Chapter 12

Connie sent a letter,” Faith declared, bringing the mail to the dining room table, where Nancy and Seth were enjoying a leisurely lunch. Mrs. Weaver and Alma had just retired for a nap, while the Clifton sisters and Mimi Bryant had borrowed Nancy and Seth’s carriage and gone shopping.

“Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll read it.” Nancy pushed her dishes back a bit to make room for the letter.

Faith handed the envelope to her cousin, then took her seat.

Nancy opened the letter and unfolded the pages. “‘Dear all,’” she began. “‘Life at Grand Ronde is much depressed since last I was here. The storm destroyed many of the trees, and most of the buildings suffered damage. Still, I think this area is some of the prettiest in the state. I had forgotten just how much I love it.

“‘Father and Mother are well and send their love. I thought them to have aged far more than seven years would normally allow for, but given their worries over all that is going on, it isn’t surprising to find gray in their hair.

“‘Tom likes the family very much and enjoys working with the Native people too. We’ve been hard at work taking down information from every person who will speak to us about their culture and history. The Fourth of July is soon upon us, and the priest and nuns are planning a celebration where the Native children will put on a play. I think I shall look forward to that. The children are so precious. I wish they could remain as loving and kind as they are now. Sadly, I know that the bitterness of their families will spoil their current outlook. How could it not? Hatred is so strong. I pray for them daily, but evil is strong too. The church hopes to resolve the problem by forcing the children to board at school for the year, but they go home on occasion, and the anger is reinforced. I fear we are doing more harm than good.’”

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Faith commented. “Hate is like a disease that quickly spreads.”

Nancy looked up. “Hate is found on both sides, sadly. I wish there were better ways to make people understand the destructiveness of hatred.”

Seth shrugged and rubbed his neck. “No matter how strong the hate and bitterness, God’s love is stronger. There is nothing God can’t do to change hearts.”

“I know, but it’s just so heartbreaking to see how people hurt each other.” Nancy glanced down at the letter and began to read again. “‘We are trying to encourage the people to repair the sawmill and get the lumber business going again. The people are very discouraged from the first time around. They worked hard, only to have their profits stolen by the agent in charge at the time. I thought it might be wonderful if Gabe or Uncle Alex could come and help them get it up and running again, but I don’t think Clint would appreciate our interference. The Indians probably wouldn’t either. Hopefully the Indian Legislature will stir the people to make repairs and once again earn a profit. There are all the storm-felled trees to cut, and I’m certain the railroad would buy the wood—especially if it were cut for ties.’” Nancy looked up again. “Maybe we can encourage Gabe and Clementine to take a little trip to visit Uncle Adam and Aunt Mercy. Surely that couldn’t be frowned upon.”

“I find that anything, even the best of intentions, can and will be frowned upon by people who are bitter,” Faith countered. “But I suppose we could talk to them about it.”

“Just remember, it’s usually best not to interfere.” Seth smiled. “Even when that interference is done in love.”

Nancy returned to the letter. “‘Many of the people want nothing to do with either Tom or myself. They don’t want the government keeping a record of their people. They fear the government is only doing this to gather information that can later be used to destroy them. I find it sad, because their history will be lost if we fail to keep a record.

“‘As for our other problems, we are no closer to understanding who controls things. We are making it our priority alongside the Bureau’s work, but no one seems to know anything. I talked at length with my parents, but they have no idea—no direction in which to point us. We will continue to do what we can and pray that God will open our eyes to the truth before it’s too late.’” Nancy refolded the letter. “She signs off with love to all.”

“Well, we didn’t expect them to learn the truth overnight,” Seth said, rubbing his neck again.

“Are you in pain, sweetheart?” Nancy put the letter aside and got up to massage her husband’s shoulders.

“I’m pretty stiff, and it has given me a headache. I think maybe a storm is coming. You know how that always seems to bring on pain.”

Faith frowned. “I could give you some laudanum.”

“I think I’ll try resting first. If that doesn’t help, I may let you.” He drew Nancy’s hand to his lips. “I believe I’ll go lie down for a while.” He kissed her fingertips.

“I’ll come check on you after I get the dishes washed. Don’t forget that Jack’s sleeping.”

He nodded and got to his feet. Nancy worried for her husband. He’d been so wounded by the beating he received only a couple of months earlier. And even though he was healing quickly, there remained issues that Faith said were quite normal. Headaches and body aches, restless sleep. How Nancy wished she could make it all go away. She prayed that, in time, God would take the pain from Seth and give him back a normal life. She gathered the dishes and took them to the kitchen.

“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” Faith asked, following her with the remaining food.

“I am. I can’t help but worry. I hate that he ever got involved with this. I feel like it’s all my fault, since he was investigating my late husband.”

“It’s a job he chose to take, Nancy. You won’t do either of you any good in placing blame. If it’s any comfort at all, his recovery has been remarkable. This is all very normal, including the fatigue. The body is expending all its energy on healing, and that takes a toll. Resting is the very best thing for him. I think in another few months, you’ll be surprised at just how much better he’ll be.”

Nancy nodded but wasn’t all that convinced. After reading Connie’s letter, she wondered if the next few months would hold anything but pain and sorrow.

“We’re leaving now,” Mrs. Weaver said from the arched doorway. Behind her stood Alma and their new friend, Ruth. Ruth and Alma had become the best of friends. Their pasts were very similar. Both had been slaves from the time of birth, and both had been set free with no place to go. Their former owners had been merciful, but in Ruth’s case, her owner had died shortly after moving to Oregon from California.

Nancy went to Alma and took her hand. “I’m so proud of you for leaving the house and going to this fellowship.”

“I’m scared,” she admitted, “but we prayed, and I know the Lord will be with us.” She looked to Mrs. Weaver and then Ruth.

“She’ll be very safe and welcomed,” Ruth declared. “Come on now, Alma. We’d best go, or we’ll be late.”

“Are the Clifton sisters still meeting you, Mrs. Weaver?” Alma asked. It had earlier been determined that Mrs. Weaver would walk with Ruth and Alma to the church, and then the Misses Clifton would pick her up in the carriage to go shopping for fabric.

“They are, bless them.” Mrs. Weaver looked at her longtime companion. “I’ll be praying the whole time. I couldn’t bear it if someone hurt you.”

Alma smiled. “The Lord is with us, and we’ve got nothin’ to fear.”

Connie kept thinking about Reverend Summers forcing the Indians to sell their artifacts. One woman had told Connie that she faced him at the gate to her yard and told him she had nothing for him to buy. The reverend had pushed her aside and gone into her house uninvited. There he had gathered up the things he wanted and given her what he thought they were worth. It angered Connie to no end, and she thought it was time to confront Clint about it.

Her father had offered to take Tom on a ride to the far side of the reservation, so Connie saw it as the perfect time. She marched over to Clint’s office and pounded on the door. Clint showed up within seconds.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” He grinned. “And my, don’t you look pretty today.”

She was wearing a forest-green calico with hints of yellow and orange. It wasn’t anything special. “Thank you, but getting compliments isn’t why I came here today.”

“Well, why don’t you come into my office and tell me why you did come?” Clint stepped back to give her room to pass.

She made her way in and stood waiting at the corner of his desk, hands on her hips. “What are you going to do about Reverend Summers?”

“What are you talking about?” Clint sat down. “Why don’t you sit and tell me what has you so upset?”

Connie shook her head. “I’ll stand, thank you. I’m talking about the way Reverend Summers comes here and forces people to sell their artifacts and heirlooms. It’s wrong, Clint, and you know it.”

“I’m not happy about it either, but there’s nothing I can do about it. He’s good friends with the governor. He also sells those artifacts to some wealthy and powerful collectors. You aren’t going to get much support to stop him.”

“We’ve taken everything else from these people, and now you’re taking away their family history. It’s wrong to let this go on.” He watched her with great interest. Connie felt as if he was dismissing the entire situation and focusing on her appearance. “Clint, are you even listening to me?”

He grinned. “Well, it is hard to listen when you’re standing there being so delightfully pretty.”

She rolled her gaze to the ceiling and huffed. “You are no help at all.”

“After that kiss the other day, I’ve had a hard time thinking of anything else.”

“Oh, for grief’s sake. That kiss meant nothing.” And she realized the truth of it the moment she spoke the words. “I don’t want to start anything with you, Clint. Those childish infatuations have been buried with the past.”

She felt a sense of peace flow over her. Clint was just a friend from the past. She neither regretted nor esteemed him. He simply . . . was.

He was frowning as she continued. “I might have had feelings for you when I was fifteen, but that’s long gone. You were wise to refuse my nonsense, and for that I thank you, but that still isn’t why I’m here. You are failing these people by allowing Summers to do as he pleases.”

Clint looked past her to the window. “I’ve spoken to him about it and asked him to stop. I’ve spoken to my father and brother about it. There’s nothing else to be done.”

Connie fumed. “There has to be something. He and others like him come in and steal the people blind. They’re even raiding their burial places. They’re digging up bodies. Disturbing the dead so that they can take skulls and even full skeletons for museums. It’s positively scandalous, and even the soldiers are guilty of it.”

“Look, I told you that I’ve tried to deal with it. There’s nothing more to discuss on the matter. What I want to return to is us. You can’t just show up after all these years and not give me a chance. I know Tom fancies himself in love with you, but you clearly don’t love him.”

Connie was stunned by this comment. It wasn’t the first time someone had suggested that Tom cared for her, but for Clint to do it seemed completely out of line. “My relationship with Tom is none of your business. I care very deeply for Tom.”

“I just want a chance to woo you—to show you that the feelings you once had for me aren’t dead. They only need to be revived.”

She shook her head. “I’m not interested. I’m here to record Indian culture and tribal information. I’m also here to see that they’re treated right. You can’t let their graves be disturbed.”

“I can hardly set up guards night and day.”

“Why not?”

Clint seemed momentarily stunned by the question. “It’s the Indians’ responsibility. If they want guards at the cemetery, then they need to put them in place. It’s completely up to them.”

“And what is your responsibility, Clint? It seems to me that as an Indian agent, you have been tasked with watching over the tribes and ensuring their well-being. You’re the only one they have to fight for them.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You’re doing a good job of it yourself.” He crossed his arms. “Honestly, Connie, you can’t save the world. You can’t even save half of it.”

She frowned. “Maybe not, but I can fight for this little piece of it. I’m going to send a letter to my uncle Dean in Washington. Maybe he can get together with your father and brother and come to a different conclusion.”

She headed for the door, but before she could reach it, Clint had come around his desk and closed the distance between them.

“Leave my father and brother out of this,” he growled, taking hold of her.

Connie had never seen him look so angry. For a moment she felt afraid, but then she pushed her fear and Clint aside. “Stop trying to intimidate me.”

“I’m doing my job,” he continued, sounding less angry. “I’m doing the best I can with what the government gives and the laws allow. I don’t like a lot of it any better than you do, but some of the men responsible have powerful friends. Friends who would just as soon replace me and put one of their cronies in my place. You think it’s bad now? That would spell disaster for your friends.”

Connie considered his words for a moment. Maybe he was right. She knew how the various political groups scratched one another’s backs. It could prove disastrous if they replaced Clint with someone who truly didn’t care about the welfare of the Indians.

“I’m sorry, Clint. I just get angry when I think of soldiers digging up graves. It’s heartless and cruel.”

“I know, Connie.” He moved closer. “You need to understand that I’ve wrestled with this for a long time. It’s been going on for decades and probably will continue. I promise, however, that I will keep trying to find a way to put an end to it.”

She heard the sincerity in his voice. “Thank you, Clint. I appreciate your heart.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“You didn’t. I’ve always appreciated your passion for righting wrongs.” He touched her cheek. “In fact, I greatly admire your passion.”

Connie backed away. “I’m sorry, Clint. I just don’t have those feelings for you anymore.”

She was already halfway out the door when he spoke.

“Tom’s a lucky man.”

She knew better than to respond. If she told him she wasn’t in love with Tom either—that they were just friends—it might only encourage his affections. Connie just kept walking. She wondered if she should tell Tom about the encounter but decided against it. The last thing she needed was Tom being angry at Clint and Clint being jealous of Tom.

Lord, I need some direction on this. I don’t know how to handle what’s going on. I thought I would always love Clint—at least I did when I was fifteen. Now that I’m grown, I can see our differences would never have allowed us to have a good marriage.

She thought for a moment, searching her heart in case there was some motive in her for revenge. Was she just rejecting Clint because he had rejected her? No. She didn’t feel anything toward him at all. No desire for revenge or reckoning. No need for him to be hurt because he’d hurt her. She didn’t even completely blame him for what was happening on the reservation. After all, the Catholic Church and the army also played roles in the past and present. Not to mention the government as a whole.

She changed her mind about going home and decided instead to visit Rosy. Maybe she could help Connie figure out a solution to put a stop to the grave robbing.

She knocked on the door and waited for an answer. Nobody came. Connie waited a moment and was about to leave when she heard moaning and the barely audible words, “Help me.”

Connie tried the door and found it unlocked. She opened it and called out. “Rosy?”

“Help.”

Spurred on by the frail sound, Connie entered the house and saw Rosy lying on the floor near the table in her kitchen.

“Rosy, what happened?”

“I’m sick.”

Connie felt her head. It didn’t feel feverish. She couldn’t see any reason for the ailment. “Let me help you up. I’ll get you into your bed and then fetch Mama. She’ll know what to do.”

The old woman couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds, but it was still difficult for Connie to get her off the floor. Thankfully they only needed to go a few feet. Once she had Rosy in bed, Connie rushed for her parents’ house.

“Mama! Mama!” she called before even stepping through the door.

“What is all the ruckus?” her mother asked, descending the steps.

Connie stopped to catch her breath. “It’s Rosy. I found her collapsed. She’s sick.”

Her mother nodded and went to the kitchen for what Connie called her healing bag. Mama and her two sisters, as well as Faith, all had them.

“Does she show any symptoms?” her mother asked.

“I found her on the floor. She’s terribly weak and told me she was sick.”

“Come on. Let’s see what’s going on.”

Together they hurried back to Rosy’s place.

“So many have been sick,” her mother said. “They’re convinced the flour was poisoned. I don’t know that I believe that. I think perhaps it’s something else. Bad meat, maybe. The heat makes it spoil so quickly. Your father and I rarely eat meat in the summer unless it’s freshly killed chicken or fish.”

They entered Rosy’s house, and Mama immediately went to her bed. “Rosy, what seems to be wrong? Connie, bring me a chair, please.”

Connie brought a wooden chair for her mother to sit on. Her mother began to check Rosy’s eyes and ears and mouth. She felt Rosy’s forehead and then checked her neck and arms for rash or any sign of injury.

“What have you had to eat?”

“Bread and fish.” Rosy closed her eyes, but a strange smile appeared on her lips. “And cake. The cake Connie brought.”

“That’s odd. None of us got sick from the cake,” Connie’s mother told Rosy as she continued her examination. “Perhaps it was the bread, though I would more easily believe there’s been bad meat shared around. Did you have any meat?”

Rosy said nothing for a moment, then nodded. “Fish stew. Adela brought it yesterday.”

Mama turned to Connie. “Go see if Adela and her family are ill.”

Connie nodded and headed out, only to run full-speed into Tom.

He steadied her. “What’s going on? I saw you and your mom practically running here.”

“Rosy’s sick, and Mama is trying to figure out what’s wrong. Come with me. We need to do a little investigating.”

Tom went with Connie to the house of Adela and Howard Riggs, nearly a mile away. Connie seemed relieved to find them all healthy and thriving. Adela gave Connie a detailed list of what had gone into her soup, as well as her certainty that it couldn’t possibly have made Rosy sick.

“I hope they can figure out if it’s really the flour, and if so, why it’s making people ill,” Connie said as they left the house. “We really don’t need one more issue to deal with.”

“No. That’s true enough. But I’m not sure we’ll ever really know.” Tom shook his head and shrugged. “If it was poisoned, no one is going to admit to doing it. The excess flour has been confiscated, and folks were told to turn in any flour they’d purchased from this shipment. Hopefully that will be the end of it.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen again. I honestly don’t understand the heartlessness of people. Their hate is so intense.”

“Have you heard anything more from Clint about the shipments?” Tom asked, changing the subject.

“No. I was talking to him earlier about my disgust at artifacts being all but stolen from the Indians, as well as the grave robbing that goes on, and all he wanted to talk about was his feelings for me.”

Tom could well imagine. It seemed Clint was always watching Connie. “I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, but I don’t trust him.”

“Why not?” She looked at him but continued to walk. “Just because he thinks he’s in love with me doesn’t make him untrustworthy.”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s just a feeling. He often has meetings with the Indians that no one else is invited to attend.”

“He’s the Indian agent. I would hope he has meetings with them.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“How do you know he’s doing that?” This time she stopped and waited for his response.

“You wanted us to prove your parents’ innocence, and that’s what I’m trying to do. I’ve been getting up in the night and watching him. He often has meetings with as many as ten men.”

“That is rather strange.” Connie frowned. “Have you any idea what he’s up to?”

“No. I can never get close enough to the house. They always post lookouts. Whatever they’re discussing, they don’t want anyone to know about it.”