"My brother eats everything on the stove." Thomas Jefferson giggled.

"All right. Your teacher will lead us in a prayer thanking G.o.d for providing shoes."

Her prayer book had St. Ambrose's Prayer of Thanksgiving, but not a word could she remember. Sophia closed her eyes, lifted her hands, and said, "Thank You!"

Will added, "And please send socks. Amen."

Henry finally concluded his lesson on Thanksgiving.

Sophia turned her back to him and asked her cla.s.s, "Does anyone have a question for Reverend Granville?" The minister had spent most of his lesson on the bountiful harvest and subsequent feast, a foreign concept to these starving children.

"Why do you say Columbus discovered America?" Matthew asked. "Indians were already here."

"Yes, well, I'm referring to Europeans."

Joseph raised his hand. "Does G.o.d love white people or Indians more?"

Henry scowled. "G.o.d loves everyone the same."

"Then why do white people take our land and G.o.d does not punish them?"

Henry started to perspire in spite of the drafty schoolhouse. "The government bought your land. The white people came to Christianize and civilize you."

"But white people bring disease and whiskey. And take the buffalo." Joseph hammered his point.

"Look at the time," Henry said. "Cla.s.s dismissed."

Sophia glanced at her pocket watch. The parents would be surprised to have their students home so early. She supervised the closing ch.o.r.es, then headed down the path with Henry.

He wiped his brow again. "I didn't realize Joseph's father was so . . . militant."

"I do not know that he is. Joseph is bright. He studies an issue and comes to his own conclusions."

"He bears watching."

"Perhaps some individual tutoring, the loan of some of your history books . . ."

Henry shuddered. Will had told her that the reverend did not let anyone touch his books.

"He would be a good lawyer. I could see him in the legislature, like Patrick Henry, 'Give me liberty or give me death.'"

"Sophia, don't fill his head with foolish thoughts. No college will accept an Indian student."

"He could read the law like Abraham Lincoln."

"And no lawyer would take an Indian student."

"But is it not our goal to help them become like white people?"

"To become farmers, yes." Henry scratched his beard.

"If I had a cla.s.s of twenty-five white students, I would not expect all to become farmers. Not every Ponca is suited for farming." Most were not, she suspected, but Americans seemed blind to allowing Indians any other path.

"But that is our job, to prepare each family to farm his own plot."

"Another quandary, the division of the land. The Poncas are used to communal living. Being forced to move to individual plots-"

"But that's how Americans live."

"We do not. The agency house is occupied by a group of adults, not a family."

"Well, that's an exception, for the circ.u.mstances."

"And at the College, the teachers and students lived together."

"We're talking about farming, each on his own land."

"Russian peasants farm communally. It allows for specialization, sharing skills and tools."

"Sophia. Could you-" He shook his head. "I would think you'd be tired after teaching all day."

She took the hint and continued the walk in silence. Why was he so angry? But asking the question would only exacerbate his temper.

Ahead, three black shapes moved through the underbrush beside the river.

"Turkeys," Henry whispered. "I wish I'd brought-"

Sophia pulled out her pistol, sighted, and squeezed off a round. Two birds took flight. The third flopped to the ground. She pocketed her pistol and walked over to inspect it.

"How-what-?" He turned whiter than usual. "Madam, you are armed!"

She lifted the carca.s.s by its feet, estimating its weight at around fifteen pounds, and handed it to him. "Happy Thanksgiving."

Will dashed out of the woods carrying a box. Zlata and her troika followed him. "I heard a shot. You're all right?"

Henry held the bird away from the dogs. "We have a sharpshooter among us."

"Sophia!" Will whistled.

"My father taught me." She nodded at Will's box, eager to move the attention away from herself. "Another allotment?"

"No. My sister, Charlotte, collected socks from her students." Will pulled out a pair. One was gray with white and red on the cuff, the other solid blue. "You know how sometimes you lose one? Or you might have enough yarn for half a sock? They're matched for size and thickness, but not color. About a hundred pairs in here."

"Enough for each student and their families." Sophia grinned. Only Henry's presence kept her from embracing Will again. "We have so much to be thankful for."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

Will could listen to Sophia talk forever. Finishing a story about her students, she used a Ponca word to make a pun. She glanced up to see if he caught the joke.

Will grinned and kicked the leaves in the path. "You're picking up on the language."

Her lips pressed together. "I trust you will not mention it to Henry."

"'Course not."

"I have been wondering." She did a lot of that. "Should there not be more animals here? Even in the cities, I have seen squirrels and racc.o.o.ns."

"Used to be deer, beaver, muskrats, weasels, but they've been hunted out. Still a few prairie dogs up on the bluff, but they're about as fit for eating as rats."

"And another concern. My first morning here I smelled smoke. Someone had set a fire. But I have not smelled it since."

Will nodded. "Buffalo Track. His wife took him back in. He wouldn't hurt you."

"Given the enormous changes the Poncas have suffered, the uncertainty of their future, the changing roles, especially of the men, I would expect madness to be more prevalent. Do you think-"

Sophia broke off as her army officer came trotting down the hill on his large gray, leading a saddled chestnut mare. "Howdy, ma'am."

"Good afternoon, Lt. Higgins." She had eyes only for the horses. Sophia stretched her hand out and cooed, "Who have we here? What is your name?"

The lieutenant stuck out his chest, as if hoping Sophia would pin a big medal on it, and introduced the mare. "This is Pumpkin. Only on loan for today, I'm afraid. Couldn't find any for you to keep. She's a gentle, steady mount. Good for a lady like yourself."

The horse looked equally in love with Sophia, twitching her ears to every word. She lowered her head for a scratch, let Sophia lift each leg for a check of her shoes, and allowed her girth to be cinched.

Sophia hurried inside to change clothes while the officer watered his mounts. Will grabbed a mug of coffee and a spot on the porch. She returned quicker than he'd imagined any woman could undress and dress, not that he'd spent much time imagining such.

She wore a top hat, a dark-green riding dress with gold braid, and shiny black boots. She'd brought a stub end of carrot for each of the horses, and she fed them with more murmured words of encouragement.

Then, without waiting for the soldier to put his grubby hands on her, she sprang into the saddle and rode off like a princess on her way to a fox hunt.

What was that dirge about the old gray mare? Sophia tried to remember as this nag's gait threatened to jar her eyeb.a.l.l.s from her head. The mare's teeth were worn to a nub; her hooves needed filing and shoes replacing. She had not been curried this decade. And keeping her from wandering off to s.n.a.t.c.h a bite of vegetation required a firm hand.

The saddle, a rawhide Mexican-style model, had been worn paper-thin, with st.i.tching coming loose and stirrups threatening to break with the slightest weight.

But ah, the joy of riding again!

The lieutenant led her upriver. James and Henry would lecture about her leaving the Agency without permission. Will would not say much, but disapproval would exude from him in the set of his shoulders, the tension in his jaw. The man's body talked for him.

A mile from the Agency all evidence of human occupation vanished. Perhaps now that the Brule were gone, the Poncas could spread out, make the best use of their land. And what a beautiful country it was! The Missouri, bordered with white chalk bluffs, rolled peacefully to their right. A gray line wavered high over the river. As it came closer, it resolved into migrating waterfowl. "Hurry, hurry," the geese honked to each other.

Sophia pointed at a smudge underlined by red on the horizon. "What is that?"

"Prairie fire."

Unbroken dry gra.s.s burned with frightening speed. "What ignites it?"

"Dunno. Lightning, Indians. We see them a couple times a week hereabouts. Should stop once we get good snow cover."

Lt. Higgins had led her a considerable distance, far beyond a courtesy jaunt. Should she be concerned? All her life, her father's reputation had ensured her safety among soldiers. But no longer. Sophia touched her pocket where her pistol rested. She ought to conduct herself in a more circ.u.mspect manner.

A dreary thought.

"We shall need to turn back soon," she said. "I must return to the Agency before dark."

"I was hoping to show you Fort Randall." A look of disappointment spread over his face. "All right. Let's go up on the ridge, then, before heading back."

Sophia led the way on the plodding mare. The view was more than worth the limited pleasure of the officer's company. From that height, the immense prairie spread to all compa.s.s points. Golden-brown gra.s.s waved in the westerly wind. Who could see such a vista without acknowledging the presence of a gracious and creative G.o.d? She vowed once again to try harder to please Him.

Sophia gave the sun a deliberate glance, then reined the mare eastward.

"Perhaps we can ride again another day." Lt. Higgins tipped his head, leading into his true purpose. "We're having a Christmas ball at the fort. I'd be pleased to escort you."

It was not the most awkward invitation she had received, but it was certainly far from polished.

"I am so sorry, but the Agency is planning a celebration at the church." Or they would be, as soon as Sophia returned. "For the children. You are welcome to attend, you and the entire post."

They rode back along the same path, sending long shadows ahead of them. A hawk spiraled above, searching for supper. Sophia's stomach growled in agreement.

She tightened her knees, leaned forward, and whispered encouragement, but old Pumpkin had no intention of moving any faster than a plod. They arrived at the Agency as the moon rose over the trees.

"Lieutenant, it has been a lovely ride." Sophia gave the mare a pat for effort, then dismounted before the officer could a.s.sist her.

"Hope we can go again sometime." He stepped forward as if looking for a more physical expression of gratefulness.

Sophia slapped the reins into his hand. "I do so enjoy riding, but perhaps a livelier mount next time."

"Yeah. You have a good seat. I mean, you ride real good."

"I did my share of falling off as a child. Good evening, Lieutenant." Sophia pulled off her gloves, washed in the basin, then entered the kitchen.

"Where have you been?" James asked.

"We've been worried sick," Henry said, although fretting had evidently not impaired his appet.i.te, as witnessed by the pile of chicken bones on his plate.

Will's brown eyes scanned her head to toe, then he returned to his pie. A thought surprised her, that the ride would have been much more enjoyable in his company.

Nettie moved a full plate from the warming oven to the table. "We saved supper for you. Sit down and tell us about your ride."

"It was inspirational!" Sophia took her place and smiled at them all. "I have the most glorious idea for a Christmas celebration!"