"With relics and scalp rings!" The woman's handkerchief fluttered.

"Who were they?" Sophia asked.

"Who?" The florid woman stepped back. "They were Indians."

"Louisa, you'll have to excuse us." Tilly linked arms with Sophia and hurried down the street. "And you will have to excuse us. Not everyone will understand your work with the Indians."

Not understanding, and apparently not interested in understanding.

Sophia patted her hand. "I do not want to cause problems for you. Your husband has a business here."

"Bosh," Tilly said. "When Louisa wants her house built, she won't care if we're holding powwows and calling ourselves squaws."

Before Sophia could unscramble Tilly's comment, they pa.s.sed a gun shop. Perhaps she should replenish her supply of bullets? A trio of rough characters emerged, equipped for mining and carrying new Sharps breech-loaders. Tilly tightened her grip, held her breath, and hurried Sophia past. Perhaps another day.

"Will said you're quite the letter writer." Tilly led her into a bookstore. "Do you need more stationery?"

Newspapers covered the counter of R. & J. Wilbur's. "Russo-Turkish War" blazed from one headline. Without reading any further Sophia followed Tilly down the aisle. Even if the war ended tomorrow, Russia no longer called to her. Will lived here, in this rough crossroads. All her curiosity, all her interest, focused on him. Did she have a future with him?

While Tilly cooed over pastel pages with flowers and ribbons, Sophia debated between plain white and ivory. Should she write any more letters about the Poncas? Had her feeble efforts damaged their cause? Will said they had not. She chose ivory.

"Tilly, my word." A stern-looking woman entered as the clerk waited on them. "You're the first person I've recognized today. Have you ever seen the like?" She nodded toward a large company of German farmers in the street, stocking their wagons for homesteading. "The Metropolitan hired a horde of Chinese, and the Grand Central has a pack of Africans. Omaha has hardly any Americans anymore!"

"How wonderful to see our city growing." Tilly completed her purchase.

The woman sniffed. "You would say that, all those houses your husband built for those Italians."

"So much for good behavior," Tilly muttered as they left the store, skirting a drunk man who snored in a doorway. "Don't worry. I'll introduce you to some good people tomorrow at church."

"Tilly, please do not fret. Omaha is no worse than anywhere else."

A loud thunk echoed from an alley. Four dogs raced out, carrying large bones. A man in an ap.r.o.n yelled, "Away with you!"

Ah, an opening. "How did Goldie do last night?"

"I don't know. She stayed with Will. Look, shoes!" Tilly scrutinized the stock of W. B. Loring, Henry Dohle, and S. P. Morse's stores, pa.s.sing over numerous pairs of perfectly acceptable boots, before finding some she would permit Sophia to try on.

Tilly ushered her into a hat shop, confiding, "Mrs. Atkinson just returned from the east." Apparently this journey gave the milliner permission to bedeck bonnets with ribbons, bows shaped like the Maltese cross, and rosettes in impossible colors. Tilly's friend Fannie arrived. The ladies coerced Sophia into selecting two new hats, neither of which had a wide enough brim to be any protection at all from the sun. Sophia consoled herself with the thought that a few snips of her embroidery scissors would bring these confections back to a tasteful amount of adornment.

Back on the sidewalk Tilly grabbed Sophia's elbow and pulled her into a doorway. A strong west wind swirled dust and debris down the street. At the center of the whirlwind, a pair of boys engaged in fisticuffs. Blood sprayed from the melee.

When no one seemed inclined to intervene, Sophia pulled away from Tilly and said in her most authoritative teacher voice, "Boys! For shame!" A loud clap had no impact upon their brawl. "Stop this immediately! Have you no sense of propriety?"

Somehow the pistol came out of her pocket and pointed overhead. Oh dear. Being arrested for the discharge of a firearm would undoubtedly prove detrimental to her teaching career at Brownell Hall.

"No dessert for you!"

Heads turned and jaws dropped along Farnam Street.

"Dessert?" The two, who appeared twenty years older than their behavior led her to expect, stopped pounding each other and stared. "What kind of dessert?"

A man in a blue uniform raced down from the police headquarters on Sixteenth Street, blowing his whistle. The officer scowled at the pair, then turned to Sophia. "Did you shoot them?"

"No, sir." Sophia returned her pistol to her pocket.

The men helped each other stand. The one with the thick black hair provided a neckerchief for the other's nasal hemorrhage.

"Madam, in the future, please aim and fire." The officer shook his finger at the pair. "These are newspaper editors." He stomped back to his station.

The black-haired one whipped out paper and pencil. "Tom Tibbles, the Omaha Herald. And this is what's-his-name from one of the other rags in town. I'm sorry about disrupting your shopping trip. Perhaps I might compensate you with a free month subscription?"

The second editor waved from the dust, where he endeavored to stop bleeding. "Don't give it to him. He's always asking pretty girls for their addresses."

"I should think not. I know his wife, Amelia. Good day, Mr. Tibbles." Tilly recovered from her shock and towed Sophia down the street.

"Mrs. Dunn." He tried to tip his hat, then realized he was not wearing one.

Sophia started to apologize for creating a scene, but Tilly ushered her toward New York Dry Goods. "Look! We even have clothing from New York!"

The signboard over the business opposite read Julius Meyer's Indian Wigwam. Two Indian men in citizens' clothes and braids sat outside. What tribe did they belong to? Had they heard from the Poncas?

Tilly steered her into the dry goods emporium. "Sophia, no. They're not anyone you'd know. They've been hanging around for years."

Perhaps she could ask Will to talk to them. By the time they left the store, the Indians were gone. In their place a barker called out, trying to interest pa.s.sersby in a faro game.

Tilly opened the door of M. h.e.l.lman and Company, Merchant Tailors. "Now let's shop for Will."

Sophia summoned a bit more interest. She found a canvas raincoat similar to the one he had given away. "Perhaps-?"

"Heavens, no. He might be mistaken for a carpenter."

"Will is not a carpenter?"

Tilly picked out an expensive rubberized slicker similar to the one Henry had given White Swan. "Will's a house builder."

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT.

Mr. O'Reilly!" Will jumped down from the surrey. "So good to see you."

"And you also, lad." The older man's face had as many wrinkles as Lone Chief's. He seemed to have shrunk a couple inches since Will left. He set his hoe against the carriage house and grabbed the curb chain on Traveler's harness.

Will shook his free hand. "If you're here, then Mrs. O'Reilly's still in the kitchen."

"That she is. And you'd best get in there quick, lest your nephews eat your share."

A white dog with brown ears galloped in from the vacant lot next door. He circled three times, tail wagging and tongue flapping, before he slowed enough for Will to sink his fingers into the curly fur.

"Buddy! You remember me!" In no time, Will had the dog rolling over for a belly rub. "You'll have to come over and meet Goldie. I hope you'll be friends."

Harrison headed inside and Will followed. "Hey, Mrs. O'Reilly!"

"I thought I heard your stomach rumbling." Fingers strong from kneading bread had no trouble pinching his waist. "Belly b.u.t.ton's sc.r.a.ping your backbone. I've got the remedy for you."

"Don't fatten him up too quick," Tilly called from the dining room. "I just bought him new clothes."

"Thanks, sis."

"Uncle Will!" The nephews pounded down the back stairs. They'd grown so much, Will wouldn't have recognized them on the street.

Leo's solid-muscle hug almost landed him on the floor. Lafayette hung back until Will grabbed him. "I've missed you two scamps!"

"Hurry, Uncle Will." Lafayette, the spitting image of Harrison, dragged him to the dining room. "I'm starving."

"You don't know what starving is, I'm glad to say." He sent up a quick prayer for those who were all too familiar with starvation.

Two large brown eyes peeked from behind the parlor organ. Will studied the ceiling. The plasterwork was holding up nicely. "I wonder where my niece is. Last time I saw her, she was wearing a diaper and crying all the time."

"I don't wear a diaper." Josie inched out from hiding.

"But she still cries all the time," Leo said.

"I do not."

Will sat in his place between Harrison and Leo. "She couldn't walk, couldn't sit at the table, couldn't feed herself."

"I can now." The little girl scampered to the table, crawled up on her chair, grabbed a pickle, and bit into it. "See?" Her triumphant smile showed the beauty she would be, breaking hearts as easily as Sophia.

"Mom, Josie's eating before grace," Leo yelled.

Lafayette gave him a see-what-I-have-to-put-up-with scowl.

"Inside voices." Tilly set the roasted chicken on the table and sat.

Harrison took his place at the far end of the table. "Lord, bless this food-"

With Mrs. O'Reilly in the kitchen, not much blessing was needed, so Will took the opportunity to remind G.o.d he needed help with Sophia.

"-Amen."

"How did the shopping trip go?" he asked.

"I was never so embarra.s.sed." Tilly shuddered and pa.s.sed the potatoes. "I'm surprised Miss Makinoff didn't demand to be taken to the depot so she could head back to civilization."

"What happened?"

"Nothing we can talk about at the table." She pressed her lips together.

So much for his hope Sophia would find Omaha quaint and charming. How could he keep her here?

"Uncle Will, after dinner can I show you the train I built in the bas.e.m.e.nt?"

"Can we play baseball, Uncle Will? I have a new bat."

"I want to play too."

Will studied the children, sketching out a plan in his head. "After we finish eating"-he glanced at Tilly-"if it's all right with your mother, I want to introduce you to Goldie. Then tomorrow you get to meet Miss Makinoff."

Lafayette stopped chewing, lowered his fork, and raised an all-too-adult eyebrow at his uncle.

"You're courting two girls?"

Sophia opened the door Sunday morning, expecting to see Tilly, but hoping to find Will. Instead she was greeted by the entire Dunn family. She sought Will's gaze, but he was preoccupied with his nephews.

Harrison introduced his children, Lafayette, Napoleon, and Josephine. Fortunately, Will had warned her, so Sophia kept a firm rein on her facial expression and resisted addressing him as "mon pet.i.t caporal."

"You can call me Leo." Napoleon's eyes were wide with low brows similar to Will's. "Uncle Will says you like to walk, so we're going to walk you to church!"

"So you don't run off with the wild Indians." Josephine, the youngest, had inherited her mother's pointed nose, giving her an elfin look. She had Will's mouth, a straight slash that curved upward at the corners. At only four years of age she stood a head taller than Rosalie.

Lafayette already showed Will's firm jawline. "Omaha doesn't have any wild Indians, Josie."

The boys sported white three-quarter-length pants with matching jackets trimmed with navy braid. Josephine was dressed in pink ruffles.

Leo bounced, then kicked a clod of dirt. "Uncle Will says you have a pistol. Can we shoot it?"

"Not in town, silly." Lafayette swatted his brother, then narrowed his gaze at Sophia. "Uncle Will says you shot a turkey. With a pistol. In the head."

"I did not wish to spoil the meat." Sophia smiled over their heads. Uncle Will had certainly built her quite the reputation. Will doffed his straw hat. He had visited a barber: hair trimmed around the ears, a clean chin, a neat mustache. Dressed in a lightweight buff linen coat, vest, and slacks, he looked city-elegant. She could take him anywhere-New York, St. Petersburg, even Paris-and he would turn heads.

"Come along, children." Tilly herded them ahead of her, then inspected Sophia. She had used her curling iron for the first time in a year to make three long sausage curls. Sophia hoped the pink gloves went with the violet basque. "Pretty."

"Do you know where I might donate my old clothes? They still have some wear in them."

"Will said you'd ask. The church collects them for the Santee Mission." Will's sister-in-law wore a princess dress in deep rose with a train and pleated hem.

"You have a handsome family," Sophia said, including Will in her a.s.sessment.

"Thank you." Tilly took her arm. "So, you're a crack shot."

Perhaps not an appropriate entree into Omaha society. "At only twenty feet, it was difficult to miss."