Through Rushing Water

by Catherine Richmond

  Henry bustled in and embraced his mother. “Happy Easter. Are you feeling better?”

  She nodded. “Thanks to a restorative night’s sleep and drier weather. And you?”

  “I have a sermon.” He patted his pocket, grabbed a slice of toast, and dashed out as Will returned from lighting the church’s stove.

  “Coldest Easter I’ve ever seen. Doubt we’ll get above freezing today.” He loaded the wood box, then took his place at the table.

  Sophia gazed at him, flushed with the cold, and felt an almost overwhelming desire to warm him, to press her cheek against his, to hold his hardworking hands. A flush of shame washed over her at these uncontrolled thoughts.

  “Point Village and Hubdon will probably stay home.” Nettie set out sausage and scrambled eggs, sending James running for the latrine. “There will be plenty of decorated eggs for everyone.”

  As the congregation hurried into the sanctuary, Sophia and Nettie handed out the Easter eggs. “Christ is risen,” Sophia said, with a smile and a prayer.

  “He is risen indeed,” her friends dutifully replied. Only little Rosalie returned her smile.

  As rapidly as the eggs disappeared, Sophia suspected it was a first breakfast for many.

  Sophia went up the aisle with her basket. “Christ is risen,” she said to White Swan’s wife, Mary. The woman stared at the floor as she took an egg, removed the shell, and handed it to her youngest. Therese squeezed it and babbled when the yolk popped out.

  Sophia knelt beside the pew and helped the little one find her mouth. Prayers without ceasing had gone up for the chiefs’ safe return. Where were they?

  “Miss Makinoff,” Henry whispered loudly enough to be heard at Fort Randall. “We’re ready to get started.”

  She slipped three extras into Mary’s pocket and hurried to her spot between Nettie and Will.

  Henry made a valiant effort on the melodeon with “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today” and a sermon pieced together from Will’s thoughts. The sun shone through the windows Eloise had washed yesterday. Candlelight glowed on the white altar cloth.

  But still the morning’s service felt less like a celebration than a funeral.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Ignore the rushing water.

  Easter Monday Sophia tried to focus on her students as wind whistled through cracks in the walls and pushed clouds across the sun, changing the light in the classroom every few minutes.

  “Correct, Rosalie. Sentences begin with capital letters and end with—”

  Slates clattered to the floor. Benches scraped. The students rushed to the windows. “Horses! Someone is coming!”

  Had their prayers been answered? Sophia glanced at her watch. No holding them back. “Class dismissed!”

  The students grabbed their coats and burst out. Sophia followed but did not see anyone on the path.

  “Is this an April fool’s joke?” Sophia asked, then wondered if the Poncas even knew about that European custom.

  “They are coming!” Frank grabbed her hand. “Can I ring the bell?”

  The rumble of hooves accompanied by the ululation of many voices finally reached Sophia’s ears. “Yes, you may ring the bell.”

  A group of horsemen followed by what seemed to be most of the residents of Hubdon and Point Village rounded the corner. Deep lines of travel-weariness changed into smiles as the children cheered. But wait . . . five, six, seven. “Someone’s missing.”

  Joseph jogged a few paces with White Eagle, then returned. “Standing Bear stayed at Joe’s Village, with the Omaha people, to visit his brother. Where they got horses.”

  Sophia locked the school and joined the parade into the village. “Thank the Lord. They all survived the ordeal.”

  And ordeal it had been, Will told them at supper. The chiefs had walked home six hundred miles in winter without food, clothing, or money. When their moccasins had disintegrated, they had left a trail of blood in the snow.

  “Kemble said they didn’t have to move to Indian Territory if they didn’t like it.” His expression grim, Will leaned forward, making sure he had the attention of everyone at the table. “He . . . promised.”

  Sophia’s heart sank. Promises were never kept.

  “The inspector’s back,” Will told the staff at breakfast.

  “Why’d you tell her?” James asked. “Now she’ll be pointing her pistol everywhere.”

  “Perhaps I will load it this week.” Sophia’s smile held a world of secrets.

  Henry choked on his coffee. “You scared Kemble off with an unloaded pistol?”

  Sophia peeled a hard-boiled egg. “So why is our precious inspector here?”

  Which was exactly the question Standing Bear asked later at the council. “Why are you here? We did not invite you. Go away. Do not return unless you have cash. A lot of cash.”

  His brother Big Snake towered head and shoulders above everyone. “This is our land,” he said. “Here we will stay.”

  “You chiefs have proved yourselves incapable of acting for the people,” Kemble said. “So military force is necessary.”

  White Eagle stood. “You say you are Christian. You say you love God. Yet you will shoot us, shoot our women and children. The Warm Country is full of sickness. It is better to die here, from soldier’s bullets, than to die in the Warm Country. Kill us all. We will die for what is right.” He headed to the door. The rest of the tribe followed.

  “You agreed to relinquish this reservation and take homes in Indian Territory, to let the Great Father make provision for you,” Kemble shouted. “No food. No more food allotments until you Indians learn to behave! To respect the agent of the US government!” Kemble stormed out, managed to climb on his horse on the third try, and galloped west.

  “Hmm. Does he know the town of Niobrara is the other way?” Brown Eagle asked.

  Icy fear sawed through Will’s gut. “He’s heading to Fort Randall.”

  All night the mourning song echoed through the village. Sophia tossed and turned . . . and prayed. If the Poncas resisted, would the soldiers shoot unarmed civilians? Gentle elders, women carrying babies, her students? Will had told her of other instances where the army had.

  In the misty dawn from her bed, she watched Lone Chief reach the top of the bluff. But before he started his prayer, he turned and ran down the hill, moving faster than a white-haired great-grandfather should have to.

  Sophia climbed out of bed and lifted the window, leaning out to see what had caused him to cut short his matins. Whatever it was could not be seen from here. She threw on her clothes—ridiculous fashions, requiring all these foolish layers. Men had it so much easier. Finally dressed, she shoved her feet into boots and raced downstairs.

  The view from the front window showed a troop riding into the village, led by Edward Kemble. The inspector pointed to Big Snake’s house.

  “Wake up!” Sophia raced through the house, pounding on doors. “Soldiers!”

  “On a Sunday morning? A sacrilege.” Henry tied a robe over his nightshirt and went to the window to scowl. “See if they brought food.” The agency pantry was nearly empty.

  “Put on your collar! We must stop them from shooting the children!”

  Where was Will? He would know—

  Will dashed into the kitchen from outside and set an empty stew pot on the stove. He still wore his green shirt from yesterday. Where had he been? Had he not slept? “Stay here. I don’t want them arresting you too.”

  Sophia raced past him. “They cannot arrest me. I have done nothing wrong.”

  “Neither has Big Snake.” Will caught up to her. “And don’t show your pistol. You’re outgunned.”

  “Why Big Snake?”

  “He’s Standing Bear’s brother. On his way back from the Omaha Agency, Standing Bear telegraphed President Hayes and told his story to the Sioux City Journal. I’m guessing Washington is making noise about whether Kemble can get the job done.”

  “I will not let them shoot my students. Or their famili
es.”

  Sophia scanned the troop. The highest-ranking officer was Lt. Higgins. Perhaps she might have some influence. She paused to get her hair in order; then, with a deep breath, she marched up to him. “Good morning, Lieutenant. What brings you here so early?”

  “Miss Makinoff.” His eyes brightened. “Well, if you aren’t a pretty sight this morning.”

  A pretty sight? Perhaps he did not see well enough to aim. “Would you like to come over to the house for breakfast? Miss Nettie is an excellent cook.” Now that she had stopped running, the chill of the damp April morning cut through her.

  The lieutenant held his rifle at ready. “I’d surely love to, ma’am, but we’re a mite busy this morning. In fact, you’d be safer back at the agency house. I’ll visit another day.”

  Four soldiers emerged, dragging Big Snake in chains. His wife and children followed, crying.

  “Please, Lieutenant.” Sophia stepped in front of him and grabbed his arm. If she could not stop him from firing, perhaps she could keep him from hitting anyone. “There must be a mistake. Big Snake is a kind man with a placid temperament.”

  “I’m sorrier than I can say. The Poncas never gave us a bit of trouble.” The lieutenant lowered his voice. “I’m supposed to leave a few men here to make sure none of ’em starts plowing and planting. Uh-oh. Here comes the skunk.”

  Kemble emerged from the house and glared at Sophia. “I arrested Big Snake for defying orders, inciting disturbance, and imperiling the peace of the Agency. The US government cannot allow such insubordination. In fact”—he turned to the officer—“this woman threatened me too. With a gun. Arrest her.”

  “Miss Makinoff threatened you with a gun? Tell me another whopper.” The lieutenant started to laugh, but Kemble’s red-faced scowl stopped him. “Inspector, my orders didn’t say anything about arresting any women.”

  Will went to talk to the soldiers. Sophia could count on him to fight with her against this injustice . . . as she had never relied on anyone before.

  “Arrest him too!” Kemble screamed. “He threw me into the snow.”

  The lieutenant’s mustache twitched. “Don’t have orders about him either.”

  With Will’s persuasion, the soldiers allowed Big Snake a trip to the latrine. Then they hauled the tall man into a wagon and rode south.

  “Where are they going?” Sophia asked Will.

  “To arrest Standing Bear.”

  Will entered the school, battling the wind for control of the door. He nodded at the empty benches. “Students went home early?”

  The wind had whipped his curls into a coronet. Sophia longed to touch them, to draw him close, to run her fingers through his hair . . .

  “We sang, read a story, held a spelling bee. But they are all so distraught. And this wind, pounding the building, and the dark clouds. We felt under attack.”

  He gave a grim nod.

  “We prayed about the council. How did it go?”

  “Standing Bear and Big Snake are back from Fort Randall.” He cleaned out the stove. The temperature climbed to comfortable in the afternoon, but mornings came with a chill. “Solomon Draper, the editor of the Niobrara Pioneer, spoke up for the tribe. He’s a lawyer. He asked Kemble to show the paperwork saying the tribe had to move, and when the inspector couldn’t come up with it, he called him a liar, thief, and scoundrel, and recommended hanging. Kemble called him meddlesome and refused to let him talk anymore.”

  “Meddlesome? I like Mr. Draper’s style of meddling.” She drew her shawl about her shoulders. “Why would Mr. Draper advocate for the Poncas?”

  “Niobrara shop owners appreciate the tribe’s business. And they’re afraid if the Poncas go, the Sioux will move in. The tribe sold off the last of their horses to send Draper to Washington to plead their case.”

  Oh dear. Long Runner had told her the bloodline of their horses ran back to the Spanish conquistadors. But what else did they have to sell?

  Will put a hand on her elbow and turned her toward him. His brown eyes searched hers, as if reaching into her depths. “Sophia, what you said yesterday, about not letting your students get shot. You’re not . . . you wouldn’t . . .”

  He shook his head. A lock of hair fell across his cheek.

  To keep from smoothing his curls back into place, Sophia busied her hands with closing the school. “I am named after a martyr. When the tsar took my classmate as his mistress, my father spoke up. He lost his title, his lands, his country. God provided for us. So how can I fail to act?”

  “But, Sophia . . .”

  “Christians must not be afraid when God asks us to do right, to say what is true. Think of John the Baptist.”

  “Who got his head chopped off.” Will shuddered. “We’ve still got work to do on this side of heaven. If something happens to you, who will tell the Poncas’ story? Who will say what happened here?” He reached toward her face. “Sophia, please—”

  A line of wagons creaked along the path. Last evening’s thunderstorm had left the road a muddy mess. Will and Sophia moved out of the way.

  “Where you going?” Will yelled to James, who drove the lead. Lone Chief sat beside him, his face wet with tears.

  “The half-breeds have seen the light.” James’s sarcastic tone indicated the light they had seen was in Kemble’s vicious eyes. “They’re heading to Indian Territory.”

  Sophia studied their faces and found only fear, grief, defeat. “It is like watching a runaway train heading for a broken bridge. What can we do?” She pulled out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

  Will’s broad shoulders shook. “Pray,” he said in a choked voice.

  “Mr. Dunn!” Joseph ran toward them, gasping, his face pale. “Please come,” he gasped. “My father needs you.”

  “What is wrong? What happened?” Sophia asked.

  The boy let out a sob. “Elisabeth.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  A pack of coyotes howled on the bluff, adding their voices to the cries of pain echoing through the village. Sophia hauled herself out of bed and went to the window. A curtain of yellow-green light rippled across the sky. Aurora borealis on—what day was it? The second of May.

  Sophia dressed, then tiptoed downstairs, although how anyone could sleep through the Poncas’ mourning wails was beyond her comprehension. Outside, the noise filled her ears. She took a few steps, moving far enough from the house to see the full sweep of the lights, then realized she was not alone.

  The aurora’s light showed a man with hair waving back from his forehead to curl at his nape. His straight nose tipped down a fraction at the end, balanced by the curve of his chin.

  Will.

  She took a breath. He turned.

  “Where’s your coat?” Will opened his arms, beckoning her into the shelter of his blanket.

  Sophia glanced back at the house.

  He invited her again with a tip of his head. “C’mon. Anyone who looks will only see one.”

  She stepped into the circle, her back against his broad chest, against his heartbeat. His big hands held the corners of the blanket to her shoulders. His wrist brushed her neck with a gentle rasp of hair. The man was as warm as a coal furnace.

  Sophia had never let anyone this close before, not to her body. Nor, if she was honest with herself, to her heart.

  Pale-green lights fluttered across the sky like a sheer curtain in a gentle breeze.

  “What does it mean?” she whispered. “Could it be a sign?”

  “Other than electrical particles dancing?” Will’s breath warmed her ear.

  Electrical particles seemed to dance through her body too. Her thoughts fluttered like the lights. “Do the Poncas . . . have any beliefs about the aurora?”

  “Some believe the Milky Way is a holy path. I’ve never heard the people talk about the northern lights. Maybe . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Maybe God’s reminding us He’s in charge. Reminding us to look for His work, His beauty.” He hummed “Cantique de
Noel.” This close to her ear, his music covered the sound of lamenting, his breath warmed her neck. She leaned against him, surrendering to the surge of joy that came with his nearness. He smelled like—well, like himself. With a hint of fresh-cut wood.

  “Please sing.”

  “‘A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.’”

  Sophia listened to the words, and to the timbre of his voice, with a bittersweet mixture of sadness and longing. Dear Lord, where is the hope? Where is the new morn for the Poncas? How long, oh Lord?

  “‘Oh night divine, oh night divine . . .’”

  The aurora faded to a mist, then disappeared altogether. Morning, glorious or not, broke over the Ponca Agency.

  “Thank you for watching with me.” He opened the blanket to let her back into the house. She found herself reluctant to move away from him, to leave the safety and contentment she felt in his arms.

  “Will.” Sophia took his hand, but then she could not think of the words, in any language, to express her appreciation for him. Not for this morning alone, but for her entire time with the Poncas. Will had made the year not just endurable, but a season of spiritual growth. In everything she had tried to do here, she could count on Will to work with her, to guide and aid her efforts.

  Sophia stretched on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  “What are you doing up here?” Yellow Spotted Buffalo climbed up the ladder and sat next to Will. “Shines White will not need his roof when we are evicted.”

  “We are keeping an eye on the village.”

  And trying not to think about Sophia. How she tucked into his arms with a perfect fit. How she smelled like honey and spices from another country. How she had kissed him. If he had turned his head an inch, he could have caught her lips with his.