Through Rushing Water by Catherine Richmond

With a glance at the others, she opened it. “Oooh!”
    The library at the College contained over ten thousand volumes. Texts and reference books stocked each classroom. Shelves of favorite books graced every parlor. Yet none of those generated a fraction of the reverence received by a simple reader in the Ponca Agency school.
    Ressaisis-toi, mon Dieu! Succumbing to tears would undermine her authority.
    The chattering continued. “English, please,” Sophia said. “Frank and Joseph, you are to help Marguerite.”
    The boys looked at each other then the floor. Finally Frank informed her, “Women’s work.”
    An argument used by men the world over. Sophia shook her head. “Schoolwork. Marguerite, give the bucket to Frank. The next window is his. And the last is Joseph’s. Rosalie, please return the book to the shelf and take a seat at the first table.”
    Whether from lack of English proficiency or defiance, none of the children did as she asked. Sophia took the bucket from Marguerite and passed it to Frank. Guiding his hands, she helped the boy squeeze out the rag, wipe off the first pane, and rinse. “Now finish the rest, then hand it to Joseph.”
    â€œI am Joseph.”
    Sophia bit her lip and narrowed her eyes. She looked him up and down. The patches. “You told me your name is Frank.”
    The boy nodded. “Teacher smart.”
    â€œThe last teacher didn’t bother to learn their names,” Will said from the doorway.
    Sophia jumped. The open-door policy, necessary in the summer heat, would require some adjustment. “I can see how that would take a certain amount of discernment.”
    He frowned at Joseph, engrossed in the sounds a wet rag made on glass. “Ponca men don’t do housework.”
    â€œI have been so informed. Fortunately, this is schoolwork. May I help you with anything else?”
    â€œWhere do you want your outhouse?”
    â€œAt least twenty paces downwind. Unless . . . I am sorry, I do not know the geologic term. Will you dig into water?”
    â€œNot likely.” He returned to the yard. Out of the corner of her eye—the part that would get the most use apparently—she saw him pace off and mark a spot with the heel of his boot. A man with waist-length black hair began shoveling.
    Now, she must be about her own work. The children had smeared the dirt on the windows, leaving dark streaks running down the wall to puddle on the floor. They should wash their hands before handling books.
    Rosalie tugged on Sophia’s skirt. “Water? Drink?”
    â€œCertainly.” Sophia looked around. Had she used the drinking water bucket for chores? It should be washed. Thoroughly.
    She clapped her hands twice. “Students. Form a line. We will walk to the spring.”
    The line looked more like a pile, with the boys elbowing each other and bumping into the girls. Sophia set them in order, then directed Marguerite to lead the way.
    â€œLeaving already?” Will asked from his work site. Besides the man shoveling, two others sawed planks.
    â€œTo the spring.” In that brief moment while she was distracted, the line fell apart. The boys raced ahead. Little Rosalie lagged behind. Sophia opened her mouth to reprimand the children but reconsidered. Was order necessary to become an American or a Christian?
    Well, church members lined up for communion. Men lined up to vote. All right, then, she would teach them to form a line. As soon as she caught them.
    The path passed by a house. It had been built the same size as the others, then a newer addition set perpendicular had almost doubled it. Several rags, laundry perhaps, fluttered in the wind on the pergola. Yellow puppies scampered out from beneath the steps to greet the children.
    â€œWhose house is this?”
    No one answered.
    â€œWho lives here?”
    Five voices said, “Me.”
    Ah! They looked alike because they were related. “So you