Through Rushing Water (44 page)
No, it didn't matter. Whoever it was would be missed. And the tribe would ache with every grave left behind. Will bowed his head.
Sophia's lieutenant stomped off to his horse, whacking his leg with his hat. She climbed back to the top of the hill. Tears wet her cheeks. “You are praying, are you not? Could I join you?”
She was the only one here who knew the Poncas as people, as individuals with families, dreams, quirks. Will opened his hands and she slid hers into his grip. He cleared his throat. “Dear Jesus. Please comfort our friends in their grief. Please be with them, strengthen them, heal them. Send Your sun to dry out the road. Give the agent wisdomâ”
Wisdom? He'd been asking for wisdom in Washington for four years. And look where that had gotten them.
Sophia choked back a sob. “Be with all my students. Help them remember their lessons. Provide them with a teacher and school. And good houses like they had on the Niobrara.”
Good houses? Since when did Sophia think he'd built good houses?
“Lord, I don't understand.” The words clogged in his throat. Sophia squeezed his hands and he added, “We don't understand. The Bible says You'll work this all out for good, but seems like it's going the other direction. Help usâSophia, me, and everyone in the Ponca tribeâto grab hold of our faith with both hands and hang on tight.”
Josie's little body hit him in the back of the knees and he stepped forward. Sophia braced him, keeping him from falling on his face.
Will scooped his niece up and threw her over his shoulder. And just like Rosalie, she burst into giggles.
“What are you doing, Uncle Will?” she asked.
“We're praying.”
“Well, say âAmen' already. I want to fly the kite you made!”
“We will not say âAmen.'” Sophia wiped her eyes with a lacy hankie. “Because we are not done praying.”
T
he girls filed out of the assembly room after chapel, but Sophia stayed in her seat. In preparation for examinations, the rector had asked the students if they had studied to be approved, the same verse the missionary had used back in New York, the night she had been jilted.
Now here she was again, her thoughts entangled by a man. But unlike Montgomery, Will was intelligent, devoted to serving God, handsome, gentle, good with children, and respectful. And oh, how she felt when he held her in his arms.
Sophia folded her hands and focused on the cross over the altar.
Dear Jesus, I put my relationship with Will, whatever it is, whatever it may become, in Your hands. Please keep a firm grip on it, as I have a tendency to snatch it back. Amen
.
Will watched Sophia and another teacher guide the Brownell Hall girls into the first pew. The duty rotated every week and this Sunday was Sophia's turn.
A fellow about his age, with thick brown hair and a drooping mustache, paused at the Dunns' pew. “Will? I'm John Webster, lawyer here in town. I'd be interested in hearing about your time with the Indians. May I take you out to dinner?”
“Indians? What Indians?” A man with a wild shock of black hair leaned across the aisle. “Are you the guy who worked up at the Ponca Agency?” He shook Will's hand. “Thomas Tibbles, Omaha
Herald
. I'd like to hear about it too.”
Webster grinned and leaned a hand on his hip. “If you think I'm buying you dinner, Tomâ”
“I recognize you.” A third man, older than the first two, nodded at Will. “You were coming when I was going. I'm Charles Birkett, Ponca agent in '73. I'd like to hear what's happened since I left.”
The organist pumped out the first hymn.
“After the service, let's head for one of the restaurants downtown,” Will said. The men took their seats. He'd have to tell Sophia that what he'd missed out on with letter writing, he was making up for in talking.
Summer's heat beat down on the small building and pushed in through the open windows. The bishop skipped his robe. The male parishioners shed their coats.
In the front row Sophia fluttered her fan. A curl loosened and spiraled down the back of her neck. She reached up and undid the top button of her dress.
Will's mouth went dry.
He closed his eyes and prayed.
Mrs. Windsor expected Brownell Hall's young ladies to conduct themselves as part of a noble Christian family, to live up to the plane of high privilege. Which they had done every day until today.
Sophia turned from the window where warm spring air danced. The breeze did not carry any identifiable fragrance like lilac, but a heady mixture of growing grasses. And the echoes of hammers on wood.
Was it Will? She could imagine his strong fingers around a hammerâ
Giggling echoed through the halls. Her older class entered, laughing and jostling one another. Not the expected behavior for examination day.
“Oh, Miss Makinoff, it's so exciting! Carrie's getting married!”
The girl in question turned pink to the roots of her hair and bounced on her toes. She looked too young to
spell
“wife,” let alone become a bride. “John asked me last night!”
The other three girls burst into discussions about dresses, flowers, and Niagara Falls.
“Mademoiselles.”
Sophia's firm tone had them scurrying into their seats. “Congratulations,” she said to Carrie, then to the class, “Please, for this hour, bring your minds back to your French examination. You have all worked incredibly hard these past five weeks. I hope your test scores will reflect your effort.” She passed out the lined paper, then raised the map to unveil their essay questions.
Jeannette, Marielle, and Manon put their hands to the plow, so to speak. But Caroline managed only to write her name before she drifted off.
Love,
Sophia pondered as her heart beat to a distant hammer's rhythm,
was quite a bit of trouble.
Will followed Goldie up the hill to Harrison's house. His knees ached from laying floors all day. His shoulders were sore from nailing crown molding on ceilings yesterday. His eyes stung from varnish fumes. Stain had settled into the cracks and lines of his hands. Sweat stuck sawdust to his skin. He wanted to go home and soak in a hot bath, but first he had to talk to Harrison about Armin.
Goldie spotted a rabbit and dashed across the vacant lot. The cottontail slipped between the pickets of the Morrisons' fence, then turned to gloat with a twitch of long ears and a flash of a white tail. The dog gave a woof of frustration.
Armin had turned out to be a good worker, but they'd about run out of unskilled jobs for him at the Poppletons'. Maybe Harrison could apprentice him to someone. And find a place for the kid to live.
Goldie had nosed the boy out from under the back porch the second morning. Then, bucking Preben and Kjell's dire predictions of theft, Will had brought a blanket for him and let him sleep in the carriage house. Unless the Poppletons needed a stable boy, Armin would have to move out next week.
Buddy dashed down the drive to meet them. The dogs circled and sniffed, then decided to be friends and romped off around the back side of Harrison's house.
Will left his shoes on the porch, paused to admire a sunset as red as new cherrywood, then went in. Smelled delicious. Mrs. O'Reilly must have tried a new recipe.
Goldie must have smelled it too. Before Will got the door closed, she reappeared and nosed her way inside. Buddy stayed in the yard, on guard, but Goldie went straight for a bite of meat on the floor beside the stove. Then she trailed the smell into the dining room.
“Zlata!” A familiar voice began to coo over her in French.
Sophia was here. A lightning bolt shot through Will, tightening his skin and stopping his heart for a moment. He should have washed up, changed clothes. Well, she'd seen him dirtier than this.
“Does the dog know French?” Lafayette asked.
“Bien sur.”
She spoke again, her voice climbing the scale as if asking questions. Will thought he heard his name, so he met her at the doorway. She wore one of Tilly's aprons over a new green dress. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks pink, and a whole passel of curls had escaped her knot. He'd never seen anyone prettier.
“Will! You are in time for dinner.”
“Bonjour, Oncle,”
Leo said.
“It's
bonsoir
, you dolt.” Lafayette smirked.
“No name-calling,” he said in unison with Sophia. He glanced up, met her gaze, and they shared a smile.
“Bonsoir, ma petite chienne.”
Josie waved at Goldie, who was sniffing the floor for additional tidbits.
Sophia collected a plate and fork from the sideboard. “
S' il vous plaît
, please, join us. We have plenty.”
“Plenty of what?” He lifted the heavy silver cover off the serving dish.
Hmm, something new.
“They're
crêpes
,” Josie informed him. “Miss Makinoff showed us how to make them for our French lesson.”
Leo and Lafayette spouted off a bunch of French words, hopefully having to do with food.
Crêpes
turned out to be thin pancakes wrapped around asparagus spears, sliced ham, and cheese. Will took Harrison's chair, the better to watch Sophia, who sat in Tilly's.
“Miss Makinoff says we call them
blini
if we want to learn Russian,” Josie told him. “But then we'd have to fill them with caviar, which Miss Makinoff says is fish eggs.” Her pointed nose wrinkled.
“As if asparagus isn't bad enough.” Leo left the stalks on his plate.
“So where are your parents?” Will asked as he dug in.
Hmm. Not bad.
“Mom and Dad took the O'Reillys to the hospital.”
“What's wrong? Who's sick?”
“Mr. O'Reilly took ill.” Sophia's hands shook as she cut Josie's food.
“He grabbed his chest and fell on the ground.” Leo clutched his shirt, tipped out of his chair, and rolled under the table. “Ew,
Oncle
Will, your feet stink.”
Will poked him with a toe. “You wouldn't smell them if you stayed on your chair where you belong.” Had he been this unruly the whole time Sophia was here?