Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

??Chatca exchange your boots for clothes,” Cricket said.

There had to be white people near—women! She felt a thrill of hope.

“Tell Chatca that I am grateful,” she said.

She watched them converse a moment, then felt the hair rise on her neck at Tamba’s furious scream.

The woman was on her before Chauncey could move, tugging at her filthy braid until her eyes watered, clawing at the clothes in her arms.

Chauncey’s hands were tied and there was nothing she could do.

Chatca bellowed in fury and cuffed Tamba, sending her reeling into the dirt. The other Indian men laughed.

Chatca kicked her fat bottom, sending her scampering off on her hands and knees.

“She angry because you get clothes,” Cricket said.

“Oh God,” Chauncey whispered.

“Chatca want you wear new clothes. White woman’s clothes.”

Chauncey drew a deep breath. “Tell him, Cricket, that I’ll wear the new clothes once I’ve bathed away all the filth. Tell him I must have soap.”

For a terrifying moment Chauncey believed she’d gone too far. Chatca’s face reddened as Cricket spoke to him, and his black eyes grew even darker. Chauncey forced herself to stand straight, her shoulders back.

Cricket turned back to her. “He get soap. You wear clothes tomorrow. He make you his woman then.”

Dear God, she thought, had he been counting the days? Evidently he had.

The next morning, Chauncey, her hands bound again, followed Cricket from the lean-to. The sky was overcast, the air chilly. She didn’t care. She looked about the camp. Tamba and another woman were cooking over the open fire. There was no sign of the men. Dolores was still tethered at the edge of the clearing.

“I watch,” Cricket said when they reached the narrow creek.

“Fine,” Chauncey said, and thrust out her hands.

Cricket looked undecided.

“I can’t bathe with my hands bound,” Chauncey said.

Cricket untied her hands.

Chauncey looked about, half-expecting to see Chatca lurking in the trees. It didn’t really matter, she thought, and stripped off her filthy shift.

She stepped gingerly into the water and gasped at the shock. It was frigid. She clutched the thin sliver of soap and waded in deeper. The creek was only knee-deep at the middle, and Chauncey sat down, gritting her teeth. All I’m washing, she thought, is the gooseflesh!

As she soaped her hair, she kept an eye on Cricket. I am strong enough, she told herself over and over, like a litany. I’ll cosh her on the head and get to Dolores.

When she came out of the water, Cricket handed her a thin piece of cloth to dry herself with.

At least it smelled clean. Chauncey dried herself thoroughly and donned the skirt and blouse. They felt heavenly. She sat down on a rock and began to comb out her wet hair with her fingers.

“You come now,” Cricket said after watching her for a moment.

“No, not yet,” Chauncey said, and continued calmly with her task. She plaited her hair into a thick braid.

“Now,” Cricket said, holding out the piece of leather.

Like hell I’m going to let you tie me up again!