Through Rushing Water (8 page)

Yellow Spotted Buffalo passed him a plank. His coworker didn't say a word, just raised his right eyebrow a sixteenth of an inch and let the end of the board thump into Will's palm, meaning “Get back to work.”

“Please sing!” Rosalie asked. Good girl.

Miss Makinoff started in again with the children this time. Then she stopped. After a bit, he heard the
plink, plink
of a stringed instrument. Yellow Spotted Buffalo looked at Will, then at Brown Eagle and Long Runner. In a flash all four men dashed over to the windows.

The teacher looked up, surprised but showing no fear. Long Runner still had his scalp lock, which scared most white women.

“I am so sorry. You must have thought I was tormenting a cat. It is only a Russian instrument called a
gusli
. Similar to a harp or a zither.”

She brought the thing to the window and handed it to Long Runner. It was a wing-shaped piece of wood about a foot and a half long, with a dozen strings—as she said, rather like a lap harp. Long Runner gave it a good looking-over, plucked each string, then passed it to Yellow Spotted Buffalo.

“Do you sing to your children? Do the mothers sing? Music helps with learning, especially mathematics, and diaphragmatic breathing—” She stopped. “Oh, I am so sorry. You have work to do, and I ask too many questions.”

How gently she got them back to work on her outhouse, Will thought. Like a lady. That's what was wrong—this place wasn't a good fit for her. They needed someone more . . .

More what? More crude? No, they had plenty of scum with no manners, no morals, no aim other than lining their own pockets. Maybe God had sent them the right person. Well, none of his concern either way.

She sang again, teaching the children “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” Will found himself keeping time with his hammer. If she didn't know he was listening before, she would now.

Maybe she could bring the thing—gosling?—back to the house at night, sing some more. Henry would want hymns, of course, but perhaps the rest could persuade her to try a little “Oh! Susanna.”

“What songs do you know?” she asked the children. Frank started their warrior song. The other children joined in, their feet shaking the floorboards. The work crew added their voices, keeping time with their hammers. They sang with pride, the way people back in the States sang “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

The teacher finished the music lesson and moved on to a less distracting subject. The crew finished the outhouse and anchored it over the hole.

Brown Eagle wiped down the tools. “So, tomorrow we roof Yellow Horse's house?”

Will slapped his forehead. “I forgot.” So much for being the only white person to keep his promises.

“Pretty girl changes the weather in your head.” Yellow Spotted Buffalo plucked the saw, making a
woo-woo
sound, and grinned.

Will felt himself flush. Yellow Spotted Buffalo was right: thinking about the teacher had him in a fog. He'd best keep his distance.

Brown Eagle loaded up the wheelbarrow. “Do not worry. Bear Shield told him you work here today.”

“You are done already?” Miss Makinoff stepped outside. “Excellent workmanship, and such speed!”

Brown Eagle's children ran over to check out their new outhouse. Will called out to the boys.

“What did you say?”

“Aim like an arrow.”

“Thank you.”

Will was impressed. Most ladies would faint at the mention of a normal body function, but this one nodded and smiled. She turned to the children. “Does anyone have an extra bucket at home? We need water for washing hands. Perhaps since we have five students and five days of the week—”

“No. No extra buckets.”

The flood of words stopped. Bright blue eyes focused on him.

“There's one at the agency house.” He'd paint “School” on it tonight, try to keep it from being stolen.

“And a dipper? The children have been scooping with their hands. Quite unsanitary. Perhaps they could each have a cup. And I would like one too. My throat is rather dry.” But it didn't stop her from talking.

Will nodded. Maybe he could put to use the empty tin cans he'd been saving, if he could find some without sharp edges.

“Well then. Class dismissed. I shall see you tomorrow.” The children headed home with Brown Eagle. Sophia started to walk back to the house.

“Lock up. And bring your lunch pail.” Was it too much to ask that she bring her gosling?

“But I am planning to return this evening, to finish unpacking and clean up from our cleanup.”

“Your stuff will grow legs and walk away.”

“The Indians steal from their own school?”

“No. Crooks come out west, running from the law back in the States. And regular fellows move here, realize there is no law, and take advantage. If they're caught, the courts side with whites against the Indians, no matter who's right or wrong.”

She rolled her lips together, then pointed to the back wall of the schoolroom. “I can understand that the criminal mind would not see value in the prints of George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, or Jesus with the lost sheep. But I am surprised the furniture did not disappear.”

“Too long to get out in one piece.”

“You, Mr. Dunn, are clever. And a useful person to know.” She locked the windows and door.

And you, Miss Makinoff .
. . He didn't know what she was, but she sure sidetracked him today.

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

T
his is lovely, walking to and from work.” Sophia swung the lunch pail. A breeze off the river kept the air fresh. A scattering of puffy clouds decorated the sky. Perhaps she might stay for a while—at least through the summer. “Wonderful exercise. I shall enjoy this very much.”

Will pushed a wheelbarrow full of tools. “Not by yourself.”

She was no schoolgirl, needing a chaperone. Not to mention the fact that neither Will nor anyone else within several hundred miles might qualify as an appropriate escort. “You said the Poncas are civilized.”

“Don't leave the agency house alone.”

Had she exchanged the confines of the College for another cloister? “Are you concerned about this person who set the fire this morning? He is dangerous?”

“Buffalo Track? No. Nettie's right. He's just trying to get warm. His wife will take him back before first frost, or he'll go visit his brother at the Omaha Agency.” Will shook his head. “Outlaws don't stop at theft.”

“Well then. I would like a pistol.”

“Yeah, you and everyone else around here.” Brown eyes flashed from beneath his wide-brimmed hat. “You survived your first day.”

Dare she confide in this man? As taciturn as he was, he would not share her confession with the others. “I thought teaching a few Indian children would be easier than college-level instruction of the pinnacle of American womanhood. I was wrong.”

“Don't imagine it pays as well either.” He cleared his throat. “Brick building almost as large as the Capitol. Steam heat, gaslights, piped water, electric bells to wake you. Makes me wonder why you're here.”

“You are quite well informed on the College.”

He shrugged. “I read. And my brother and I build houses in Omaha.”

“He can spare you?”

“It's been slow since the Panic of '73.”

“So you have been a missionary for three years?” A long time to endure the hardships of this assignment.

He shook his head. “I'm not a missionary. I'm paid by the Indian Office.”

The path turned at the first house. Under the pergola, a young woman in a faded dress tended a baby. Will introduced Julia, then conversed with her in Ponca. Her son, Timothy, had no difficulty focusing his bright onyx eyes on Sophia's face. Perhaps the youngest members of the tribe could lead the way.

Sophia knelt next to him, covered her face with her hands, and said, “Ku-ku, I see you!” She opened her fingers and the baby laughed.

Will said, “I thought it was peek-a-boo.”

Oh dear. Had she made another mistake?

A yellow dog crawled from beneath the porch, followed by three puppies, all enthusiastically wagging their tails.

“Zlata and her troika!” Sophia petted them, then caught Will's frown. “In English, it would be ‘Goldie.'”

“Don't name them.”

Was he no fun at all? Or had she violated some Ponca custom? Apparently she had more to learn than she had to teach.

“Hello, fine lady, gentleman,” called a middle-aged man. His skin was darker than hers, but lighter than the tribe members'. Tufts of kinked hair stuck to his head and chin. He held up a long stick with the word
Missouri
carved into it, misspelled. “Isn't this bountiful? I can make one for you. And what might your name be?”

“Don't tell him,” Will murmured.

Sophia ignored him. “Ekaterina Mikailovna Dolgorukova,” she said. Her old classmate would no doubt be surprised to be remembered on the American frontier. She was probably busy with her duties as the tsar's mistress. One moment—was the penalty for lying worse for missionaries? “Thank you kindly, but I have no need of a walking stick.”

“What about tomorrow?” The peddler followed them. “What about your friends back home? Wouldn't they be proud to own this memory of you?”

Did he mean “memento”?

“My friends' memories are intact, thank you.”

Will picked up his pace. Sophia trotted along behind, not wanting to be left with the salesman.

“Wouldn't your father look extinguished carrying this?”

Did he mean “distinguished”? Whoever taught him English should be reported. “Thank you, but my father is already quite extinguished. In heaven, walking sticks are not necessary.”

“Reynaud.” The carpenter evidently had heard enough of the man's spiel. He raised his hand, palm out, and said one Ponca word. The man nodded and loped off in the other direction.

“Mr. Dunn, you are quite proficient in the native language for only living here three years. You are a quick learner. Children pick up languages easily, but adults have a more difficult time of it. Did you take classes?”

“Aren't any.”

“So you learned by hearing and using it. Do the Poncas have a written language?”

He shrugged. “One of the earlier reverends was working on it.”

“Perhaps the women would be so kind as to teach me.”

Will stopped and stared at her.

“People can learn more than one language. I know Russian, French, a little German, and English. My Ukrainian is a bit rusty.”

“You've already figured out there's a difference between how men and women say things.” He blinked and shook his head. “I was here two years before I noticed that.”

“Once you learn one language—”

The earth vibrated with thundering hooves. Will grabbed her elbow and maneuvered her to the side of the path. A dark blur of a horse passed, then another. Both were ridden by soldiers.

Sophia coughed and waved away the dust. “Is there an emergency? A skirmish?”

“A race.”

“A race? Right through the village? But the children! Where is their commanding officer? I will lodge a complaint.”

“The commanding officer was the second fellow.”

Sophia was furious, and her father was no longer here to discipline these louts. She uttered a word missionaries were forbidden to say. But perhaps it did not count since her escort did not know Russian.

Well, she would simply have to pray about the soldiers. What else could she do? Unless . . .

“Is there a livery nearby?”

“We have the team that pulled the wagon this morning. The saddles are locked in the stable.”

“Perhaps something more . . . agile.”

“I'll check with Long Runner,” Will said. “If the Brulé haven't run off his herd, he might have one you could borrow.”

They turned the corner to the agency building. Two dozen Ponca men filled the space between the fence and the porch.

“Uh-oh.” Will took off at a run.

So much for always being escorted.

“The teacher!” The group turned toward her, faces set in anger, arms crossed.

James separated from the crowd and marched to meet her. His hair stood on end. “Miss Makinoff.”

What faux pas had she committed now? “Yes, Mr. Lawrence?”

“You did not ring the bell.”

For whatever reason, this seemed to be a serious offense.

Sophia opened her mouth to apologize, but Will intervened. “The school didn't officially open. Brown Eagle's children helped Miss Makinoff get ready.” He repeated the statement in Ponca.