Through Rushing Water (35 page)
What? Shoot someone? Start a war? Will took a breath and his vision cleared. Brown Eagle's chairs, lamps, bedsteads, washtub, washboard, stove, and table were gone. How were they supposed to cook without utensils or food?
Mary shivered on a blanket in the corner, holding the baby close. Michael, forced into early weaning by his mother's death, gummed a strip of beef jerky. Rosalie and Susette huddled on either side of her, eyes glassy with fever. A half dozen flour sacks contained what was left of their possessions.
“We will need our furniture when we get to Indian Territory.” Marguerite wiped her tears on her sleeve. “The soldiers said they would send it. But I do not think they tell the truth.”
Frank and Joseph ran inside. “Soldiers!”
A wagon rattled. “Load up!” commanded a sergeant.
“Sergeant, it's raining. And the lady of the house just had a baby.”
“I got my orders.” The man turned to talk to the driver of a passing wagon.
Will carried Mary and the baby, then helped the rest climb in. Her blanket would be a soggy mess in no time. He pulled off his canvas duster and draped it over them.
Sophia found the table already piled with brown loaves. “I am so sorry. I am too late to help.”
Nettie pulled another tray of what looked like oatmeal scones from the oven. “It won't last long for five hundred people. If I had more time, I'd butcher those roosters who wake us up every morning.”
A clergyman peeked into the kitchen. “I thought I heard your voice, Miss Nettie.”
“Reverend Hinman.” Nettie's mouth stretched into a grim smile. She introduced Sophia to the missionary from the Santee Agency. “I wish I could say âgood morning,' but it isn't. I hope you have a miracle for us.”
He shook his head. “Since January, Kemble's been telling Washington the Poncas consented to the move. To relent now, he says, would weaken the government's position in dealing with all Indians. Not to mention what it would do to his career. The Commissioner of Indian Affairs plans to move Spotted Tail's and Red Cloud's bands here by summer. The Yankton and Sioux City businessmen are rooting for Sioux, a bigger market for them.”
“If they treated the Poncas fairly, all tribes would want to be treated fairly.” Sophia started to help Nettie load the food into pillowcases.
“Miss Makinoff, if Henry and I could have a moment of your time?”
Nettie nodded. “Go on, child.”
Sophia followed the minister into the office. Henry glanced up from packing his library. He handed her a letter with a weary smile. “I don't know what you've planned next, if you're returning to the College . . .”
“I have worked so hard to prevent this future for my students, I have not spared much thought for my own.”
The letter was from the Reverend Doctor Doherty, the rector of a school for young ladies.
I would be pleased to employ a teacher of Miss Makinoff's caliber at Brownell Hall
. Sophia blinked at Henry. He did not like her, yet he had found employment for her. “How kind of you to look out for me.”
“You're a good teacher.” The compliment slipped through clenched teeth.
“I'm sorry we didn't have an opening at the Santee School,” Reverend Hinman said.
“I have school supplies sent by the churches in New York. Could you use them at the Santee Agency?”
“You can't send them with the Poncas?”
Henry scowled. “They have barely enough wagons for the people.”
Reverend Hinman shook his head. “Why not send the tribe by boat or railroad?”
Before Henry could respond, Nettie called from the kitchen. “It's time.”
Sophia left the Brownell Hall letter in her room, wrote Will's address on her stamped envelopes, then hurried to join the rest. They dressed in their raincoats, grabbed a full pillowcase in each arm, and tromped through the mud. Mist thickened to a downpour. Thunder rumbled. The calendar said May sixteenth, but pounding rain chilled like early March.
A lightweight wagon slogged up behind them. Sophia recognized Pumpkin from her jaunt with Lieutenant Higgins. The other horse, a sorrel mare, appeared equally unenthusiastic about working.
“Dr. Girard, surgeon from Fort Randall,” the trim man introduced himself. “You're welcome to ride along. Although I expect this rig was left over from the Civil War.”
Henry muttered, “God answered this prayer, but notâ”
“We'd love a ride, Doctor.” Nettie accepted his hand up onto the seat. The ministers and Sophia climbed in back.
After an hour of bumping across the reservation, they heard the roar of rushing water. The view from the crest of the hill showed the soldiers had herded the people to the shore of the Niobrara. No one spoke. Most were too exhausted to cry. Sophia heard Thomas Jefferson's high-pitched cough, but could not find him in the crowd. As she handed out the food, Will interpreted for Standing Bear and Lt. Higgins.
“The river is fast,” the chief noted.
“All the rain we've been getting.”
“The bottom is sand. The horses will not be able to pull the wagons.”
“Listen, I've crossed the Missouri plenty of times. Guess I can cross this little stream.” The lieutenant gave the command to move.
The soldier taking the lead was swept off his horse. Long Runner and Black Elk jumped into the icy water to rescue him.
With a sigh, the lieutenant gave the order to unload the wagons.
Sophia found Brown Eagle's family huddled on the riverbank. “Please write to me.” She handed Marguerite the envelopes. “I will pray for you every day.” Would she ever see them again?
“Thank you, Teacher.”
Sophia gave a second look at the canvas duster draped over Brown Eagle's family. It was Will's. She found Moon Hawk huddled with White Buffalo Girl in the next wagon and gave her coat away. Nettie glanced over, nodded, then passed hers to Prairie Flower and little Walk in the Wind. The agency kitchen's oilcloths went to Fast Little Runner and his wife, Eloise, White Eagle's wives and children, and the Jefferson children. White Swan wore Henry's rubberized slicker with dignity.
“You women will catch your death,” said Lt. Higgins.
“I have a house and dry clothes to change into.” Sophia traced his poncho with her gaze. “Perhaps you would care to make a donation?” He shook his head and rode away.
The Ponca men carried the elderly, sick, and young on their shoulders. The soldiers pulled the wagons across with ropes.
“What a mess.” Henry shoved his fists into his pockets.
“No crossing of the Red Sea, that's for certain.” Reverend Hinman gave his canvas coat to the elderly Walks with Effort, hoisted the man on his shoulders, and joined the swim.
Finally the entire group reached the far side of the river. Canvas tents rose between the wagons.
“How can they start a fire?” Drying out would be an impossibility. Sophia crossed her arms and shivered. The icy sleet cut through her basque, dragged her skirts in the mud, and weighted her hair until it hung down her back in a lump.
“Half those people should be in a hospital,” Dr. Girard muttered as he brought the wagon. “Uh-oh. Someone's trying to escape.”
It was Will. Sophia hurried to help him.
Will shook his head. “I'm wet.”
“Imagine that.” She pulled his arm over her shoulders and walked him to the wagon.
“Inspector wouldn't let me stay. Mary and Brown Eagle's children are part of the Bear Clan. They'll watch out for her.”
He wiped his eyes. His gaze took in Sophia, Nettie, and Henry, all soaked and coatless. He wiped his palm down his face and swallowed.
“Greater love hath no man. Thank you.”
W
ill changed into his driest clothes, then hurried to the kitchen. He pulled a chair up to the stove and sat on it backward, resting his head on his arms. Rain pelted the house. No matter how cold he was, the people were colder.
Sophia came in wearing a dry dress. She, too, pulled a chair close. “These long nights, the crying . . . I wanted it to stop. Now it is too quiet.”
Until she started talking. Which he'd gotten used to. Gotten to liking it, as a matter of fact.
Sophia let down her hair and fanned it out near the stove. Even wet it shone so pretty. He should talk to her. But in the chaos he hadn't figured out what to say. Still, he'd better grab this chance. He might not have another. “Sophia?”
Her soft blue eyes met his gaze, then looked over his shoulder as Henry staggered in. The rev gave Sophia's hair an appreciative nod, then growled at the empty coffeepot.
“You are welcome to share my tea.” She nodded at the canister on the shelf.
“At least it's hot.” He grunted and poured a cup. “No fire in my stove.”
“We're out of wood.”
His fire-and-brimstone glare should have been enough to heat the room. “You haven't had to build anything since Christmas,” he said to Will. “What have you been doing with your time?”
Nettie clumped down the stairs, her hair wrapped in a towel. “Now, Henry. Will's been doing the blacksmith's job, getting the wagons ready. And he's been helping everyone pack.”
Sophia came to his defense. “And he has stored equipment in the warehouse, keeping inventory.”
Inventory. A fancy word for writing a list of what belonged to who. A list that would never be seen again, now that Inspector Howard had taken it.
“We've got enough to keep the kitchen stove going until morning.” Nettie fixed herself a cup of tea. “Sophia, thank you for sharing.”
Sophia tipped her head toward the back porch. “Did you hear a noise?” On brisk, light steps, she hurried to the door.
“Be careful.” Will pushed his weary carcass upright.
She leaned close to the window. Her left hand shielded her eyes. Her right held her pistol at her shoulder, barrel pointing up. “Oh,” she said several times, with a mix of surprise and sadness. She pocketed her gun. “I think . . . it is Zlata!”
Will stood by her as she opened the door. The yellow dog trudged in, her head and tail down. Her eyes blinked in the lamplight as she looked around the circle. She settled her gaze on Sophia. Her tail wagged once, just a little, as if asking permission, then she pushed her nose into Sophia's hand.
Without caring that the floor was muddy and the dog muddier, Sophia sat and pulled the dog into her lap. “Zlata. You are so thin. Where have you been? I have missed you so. And you have missed your people.”
Will passed Sophia his last clean handkerchief. The dog's tail started up a regular rhythm.
“Thank you. How foolish of me to cry over a dog, when seven hundred peopleâ” Sophia looked up at him, her face a battleground. “Oh, Will. I cannot take her where I am going.”
Henry said, “Will can swim her over to the Poncas in the morning.”
“Swim that river again?” Nettie asked. “Absolutely not. He's risking pneumonia as it is.”
“Then leave the animal here. Indian dogs are fairly resourceful. She'll be all right.”
Nettie looked over Sophia's shoulder. “She seems like a nice dog. We could take her on the boat. See if we can find a farmer who needs her.”
Sophia wouldn't go for either of those ideas. Will reached to pet the dog and a long pink tongue licked his hand. “She's friendly, gentle with children. I'd be glad to take her.”
“Oh, Will. Could you? Do you live in a place that allows dogs?”
“Sure.” It was his house after all.
“Well then, if you're taking her, she'll need a bath.” Nettie brought the washtub and a cake of soap in from the porch. “The good Lord's gifted us with plenty of water. May as well make use of it.”
“Drown the fleas while you're at it.”
Nettie propped her hands on her hips and gave her own version of a lightning-bolt scowl. “Henry, go to your room.”
