Through Rushing Water by Catherine Richmond Read Free Book Online Page A

smile in his direction. This handyman was quite handy indeed. And innovative.
    Sophia examined the packing crate desk and found it empty. “Where are the enrollment lists, attendance records, and grade reports?”
    The agent shrugged. “Aren’t any.”
    How was she to teach in these conditions?
    At least she would have fresh air. Sophia attempted to raise the nearest window, but it did not move, not even a fraction of an inch. Was it painted shut? She made a fist. A strong hand caught hers before she could slam it into the frame.
    â€œLocked.” Will removed a long nail from the sash. The window slid up easily, then as swift as a guillotine, swooped back down to slice off her fingers. Will pulled her hand out of the way in time. He propped the window open with a stick. “Careful.”
    â€œThank you,” Sophia whispered. Perhaps her heart would return to its normal rate sometime today.
    She managed to unlock, open, and prop the other five without incident. Then her morning tea made another need known. She walked around the building. “Where are the latrines?”
    â€œThere aren’t any.” James reddened. “The boys use the bushes and the girls use the ditches.”
    â€œOther way around,” Will said. “I’ll build you an outhouse. We’ll unload while you . . .” He tipped his head toward the brush.
    â€œIf you will excuse me, I believe a bit of mushroom hunting is in order.” Miss Beecher had not warned of this either.
    Sophia availed herself of the opportunity. Her father’s soldiers had built latrines wherever they stopped. Failure to do so was unsanitary, an invitation to illness. How could any education occur in the absence of the most basic of necessities?
    When she returned, James had left with the wagon. In the yard Will reconfigured one of the crates to form a bookcase. He worked with swift, sure motions, at one with his tools. Sophia applauded. “Bravo!”
    Still no smile. He lifted his chin. “Your students.”
    Three urchins of uncertain age and gender stood at the edge of the schoolyard. Is this what they wore to school, scraps? No shoes? Did they not know better, or was this all they had? At least their faces were clean and their hair braided.
    â€œBut I have not rung the bell. And this place needs a good scrubbing.” Apparently also her responsibility. Heedless of her objections, Will continued his carpentry. So. Planning time had ended and teaching begun.
    Sophia called to the children. “Good morning, students.”
    The trio shuffled backward a few steps. The smallest put a finger in his or her mouth.
    â€œCome along.” Sophia motioned to them. “Come to school.”
    They stared at the ground.
    Sophia took three steps toward them, hand extended. “I am your teacher, Miss Makinoff. What are your names?”
    They dashed behind a tree stump. Now what should she do?
    Behind her a deep voice spoke in their language.
    â€œDo they speak English?” she whispered.
    â€œSome.”
    Some? Is that how he answered questions? Sophia turned to glare at him. One eyebrow gave a you-are-the-teacher twitch. What would it take for this man to smile? Perhaps if she stuck out her tongue—
    â€œDid the Mission Board tell you anything about the people, about the Poncas?”
    â€œOnly that my job would be to teach reading, writing, the use of money, the Christian faith, sewing—”
    â€œThe Poncas don’t look each other full in the face. It’s not polite.”
    â€œThey stared at me yesterday.” Now that she thought about it, they had glanced away when she smiled at them. “Ah. But not my face.”
    â€œPut your hands down by your side. And wait. Quietly.”
    Sophia straightened her arms. After a moment a small hand—hopefully one that had not been in a mouth recently—slipped into hers. “Good morning,” she said again, glimpsing the child