Song of the Raven (Daughters of the Prairie 3)
Page 28
Naomi continued, “Have you thought this through? What it will mean to marry one who is not your own kind?”
“He’s a person. A man of honor. And he is definitely my kind.”
“He will take you away from us.”
“Any man would take me away from you. You can’t depend on me forever, Mama. I know I helped ease the pain of David’s disappearance. I’m sorry you lost him. I truly am. But that was fifteen years ago. Don’t I deserve happiness?”
“Of course you do.” Naomi smiled and pulled Ella into her embrace, kissing her softly on the cheek. “Your father and I, we’ve been selfish, trying to keep you with us. I would never deny you the happiness and love that he and I share. You deserve all that and more. I just never thought you’d find it with an Indian.”
“Did you think you’d find it with a bounty hunter?”
Naomi pulled away from her daughter and her face softened, and Ella knew her words had touched her mother.
“He will come for me.”
“Your father knows. That’s why we’re moving on in the middle of the night.”
“He’ll come for me anyway. He’ll find me. And if he doesn’t, I will go to him.”
Ella turned away from her mother and curled into the straw bedding. Silent tears fell from her cheeks as her father’s wagon took her farther and farther from the man she loved.
Chapter Eight
Ella awoke when the wagon jolted to a stop. She crawled to the end of the wagon and glanced out of the canvas cover. The orange rays of the sun peeked over the horizon.
“Naomi, Ella.” Her father’s gruff voice poked through the wagon cover. “The horses need a breather and a drink. Take care of your necessities.”
Naomi rustled behind Ella. “You heard your father,” she said. “Let’s take care of things.” Within a few minutes, Naomi had exited the wagon.
“Bobby,” Ella heard her mother say, “you’ve been awake for nearly twenty-four hours. You must rest. Why don’t you—”
“No.” Her father’s tone was soft, yet sharp. “Those redskins are born trackers. Our only chance is to keep one step ahead of them.”
“She says she loves him, Bobby.”
“She’s eighteen. What does she know of love?”
“Did those words really come out of your mouth?” Her mother’s tone dripped with acid. “I was barely nineteen when I married you, and I assure you, I was most definitely in love.”
“I wasn’t an Indian.”
“No. You weren’t. You were a bounty hunter and a fugitive. You had kidnapped me, remember? My parents weren’t thrilled, but I would have none of it. I fought for you, Bobby. I begged and pleaded with my father until he asked you not to leave me because he wanted my happiness. What makes you think Ella is any different?”
“Ella’s place is with her family.”
“How could you have forgotten what it feels like to be young and in love?” Her mother sniffed and her voice lowered. “You remember, don’t you, how we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, how we felt alive only when we were together?”
Ella warmed. This was a private conversation between her parents.
No. Not between her parents. Between a husband and wife. Yet she couldn’t stop listening.
Silence lingered as her mother paused. Then, “How we still feel, Bobby, when we let ourselves.”
More silence. In her mind’s eye, Ella pictured the look of resignation on her mother’s pretty but worn face. She heard only fragments of conversation after that. “Keep her… Own life… Indian…”
Then her father’s roar. “I will not give up another child to those heathens!”
Ella’s heart lurched, but she kept perfectly still.