he knew who she was and he knew better than to take her at face value. Though she looked innocent enough, until she proved herself, which he was convinced would be never, she was not to be trusted.
Not even when the sight of her or the thought of her plight threatened to soften his heart.
Suddenly dog tired and sick of worry, Joe settled into a comfortable side chair and soon began to doze, slipping in and out of consciousness as Hattie read—
“‘On that day Deborah and Barak son of Abinoam sang this song:’”
Joe shifted, fought sleep until he glanced over at the girl. Her eyes were closed. She hadn’t moved.
“‘Village life in Israel ceased, ceased until I, Deborah, arose, arose a mother in Israel.’”
His mother’s voice lulled and soothed him. He remembered her reading to them all evening, to his father, Mellie, him.
“‘When they chose new gods, war came to the city gates…Thus let all Your enemies perish, Oh Lord! But let those who love him be like the sun when it comes out in full strength. So the land had rest for forty years.’”
He had no idea how long he had slept before he woke and realized his mother was beside him, shaking him awake.
“It’s time we all got some sleep,” she suggested.
His attention shot across the room. The girl was sound asleep on the settee, her head lolling on her shoulder.
“I’m going to put her in Mellie’s room,” Hattie whispered.
He knew it would come to this, that this strange girl gone Comanch’ would be settled in his little sister’s room.
If there is a God in heaven, He’s surely mocking me now. He’s brought the enemy to our very door, Joe thought.
Hattie’s tone was hushed, almost reverent.
“For the time being, I’ve decided to call her Deborah. We can’t just go on referring to her as ‘the girl’ until Jesse discovers who she is.”
“Why Deborah?”
“It came to me tonight, as I read from the Book of Judges. Deborah’s song is a song of victory over the enemies of Israel. God’s enemies.” She paused, touched Joe lightly on the arm.
“This girl was taken by our enemy and nearly lost forever. Now she’s been found.”
Shadows filled his mother’s eyes. She sighed. “You know God’s enemies are always destroyed, don’t you, Joe?”
He heard the worry in her voice, saw the sorrow in her eyes and knew he had put it there. He wished there was some way he could explain why he could no longer bring himself to believe at all. He couldn’t imagine believing as deeply and unquestioningly in God’s presence and power as she did. He wished he could tell her when and where he’d lost his way, but he knew then that she would blame herself and he wasn’t willing to lay that burden of guilt at her door.
There was simply no way he could put his thoughts and doubts—not to mention his anger—into words that wouldn’t hurt her and so they remained unspoken between them.
His attention fell upon the girl again. Their voices had awakened her and once more she sat poised and regal as a queen, watching them. The barriers of language and customs made her appear aloof and proud, strong as the woman Deborah, the prophetess and warrior woman of the Bible.
He wondered if the girl had fought against the regiment that raided her encampment. Was the dried blood on the front of her Comanche garb that of one of the soldiers? Or that of her Comanche captors?
The answer, he decided, might always be a mystery.
A thought came to him as he rose to his feet.
“I’m going to nail the windows shut.”
“You’re going to what?” Hattie frowned.
“Nail the windows shut in Mellie’s room.” He nodded at the girl. “She might try to get out.”
“Joe, I don’t think—”
“Don’t talk me out of it, Ma. We can’t be too careful.”
“Are you planning to lock her inside the room, too?”
Slowly he nodded. “I hadn’t thought of it, but that’s not a bad idea.”
“Look at her. Her hands are burned and bandaged. She’s dead on her feet. Who knows what all she’s endured over the last few days.”
He didn’t plan on changing his mind no matter how much Hattie protested.
“I can see there’s no talking you out of it,” she mumbled.
“Not in the least.”
“Then you’d best be getting a hammer and nails. I’m putting that child to bed.”
Since Mellie’s death, the door to the small room once filled with her things had remained closed. Hammer and nails in hand, Joe opened the door and paused just over the threshold. His mother had been in earlier, gotten it ready for their “guest.”
He took a deep breath, pictured his little sister with her legs folded beneath her, seated in the middle of her bed on a blue and white quilt handed down from their grandmother Ellenberg.
Mellie loved to make up stories for the origin of each and every piece of fabric. She’d drag him into her room with her white-blond ringlets bouncing and a dimpled smile that lit up a room. More often than not, that smile shone just for him. She’d beg him to pull up a chair and listen as she spun her tales.
Tonight, a single lamp burned on the dresser and beyond the lamplight, the room was cast in darkness. Mellie’s smile was forever extinguished and she’d taken the light with her.
The windows were open to the cool night air until he closed and nailed them shut. Then he went back to the front room where Hattie waited on the settee beside the girl.
His mother pointed to herself and repeated her own name over and over. “Hattie. I’m Hattie. Hattie.”
When she noticed Joe in the doorway, she waved him over.
“Joe.” She pointed to him and repeated his name.
Then she pointed to the girl and waited for her to tell them her name.
Hattie waited. The girl remained silent.
“Hattie. Hattie.” His mother tried again.
“She’s not going to say anything, Ma.” Joe sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m turning in.”
Hattie refused to give up yet. She pointed to herself and said her name twice more. Then she pointed to the girl and said, “Deborah. Deborah.”
The girl said absolutely nothing.
