Song of the Raven (Daughters of the Prairie 3)

“I know.”

“He will know when he finds the one for whom he was meant, as will you, my son. The spirit will guide you.”

Bear nodded.

“Go to your tipi, Bear. Sleep. Raven can take care of himself.”

“Yes, Father.”

Bear walked with stealth to his lodge, his moccasins digging into the soft ground. He loved his brother, but did not understand why Raven would not take Dancing Doe. She was the prettiest maiden in the camp. If only she would look at Bear the way she looked at Raven.

But Dancing Doe was the least of Bear’s concerns at the moment. Raven was in danger. He sensed it with every fiber of his being as he listened to the drums’ dancing beat.

Tomorrow he would search for his brother.

Chapter Three

Ella rose early, swept the cabin, and then went to the barn to milk Sukie, who was crankier than usual, no doubt from being left half full the previous evening. After the cow landed a swift kick to Ella’s shin and toppled over the pail of milk, Ella swore under her breath and limped back to the cabin for some breakfast.

“No milk this morning, Mama,” Ella said. “That darn cow tipped over the pail.”

“Ella!” Naomi Morgan turned to face her daughter. “Do not use such language in this house.”

Ella rolled her eyes once her pretty and willowy mother had bent back over the stove. “Sorry, Mama. But she’s such a belligerent animal.”

“She’s old, but she’s our only cow,” Naomi said. “It’s a miracle she hasn’t dried up yet. She’ll most likely never calf again at her age. Now sit down, dear. I have your breakfast.”

Naomi set a bowl of oatmeal porridge on the table in front of Ella. She seasoned her cereal with some butter and maple sugar and wondered how she could get oats to Raven in the dugout.

“Do you have any soft bread this morning, Mama?”

“Yes, if you want it.” Naomi set a plate of bread on the table.

“Thank you.” Ella deposited a few slices into her apron pocket once her mother’s back was turned. She hastily finished her oats and tea.

Tea. Raven might appreciate some tea. But did Indians drink tea? Or coffee? Ella had no idea.

“Mama, where’s Papa this morning?”

“He left early. To minister in town.” Naomi sighed. “I do hate to say this, but I fear it’s a lost cause, Ella.”

“As do I.” Ella held out her bowl. “I’m quite famished, Mama. Might I have some more porridge?”

Naomi filled her bowl. “Bread and two bowls of porridge? I thought you were done growing.”

“Just hungry.” Ella hedged. “Sukie took a lot out of me this morning. The little fiend kicked me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Shall I have a look?”

“No. I’m used to it.” Ella seasoned her oats and picked up her bowl. “It’s a lovely morning. I do believe I’ll enjoy the rest of my breakfast outside, if you don’t mind.”

“Enjoy it while you can,” her mother said. “It will be frightfully cold here once winter comes.”

“No colder than in Minnesota, I’m sure,” Ella said.

She walked outside and headed toward the dugout, bowl of porridge in hand.

The sun shimmered in the cerulean sky. Ella gazed at a few puffy clouds that hovered over the Black Hills. A beautiful day. When she reached the door to the soddy, she hesitated. Should she knock? She glanced around, making sure she was unseen. Then she rapped on the wooden door. Once, twice, thrice. “It’s me. Ella.”