Читать книгу Homecoming - Jill Marie Landis - Страница 11

T he whites towered over Eyes-of-the-Sky where she sat on the floor, her head down, her eyes dry, her body nothing more than a hollow shell. Her body might be here, in this dim, vast lodge of wood that echoed with the voices and heavy footsteps of the whites, but her spirit had flown.

Above her, they spoke in hushed tones. Straining to shut out the garbled foreign sounds without covering her ears, she willed herself to sit completely still, to become as invisible as the breeze that threaded itself through the tall prairie grasses.

One of the men squatted before her, took her by the chin and forced her to look up.

The dreaded soldiers had been doing that all day. One after another. Making her look them in the eyes, each time stealing more of her spirit, more of her will.

Each reacted differently. Some frowned and shook their heads, clearly disapproving. Others showed surprise, their own eyes growing wide with shock when they met hers.

Without trying, she’d learned one cursed white word over the past few hours.

B’loo.

Whenever they looked into her eyes, they said, “B’loo.”

Now three new ones stood over her. An older woman whose pale face remarkably turned even whiter beneath the red splotches on her cheeks when Eyes-of-the-Sky looked at her. The white woman wore a headpiece that almost hid a long, jagged line of shining, puckered skin—a scalping scar.

Eyes-of-the-Sky forced herself not to study the woman’s head covering, for the sight of it disturbed her almost as much as the scar. She looked straight into the woman’s eyes until she saw the one thing in them that reignited her anger.

Pity.

The woman was sorry for her, for Eyes-of-the-Sky.

She didn’t want the scarred woman’s sorrow or her pity. She didn’t need these people to pity her. She was Eyes-of-the-Sky, daughter of Gentle Rain and Roaming Wolf. A daughter of the Nermernuh. Beloved of White Painted Shield.

She turned away from the woman’s pity to look up at the young white man beside the woman. The only likeness they shared was the determined cut of their jaws. Eyes-of-the-Sky knew that these two would be fierce enemies or loyal friends. She could tell by the set of the younger man’s shoulders, the way he stared back, challenging her, daring her to look away, that he possessed the heart of a warrior.

He was not a man to anger or to betray.

She tried to drop her gaze and failed. There was something in his eyes that compelled her to stare back. It wasn’t long before she realized what force attracted her to him.

His spirit, too, had flown. Inside, he was as empty as she.

As if locked in a silent battle of wills with the dark-eyed young man, Eyes-of-the-Sky knew a moment of panic. For the first time in two days, the emptiness, the numbness she’d suffered abated.

She shivered, wondered what this man wanted from her. Why would this scarred woman walk into a room of captives and soldiers?

What had these two to do with her?

Joe’s gut tightened until it hardened into an aching knot as he stared into the eyes of the white woman turned Comanche.

He couldn’t seem to break the spell until he heard his mother say, “Untie her, Jesse, please. No one deserves this kind of treatment. No one.”

Beside her, Joe shifted uncomfortably. If not for his mother, he’d be hightailing it out of here, leaving the girl behind, fighting to shut out the memory of the penetrating blue-eyed stare that would haunt him for a long time to come.

“Ma, they’re bound for a reason. Leave it alone.”

“Look at her, Joe. Look at all of them. These are God’s creatures. These poor souls deserve better.” Hattie turned her ire on Jesse. “I can’t believe you keep them fettered like this, sitting in their own filth, after all they’ve been through. We treat our stock better.”

“The women can be as fierce as the men, Hattie. There’s still no telling what they might do to us or themselves,” Jesse grudgingly admitted.

Joe shoved his hand through his dark hair. “Yet you want us to take her into our home.”

“Untie her,” Hattie demanded. Before Joe knew what she was doing, his mother knelt down before the girl and laid her hand over the young woman’s chaffed, bound wrists.

“We’re taking you out of here, honey. We’re taking you home with us. It’s not a grand place, but we make do.” She spoke softly, kept her voice evenly modulated, the way she did when calming an injured animal. “We’re going to get you cleaned up and feeling fine in no time.”

“Fine? You really think so, Ma?” Joe didn’t try to hide his bitterness or his skepticism.

Hattie slowly rose and faced him. She lowered her voice so that only he, and perhaps Jesse, could hear.

“I know you blame yourself for what happened to me and the others, Joe, but there’s a time to mourn, a time to weep, and then there is a time to give your trials over to God and let them go. ”

No one knew that better than she did.

“I believe with our help and God’s love, she’ll be fine.” She squared her shoulders, ready for a fight. “She needs time and care. She may never be the same person she was before she was taken, but eventually, she’ll be better. God willing, I’m going to try to help her get there. You can either help me or not, that’s up to you, but if you can’t help, then the least you can do is try not to hinder. I insist that you be civil toward her.”

Joe glanced around, noticed all of Jesse’s men were trying to listen. Except for the low, pitiful moan from the demented captive woman, there wasn’t another sound in the room.

Jesse cleared his throat and slipped a deadly-looking hunting knife out of a sheath hooked to his belt. He bent down, cut the cord binding the girl’s feet and, taking hold of her elbow, pulled her up. She wavered and staggered slightly. Joe reacted without thought and grabbed her upper arm to steady her.

At nearly the same time, both of them realized what had happened. The girl shook off his hand just as he let go and took a step back.

“Keep her hands bound until you get to the ranch,” Jesse suggested to Joe, ignoring Hattie.

Being ignored by both men only raised her ire.

“Free her hands, too,” she ordered.

The two men exchanged a look. Hattie gently put her own hand around the girl’s upper arm. This time the girl didn’t shy away.

“Please, Jesse,” Hattie added. “Cut her loose. There’s no way she can outrun Joe.”

Joe held his breath as Jesse slipped his bowie knife beneath the thick rope binding the girl’s wrists. As the rough hemp fell away, he saw her skin beneath was raw, broken and bleeding.

His mother was right. They would never have treated their own stock this badly.

But then he reminded himself that rescued captives weren’t valuable stock. They may have been white at one time, but they’d been taken by the Texans’ worst enemies. They’d gone Comanch’.

And now, thanks to his mother, he was taking one of them home.

Hattie led the way, guiding the silent young woman along beside her. Joe hurried to catch up with them. He held the hall door open for them to pass, steeled himself to face the folks gathered outside. He didn’t notice just how close he was to the girl until the fringe on her sleeves brushed against his pant leg.

As he expected, a hush fell over the crowd as soon as his mother and the captive girl stepped outside. He shut the door a little too hard behind them, and the young woman visibly started. Her huge eyes went wide, but she recovered quickly, shooting a cold glare in his direction.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

If she understood, she gave no sign.

She stared at her toes as they headed across the wide covered porch outside the hall and stepped out into the sunlight. The day was heating up. As Joe shoved his hat on his head, he was tempted to run his finger around the neck of his shirt, to pull the fabric away from his overly warm skin.

As before, no one in the crowd made any attempt to speak to them, but when they reached the buckboard, he noticed a tall, cultured-looking man approaching from the direction of the church. There was a calm, assured confidence about the stranger as his long, even stride ate up the distance between them.

Joe motioned to the girl that she should step onto the wheel and into the wagon. She did so gracefully and without hesitation. He wondered at her easy acquiescence, then figured that she relished being unbound and removed from the hideous scene and stench inside the hall and didn’t want to risk being returned because of rebellion.

The fringed hem of her doeskin dress hiked up to reveal her calves and ankles as she climbed aboard the wagon. When Joe caught himself staring at her bare legs, he quickly looked away.

His mother waited patiently beside him, ready to climb onto the seat next to the girl. But as Joe took Hattie’s hand, the newcomer walked up and introduced himself.

“I’m Reverend Brand McCormick, the new minister here in Glory. Captain Dye told me that you’ve offered to take one of the rescued captives into your home.” He glanced up at the girl seated in the wagon. Unmoving, she stared straight ahead, her fingers knotted together in her lap. If her injured wrists hurt at all, she gave no sign.

Joe reckoned the fact that the minister was new to Glory explained why he was so cordial. Jesse obviously hadn’t told the man everything about Hattie Ellenberg.

When the preacher offered his hand in greeting, Joe stared at it before finally accepting.

“I’m Joe Ellenberg. And this is my mother, Hattie.”

Hattie turned to face the new preacher squarely. Reverend McCormick didn’t react. He merely nodded and smiled.

“Mrs. Ellenberg. It’s good to finally meet you. I hope you’ll join us for Sunday services soon.”

Hattie didn’t immediately respond, and Joe realized she was shocked speechless by the minister’s invitation.

“The last minister made it clear my mother wasn’t welcome among the good folks of Glory anymore,” Joe informed him coolly.

Hattie lightly touched Joe’s arm. “Not today, Joe,” she whispered. “Let it go.”

Reverend McCormick’s smile dimmed but quickly returned. He slowly nodded in understanding.

“I’m not the old minister, Mrs. Ellenberg. Everyone is welcome to attend services. We hope you’ll join us.”

As the man talked softly to Hattie, assuring her that the doors of his church were always open to her, Joe glanced up at the girl on the high-sprung buckboard seat. She remained stiff as a poker, her back ramrod straight as she stared off into the distance. Her profile was elegantly cut, her features delicate, her lips full.

He couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking. She certainly showed no elation at having been rescued. She showed no emotion whatsoever.

There was an aloofness, an intense pride in the way she continued to ignore them all and stare out at the gently rolling plain beyond the edge of town. Something stubborn and determined and silent that convinced Joe she was not to be trusted.