dark faces, readying herself for whatever wrath they chose to inflict.
To her surprise, they laughed, but the warrior with spotted owl feathers who’d been the most startled grabbed her by the hair and shouted words she didn’t understand. White Eagle stood and shouted at the man. He released her.
She ducked under the warrior’s arm, scurried away, and slumped onto a large rock.
Running Cloud hadn’t reacted to the commotion and stood in the background with arms folded, watching Beth.
“Help,” the Indian with elk antlers as a weapon said to Anna and pointed at Beth.
How was it so many of them spoke English? She rose and took a cautious step toward Beth. She had to be strong. She had to be brave. Brave like Beth. But she froze when she saw Beth pulling on one of the scaly necks; it made her think of snakes, and her knees went weak.
“We’ll roast them,” White Eagle said to Beth. A small flame flickered as he made a fire from his horn.
All the Indians watched Anna.
“Make food,” the one who’d grabbed her said in his thick accent, a deep frown pinching his face as he glared at her.
Anger stirred. It sparked helpful embers of courage. “I should be in Denver City right now, not here in the middle of nowhere preparing turtles for supper.” With that, she turned and sat on the nearest rock, hugging her knees and trembling. Even if it meant her life, she couldn’t bring herself to touch another turtle.
The men mumbled to one another, and she distinctively heard one say, “Lazy woman.” They obviously weren’t pleased with her outburst. She was a coward, and shame swept through her. What would they do to her now? Would they beat her, kill and scalp her? She hugged her knees tighter and glanced out over the golden plains. If only she were there right now.
White Eagle spoke in a firm tone in that unusual language of theirs, and the men fell silent.
However, a few Indians mumbled, motioning toward Beth and nodding their approval.
Anna wished the ground would swallow her whole.
~*~
Anna couldn’t sleep. The thought of turtles and snakes crawling on her caused even the slightest rustle of wind against her skin to make her jump. Since she’d refused to eat, her stomach growled, and she shivered as she stared up at the stars. Their beauty took her breath away—they looked close enough to touch. Never had she seen anything so wondrous. God’s creation never failed to amaze her. She reached up to the tiny diamonds, imagining she could take hold of one between her fingers.
Lord, where are you?
The blanket of stars stretched forth, and she pushed up on her elbow. Over the ridge, she saw the plains of Colorado Territory. Distant lights dotted the flat horizon.
A city.
The moon illuminated just enough light for her to see details of the sleeping bodies. The men formed a circle and surrounded her and Beth around the low flickering fire.
White Eagle leaned on his elbow, watching her. Her breath caught. The moonlight outlined his arm, emphasizing the muscle there, and his painted face never turned away from her. Surely he’d feel embarrassed and look away, or he planned on starting a conversation. So she waited for him to speak.
Crickets played their tunes around them. Quiet snores from some of the men cut into their music, and the snap of crackling flames filled the silence.
Perhaps she ought to say something to get him to stop staring. “Is that Denver City?” She pointed at the lights.
He nodded. Still staring.
“I ought to be there now,” she murmured. The lights were like gold in a sea of black satin. Her golden city. She could actually see it. After all these years, she finally had it in her sights. Now all she could do was stare.
She licked her dry, chapped lips, and scratched her stiff cheeks and chin.
“Don’t do that,” White Eagle said, his thick, strange accent hanging on the night air. “Your visage.” He shook his head. “Your face. It is red. You’ll get blisters.”
“I must look like a cooked lobster.” She dreaded the thought of freckles coming out. How would that look to the board of education?
“The women at the village have good medicine. They will give you some for your face.”
“We’re going to your village?” She tried not to raise her voice, fearful that the others might awaken. “What are you going to do with us there?” Visions of the whole tribe of Indians attacking her flashed through her mind. Maybe reading Papa’s novel hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
“Woman Of Sorrow will become Running Cloud’s wife.”
The news hit her like a blast from a cannon ball. “They will be married?” Anna couldn’t believe it. Would he actually marry someone he didn’t know?
“Oui—yes.”
“What if she doesn’t want to marry him?”
White Eagle tossed a pine needle. “She will.”
“But what if she won’t?”
“Woman Of Sorrow belongs to him.”
“Why?” Since she was his captive, she deserved some answers.
“Running Cloud killed her husband. He will care for her.”
“So he’s the one who murdered Al.” Anna glanced over at where Running Cloud slept. He was a frightening man. She’d never forget him pulling her hair and grabbing her. And now her friend was doomed to become his wife. Poor Beth. She deserved better. She deserved a decent husband.
She deserved a decent name.
“Why must you call her Woman Of Sorrow? I happen to know she’s a delightful young lady.” She wasn’t sad, despite reasons to be so. If Beth was going to be trapped in this life, the least they could do was give her a better name.
“She will be.”
“Will be what?”
“Happy.”
“How can you know that?” How could anyone be happy marrying someone they didn’t know?
“Running Cloud will treat her well.”
But who would want to live with savages? Then her thoughts turned to herself. “What will become of me?” Her voice quivered. It was a frightening question to ask, but she had to know.
“You will be my wife.” The man’s face darkened.
Anna’s cheeks grew hot, and she tried to breathe. “Suppose I don’t want to marry . . . an Indian?” She kept from saying “a savage,” since it seemed more like a personal attack, and the last thing she wanted was to rile up a wild Indian. Would she be trapped with this
