Through Rushing Water Part 8

Perspiration dampened Sophia's brow. "May I have the fifth graders up front for recitation, please."

Unfortunately no one could identify himself as a fifth grader. John Adams started a fistfight with Thomas Jefferson. Dear Lord, Sophia thought, and then realized she had hit on the answer.

"Let us pray." The children had attended enough church to recognize the words. They bowed their heads and clasped their hands. "Thank You, Jesus, for all Your wonderful students. G.o.d bless our school day. Amen." And before they could take a breath, Sophia dove into a.s.signing seating.

Traveling with her father, Sophia had met innumerable ethnic groups, from Finns to Tatars to Turks. Each group had customs to ensure its continued existence.

The Ponca rule against looking another in the face, however, would impede survival in a world run by Europeans. Will might disapprove, but the students' lives would go easier if they could learn to look others in the eye.

She had an idea. She directed the older boys in moving the tables and benches in a U shape, so they could watch each other. Beginning with Joseph, Sophia said "Good morning," shook his hand, and held it.

"Good morning," the boy said. And then for a fraction of a second, he returned her glance.

Will sat on the roof of Yellow Horse's house and paused for a drink from his canteen. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes. If this heat kept up . . .

Just past the cornfield a movement caught his eye. He grabbed up his spygla.s.s. Several dozen well-armed warriors on horseback splashed across the river.

The school! Dear Jesus!

The Sioux didn't have to be sneaky. They knew the Poncas had no way to defend themselves.

Will clicked his tongue to catch Yellow Horse's attention, then swung down from the rafters. They'd better not set this house on fire. He'd just about finished it.

He sent Yellow Horse to the church and took off at a run for the school. If only he had a rifle-no, a horse. He changed direction, only to find Long Runner's yard empty. Will hoped the herd was well hidden.

Behind him the church bell sounded the alarm. To the south Black Elk's wife s.n.a.t.c.hed up their baby in her cradleboard and raced from their garden to the house. The yellow dog herded her puppies under her steps. Little Chief broke into a run, heading for his cabin. If Will wasn't in a hurry, he'd stop to watch. It wasn't every day you saw an elder run like a deer.

By the time he reached the school, Will's lungs burned and his legs wobbled. The children weren't outside. And they weren't wandering to and from the spring. Good. He leaped to the stoop and yanked on the door. Locked.

"It's Will . . . uh, Mr. Dunn."

Sophia pulled him inside and barred the door behind him. "Did you bring any firearms?" The children sat on the floor in a tight circle, solemn as saints, but none crying. Tough bunch, these Poncas. The windows were closed and locked. The air steamed with sweat.

Sophia sat on the floor in a puddle of skirts. She flipped through the first part of the Bible. "I was just about to tell the story of David . . ."

David was Will's middle name, so he'd made a point of studying the Old Testament king. Most of his life seemed to be a warning: be careful around women.

Sophia closed the Bible. ". . . David and Goliath."

He raised an eyebrow. "Fitting. Mind if I join you?"

Rifle fire echoed off the bluffs.

"Not at all." A beam of suns.h.i.+ne caught in her hair. If the Brule looked in they might see her, but the children were hidden behind the half-wall.

He took up a post in front of the door. They'd have to get through him. And once they did, the children would all be goners. He couldn't think what they'd do to Sophia. Or the possibility they'd set the school on fire.

She began in a whispered voice: "Now, David was a shepherd boy. His job was guarding the sheep." She looked at Will. "Has the tribe considered raising sheep?"

Will nodded, but someone higher up than he and the agency farmer had decided on cattle and hogs. He told the children, "David guarded the sheep like Hairy Bear herds the cows, like Walking Together watches the horses." The men were out in the fields now, with no place to hide. Will sent up another prayer for G.o.d to keep them safe.

Sophia resumed her story. "When lions-Do lions live here?"

"Coyotes."

"When coyotes tried to eat the calves, David used his sling to throw rocks at them." Sophia acted out the throwing motion, looking more like a dancer than a warrior. "He became skilled at throwing rocks. He could kill a coyote with one rock."

The children were impressed.

"One day David's father called him. 'Please take this lunch pail to your brothers. They are fighting a war.' David was a boy, about the age of Thomas Jefferson, here."

Thomas Jefferson? How had White Knife become-?

Oh yeah, the rev had walked Sophia to school this morning. No doubt he was to blame for the haircuts too.

"Not old enough to be a warrior," Will explained.

Back in the village a woman wailed. Will gestured for the story to continue.

"When David got to the field where they were fighting, he found his brothers were afraid. A big enemy walked up and down the field, saying he was ready to kill David's family. His name was Goliath."

"Bigger than Mr. Dunn?" asked Marguerite.

"Bigger than Big Snake." The tallest man of the tribe.

Sophia nodded. "As big as Mr. Dunn, Reverend Granville, Mr. Lawrence, Big Snake, and Brown Eagle, all put together."

"Oooh."

"David asked his brothers why they were not fighting Goliath."

"Because he's Brule," Joseph whispered. "He's got guns."

"No, I cannot remember what tribe he belonged to, but he was not Brule and he did not have a gun. But he was too big for the brothers. Little David said he would fight Goliath. His brothers could not talk him out of it, so they gave him their armor." She glanced up at Will for a subst.i.tute.

"s.h.i.+eld."

"But the s.h.i.+eld was too big for David, so he-"

"If Goliath was so big, where did he sleep?" Frank asked.

Will said, "In a big tepee. His feet stuck out the door. Now, let Miss Makinoff tell you what happened."

More women took up the cry in the village.

"David gave the s.h.i.+eld back to his brother. He found a good stone in the creek. Then he returned to the battlefield. At first Goliath did not see him . . . David was so little."

Sophia moved as much as a Ponca storyteller, but with prettier motions. Had she studied that fancy dance, ballet?

She squinted and held her hand over her eyes. "Goliath said, 'Is that a mouse? Is it a bird? No, it is a boy.' Goliath taunted him, called David bad names. Then David put the stone in his sling. He swung and threw it as hard as he could. It hit Goliath and killed him!"

"I want to kill Brule," said Rosalie from her hiding spot deep in Marguerite's lap.

"Me too," said the rest of the children.

Sophia widened her eyes at Will.

"Can you kill a coyote with one stone?" he said. "No? Then G.o.d hasn't trained you to be a warrior. But He's teaching you a lot here in school."

The floor shook as someone walked up to the school. Will put his finger over his mouth.

"They are gone," Brown Eagle called. "You can come out now."

Will opened the door and gulped fresh air. The village echoed with wailing. Brown Eagle pulled his children close. The other students ran for home.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Eagle." Sophia struggled to her feet. Her fingers shook as she raised her pocket watch. "Oh dear. It is only three-"

"No one will fault you for letting school out early."

"Cla.s.s dismissed. I will see you tomorrow," Sophia called to their retreating backs, then whispered, "G.o.d keep you."

"Well?" Will asked his friend.

"Walking Together. Thirty of our best buffalo runners. Two cows." Brown Eagle swallowed hard. He put Rosalie on his back and they headed for home.

Will shook his head and looked down.

"Pardon me?"

"They killed the young man who guards the horses."

"This is an outrage. I want a rifle! How am I to keep my students safe?" Amazing how many shades of red a white woman could turn. "Could you make shutters, please? And an escape hatch in the floor. Where are the soldiers who are supposed to protect us?"

"Fort Randall might send someone over in the next day or so. If they can find anyone not on sick call." Will took a gulp of water from her bucket, then dumped the rest on his head. "The locals object to arming Indians."

"But the Brule were shooting. I heard them."

"Between buying from smugglers, stealing from settlers, and negotiating a better treaty, they've managed to stockpile quite an a.r.s.enal." He nodded toward the river. "Those steamboats heading upriver are full of breech-loading rifles for the Sioux. The entire Ponca tribe owns one musket, a few shotguns, couple pistols, bows and arrows. No ammunition."

"Well, it is wrong. Unjust. The situation must be rectified." Sophia swiped the blackboard. "I have never been so frightened."

"You hid it well."

Her back straight, chin high, she punctuated her words with angry swings of her arms. If her students could see her now, they'd run away and never come back. "My father, Constantin Ilia Makinoff, was never afraid. Even when the tsar threatened him with exile to Siberia."

"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."

CHAPTER TEN.

From 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 gla.s.s, clear windows were propped open with sticks. Instead of gold-brocaded vestments, Reverend Granville wore an unadorned black ca.s.sock. Instead of singing, he droned through the Episcopalian funeral service.

Henry really should remove the benches so they could wors.h.i.+p like Russians-standing, 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.

"But-"

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 G.o.d."

Thank G.o.d? Sophia pulled away. Did he ascribe the tribe's suffering to a loving G.o.d?

"As we gain access for the truth into the hearts of the people, their superst.i.tious 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."