Through Rushing Water (18 page)

“Ooh!” Blessedly cold water swirled up to her waist. The women giggled, and Sophia hoped Nettie would point out a neck-deep hole the next time.

Will showed Joseph and Frank how to squirt water between their palms. His large hands shot a higher stream than the boys'. Marguerite and Susette splashed back. Rosalie squealed and hid behind her father.

Sophia paused to look behind her but could not see the bottom. She hoped they did not have to descend it. What if someone—herself, for instance—broke a leg? Or twisted an ankle?

Brown Eagle ran down the waterfall, leaping like a deer, and yelled to the women, “This way.”

“Halfway to the top.” Long-legged Will bounded behind him and called, “Ignore the rushing water.”

Sophia laughed. Ignore the rushing water? How could she? It was everywhere! She grasped an overhanging branch and felt for the next foothold. It was here somewhere. Ah, solid rock.

At last she arrived at the top. The children and dogs romped in a quiet pool while the adults dried off and the sun lowered enough to make cooling shadows.

Brown Eagle's Mary handed her a chunk of watermelon. What a treasure. The family had been carrying water to their garden twice a day all month.

“Thank you.” Sophia sat on the bank beside Rosalie and enjoyed the sweet flavor. “This is the most perfect watermelon ever. Magnificent.”

Julia dangled her son in the shallows. The boy kicked, spraying himself in the face. His eyes opened wide, then he chuckled and did it again.

“Give me that little man.” Will pulled Timothy through the water, splashing the older kids. The man's wide grin showed even, white teeth. He was so good with children. Was he thinking of marrying Julia? He would make a fine husband.

The few who had shoes put them back on. Escorted by yellow and orange butterflies, they walked the long way around, down a gentle slope past newly mown hay fields. Brown Eagle and his family headed south to their home. Julia and her son continued on to hers.

Nettie fanned herself with her hat. “I hope they don't move to Indian Territory. I can't imagine living in a place hotter than here.”

Henry said, “Last winter you said you couldn't imagine a place colder than here.”

“True. Winter was wicked. Won't be any better this year, with the grasshoppers eating the corn, the sun burning up the wheat, no one having shoes.” Nettie tied her hat on. “Sure would be handy to have horses again. And our own boat, so we wouldn't have to wait for a ride to town.”

“If we had the money,” James said.

If we had the money
, Sophia thought as she prepared for bed that night.
If
the tribe did not move to Indian Territory.
If
the grasshoppers didn't return.
If
the annuity payments came on time.
If
the government sent cash instead of trinkets. So many worries.

Will's words came back to her:
Ignore the rushing water
.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

S
ophia should have been listening to the oldest students recite, and watching the younger ones write their alphabet and the middle group work their sums, but her mind kept wandering.

The funds allocated for the Poncas' removal could just as readily be used to purchase food and clothing for this winter. Could she write to Congressman Rexford Montgomery? Why did no one seem to care? Without help, her students would sicken and starve. And why had the Board of Foreign Missions not sent the fabric and shoes she requested?

Ignore the rushing water
.

Ignore the rush of thoughts and focus on the students.

Sophia smiled at Marguerite. “Perfect. Go trade in your second reader for the third. And the next section . . .”

Halfway through dinner, a low whistle and a plume of smoke announced the arrival of a steamboat.

Please, let it be clothing, fabric, shoes
, Sophia prayed. Mail. Barbed wire. Food. Money. What did they not need?

The steamboat tied up to the trees and unloaded several barrels and large boxes. The captain handed Henry a packet of newspapers and mail, including a letter from the Mission Board to Sophia.

“What?” She scanned the page. “They want to know what size shoes and what color fabric to send. Seven hundred seventy-one people will freeze because the Mission Board is afraid of making a fashion error.”

James pried open the first barrel. “They'll starve to death first.”

Nettie gasped.

“It moves.” Sophia stepped back. She was going to lose her dinner.

Will poked his screwdriver into the gray mess. “Pork. Infested with maggots.”

Henry groaned. “This shipment was for us too.”

Lone Chief's black-and-brown dog sniffed the box, yelped, then ran away.

The next barrel held fifty pounds of mealy flour. Nettie grimaced. “Bring the flour to the kitchen. I'll put a bay leaf in it.”

Will hammered the lid back into place and rolled the flour to the house.

Sophia's stomach churned. Had they been eating food made with infested flour all this time?

“I'll send samples to the Commissioner of Indian Affairs,” James said. “See if he'll eat it.”

The third contained hundreds of pairs of baby booties, thirty andirons, and one palm-sized porcelain doll.

“A Frozen Charlotte,” Nettie explained to Sophia. “It's from a ballad about a foolish girl who refused to wrap up warmly for a sleigh ride and froze to death.”

“Now the entire tribe is in danger of becoming Frozen Charlottes through the government's foolishness.”

Henry held up an andiron. “Useless. All our people have stoves.”

“I'll see what I can make out of them.” Will took it from him. “Least they didn't send mirrors, combs, and ax handles this time.”

“Perhaps these might be useful.” Sophia studied the booties. “They might fit Julia's Timothy and Moon Hawk's White Buffalo Girl.”

“Two thousand of each for a tribe of seven hundred?” James ran his hand over his face.

Grass waved gold and burgundy on the bluffs. Cottonwood trees fluttered yellow. Winter approached at a gallop.

Nettie found a loose thread and pulled, unraveling the bootie. “Know how to knit?”

“Unfortunately, no. I misspent my youth learning useless embroidery stitches.” A brisk northwest wind sliced through her shawl. “As Peter the Great said, ‘Delay is death.' I should like to know what curse word I am permitted to use.”

Henry's scowl threatened to knock her feet out from beneath her. James fled before the oncoming sermon, and Nettie hurried back to her kitchen.

“One of the drawbacks of growing up around soldiers is a rather extensive education in inappropriate language,” Sophia said by way of apology. “I shall endeavor to discipline my speech.”

The reverend closed his eyes and released a long breath. Sophia braced for a lecture on guarding her words, bridling her tongue, and speaking always with grace. She had heard it before, in several languages. Instead he surprised her with a murmured, “Thank you.”

“Pardon me?”

He speared her with a narrow gaze. “You barge in here with all your vigor and cheer . . . making me feel even more drained and ineffectual than ever. But if you've taken up swearing—”

“Resumed,” she corrected.

“Resumed swearing . . . well then.” His beard twitched with a fleeting smile. “Guess I'd better pray for you.”

Sophia bowed her head, shamed by her own deficiency. She and Henry were on the same side, God's side. They both cared about this mission. But instead of working with him, she waved the battle flag at every opportunity.

“Only if you allow me to pray for you,” she whispered.

In mid-September the school filled with new students. The first arrived shortly after lunch. A family walked up the path from the other villages, opened the school door, and deposited their son. Thomas Jefferson slid over to accommodate the boy.

Ah, yes, Sophia remembered him from the Fourth of July celebration. The brother who resembled Louis-Charles, Marie-Antoinette's son. Two minutes later, another child arrived. Then three more. Was it another Ponca celebration? No, they always included their children.

“Welcome, visitors. We hope you will join us every day.”

“Teacher. Miss Makinoff.” Frank finally remembered to raise his hand. “They're here for the annuity.”

The annuity had come? A steamboat had whistled midmorning, a common occurrence. How had the families from Hubdon and Point Village known it contained the annuity? Had the Mission Board sent her requested supplies? And what should she do—

Ignore the rushing water
.

Five more children wandered in.

“All right, students. Let us divide into teams.” Chaos broke out and Sophia had to resort to prayer. “Heavenly Father, please help us learn what we need to know about money. Amen.”

Authority restored, Sophia mixed the visitors among the regulars. When Catharine Beecher had emphasized the importance of pupils instructing each other, Sophia had not imagined how essential her advice would be. She distributed her coins. “Today we shall learn about money. Everyone in your group must know how to count, know the names and value of money, and know how to add it up. Recitations begin in five minutes.”

While the students worked, Sophia set up a store in the front. What could she use for stock? She looked around the room. Every student needed shoes. Sophia took hers off. Henry was too busy with the annuity to come and check on her. She set them on the desk.

Sophia briefed Frank and Marguerite for their upcoming debut in “The Perils of Shopping.” From their accurate memories and dramatic storytelling, the Poncas had a well-developed oral tradition. Using drama to reinforce lessons was a natural choice.

When even the youngest could say the names of the coins, Sophia directed the students to sit on the floor.

Marguerite played the storekeeper. “What do you want, you mangy dog?”

Sophia had not told Marguerite to be rude. Did she speak from experience?

Frank held out a few coins. “Please, sir—”

“Ma'am,” Sophia whispered.

“Please, ma'am. I need shoes. But this is all I have.”

Marguerite grabbed all the coins and shoved the shoes into his hands. “Good-bye.”

Sophia applauded. “All right, students, what went wrong?”

Everyone had an opinion, but not everyone spoke English. “He showed how much he had.” “He did not ask how much the shoes were.” “She took all of the money.” “He should slit her throat for name-calling.”

“Yes, name-calling is wrong. But responding in anger, hurting people, is wrong too. Frank might end up in jail, or the storekeeper might shoot him. Let us try again.” Sophia put the shoes back on the desk.

“Good morning,” Frank said.

“No Indians! Get your dirty carcass out of here.” Marguerite waved like she was shooing chickens.