When Wichapiwin pulled up the next tuber, Hanna held out her hand. In gestures, she offered to twist the turnip from its stem and remove some of the soil. Wichapiwin nodded. For a while they worked next to each other in companionable silence.

Hanna didn’t know how much time had passed before she suddenly realized how strong the sun was on her back. It’s probably gone three o’clock, at least. I should be getting home.

Reluctantly she brushed off her hands and stood up from her crouch.

“I have to go now,” she said. “I—I’m glad we met again.”

She didn’t know how much English Wichapiwin could understand, but it didn’t seem to matter. Wichapiwin nodded a farewell. Hanna returned to the wagon. On the way back to town, she found herself wishing that Mama could have met Wichapiwin, and tried to imagine the two women together. Chester’s ears framed her view of the road ahead, which softened and blurred until she blinked her eyes clear.

17

HANNA DROVE THE WAGON into the alley behind the shop. Papa came out to meet her.

“What kept you?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry, Papa. I didn’t mean to be so long.” She climbed down from the wagon seat. “Those Indians I met, the day before we got here? I saw them again.”

“The same ones?”

“Yes.”

In silence, Hanna put away the tools, and Papa lifted down the washtub full of plants.

“I’ll take the wagon back for you,” Papa said. He shook his head. “We need to get a stable built before winter. Where did you see the Indians?”

Hanna shrugged. “Five miles out? Maybe a little farther. On the road we came in on.”

“Five miles, huh? I’ll lay odds they didn’t have a pass.”

“A pass?”

“That’s what they need if they want to leave their land. They have to get special permission from the Indian agent. In Yankton.”

Immediately, Hanna’s mind filled with questions. Was it difficult for them to get a pass? Was the agent’s permission required no matter what the circumstances? Did each of them need a pass, even the children?

Papa drove off to take Chester and the wagon back to the livery. When he returned, Hanna had decided which of her questions was the most pressing. “What happens if the Indians don’t have a pass?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. That’s the agent’s lookout.”

“They were harvesting turnips. Wild ones that don’t belong to anyone. Would they have to have a pass for that?”

“If they’re off their land, they need a pass—didn’t you hear me say it the first time?”

She sensed his impatience. “Yes, Papa.” She had more questions, but if his mood was turning, she’d have to wait and ask them later.