nose. “Do you not care about your health?”
“None of us is here for our health.” He grimaced and withdrew his hand. He lowered his eyelids and dismissed her with an indulgent smile. “We'll see how long you tilt at windmills before you realize no one cares one straw if these children learn. Maybe you'll turn to drink too.” He pushed to his feet and staggered off to his room.
Fool
, Will thought. He was seven kinds of fool. Just because he'd found her first. The picture of Sophia and James in the pool of lamplight burned behind his eyes. Sure, they'd be a good match. Both with a bent toward being in charge, using fancy words, speaking out. They'd do well together.
But with James filling her head with the Indian Office's schemes, who would tell her the truth about the Poncas?
Will climbed to the top of the bluff and surveyed the surrounding territory. No Brulé, no prairie fires, no storm clouds. Wind rippled through the tall grass. A red-tailed hawk stretched his wings high overhead. The sun headed for the horizon, turning the sky red and the hills purple. Sophia probably knew fancy names for all these colors.
He plopped down on the grass.
Dear Lord, help me .
. .
But what did he want help with? Letting go of Sophia? She had never been his, anywhere other than his foolish imagination. Still, he repeated the prayer:
Lord, help meâ
A white head appeared at the edge of the bluff. Lone Chief. The elderly man turned slowly, moving as if he searched for something. Lone Chief, Will knew, was near to blind.
Will stood. “Are you looking for me, Grandfather?”
The man nodded and said, in English, “Let us pray.” He raised his arms toward the sunset.
Will waited, not wanting to disturb Lone Chief. No words, no thoughts, came to him. No prayer beyond the plea for help. The colors in the sky deepened. Rays of light shot upward. A cool wind rippled the grass. Will's heart filled and the tension in his shoulders eased.
“Amen.” Lone Chief took Will's hand and placed it on his shoulder. The chief's old bones creaked and ground as they walked.
“You do not come here every day at this time, Grandfather.”
The elderly man chuckled. “No. Only in the morning. Unless someone wanders up here and needs help getting down.”
Oh yeah. Lone Chief was right. He would never have found the path without a lantern. He'd have been waiting until sunrise, shivering without a blanket, hoping no storms popped up to shoot him with lightning. Either that, or risk falling a hundred feet straight down.
Without hesitation, Lone Chief led him to the edge of the bluff, to a narrow trail hidden in the tall grass.
“How did you find this? They told me you cannot see.”
“My eyes no longer work, but my heart knows the path.”
Lone Chief had lived here all his life, however many years that might be. No doubt he knew every pebble, every blade of grass.
When they reached the village, the elder squeezed Will's hands. “With your eyes on the beauty, you lost your path.” Then he shuffled toward his house.
So the whole village knew Will was moonstruck over Sophia.
O
h my word.” The rev scowled out the window, fists on his hips. “I knew that teacher was nothing but trouble.”
Will looked over Henry's shoulder. Out of the Sunday morning fog came five women in fancy dresses. They flocked in front of the church, holding their skirts out of the mud from last night's storm. Lone Chief's black-and-brown dog guarded them. “Don't blame Sophia. This was your mother's idea.”
James stepped out onto the porch for a better view. “Besides, Sophia didn't choose what her college friends sent.”
Nettie sailed into the kitchen, a satisfied smile on her face. “Aren't they beautiful?”
“Vanity. Vanity,” Henry muttered.
“You'll notice Crescent Moon and Buffalo Woman are present this morning. They've never attended church before.”
“So we've lowered ourselves to bribery now?”
“No, we're making straight a road in the wilderness.” Nettie frowned at her son. “I should have had a sister for you. Then you'd understand.”
Will's sister had nearly burned off her fingers using the curling iron on her hair Sunday mornings. “They look . . . fine.”
Sophia hurried down the stairs, wearing another dark-blue dress, smoothing gloves over her fingers. Her Bible slipped from her elbow. Will retrieved it for her. She nodded her thanks, lowering her eyelids and smiling at the same time. He got all hot inside and had to look away.
