Grace and the Guiltless

Chapter 18

The wailing among the Ndeh grew stronger as the people painted their loved ones’ faces red and wrapped them in fur robes.

As Joe and Grace walked through the burned village to her kuugh’a, he leaned close to her and said, “The Ndeh believe the dead turn into ghosts who are jealous of the
living. So they bury them in caves far from the camp. It must be done before nightfall. I’ll join them, but you should stay here and rest.”

Grace shook her head. “I’m coming with you.”

The grieving faces, slumped shoulders, and bent backs reminded her of burying her family alone. Something would not let her rest while they buried their dead. So many of the dead were people she had known or recognized.

“You don’t have to, you know.”

“I want to.” It was the least she could do after all they had done for her.

The admiration in Joe’s eyes warmed her heart.

“Very well,” he said. “But you should eat something before you go. I don’t want you fainting along the way.”

Grace nodded and ducked into her kuugh’a, returning with some pemmican that she pointedly shared with Joe. “Don’t want you fainting either.”

They moved back through the mourning camp, and Sequoyah came over and joined them, her face filled with pain. She pointed to Dahana, who was kneeling beside the bodies of two men. “Dahana’s father. And his older brother,” she whispered.

Poor Dahana. Grace laid a hand on Sequoyah’s arm. “Is everyone in your family safe?”

“I . . . I do not know. We have not seen my brother. My father fears they took him prisoner.” She motioned toward Cheis, who was frantically searching the battlefield, digging through piles of debris, turning over mounds of ashes that were still smoking.

Sequoyah sucked in a sharp breath as her father rolled a dead horse off a body trapped beneath. They all watched as he bent down and stared for a moment, then straightened up, his face drained of blood.

“I think . . . I think Father found him . . .” Sequoyah whispered. Tears flowed down her cheeks.

Grace wrapped her arms around her friend. After a few moments, Sequoyah lifted her head. “I must go help him.” Beside them several women stood huddled in a group, wailing uncontrollably. Sequoyah turned to them with pity in her eyes. “They, too, have suffered great loss. The soldiers stole their children. They sell them as slaves.”

The children. Grace had forgotten all about the children. And Bullet . . .

“Where’s Joe?” she said quickly.

Sequoyah pointed toward a group of people gathered beside the charred remains of a kuugh’a.

“Joe!” Grace raced over to him. “The children. I need you to help me bring them back.”

“A moment,” he said. Joe’s face was a mask of pain as he laid a hand on the shoulder of the boy he had been kneeling beside and said a few words that Grace couldn’t understand.

Then he went over to grab Ash’s reins, but she could see he was holding his other arm close to his body.

“Are you hurt?”

“It’s not bad. It can wait until we return.” Joe motioned to Ash. “Hop on. I’ll get on behind.”

Grace eyed him with concern but didn’t argue. She mounted Ash, and the two of them tore off into the woods.

When Joe called softly, the children came out from behind trees and boulders. Some crawled out from the underbrush.

Joe talked to them quietly while Grace went over and untied Bullet, who took several hobbling steps toward her and snorted.