Forever by Your Side (Willamette Brides #3) - Tracie Peterson Page 0,49

shook his head and walked away. He said something in Chinook Jargon that Tom couldn’t understand, then disappeared behind the blanket and back into the house, where the sound of children could be heard.

Joseph looked hard at Connie. “There is war coming between our people. My son Samson will always feel hate for the deaths of his mother and sisters. Do not come back here. We will not speak with you again.” He returned to his house, leaving Tom and Connie to stare at each other in silence.

“That was rather uncalled for,” Tom said.

“No.” Connie shook her head as they walked away. “Joseph blames my father for the deaths of his wife and daughters. He wanted to sneak off the reservation with his entire family—sons, daughters, and their spouses—and make their way to Canada. He went to my father for money and told him what he would do. Papa wouldn’t help him because it was against the law and the soldiers were everywhere. He told Joseph he would be killed, but Joseph felt certain they could make it. He told my father if they stayed, he knew it would turn out badly, but of course Papa couldn’t do it. He knew Joseph and his family would be caught or more likely killed.”

They walked slowly back to Connie’s home.

“Joseph told my father he knew that if they stayed, his family would suffer, and they did. His wife died two weeks later, and his two daughters died not long after that. One in childbirth and one from typhoid. They left behind little ones who also died a few years later.” Her expression betrayed her sorrow. “Rosy has always said there are more graves holding children than cradles on this reservation.”

“That is terribly sad.” Tom wanted to offer comfort but knew there was none to be had. “Who was the other man—the younger one?”

“Samson, Joseph’s son. I think he’d be about thirty-three now.”

“What did he say there at the last? I couldn’t understand him.”

Connie stopped and shook her head. “He said war is coming and he will do everything he can to kill all of the white people.”

Adam Browning sat on the other side of Clint’s desk. He seemed troubled and had come to Clint for advice. Clint had always liked the way Adam treated him like an equal even though he was years younger than Adam.

“It’s just so perplexing. Why have the people gotten so interested in liquor? I talked to the priest, and he’s just as baffled. The Grand Ronde Indians have never been given to drunkenness. Now we seem to have an epidemic.”

“I know, and I’m trying my best to get to the bottom of it, just like you are. Every time there’s a rumor, I check it out, but so far I haven’t learned anything.”

“There has to be an answer. Someone must know more than they’re saying. I hate to sound demeaning, but the tribes here don’t have the connections to pull this off themselves. There are white men involved in this.”

“I agree, but proving it will be difficult.” Clint moved a stack of papers and pulled out a letter he’d just received. “That brings up another issue. The clerk at the sutler’s store sent me this note. Apparently he’s frustrated by your family handing out goods for free.”

“My sister and others send crates of clothes, blankets, kitchen goods, and so forth. Mercy has been coordinating the distribution.”

“Yes, well, besides the store missing out on sales, there is some concern that you might also be giving away guns.”

Adam rolled his gaze heavenward. “Who is saying that? I’ll go speak to them.”

“I already did. I know you aren’t handing out weapons, but I wanted you to know there were concerns.”

“You already know what they’re saying about us. It’s ridiculous.”

The store clerk burst into the office. “You’ve got to stop them.”

“Stop who?” Adam asked.

“The Indians. They think I’ve poisoned them, and they’re threatening to string me up.”

Clint got up and threw on his coat. “What are you talking about, Jeb?”

“A bunch of folks got sick, and they think it was from the flour I sold them. They think it’s poisoned. I need you to calm them down. Otherwise we’re going to have a riot.”

Clint and Adam made their way to the group milling outside the small mercantile, where Clint called everyone to attention. “I understand many of you think you’ve gotten sick from the flour Jeb sold you. Even if this is true, I assure you that no one here is