With a grateful nod, Soaring Eagle fairly leaped out of his seat and followed George Woodward and his sister Julia into the adjacent dining car. As soon as they were seated, Soaring Eagle shook George Woodward’s hand again. “Jeremiah Soaring Eagle King. Thank you for rescuing me. I can usually avoid those situations. But today I had to see my sister to her train. I was much too late to choose a seat judiciously. I probably should have just stayed outside. Sometimes riding on the platform between cars is preferable to meeting men like that.”
Julia Woodward’s warm brown eyes were angry as she asked, “You mean this kind of thing happens often?”
“Often enough,” Soaring Eagle replied.
Julia looked at her brother and blurted out, “See, George. That’s just what I meant at last week’s meeting. There are ignorant savages in every culture!” The minute the words were out, she wished them back. Blushing furiously she stammered, “Oh, dear. I’m so terribly sorry. I didn’t mean—”
George interrupted. “Julia and I are members of the Friends of the Indian Committee in Boston, Mr. King. My sister participated in a particularly heated discussion at last week’s meeting with a gentleman, although I hesitate to use that word, not unlike the one you just encountered.” Woodward smiled warmly at his sister.
Soaring Eagle replied, “You’ll forgive me if I don’t remember you from my audiences in St. Louis. I was rather overwhelmed there—so many new people.”
Julia laughed. “You mean you really did speak in St. Louis?” She winked at her brother. “George and I came up with that concoction to rescue you from a difficult situation.”
“Then I’m doubly in your debt,” Soaring Eagle offered. Coffee was ordered while he briefly explained his presence in St. Louis.
“You’ll be speaking in Boston as well?” George wanted to know.
“In truth I am to spend the summer in Wisconsin working on a farm. The plan is for me to arrive in Boston barely in time to register for classes and begin my studies at Harvard. There probably won’t be much time for speaking, although I’m willing if the Lord provides opportunities.”
The trio ordered lunch, and while they waited George Woodward asked, “Would you indulge us, Mr. King, with the specifics of how you made the journey from the west to St. Louis?”
Julia laughed a low, warm laugh. “George Woodward, had I asked that question you would have lectured me all evening for my impertinence.” Turning to Soaring Eagle she added meaningfully, “And I’m in my brother’s debt for saving me the necessity of being so forward. Please, Mr. King, would you indulge us?”
Grateful for an excuse to postpone his return to Gilbert Slater’s company, Soaring Eagle recounted his coming to Santee. “By the time I finished my studies at Santee, I was hungering for more—more knowledge of God, and more education to enable me to understand the new world that had been thrust upon me. Dr. Riggs was able to gain me admission to the preparatory department at Beloit College in Wisconsin. Thankfully, he also obtained government aid to help pay expenses. I spent three years at Beloit. I studied geography, history, mathematics, grammar, bookkeeping, and English. I watched how the other students dressed and talked. I studied people as much as I studied books.”
George smiled broadly. “Well, I’d say the study of people was quite a success if you’ve already managed a lecture tour.”
Soaring Eagle answered, “There was so much to learn. I was in an alien culture. I even wrote notes—what to say when being introduced, reminders to shake hands, phrases for taking one’s leave.”
Julia’s voice was sympathetic. “You must have been miserable.”
Soaring Eagle’s dark eyes smiled warmly and he nodded. “Lonely, yes. But not miserable. God helped me to take refuge in His Word. It was a difficult time, but it was also a growing time. I grew closer to God—and perhaps, a bit closer to becoming the type of man that He can use in the world.”
Lunch arrived. George ignored his food and asked, “What happened after Beloit?”
“Another school. Dr. Riggs guided me, making arrangements for me to go to John Knox College in Illinois.”
“And what did you study at John Knox, Mr. King?” Julia asked.
Soaring Eagle cleared his throat and hesitated. “There were many new things to learn at John Knox.”
“I have no doubt of that.” Julia grinned, turning to George with a comment about John Knox being coeducational.
It was nearly two hours before the Woodwards and Soaring Eagle finally folded their napkins and returned to the coach. With relief Soaring Eagle saw that Gilbert Slater was snoring loudly, his head leaning against the dirty train-car window. When the Woodwards insisted that Soaring Eagle move to an open seat across from them, he retrieved his newspaper and gladly made his way toward the opposite end of the train car where George Woodward had taken a seat opposite his sister, leaving Soaring Eagle no choice but to sit beside Julia Woodward.
When the train finally made its first stop, Soaring Eagle waited until every passenger had disembarked before rising to leave the car. He climbed down the ladder that led along the tracks opposite the platform, but his elaborate attempt to avoid an encounter with Gilbert Slater failed.
“Forgot to tell you I was a tracker for the army,” Slater snarled, shoving Soaring Eagle against the side of the train car.
“I have no quarrel with you,” Soaring Eagle said wearily.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Injun.” Slater licked his lips.
“Why do you want to fight me? I’ve done nothing to hurt you.”
“I got so many scores to settle with your kind it’d take all night just to list ’em,” came the reply. “But this here stopover’s only for twenty minutes. I got to be about my business. Those Injun lovin’ friends aren’t around to rescue you now, are they?”
Just as Soaring Eagle held up his hands to try to reason again, Slater grabbed him and threw him flat on his back. Wiping his nose, Slater loomed over Soaring Eagle, spitting a stream of tobacco juice into his face.
Slater gave a menacing kick to Soaring Eagle’s ribs. “That’s for my brother you savages killed.” He leaned over and held up his hand in Soaring Eagle’s face, kicking him again. “And that’s for the two fingers you see missin’ off that hand. Lost ’em when they froze. Winter of ’68. Tracked a bunch of Crows through the mountains when it was forty below. Half my company had body parts lopped off. Couple of ’em died.” Slater grabbed Soaring Eagle’s shirt and pulled him up, slamming him hard against the train car. He doubled up his fist and slammed it hard into . . . the side of the train. Soaring Eagle had disappeared.
Slater howled with pain as two arms reached around him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides. Squeezing the air out of Slater’s corpulent mid-section, Soaring Eagle whispered angrily, “I am not going to fight with you. You told me you have a list of people you want to avenge.” Soaring Eagle squeezed tighter and Slater grunted. “Shall I give you my list? Shall I tell you of the day I was asleep in my tepee and soldiers rode into our village—past an American flag our chief had raised in honor of a treaty he had just signed—and began shooting? Shall I give you the names of my sisters, my mothers, my children—who all died that day?”
Soaring Eagle squeezed Slater tighter and tighter, realizing he was longing to break the man’s back over his knee. With supreme effort, he forced himself to let Slater go, slamming him against the train and pinning him back with one forearm. He thrust his own face inches from Slater’s. Still holding Slater against the train he said, “I could tell you more. There is a better way than revenge.”
Slater spit in Soaring Eagle’s face again, muttering foul epithets. In the wake of his hatred, Soaring Eagle released some of the rage he had held in check. Grabbing Slater by the throat, he whispered ominously, “I want you to know something. I am dressed like a white man. I am going east to a white man’s school. I believe in the same God as the white man. But I’m still Lakota.” He tightened his grip, shutting off some of Slater’
s air supply. “I remember very well how to kill a man.” Soaring Eagle squeezed Slater’s airway shut momentarily before releasing his hold. Slater slid to the ground, gasping for breath and rubbing his neck.
Soaring Eagle squatted beside Slater and said quietly, “I’m getting back on that train. I am going to Chicago. I will probably be having supper in the dining car with my friends. I do not expect to see you again.”
Soaring Eagle stood up and brushed the dust off his jacket. He turned his back on Slater and climbed stiffly up the ladder at the back of the car. Crossing to the platform, he made his way toward the station where he tried to wipe away all vestiges of the encounter.
When the passengers climbed back aboard, Julia Woodward insisted that Soaring Eagle settle next to her again. The Woodwards noticed that Slater was absent from the train, commenting happily on the fact. Soaring Eagle was quiet on the subject. Only when the three got up to go to dinner did George Woodward guess that Soaring Eagle had had something to do with Slater’s absence. Soaring Eagle moved carefully, wincing visibly when he pulled out Julia’s chair to seat her in the dining car. He sat down slowly, trying to protect his bruised ribs from further trauma. Looking across the table at George Woodward, he saw understanding and respect shining from his new friend’s eyes.
Chapter 6
Use hospitality one to another without grudging.
1 Peter 4:9
C arrie Brown boarded the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy train for Lincoln, Nebraska, on June 15, 1883. Walter and Lucy Jennings accompanied their granddaughter on the trip, unwilling to allow her to travel so far unescorted. When the train pulled into the new Gothic train station in Lincoln, Nebraska, Augusta Hathaway was waiting to greet them. She directed a young man to take their trunks to the hotel. Carrie paused just outside the train station to stare in disbelief at a three-story hotel directly across the street from the station. The building was brick, with ornamental cartouches over every window and an imposing covered entryway that welcomed guests to the Hathaway House.
Augusta reveled in Carrie’s open-mouthed admiration. “My new hotel, Carrie. It’s quite a change from what you remember, no doubt.” Augusta made no attempt to hide her sense of accomplishment. “Three stories high. We can accommodate three hundred guests—and lately I’ve wished I had more rooms.” Augusta turned to the Jenningses. “Lincoln has become quite a metropolis. Nearly twenty passenger trains arrive each day and we’re adding more every few weeks. Telegraph’s in and I’m on a waiting list to actually get a telephone soon. Steam heat, gas lights—everything modern has come to Lincoln since you left, Carrie. We’re not a little prairie village anymore. Of course we’re not St. Louis, either—but we’re growing fast.” The trio made its way across the street while Augusta expounded. “Some believe, and I’m among them, that we’ll have one hundred thousand citizens in less than ten years. The schools are growing, and commerce is good.”
Once across the wide street, Augusta pointed out improvements. “Used to be a sea of mud around the railway station when it rained. Paving the road stopped that. Sidewalks improved things even more.” They entered the hotel, pausing briefly for Augusta to introduce them to Silas Kellum.
“Silas calls himself ‘my lowly desk clerk,’ but he’s actually learning everything he can about running a hotel so he can buy me out in my old age.”
Silas saluted energetically and clicked his heels. “Yes, ma’am, that’s right.” He lowered his salute and bowed smartly to the Jenningses. “Welcome to the Hathaway House. We promise satisfaction or your money will be cheerfully refunded.”
Augusta nodded. “Good boy. Lesson number one in business, Silas. Always remember that the guests come first. The day I forget to make the welfare of my guests my paramount concern is the day Hathaway House is on its way to losing its—”
Silas broke in, “losing its place in the community to the Lindell.”
“Bite your tongue, young man!” Augusta ordered with mock sternness. “We’re the largest hotel in Nebraska, but we also offer the most home-like service. Kate Martin over at the Lindell has been wooing the politicians for years, but they still meet in my dining room.”
Silas chimed in, “And they always will—as long as we can keep the Schlegelmilch sisters cooking.”
Augusta finally gave up her boasting and led the Jennings and Carrie toward the back of the building and through a simple doorway marked “private.”
“This is my apartment,” Augusta explained. “I keep talking about getting a house in town, but I don’t really want to move. I’ve lived in a hotel for so many years, now, I wouldn’t know how to act if I couldn’t hear my guests tromping in and out—and if I couldn’t preside over the dining room personally.”
The Jenningses entered Augusta’s private domain and were welcomed by the faint aroma of frying potatoes and roast beef.
“Something smells wonderful,” observed Walter Jennings.
“That’s Cora’s cooking, Mr. Jennings. We’re at the back of the hotel now, and the kitchen isn’t far away. God has blessed me with two sisters who are among the best cooks in Lincoln.” Augusta explained, “I thought you’d want to see Carrie’s room first. Then I’ll show you upstairs and you’ll have a chance to get settled before dinner.”
Augusta directed the party to a small room that opened directly onto her parlor. On either side of the only window in the room were a walnut bed and its matching marble-topped dresser. As Carrie looked about the room, Augusta offered, “I was going to order a new feathertick and comfortables, Carrie, but I thought you might want to pick those out yourself. We can get different draperies, too, if these don’t suit. It will all be part of my welcome gift to you.” A round table had been added to the center of the room. “You can do your book work in here when you like—away from distractions. I didn’t think the writing desk would be quite big enough by itself.” Augusta backed out of the room to allow Carrie and the Jenningses to inspect, which they did briefly before emerging with appreciative comments.
Augusta continued, “We’ll talk details later, Carrie, but you can entertain here at the hotel any time—just please give me a few days’ notice if you’re planning an affair for more than a few classmates. I thought about giving you a permanent room upstairs—it would be larger—but I’m selfish and I wanted you close by.” Augusta smiled sincerely. “I’ve been lonely since LisBeth and Sarah left me, and I’m looking forward to having a young person to spoil again—and I hope you’ll accumulate a great many young friends to entertain often. I love having young people about.”
Lucy and Walter Jennings had been overwhelmed by Augusta, but now they relaxed visibly, each one thinking that the decision to allow Carrie to return to Nebraska was a wise one after all. After a few brief but sincere thankful comments to Augusta, they gratefully accepted her suggestion that they ascend to their own room to unpack and rest before dinner.
Carrie bounded back into her little room, enthusiastically unpacking and arranging things while Augusta answered the few messages that had been left for her while she waited at the train station. When Augusta returned to her apartment, she peeked into Carrie’s room to see Carrie seated at the small Circassian walnut writing desk positioned underneath the window that overlooked the service entrance to the hotel.
When Augusta appeared at her door, Carrie looked up with a bright smile. “Mrs. Hathaway, I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve already done to help me. I want you to know that I intend to work very hard, and to make certain that you don’t regret agreeing to let me stay here.”
Crossing the small distance between them, Augusta patted Carrie on the shoulder. “I know you’ll do wonderfully, Carrie. I was quite impressed with the fact that you took the initiative to write to me and to look for employment before you committed to the university. It speaks well of you that you want to make your own way in the world.”
“When do I start work?”
“Well, I thought you would want to enjoy Lincoln for at least a few
days, Carrie. I want to drive you and your grandparents all around our budding metropolis, show them everything I can before they leave, and then, young lady, you will be put to work. There’s plenty to be done. Laundry, dusting, window-washing, serving in the dining room, kitchen work—the list goes on and on. At present, I desperately need someone to keep the lobby and dining room spotless. We’ll talk about all the details later, Dear. For now, you just enjoy getting settled in. Your grandparents will be down in about an hour and I’ve arranged to have Joseph take us on a tour of the city.”
Aged Joseph Freeman drove the carriage that introduced the Jenningses to Lincoln, Nebraska. They drove east on P Street, turning north on 10th for their first view of University Hall. Three stories high, it towered above the homes that had only recently begun to reach the edge of its grounds, which were, this day in 1883, providing breakfast for two milk cows.
Augusta laughed, “There’s a moooove-ment abroad to fence the grounds to prevent this. But the university is like everything else out here. It sprung up from the will of a people who refuse to admit that Nebraska is a ‘worthless desert.’ And, just like everything else, the university will outlive the rural lawn ornamentation. Two rows of trees were planted years ago, but the grasshoppers destroyed them in one afternoon. For now, we’re still mowing hay on the grounds and working to keep the cattle away.
Red Bird (Prairie Winds Book 2) Page 4