Forever by Your Side (Willamette Brides #3) - Tracie Peterson Page 0,86

the deliveries together.

Clint had lied to her. He’d stressed to her she should say nothing about it. No wonder.

“He wasn’t down at the river spying on the Indians. He was helping them.” Why else would he have been there? It made perfect sense, especially with him not wanting her to speak to her father about it.

Connie jumped up and began to dress. She needed to let Uncle Lance know that Clint was in on all of this. She thought back through everything she had learned since reaching the reservation. They had felt certain that someone on the outside had befriended the Indians and arranged for the uprising. Instead, what if Clint was the one who had arranged it all? He could come and go at will, helping those on the reservation and purchasing goods on the outside. He regularly had meetings in Salem and Portland, supposedly with government officials. It was all so clear. Why hadn’t she seen it before?

Connie hastily pinned up her hair, then hurried downstairs. Nancy’s boarders were just sitting down to breakfast, and little Jack was in his father’s arms at the head of the table.

“Good morning, Connie,” Seth said. “I hope you’re hungry. Your mother and aunt have been helping Nancy cook since dawn. I believe we’re in for a real treat.”

“Where’s Uncle Lance?” She tried not to sound panicked. “I need to speak with him.”

“He’s in the front room, talking to Major Wells.”

“Perfect.” She didn’t wait to see if he might protest her joining them. This was important, and it was all the better that the army major was there.

“Uncle Lance,” she said, coming into the room. “I need to speak to you both.”

The two men looked up from where they stood. Uncle Lance held a newspaper in his hand and quickly folded it as if to hide it from her. She looked at him and then at the major.

“What’s wrong?” Uncle Lance asked.

“I could ask the same thing.” She glanced at Major Wells, who quickly looked away. “Something isn’t right. What is it? Please tell me, and then I’ll tell you what I’ve figured out.”

Uncle Lance hesitated, then unfolded the newspaper. The headline read, Cherokee Encourages Uprising.

Connie took the paper and read. “‘Adam Browning, a half-breed who posed as a white man and once headed up ministerial and school studies at Grand Ronde, has been arrested on charges of inciting an uprising.’” She felt sick. Few people knew of her father’s Cherokee heritage. She looked up at her uncle. “He’s not a half-breed.”

“I know, sweetheart, but it’s not going to matter. It’s going to be impossible to get much support for him. Especially when people are certain he’s stirring up a war.”

Connie glanced over her shoulder. “Does my mother know?”

“No, and we don’t plan to tell her. This would be much too hard on her. You didn’t read the rest of the article, but don’t bother. The journalist found it necessary to point out that your father is married to a white woman—making their marriage illegal in Oregon. They also mention his illegitimate children.”

Connie handed back the newspaper and sank into the nearest chair. “This isn’t right. Papa is only a quarter Cherokee, and that’s not illegal for marriage to a white woman. He would have to be half.”

Uncle Lance squatted beside her. “I know. But it’s also very hard to prove the percentage. I’ll do what I can. Now, tell me what you came to say.”

She tried to sort her thoughts into a comprehensible statement. “Something hit me in my sleep. Something that happened at the reservation. I overheard some of the Indian men planning to go down to the river to receive something after midnight. I couldn’t hear all that they said, but I went down to the river that night by myself. I was sneaking along the banks and heard the men talking. A boat had come, and they were unloading something. I moved to get a closer look, and someone grabbed me and pulled me away from the riverbank. It was Clint Singleton. He told me he was trying to figure out who was smuggling guns and whiskey onto the reservation. I asked him if Papa knew about it, and he assured me he did—that he and Papa had observed deliveries before. He also told me to say nothing to him.” She paused only a moment. “Then yesterday at the jail, when they said they had receipts that Papa had signed—”

“Your father said he’d never seen any crates, much