Josie scooted between her father and uncle, clasping their hands to swing. "Daddy, may I have a pistol?"

"Certainly not."

"But Miss Makinoff has one."

"Had one. When she lived with the wild Indians. I'm sure she doesn't have it anymore, not since she's moved to the city."

Sophia's hand went instinctively to the weight in her pocket. Had she forgotten how to live in a civilized world?

The balmy air felt as perfect as only a day in May could be. Saplings burst into full leaf. Blue and pink flowers waved in the breeze. Robins stood sentry in the gra.s.s, keeping watch for incautious worms.

"We should go up Sixteenth to show her the courthouse and city hall," Harrison said as they reached the bottom of the hill where the street ended. "Seventeenth peters out to a track north of Howard."

"Hasn't rained for a couple days." Will turned west. "We'll be all right."

Seventeenth did indeed become a track that pa.s.sed by a large barn.

"Might there be a livery in town?"

"Yes, but you need not use it," Tilly said. "You're welcome to ride our horses whenever you'd like."

"The bays? Thank you. They have excellent conformation."

They walked north, past new frame homes with fenced yards and a gothic church Tilly informed her belonged to the German Catholics.

Lafayette slowed to join his mother and Sophia. "Uncle Will says you can teach us French. He says we should learn because we have French names."

Apparently Uncle Will's word carried the weight of authority with his nephews. "Bien sur. Of course you should learn French. Will is correct-with French names, people will expect you to speak the language. And, mais oui, I would be glad to teach you. When does your school session end?"

Leo kicked a horse apple, earning a reprimand from his mother. "I'm tired of school. I don't want to learn French."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth." His father tapped the boy on the head, then turned to Sophia, his face red as a strawberry. "Sorry. Didn't mean to say you're a-"

Sophia laughed. "I have often wished I were a horse. I would be the first one to church."

"But they wouldn't let you inside," Leo observed. "Hey, I want to be a horse too."

They turned at the impressive Presbyterian edifice and entered a modest frame building with clear gla.s.s windows. Sophia would have mistaken it for a schoolhouse had it not been for the cross on the roof.

"Our previous church burned down a few years ago." Harrison held the door open. "We're saving up to build a masonry cathedral."

"Perhaps Will might a.s.sist with its construction?"

Harrison chuckled. "I'm keeping him far too busy."

Inside, Will ended up on one end of the pew surrounded by nephews. Sophia and Josie held down the other end. Harrison and Tilly sat in the middle. The sanctuary filled with parishioners. Such abundance. Everyone dressed, if not in the most recent fashion, in neat and clean attire, complete with footwear. They all looked well fed, too well in certain cases.

The bishop preached on trusting in the Lord instead of leaning on one's own understanding. All her life Sophia had relied on her own efforts instead of depending on G.o.d. Until now. This situation with the Poncas went beyond all understanding, beyond all her efforts. She had no other choice but to trust G.o.d.

Had Will, at the other end of the pew, come to the same conclusion?

After the service an elderly lady with a sweet smile and fierce grasp clasped Sophia's hand. "You must be the missionary we've been praying for. I'm Grandma Bean."

"You prayed for me?" Sophia felt a lump rise in her throat. "I am honored and blessed."

Mrs. Bean and Tilly introduced Sophia to an endless stream of women between fourteen and eighty-five, giving her a chance to thank them for their prayers. Then Harrison brought the bishop to her.

Sophia offered her hand. "Dr. Doherty tells me I have you to thank for my new job."

"Glad to help you out," the bishop said. "Anyone Henry complains about is a friend of mine." His eyes sparkled for only a moment. "I've heard bits and pieces about what happened at the Ponca Agency. Perhaps you could tell me the full story."

"I would be delighted, but Mr. Dunn's brother could provide you with a more comprehensive accounting. He worked at the Agency for nearly four years."

"Why don't you and Mrs. Clarkson join us for dinner?" Harrison asked the bishop, then leaned in to whisper, "We'd like to hear what Will's been doing too."

The bishop gathered his wife and the group marched south.

Their destination was a two-story house with a wide porch across the rabbit field from Brownell Hall. Sophia stood in the entry and gaped at the elegant stairway, the fine woodwork, and Eastlake furnishings as the lady of the house bustled about, preparing for dinner.

"Tilly, forgive me. How may I help?"

"You could set another place on each side of the table." She directed Sophia to the well-stocked sideboard. "And, Lafayette, bring two more chairs from the parlor."

In deference to the heat, the men removed their sack coats. After dinner, consuming enough food to supply the entire tribe, the children raced out to play. A white dog accompanied them, but Goldie did not make an appearance.

The bishop leaned on the table, his thumb and index finger smoothing his thick beard. "On every visit I've made to the Niobrara district, I've wondered why the Santees thrive and the Poncas wither."

"Exactly Sophia's question when she arrived." Will gave her a brief nod without looking at her. Then he told the Poncas' story in simple but effective words, letting the listener draw his or her own conclusion.

So eloquent. What a n.o.ble profile. And those hands-"Sophia?"

She blinked at Will. "Pardon me?"

"I asked if you'd tell the bishop about the school."

"Yes, of course." She faced the man whose visage had turned grimmer with every word of Will's. She started with the 1858 treaty's unfulfilled stipulation of a manual labor school to train their youth in letters, agriculture, mechanical arts, and housewifery, through years of more broken promises, concluding with her feeble efforts.

The bishop rested his chin on his fist. "Will they continue their education in Indian Territory?"

Will shook his head. "There wasn't a school when the chiefs checked it out in January."

The bishop bowed his head and led them in prayer for their friends, then consulted his pocket watch. "Mrs. Clarkson and I will walk you back to school, Miss Makinoff."

Visions of a long tete--tete with Will melted like snowflakes in the May heat. "Thank you, but I should stay and help Mrs. Dunn with the dishes."

"Heavens, no. Lafayette did them already," Tilly said.

"I hate to make you go out of your way." She sent a desperate glance in Will's direction, hoping he would make the offer. Did he live here or somewhere close?

"Our house is right next door to Brownell Hall." The bishop's wife linked arms with Sophia. "It's no trouble at all."

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE.

So, what do you think?" Harrison opened the front door and raised his arms, indicating the unfinished staircase in the reception hall.

"It'll be an adventure getting to the bedrooms," Will teased, then stepped out of range of Harrison's swat. "What are you thinking for banisters and newel post?"

"I'm thinking, 'Thank G.o.d Will's home!' The owner's a lawyer for the Union Pacific. He came out here in '54, lived in a soddy down on Tenth and Farnam, then took rooms in Herndon House. He and his wife would be ever so grateful if we can make them a showplace, as in 'spare no expense' and 'we've been waiting a long time for this' grateful. She wants a dark stain, walnut or mahogany to match her piano."

"Which is it: walnut or mahogany?"

Harrison shrugged. He couldn't tell the difference. "She wants a lighted finial and their coat of arms carved into the newel post."

"I'll need a good-sized chunk of pear wood." Will squinted, imagining banisters matched to the columns outside, crown molding, inlaid ceilings, hardwood floors laid on a diagonal, stained gla.s.s for the window by the stairs. Best head over to the hotel, take a look at the piano.

The parlor was built with tall ceilings and grand proportions. Mrs. Spare-No-Expense planned on some parties.

Harrison rapped on the window frame. "Storm windows for winter, screens for summer. Opens both top and bottom for improved air circulation. Counter-balance system with iron weights and pulleys holds them in place. Never need to prop them open with sticks."

As Sophia had to do at school.

Will raised the window with one finger and it stayed open. "Much safer." He pointed to the capped pipes extending from the ceiling and several head-high places around the wall. "Gaslights?"

"All the latest." Harrison tapped the grating with his foot. "Coal furnace. Let me show you-" He led Will through the dining room, large enough to seat twenty, and the butler's pantry with its floor-to-ceiling cabinetry, to the kitchen. "Ample windows for light and ventilation. Six-burner cookstove uses wood or coal, has a large water reservoir. Closet for the flour barrel. Pantry. Moulding board for bread. Separate cutting boards for meat and vegetables. Sink. Largest icebox in town. And out back-"

The carriage house had been built first to use as an on-site shop. A shiny new circular saw sat in the middle of the floor. Will opened a toolbox and found gimlets, saws, chisels, block planes, and hammers, each sharp and fitted to its handle without a wobble. Another box held squares, scribes, compa.s.ses, yardsticks, folding rulers, levels, all first quality. The next held nails and screws, a.s.sorted sizes.

The trim pieces stacked in the corner had been planed true and smoothed to velvet. Not a splinter or knot on any of them. Nothing like the junk he'd been forced to use the past four years. If he'd had all this at the Agency, he could have really built some decent houses.

Good enough to impress Sophia.

Will followed Harrison out. Impress Sophia? Since when had that been his goal? He didn't need to impress Sophia.

But . . . he just might.

Harrison waved his meaty hand in front of Will's face. "Hey, you with me?"

Will grinned. "How soon does Mrs. Spare-No-Expense want to move in?"

Sophia awoke before the first bell, dressed, then opened the drapes. Last night's heavy rain had ended, and the morning's sun drew a mist from the ground. A yellow dog bounded across the rabbit field, her ears pointing upward and her tail waving in a joyous curve over her back. Goldie? Goldie!

Sophia hurried down three flights of stairs, out the west door, and ran across the yard. A pair of doves startled from the fence with flapping wings and shrill cries. Sophia leaned on a post to catch her breath and scanned the field. No Goldie. After a moment she turned and went inside.

Mrs. Windsor met her at the door. "Miss Makinoff, is everything quite all right?"

Fortunately she had not followed her impulse to yell or climb the fence. "Yes, Matron. I thought I saw-" A dog? How very foolish. Omaha overflowed with canines. "Ah, someone I knew."

"I see." The older woman scanned the empty field, then gave a pointed look to Sophia's dew-drenched hem and her mud-splattered boots.

"If you will please excuse me."

The woman hesitated, undoubtedly pondering the need for a lecture on ladylike behavior. "Of course."

Will heard a thump on the back porch, opened his door, and found Goldie. Her tongue hung out and she panted like she'd run a mile. Mud and seeds caked her paws and belly. "Where have you been? If you were hoping Sophia would give you another bath, you're out of luck."

Her tail wagged and she seemed to grin. He leaned over the rail, eyeballing his lot. The gate was latched and the fence upright. "Did you jump over, crawl under, or wriggle through?"

She looked away.

"Not saying, eh? And not going back inside with those paws." He moved her water bowl outside. "You'll have to stay here. I'll be home after work." The young trees didn't give her much shade, but she could crawl under the porch to stay cool.

He left through the front gate, giving it a good rattle to make sure it latched, then headed up the street toward the Poppletons'. As he turned the corner, he glanced back. Goldie nosed the latch, went through the gate, then pushed it closed. She glanced up, realized he watched, and lowered her head and tail. Caught.

"Come along, then." Will patted his leg. Any dog clever enough to open a gate could keep herself out of trouble at a construction site. Goldie galloped to him.

"Just wait until Sophia hears about you." She grinned, and he grinned back.

Will arrived at the work site first and unlocked the carriage house. He sorted through the wood-walnut, not mahogany-measured, and calculated out the angles. Easier to do in the quiet.

Goldie barked a warning and Will stowed his pencil behind his ear. "No one's sneaking up on me with you around."

She wagged her tail in agreement and followed him around front.

"My crew. The tall guy's Kjell, short one's Preben. From Sweden and Denmark." Both had gained weight since Will had left. Or maybe Will's eye had gotten used to thinner people. Which reminded him to say another prayer for his friends.

"Welcome back, boss." Kjell pumped his hand, then nodded at the house awaiting their attention. "Just in time."

Preben bent to pet Goldie. "I see you brought a girl home with you. A fine girl."

Will grinned. If Preben thought Goldie was so fine, he ought to see Sophia. "And we've got a fine job here. Let me show you what I'm thinking." They toured the house, discussing plans for the woodwork, making a list for the lumberyard.

Outside, Goldie growled, then barked furiously. Will jumped down the steps and ran out the back. The dog stood at the carriage house door, her hair on end, ears forward, teeth bared, making him wonder if she had a wolf in her family tree. Inside, backed into a dark corner, shivered a kid.

"What are you doing?" Will asked.

"Nichts." His voice squeaked.

"German." Preben spit on the ground. "He said 'nothing,' but I think he is stealing."

Will figured as much. "C'mon out here." He pulled Goldie out of the way, then motioned for the boy. The kid looked even younger in the sunlight. His clothes were too small and his blond hair looked to have been hacked by a dull knife. Toothpick thin. If he'd been dark instead of fair, he could have been a Ponca.