"Orthodox monks fast for illumination."

"Hallucinations brought on by hunger." Henry enjoyed eating too much to consider dispensing with meals in search of spiritual enlightenment. "I've seen their shamans draw a stick or worm from a patient using sleight of hand."

There was no sense battering against this fortification. She changed tactics and launched from a different direction. "Have you ever considered simplifying the service?"

Henry's horrified glare spoke volumes. "The Book of Common Prayer was developed by the finest minds of the Church. I would not dare to change one jot or t.i.ttle."

"Few who speak English as their first language understand 'disquieteth' or 'howbeit,' 'celestial' or 'terrestrial.' The concept of gra.s.s growing and withering is universally understood, but couched in such archaic terms it is incomprehensible. I do not suggest changing the intent or content, but merely paraphrasing for clarity."

He sputtered, then retreated to the comfort of his favorite sermon. "Our mission here is to-"

"I understand the mission. But how much better Christians would they be if they comprehended your teaching?"

Henry's scowl deepened.

"Well then, if you are not inclined to simplify the text, perhaps you might share it with me ahead of time. I will teach my students the King's English, so they might explain it to their families."

"The king? This is America. We won't have a king!" Henry stomped off toward the house.

"Better than a boxing match." James chuckled behind her, then matched his stride to her short steps. "Do you do that deliberately?"

"Do what?"

"Annoy Henry."

"Certainly not." She ought to be ashamed. And she was, at least a little. Still, it would be easier to behave in a Christlike manner if Henry was not such a-what would her students at the College call him? A ninny.

The agent grinned. "Sophia, you're a most entertaining addition to our staff."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Sophia arrived last for breakfast the next day.

"Ah, I see you don't follow 'early to bed, early to rise,'" James said.

"Hmm?" Sophia said. "Oh yes. Benjamin Franklin. But it is Sat.u.r.day, after all." She poured her tea, then picked out a m.u.f.fin. She took the seat across from Will. "I wrote letters until late in the night. When is the mail picked up?"

"I'll take them to town if a steamboat doesn't stop by in the next few days," James told her. "You're writing home, telling your friends of your adventures in the Wild West?"

"I am writing a New York congressman about the conditions here. It is a disgrace."

"Sophia, you've got to understand." The agent straightened to his full height. "Best estimate, we've got three hundred thousand Indians in this country. At any time a good portion of them are ready to slit our throats. The problems of seven hundred docile Poncas are of no interest to anyone in Washington."

"Then we must make them so."

"I've sent plenty of letters." He pinched his forehead as if he might be suffering from a headache. "You'd better let me see what you're writing. Don't want to make the situation worse."

"Certainly," she said, with no intention whatsoever of honoring that request.

Henry wandered in with ink-stained fingers and hair standing on end. Laboring over tomorrow's sermon, no doubt. He spotted Sophia and pushed his hair down. "Mother's been awake for hours, doing laundry."

"Is that one of my duties?" Sophia asked with a raised eyebrow.

"She's managing," he muttered.

"I heard that." Nettie waltzed into the kitchen and waggled her finger at her son. "It's not as if you ever spell Will from hauling water. Laundry's done, except for your bed linens, Sophia."

"I shall-" Sophia started to stand.

Nettie waved her back into the chair and poured herself a cup of coffee. "Finish your breakfast. I plan to sit a spell. And then I'm thinking we could dive into that barrel of clothing from your college friends, see if we can make any sow's ears out of the silk purses they sent."

"Silk, velvet, lace. Why ever would they give away such fancy dresses?"

"The Founders Day committee wore them when they had their photograph taken two years ago," Sophia said. "It would never do to wear a dress everyone recognized."

"Vanity is such a waste," Nettie huffed. "Look at these dresses. Flimsy, gauzy, not a bit useful out here on the plains."

"Like me," Sophia said. "Useless."

Nettie chuckled. "Don't you believe it. G.o.d's going to use you in amazing ways."

"The problems here are enormous, overwhelming." Sophia sighed. "The men are convinced I am hopeless."

"They ought to know better. Especially Henry. He went to seminary. G.o.d uses all sorts of people. A murderer rescued Israel out of Egypt. A fisherman led the early church. A peasant girl became Jesus' mother. You can count on G.o.d to put you to use."

Nettie sorted through the dresses and went on talking in her brisk, no-nonsense tone. "No one here has a bustle, so let's remove the trains and hand them out as they are. This one would be perfect for Julia, raise her spirits after Walking Together's death."

"Julia? In the house near the school?" Sophia took up a pair of scissors and began to snip away at the fabric. "Her husband was the one killed in the battle? How awful to lose a spouse so young, with an infant to raise. Will she be accepting callers? Will she be home?"

"Where else would she be?" Nettie finished removing the train and held the dress up. "Let's take it to her now."

"Julia's a gem," Nettie said as she and Sophia walked to the nearby house. "I'm supposed to be training the women of the tribe in housekeeping, but Julia teaches them things I'd never even consider, such as not peeking into the windows and knocking before you enter. And she always has a lesson for me, like what plants are good medicine."

"All the women of the tribe? You have many students, then."

"Somehow Julia organizes them. Every morning she sends a different woman to help. On laundry day, she'll send one of the strong girls. On bread day, someone who's running short on food. On sewing day, someone whose husband needs a new shirt."

They stopped at the house where yellow flowers bloomed beside the steps. Nettie knocked and called the woman's name.

The door opened and dark eyes peeked out. Julia wore a loose dress of uncertain color and vintage. Her hair was neatly braided and hung down her back to her waist. Nettie pointed to the ball gown draped across Sophia's arms. "We've brought a dress for you."

Julia's eyes grew wide. She stepped back to let her guests in. The interior had been divided into two rooms. The front contained only a cookstove. Pouches tacked to the wall held cooking implements.

The back room held a pile of pelts. In the middle lay Timothy, the new baby. How practical, Sophia thought. The mother did not have to worry about the baby falling out of bed, although it could not be easy to clean. Julia knelt next to him, covered her face, and said, "Ku-ku, I see you!"

The baby kicked and giggled.

"You taught her that?" Nettie asked Sophia. "G.o.d's already using you."

Nettie unwrapped the sheet from the dress, a basque with embroidered velvet down the front and a skirt with five rows of fringe and a ruffle. "Now, this is awful fancy for everyday, but you can wear it to church and for the Independence Day doings Tuesday. Let's see it on you. I brought my sewing kit, in case you need alterations."

Both windows were bare. One had cracked gla.s.s and the other had a gap between the frame and the wall. Sophia stood in front of the one within view of the neighbors. "Perhaps we should make the trains into curtains."

"Good idea." Nettie helped Julia remove her dress.

The woman wore not a st.i.tch of undergarments-no chemise, no corset, no vest. Of course not. Julia had been forced to rely on gift barrels from eastern churches. People never donated undergarments. Even nightclothes were worn until ready for the ragbag.

Sophia's temper rose. If the government was going to insist that the Poncas dress and act like white people, shouldn't they be provided with the basic necessities of life? Should it not be guaranteed in America to have at least a pair of drawers? The Bill of Rights did not address the issue, but then, it had been written by men.

Sophia helped Julia into her new basque and skirt. Her experience of entering in this country through Castle Gardens and the Lower East Side of New York City had led her to equate poverty with strong body odors. But Julia smelled clean. Not rank like the poor of Manhattan or overly perfumed like some Europeans, but like someone who gave careful attention to hygiene.

The ruby red silk complemented Julia's coloring, whereas the intense shade had overwhelmed its previous pale owner. And the dress fell just at her ankles. Perfect.

"The bodice is a little loose." Nettie made a few st.i.tches, bringing the neckline into the realm of modesty.

"Oh!" Julia spotted herself in the pocket mirror hanging on the opposite wall. She spun around, making the skirt bell out, then studied herself again. "Oh!"

Her fingers tore the thread off the ends of her braids, then unraveled her hair into a dark sheet of satin. She patted Sophia's coil. "Teach. Please."

Sophia pulled out her hairpins and undid the knot. "Twist forward and wrap around your hand, then push the end through with the other hand. Pull tight, then wrap the ends and pin."

Julia did not have any hairpins, so Sophia donated hers. The woman was a quick learner, and the effect was charming. The perfect oval of her face, her smooth complexion, and her wide, dark eyes-why, she would be the talk of any ball in St. Petersburg or Paris. "You remind me of Russia's most beautiful queen, the Empress Elizabeth." Sophia curtsied. "Magnificent."

"Thank you." Julia returned the gesture, then caught Sophia's wrist. "Oh."

"Mosquito bites." Sophia pulled her sleeve down over the welts.

Nettie shook her head. "Fresh blood is their dessert."

"I make." Julia opened a round tin and dabbed ointment on the bites.

The itching stopped. "Ah. How wonderful." Sophia sniffed the medicine. "What is in it?"

Nettie put her nose to the question. "I'm guessing some plants."

"Plants. Yes." Julia handed Sophia the tin. "You keep."

Sophia thanked her. They helped her out of the dress and said their good-byes.

"What a great way to introduce the new teacher," Nettie said as she closed the door behind her. "Let's go see how Little Flower looks in that green dress."

"But, Nettie . . ." Sophia rolled her lips together, unable to find the words.

The older woman linked arms with her. "I know-Julia has so many needs. But did you see the look on her face?"

Smoke Maker's cow had scratched her back against his house, pulling off the corners and splintering half a dozen clapboards. Will pried off the damaged pieces, then measured and sawed a patch.

Smoke Maker squinted at the end of the board, then waved his hand over the diagonal cut. "Why is it like this?"

"Straight cuts open up."

"This will stay?"

"Until the next time your cow has an itch."

Smoke Maker nodded and nailed the board into place. As they worked, Will watched Sophia and Nettie shuttle between the agency house and others in the village, carrying bundles of clothing. It reminded him of how his sister used to dress up her doll in handkerchiefs and sc.r.a.ps.

Girls. They might grow up, but they still- Whoa. Sophia had her hair down.

Will's hammer slid from his grasp and thudded to the ground, missing his foot by an inch.

Smoke Maker grinned and lifted his chin toward the women. "Girls playing. Gives boys something to watch."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

James sprawled in his seat, his elbows on the table and his head propped up with one hand. His skin appeared yellow in the lantern's glow. "Well, Teacher, any spelling errors? Misplaced commas?"

"Your handwriting is beautiful. Perhaps you could teach penmanship to my students." Sophia read from a ledger sheet, at the top of which he had noted No Funds. "Padlocks, lime, linseed oil. What is 'bail of oak.u.m'?"

"Caulking. Oak.u.m is made out of rope fibers, hemp. It's used to seal the linings of ships, but it also is useful to stop up gaps in the walls, of which we have many."

Sophia hoped the oak.u.m was substantial. Her room was rife with gaps. "'Tar paper, pump, ponies, sulky, reaper, rope, sash-glazed.' So what did you receive?"

"Ax handles."

Each of the agent's letters began, "I have the honor to report . . ." even when the news was grim. She closed his file. "You write a thorough, factual account. All requests are well justified. But, as no action has been taken, I shall cast a wider net. Appeal to the public, to men of influence. Speak out for justice and mercy. Speak the truth."

"Tap into their vein of sentimentality."

"It is necessary."

Footsteps echoed in the front room. Sophia watched the carpenter exit, bound down the steps, and stride off on his long legs into the evening. Where was he going this late? The village lacked any of the usual entertainments distracting men on a Sat.u.r.day night. She curbed an odd impulse to call him back. Will was not in a position of authority, did not know those who were, and showed no inclination to eloquence.