Shawnee Indian Mission, Indian Territory: 1845
Samuel and his cousin Thomas sanded the wooden panels on the sides of the cabinet. Their hands were covered in sawdust and their fingers were cramped from pressing the sanding blocks, but the wood needed to be as smooth as a round stone from the stream before it could be waxed. Samuel loved working with wood and was proud of his skill with it, but today he couldn’t keep his mind on his work. He kept stopping to stare off in the distance.
“What’s wrong with you?” asked Thomas. He spoke in their native language, under his breath. “Don’t you want to finish this piece?”
Samuel looked up to see if the master of the woodshop, Mr. Logan, was nearby.
“I have to see Molly,” he said quietly. “The matron told me after breakfast that she is very near death. I can’t bear to think of losing her!”
Thomas caught his breath. “No! I did not realize she was so sick,” he replied. “Surely she can be healed? She is your only sister…what will you do?”
“Boys!”
A voice from behind them startled them both. They whirled around to see Mr. Logan towering over them with a frown on his face.
“Did I hear you speaking a forbidden language?” said Mr. Logan. He had a wooden stick in one hand that he thumped into his palm with a whack. “I won’t have any of that ‘Injun’ talk in my shop! You will speak English only! How else can we make you little savages into respectable people? If I hear more of this today, you’ll both be punished.” He whacked the stick in his palm again.
“But, Mr. Logan,” said Samuel, changing to English now, “my sister Molly is dying, and I must see her before it is too late! She is all that I have left now!”
“That’s not possible,” said Mr. Logan. “If you visit the sick cabin, you will surely also catch the typhoid fever. I’d hate to lose a promising craftsman like you. Back to your work, now.” Mr. Logan walked away to check on another crew of young workers.
“What are you going to do?” asked Thomas as soon as Mr. Logan was out of earshot.
“Look,” said Samuel, pointing, “there’s a horse by the woodshop door.” He carefully laid his sanding block on top of the cabinet. “If Mr. Logan asks where I am, say I went to the well to draw more water.”
“Be careful, Samuel!” whispered Thomas. “We don’t need more trouble!”
“I know,” said Samuel, “but I have to see Molly. She’s my only sister.”
While Mr. Logan’s back was turned, he quickly slipped out the front door of the woodshop and sized up the saddled mare that was tethered to the post. He untied her quietly and spoke soothingly as he guided her away from the woodshop. The stirrup was high for him, but he was wiry and strong and heaved himself onto her back with no trouble. Leaning over her neck, he gripped her mane and clicked his tongue. By the time Mr. Logan came shouting out the woodshop door, all he saw was the dust settling from the mare’s hoofbeats.