"Miss Makinoff." James leaned toward her, exuding a cloud of whiskey fumes. His hand shook as it reached toward hers. "I perceive you are quite independent."

"And I perceive you are a bit dependent." She studied his reddened eyes, his pallor. He had been a handsome man once. She gentled her tone. "Are you not concerned about the example you set?"

"I never imbibe outside the house."

Which, Sophia suspected, did not disguise his problem from anyone in possession of a working nose. "Do you not care about your health?"

"None of us is here for our health." He grimaced and withdrew his hand. He lowered his eyelids and dismissed her with an indulgent smile. "We'll see how long you tilt at windmills before you realize no one cares one straw if these children learn. Maybe you'll turn to drink too." He pushed to his feet and staggered off to his room.

Fool, Will thought. He was seven kinds of fool. Just because he'd found her first. The picture of Sophia and James in the pool of lamplight burned behind his eyes. Sure, they'd be a good match. Both with a bent toward being in charge, using fancy words, speaking out. They'd do well together.

But with James filling her head with the Indian Office's schemes, who would tell her the truth about the Poncas?

Will climbed to the top of the bluff and surveyed the surrounding territory. No Brule, no prairie fires, no storm clouds. Wind rippled through the tall gra.s.s. A red-tailed hawk stretched his wings high overhead. The sun headed for the horizon, turning the sky red and the hills purple. Sophia probably knew fancy names for all these colors.

He plopped down on the gra.s.s. Dear Lord, help me . . .

But what did he want help with? Letting go of Sophia? She had never been his, anywhere other than his foolish imagination. Still, he repeated the prayer: Lord, help me-A white head appeared at the edge of the bluff. Lone Chief. The elderly man turned slowly, moving as if he searched for something. Lone Chief, Will knew, was near to blind.

Will stood. "Are you looking for me, Grandfather?"

The man nodded and said, in English, "Let us pray." He raised his arms toward the sunset.

Will waited, not wanting to disturb Lone Chief. No words, no thoughts, came to him. No prayer beyond the plea for help. The colors in the sky deepened. Rays of light shot upward. A cool wind rippled the gra.s.s. Will's heart filled and the tension in his shoulders eased.

"Amen." Lone Chief took Will's hand and placed it on his shoulder. The chief's old bones creaked and ground as they walked.

"You do not come here every day at this time, Grandfather."

The elderly man chuckled. "No. Only in the morning. Unless someone wanders up here and needs help getting down."

Oh yeah. Lone Chief was right. He would never have found the path without a lantern. He'd have been waiting until sunrise, shivering without a blanket, hoping no storms popped up to shoot him with lightning. Either that, or risk falling a hundred feet straight down.

Without hesitation, Lone Chief led him to the edge of the bluff, to a narrow trail hidden in the tall gra.s.s.

"How did you find this? They told me you cannot see."

"My eyes no longer work, but my heart knows the path."

Lone Chief had lived here all his life, however many years that might be. No doubt he knew every pebble, every blade of gra.s.s.

When they reached the village, the elder squeezed Will's hands. "With your eyes on the beauty, you lost your path." Then he shuffled toward his house.

So the whole village knew Will was moonstruck over Sophia.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Oh my word." The rev scowled out the window, fists on his hips. "I knew that teacher was nothing but trouble."

Will looked over Henry's shoulder. Out of the Sunday morning fog came five women in fancy dresses. They flocked in front of the church, holding their skirts out of the mud from last night's storm. Lone Chief's black-and-brown dog guarded them. "Don't blame Sophia. This was your mother's idea."

James stepped out onto the porch for a better view. "Besides, Sophia didn't choose what her college friends sent."

Nettie sailed into the kitchen, a satisfied smile on her face. "Aren't they beautiful?"

"Vanity. Vanity," Henry muttered.

"You'll notice Crescent Moon and Buffalo Woman are present this morning. They've never attended church before."

"So we've lowered ourselves to bribery now?"

"No, we're making straight a road in the wilderness." Nettie frowned at her son. "I should have had a sister for you. Then you'd understand."

Will's sister had nearly burned off her fingers using the curling iron on her hair Sunday mornings. "They look . . . fine."

Sophia hurried down the stairs, wearing another dark-blue dress, smoothing gloves over her fingers. Her Bible slipped from her elbow. Will retrieved it for her. She nodded her thanks, lowering her eyelids and smiling at the same time. He got all hot inside and had to look away.

The rev gave her a head-to-toe scowl. "No ball gown?"

"I am woefully underdressed." And not the least bit intimidated. She nodded over Henry's shoulder. "Although, to be precise, none of those is appropriate evening wear. Julia's crimson silk faille is a visiting dress, formerly worn by the teacher of Mineralogy. The violet foulard is a walking suit belonging to the teacher of English Rhetoric. The mauve pique is a reception dress, Elementary Drawing and Perspective. The rose percale is a watering-place costume, Musical Theory. The green cretonne is a carriage dress, Ancient History."

Will clamped his hand over his mouth to hold in a laugh. Henry muttered something about keeping their minds on heaven.

Nettie took her son's arm and they led the way across the yard to the church. Henry motioned for Sound of the Water to ring the bell.

After a rousing rendition of "O Worship the King," the reverend read Psalm 30. It was the lectionary text, and he used the "weeping at night, joy in the morning" in his sermon of consolation for the latest raid. Will wasn't one to tell another his business, but he figured the message would go down a mite easier if Henry would smile once in a while.

The psalm had a verse about putting off sackcloth to be clothed with joy. Nettie and Sophia beamed at each other. Henry shot them a cranky look, the kind of expression Will's sister warned would freeze on his face if he wasn't careful.

So was it wrong to get dressed up for church? Ma always said the Sat.u.r.day night bath and Sunday-best clothes honored G.o.d. No telling what the Ponca women thought.

The reverend wrapped it up, announced the doings for Tuesday's Fourth of July celebration, and gave the blessing. The five women cl.u.s.tered around Nettie and Sophia, thanking them for their dresses. They wore their best moccasins, the ones decorated with beads and quills.

Walks in the Mud's wife sent her daughter to tug on Sophia's skirt. "Teacher?"

Sophia shook her student's hand. "Good morning, Martha Jefferson."

"Good morning, Miss Makinoff." The little girl tipped her head up and, for a moment, looked in her teacher's face. Then her gaze cut to her mother, who hid at the corner of the building. She wore a loose sack of faded calico Will recognized-the fabric had come up the river with him. "Mama wants a dress too."

Sophia glided over to the woman and took her hands. "I am so sorry. I want nothing more than to give you a beautiful dress, but only five were in the barrel and I have given them all away. But I promise you, I will write to the churches in New York and ask for a dress for you. For you and the other ladies in the tribe. Next time. I promise."

Walks in the Mud's wife wasn't getting any of this. Will figured he'd better step in, lest the poor woman drown in Sophia's flood of words. In a low tone, so Henry wouldn't hear, Will explained as best he could. He didn't make any promises. The Poncas, having been disappointed so many times, didn't expect much.

"I am so very, very sorry."

The woman accepted the news without tears. Given all the other tragedies in her life-losing her house to the river last spring, most of her family dying the winter before, and that German farmer stealing her cow-the loss of a dress was just another day at the Ponca reservation.

Prairie Flower, Bending Willow, Mariette Primeau, and Angelique Gayton circled, wanting-no surprise-new dresses.

Will relayed all the requests, then tipped his head toward the agency house. "You don't want to miss lunch."

Sophia waved over her shoulder. "Is there a dressmaker in Niobrara or Yankton? I could-"

"Don't."

"But I have money."

"Enough to outfit seven hundred people? You saw how riled up people got when they thought you were favoring Brown Eagle's children at the school. When I first got here, I tried helping out some." Will shook his head. It was a wonder any of the Poncas called him friend after that mess. "Stirred up a hornet's nest."

"I fear Nettie and I have fanned the coals of covetousness."

Maybe they'd done something of the sort. Or maybe they'd just brought a little color to a few gray lives. It wasn't his place to judge. Besides, he was busy trying to figure how Sophia's hand had come to rest on his arm and wondering what to do about it. Maybe they could take a stroll around the village. Who needed lunch anyway?

"Thank you kindly for your a.s.sistance," Sophia said, leaving him with a smile as she let him go. How had they gotten back to the house so soon? And how could he get her promenading with him again?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

I am surprised the Indians celebrate Independence Day," Sophia said as they sat down to a dinner of cold chicken. "I would think the birth of the United States might be more of an occasion for mourning for them."

"You're Russian." Henry salted his food before tasting. "Of course you wouldn't understand."

A thump echoed beneath the table. Henry grunted and glared at his mother, who serenely b.u.t.tered her roll. Had Nettie kicked him? Good for her.

James pa.s.sed the greens. "It's part of becoming American."

Nettie set down her knife. "I don't know Russian history. Do you have an independence day?"

"Russia was never a colony, so no. We were occupied by the Mongols in medieval times, but saved through G.o.d's intervention. That event is a religious holiday."

"Didn't Napoleon invade Russia?" James said.

Of course Americans would focus on another country's humiliation. "We had to burn down Moscow to get rid of him, so it is not a fond memory."

"And what will your students be presenting Tuesday?" Henry asked.

Sophia choked on her tea. "Presenting?"

Henry threw down the gauntlet. "In my school, students read the Declaration of Independence and sang 'The Star-Spangled Banner.'"

Sophia had thought memorizing her students' names was a sufficient accomplishment. She set her cup on the table gently, so it would not crack. "You have rather high expectations for a teacher who has only been here a week."

Lightning flashed and thunder echoed off the bluff. The curtains flapped. Henry dashed in from the outhouse, rain sheeting off his fancy slicker. A door slammed.

"Whose window is open?" Nettie asked.

James pushed away from the table with a groan. "Oh no. Papers all over the place," he grumbled from his office.

Will closed the kitchen windows, then watched as debris blew across the yard. He made out a pail, an empty peach can, and a bunch of cottonwood leaves.

Sophia joined him and muttered in Russian.

"Weather usually blows through here pretty quick," Nettie said. Another bolt flashed overhead. Rain fell so hard, even the closest houses disappeared. "When the sun comes out, we'll have our Independence Day party."

"Little Chief said it would storm all day," Will said.

The next boom came right on the heels of a flash, rattling the windows. The wind shifted, coming more from the east. Hail battered the roof . . . and the crops.

"I suppose there are no lightning rods on this house." Sophia used her teacher voice over the roar of the storm.

"We have to trust G.o.d for our safety." Nettie set a bucket under the leak in the front room.

"What can we do? The students worked so hard on their performance. Would they all fit in the school or the church?"

"All seven hundred? No. We'll just have it tomorrow." James topped off his coffee.

Sophia paced to the front window, as if the weather might look better on the north side. "Will it be difficult to reschedule? Should we send someone to the other villages to notify them?"

"Schedule?" Henry snorted.

"Instead of expecting the weather to change for them," Will explained, "the Poncas change for the weather. They get up at daybreak, go to bed with the sun. If it storms, they stay inside." It was one of their many strengths.

"Well then. I found a dress for Martha Jefferson's mother." Sophia hurried upstairs and returned in a moment with an armful of green fabric.

"The pompadour waist and flowing sleeves are outdated," Sophia said, as if trying to excuse her good deed. Instead of the greediness Will expected from a wealthy woman, he found Sophia to be the soul of generosity. "I am sure Mrs. Jefferson will treasure it more than I ever did."

"She's a bit shorter than you. Let's see. If we-" The women went into the front room to talk hems, flounces, and whatnot. The rain eased to a steady downpour.

"Foolish woman," Henry muttered. "Bringing such an ostentatious dress out here."

James pressed his hand to his heart, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling. "Yes, but what I wouldn't give to see her in it."

And for once Will agreed with the agent.