“Soak for three days and then use them in soup?”

At that, the other women broke into murmurs of agreement, and the leader nodded again approvingly.

“Thank you,” Hanna said. “Thank you for the—the timpsina.”

The whole group laughed, and Hanna grinned at them.

As the Indians departed, one of the little girls turned her head to stare at Hanna. Her eyes were very dark, almost black, and at the same time, bright with curiosity.

Hanna and the girl looked at each other for a long time, until the Indians disappeared beyond a rise in the prairie.

Papa returned without any game. Hanna told him about the visitors.

“Indians?” he said with a frown.

“Women and girls,” she said quickly. “They gave me this.” She showed him the braid.

“Prairie turnip,” he said. “Seen it before, in Kansas.”

“What do they taste like?”

Papa thought for a moment. “Half turnip, half potato. Tasty enough, as I recall.” A pause. “Good thing you fed them. Wouldn’t want any trouble.”

Hanna let a moment go by; she didn’t want to sound impudent. “Not even a hint of trouble, Papa.”

“You can’t be too careful when they don’t keep their distance,” he countered. “Minnesota, the Black Hills—we’re smack in the middle between the two.”

She knew what Papa was talking about. For years there had been bloody skirmishes between the Indians and white people. Like many other tribes, the Sioux had signed a treaty with the US government, promising that white settlers would not encroach on Indian land. Every single treaty had been broken—by settlers, or the government, or both.

“I don’t blame them for fighting back,” Hanna said. “It’s just not fair.”

“That’s not the point,” Papa said. He made a wide sweep with his arm, almost a full circle. “Most of the land around here used to be part of the Great Sioux Reservation. They left it as it was, all wild and unfarmed, so why shouldn't folks settle there? The land ought to go to people who work to improve it. That means farming, railroads, businesses. Churches. Schools. You want those things, you gotta have somewhere to build ’em.”

Hanna did want those things; she especially wanted to go to school. She wondered why it wasn’t possible for whites and Indians to share the land somehow. But she already knew from living in California that most white people didn’t like having neighbors—Chinese, Indians, Mexicans—who weren’t white themselves.

Hanna wrapped the prairie turnips in a clean feed sack.

Her next thought surprised her. They all had black hair. I haven’t seen so many people with black hair since we left Chinatown in Salt Lake.

She drew in a long breath. And there won’t be any where we’re going, either.

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