Through Rushing Water by Catherine Richmond Page B

plank. His coworker didn’t say a word, just raised his right eyebrow a sixteenth of an inch and let the end of the board thump into Will’s palm, meaning “Get back to work.”
    â€œPlease sing!” Rosalie asked. Good girl.
    Miss Makinoff started in again with the children this time. Then she stopped. After a bit, he heard the plink, plink of a stringed instrument. Yellow Spotted Buffalo looked at Will, then at Brown Eagle and Long Runner. In a flash all four men dashed over to the windows.
    The teacher looked up, surprised but showing no fear. Long Runner still had his scalp lock, which scared most white women.
    â€œI am so sorry. You must have thought I was tormenting a cat. It is only a Russian instrument called a gusli . Similar to a harp or a zither.”
    She brought the thing to the window and handed it to Long Runner. It was a wing-shaped piece of wood about a foot and a half long, with a dozen strings—as she said, rather like a lap harp. Long Runner gave it a good looking-over, plucked each string, then passed it to Yellow Spotted Buffalo.
    â€œDo you sing to your children? Do the mothers sing? Music helps with learning, especially mathematics, and diaphragmatic breathing—” She stopped. “Oh, I am so sorry. You have work to do, and I ask too many questions.”
    How gently she got them back to work on her outhouse, Will thought. Like a lady. That’s what was wrong—this place wasn’t a good fit for her. They needed someone more . . .
    More what? More crude? No, they had plenty of scum with no manners, no morals, no aim other than lining their own pockets. Maybe God had sent them the right person. Well, none of his concern either way.
    She sang again, teaching the children “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” Will found himself keeping time with his hammer. If she didn’t know he was listening before, she would now.
    Maybe she could bring the thing—gosling?—back to the house at night, sing some more. Henry would want hymns, of course, but perhaps the rest could persuade her to try a little “Oh! Susanna.”
    â€œWhat songs do you know?” she asked the children. Frank started their warrior song. The other children joined in, their feet shaking the floorboards. The work crew added their voices, keeping time with their hammers. They sang with pride, the way people back in the States sang “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
    The teacher finished the music lesson and moved on to a less distracting subject. The crew finished the outhouse and anchored it over the hole.
    Brown Eagle wiped down the tools. “So, tomorrow we roof Yellow Horse’s house?”
    Will slapped his forehead. “I forgot.” So much for being the only white person to keep his promises.
    â€œPretty girl changes the weather in your head.” Yellow Spotted Buffalo plucked the saw, making a woo-woo sound, and grinned.
    Will felt himself flush. Yellow Spotted Buffalo was right: thinking about the teacher had him in a fog. He’d best keep his distance.
    Brown Eagle loaded up the wheelbarrow. “Do not worry. Bear Shield told him you work here today.”
    â€œYou are done already?” Miss Makinoff stepped outside. “Excellent workmanship, and such speed!”
    Brown Eagle’s children ran over to check out their new outhouse. Will called out to the boys.
    â€œWhat did you say?”
    â€œAim like an arrow.”
    â€œThank you.”
    Will was impressed. Most ladies would faint at the mention of a normal body function, but this one nodded and smiled. She turned to the children. “Does anyone have an extra bucket at home? We need water for washing hands. Perhaps since we have five students and five days of the week—”
    â€œNo. No extra buckets.”
    The flood of words stopped. Bright blue eyes focused on him.
    â€œThere’s one at the agency house.” He’d paint “School” on it tonight, try