I've named Alice's ex-suitor Stephen Bennett in this chapter, partly borrowing his name in Countrylove99's story "Seven Determined Brides," and partly in tribute to Stephen Vincent Benét, who wrote the short story that this film is based on.
"If they want to act like a pack of hyenas, let 'em. You gotta be above such things."
Later that spring, after the mountain passes were open again, Gideon and Alice made a trip to Bend to adopt a son. Helen begged to come with them, but they said no, she had to stay home and mind Adam and Millie. It was Helen's first time being away from them since they'd taken her in, and she was anxious waiting for them to return. To pass the time, she and Hannah picked blackberries and played guessing games about what Helen's new brother might be like.
"Brothers ain't good for much, I reckon," Hannah told her, wiping blackberry juice from her mouth, "but maybe you'll get one better than Adlai."
But the girls were both surprised – and so was everyone else – when Gideon and Alice came home from Bend a few days later with not one little boy, but two. They were brothers, Homer and Henry, Gideon said, while Alice unloaded the boys from the wagon and ushered them inside the main house. They were shy and small for their age, just as Helen had been at first, and like her, their story was a sad one.
"They were so scared of gettin' adopted separately and never seein' each other again," Gideon whispered to his brothers, and his words hit close to home for all of them, thinking of how they'd had nobody but each other after their parents died, how they had almost been split up, too. "When we heard that, I told Alice we just had to take the both of 'em."
"Well, 'course you did," Caleb said, squeezing his shoulder.
But Homer and Henry were surprising not only because there were two of them, but for how they looked. Inside, Alice gave them hot bowls of stew – they were both hungry after the long ride from Bend – and while they ate, Millie got a good look at them. Their skin was the rich brown color of coffee with milk, and their hair and eyes were as black and shiny as blackberries. But she didn't want to make them uncomfortable, so she was as welcoming as could be and waited until the children were all asleep that night to bring up the subject.
"And they're... Indians?" she asked delicately, as they sat in the parlor.
"Folks at the orphanage thought they was half-breeds," Gideon answered, "but they didn't know for sure. Said they didn't reckon anyone would ever want to adopt two little Indian boys. That was the other reason we wanted 'em."
"And they have H-names, too, just like Helen," Alice added. She squeezed Gideon's hand, and the two of them beamed at each other. "So you see, we've got a naming theme of our own, even if none of 'em do come from the Bible."
"Just like it was meant to be," Gideon smiled.
But not everyone was as delicate about the subject as Millie. The next day, Homer and Henry's first full day at their new home, the triplets – as Ike, Johnny, and Kenny were called – stared at them, scratching their red heads. They'd heard whispered talk in town of Indian massacres, and though none of them ever seen actual Indians, they could tell that Homer and Henry were. They simply looked too different, too dark, not to be.
"If you're Indians, where are your bows and arrows?" Ike asked them.
"Yeah, and why ain't you dressed in buckskins and feathers?" Johnny.
"Say, did you used to live in a teepee?" Kenny.
Homer and Henry said nothing, only looked at the ground and shifted closer to each other, uncomfortable. They were close in age – Homer just over a year older – and looked enough alike to be twins.
"Maybe they don't talk English," Johnny said to Ike, when they remained silent. "Maybe they only talk Indian."
"Should we ask 'em how?" Kenny asked. "Don't Indians say how?"
Alice had been keeping an eye on the children though the kitchen window, but before she could intervene, Benjamin came over from the pigpen, where he'd been slopping the hogs. "Now, that's enough of that sorta talk, boys," he said firmly to the triplets. "Homer and Henry are your cousins, and you're to be nice to 'em, y'hear?"
"Yes, sir," they all answered.
By now, more Pontipee children had joined the group – Helen, Hannah, Adlai, and Luke. As the oldest cousin, Hannah had inherited her father's take-charge attitude. "Come on, let's show 'em 'round the farm," she said now, with an air of settling things. She grabbed Homer's hand, and they all ran off together. "Wait till you see the rope swing behind the barn," Benjamin heard Luke say, and he smiled. Homer and Henry were going to fit in just fine.
A week later, after the boys had settled in at the farm, Gideon and Alice took them into town to buy some material for new clothes. New clothes were a rare treat on the Pontipee farm, but Homer and Henry had lived in hand-me-downs at the orphanage too, and Alice wanted them to have, for the first time in their lives, new clothes made especially for them. Frank came along to look for a new saddle – his old one was wearing thin – and so did Adam and Millie, to trade some furs and visit Alice's parents.
The adults knew that something was wrong as soon as their wagon turned down the main street of town. When Gideon and Alice had first adopted Helen, everyone in town was enchanted by her, with her golden hair and fair complexion and lilting voice that still carried an Irish accent. The first few times that they'd brought her into town, people had craned their necks just to get a glimpse of her, the little girl who'd traveled to Oregon Territory from halfway around the world. But Homer and Henry, with their dark skin and soot-black hair, received quite a different reaction. There were double-takes, stares, and pointing fingers. Some people whispered behind their hands, but others spoke loudly enough to be heard. "Injuns! Look, it's true, the Pontipees have taken in Injuns! Have they lost their senses?"
Adam and Gideon held their tempers, but Frank had always been the most hot-headed brother, and when someone – they didn't see who – let out a mocking Indian war-whoop, he nearly jumped out of the wagon and chased them down. Alice looked at the boys, hoping they hadn't heard the sound, but one glance at their faces told her that they had... and heard the mockery in it, too. Homer wore an angry scowl, and Henry looked like he was about to cry. "Adam, get us to general store quick," she whispered to her brother-in-law, and Adam did.
Old Mr. Bixby had died, and his son ran the store now. Millie and Alice ushered the boys inside, where they were quickly distracted by all the items on display. Henry went straight to the huge sour-pickle barrel, which was almost as big as him. On the steps outside, the three brothers caucused.
"What dirty rats, makin' fun of little fellas like that," Frank seethed, clenching his hands into fists. The glares at Homer and Henry had reopened an old wound. Frank remembered, and so did his brothers, how it felt to have the townspeople dislike you for no reason. "They all deserve a good lickin'."
"They do," Adam agreed, "but Millie wouldn't want us losin' our heads over this."
"No, Alice neither," Gideon added. His eyes flicked to the front window of Bixby's store, remembering that day years ago when he and his brothers had gotten into a fistfight with some town men over offering "a chaw of tobacco" to a pretty girl. It had ended with one of them getting punched clean through that window.
"Mornin', Pontipees," came a voice from behind them, and they turned to see Stephen Bennett, standing with a group of men outside the saloon next to the store. He kept his voice casual as he stepped closer. "So it's true 'bout the goings-on up at your farm? You've taken in Injuns."
Frank scowled, but Gideon wanted to speak first, and he knew that plenty of townsfolk were watching them, eavesdropping. He was not about to let his family lose the good reputation that had taken them so long to earn. "We've taken in two orphan boys who need a good home," he answered, keeping his voice casual, too. "Whether they're Indian or not don't make no difference."
"Oh, really?" Stephen asked, and he looked so skeptic that Adam wanted to punch him. He suddenly remembered that Stephen Bennett had been Alice's suitor years ago, before she'd chosen Gideon over him. Was the man still bitter? "My grandparents was massacred by Injuns when they crossed the prairie. Those savages left my own pa an orphan."
"And that's mighty sad," Gideon said, "but I reckon my boys weren't responsible for it any more than you or me."
Stephen glared. "They'll scalp you in your sleep when they're bigger, you just wait and see."
Adam didn't plan what he said next, but the words seemed to come by themselves, as he stepped forward and crossed his arms. "Don't it say in the Bible... uh..." He paused and reached very deep into his memory. "...uh, raise up a child like he should go, and when he's grown, he won't depart from it?"
Stephen shifted, as if this were a trick question. "Well–"
"Well," Adam cut him off, "Gideon and Alice are as good as any ma and pa this side of the Mississippi. That means those boys'll turn out all right."
"Unless, of course, you want to argue with the Bible," Frank smirked.
That shut up Stephen Bennett, and the rest of the visit to town went much better. Alice bought new material, Adam traded his furs, Frank found a new saddle, and Homer and Henry got penny candy. They visited Alice's parents, and Reverend Elcott gave the boys each their own children's Bible, which wasn't as exciting as candy, but they thanked him politely. But the best thing that they left town with was a new feeling of pride that the Pontipee brothers could now settle a fight without throwing a single punch. How far their family had come.
This story has now drifted about eleven years from the end of the movie, and while I've enjoyed writing the Pontipee family's future, I also think I'd like to get back to canon, so the next chapter will be set during/shortly after the movie.