White Deception

by Susan Edwards

  A soft hoot to her right stilled her. The owl was back. Three nights the bad spirits had haunted her sleep; three mornings she’d awakened to find an owl outside her window. Her people believed that animals communicated with people. All living things were part of the circle of life, but most of the people Mattie knew didn’t pay attention to the Great Spirit’s creatures. Was this one trying to tell her something?

  A mouse running across the path of a woman from town might cause her to scream; to Mattie, the rodent’s presence would be a reminder to be quiet, a message from the tiny creature to sit quietly and listen. The appearance of this wise owl had to be a sign.

  “What do you want?” she whispered, though she could not see the bird. “What are you trying to tell me?” She reached out with her right hand, moving slowly until the tips of her fingers touched incredible softness. “What am I supposed to see?”

  To her people the owl was guardian of Dreamtime, and with each of these visits, she felt sure he was either trying to impart information—or else he wanted something. Owls were masters at hearing and seeing what humans could not.

  Was that the message? Was she being asked to see what others could not? The air stirred to her right. She didn’t need to reach out to know the bird had flown away.

  She dropped her hand back to the sill, and with her eyes closed to the misty morning, sought answers deep inside. For they were there. She just had to silence her fears and open her mind. Let go of the confusion and pain clouding her thoughts so she could hear the truth.

  Lost in her musings, Mattie started when a door slammed.

  “Morning,” a young, high-pitched voice chirped. It was her young sister of four.

  Mattie opened her eyes and smiled. “Good morning, Caitie,” she called out. She put aside her worry and fears, unwilling to let her sibling sense her unhappiness.

  A chicken clucked nearby, and Mattie frowned.

  “Oh, no, they’re loose again,” Caitie wailed.

  “Again?” This made twice this week and once last week that the door to the coop had been left open. And yesterday the gate to the pasture where the horses were kept had been left open. It had taken her brothers and sisters hours to round up the beasts.

  Mattie leaned out the window and heard the flap of wings as a chicken fluttered away—most likely evading Caitie.

  “Too bad, Cat,” a voice teased. “Looks like you might miss breakfast.”

  Tension from her nightmare and worry over the chickens getting out made Mattie’s voice sharper than normal when she scolded her young brother. “Kealan O’Brien, you know the rule!”

  “Yeah, no one eats until all the chores are done!” He sounded disgusted.

  “That’s right. When you’re done milking Lilly, help Caitie or you won’t eat until suppertime!”

  “Aw, Mattie! Why can’t Daire do it?”

  “Aw, Kealan,” a third voice mocked. “Can’t, I’m going out to check the horses.”

  Mattie closed her eyes. Just what she didn’t need this morning—Kealan upsetting Caitie, then Daire egging Kealan on. She loved her young siblings, but there were times when their squabbling drove her crazy.

  “Don’t start, Daire. Someone let the chickens out again. Go do what you need to,” she ordered her eight-year-old brother.

  Kealan’s voice turned sulky. “I want to check the horses. I’m nearly as big as Daire. Let him chase the chickens.”

  “Not a chance, brat.” There was smug satisfaction in Daire’s voice.

  Mattie brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. “Daire—”

  “Don’t get in a huff, Mattie.” Her brother sounded resigned. He addressed the others. “Come on, you two. I’m starved. Let’s get them chickens rounded up, the cows milked, then we’ll all go check the horses.”

  Mattie turned away from the window, listening as Kealan continued to argue, and she smiled. At six, the boy thought milking and gathering eggs were beneath him.

  Outside the quilt that hung from the beam ceiling and sectioned off her sleeping area from the rest of the cabin she shared with her five siblings, the scent of pork frying on the stove and the thick, aromatic scent of coffee beckoned Mattie. Shivering in the cold, damp breeze, she quickly dressed. With deft fingers she brushed and braided her long, straight hair into a single black braid down the middle of her back, then walked softly across the room. Hearing quiet whispers coming from beyond the quilt wall, she stepped out into the main room of the cabin. Silence fell.

  “Morning, Mattie.” Her sister Renny’s greeting was a bit forced. She heard her brother Matthew, but he said nothing.

  Frowning, Mattie made her way to the pot of hot coffee on the stove. Something was up. Renny was usually the first outside in the mornings.

  “Chickens are loose and Daire’s going to check the horses,” she announced as she reached out and found her mug and the coffee pot in precisely the same positions that they were always placed for her. With the warm mug wrapped in her hands, she walked the six steps to her chair at the table, sat, then took a sip of coffee. The hot liquid was strong enough to sear her throat down to her stomach, then exploded into her veins to chase away the last of her fatigue.

  Renny’s chair scraped back. “I’d better get out there,” she said.

  “Wait.” Mattie motioned for her sister to sit. The slow slump of Renny resettling in her chair, followed by a soft rustle, told Mattie that she was sitting with arms crossed—a sure sign that something was up.

  “What are the two of you plotting?” she asked. She didn’t need her eyesight to know that Renny and Matthew were exchanging glances. When neither answered, she lifted a brow.

  “Well?” She refused to allow them to coddle her. If there was something wrong, she wanted to know. She heard Renny shift in her chair, pictured her sister slumped back, arms folded across her chest, booted feet crossed at the ankles.

  “Matthew is leaving.” Renny sounded glum.

  Mattie sighed and cupped both hands around her mug. The announcement didn’t surprise her. Her blood brother, younger by two years, was not a rancher. Like her, he was Sioux; though he felt equally at home in either world, as did she, his heart and soul craved the open prairie and nomadic life of their mother’s people.

  She turned to face him. “Are you leaving today?” With the arrival of spring, she knew her brother would be eager to return to their Sioux family, but he usually gave them time to hire help for the spring and summer. He always returned before the harsh winter months.

  He reached out to take her hand. “Not today. I wouldn’t miss your engagement party,” he said.

  Mattie sighed and ran the pads of her fingers over the back of his hand. One finger traced a long, jagged scar from when he’d run through a glass doorway in St. Louis. Mattie had taken to the new lifestyle immediately, but it had taken her brother a while to adjust to life in a city.

  She sighed. The first part of her life had been spent on the prairie, the second living as a white woman. Unlike her brother, she hadn’t been back except for short visits to see her family. “I wish I could go with you,” she said softly.

  Sometimes she missed being Morning Moon, envied her brother his ability to come and go between both worlds. Still, that was the way it was, and she accepted that without bitterness. Realistically, there was no way she could return to that simpler, nomadic way of life. Without her eyesight to aid her in an ever-changing landscape, she’d be even more dependent on others for survival,
and the one thing she’d vowed to have in life was independence.

  “Mattie—”

  “Don’t fret, Matthew. I’m happy here. Truly. Only sometimes do I miss that way of life.” She took a sip of coffee. “You don’t have to stay on my behalf. I tried to talk Paddy out of this party. It doesn’t feel right to celebrate. Gil and I don’t love each other—not like our parents, or me and Collin.”

  “I hate that!” Renny broke in. “You’re marrying Gil just to please Patrick O’Leary. It’s wrong. You should marry for love.”

  Thankfully, Mattie didn’t have to meet the accusation in her sister’s eyes. Buckling under the pressure of Gil’s father, who was also her father-in-law, wasn’t the only reason she’d agreed to the marriage. If Renny knew the true reason, she’d raise holy hell.

  Mattie kept her face pointed down at her half-empty cup of coffee. “Pa would have been happy with the marriage,” she said, smiling sadly as she thought of the white man who’d been a beloved father to her.

  “Pa would have wanted you to be happy,” Renny whispered fiercely.

  Mattie sighed. “The Irish stick together,” she reminded her sister, repeating one of her stepfather’s favorite sayings. But remembering the love her parents had shared brought tears to her eyes, and another wave of doubt hammered at her mind. Was she doing the right thing by marrying Gil?

  Taking pity on Renny, she glanced up. “Is it so bad to marry someone you like? Love as a friend? Not all marriages are love matches. Gil and I like and respect one another.” She sipped her lukewarm coffee, more for something to do with her hands than any other reason. She hated arguing with or upsetting Renny.

  She set the cup down. “Besides, Paddy wants me for a true daughter-in-law.” That made Mattie smile a bit. Though her marriage to Collin O’Leary had only lasted a few hours, she was still legally an O’Leary.

  Still, Patrick swore it wasn’t the same. He wanted the two families joined in stronger bonds. He wanted grandchildren.

  “He feels guilty for what happened to you.” Renny’s voice was gentle as she rested a hand on her sister’s arm.

  “I know,” Mattie agreed softly. It had been Patrick’s barn that had caught fire on her wedding day. He’d never forgiven himself for the loss of his son or Mattie’s blindness.

  Mattie’s heart ached. There was nothing she could do about either past tragedy, but she could at least ease her father-in-law’s pain. “He’s done so much for us. Without him—”

  “That doesn’t mean you have to marry Gil.” Renny’s chair scraped across the wooden floor, followed by the sound of her boots as she stomped over to the stove.

  Mattie set her cup down. “There are different kinds of love, Renny.” That, she truly believed. “Besides, it’s not like I have much choice anymore.” Not everyone accepted her Sioux blood. Or her blindness.

  “Mattie—”

  Pushing up from the table, Mattie took her cup to the small basin on the counter and pumped water into it. She rinsed, then dumped. “It’s true, Renny, and you know it. I have more Indian blood than white in my veins.” Her grandmother had been half white. “Who else is going to consider me?”

  “Your mother-in-law is the worst,” Renny muttered.

  Mattie bit back a sigh. It was true. Katherine O’Leary was less than thrilled to have Mattie once more marrying into the family.

  From some far recess in her mind, Mattie again heard her mother-in-law’s shrill screams after the fire. The jumble of words weren’t clear, but as she’d drifted in and out of consciousness, she’d heard the hate in Katherine’s voice blaming her for her son’s death. And in a sense, the woman was right. Collin had rushed into the barn to rescue Mattie, and had died trying.

  Mattie shook off the past. “Grandchildren will help.”

  “I don’t know, Mattie. She’s always been a bit—”

  Grinning, Mattie reached out to tug one of Renny’s long braids. “Full of herself, you’ve always said. Now come on, we have a lot to do before we leave for town.” She stepped sideways and reached for the tin of flour to start the biscuits.

  A scream rent the air. Mattie dropped the tin. The three adults whirled as one to face the back porch. “Caitie! Something’s wrong!” Mattie rushed forward through a cloud of flour that made her sneeze.

  Renny brushed past her. “Stay here. Kealan probably played one of his practical jokes on her again.”

  Mattie ignored her sister. In the wake of her nightmare, she was expecting something terrible. Her heart pounded. Though Renny was right in that Kealan enjoyed playing pranks on Caitie, she could sense in her gut that this was not one of those times. Mattie’s sharp hearing had discerned more than fright or anger from a prank in her young sister’s screams. There had been terror.

  Reaching the doorway, she found a chill fog closing around her. It didn’t come from outside but from within her own mind. She stumbled, reached out and gripped the doorjamb.

  The dark mist moved through her, shrouding all sound, enclosing her in a dark cocoon. Death.

  It invaded her senses, blazed through her mind much as the fire had swept through the barn. She opened her mouth to cry out but nothing came. Fear held her prisoner while the screams in her head grew louder.

  “Behind you.” Matthew’s strong hands gently moved her aside, shattering her numbing vision.

  “Matt—”

  “I’ll be back. Wait here.” Matthew brushed past, the butt of his rifle bumping her arm. Then he was gone.

  Alone, Mattie felt disoriented and sick. And afraid.

  Her gift of Sight had returned. She doubled over, feeling as though she’d just run a long distance. After a year of not having seen a single vision, the impact of the feelings that had just hit her left her weak and breathless.

  Resentment and bitterness rose from deep inside to band together with the fear coursing through Mattie.

  Dreams of death.

  Visions of death.

  It was just too much. She could not survive more bereavement in her life.

  Death gives birth to life. The thought came from nowhere. And everywhere. Clenching her hands into fists, she straightened. “No!” The word torn from her throat spurred her forward.

  “No more death.” She tore out of the house, stumbled down the steps and headed toward the barn. Damp air curled around her ankles and swirled beneath her long skirt

  Normally she made the walk from house to barn without thinking, without stumbling, without hesitating, but fear made her clumsy and left her disoriented. Stopping, she listened intently. Somewhere up ahead, over Caitie’s continued high-pitched screams, came the sound of Renny cursing.

  Mattie’s world shook. She hated being helpless.

  The shaking increased. She realized someone was running toward her. Her stomach tightened but she held out her arms. “Kealan, what happened?” she asked, recognizing the odd gait of her brother. When Kealan ran, his right foot hit the ground heavier than his left. Caitie mostly skipped, and when she ran, her steps were much lighter.

  Kealan skidded to a stop. A small spray of rocks hit Mattie’s skirts. “The cows’re dead. Someone killed ’em,” he gasped. “Renny says they’ve been poisoned. Even Lilly!” His voice ended on a hitch.

  Mattie’s heart hammered. Her senses, heightened beyond endurance, threatened to explode. “What is happening?” Life for all of them had finally settled into a calm and quiet pattern broken only by the continual antics of the youngsters. Now, once again, things appe
ared to be falling apart. Rapidly.

  In her mind, Mattie once again saw the flames spreading though the O’Leary barn, rushing toward her. It meant something. She feared her family’s lives were on the verge of being torn apart.

  Again.

  “Kealan, take me to Caitie,” she commanded. She could still hear her sister sobbing. Lilly had been more of a pet than just a milk cow.

  The wisps of fog shifted around her. “I have her, Mattie,” Matthew called. He had approached on silent feet.

  Holding out her arms, she took her sister from her brother. “What’s going on, Matt?”

  “Take Cat back to the house.”

  Holding her baby sister tightly, Mattie felt Caitie’s narrow chest jerk with each of the girl’s sobs. Needing almost as much assurance, Mattie whispered, “Mathew, please.”

  Her brother rested his hand on her arm. “Found a sack of grain in the middle of the barn.” Fury edged his voice. “It’s not ours.”

  The implication sunk in, and it made her sick. The livestock could have just been poisoned and left to die, but whoever had done this had wanted them to know that the animals had been poisoned. “Who would do such a thing?” she asked. “And why?”

  The chickens and horses being let loose were just childish pranks. Up until now, they’d all believed it to be some kid from town who was angry at either Daire, who tended to be hotheaded, or Kealan, for his ofttimes ill-received pranks.

  But killing livestock was no prank. Mattie’s arms prickled with fear. They had enemies.

  “I don’t know,” Matt said. He softened his voice. “Go back to the house, Mattie. There’s nothing you can do.”

  The words struck Mattie’s heart. She was blind. Useless. Never had she felt more inadequate than at that moment. Her family had an enemy, and there wasn’t anything she could do to help protect them.