Through Rushing Water (19 page)
Oh dear. Were the shopkeepers in town so evil?
Frank stood his ground. “I am a Christian like you. I have money and I need to buy shoes for my family.”
“Money? How much?”
Frank picked up a shoe. “How much are your shoes?”
“One dollar.”
“This one is worn. I would like new.”
Marguerite put an invisible pair on the desk. “You're mighty particular for an Indian,” she drawled, then pretended to spit on the floor.
“The Great White Father says I must learn to live like a white man.” Frank pretended to try on the new shoes. “These are too small.”
“Okay.” Another invisible pair appeared and this time they fit. “That'll be two dollars.”
“You said one dollar.”
“For the worn-out shoes. New ones are two.”
“Hmm, maybe I don't need them so bad. How about one dollar and one dime?”
“You're killing me.” The storekeeper crossed her arms. “One dollar and two quarters.”
“One dollar and one quarter.”
“Sold!”
The class applauded. Large hands clapped at the window, and Sophia turned to see Will standing outside. Why was he here? He winked and jogged back toward the village, not giving her time to ask questions. She hoped he would not tell Henry he had caught her with her shoes off.
The students had a lively discussion, then Joseph and Susette tackled the complicated issue of credit.
“No fair!” the students cried when the drama finished. “The shoes will be worn out before Joseph pays for them.”
“Right. So what should he do?”
“Don't buy on credit.”
“But he needs shoes. Winter's coming.”
“Wear moccasins.”
“If he had moccasins, dog, he wouldn't be buying shoes.”
“No name-calling.” Sophia squeezed between the two boys. “He needs to have it written down, one for him and one for the store.” After a string of broken treaties, no wonder the Poncas had no faith in written promises. “The paper should say Joseph will pay a little more, not the cost of six shoes.”
“That's why we learn to read,” said Marguerite.
Thomas Jefferson and John Adams gave a final drama.
“Hey, Injun,” John whispered from behind the desk as Thomas strolled by. “Got something for you. You're going to love it.”
“What?”
John popped up and handed him the dipper. “Fire water.”
“Oh yeah!” Thomas handed him a quarter, drank, staggered around, then fell flat on his back.
John crept out, emptied Thomas's pockets of his imaginary money, gave him a kick, then ran back to his hiding place.
“Students?”
“He wake up and hit his woman and his children.”
“And he will smell bad. And be sick.”
Sophia asked, “So what should he do?”
“No buy. No drink.”
“And tell the agent. It is against the law to sell liquor on Indian land.”
Sophia glanced at her watch, then hurried into her shoes. “Please line upâwe shall march to the agency to find your families.” And hope the students had learned enough to help their parents.
Will watched the line of children march to the agency village. At the end, Sophia held Rosalie's hand and carried someone's baby. Will would have Brown Eagle put the word out: don't send children to school until they're five years old.
The yellow puppies did their sitting trick, like some sort of circus act. Sophia told them, “I am sorry. I had many extra mouths to feed today. All the food is gone.”
The students spotted their parents, broke ranks, and ran to them. Sophia saw him. “Do you know whose baby this is?”
“No, Iâ”
A woman from Hubdon approached. The baby grinned and reached for her. Sophia handed the infant over. “There are more than a thousand people here. Who are they?”
“Mixed breeds, white squaw-men,” Will said. “That's what takes so long, deciding who's in the tribe and who's not. Although seven dollars seems hardly worth fighting over.”
“Pardon me?” Sophia's eyes widened. “Please tell me more is coming. They cannot survive the winter on seven dollars.”
An officer spotted Sophia, trotted his gray over, and dismounted. “Miss Makinoff. I hear the annuity arrived. We've come to maintain order.”
“Lt. Higgins, this is Mr. Dunn, the man who built this village. I met Lt. Higgins on the journey here from Yankton.”
“Agency carpenter,” Will corrected. As rickety as the buildings were, he didn't want blame. “Pleased to meet you.” No wonder Sophia wasn't interested in James or Henryâshe had an officer on her hook. Military life probably seemed a good fit, what with her father being in the cavalry and her wandering nature.
“Lt. Higgins, the Brulé purloined all the Ponca horses. If you happen to come across any extras in your line of work, I would appreciate if you would send them our way.”
The officer brayed like a donkey, all open mouth and big teeth. “Oh, Miss Makinoff. You are a delight. Horses are near as scarce as ladies around here.”
“Well, I know you are frightfully busy, so I shall let you go.”
Will suppressed a grin. She'd just sent him off with a polite boot in the butt, and he didn't even know it. Sophia turned toward the river where a half dozen men had pulled up boats and laid out stuff to sell on blankets. “Who might those be?” she asked Will.
“From the town.”
“Perhaps I can be of some use.”
“A verse in Proverbs warns about meddling.”
“The Bible warns against usury, admonishes us to look out for widows and orphans, and to work for justice.”
“This is a small tribe. We don't get many traders through here. They have to make a living too.”
“If you had heard the childrenâ”
“I did. And I know the traders turn into Indian skinners when we aren't looking.”
She headed for the riverfront, a full head of steam ready to blow.
Will hurried to keep up with her. If she drove the Niobrara merchants off, James would have a hard time convincing the farther-away Yankton storekeepers to fill their place. They were busy with the Sioux; they didn't need the Poncas' trade. Besides, the Poncas were angry enough without Sophia setting off this powder keg.
“Lady and gentleman.” Reynaud tried to block her way. This time he'd misspelled “Dakota” on a walking stick.
Sophia ignored him and marched up to the first merchant, from the general store in town. “Good afternoon, sir.”
He spit, then stepped forward to shake her hand. “Well, what do we got here? Such a pretty girl in this ugly place.”
She stepped back. “I am Miss Makinoff, teacher at the Ponca Agency school.” She seemed to grow taller as she spoke, managing to look down her nose at a man who towered over her by a foot.
“Well, how de do? I'm Mercer. Supposing you got paid today. How much they give you to learn them Injuns?”
“What do you have in the way of dry goods?”
“Here's a pretty bit of ribbon for a pretty girl. Or maybe you like some beads. Shiny beads.”
“Do you have any wool, denim, canvas?”
He pointed east. “Over to my store, sure. Or I could bring it to you tomorrow. What color?”
Sophia narrowed her gaze. “Thank you, but quality is more important than color, Mr. Mercer.”
The man was too dense to realize he'd been insulted.
Sophia turned her attention to the next boat. “Good afternoon. What is in your jug?”
The beanpole looked for rescue. Will shook his head. The shifty eyes went back to Sophia. “Molasses.”
She reached out. “May I?” It was a command, not a request.
“Well, I'd . . . You see . . .”
Over her shoulder, Sophia said, “Please signal the lieutenant. I believe we have found a candidate for his penitentiary.”
“What?” The man paled and backed up.
“No jail for him. Selling whiskey to Indians is a hanging offense.” Will hadn't read the law, but figured to scare the guy.
“I best be getting home.” The moonshiner pushed his boat into the current.
“Wait! Where you going, Zeb?” Another white guy ran out from behind the church, carrying two jugs. “They're just starting to hand out the money!”
“Got the gallows ready.” Will rocked back on his heels. “It's not much more trouble to hang two.”
The accomplice double-timed it to the boat, threw the jugs in, then they rowed away.
Sophia shook her head. “He will set up shop at one of the other villages.”
“Probably.”
“So has anyone ever been convicted of selling liquor to the Indians?”
“Not that I know of.”
Sophia muttered in one of her many languages, then marched off to her soldier.
T
he school day had finally ended without any additions to the enrollment. Joseph was busy washing the blackboard. Marguerite swept the floor, and Rosalie checked the windows. Sophia exhaled a sigh of relief. All ready for tomorrow. When her helpers were finished, Sophia gathered the lunch pails, locked the school, and waved good-bye. “See you Monday!”
James had walked her to school, but he had not shown up this afternoon. Had there been a mention of who was to escort her back to the house? Perhaps with the threat of the Brulé gone, she might walk by herself. She set out at a brisk pace through a shower of bright-yellow cottonwood leaves. The day was unusually quiet, without so much as the sound of insects or birdsong.
Two white men stepped out of the brushâthe liquor runners from yesterday. “We don't take kindly to anyone poking her nose into our business.”
“No, we don't,” said the second, brandishing an oar.
Sophia chilled. The school was too far behind her, and the men stood between her and the village. She could not outrun them. She pressed her hand to her empty pocket. Why had she left her pistol in her room? “And I do not think much of those who tempt Indians with spirits. These people do not have enough money for necessities. They cannot afford to waste it on whiskey.”
The skinny one unraveled a whip and snapped it. “And what right do you have to tell them whether they can or can't? Who are you to say what's right and wrong?”
A phrase surfaced from her morning prayers:
Defend me from assaults
. Or was it last night's evening prayer? Whichever it was, she needed it answered now.
“Who am I?” she said. “I am the teacher with a classroom full of students who go barefoot and hungry because you took their money.”
“We didn't take it.” The liquor dealer snapped the whip. “We provide a service. So they won't have to cross the river.”
“âSides that,” the second one said, “Injuns don't never wear shoes.” He slapped the oar against his palm.
Sophia remembered: she had a knife in one of the lunch pails, used for dividing apples. If she could just keep them talking, she might have a chance to find it. “Indians must wear shoes,” she said. “Since the emigrants arrived, there is no longer any game to huntâfor food or moccasins.”
“Well, they'll just have to get off their lazy butts, stop waiting for the government to feed them, and work like the rest of us.”
“Work?” She slid her hand into the first pail. Empty. “Your heinous misdeeds cannot be legitimized nor glorified by calling them work.”
“You some kind of Indian lover? Maybe you need some loving from your own kind.” He reached for the buttons on his pants.
The second pail was empty as well. “I see none of my kind around here. Merely two examples of vermin who must have crawled out from beneath rocks. Certainly not anyone who was raised in a loving family by a Christian motherâ”
