Chapter 15

Days later, Connie was surprised when Ann showed up at her parents’ house with a request.

“Can you and Faith come to my home? Ruth has been feeling ill. She has been staying with me because her time is close. I wondered if Faith would use her skills as a doctor and help her. If you would both come, we could just tell others that you are going to sew with us.”

Faith joined them. “I heard my name mentioned.” She grinned. “What’s going on?”

Connie turned to her. “Ruth isn’t feeling well, and Ann wondered if we could come to the house.”

“Is she in labor?” Faith asked, sobering.

“No. She has chills and wants only to sleep.”

“Could be the ague,” Faith said. “Let me get my bag.”

“You mustn’t let it be seen,” Ann said, shaking her head. “Please hurry.” She left Connie and Faith and rushed toward the trees.

“What do you suggest we do?” Faith asked.

“Ann suggested that if anyone asks why we’re going to her house, we’ll tell them we’re going to sew together. Mother has some burlap sacks. Let’s take Ann a few things. We’ll hide your bag in the bottom.”

They went inside and told her mother and Aunt Hope what was going on. Mama came up with several things that hid the medical bag perfectly.

“I put in two yards of white flannel for diapers over and around the bag. On top of that I have several other pieces of cloth, some jars of jam, and a small sack of cookies. That should convince anyone nosy enough to look that it’s just that and nothing more.”

Faith took the sack. “It’s like carrying around books again.”

She and Connie headed out the door and began the long walk to Ann’s house. Connie couldn’t help but contemplate everything going on. “Do you suppose we can get to the bottom of all this nonsense before someone starts a war?”

“I hope so. I don’t want anyone to die.” Faith shook her head. “It’s been a heavy weight on me these past few years. Being half Indian, I bore a sense of guilt for not being honest about my heritage, but also for what was being done to the Indians by white people. I’m both . . . so how can I choose a side?”

“I know. I may only be an eighth Cherokee, but I’ve had some of those same thoughts.” Connie glanced over as Faith shifted the bag. “Are you sure you don’t want me to carry that?”

“I’m fine. Do you and Tom have any suspicions about who might be in charge among the Indians?”

“Obviously Samson Sheridan is involved, but as young as he is, I doubt he’s in charge. I keep trying to figure out who would be obvious. Joseph Sheridan was eager to leave the reservation, but so were others. Rosy’s son tried to escape, and he was shot and killed by soldiers. Many other families endured the same thing. Maybe I could ask Clint who on the reservation has been the biggest troublemaker. I could ask on the pretense of wanting to stay away from those people until he could go with Tom and me to interview them.”

“That might work. At least to narrow it down to the most likely to start a war. I wish you could come back to Portland with me next week. Helen Hunt Jackson is coming to speak there. It’s a brief stop, as she’s winding her way down to California. I’ve been corresponding with her and am just so happy that she’s agreed to do this. I’d love for you to hear her ideas. She’s amazing.”

“Where are you bound to, ladies?” Clint asked as they passed the government office. He happened to be outside smoking a cigar.

“We’re going over to our friend’s house to sew baby clothes. Want to come?” Connie smiled, knowing it was the last place he’d want to be.

“Wish I could—just for the pleasure of your company—but alas, I have too much work to do. I have to meet with the Indian Legislature in five minutes. I just figured I’d catch a few puffs on a cigar before the meeting began.”

“I hope it’s a positive meeting. Have you found what’s needed to restart the mill?”

“I got some idea of the cost when I was in Portland. I talked to a man I believe is related to you both. Gabe Armistead.”

“Yes, he’s our cousin. We hoped he and our uncle Alex would be willing to help.”

“Mr. Armistead assured me they are. Even more amazing, they don’t expect anything in return. They’re going to send down parts and a man to help make repairs. Now I just need to motivate the men here to work the mill again. They can already start work bringing the downed trees to the mill. There’s lots of other preparatory work too.” He sighed. “But motivating lazy people is never easy.”

Faith frowned, and Connie hoped she wouldn’t say anything. The last thing they needed was to fight with Clint and draw attention to themselves.

“Well, good luck. We have to get going.” Connie tugged on Faith’s arm. “Don’t we?”

Faith nodded and allowed Connie to pull her forward. Once they were out of earshot, Faith gave a growl. “I hate it when people talk like that. You’d think he’d know better, having lived with the Indians all these years.”

“I know, Faith, but it wasn’t going to serve any good purpose to argue with him. Not when Ruth needs our help right now. Tell me more about Helen . . . what was her name?”

“Helen Hunt Jackson. Though she just calls herself Helen Jackson now. She was married to an army captain named Edward Hunt. He died in a military accident. She had two sons who also died not too long afterward. Very tragic and sad.”

“Why did she take up the Indian cause?”

“She heard a lecture by Chief Standing Bear of the Ponca Indians. He spoke of his tribe’s forced removal from their lands in Nebraska and of the woes they endured at the hands of the soldiers. It moved her so much that she immediately began to research the matter, as well as other similar events. She got involved in writing and speaking in order to raise money to help the Indians. She’s working on a book about various tribes and the atrocities done to them.”

“She sounds fascinating. I would very much like to hear her. Maybe I can convince Tom that we need to go to Portland and hear her as part of our work.”

“Speaking of Tom—what’s going on with the two of you?”

Connie glanced at Faith. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“You and Tom. Are you just working together, or is it something more? It seems to be so much more.”

“So everyone says, but Tom is just a friend. A very good friend, I’ll give you that much. There’s nothing I wouldn’t tell him. I would do just about anything for him, and I believe he feels the same way about me.”

“I believe he feels a great many things for you.”

Connie frowned. “You aren’t the only one to say that. Everyone seems to think Tom has some sort of romantic feelings for me, but he’s never said anything about it. I can’t believe he is in love with me, because he would say as much if he were. We don’t keep secrets from each other.”

“Maybe it isn’t a secret so much as a desire to find the right time and place.”

Connie considered this for a moment. “I don’t know. A few times Tom has mentioned wanting to talk to me about something, but he’s never brought up the idea of being in love.”

“How do you feel about him?”

“I don’t know. I care a great deal about him. He’s been my best friend for such a long time. But as for love, well, I’ve just never considered it. After all, he’s an atheist. Or at least was. I think Papa has just about worn that thought out of his head.”

“Well, maybe it’s time to consider how Tom fits into the scheme of things. I think you need to spend some time thinking it through. You seem ideal for each other, and friendship is the very best foundation for marriage. I see Tom’s lack of belief to be the only true obstacle.”

Connie said nothing. That obstacle was insurmountable unless God moved it. Perhaps that was why she had never considered the possibility of Tom loving her. She didn’t want to face the tremendous disappointment of loving someone she knew she could never have.

They had reached Ann’s place, so Connie felt no need to respond. She knocked on the front door.

“Come in,” Ann said, glancing behind Connie and Faith to see who might be watching.

“We brought some materials and other things to hide Faith’s medical bag,” Connie said once they were inside.

Faith placed the burlap sack on the floor and opened it. She pulled out the jars of jelly first and handed them to Connie. Then she took out the sack of cookies and the first stack of material, and finally she pulled out the flannel.

“My mother sent all of this for you.” Connie waited as Faith produced her bag. “Where is Ruth?”

“I had her lie down. She said she has pain in her back.”

Faith nodded. “Which room?”

Ann took her to the room and opened the door. “Faith is here, Ruth. I asked her to come and see if she could help you.”

Ruth looked pale and small. “I’m so afraid.”

Faith smiled. “Don’t be. First babies often cause women a lot of fear, but everything will be all right.” She looked over her shoulder at Ann and Connie. “Give us a few minutes alone.”

Ann closed the door and looked at Connie. “I’m worried about her.”

“Then maybe we should sit down together and pray. I find that always helps.”

“You remind me of Faith’s mother, Eletta Browning. Your aunt, I believe.”

“Yes, she was married to my father’s brother. I never met her, but people tell me she was an amazing woman.”

Ann nodded. “She was. She showed such great love. We were good friends. She always said prayer would change everything.”

“It does. I’ve been so busy lately that I might have temporarily forgotten that, but now it’s uppermost in my mind.”

Ann took Connie’s hand. “There is much we need to pray about. I fear for my people and for Ruth.”

Connie squeezed the older woman’s hand. “I understand, but more importantly, God understands. Let’s just give it to Him.”

The day was fairly warm. In fact, if Tom was honest, it was downright hot. It wasn’t as bad as Washington, DC, however. The humid days of summer there were unbearable at times. There were days when he could feel heat permeate from everything around him, and often he felt he was slowly being cooked alive.

To alleviate the warmth, Tom went to the pump behind the government house and wetted his handkerchief. The cold water felt so good as he wiped his face and neck that he wetted the cloth again. As he made his way around the house, Tom caught the sound of voices through the open windows. Clint was talking to someone about the mill and processing the fallen trees. Tom was glad to hear the agent was finally doing something to help get the mill up and running. If the Indians could produce lumber, it would be a good way for them to make money and better the reservation.

On his way back to the Browning house, he remembered that he needed pencils and turned to head to the little store. Inside, the dim light made it hard to find things, but he supposed most folks relied on memory. He found the pencils and took five of them to the clerk at the counter. The clerk seemed almost put out at having to deal with Tom’s cash rather than credit.

“You could set up an account like everybody else,” he suggested. “Makes it easier.”

“I prefer cash, but if that’s the way you want to do things, I suppose I can set up an account.”

The clerk shrugged. “Doubt you’ll be here that long anyway.” He gave Tom change for his dollar.

“I intend to be here for a long time. My job will take a while. We’re supposed to interview all of the Indians who live on Grand Ronde.”

The clerk gave a huff and turned back to his dusting. “Might not be anyone to interview.”

Tom wondered what he meant by that. Did he know something about the uprising? Tom started to ask, but two Indian women walked into the store, talking in a language Tom couldn’t understand. The clerk turned back around and spoke to them.

There was nothing to do but leave. If Tom stayed, the clerk might think it curious, and if he flat-out asked what the man knew about the uprising, it could give away his other reason for being at the reservation.

As he walked past the government house once more, Tom heard raised voices.

“We’ll do it my way or not at all,” Clint was all but yelling.

Several men replied in lower voices. The Indians seemed unhappy about something. Tom caught the gist of it having to do with completing their plans. Clint responded by telling them that they needed to trust him with this decision.

Tom tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, but there was no place to hide. Needing an excuse to tarry, he let the pencils scatter on the ground. He knelt to pick them up, being slow and careful in his retrieval.

“I know you’re anxious and everything is pretty much in place,” Clint declared. “We just need to wait for the shipment. You know as well as I do that without the proper tools, we can do nothing. The shipment should be here next Thursday. We can act after that.”

Tom felt an icy finger go up his spine. Suspicions began to dance in his head. Was Clint talking about guns? Or was he working on seeing the mill put back together? Tom knew Connie’s family planned to help. The mill had been damaged long ago and then again in the storm. There was much required repair.

“Now, I want you to go home and wait for my instructions. As soon as I know more, I’ll be in touch.”

Tom quickly made his way toward the trees. He drew a deep breath and tried to settle his thoughts. He watched as the men left the house. These men were not members of the Legislature. It suddenly dawned on Tom that Clint might very well be the connection they were looking for. Someone who was white and familiar with the reservation was most likely to be heading up the planned uprising. There was no doubt someone at Warm Springs and Siletz would be involved, as well. From what Tom understood after talking to Seth Carpenter, there was an organized group of men from around the state—wealthy men who could afford to buy mercenaries as well as organizers.

“But Clint’s family has always worked to improve conditions for the Indians.” Tom barely whispered the words. It didn’t make sense that Clint would be planning an uprising. Or did it? Perhaps he didn’t feel as devoted to helping the Indians as his father and brother did.

By the time he reached the house, Tom had considered any number of possibilities, but all of them eventually pointed back to Clint Singleton. It was time to have a talk with Connie’s father. He knew Clint better than anyone else. If Clint was capable of such thinking, Adam Browning would surely know.

“Will she be all right?” Ann asked as Faith came out of the back room.

“She’s running a fever,” Faith admitted. “I think she’s caught some sort of sickness, but I can’t figure out what it is since it’s at such an early stage. Make sure she gets plenty of liquids—maybe try a little honeyed tea. Keep her here. Tell Sam you’ll take care of her, that her time is very near. I’ll slip back this evening.”

Ann looked frightened. “Is the baby all right?”

Faith put her hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “So far everything is fine. Just make sure she stays in bed and drinks plenty.”

Connie followed Faith to the door. Faith put her bag back into the burlap sack. “I’ll be back after dark,” Faith promised.

Outside, the two girls walked back to the Browning house. Faith kept her voice a hushed whisper. “Ruth told me about a house where Sam goes every day.”

“What about it?” Connie kept watch around them. Ever since her evening walk with Tom, she’d been rather spooked. She had known Tom was afraid that night, and the thought filled her with worry. Were any of them really safe if a war was about to start?

Faith’s voice was barely a whisper. “She said it’s full of guns—rifles.”

Connie looked at Faith. “Was she certain?”

“Oh yes. She said Sam is always talking about the war he’s going to help start. He wants to kill as many white men as possible. He believes once the Native peoples rise up, the government will have no choice but to set them free. Ruth said she had to tell us because she doesn’t want anyone to be hurt.”

“We need to talk to my father. And Tom too.” Connie scanned the area, more worried than ever before.

When they cleared the trees, Connie had to fight to keep from running across the clearing. She felt a great sense of dread. What was going to happen and when? Should they leave the area? Should they call for the army?

“Where’s Papa?” she asked as they came through the back door into the kitchen. “I need to speak to him and Tom.”

Her mother and Hope had been working at the stove, canning more jelly. “What’s the matter? What’s going on?” her mother asked.

“There’s going to be trouble.” Connie moved from the kitchen into the dining room. “Papa, where are you?”

“We’re in the front room,” he answered.

When she and Faith entered the room, Connie was relieved to find that Uncle Lance and Tom were with her father. What she didn’t like was the worry in their expressions.

“Connie says there’s going to be trouble,” Mama said from behind her.

It was only then that Connie realized her mother and aunt had followed her and Faith into the living room.

“What do you know?” Tom asked.

“Faith was tending Sam Sheridan’s wife, over at Ann’s house. I’ll let her explain.”

They all looked at Faith.

“Ruth said there’s a house where Sam goes every day. She said it’s full of rifles for the war that’s being planned. The war to kill all white people.”