As he went into the kitchen, he spoke over his shoulder. “I’ll go see Harris later this afternoon, if I can spare the time.”

She looked up. “Pardon me, Papa?”

“He’s the one who’ll get word to Yankton.”

The kitchen door creaked shut behind him.

Hanna stood staring at the closed door.

Papa was going to tell Mr. Harris that those women might have been off their land without a pass. It was her fault, for telling him that she’d seen them.

She opened her mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. I mustn’t start hollering—that will only make him angry. I have to figure out what to say first.

In the next second, she completely disregarded her own advice.

“Papa!” she cried out as she threw open the door. “Papa, do you mean to say that you’re going to report them? To Mr. Harris?”

Her outburst startled Papa, who was in the midst of pouring himself a cup of tea. The hot brown liquid sloshed over the edge of his tin cup, onto the tabletop and then the floor.

“What the blazes, Hanna!” he shouted, banging the teapot down and spilling still more tea.

“It’s not fair! They were digging up turnips. They weren’t doing anything wrong!”

“If they didn’t have a pass, they were breaking the law, plain and simple!” His face was red now, and the anger in his voice made her flinch. To steady herself, she summoned the image of the two little Indian girls and the baby. That first time, we stared at each other, me and one of the girls. Her eyes so dark, like Mama’s, like mine . . .

“But Papa, you’re the one who told me that the land around here used to be theirs. Maybe they didn’t even know they were in the wrong place.”

“That’s no excuse! What’s got into you, Hanna—since when did you care so much about the Indians?”

It was a reasonable question. I always cared about the unfairness. But I used to think only of how white people treated Chinese people. Now I know it’s about how white people treat anybody who isn’t white.

She couldn’t bring herself to say that to Papa. Her momentary silence gave them both a chance to take a breath. She spoke again, carefully.

“Papa. It might be different if—if I’d seen a big group of men riding out. But I saw women and children. There was even a baby, on his mama’s back.” She tried to smile winningly.

“Hmph.”

Hope sparked inside her as she sensed his anger dissipating. “Please, Papa, don’t report them. They’re only trying to feed their families.”