Comanche Moon

Chapter 2

After the Indians departed, Rachel bolted from the cabin and wrapped her arms around Loretta. Woodenly she returned her aunt's embrace but kept her eyes on the cloud of dust that drifted toward the river, the Comanche's words echoing. I am your destiny. Despite the heat, a clammy chill washed over her.

"You're all right." Rachel crooned. "You're all right."

Tightening her arms around her aunt, Loretta closed her eyes. She had stood face to face with a Comanche warrior and was still alive.

From inside the house came the sound of furniture dragging the floor, and a moment later Amy flew outside, her small face pinched with fear. "I thought they'd kill you."

Loretta pulled away from Rachel and took the child into her arms, pressing her cheek against her braids.

"I ain't never gonna hide again." Amy whispered shakily. "Not ever. Oh, Loretta, now I know what it was like for you that day when they killed your ma and pa, how sick you felt inside. I ain't gonna go down there ever again. I swear I ain't."

Loretta swayed back and forth, massaging the tension from the child's shoulders. The smell of damp earth clung to Amy's clothes. It called to mind the never-forgotten mustiness of her own hiding place in the cellar. She alone knew the agony Amy had just lived through, and the girl was right, it made a person sick inside. As horrible as it had been for Amy, though, Loretta knew she would do it again, protect her little cousin, no matter what.

When sudden clarity, Loretta at last understood why her parents had hidden her during the Comanche attack. At the time, she had only six months older than Amy. If she had found the courage to open the cellar door, what could she have done? Nothing, save dying. Rebecca Simpson would not have wanted Loretta to reveal herself. Knowing her child was safe had probably been her only comfort those last torturous minutes. The realization eased the ache of guilt within Loretta that had been her constant companion for seven long years. She took a deep, cleansing breath, and tears she had never before been able to shed came streaming down her cheeks. A sob ripped her throat.

Amy stiffened and pulled back. "Loretta, you're cryin'!" Her eyes grew round. "Ma Loretta's cryin'."

Rachel put an arm around each girl. "And well she should. If anybody ever had call, it's-"

Amy shook her head. "No, Ma, really cryin'. I heard-"

Rachel unnerved by the close proximity of the Indians, didn't seem to register what her daughter was saying. "Come, let's get in the house. You never know with those savages. They're just as likely to double back to catch us unaware."

The door to the cabin stood open, and Loretta followed the others inside. Turning, she faced the men, her eyes full of questions. Henry leaned his rifle against the wall. "Ain't no rhyme nor reason to what them critters do sometimes. I don't reckon they'll be back."

Tom, still standing by the window, frowned and shook his head, his gaze fastened on the lance in the yard. "I ain't so sure. A Comanch' don't leave his mark just anywheres. Couldn't have said it plainer. Loretta's just got herself betrothed."

Amy giggled, a high, shrill laugh that echoed Loretta's own feeling of unreality. "You mean he wants Loretta as a squaw? Why, that'd be worse than her marryin' her up with Mr. Wea-" Amy's eyes bugged, and her cheeks flamed. "I mean . . . well . . ."

Hush, Amy!" Worrying her apron, Rachel shot Tom a questioning glance. "What makes you say such a thing?"

"We all heard him lay claim her and say he'd be back." Tom avoided Loretta's gaze. "Comanches don't make false promises. My guess is he'll bring a couple of blankets and a horse in trade. That's the they do things amongst themselves when they buy a wife. Not to say he'll stay so polite if you don't accommodate him and turn her over."