Through Rushing Water Part 17

"The day we climbed the waterfall, you told me to ignore the rushing water. Ignore everything that tries to pull you under or knock your feet out, or obscures your view. Plant your feet on solid rock. I try to do so with my students. Ignore all the other problems and focus on them."

"You keep talking like that, my head will swell." He scuffed through a pile of yellow leaves.

"It is a wise lesson, the only one I have learned here that makes any sense. Thank you."

His jaw moved as if chewing his words into order. Then his brown eyes focused on her. "Sophia, this is a dangerous place. To body and soul. Seems like we're all battling demons of one sort or another." He studied the hills, making her wonder what demons he battled. "It's good to have someone praying for you. Maybe your church back in New York?"

With her abrupt departure, she had not had time to request prayers. "I do not know. Perhaps . . . the Mission Board?" Surely it was their obligation to pray for her.

"I'll ask my home church." Will opened the door for her.

The staff stood around a new crate. "Newspapers came." James pointed to the stack on the table.

"Excellent. I can keep my students apprised of the events of the day." Sophia flipped through them. The Niobrara Pioneer, Yankton Dakotaian, and Sioux City Journal. None from New York or even Chicago. Enlightenment would be delayed once again.

Will opened the crate with a few easy pops of his crowbar. The contents included three bolts of coa.r.s.e wool and two dozen pairs of brogans in a large size.

"This is all?" Sophia asked. "For seven hundred people?"

"Seven hundred seventy." James propped his arm over the window and stared out.

Sophia lifted the wool and held it in front of the lantern. "As coa.r.s.e as burlap and nearly as itchy. We need muslin and flannel." Hot anger flashed through her. "It is wrong that these people should have so little. Wealthy women in New York City change clothes five times a day: a morning gown, a visiting dress, a carriage dress, a walking dress, an evening gown. Sixteen to twenty yards of fabric for each, not counting petticoats, balayeuses, paletots, pelisses. And each piece covered in embroidery, lace, pearls-"

In spite of her best effort, the tears welled up. New York's wealthy did not care about the poor on their own doorstep, in the tenements of the Lower East Side. How could Sophia make them care about people they had never seen, people more than a thousand miles away?

"I recognize this bolt." Nettie cut a corner off. "Normally with loose-woven fabric, I wash it in hot water to felt it. Ends up fewer yards, but it's tightened into something useful. But with this . . ." She poured an inch of water from the kettle into a pie pan, then added the sc.r.a.p. The fabric dissolved and turned the water cloudy.

"Useless." Black dye streaked Sophia's hands. "Worse than useless."

"The rest seem higher quality." The other sc.r.a.ps pa.s.sed Nettie's test. She held up a length to her round body. "None of the Ponca women has any extra padding. With straight skirts, no gathers or pleats, six yards might make a dress."

"If they had blouses, we could make sarafans . . . What is the English word? Pinafore? Jumper?"

"That's a good idea." Nettie folded the fabric. "Cover their legs. Use a shawl or blanket for their arms."

"I estimate they have only six weeks' provisions." James frowned at the neighbors' gardens. A few weeks ago a cow had broken through Eloise's willow fence and trampled her crop of squash. "They're slaughtering their livestock and eating next year's seed."

"Perhaps the Mission Board should have sent a farmer instead of a teacher."

The agent shook his head. "The agency farmer was supposed to teach modern techniques, like using a plow instead of a buffalo scapula. Unfortunately the Indian Office never sent the plows."

Sophia strode past the stove. "Can more food be purchased?"

"I suppose you have enough money." The agent drummed his fingers.

"Could the merchants extend credit?" She paced to the door.

"The government is six years behind on payments." Will glared at James, as if he blamed the agent for all their problems. "You'll have to ask Fort Randall for emergency rations again."

"I'll send soup with you, Sophia," Nettie said. "At least the children will have a warm meal on school days."

Her feet took her to the locked door of their poorly stocked pantry. "Mary and Elisabeth were digging by the spring for some sort of turnip." They had prayed before digging, but Sophia would not mention that. The Ponca version of "Give us this day our daily bread" would look like a pagan ritual to Henry.

Will crossed his arms. "With so many bad harvests, they've pretty much stripped the hills bare."

"What about all these migrating waterfowl?"

"The government won't give the Indians guns. Makes the whites nervous," the agent said. "And we're out of ammunition."

"What about fish?"

James's voice grew heavy with fatigue. "The allotment one year included fish hooks, but they weren't the right kind."

"Could they seine?"

"The Seine's a river in France."

Sophia paused. "Henry, you made a joke. Mark this day on the calendar." She resumed pacing. How could they feed and clothe these people? "Do they have any fishing nets or anything they could make them from?"

Shrugs and shakes all around.

"We have already had our first frost." She picked up one of the shoes. "How will we decide who goes barefoot?"

Will leaned on the crate. "Henry, how about a prayer, loaves and fishes style?"

The reverend started to argue but caught a stern look from his mother. He bent his head and did his duty.

Sophia added her own plea. Oh Lord, I will do my best. I will write everyone I know and even people I do not. My students must have shoes.

Before Henry could make his way to the amen, a harsh voice yelled outside. A stubby man with thin yellow hair held a rifle on a tall Ponca man Sophia did not recognize. They both stated their case with vehemence. Neither spoke English.

"Quiet!" James waved his arms, then addressed the blond man. "Put down your gun. Who are you?"

"I am Schumacher. Just south of the river, I farm. I work hard. He beg and steal." The man pointed at the Ponca with his rifle.

The noise drew a crowd of villagers who gathered in a circle around them. Little Rosalie squirmed from her sisters' grasp with a delighted shout, raced to the Ponca man, and caught him around the knees in an embrace. Directly in the line of fire.

The farmer shifted his feet and swung the muzzle around the circle. He was clearly outnumbered now. His eyes bulged and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

He let go of the trigger to wipe his face, and Sophia took the opportunity.

"Guten Tag, Herr Schumacher. So pleased to make your acquaintance. Allow me to hold on to this for you. Danke." She dazzled him with a smile, swept the rifle from his grasp, then glided out of reach.

He blinked. His mouth dropped open. "Johann," he said. "You may call me John."

"I think not."

Will coughed. "This is Blunt Tail from the Point Village." He interpreted with all the authority and composure of an amba.s.sador's senior a.s.sistant. "He has no food for his family. He has no money. His wife is sick. His children are hungry. He went to this man. He asked to work. But this man yelled and pointed a gun. He forced him into the boat."

Will tipped his head toward the riverbank. A second blond man waited at the oars.

With both hands free, the farmer pointed and pounded his chest with abandon. "Government gives money to Indians. I must work for mine!"

"That's payment for their land," Will told the farmer. "And it's not enough to raise a family on."

Blunt Tail picked up Rosalie and repeated his request for work.

"Perhaps Herr Schumacher needs some a.s.sistance on his farm."

"The Poncas are not allowed to leave the reservation." James crossed his arms. "He'll have to look elsewhere. Not allowed."

Zlata and her puppies wandered over and inspected the farmer's shoes.

"Hund? I need dog. So. Take?" He pulled a coin from his pocket. "Buy?"

"Nein." Sophia shook her head. Anyone who treated a man this poorly was surely unworthy of Zlata's puppies.

"We're sorry for the misunderstanding." James retrieved the rifle from Sophia. He escorted the farmer to the rowboat, returned his gun, and waved him off.

Blunt Tail made a concluding statement, raised his chin toward Sophia, then returned Rosalie to Brown Eagle.

"He thanks you for your courage." Will wiped his forehead with a kerchief.

"I hope he thanked you for your skill in interpretation."

"Foolish woman!" Henry scowled down at her from the porch. "Why can't you stay in the house where it's safe?"

"If I wanted safety, I would have stayed at the College."

Nettie gathered her in an embrace. "G.o.d is using you here."

Sophia's vision blurred with tears. "Mr. Blunt Tail is not the only one looking for work. What happens the next time if the farmer is quick to shoot?"

"No, Susette!" Sophia pointed. "First base!"

The girl stopped running and turned when she reached third. "But Matthew is there and he has the ball."

"The rule says you must go to first."

Susette shrugged and marched to first, where Matthew tagged her out.

From the pitching mound, Luke tried to console her. "When you bat better, you will hit it over his head."

Susette's face brightened. "Mr. Dunn!"

The carpenter emerged from the woods, carrying a canvas bag over his shoulder like a sailor.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Dunn." The tension in Sophia's shoulders eased. Will brought a sense of peace with him, a certainty that, with his a.s.sistance, she could handle any crisis.

But-Sophia checked her watch. He was an hour early.

"Students," she said, "let us thank Mr. Dunn for building the new vestibule for our school." She clapped and the children cheered.

"You're welcome." He glanced at the schoolhouse. "Be careful the ball doesn't break any windows. I'm clean out of gla.s.s."

"Martha hit it over our heads." Matthew gestured toward the Missouri with his chin. "The river swallowed the ball."

"Mr. Brown Eagle gave us another." Sophia handed it to him. "The exterior appears to be some sort of animal bladder. I am uncertain of the interior."

"It does not hurt when you catch it." Rosalie held up her palms.

"But it does not go far when you hit it." Susette pouted.

"Keeps the windows safe." Will returned it to her, then handed her an envelope. "You need to read the letter first. It's about what's in the bag."

The letter was from one of her students at the College. The young woman's uncle owned a shoe factory in upstate New York and had kindly made a donation- Will emptied the bag onto the ground. New shoes. St.u.r.dy, with leather soles and uppers.

"Shoes!" The students squealed and dove into the pile.

"Students, form a line by size of feet. Rosalie at one end, Frank at the other. Oh dear. Mr. Dunn, perhaps we should have done this a different way." With less anarchy. "Some children will be disappointed."

The children tumbled over each other like puppies. He grinned. "Miss Makinoff, we prayed about this." He bent to help John Adams tie his laces.

Marguerite helped her sisters find shoes that fit, then make their bows. When she finished, the pile was gone and all the other students had shoes. Her smile drooped. She blinked away tears.

"This is what I mean, Mr. Dunn," Sophia said in an undertone. Perhaps they could find the girl a pair in Niobrara.

"Everyone stand up." Will waved his arms. "Do all the shoes have feet in them?"

"No." Thomas Jefferson pointed to a pair he had been sitting on.

"Trying to hatch them like a chicken?" Will picked up the shoes and handed them to Marguerite.

If they were too big, she might stuff them with gra.s.s or newspaper. Too small, perhaps she could trade with another.

Will winked at Sophia. "What are you holding your breath for?"

Marguerite slid her feet in, tied the laces, and jumped up. "They fit!"

They fit! Will had prayed and G.o.d answered with a miracle. Impulsively, Sophia wrapped her arms around him.

He felt solid and warm. She inhaled his scent, very male, with a touch of sawdust. His eyes widened and he patted her shoulder.

Sophia let go and stepped away quickly, then hugged each child, each well-shod student. Tears filled her eyes. They all had shoes! Before it snowed!

"Everyone, sit, so I can tell you how to take care of your shoes." The students formed a circle. "Shoes should be brushed nightly and polished with blacking every Sat.u.r.day." Sophia looked at Will. "Oh dear. Does anyone have a shoe brush?"

"I'll bring mine tomorrow. And some waterproofing." Will grabbed a twig and took over the lesson. "When you get home, sc.r.a.pe the mud off the bottoms on the edge of your step. Then use a little stick to clean the mud off the uppers." He took off his shoe. "Each night open them up to dry out the inside. But don't put them on the stove. The leather will crack."