Through Rushing Water (11 page)
“Not that you know of.”
“Huh.” She snorted, not letting up on herself.
“You kept your wits yesterday surrounded by angry Poncas, even with Long Runner.”
“Russian officers travel with their families. So I have seen Cossacks, Mongols, and countless others who wear their hair differently, dress differently, look and act differently. It is not a reason for fear.” She studied him, her head tilted, as if puzzling him out.
Well, he'd been doing his own puzzling, and she'd just given him a big piece: she hadn't grown up in a palace.
She turned with a swirl of her skirts. “Thank you for completing my Bible story. It is more difficult to teach than one would think, the Bible.”
Will nodded. “And even more difficult to live.”
F
rom the wails echoing around her, Sophia could almost imagine she attended a Russian funeral. At home she would have been looking at a gold-ornamented iconostasis at the front of the sanctuary, filled with images of Jesus, the apostles, the saints, and other holy icons. Here, the Church of the Merciful Father was plain.
A wooden cross hung on the wall. A linen cloth covered the altar table. The pulpit had been constructed from a packing box, like the school's furniture. Instead of stained glass, clear windows were propped open with sticks. Instead of gold-brocaded vestments, Reverend Granville wore an unadorned black cassock. Instead of singing, he droned through the Episcopalian funeral service.
Henry really should remove the benches so they could worship like Russiansâstanding, chanting, prostrating themselves. Finally he said the “Amen,” then pumped out a dirge on the melodeon. The pallbearers left with the coffin. The rest of the tribe shuffled about, making no attempt to be orderly. A son of the tribe had been cut down in his youth. Forming a line would not ease their pain.
Sophia followed Brown Eagle's family. Little Rosalie had fallen asleep during the long service. Her pregnant mother, Elisabeth, struggled to carry her as Mary guided the other four children. Sophia reached for the girl.
“No.” Henry caught her arm.
“Butâ”
Will must have sensed her thoughts. He turned back, eased Rosalie onto his shoulder without waking her, then followed Brown Eagle up the bluff. Sophia could not have managed the climb while holding the little one, but Will's long legs conquered the slope without difficulty.
“You do not continue to the graveside?” she asked Henry.
“To the burial ground?” He followed her gaze and shook his head. “We need to set a good example for the tribe. Show them that our funeral service is sufficient. There's no need for barbaric dancing, wailing, cutting themselves.”
Cutting themselves? Sophia allowed Henry to turn her toward the house.
His grasp tightened as if holding her prisoner. “They used to bury a brave with his horse, food, and possessions for the journey to the happy hunting ground.”
“And now they are too poor to follow their tradition.”
“Thank God.”
Thank God?
Sophia pulled away. Did he ascribe the tribe's suffering to a loving God?
“As we gain access for the truth into the hearts of the people, their superstitious prejudices and heathen rites are melting away. They have given up their dumb idols, magic, taboos, cults. They no longer send their boys out for days, without food, in search of a vision.”
“Orthodox monks fast for illumination.”
“Hallucinations brought on by hunger.” Henry enjoyed eating too much to consider dispensing with meals in search of spiritual enlightenment. “I've seen their shamans draw a stick or worm from a patient using sleight of hand.”
There was no sense battering against this fortification. She changed tactics and launched from a different direction. “Have you ever considered simplifying the service?”
Henry's horrified glare spoke volumes. “The Book of Common Prayer was developed by the finest minds of the Church. I would not dare to change one jot or tittle.”
“Few who speak English as their first language understand âdisquieteth' or âhowbeit,' âcelestial' or âterrestrial.' The concept of grass growing and withering is universally understood, but couched in such archaic terms it is incomprehensible. I do not suggest changing the intent or content, but merely paraphrasing for clarity.”
He sputtered, then retreated to the comfort of his favorite sermon. “Our mission here is toâ”
“I understand the mission. But how much better Christians would they be if they comprehended your teaching?”
Henry's scowl deepened.
“Well then, if you are not inclined to simplify the text, perhaps you might share it with me ahead of time. I will teach my students the King's English, so they might explain it to their families.”
“The king? This is America. We won't have a king!” Henry stomped off toward the house.
“Better than a boxing match.” James chuckled behind her, then matched his stride to her short steps. “Do you do that deliberately?”
“Do what?”
“Annoy Henry.”
“Certainly not.” She ought to be ashamed. And she was, at least a little. Still, it would be easier to behave in a Christlike manner if Henry was not such aâwhat would her students at the College call him? A ninny.
The agent grinned. “Sophia, you're a most entertaining addition to our staff.”
S
ophia arrived last for breakfast the next day.
“Ah, I see you don't follow âearly to bed, early to rise,'” James said.
“Hmm?” Sophia said. “Oh yes. Benjamin Franklin. But it is Saturday, after all.” She poured her tea, then picked out a muffin. She took the seat across from Will. “I wrote letters until late in the night. When is the mail picked up?”
“I'll take them to town if a steamboat doesn't stop by in the next few days,” James told her. “You're writing home, telling your friends of your adventures in the Wild West?”
“I am writing a New York congressman about the conditions here. It is a disgrace.”
“Sophia, you've got to understand.” The agent straightened to his full height. “Best estimate, we've got three hundred thousand Indians in this country. At any time a good portion of them are ready to slit our throats. The problems of seven hundred docile Poncas are of no interest to anyone in Washington.”
“Then we must make them so.”
“I've sent plenty of letters.” He pinched his forehead as if he might be suffering from a headache. “You'd better let me see what you're writing. Don't want to make the situation worse.”
“Certainly,” she said, with no intention whatsoever of honoring that request.
Henry wandered in with ink-stained fingers and hair standing on end. Laboring over tomorrow's sermon, no doubt. He spotted Sophia and pushed his hair down. “Mother's been awake for hours, doing laundry.”
“Is that one of my duties?” Sophia asked with a raised eyebrow.
“She's managing,” he muttered.
“I heard that.” Nettie waltzed into the kitchen and waggled her finger at her son. “It's not as if you ever spell Will from hauling water. Laundry's done, except for your bed linens, Sophia.”
“I shallâ” Sophia started to stand.
Nettie waved her back into the chair and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Finish your breakfast. I plan to sit a spell. And then I'm thinking we could dive into that barrel of clothing from your college friends, see if we can make any sow's ears out of the silk purses they sent.”
“Silk, velvet, lace. Why ever would they give away such fancy dresses?”
“The Founders Day committee wore them when they had their photograph taken two years ago,” Sophia said. “It would never do to wear a dress everyone recognized.”
“Vanity is such a waste,” Nettie huffed. “Look at these dresses. Flimsy, gauzy, not a bit useful out here on the plains.”
“Like me,” Sophia said. “Useless.”
Nettie chuckled. “Don't you believe it. God's going to use you in amazing ways.”
“The problems here are enormous, overwhelming.” Sophia sighed. “The men are convinced I am hopeless.”
“They ought to know better. Especially Henry. He went to seminary. God uses all sorts of people. A murderer rescued Israel out of Egypt. A fisherman led the early church. A peasant girl became Jesus' mother. You can count on God to put you to use.”
Nettie sorted through the dresses and went on talking in her brisk, no-nonsense tone. “No one here has a bustle, so let's remove the trains and hand them out as they are. This one would be perfect for Julia, raise her spirits after Walking Together's death.”
“Julia? In the house near the school?” Sophia took up a pair of scissors and began to snip away at the fabric. “Her husband was the one killed in the battle? How awful to lose a spouse so young, with an infant to raise. Will she be accepting callers? Will she be home?”
“Where else would she be?” Nettie finished removing the train and held the dress up. “Let's take it to her now.”
“Julia's a gem,” Nettie said as she and Sophia walked to the nearby house. “I'm supposed to be training the women of the tribe in housekeeping, but Julia teaches them things I'd never even consider, such as not peeking into the windows and knocking before you enter. And she always has a lesson for me, like what plants are good medicine.”
“All the women of the tribe? You have many students, then.”
“Somehow Julia organizes them. Every morning she sends a different woman to help. On laundry day, she'll send one of the strong girls. On bread day, someone who's running short on food. On sewing day, someone whose husband needs a new shirt.”
They stopped at the house where yellow flowers bloomed beside the steps. Nettie knocked and called the woman's name.
The door opened and dark eyes peeked out. Julia wore a loose dress of uncertain color and vintage. Her hair was neatly braided and hung down her back to her waist. Nettie pointed to the ball gown draped across Sophia's arms. “We've brought a dress for you.”
Julia's eyes grew wide. She stepped back to let her guests in. The interior had been divided into two rooms. The front contained only a cookstove. Pouches tacked to the wall held cooking implements.
The back room held a pile of pelts. In the middle lay Timothy, the new baby. How practical, Sophia thought. The mother did not have to worry about the baby falling out of bed, although it could not be easy to clean. Julia knelt next to him, covered her face, and said, “Ku-ku, I see you!”
The baby kicked and giggled.
“You taught her that?” Nettie asked Sophia. “God's already using you.”
Nettie unwrapped the sheet from the dress, a basque with embroidered velvet down the front and a skirt with five rows of fringe and a ruffle. “Now, this is awful fancy for everyday, but you can wear it to church and for the Independence Day doings Tuesday. Let's see it on you. I brought my sewing kit, in case you need alterations.”