Through Rushing Water Part 30

Nettie looked over Sophia's shoulder. "She seems like a nice dog. We could take her on the boat. See if we can find a farmer who needs her."

Sophia wouldn't go for either of those ideas. Will reached to pet the dog and a long pink tongue licked his hand. "She's friendly, gentle with children. I'd be glad to take her."

"Oh, Will. Could you? Do you live in a place that allows dogs?"

"Sure." It was his house after all.

"Well then, if you're taking her, she'll need a bath." Nettie brought the washtub and a cake of soap in from the porch. "The good Lord's gifted us with plenty of water. May as well make use of it."

"Drown the fleas while you're at it."

Nettie propped her hands on her hips and gave her own version of a lightning-bolt scowl. "Henry, go to your room."

Will mixed hot water from the stove with cold from the rain barrel, then he lifted the dog in. She s.h.i.+vered and tried to climb out.

"There, there, Zlata. You will be all right." Sophia rolled up her sleeves, showing smooth white arms.

"She'll shake." Will found a worn string around her neck and cut it off. Tomorrow he'd use some old harness and make a collar and leash. "You'll get wet."

"It will not be the first time today." She soaped up a rag, then cooed to her charge, "Zlata, you are going to live with Will. He will take good care of you."

Will wanted to make that same offer to Sophia: Come with me, let me take care of you. But Nettie was standing by with a towel.

"Nice markings," the older woman observed. "Red as a fox down her back and buff on her chest."

"I'm not sure my American mouth can reach around her Russian name," Will said. "Would you mind if she went by Goldie?"

The dog's ears pivoted toward him.

"Goldie?" Sophia rinsed her. "You will answer to Goldie? Yes, I think you like your name. Out of the tub, Goldie."

The dog didn't need any coaxing. Will dumped the muddy water into the yard, trying not to look at the empty village beyond.

"Come along." Sophia called her out to the porch. "Now, shake, Goldie, shake. No, do not lift your paw."

"Someone's worked with her. Someone who spoke English."

"Perhaps she has been on a neighboring farm all this time." Sophia's eyes brightened as the idea kindled. "And perhaps her troika, her puppies, also."

"How're you going to get her to shake the water off?"

"Like this!" Sophia twisted and wiggled, flinging her hair around. The dog watched, head tipped, tongue hanging out. "Zlata, Goldie, shake!"

"I thought I wouldn't smile for a long time." Will hung the tub on the wall. "You do that again, I just might have to laugh."

But she didn't have to because the dog caught on, spraying the porch and everything on it, including Sophia.

"Humph." Sophia put her nose in the air, but he could tell she wasn't really angry. "Come inside then, Goldie, and we shall dry our hair by the stove." Sophia took the towel, then paused to wipe Will's face first. "Never mind what Henry thinks. I know how hard you have worked here. Thank you for all you have done. And for taking Zlata. You must rest now, before you fall over."

He took the other end of the towel and caught the drops on Sophia's cheeks and nose. "See you tomorrow?"

And all the rest of our tomorrows? his heart added.

Sophia smiled. "But of course."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.

Sophia sat on the agency house porch, watching the sun rise over the Missouri River one last time. Her heart ached to leave this beautiful land. She could not imagine the Poncas' grief at being torn from the only place they had ever called home, with its generations of memories.

A damp breeze gusted from the west, and she tightened her wrap. A dozen mosquito bites clamored for her attention, a reminder she had finished Julia's ointment last month. Her stomach growled, but the pickles Nettie had found for breakfast had not appealed any more than the tin of oysters const.i.tuting last night's supper. It did not matter how hungry she was, the Poncas were hungrier.

Behind her the village echoed with soldiers' voices and the crash of houses being dismantled. Similar action was under way at the other two villages. From their camp on the opposite bank of the Niobrara, the Poncas would be able to watch the demolition of Point Village.

Dear Lord . . .

Sophia had learned to pray here, but this morning the words could not surmount her heartache.

Will came around the corner, trailed by Goldie and carrying his toolbox. He set it beside the rest of their luggage-Sophia's trunks, Henry's boxes of books, Nettie's kitchen gear. A steamboat would come for them this morning to ferry them to the railhead at Yankton.

The dog spotted her, bounded onto the porch, and put her head in Sophia's lap. "h.e.l.lo, sweet Goldie." Somehow the wagging tail and bright eyes eased her heart. She found the itchy spot behind the dog's left ear and gave her a good scratching. The dog leaned into her hand with an expression of bliss on her face. "Did you behave for Will last night?"

"Sure did." Will joined Sophia on the bench. He wore his Sunday clothes, black pants, and vest. He had rolled up the sleeves of his white s.h.i.+rt, revealing his well-muscled forearms. "Someone's been keeping her inside."

Sophia reached for his hand, warm and strong, his calluses evidence of the work he had done. "It must be awful to see the houses torn down. Such a waste. Why do they not save them for the Sioux?"

"The Indian Office is afraid our friends will escape the wagon train if they have a place to come back to." He squeezed her hand and swallowed. "I was reading this morning in Philippians about forgetting what's behind and looking ahead. I'll never forget my Ponca friends, but as for ahead . . ." He turned toward her. "Sophia. I've been building houses in Omaha with my brother. The city is growing. Business is good."

Was he proposing? Oh dear. Had she failed to maintain an appropriate distance? She withdrew her hand. "There are so many things you could do, Will. Have you ever considered a line of work other than carpentry? You have a spiritual depth and compa.s.sion exceeding that of many ministers. As easily as you learned the Ponca language, perhaps you could be an interpreter. Or a diplomat. The foreign service."

The hope in his eyes collapsed like a razed house. He looked down, rubbed his palms over the s.h.i.+ny knees of his pants, and swallowed. "Uh. No." Goldie wriggled her nose into his palm. "I'd best find a leash."

Will jumped off the porch, the dog at his heels, and loped around the back of the house.

Nettie pushed through the door and let her valise drop with a thud. "Sophia Makinoff. Have you no sense whatsoever?"

"After this week?" She leaned her aching head against the wall. "None at all."

The older woman planted herself in front of Sophia, hands on her hips. "Will was trying to propose to you."

"Out of pity. He does not know I have a teaching position."

Nettie's gray curls trembled with indignation. "He's desperately in love with you. And you reject him because he's less educated than you? Because he hasn't been to college? Because he doesn't meet your high-and-mighty royal standards for husband material?"

Will loved her. But of course. G.o.d commanded his people to love one another, and Will obeyed G.o.d. "Perhaps-"

"Willoughby Dunn's ability to build a single house here, much less 236 of them, is nothing short of a miracle." Nettie's eyes blazed. She pounded the porch rail, as fierce a fire-and-brimstone preacher as her son.

The rail fractured with a loud crack. "Look what he had to work with: a broken sawmill, third-rate tools, a limited supply of screws and nails and such. You've seen the shoddy stuff sent for clothing; imagine the same as lumber. None of the Ponca men had ever lived in a wood house, much less knew anything about building. Yet he took them in hand and taught them well. Measuring, calculating square feet and roof angles, leveling, repairs, furniture making. You're a good teacher, but I'd say he's better."

"I know." Sophia had been crying so much lately that tears came easily. "But, Nettie, Will is tied to Omaha, by his family and his business. I have never stayed in one place long."

"Will's a fine man, worth hanging up your traveling shoes for. Doesn't your Bible have the book of Ruth? There's a time to pull up stakes and a time to put down roots."

"I know."

"You know?" Nettie took hold of Sophia's shoulders with a little shake. "Then what's holding you back? Are you afraid you won't be a 'woman of influence' married to a small town carpenter? Sophia, influence doesn't come from being married to a big, important man, living in a big, important city. It comes from being in G.o.d's will, wherever He puts you, and doing whatever He tells you, no matter how big or small."

Sophia could not speak over the lump in her throat.

Nettie sat next to her and pulled her head into a motherly embrace, complete with rea.s.suring shoulder-patting. "You told me Russian fathers have a say in who their children marry. Well, Mr. Makinoff isn't here, but your heavenly Father is. Look at what He's saying to you, the incredible man He's provided for you. Look at how many times this year Will has partnered with you to work for justice and mercy. You're a woman of words and he's a man of action. What better match could you make?"

"I am so skilled at parrying proposals, I do not know how to accept one." Sophia wiped her face with her hands. "I will never find a more dedicated, n.o.ble, compa.s.sionate-"

Nettie handed her a handkerchief. "Don't forget handsome. The two of you will make beautiful children."

Her heart managed to break and send hot blood to her face at the same time. "But I promised Reverend Hinman I would go to Brownell Hall."

"Sophia." Nettie burst into a big grin. "Oh, dear child. Does G.o.d have a surprise for you!"

Will leaned on the support post of the steamboat and trained his spygla.s.s on Yankton. The frontier town had boomed since he pa.s.sed through on his way upriver in '73. Frame buildings had been replaced by brick. Houses with cupolas, tall windows, and wide porches dotted the hills. Will itched to get back to work. He could build something interesting, something unique, something more than bare-bones shelter.

No more coffins.

He closed his eyes and prayed the Poncas would find better shelter in their new home in Indian Territory.

The boat let loose its deep whistle. Will put his hands over Goldie's triangular ears. Since he traveled with a dog, he'd stayed with the cargo. Although, being a carpenter, not a preacher or teacher or anyone important, he might have had to stay below anyway.

"Ever see so many white people?" Will asked Goldie as the Katie P docked. Swarms of folks clogged the sh.o.r.e, most rigged out to prospect in the Black Hills, but a fair share of German and Scandinavian farmers looking to homestead. Even a few women decorated the crowd.

He hadn't seen Sophia since their conversation on the porch when she'd shot him down as surely as she'd shot that Thanksgiving turkey. He offered up a quick prayer for her safety, wherever she ended up.

Will stowed his spygla.s.s in his knapsack, then eyed their luggage. It should all fit in one wagon. The Granvilles would drop him off for the southbound train, then continue on to the Yankton Sioux Agency, their next a.s.signment. Sophia, he a.s.sumed, would be catching some eastbound run, to Chicago, then back to New York, or wherever she would go to break hearts and be a woman of influence.

With an excess of yelling, pointing, and looking him bold in the face, the roustabouts got the baggage loaded into a dray.

A sunburnt man stepped between him and the wagon. He waved a dollar in Will's face and pointed at Goldie.

"No. She's not for sale." What did Sophia say? "Nein. Nyet. Non." No sense speaking Ponca; those who knew it were gone.

The man flapped two bills then dug out a silver dollar.

"No." Will tightened his grip on the leash. Bad enough he'd lost Sophia. He had no intention of losing Goldie. Finally the man moved out of the way, cursing him in some harsh language.

A stick carved with the word "Yankton," misspelled, blocked his way. "Gentleman, you look famous carrying-oh, it's you!"

"Reynaud." Will took in the man's neat haircut and crisp clothes. "Business is doing well, I see."

"Very well! Want work? You cut wood, me sell, make money!"

"Sorry. I'm off to Omaha."

"Meet you at the depot!" Henry called. Sophia's and Nettie's bonnets showed in the coach's window.

Will lifted Goldie into the back of the wagon, between the trunks, then hopped up beside her. She did a little dance, as if readying to jump off, so he pulled her close. "Ever been in a wagon before? This one seems st.u.r.dy enough. Hope the wagons carrying our friends are holding up."

He gave the dog a thorough scratching around her new collar. She leaned into him, then lay down for the ride. "Goldie, you're good company. You never nag me about getting more schooling."

At the depot even more people clogged the platform beside the waiting train. Will sorted the load. Goldie, wary of the noise, wound her leash around his legs.

"Hard-boiled egg? Sandwich?" a round-faced woman with a basket asked. "Cheese, ham, wurst?"

Goldie seemed interested, so Will bought one of each. If only he could buy sandwiches for all their friends. He fired off a quick prayer that they had something to eat today.

Henry towed a baggage man through the crowd and pointed. "Those two big trunks and the toolbox."

"And there's our Goldie," Nettie cooed, earning a good tail-wagging. "How'd she like her first boat ride?"

"Fine." Wait a minute. Where was- "I'm going to miss you." Nettie grabbed Will in a fierce hug. "Please write, let us know how you're getting on."

"I'll miss you too. Thank you for-" Will grabbed Henry's arm and nodded toward the baggage car. "Those trunks are Sophia's."

"Yeah." The hot sun had sweat running into the rev's beard.

"And the toolbox is mine."

"Uh-huh." Henry handed him his pay envelope and ticket, the paper limp in the mugginess.

"You're putting my stuff and Sophia's on the same train." Will stuffed his money in his pocket and unwrapped the leash from his left leg.

"Sophia's already on board."

"But-" He shook the loop off his right ankle.

The baggage man jerked his thumb toward the pa.s.senger car. "On with you. Dakota Southern don't put on airs. People bring hens, goats, the whole barnyard. No one will mind a dog."

The train whistled and a conductor yelled. Goldie leaned into his legs.

"Wait a minute. I'm going to Omaha."

The conductor shooed him like a chicken. "Then you'd best get yourself on board."