Through Rushing Water (13 page)
The rev gave her a head-to-toe scowl. “No ball gown?”
“I am woefully underdressed.” And not the least bit intimidated. She nodded over Henry's shoulder. “Although, to be precise, none of those is appropriate evening wear. Julia's crimson silk faille is a visiting dress, formerly worn by the teacher of Mineralogy. The violet foulard is a walking suit belonging to the teacher of English Rhetoric. The mauve piqué is a reception dress, Elementary Drawing and Perspective. The rose percale is a watering-place costume, Musical Theory. The green cretonne is a carriage dress, Ancient History.”
Will clamped his hand over his mouth to hold in a laugh. Henry muttered something about keeping their minds on heaven.
Nettie took her son's arm and they led the way across the yard to the church. Henry motioned for Sound of the Water to ring the bell.
After a rousing rendition of “O Worship the King,” the reverend read Psalm 30. It was the lectionary text, and he used the “weeping at night, joy in the morning” in his sermon of consolation for the latest raid. Will wasn't one to tell another his business, but he figured the message would go down a mite easier if Henry would smile once in a while.
The psalm had a verse about putting off sackcloth to be clothed with joy. Nettie and Sophia beamed at each other. Henry shot them a cranky look, the kind of expression Will's sister warned would freeze on his face if he wasn't careful.
So was it wrong to get dressed up for church? Ma always said the Saturday night bath and Sunday-best clothes honored God. No telling what the Ponca women thought.
The reverend wrapped it up, announced the doings for Tuesday's Fourth of July celebration, and gave the blessing. The five women clustered around Nettie and Sophia, thanking them for their dresses. They wore their best moccasins, the ones decorated with beads and quills.
Walks in the Mud's wife sent her daughter to tug on Sophia's skirt. “Teacher?”
Sophia shook her student's hand. “Good morning, Martha Jefferson.”
“Good morning, Miss Makinoff.” The little girl tipped her head up and, for a moment, looked in her teacher's face. Then her gaze cut to her mother, who hid at the corner of the building. She wore a loose sack of faded calico Will recognizedâthe fabric had come up the river with him. “Mama wants a dress too.”
Sophia glided over to the woman and took her hands. “I am so sorry. I want nothing more than to give you a beautiful dress, but only five were in the barrel and I have given them all away. But I promise you, I will write to the churches in New York and ask for a dress for you. For you and the other ladies in the tribe. Next time. I promise.”
Walks in the Mud's wife wasn't getting any of this. Will figured he'd better step in, lest the poor woman drown in Sophia's flood of words. In a low tone, so Henry wouldn't hear, Will explained as best he could. He didn't make any promises. The Poncas, having been disappointed so many times, didn't expect much.
“I am so very, very sorry.”
The woman accepted the news without tears. Given all the other tragedies in her lifeâlosing her house to the river last spring, most of her family dying the winter before, and that German farmer stealing her cowâthe loss of a dress was just another day at the Ponca reservation.
Prairie Flower, Bending Willow, Mariette Primeau, and Angelique Gayton circled, wantingâno surpriseânew dresses.
Will relayed all the requests, then tipped his head toward the agency house. “You don't want to miss lunch.”
Sophia waved over her shoulder. “Is there a dressmaker in Niobrara or Yankton? I couldâ”
“Don't.”
“But I have money.”
“Enough to outfit seven hundred people? You saw how riled up people got when they thought you were favoring Brown Eagle's children at the school. When I first got here, I tried helping out some.” Will shook his head. It was a wonder any of the Poncas called him friend after that mess. “Stirred up a hornet's nest.”
“I fear Nettie and I have fanned the coals of covetousness.”
Maybe they'd done something of the sort. Or maybe they'd just brought a little color to a few gray lives. It wasn't his place to judge. Besides, he was busy trying to figure how Sophia's hand had come to rest on his arm and wondering what to do about it. Maybe they could take a stroll around the village. Who needed lunch anyway?
“Thank you kindly for your assistance,” Sophia said, leaving him with a smile as she let him go. How had they gotten back to the house so soon? And how could he get her promenading with him again?
I
am surprised the Indians celebrate Independence Day,” Sophia said as they sat down to a dinner of cold chicken. “I would think the birth of the United States might be more of an occasion for mourning for them.”
“You're Russian.” Henry salted his food before tasting. “Of course you wouldn't understand.”
A thump echoed beneath the table. Henry grunted and glared at his mother, who serenely buttered her roll. Had Nettie kicked him? Good for her.
James passed the greens. “It's part of becoming American.”
Nettie set down her knife. “I don't know Russian history. Do you have an independence day?”
“Russia was never a colony, so no. We were occupied by the Mongols in medieval times, but saved through God's intervention. That event is a religious holiday.”
“Didn't Napoleon invade Russia?” James said.
Of course Americans would focus on another country's humiliation. “We had to burn down Moscow to get rid of him, so it is not a fond memory.”
“And what will your students be presenting Tuesday?” Henry asked.
Sophia choked on her tea. “Presenting?”
Henry threw down the gauntlet. “In my school, students read the Declaration of Independence and sang âThe Star-Spangled Banner.'”
Sophia had thought memorizing her students' names was a sufficient accomplishment. She set her cup on the table gently, so it would not crack. “You have rather high expectations for a teacher who has only been here a week.”
Lightning flashed and thunder echoed off the bluff. The curtains flapped. Henry dashed in from the outhouse, rain sheeting off his fancy slicker. A door slammed.
“Whose window is open?” Nettie asked.
James pushed away from the table with a groan. “Oh no. Papers all over the place,” he grumbled from his office.
Will closed the kitchen windows, then watched as debris blew across the yard. He made out a pail, an empty peach can, and a bunch of cottonwood leaves.
Sophia joined him and muttered in Russian.
“Weather usually blows through here pretty quick,” Nettie said. Another bolt flashed overhead. Rain fell so hard, even the closest houses disappeared. “When the sun comes out, we'll have our Independence Day party.”
“Little Chief said it would storm all day,” Will said.
The next boom came right on the heels of a flash, rattling the windows. The wind shifted, coming more from the east. Hail battered the roof . . . and the crops.
“I suppose there are no lightning rods on this house.” Sophia used her teacher voice over the roar of the storm.
“We have to trust God for our safety.” Nettie set a bucket under the leak in the front room.
“What can we do? The students worked so hard on their performance. Would they all fit in the school or the church?”
“All seven hundred? No. We'll just have it tomorrow.” James topped off his coffee.
Sophia paced to the front window, as if the weather might look better on the north side. “Will it be difficult to reschedule? Should we send someone to the other villages to notify them?”
“Schedule?” Henry snorted.
“Instead of expecting the weather to change for them,” Will explained, “the Poncas change for the weather. They get up at daybreak, go to bed with the sun. If it storms, they stay inside.” It was one of their many strengths.
“Well then. I found a dress for Martha Jefferson's mother.” Sophia hurried upstairs and returned in a moment with an armful of green fabric.
“The pompadour waist and flowing sleeves are outdated,” Sophia said, as if trying to excuse her good deed. Instead of the greediness Will expected from a wealthy woman, he found Sophia to be the soul of generosity. “I am sure Mrs. Jefferson will treasure it more than I ever did.”
“She's a bit shorter than you. Let's see. If weâ” The women went into the front room to talk hems, flounces, and whatnot. The rain eased to a steady downpour.
“Foolish woman,” Henry muttered. “Bringing such an ostentatious dress out here.”
James pressed his hand to his heart, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling. “Yes, but what I wouldn't give to see her in it.”
And for once Will agreed with the agent.
L
ittle Chief had been right about the weather: the Fourth of July had been stormy all day, but the fifth was sunny enough to bake the paths dry.
Sophia fanned herself with the lyrics. Her students ran to the windows and called greetings to friends walking by. All morning people from the other two villages had passed, headed to the Agency and the Independence Day celebration.
The door opened and another little one entered. How could anyone teach with these constant interruptions? She must mail off her resignation letter without delay.
Martha Jefferson gave him a hug. “My little brother.”
Thomas Jefferson joined her. “My little brother.”
“Welcome,” Sophia said. She tried to shake his hand, but he ducked under the table.
“No white woman before,” Frank explained.
And probably no school before, small as he was. Well, there was no time to complete the registration and naming process. Hopefully the newcomers would follow along with the others. She glanced at her pocket watch. “Let us pray before we go. Dear Jesus, please help us follow our teacher's instructions. Amen.”
Frank carried the flag. The soldiers at Fort Randall had donated an outdated one, short two stars, and Will had fashioned a pole for it. The students lined up, smallest to largest, giving the newcomers plenty of guidance.
“All right. Let me look at you.” Sophia went down the line, smoothing hair, tucking shirts. The students had dressed in their Sunday clothes today, but still no one had shoes. Many wore around their necks a braid of gray-green grass that gave off a pleasant fragrance. The girls wore flowers in their hair like Ukrainians.
“What a beautiful class! Remember to sing loudly. All right, Frank, lead the way.”
Rosalie had to use the latrine. Marguerite volunteered to stay with her and help her catch up so the rest would not be late. How Russian these students were, Sophia thought, always considering the good of the group. Perhaps it was because they were all related, all family.
But are we not all the family of God? Should we not always look out for each other?
The line stretched the distance of a city block. Sophia counted forty-eight children and six dogs. If the Brulé chose today to wage war, where would she hide them all?
This week she had discovered her students were gifted at memorization. They had learned the lyrics to “America” in an hour. Singing in front of seven hundred family members was another matter. Sophia had asked if the church's melodeon could be rolled outside to serve as accompaniment, but Henry had informed her it was bolted to the floor to prevent theft. When they arrived at the church, she found Will had moved the pews outside. The students lined up in front of the room. Their families sat on the floor inside or stood outside around the open windows. How Russian, she thought again.
Henry placed his hands on the keyboard.
“âAmerica,'” Sophia told him.
“âMy Country 'Tis of Thee'?” he whispered. “I thought you were singing âYankee Doodle.'”
“The students asked me what it meant and I could not explain it to them. âDoodle' sounds very much like the German word for simpleton. Not good. And âWith the girls be handy'? Is that a sentiment you want in church?”
