Through Rushing Water Part 13

The rev had just about tarred and feathered Will, ranting that other denominations were on the ragged edge of salvation, hanging on to heaven by their fingernails. Will had better not be weakening the gospel message with any heresy. After all, he hadn't been to seminary. What did a carpenter know anyway?

The rev had been dispensed with, and James was watching the festivities with crossed arms. Will figured he'd best rescue Sophia from whatever trouble she'd gotten herself into-if he could find her in this crowd. The only people moving were the dancers, so Will stepped into the circle.

"Welcome, brother!" Brown Eagle clapped him on the back. Will hadn't recognized him under his headdress. "You do not dance?"

"Not well." Will tried to keep up with his friend's footwork. "I look for the teacher."

"She is with my daughters."

Well then, he might as well dance. Will went around the circle twice until his feet stung. How did these men stomp in their moccasins? He waved to Brown Eagle and stepped out. Sophia had been on her feet all day. She might be ready to go too.

A flickering outside the firelight caught his eye. Sophia's hair had fallen out of its knot to form a gold cape down her back. She led a circle of girls, hands linked at shoulder height. They wheeled around, stepping and stomping. As the tempo changed, she showed them more moves, little kicks, stepping into the circle while making a bow over one arm, clapping overhead, spinning. Even though she danced beyond the light of the bonfire, beyond the lantern's weak flame, her face glowed. She spotted Will and waved.

"The beat is a little slow," she said breathlessly, "but it is perfect for teaching."

"Shouldn't the children be learning from their parents?"

"But they do not have a dance for the girls." She stopped and pressed her hands to her cheeks. "Have I violated some cultural taboo? Or a religious rule? Episcopalians dance, do they not? But then, I suppose learning a Ukrainian dance will not help them become American." She sighed. "Being a missionary is complicated."

Like the Poncas' dance.

During his growing-up years, Will's older brother had coached him on how to behave at a dance, trying to break him of his bashfulness. He'd learned how to invite girls to dances, ask them to partner with him for the next set, and escort them home. Did any of those lessons apply here?

Didn't matter. He couldn't recall a bit of what Harrison had said anyway.

"So, we have settled our curiosity about the bonfire, attended a party without an invitation, and congratulated the tribe on successfully ending warfare with the Brule. I suppose we should leave them to their celebration and return to the house before full dark." Sophia wished the girls a good night. "Should we collect James and Henry?"

"Already went down." Will raised his chin toward the house where the men stood. Then he grabbed the lantern and led her to the path. "Aren't you tired? You've been standing all day."

"I sit frequently."

"Only for a moment. Like a chickadee." A chickadee? He sounded like a fool.

"Will. How poetic. I keep thinking, if I were a better teacher, I could run the cla.s.sroom from my desk, the way a pilot runs the steamboat."

"The pilot steers the steamboat from on high. But he's got the leadsmen on the bow checking the river's depth, the engineer watching the boilers, the fireman feeding the fuel. The school only has one person. You."

Sophia smiled at him. "So. I steer the cla.s.sroom, but must also check the depth of knowledge, watch for snags of frustration, feed new material to the students. Brilliant a.n.a.logy, Will. How many years did you attend school?"

"A few. Here and there." What's an a.n.a.logy?

"A self-educated man. You must read a lot."

"The Bible mostly." He reached a steep part in the trail and turned to help her. Her hand slipped easily into his. It was less easy to let go. "Other books when I get a chance."

"Thanks to your help, my library has recovered from the deluge. Please feel free to borrow whatever you like."

Now, that was a grand offer. When Will had asked the rev, he'd been turned down flat, probably out of fear he might get sawdust on the pages. "Thank you kindly. I'd be glad to take up your offer this winter, when I've more time."

Sophia nodded at the house, where sunset glinted off the peak of the roof. "Speaking of my books," she said, "I am curious about what you used to patch the hole."

"Ran out of shingles but we had plenty of empty cans. I flattened them out. Let me know if you have more leaks."

They reached the bottomlands and could walk side by side. Her hand slid up to rest on his elbow. The wind blew her hair across his forearm. He wanted to run his hands through it, from her scalp down to the curls at the ends. It might be worth getting slapped, but it wouldn't be worth losing Sophia's kind regard.

"James said Congress voted to move the tribe. But now that the Brule are no longer a threat, the tribe will not have to leave."

Will stifled his frustration. Just when he thought he was making progress, Sophia took to quoting the agent. "Hope you're right. Most often money disappears before it makes it all the way out here."

"So you are not worried."

"Plenty to pray about."

"What do you think of this treaty?"

"Henry says it's not worth the paper it's not written on."

"As the Russians say, written with a pitchfork on water."

James and Henry stood on the porch, looking as grim as parents whose daughter has been brought home late. "Where have you been?" the rev demanded, as if he had no idea.

Sophia spun in a circle, arms out. "At the dance. What a blessing to be relieved of the constant threat of raids! And to see my students are safe and planning to return to school. How American of them to take the initiative and make their own treaty!"

Will didn't have to say a word.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Blast, it's time to fetch Sophia." James stepped into the kitchen. "Will. Good. Solomon Draper's visiting, you know, from the Niobrara newspaper."

Will didn't know Mr. Draper, but he did know a bit about Sophia. If no one arrived to escort her back to the house, she might take it into her head to walk back alone. He took off at a run as fast as the July heat allowed. Besides, he enjoyed watching her teach. She got as excited as the children about learning. And maybe she'd play that gosling.

Will wasn't the only one visiting the school today. Bear Shield was just leaving, having exchanged Gulliver's Travels for Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth. Then Lone Chief and Little Chief made their entrance, accompanied by Lone Chief's black-and-brown dog.

Sophia looked up from helping Rosalie with her numbers. Her gaze took in the elderly men, then shifted to Will with a questioning arch of her eyebrows. She greeted the chiefs in French, gave the dog a pat, and shook Will's hand. "Good afternoon, Mr. Dunn."

Why was she being so formal? Oh. She was teaching, setting an example. "Good afternoon, Miss Makinoff."

In Ponca the chiefs told her they had come to see the ball of the earth.

The what? Will started to interpret, but Sophia raised a regal finger in his direction-wait-and nodded at Joseph.

"They have come to see your round map of the world," said the boy.

She nodded. "You may show it to them."

Will peered between the chiefs' shoulders. He'd heard of globes and seen one in a store window once, but his schoolhouse had only a flat map. Both old men were losing their eyesight, so the boy moved their fingers to show the men where the Poncas lived, where Washington City was, and the many places their teacher had lived. They asked about Belgium, where the Catholic priest Black Gown had been born, and had Sophia recite the Lord's Prayer in Russian.

Sophia unrolled a map of the United States. Frank showed the chiefs the locations of their friends, the Omaha tribe, and their old enemies, the Brule. And they showed her the Ponca hunting grounds, from the Black Hills to the Rockies down to Kansas.

Then Joseph held the globe, one hand on each pole, in the sunbeam and showed how the earth rotated for night and day.

"Whose hands hold up our earth?" Lone Chief asked.

"G.o.d's," Little Chief answered. The two elders and the dog headed out.

Sophia thanked Joseph for interpreting, then dismissed the cla.s.s. Eyes sparkling, she turned to Will. "Shall I count that as a science or Bible lesson?"

"Both, I figure." He smiled back. She was smart, beautiful, had a sense of humor. Compa.s.sionate, dedicated to G.o.d, hardworking. What was wrong with the men in the rest of the world that they hadn't asked her to marry?

Will put the globe in its stand. "Speaking of lessons, I've got one for you. If you don't mind."

Her hands stilled on the window. For several long seconds, he figured she did mind. What could a carpenter from a one-room schoolhouse tell a teacher from a fancy New York college? Then she turned and smiled like a lantern had lit up inside her.

"Will." Her voice had a surprised note to it. "Yes, I would appreciate knowing all you would like to teach me. Please. Go ahead." She perched on the middle bench, motioned him toward the teacher's desk with a fancy turn of her wrist, then folded her hands in front of her.

Will looked down at the scuffed toes of his boots. "It's nothing big. About the names. Of the people. They're all one word. No first and last names. Like, Standing Bear is Ma-ch-nu-zhe. White Eagle is Ke-tha-ska. Buffalo Chip is Ta-zha-but. All one word."

She closed her eyes, put her fingertips to her mouth, and shook her head. "Oh, Will. Names are so important. I have been saying, 'Mr. Eagle,' when it ought to be 'Mr. Brown Eagle'?"

He nodded. "Mission Board should have told you."

"I have erred with all I have met." She winced. "Are they terribly offended?"

Offended? After smallpox and broken treaties, bungling a person's name didn't make the list. Yesterday, he'd heard Yellow Horse and Long Runner joking about coming up with a Ponca name for the new teacher.

"Maybe if you wrote a note of apology, had the butler take it around . . ."

He glanced up, wondering if he'd gone too far.

He hadn't. Sophia burst into a hearty laugh, giving him an "ahh" feeling, like when he measured a trim piece and it fit perfectly, without a gap.

"So." She locked the school. "The butler, not the footman?" Her smile faded, replaced by a sad, longing look. "No. A stable boy towing a three-year-old thoroughbred."

Back to wishing they could solve the tribe's problems. "If wishes were horses . . ."

Such good memories, these children. Sophia held out a handful of coins. "Which is the penny?" she asked Martha Jefferson.

The little girl pointed to the small copper coin. A murmur of approval rippled through the students.

"Correct. The three-cent piece? The two-cent piece? The nickel? Good. The half-dime and the dime?" She held her breath. The students called these tricksters, but they did not fool Martha. The little finger touched each coin. Sophia stood, stretching the ache in her back from bending over her small students. "Bravo! After only a month of school everyone in our cla.s.s knows the coins! Let us celebrate with a song!"

All smiles, the cla.s.s stood and sang what Will had told her was their warrior song. Sophia added the simple accompaniment she had worked out on her gusli.

Halfway through the third stanza, Henry barged in. "Stop!" He marched to the front of the room. "They must speak English. No other language."

Wide-eyed, the children cowered on the benches. The little ones, Martha and Rosalie, hid behind their older siblings. How dare he interrupt her cla.s.s and frighten her students! Sophia stepped in front of him. She would keep them from harm.

"Students, let us show Reverend Granville what we have learned. All together." She held up a coin. "This is a-"

Matthew and Frank gathered their courage. "Half-dollar."

"Very good. Everyone, please. This is a-"

Most of the cla.s.s said penny. They correctly identified the nickel, dime, and half-dime too. What was Henry here for anyway? Sophia glanced at her watch. Four o'clock already? "Reverend Granville, do you have a closing song for us?"

His frown had her students hiding their faces again. "No. Cla.s.s dismissed."

The children escaped. Sophia crossed her arms and glared at Henry. He propped his hands on his hips and scowled like Ivan the Terrible. "Miss Makinoff, I was perfectly clear. The children must speak English and only English during the school day. They have plenty of time at home for Indian gibberish."

"But-"

"Authorities at high levels in the Department of Interior are questioning the entire concept of Indian education." Henry went into fire-and-brimstone mode, complete with pacing, pointing, and pontificating. "If the children do not learn in day schools, the Commissioner of Indian Affairs may require boarding schools. The children would be taken away from their parents and sent hundreds of miles away. Maybe you didn't mind boarding school, but these parents dote on their children. Do you want that on your head, that because of you, these children could not grow up in their homeland?"

"Certainly not! Catharine Beecher disapproves of boarding schools."

"The inspector can visit at any time. And he expects to hear children speaking, reading, writing, and, yes, singing English. Do I make myself clear?"

Sophia clenched her fists. She refused to cry in front of this man. "You have no right to interrupt my cla.s.s."

"I have every right. I am your supervisor."

"Is that what you want to teach the children?" she asked. "The one who has the loud voice wins?"

"I wasn't through talking. You interrupted me."

Will walked into the cla.s.sroom carrying a plank and hammer. "Ah, Christian harmony."

Henry snorted. "If the Board had sent an American teacher, he'd be teaching American songs." He stomped out.

Sophia's jaw ached with suppressed words. Taking as deep a breath as her corset allowed, she forced her fingers to straighten.

With a few quick bangs of his hammer, Will attached the piece under the chalkboard.

"A chalk tray. Thank you." She locked the windows, collected the slates, and righted the books on the shelf. "Students at the College sang 'My Grandfather's Clock.' But timepieces are scarce in this community."

He wiggled the wood. It held. "I'll teach you some American songs, if you bring your gosling back to the house."

"My gosling? Oh, the gusli. That would be so kind." Sophia wrapped the instrument in its cloth bag. Her mind pictured Julia wrapping baby Timothy in his blanket, Black Elk hugging White Buffalo Girl, Brown Eagle pulling his children close. "Is it true, that the government might take the children away?"

"You're asking me what the Indian Commissioner's planning?" Will set the wiping rag and chalk on the tray.