Jo's Triumph (2 page)

“Ladies.” Mrs. Pinweather pressed a knot of fingers against her bosom. “I implore you to remain quiet and calm. Miss Critchett and I have no means to protect you should the Indians decide to—” Her voice trailed off and Mary Brown gasped, clenching her hand around mine so tightly I nearly cried out.

Miss Critchett stepped forward. “We feel that it would not be wise to allow you to remain here at the orphanage if there is going to be trouble.”

My back stiffened.

“But where shall we go?” Emily Hampton asked. Two of the younger girls at the front of the room whimpered.

“We had word Indians were coming
this way. We have found safe homes in town where you will be able to stay until — ”

Mrs. Pinweather faltered again and Miss Critchett added, “Until the danger of Indian attack has passed.”

I closed my eyes. Mary Brown's sweaty hand was still clamped around mine. If the Indians did attack us, we would all be dead no matter where we tried to hide. There were few militia-men in Carson City to protect us. By the time reinforcements arrived … It did not bear thinking about.

“We shall be all right,” I said to Mary Brown. “Have faith. God will not let us perish.”

I don't know whether I believed my own words, but if Mary Brown didn't release my hand, all my fingers would drop off and roll across the floor like little sausages. This thought was so foolish I nearly laughed aloud, but the terror in Mary's eyes made me reach over to pat her shoulder and gently ask her to let go of me instead.

“Mrs. Ormsby, this is Joselyn Whyte. Bless you for opening your home to her during this difficult time.”

Mrs. Ormsby sniffed and blinked. “This is a dreadful thing, but my husband knows how to deal with the Indians. I'm certain the guilty men will be found.”

I looked from Miss Critchett to Mrs. Ormsby, wondering what Mrs. Ormsby meant about guilty men.

“I certainly hope the matter will be settled quickly so you will not be too inconvenienced by Miss Whyte's time with you. The girl is a hard worker, though not especially good with needlepoint.”

I bristled at the remark, though I said nothing. Instead, I lowered my eyes and studied the wooden floor beyond Mrs. Ormsby's wide skirts.

When Miss Critchett had gone, Mrs. Ormsby showed me to a small room off the kitchen where I was to stay. It did not surprise me that I was to share my room — there were three beds inside — but imagine my horror
when I saw before me an Indian girl! I had never seen an Indian up close and presumed them all to be filthy savages. How wrong all my ideas about Indians would turn out to be.

“Sarah — this is Joselyn. She will stay with us for a short time until … until the troubles have been resolved.”

I expected Sarah to look angry or afraid. After all, Mrs. Ormsby was speaking of Sarah's people. Perhaps she had not understood what Mrs. Ormsby had said. But Sarah, who wore a dress not unlike my own, nodded. Her two black braids dipped and rose with her nod. She gestured to the empty bed closest to the door leading back into the kitchen.

I could not stop staring. She looked nothing like I would have expected. Her brown skin was soft-looking and clean and her black hair was so glossy it shone in the lamplight when she moved her head. Yes, she most certainly was an Indian, and yet, I did not feel afraid. Though her eyes were dark and her nose a little broader than mine, she
simply looked like a girl about my age, sturdy and not at all unfriendly.

“You must not worry,” she said. I started, shocked that the words coming from her mouth were spoken as clearly as if Mary Brown had said them herself. “My brother and cousin are among the men who have come to Carson City. They are friends with Major Ormsby and are here to talk of the trouble. No harm will come to anyone, your people or mine.”

She seemed so certain that I wondered why everyone was so afraid.

“What trouble?” I asked. “Why are your men here?” Indian warriors rarely came to Carson City and certainly not in such numbers. “And why are you here, in this house?” For this was the most remarkable thing of all, to find an Indian girl living at Ormsby House.

Sarah smiled. “My father is the great Chief Winnemucca. Major Ormsby and my father are good friends. My father believes that we must learn the ways of the white people. And so, I have come here with my sister to learn how
to live as you do and how to speak your language.”

“Your sister is here, too?”

“Yes.” Sarah gestured to the third bed. “We play with Lizzie, Major Ormsby's daughter. I also help with the cooking and cleaning.”

At this I had to sit down on the bed by the door.

“You ask what has happened, why our men are here.”

All I could do was nod and listen.

“The chiefs are here to help find the Indians who murdered two white miners.”

“Your people murdered — ”

Sarah raised her hand and gave me a look of disgust. “No.” The tips of her braids twitched from side to side as she shook her head. “No. The white men were found with Washo arrows in their wounds. Our people are the Paiutes. Our arrows look different. My cousin, Chief Numaga, knows where to find the Washo Indians. He will ask their chief to send the guilty men so they can be punished.”

“Your cousin will bring the guilty Indians here, to Carson City?”

“I told you, my people and Major Ormsby are friends. As friends, we must help make sure right is done.” She tilted her head toward the dark window. “We must hurry now to help prepare the evening meal.” Sarah Winnemucca, her back straight, her walk quiet but confident, moved past me and out of the room.

Nothing was ordinary about the rest of that evening. Indian men with rabbit fur robes and quivers of arrows across their backs came and went. Sarah pointed out her cousin, Numaga, a huge man with a deep chest and powerful shoulders. Like Sarah, he walked with such sureness that I had no doubt he was a great leader and brave warrior. These men were honorable, I told myself. They had come to Carson City to help Major Ormsby, not to attack those of us living peacefully in town.

After dinner, Major Ormsby smoked and talked with Chief Numaga in the
parlor. Then, later in the evening, the chief prepared to leave. On his way out he said something to Sarah in their language and Sarah rose up on her toes with excitement. She turned to me and said, “Would you like to see a war dance?”

Mrs. Ormsby, standing in the doorway of the parlor, drew in a sharp breath. “I scarcely think that would be — ”

Sarah stood even taller. “Chief Numaga has no quarrel with your people. He makes his men ready for travel at dawn to find the criminal Washos.”

A war dance! “What's a war dance like?” I asked.

Sarah smiled. “I have never seen one.”

My mouth dropped open. Surely she was lying.

“My people are peaceful. They will not fight unless forced to by trouble brought upon them by others.”

Mrs. Ormsby's arms were crossed. Her face was tight.

A man rushed into the front hall where we stood, banging the door open.
He shouted, “Them braves is dancing! They got a big fire in the square.”

Sure enough, through the open door we could see the glow of a bonfire out in the street. Without waiting for Mrs. Ormsby to gather her senses, Sarah snatched two shawls from the coat rack, took my hand, and pulled me outside.

I gasped in the cold air and pulled the shawl closer about my shoulders. The night was already so cold that I hardly dared think of what the winter ahead might bring.

Sarah and I ran toward the blazing fire. It seemed all of Carson City had gathered to watch the Paiutes chanting and stamp-stamp-stamping around their fire. At first, more than one man held his rifle at the ready. But as the dancers continued, it grew clear that this was a celebration and that the men meant us no harm.

We stayed and watched for a long time, huddled together for warmth, the glow of the fire casting long shadows into the street behind us. Finally, the dancing stopped and Sarah and I walked,
arms linked, back to Ormsby House.

When we arose the next morning, Chief Numaga and all of his warriors were gone.

Though the immediate danger seemed to have passed, I stayed at Ormsby House. Sarah and I worked from before first light, cooking and cleaning. She was excellent company and I soon came to think of her as a good friend. I saw little of Sarah's younger sister who spent most of her time with young Lizzie Ormsby.

Many men came and went. Most of those who stayed for a night or two in the boarding rooms upstairs were miners or settlers, though occasionally soldiers or Indian agents stopped by. The most interesting of them all were the Pony Express riders. They rode into town at breakneck speed on beautiful, fast horses, mailbags slung across their saddles. Taking turns riding sections of the trail, they carried the mail clear across the country from Missouri to
California. They must have been going near as quick as birds to get the mail delivered as fast as they did — in as little as ten days, when all went well.

For the most part they were good men, many not much more than boys, who stayed away from cards and rum and left the women alone. A couple of times I watched the quick change of men and horses at the Carson City station across the way and wished I could somehow slip into a mailbag and send myself to California.

When I told Sarah of my foolish idea, she laughed and said, “A job won't be done unless you do it yourself.” I told her she sounded like my pa and she laughed even louder. Then she told me that she herself had traveled to California and that if I were so inclined I should make arrangements.

At the time I thought she spoke in jest, for I did not know how a young girl like me could travel so great a distance alone. But the seed had been planted. With time, that seed would grow into a plan.

When the Paiutes returned to Carson City, they brought with them the Washo chief and three young Washo men with their wives, mothers, and sisters.

“These are the guilty men,” the Washo chief said. The young men were promptly arrested, their arms pulled behind their backs and tied tightly at the wrists.