She took a biscuit and tried to put her attention on the food. Her mother’s lamb stew was every bit as good as Connie remembered. Her mother cooked in a very simple fashion, using fresh vegetables and meats. She didn’t bathe them in creams or sauces to disguise or change their flavors, and Connie found she had missed this plain fare. Even her mother’s biscuits, although heavier, were more flavorful.
“I’ve missed this so much.” She forced the words out and pushed ever harder to stuff back her guilt.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t find my cooking very satisfying after eating such fancy meals back East,” Mama replied. She took her seat after fetching a brown sugar cake. “I hope you still like this.” She cut a slice and put it on a small plate. “We don’t usually have cake for lunch, but I couldn’t resist.” She handed the plate to Tom. “This used to be Connie’s favorite.”
“I’m sure it still is,” Connie declared. “Especially if you made your brown sugar butter sauce to go with it.”
“Of course she did,” her father said, placing a small pitcher on the table. “What’s the cake without the sauce?”
“The very thought is indecent,” Isaac said.
Connie could almost taste it. What an unexpected delight. Her mother handed her a piece of the cake and then the pitcher of sauce. Connie poured the liquid all over the cake, and then handed the pitcher to Tom. “Make sure you use plenty. It soaks into the cake and is like nothing you’ve ever had.” She waited until he’d copied her actions, then picked up her fork. “Sometimes Mama makes whipped cream to go along with it, but I find it just perfect with the sauce alone.” She cut into the cake and popped a piece into her mouth.
The warm, buttery brown sugar hit her tongue in a burst of flavor that made her happy and homesick all at once. She’d never allowed herself to realize just how much she’d missed this place and her parents. Now, sitting here with her family and Tom, Connie thought she had never been happier.
Except for the fact that Tom didn’t believe in God.
Tears came unbidden.
“Goodness, I didn’t expect to make you cry,” her mother said, extending her handkerchief.
Connie took it and dabbed her eyes. She didn’t know whether she was crying for Tom or the fact that she’d missed her family. She would choose the latter for the sake of discussion. “I didn’t realize just how much I missed you all. I didn’t really allow myself to think about it while I was away. I knew I longed for each of you, but the depth of feeling that overwhelms me now was something I didn’t let come through. Otherwise I could never have stayed away so long.”
Her mother met her gaze and nodded. “I am the same way when thinking of my sisters. I dare not let myself miss them too much.”
“Well, I for one think we should eat our cake and be happy,” her father declared. He cut his own piece and plopped it unceremoniously on his plate. “Now, please pass me the sauce before Isaac gets a hold of it and uses it all up.”
Mama laughed. “There’s plenty more. I made sure of it.”
When they’d finished with lunch, Connie felt a deep longing for a nap. She was thoroughly spent and crawled atop her old bed without even bothering to undress. She would rest for just a few minutes.
She smiled at the familiar smells and textures, and as she faded off in hazy dreams, she let contentment wash over her. What a peace there was in coming back to where she had once belonged—always belonged.
Tom caught Clint at his desk, sorting through a stack of papers. “Looks like you have more than enough to do.”
Clint seemed momentarily surprised. “There’s always so much paper work to do. The government is strict about everything being recorded . . . in triplicate. Right now, I’m registering rights of inheritance. The Indian people by law can only transfer property to other Indian peoples. In particular—family. But their families are sometimes so large and extended that figuring out who the direct descendant is can be complicated. We’re trying to arrange that ahead of time to make the transfers easier.”
“Makes sense to me.”
Clint looked past him at the closed door. “So Connie’s not coming?”
“You heard her yourself. She could see the reasoning behind us getting to know each other, and besides, she was exhausted. She’s napping, and I thought that would give us a chance to get better acquainted. I didn’t get a chance to tell you that I spent time with both your father and brother in Washington. They send their regards.”
Clint put the papers aside. “Thank you. I hope they were well when you left them.”
“Very much so. They were busy with their work for the Native peoples. They are greatly admired.”
“Yes.” Clint stood and started to reach for his jacket, then stopped. “It’s too warm for coats. You might want to discard your own as well.”
“So long as it won’t make the Indians think less of me,” Tom said, shrugging out of his coat.
“I have to tell you . . . they already think less of us. They aren’t happy to be under the care of the white man, nor do they wish to be our friends.”
“That’s sad. We could surely accomplish far more working as friends than as enemies.”
Clint shook his head. “They don’t really wish to accomplish anything with us. What they want is their freedom.”
“And who wouldn’t want that? We just fought a war over freeing black people from slavery. Why would we not understand that the Indians desire freedom as well?”
“I believe we understand it perfectly well,” Clint said, his voice taking on an edge. “It’s just not something we can accept.”
Tom scratched his chin. “Why do you suppose that is?”
“Simple. The Indians have been warring with us since we arrived on this continent.”
“Is that so hard to understand?” Tom asked. “After all, we are the uninvited guests who came in and took over. I would be of a mind to fight, should someone come to take for themselves what I perceived as open to all.”
“Well, it’s easy to see how you feel about the Indians.” Clint smiled and picked up his hat. “Let me show you around a little.”
Tom was surprised at the quick dismissal but said nothing. Connie had said that Clint was acting strange and she didn’t know why. She had wondered if it had to do with her and the past, or if it was about them coming to do a job of which Clint disapproved. Tom intended to find out.
“As you know, this is the government building. My quarters are in the back. Over there”—Clint pointed across the dirt road—“is the sutler’s store. It was originally set up when the army first arrived. The government allows each of the Indian families to have an account there. They can put money on the account from what they earn and then draw on it for their needs. Other things are disbursed to them throughout the year by the government.”
Tom nodded and sized up the men standing around outside the store. They were clearly Native Americans, but they were dressed from head to toe in common clothes like his. Not only that, but their hair had been cut short. He remembered the papers he’d read prior to taking on this new job. The government believed that the more the Native people assimilated and took on the white man’s ways, the better life would be for all concerned. He couldn’t see that it had benefited these men all that much.
“Over there is the Catholic church and school. The Father is very driven to help the Indian children. He speaks Chinook Wawa—the common language between all the tribes—but is working to teach the children English. We’ve tried hard to get them to speak English only, but despite the rules, many continue to speak their Native language at home.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
Clint looked at Tom in disbelief. “It only causes irritation and fighting. There are multiple tribes here. They need a common language.”
“But you just said they had one.”
Clint shook his head. “They need to speak English for their own good. They will never be accepted into the white community—they will never be g
iven white jobs if they can’t speak English.”
“I wasn’t suggesting they not be taught English, but why is it wrong for them to speak their Native tongue at home? Why is it wrong for them to keep their culture alive? After all, that’s why I’m here. The government is worried that these cultures will all be lost to the ages.”
“You sound like the priest. He encourages them to keep their cultures alive as well. I’ve told him before—and the nuns as well—that one of these days it’ll backfire on them, and we’ll have an uprising.”
“Maybe you’d find a more peaceful and cooperative people if you worked to incorporate their beliefs and culture into their everyday life. Maybe the children would be more eager to learn if they could share their heritage rather than shun it. I’ve always known the Indians to be a proud people.”
Clint shook his head again. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Tom. We teeter on the brink of war every day. We dare not give even one of these people a reason to fight, and that includes reminding them of the past. I’ve been fearful since hearing about your work to catalog the various tribes. Mark my words, this is only going to stir up trouble. The people, once reminded of their old ways, are going to fight to perpetuate their traditions and language. You may well find yourself undoing decades of work, to the detriment of all.”
Chapter 7
I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come see you while Mr. Tom Lowell was still in town,” Major Wells told Seth. “I would have appreciated getting to meet him.”
“We discussed the situation and the things I’d learned in the past. I told him about our concerns about who was now in charge, since Lakewood and Berkshire are dead.” Seth shook his head. “We know there are others involved, but no doubt they are being very cautious.”
“No doubt.” Major Wells picked up the cup of coffee Nancy had poured him earlier. “Even the local gatherings are being less public with their speaking events.”
“Perhaps they realize that they’re being watched. I don’t trust that Gerome Berkshire kept such things to himself. He might have been spying for us to save himself from jail, but I know he wasn’t completely forthcoming with information.”
Wells put the cup back on the table with a nod. “It will be good to have a man at one of the reservations.”
“And a woman.” Seth chuckled. “Nancy’s cousin Connie is not easily dismissed. She is angry about her folks being accused. She intends to see them cleared of any supposed guilt. I thought Nancy was stubborn, but Connie is more tenacious than any of them. She’s also the adventurous type. She won’t back down from a challenge, even if it’s dangerous.”
“That could cause more trouble than good,” Wells replied. “I can’t believe the officials brought her in on this.”
“They didn’t. Connie more or less imposed herself on them. They don’t know it, however, and I need your promise that you’ll say nothing on the matter.”
Wells frowned. “I owe my allegiance to the government of the United States.”
“I realize that. I’m only asking that you don’t volunteer this information. I’m sharing this with you because I want you to understand how much I believe in this family and their innocence. Please say nothing.”
“Very well. I’ll remain silent for now. However, if I see something amiss, I’ll have to reconsider.” His brow furrowed. “There very well could be unforeseen problems. I’ve never known women to keep a balanced mind when emotional connections were concerned. I fear that her love of her parents will blind her.”
Seth shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think she’s a very collected and reasonable young woman. I believe she’ll be beneficial to everyone concerned.”
“And if it turns out her parents are involved? Will she be forthcoming with the truth?”
Seth considered the question. “I believe she will be the first to declare the truth. It won’t be easy, and she won’t like it, but Connie is staunch in her desire for truth. She would want to see her parents directed toward redemption.” Again, he shook his head. “But her parents aren’t a part of this. Everyone who knows them refuses to believe they have even the slightest part in stirring the Indians to war. They love those people and have put their lives on the line many times in order to prevent confrontation.”
“I hope you’re right,” Major Wells said, reaching again for his coffee. “I’d hate to see your wife or any of your family have to deal with the situation should it prove their family is involved.”
“Just remember your promise to keep Connie’s part in this a secret. I know I can trust you, or I would never have told you. I just couldn’t help feeling it was right to tell you. I believe it was God’s prompting.”
“I’ll say nothing.” The major chuckled. “Although I hardly think God concerns Himself with me.”
“Of course He does,” Seth countered. “He concerns Himself with all of us, no matter our position or place. I feel confident it’s God’s Spirit that makes it so evident to me that the Brownings are innocent.”
“It must be, because you’ve convinced me of the Brownings’ innocence as well.” The major got to his feet. “Hopefully we can soon prove it.”
Hours after Wells had departed, Seth sat in the kitchen, relating what they had discussed to Faith and Nancy. The two women wanted to know every detail of the investigation’s progress.
“The major said they have a list of men who are watched closely. Most are the laborers who are moving the guns and whiskey. They’ve taken an inordinate amount of whiskey to the reservations, but it’s been allowed to pass through. Wells is afraid that if they intercept the deliveries, it will compromise the rest of the investigation.”
“I hate to think of the harm it’s doing.” Faith looked dismayed. “Alcohol will just cause increasing problems on the reservation.”
“I’m sure you’re right, but I’m also confident the major’s concerns are warranted. We’ve come too far to give it all away now. Wells said that everything indicates it won’t be long until the planned uprising takes place. He would stop it all now, but we don’t have the man responsible for planning all of this. Without finding him, we’ll only have to deal with him trying this again and again.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Nancy said, placing her hand atop his. “It’s just such a helpless feeling to sit here and not be able to do anything.”
“We can pray,” Seth said, smiling. “Look what it’s done for me—for us.” He squeezed her fingers. “God is good. He won’t let the innocent be condemned.”
“He allowed His only Son to be condemned, and He was innocent,” Nancy murmured. “Others have fallen under false accusation to God’s glory. You can’t say that it won’t happen to Uncle Adam and Aunt Mercy. You can’t be sure.”
“But I am sure of God’s righteousness. No matter what happens, we either trust in Him or we don’t.” He looked at Nancy and then Faith. “The choice is ours, and for me, I believe there is only one choice, and that is to trust. The alternative has no hope for me.”
“Nor me,” Nancy admitted. “I know Faith feels the same way.”
“I do.” Faith sighed. “God has already brought me through so much—you two as well. We know we live in a fallen world and that bad things will continue to happen, but we know too that God is faithful. He will deliver us and our family from this mess. He will let the truth be revealed, because Adam and Mercy belong to Jesus, and He is the truth.”
“It looks rather hopeless at the moment,” Connie’s father said in a hushed voice, “but our trust is in God.”
Connie had joined her folks at the kitchen table, where many a problem had been discussed over the years. She was sharing with them all that she knew, starting at the beginning. “Tom was given reports on the investigation thus far. Apparently Nancy’s first husband was a central figure for a time. He was recruited to buy large quantities of weapons and liquor. He hid these in secret caches and kept separate records regarding what had been purchased. The money for the guns and whiskey
was given to him by a group of businessmen in Portland. One of those men was Gerome Berkshire and another was Samuel Lakewood. Berkshire was the contact for Nancy’s husband. Berkshire arranged for the contents of the caches to be delivered to the reservations via his various workers. Berkshire, in turn, answered to Lakewood, who answered to someone else. We don’t know who that person is or even if that person is the top man, but there is reason to believe he is.”
“So the whiskey was brought by Berkshire’s men to the reservation, and they got the whiskey and guns from Nancy’s first husband, Albert Pritchard,” her father repeated, mulling this over. “How long do they believe this has been going on?”
“At least three years,” Connie replied. “Probably longer, but they have proof of that long.”
“We knew the men here were getting liquor,” Mama said, glancing at Connie’s father, “but we were never able to figure out how. I mean, to get that much liquor onto the reservation unnoticed would take quite a few people coordinating it.”
“And there were. Berkshire had a whole force of workers. At least thirty, at last count.”
“But I don’t understand why they think your mother and I are involved.” Her father sounded hurt—betrayed.
“They know you were unhappy with the transfer of preaching and teaching to the Catholic Church,” Connie offered. “I believe they thought this triggered you to want to get back at the government.”
“That transfer took place years ago.” Her father’s brown eyes darkened to nearly black. “I wasn’t happy to lose the job I felt God had called me to, but I wouldn’t do anything to harm these people. I’ve worked closely with Father Croquet over the years to help the Indians and was pleasantly surprised that he was so supportive of the Native people keeping their culture. It’s not his fault that the government has enforced rules about westernizing the Indians.” He paused. “I love these people, Connie. I would never do anything to hurt them.”
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