Savage Courage

“This is my mother’s hair,” Storm said, tears filling his eyes. “I would know it anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” Shoshana murmured. “I did not know the fiend I was living with until recently.”

“And now he is dead,” Storm said thickly.

“Yes, dead,” Shoshana murmured.

“I must take this and place my mother’s hair at our people’s burial grounds,” Storm said, placing the scalp within the velvet again, and folding the corners so that the scalp was hidden from his sight. “Although I no longer know exactly where her grave is, if I place the scalp among the graves of our people, her spirit will find it there and be able to rest again in total peace.”

After Shoshana’s belongings were secured at the side of Storm’s horse, he came to her and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her sweetly, then lifted her onto the saddle.

He mounted behind her and they rode off together, now as one, their shadows merging in the moonlight, their hearts beating like the same drum. The far-off singing of a coyote could be heard in high staccato notes.

Shoshana tried to think of some happier topic than these last hours.

She smiled as she thought of her and Storm’s upcoming marriage.

She would wear her adopted mother’s favorite dress. Dorothea Whaley had been all sweetness and loveliness.

Although Shoshana wanted to look like an Apache for her wedding, she wanted to remember her mother Dorothea and her sweetness in her own special way . . . by wearing her dress.

In her mind, she knew she would never understand why George Whaley had kept the scalp, or even why he had taken a five-year-old child that day, and then kept her.

Had he been so proud of playing the role of a murdering cavalry leader that he could never totally let go of it?

In the end, his actions had condemned him in Shoshana’s eyes forever and erased whatever good feelings she had ever felt for him. Her ambivalence was over.

Now she was at peace with herself about everything.

She had her future with Storm and her true mother to cherish.

They rode onward into the night. She leaned back against him, his arm holding her in place.

“I love you so much,” she murmured. “You make me feel whole . . . you make me feel Apache!”

She knew she had told him that before, but she could not resist telling him again, for she was so glad to have found him.

Chapter Twenty-four

What is love? It is the morning and

the evening star.

—Sinclair Lewis

The deed done, his mother’s beautiful hair now buried among his Apache ancestors, Storm and Shoshana rode on awhile, then made camp for the rest of the night.

He awakened early in the morning before Shoshana and found sweet, fat berries for their breakfast, which would be eaten with the pemmican he always carried in the parfleche bag that hung at the side of his steed.

Although Shoshana had told him Mountain Jack was no longer a threat, Storm left her again only long enough to gather dry wood to add to the glowing coals of their campfire.

Then he sat, watching her sleep. On her lovely face he saw peace and happiness, for she knew that soon they would become man and wife, never to part from one another again.

Also, she was looking forward to being with her mother. But Storm was concerned about that. He knew that Fawn had not been well for some time now and that her days on this earth were numbered.

He had prayed to Maheo that Shoshana would be given some more time with her before Fawn took her last breath.

He watched Shoshana stirring, her eyelashes fluttering as her eyes slowly opened. When she found him sitting there watching her, she reached a hand out to him.