by Sandi Rog
“I had no choice.” He frowned. “I told you to wait. I thought white women were supposed to obey their husbands.”
His words burned. She pulled away, but he held onto her. “I liked you better as a savage,” she said.
White Eagle’s eyes flashed. “If I was savage,” he whispered, his voice tense and cutting the air between them, “we wouldn’t be here right now, all dressed up in these fine clothes.” He flicked the lace at her collar.
Anna stepped back, but he pulled her close.
“Do you even know what that means?” His body tensed. “Savage?” He bent closer, moving inches from her face. “Savage is murdering innocent women and children. Savage is cutting a baby out of his mother’s womb.”
She gasped, her hand going to her abdomen. “White Eagle, please. I never meant—”
“That is savage.” His jaw pulsed, obviously working to contain his anger. “Mind your words.”
They continued dancing, and she followed in numbed silence. She knew he referred to Sand Creek. She hadn’t thought about her words hurting him, not that deeply. After all, everyone used those words. But that didn’t make them right. Shame swept through her.
“Forgive me,” she whispered.
“You have a good heart, Morning Sun.”
“Then why did you say those things?” As if she were to blame for what happened. She had no idea women were cut open. She looked away from him. His words were enough to give her nightmares as horrifying images flashed through her mind. She’d longed to peer into his thoughts, to understand him. Finally, he’d opened a window for her to look inside and she didn’t like what she saw.
“You need to respect my people.”
“I do.” She loved Song Bird and Runs With Wind. They were family to her, the only family she knew, and she missed them dearly. More importantly, she loved him. “I want you. I just need time,” she said, her throat tightening, still unsure what she’d expected to find. This was home. She was supposed to feel like she’d come home. But where was that satisfaction, that contentment she’d been so desperate to find?
“No.” White Eagle stopped and looked down at her, his gaze filled with remorse. “You don’t want me.”
Stunned by his words, she stepped back. Though he hadn’t shouted them, his words reverberated in her mind. She couldn’t dance anymore. He led her near the door where few people stood.
She studied his face. She saw hurt. Pain.
Was she the cause of his suffering? But how could she be? She hadn’t done those horrible things to his people. Uneasy, she moved toward the banister near the stairs.
He just stood there, watching.
She backed away carefully, nearing the first step, refusing to take her eyes off him.
All of his words echoed in her mind. Savage, babies being ripped from their mother’s womb, respect for his culture, his people, and it was she who didn’t want him.
Her foot slipped, and she lost her balance. Her hands reached for the wooden rail.
White Eagle caught her by the arm and swung her up to the platform. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his eyes wide with concern.
She shook her head, thinking of what might have happened to their baby had she fallen. To think, he had no idea he’d just saved not only her, but his child. She had to tell him. She opened her mouth to speak.
“I have something for you.” White Eagle smiled and led Anna down the stairs to the hotel lobby.
A wrapped package sat on a table, and next to a chair was a pair of furry boots.
He plucked up the boots. “For you.”
She rubbed her hand along the soft fur. Its leather ties fell between her fingers. They would come as high as her knees.
“It’s rabbit, but the insides are layered with buffalo skin for extra warmth.”
He then pulled something from the chair. A muff to match the boots.
“Oh, White Eagle, they’re beautiful.” Finally, her feet and hands wouldn’t freeze in this cold weather.
Before she could thank him, he held out a package. She set the boots and muff down and took the gift, wondering what it could be.
As she opened it, she saw the familiar faces of her father and mother looking back at her. They were placed in a double, hand carved frame. The carvings bore the same flowered patterns as the hair clip he’d made for her those many months ago. They were beautiful.
“You made this.” She brushed her fingers along the carved designs. “The dress, the boots and muff all came from you, and now my pictures . . . .” He’d been thinking of her all this time.
He lifted her chin. “I’m sorry for breaking your pictures. I know how much they meant to you.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek.
“They mean so much more to me now.” Her voice was a mere whisper. “Thank you.”
He then lifted something from off the seat of the chair. It was her mother’s Bible.
“How did you—where did you—?”
“You never missed it.” He frowned.
Guilt consumed her as she took the book into her hands. “You’ve been reading it.” All those times she found her Bible outside of her carpetbag, it had been him. He’d been reading it.
“There’s a story about a man and a big fish. It made me think of you.” His gaze softened with amusement.
“How so?”
“He ran away.”
She frowned, not sure she wanted to hear what he had to say. “Where is Jack?” she asked, changing the subject.
“He went home.”
“Without saying goodbye?”
White Eagle shrugged. “That’s Jack.” He moved closer to her. “As I was saying, Jonah thought he could run away from God,” White Eagle said. “He thought he could hide from Ma’heo’o. But even after the big fish swallowed him, Ma’heo’o was there.” White Eagle continued to stare at her, but suddenly the amusement in his eyes vanished and they narrowed as if at that very moment he realized something. “Ma’heo’o heard Jonah’s cries from the belly of a fish. As stubborn as he was, Jonah was never alone.” White Eagle watched her, as if searching deep inside her, then he whispered, “I think when he ran away, he must have forgotten what Ma’heo’o was like, forgotten that He’d always be there—no matter where Jonah went—waiting for him to return.” She sensed he said those words not just to her, but also to himself.
Anna gazed wonderingly at White Eagle. Here she thought she’d married a heathen, and now he was teaching her, helping her to understand her own faith.
“How do you do it?”
“Do what?” He straightened.
“I pray and pray. I want to be close to God too.”
White Eagle’s brows furrowed. “Read His word. No relationship can survive on a one-sided conversation.”
Anna opened her mouth to speak, but then she closed it. Slowly, she nodded. “Of course.” She hugged her Bible.
“‘Draw near to Him and He’ll draw near to you.’ That’s what He says.” He took her hand in his. “I want you to wear this.” He placed the wedding ring back on her finger, and his large hands lingered over hers.
Words wouldn’t come. Even if she wished to speak, she knew she couldn’t. Tears threatened to fall as she gazed up into his loving eyes. Only God could turn this horrible situation into something right. And that’s exactly what He’d done.
White Eagle gently cupped her face in his callused hands. He bent down, and she stood on her toes to meet him. His lips touched hers, softly, tenderly.
The room spun from his gentle kiss.
He then held her away and gazed down at her. “I will wait as long as it takes. But know this.” His jaw ticked. “You are mine.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Later that week, Anna worked late with Mrs. Peterson on a large sewing project, trying to keep her mind off of what a horrible person she was. She’d pricked her fingers three times already, and it was all she could do to keep from getting blood on the fabric.
Maybe White Eagle’s words were t
rue? Maybe she wanted Denver more than him?
What happened? She felt lost. Not like she’d come home at all. Something had to happen, and soon. How much longer could she put off telling White Eagle about their baby?
“You know,” Mrs. Peterson said, watching Anna from the other side of the shop as she worked. “I was reading the Scriptures and came across the story of Jesus when he walked on the water.” Mrs. Peterson let her hands rest on the fabric, and Anna stopped what she was doing. “Well, Peter wanted to walk on the water to meet Jesus, and he did. But when he saw the wind, he got scared and began to sink.
“It occurred to me that Peter started sinking when he took his focus off Jesus. He allowed the wind to frighten him.” She took a deep breath, still gazing at Anna over her spectacles. “I think the wind can be compared to the worries of the world. The trials we face. We start sinking when we lose our focus.”
Mrs. Peterson’s started working on her project again as her words turned over in Anna’s mind. Anna had lost focus all right. She’d been so desperate to get away from her uncle, so focused on his abuse, she’d completely lost focus on God. And now that she’d reached Denver City, she was in a fog.
Anna sighed. “I lost focus a long time ago.”
“What makes you say that?”
Anna put down her sewing. “I’ve been angry at God,” she whispered, finally voicing what bothered her the most. Her worst fear. She couldn’t help but wonder if her anger ignited God’s anger. And if He’d ever be able to forgive her.
Mrs. Peterson set aside her sewing.
“I blamed Him for what happened. Not because He caused it. It’s just that I knew He could have stopped it. I knew he could take me away from there if He wanted to.”
Mrs. Peterson lifted a questioning brow.
Anna told about her uncle, all the abuse and terrifying nights. She then told about the kidnapping and then before she could stop herself, she told about her marriage to White Eagle and the baby. Before she knew it, she’d told her everything, including her anger with God and her desperation to get to Denver City.
By the time she’d finished, the shock on Mrs. Peterson’s face told Anna she’d said too much. But Anna, in her misery, no longer cared. It no longer mattered that she’d overwhelmed her boss with her story. That she might lose her one and only job. Nothing mattered other than being with White Eagle.
“Anna, girl,” Mrs. Peterson leaned forward in her chair, concern reflecting from her eyes. “I’m not going to pretend to have all the answers. I can’t tell you why you had to go through what you went through with your uncle. But what I do know is we’re all living under the curse of the garden.”
Anna nodded, completely familiar with the story of Adam and Eve and that she and everybody else in the world were sinners.
“I’m not saying you did something to deserve your uncle’s abuse. What he did was wrong, evil.” She shook her head in disgust. “And sometimes, the innocent suffer because of another person’s bad choices. What we need to do is grow from those experiences. Use them to make ourselves stronger. To help others.”
Where had Anna heard those words before? Beth. Beth had said the same exact thing.
“Trials can either build character and faith, or they can break us down and destroy our faith. It’s our choice.”
Mrs. Peterson came closer and knelt before Anna, taking her hands in her own. Her gentle touch brought Anna so much comfort, tears welled in her eyes. “You became a Christian at such a young age when your father was still alive, you had so little time to grow and learn from him. But now is the time.” She squeezed Anna’s hands. “God is with you, child. And your anger is not too much for Him to handle. He understands.”
Tears streamed down Anna’s cheeks. God still loved her despite her anger? He understood her? The thought seemed too good to be true.
Then White Eagle came to her mind. How she’d hurt him.
“But what about White Eagle? I’ve kept the knowledge of our baby from him. How can he forgive me for that?”
Mrs. Peterson “humphed,” then straightened. “Well, that’s another story. His father would never have stood for this.” Mrs. Peterson shook her head.
“What should I do?”
“Get some rest.” Mrs. Peterson patted Anna’s hand. “You go lie down and rest, child. Right now you look like a withered leaf. You can talk to Jean-Marc and tell him about the baby in the morning.”
“Do you think he’ll be angry?” Anna asked, thinking of how she’d kept this secret despite his kindness and all the gifts he’d given her.
“If anything, I think he’ll be thrilled. Still, it’s better for you to go to him in the morning, when you’re well rested.” She pinched her lips. “As if he has any right to be angry after what he put you through.” Mrs. Peterson took a deep breath and stood. “I think a hot bath would be good for you right now. Why don’t I fill up the tub?”
In no time Anna found herself soaking in a small tub in her room. The water’s warmth engulfed her. She laid her head back with her hair dangling over the edge of the tub to keep it dry, realizing how right Mrs. Peterson had been. Anna used this quiet time to talk with God. She didn’t hold anything back. She told him how she felt about the situation with her uncle, thanked Him for finally getting her out of that situation, and asked Him to forgive her for being angry and blaming Him. After her talk with the Lord, a peace came over her that she hadn’t felt since she’d first become a Christian. It was a wonderful feeling, and so freeing. Finally, she was free. Free from captivity.
And that’s when she realized it was Satan that had kept her in bondage, not her uncle.
Not White Eagle.
First thing in the morning, Anna would go to White Eagle and tell him about the baby.
~*~
“How dare you do this to someone so innocent, so young, so naïve!” Mrs. Peterson paced. “I certainly hope your love is sincere after all this!” She faced Jean-Marc, eyes blazing.
Jean-Marc stared in disbelief at the red-faced Mrs. Peterson as she ranted before him in his study.
“To hear you kidnapped that poor girl and forced her into marriage. Anna has been nothing but confused and upset from the moment she came to work for me. I expect you to do something about this!”
Mrs. Peterson wrung her hands together and paced. “Anna shouldn’t be so upset. It’s not good for her and the baby. If your father knew you’d turned to kidnapping an innocent woman, forcing her into marriage and leaving her with child—I’d hate to know what he’d do if he were still alive. He’s probably turning in his grave as we speak!”
“Wha . . . what?” Jean-Marc’s heart flip-flopped. He stood on wobbly legs. Was he going to be a father? But Anna had never said anything. Why hadn’t she told him? Maybe he hadn’t heard Mrs. Peterson right. But if he had, that meant Anna had been expecting all this time, and she’d never told him. How long had she known?
“What do you mean ‘what?’” Mrs. Peterson pointed at his chest. “Tomorrow, you will march right over there and apologize like you should have done from the beginning.”
Why had the truth been withheld from him? Mrs. Peterson, who had no business rummaging in his affairs, knew more than he did. He bent over her. “Did you say she is with child?” His voice was low.
Mrs. Peterson stepped back, her eyes widened. “Well, I . . .” She put her hand to her chest. “Did I say that?”
“You did.” Jean-Marc spoke with a light-hearted tone he didn’t feel. “And she told you, but she hasn’t told me.” He strode toward the door. “How long has she known?”
Mrs. Peterson held up her hands to stop him. “I’m not sure how long, but it wasn’t my intention to tell you.”
Jean-Marc opened the door.
“Don’t do anything rash. She’ll come to you tomorrow, I’m certain of it.”
“She’ll come to me now.” Jean-Marc marched down the hall toward the lobby. Forget giving her time. Time to chase after invisible dreams. Her time was
up. As for free will, she just lost it. She was his wife and carrying his child. He would claim her now, whether she liked it or not. She would come back to his village by force. He’d no longer delay what was meant to be.
“She needs rest. She was completely distraught,” Mrs. Peterson called from behind.
He ignored her pleas. Nothing would stop him. He had a wife, and a child on the way.
Somewhere buried beneath his anger, his heart quickened. He would have a family. A family of his own.
~*~
After slipping into her white nightdress, Anna brushed through her hair before the full-length mirror. A good night’s rest was all she needed, and then she’d go straight to White Eagle no matter the consequences. She owed him the truth.
The door swung open and slammed against the wall. In the mirror’s shuddering reflection she saw White Eagle’s long form fill the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” She turned to face him.
Eyes flashing, he strode toward her.
She stepped back.
“I tried to stop him, Anna. I didn’t mean to tell. I’m so sorry!” Mrs. Peterson’s voice came from the hall, gasping for breath. She sagged against the doorway and cast Anna an imploring look.
White Eagle grabbed her, sending hot shivers down her spine. He forced his large hand on her abdomen, covering the little knot that grew there.
“It’s true.” His voice rasped. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His words reverberated off the walls in the little room.
“I—I—” Anna sputtered as she dropped the brush. She didn’t know what to say.
He knew. How could he know? Then she glanced at Mrs. Peterson still leaning against the doorjamb, and her words finally cleared in Anna’s mind. She gasped. If only she could faint. If only she could die before White Eagle could kill her.
“Leave us.” He tossed the words over his shoulder.
Mrs. Peterson quietly slipped away.
A chill went down Anna’s spine as she realized that without Mrs. Peterson there, she’d get the full brunt of his reaction.
