Through Rushing Water Read Free Page B

lurched to a halt. Again. Sophia slid a ribbon into her book and stepped outside. Lieutenant Higgins followed.
    The fog had dispersed, revealing grass-covered hills running parallel to the river. The Missouri carried a thick load of mud and tree parts, but smelled cleaner than the Hudson. A battalion of swallows fought a losing battle with a cloud of insects. Several dozen men, most in red shirts and canvas pants, clustered around the paddle wheel.
    â€œYou miserable, empty-headed sons of—”
    Sophia opened her fan with a snap.
    The mate noticed her and changed his tune. “Lady.”
    Lady . The word raced through the crew.
    Was this her calling as salt and light, a city on a hill, to dampen swearing? No, it would take more than a snap of her fan to please God.
    Without profanity the crew resorted to work, leaving only blackbirds to squawk about the proceedings. Apparently one of the many stumps hiding in the Missouri’s mud had entangled itself in the paddle wheel.
    â€œIf you’ll excuse me.” The officer returned his hat to his head. “I’ll see if I can be of assistance.”
    Sophia doubted anyone could save the Benton IV . But an extended session of grunting, muttering, and whacking with a variety of tools led to a victory shout. The boat escaped the evil clutches of the submerged tree and resumed its noisy progress upstream.
    At the bow two sailors took soundings and called the depths to the pilot. They entered a maze of sandy islands that changed shape as she watched.
    Back at the College, Sophia had gone for boat rides on the Hudson—sedate afternoons gliding past mansions with manicured lawns. Wooden filigree-work touched with gilding decorated every surface of the boat. Uniformed waiters delivered cold lemonade on silver trays to guests seated in Windsor armchairs.
    Completely unlike this precarious journey.
    The boat jerked backward. Sophia took hold of the nearest support.
    â€œEasy there, girly. Don’t want to have to haul you out of the river.” A thin man who reeked like decaying meat grabbed her elbow.
    â€œThank you, sir.” Sophia lifted her chin, freezing him with a look that would do the tsar proud. He withdrew his hand.
    â€œBe glad to fish her ladyship outta the drink,” volunteered a thicker cad.
    â€œI trust that will not be necessary.”
    â€œI’ll hang on to you.” A soldier swept off his hat, showing greasy ropes of hair. His wrinkled and patched uniform gave no indication of rank or unit. Grimy toes poked from one brogan. Was there no soap west of Chicago?
    Her father would have had him flogged, but perhaps he was the best this young country could muster or afford.
    Most of the ship’s occupants milled about the deck and engaged in a deafening debate about the cause of their delay and several possible cures. Unfortunately Sophia’s trio of admirers were more interested in her, the only woman aboard.
    But she was a missionary now, she reminded herself. She should see Christ in every man.
    She shifted her position, wondering briefly if Christ ever maneuvered himself to stay upwind from the unwashed. “Where are you men headed?”
    â€œGold fields,” the civilians replied. “Custer found gold up in them Black Hills and we aim to get us some.”
    â€œWill the Indians object to your mining enterprise?”
    â€œWell, if’n they do, we’ll just bore ’em full of lead.”
    â€œThem Injuns just sitting on that gold. Not doing nothing.”
    â€œSo, you out here visiting?” The soldier had a freshly blackened eye.
    â€œNo, sir. I am a missionary to the Poncas.”
    â€œWell then. God be taking care of you.”
    â€œAnd you, sir?” she asked the soldier.
    â€œI’ll be over to the fort, protecting you from the Brulé.”
    Surely he was incapable if he couldn’t hold his own in fisticuffs.
    Then the word registered, and Sophia’s breath caught.