A Willing Spirit, A Ghostly Romance

by Cynthia Sterling

CHAPTER NINE

  Micah was currying the Morgan gelding the next morning when Tessa came to him and asked him to hitch up the wagon. "I used all my sugar and flour baking for Sun Bear," she said. "I need to go into town to buy more."

  "I'll drive you," he offered. The idea of an outing with Tessa appealed to him.

  She avoided his gaze, her attention focused on the horse. "That's sweet of you to offer, but really, I can manage just fine on my own."

  Her resistance made him stubborn. "I want to come with you.” He put away the curry comb and took the harness from the wall. "I need to pick up a few things myself."

  "All right, then.” But she didn't sound particularly pleased. She retreated to the house. Her uncharacteristic coolness irritated him. Was she still upset about the argument they'd had last night?

  It wasn't even an argument, he told himself as he buckled the harness onto the wagon horses. He'd only been trying to make her see what a chance she was taking in befriending the Indians.

  The same chance she was taking by remaining friends with him. The truth gnawed at him. No wonder she preferred to go to town alone. He flexed a horse collar over one knee, then slipped it over the head of the wheel horse. Tessa was just too polite to come right out and refuse him. If he was any kind of gentleman, he'd let her off the hook and offer to stay home.

  But then, no one had ever accused him of being a gentleman, had they? He fitted the collar on the off horse and fastened the rest of the harness. He wanted the chance to be with Tessa like any other man. He wanted to drive into town with her by his side, to bask in the warmth of her smiles, to see envy in the eyes of other men they passed.

  He left the horses in the stalls and went to wash his face and comb his hair. At the last minute, he decided to put on a clean shirt, a dark brown homespun that had belonged to the late Mr. Bright. As if this extra care with his appearance could change how Tessa, and the townspeople, thought about him.

  By the time he'd hitched the horses to the wagon, Tessa was waiting for him on the front porch. She wore a dark gray dress he recognized as one she'd worked on many an evening as they sat together. Somehow, even with one arm in a cast, she'd managed to grip the fabric in her fingers and work the needle through the layers. He'd admired her determination, though he'd never thought, until now, to tell her so.

  "You look very pretty," he said as he helped her into the wagon, the words feeling awkward on his tongue. He'd never been one for handing out flattery.

  She flushed a becoming pink and smoothed her skirts. "Thank you. It's really an old dress, but I made it over from a pattern I found in Peterson's Magazine."

  "Well, you did a good job."

  She rewarded him for these words with a smile that made him feel six inches taller. Why had he been so stingy with his praise before?

  They set off at a fast clip, Micah deftly guiding the horses around the roughest places in the road. Tessa raised a ruffled parasol against the sun's glare. He couldn't remember seeing a prettier picture. The soft, floral scent of her perfume enveloped him and he was uncomfortably aware of the narrow distance between them. He had only to slide over a few inches and they would be sitting thigh to thigh. . .

  He resolutely turned his mind from such thoughts. Maybe while Tessa was shopping, he needed to pay another visit to the saloon and find Tina or another of her ilk to provide a little physical release.

  But that idea held no appeal to him. It was as if kissing Tessa had spoiled him for any other woman. He hazarded a glance at her and found her gaze fixed on him, a thoughtful expression in her eyes. "Is something wrong?"

  "I was just thinking how little I really know about you," she said softly.

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, reins relaxed in his hands, his very casualness an attempt to hide the turmoil of his thoughts. So she had been thinking about him. The idea made his spirits soar, though he dared not reveal as much. "What do you want to know?"

  She stared out over the summer-dry prairie, as if sorting through a number of questions in her mind. "Your name. How did you get your name? It seems so unusual, for an Indian."

  "My mother said I was named for the Old Testament prophet.” The wagon seat creaked as he propped one foot on the footboard. Over the years, his memory of his mother's face had softened and blurred, but he could still recall her bright red hair; hair that had probably saved her life, since the Kiowa seemed to regard redheads as particularly favored. She had green eyes too, like his own. "She was a preacher's daughter. Just before she was captured, she had memorized all the books of the Bible. After a while, it was about all the English she remembered."

  A startled look flashed into Tessa's eyes, fading quickly to sadness. She hadn't expected that, had she? To hear that his mother was a captive. She'd no doubt craved some more romantic story, not this harsh reality. "Later on, a trapper told my father the word meant a sharp, shiny stone," he continued. "He liked that."

  "What happened to your mother?"

  He slid his thumbs along the reins. "She died when I was thirteen."

  "And your father?"

  "He was killed. By soldiers."

  Tessa put her hand to her mouth, but not before a gasp escaped. Micah looked at her, an old pain pricking at him, like a buried thorn. She opened her mouth, then closed it without speaking. He knew what she wanted to know, and suddenly, he wanted her to know. "I was twelve or so when it happened.” It had been the summer after his first buffalo hunt, or rather, the first hunt in which he had been allowed to do more than hold the horses. "We were camped along a river. Troops rode in and began killing everyone."

  He used to dream about that day, although he hadn't in a long time. Panic had swept through the tents, as children's screams and women's wails mingled with the shouting of the soldiers and the deadly thunder of their guns. His father had been one of the first shot. At the same time, soldiers began setting fire to the tents. "My mother grabbed up me and my baby sister and raced for cover along the river.” They had lain amongst the reeds, half-submerged in shallow water, the stench of burning buffalo hide filling their noses, the wails of the dying and grieving buffeting their ears.

  "We stayed hidden for a long time, until some soldiers found us and recognized my mother as white. They took us to a fort and eventually located my mother's sister. She and her husband took us in."

  He'd been afraid of Aunt Mag and Uncle Eb at first. They'd both been big, stern people. He hadn't realized until he was much older the courage and kindness they'd demonstrated in taking in Mag's long-lost sister and half-savage children.

  "And your mother died a year later?"

  Tessa's gentle prompting pulled him back to his story. "She and my sister died of cholera that next summer. My aunt and uncle raised me.” He'd been terrified they would send him away, or abandon him the way the Kiowas sometimes did old people who became a burden to the group. But Aunt Mag had taken his hand after the funeral service and told him he had a responsibility to grow up into a man his mother could be proud of, and she intended to help him do just that.

  He doubted his mother would see much to be proud of in the rootless wanderer he'd become. He could only hope that she would understand what had brought him to this point.

  He stopped speaking and Tessa bowed her head. He wished he could reach out and take her hand; he wished he could risk taking that much comfort, but fear paralyzed him -- fear that she might rebuff him, or that once they touched, they might never release their hold on one another.

  They reached the edge of town, and as the wagon rolled past houses and storefronts, he noticed people staring at them. He wished he could pretend people were staring because they were such a handsome couple, but he knew better than that. They were wondering how a white woman like Tessa could associate herself with a man like him.

  He parked the wagon in a lot across from Wilkins' Mercantile. "You take care of your shopping," he said. "I'm just going to look around.”

  "Where are you going?" she asked, loo
king worried.

  "Don't worry. I'll meet you back here at noon.” He didn't know where he was going. It was obvious that there was no place in this town where he was welcome.

  He left the wagon and started walking down the street, looking idly into windows of stores he passed. Two women approached and he raised his head to greet them politely. But when they caught sight of him, they gasped and hurried across the street.

  He reached the saloon. A glimpse through the batwing doors showed little activity this time of day. The bartender sat behind the bar, reading the paper. Micah had heard the man was the biggest donor to the Library Society's cause. Was it because he loved to read, or because he was trying to buy his way into respectable society? Perhaps that was Micah's problem: he hadn't been born into wealth or discovered it later.

  He started to go inside, then resolutely turned around. Why purposely stir up trouble?

  At the opposite end of town from the saloon sat the church. As Micah neared the steepled building, a familiar voice hailed him. "Mr. Fox! I wonder if you might help me for a moment?"

  Micah didn't much like Reverend Deering, but he had to admit, the man was the only one who'd been half-civil to him, outside of Tessa and perhaps the bartender. He found the preacher in the shade of an oak beside the church, attempting to snub the bay gelding to the rough-barked trunk. "If you could just hold him a moment while I examine his hind foot.” Deering handed over the reins.

  "This is a fine looking horse," Micah said, as he held the animal steady and stroked the aristocratic nose.

  "It was a gift from the people of my previous congregation," Deering explained as he bent over the horse's left hind foot. "A token of their esteem."

  Micah thought of his Mexican silver saddle. The officers at Fort Inge had presented it to him after he'd saved a group of them from ambush along the Nueces River.

  "They knew I'd need a good horse if I was to carry out my calling.”

  "Your calling to preach to the Indians?”

  "Of course.” Deering straightened, a thumb-sized ball of clay wedged on the end of his knife. "No wonder the poor beast was lame."

  What would it be like to know exactly what you were supposed to be doing with your life? On the day he'd been presented with the saddle, he thought he'd found his rightful place in the world, with work he enjoyed, men who respected him, and an enjoyable affair with a beautiful woman.

  Less than a month later, he'd been sneaking away in the middle of the night, his happiness blown away like so much chaff in the wind. "How do you know preaching to the Indians is really your calling?" he asked.

  Deering wiped the knife on his trouser leg and replaced it in the sheath at his side. "I suppose it comes from hours of prayer and meditation on the Lord's will.” He glanced up at Micah. "But the truth is, when you've found your calling, there really isn't anything else you can do. Every road keeps leading you back there.” He relieved Micah of the horse's reins. "Thanks for your help. Why don't you come in and I'll make a fresh pot of coffee? It's time we sat and had a real visit."

  Micah followed the preacher toward the little parsonage behind the church, Deering's words crowding his thoughts. The roads he'd been following had led him to Tessa, but how could he know that wasn't just another layover in a journey that didn't seem to be taking him anywhere?

  #

  After Micah left her, Tessa crossed the street and started toward the mercantile. Micah's story had filled her with a wrenching sadness she was having trouble shaking off. She felt for the orphaned boy and the outcast man. She knew what it was like to want acceptance among a people who turned their back on you, and the realization frightened her. She didn't want to care that much about him. Where she had thought his handsome face and body might be her downfall, she was beginning to see that the real danger lay in the way he touched her spirit. These growing moments of empathy between them tempted her more than the physical passion they shared. But she ought to know by now that the pleasure of giving in to her longing wouldn't be worth the pain that came later.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Bright.” Ada Drake hailed her from the steps of the store.

  Shaking off a lingering feeling of regret, Tessa pasted a smile on her face and returned Mrs. Drake's greeting. Still, smiling, she entered the store.

  "Hello, Mrs. Bright.” Bob Wilkins, the proprietor, looked up from cutting a plug of tobacco for Milo Adamson. "Be with you in a minute."

  "What a lovely dress." Ammie Smith passed on her way out the door and gave Tessa a friendly smile.

  "We have some new sateen muslin you might be interested in," Mrs. Wilkins told her as Tessa passed the dry goods department.

  This onslaught of friendliness made Tessa feel two inches taller. How different this was from the days when she'd entered the store and spoke to no one, and no one spoke to her. She supposed she had Reverend Deering and the Library Society to thank for the change, though perhaps her own attitude had made a transformation as well. It was much easier to smile and make small talk now that she no longer saw the townspeople as her enemies.

  "Mrs. Bright, I wonder if I might ask a favor of you?" Mamie Tucker hurried up to her as Mr. Wilkins was wrapping the last of Tessa's order.

  "Certainly, Mrs. Tucker.” Tessa smiled at the young woman in the white ruffled sunbonnet. "What is it?"

  "I was wondering if you would agree to host the next meeting of the Library Society? It's Tuesday after next. I volunteered to do so, but my oldest, George, has come down with a summer cold and I know from experience it's bound to work its way through all four children before it's done."

  Entertain the town ladies in her home? Tessa's smile wavered and she swallowed hard. "All right.” She took a deep breath and nodded. "I. . . I'd love to."

  "Wonderful.” Mrs. Tucker squeezed her hand. "See you Sunday, I'm sure."

  Tessa turned back to the storekeeper. "You'd better add another pound each of tea and sugar to my order.” She stood taller. "I'm hosting the Library Society in my home next week."

  “Will do, Mrs. Bright."

  She scarcely had time to recover from the shock of Mrs. Tucker's request when a familiar voice assailed her from across the room. "Tessa, darling. How delightful to see you!” Like a falcon descending on an unsuspecting dove, Margery Finch swept through the door and made a beeline for her friend. "I'm so glad you're here. You can help me find the perfect ribbon for my hat."

  "Margery. How nice to see you.” Tessa smiled and allowed Margery to lead her along to the hat section, where Mrs. Wilkins stocked a variety of ribbons, feathers, stuffed birds and other millinery ornaments.

  "Did you come to town alone, or did you bring that handsome redskin with you?" Margery selected a spool of ribbon and held it up to the light.

  Tessa flushed. "If you mean Mr. Fox, he's in town somewhere."

  "Well, of course I mean Micah Fox. Or are you hiding more than one good-looking Indian on your place?"

  Conscious of the stares of those around them, Tessa steered Margery to the end of the aisle, where she hoped they'd have more privacy. "Did you come all the way into town just to buy a hat ribbon?" she asked.

  Margery shaped her pretty mouth into a pout. "Alan is away on patrol and I'm bored half out of my mind. So I thought I'd have one of the boys drive me into town to see what fun I could stir up."

  Tessa looked toward the door. The 'boy' in question was a middle-aged sergeant who gazed after the major's wife with a smitten look on his face. Tessa frowned. She started to say something about how happily married women shouldn't be so interested in fun with the 'boys', but thought better of it. "I'll have you and Alan to dinner at my house soon. I know you'll enjoy that."

  "Oh yes, I will.” Margery tried a red ribbon, then selected a blue. "Maybe we should find Micah and persuade him to take us to dinner now."

  "I'm afraid I'll have to pass on that offer today, Mrs. Finch."

  Tessa was never going to get used to Micah's ability to sneak up on her. He was almost
as bad as Will! She whirled and saw him standing at the end of the aisle, Reverend Deering at his side. "The Reverend wanted a word with you, Mrs. Bright," Micah said formally.

  Deering beamed and advanced down the aisle to them. "Mr. Fox has relayed your kind invitation to visit one of the Indian encampments," he said.

  "Uh, yes. That's right. Chief Sun Bear has invited us to visit his camp. He wants to meet you."

  "And I am excited about the opportunity to meet him. Such an important personage could no doubt be a valuable ally in my mission work."

  Tessa craned her neck to look over the stacks of boxes and cans on either side of them. The aisles seemed uncommonly full. No doubt, within half an hour, it would be all over town that Tessa Bright and her half-breed ranch hand intended to pay a social call on a bunch of Indians. At least with Reverend Deering along, they could pass it off as missionary work. "I'm happy to help you with your work any time, Reverend," she said loudly.

  He grinned and pumped her hand. "Thank you, Mrs. Bright. And God bless you."

  Tessa sincerely hoped Deering was in touch with someone other than Will when he said his prayers. While Micah collected her purchases, she swept out of the store, followed by Deering and Margery. "I'll send that invitation soon," she told Margery as she climbed into her wagon. "I hope you have a nice afternoon in town."

  "I'm sure I will. I'm going to get the good reverend here to show me around.” Margery linked arms with a red-faced Reverend Deering. "You all be careful driving home now."

  Micah took up the reins and they set out. Tessa waved to a few people they passed, then sank back against the seat. "I guess it's just as well Reverend Deering's going with us," Micah said. "Maybe it will keep people from talking."

  "Yes," she murmured, a little wistful for the days when she hadn't cared for the opinion of others. Did respectability mean trading in all her freedom? She glanced at the man at her side, at his broad shoulders and the sculpted plains of his face. Or could she find a middle ground somewhere -- a middle ground that didn't leave Micah out?

  #

  Tessa, Micah, and Reverend Deering set out for the Indian encampment on a bright morning a week later. "The Lord has blessed us with a perfect day for traveling," Deering declared as they rode along.

  Tessa looked past him, at the tall grass rippling in a warm breeze, and the sunflowers and white prickly poppies dancing above the grasses and filling the air with a delicate scent. She breathed in deeply. "I wish I could bottle up a day like this and save it."

  "What would you do with it if you could save it?" Micah rode up beside her on Pigeon, who showed no sign of a return to her old runaway habits.

  She smiled. "I'd wait for some dark winter morning and take it out and let it loose. I'd remember how all the things that die in winter come back to life in spring.” She looked into his green eyes and felt as if something inside her was coming back to life as well. The thought frightened her, but she determined not to run from it.

  "How much farther do you think we have to go?" Deering asked, breaking the spell between them.

  "We passed the reservation boundary a little while ago," Micah said. "Chief Sun Bear said to follow the river to a creek with a lightening-struck cottonwood on its banks."

  They fell silent again. The gentle rocking of her horse and the heat of the sun sent Tessa into a doze.

  "There's the cottonwood!” Deering could hardly contain the excitement in his voice. Tessa looked up and saw an old tree trunk cleaved in half and lying on the creek bank. The men turned their horses to follow the boulder-strewn watercourse around a bend and she urged her horse into a trot to catch up with them.

  The village appeared suddenly around the curve. A dozen or so buffalo-hide tepees scattered along the waterside, with cook fires and drying frames before them. A dozen or more children splashed and raced through the water, while clusters of women worked hides or jerked meat nearby.

  A score or more dogs announced their arrival with a furious barking, and a trio of naked children squealed and hurried to their mothers. The rest of the population appeared not to notice the visitors, though Tessa felt sure their gazes followed them across the encampment.

  They headed for the tepee in the center of the group. Easily the largest shelter, its bearskin door was thrown aside to let in air and light. A woman worked outside the door, scraping the hair from a hide. At their approach, she rose and went inside.

  As they waited, Tessa began to wonder if they should go in also. Just then, Sun Bear came out to greet them. "Welcome," he said, a Comanche word she recognized.

  A young man came to take their horses, and the Chief ushered them into the tent. Micah led the way to a pile of skins opposite the door. They sat cross-legged, with Tessa between Micah and Deering, Sun Bear across from them.

  The woman pulled the bearskin door shut behind them. After the brightness and openness of out of doors, the interior of the tepee was dark and stifling. Tessa blinked, trying to focus in the sudden dimness. A rush of odors assailed her -- sweat and grease and burning cedar. Sun Bear poked at the small fire in the center of the room and coaxed a thin flame from the embers.

  "This is fascinating," Deering whispered. Tessa nodded, afraid to speak.

  The woman who had been working in front of the tepee -- Tessa supposed she was Sun Bear's wife -- brought the four of them hide bowls filled with some sort of meat stew. Micah nodded his thanks and began to eat with his fingers. Tessa and Deering stared at theirs. She wondered what kind of meat this was. She had heard stories. . .

  Micah nudged her with his elbow. "Eat it," he said under his breath. "Do you want to offend your friend?"

  Holding her breath, she scooped a chunk of meat onto her fingers and raised it to her lips. Slightly greasy, a little chewy, but not very different from beef. She looked toward Sun Bear and nodded, hoping he would take her actions for approval.

  While she ate, she looked around the tepee. It was bigger inside than she would have imagined, with raised areas like beds for sleeping, and stacks of blankets, pouches and bowls arranged around the room. Soon more Indians began arriving and taking their places. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a number of men, some she recognized from their visits to the ranch. They wore solemn expressions, though whether suspicious or merely dignified, she couldn't judge.

  When they had finished eating, the woman came and removed their bowls and brought a pipe. Sun Bear made a ceremony of lighting the little clay bowl, holding it out to the four directions, and saying words which she took to be a kind of prayer.

  She held her breath as the pipe came toward her, but Micah did not offer it to her, passing it on to Reverend Deering. The preacher took a small puff on the pipe and began coughing, but he smiled and nodded and passed it to the next man.

  As the men talked, Tessa studied the other occupants of the room. She was one of three women in the tepee. She'd already decided that the older woman who had waited on them was Sun Bear's wife. A younger, prettier woman tended a baby in a cradleboard. Was she the chief's daughter?

  The older woman met Tessa's gaze with a challenging stare, but the younger woman smiled before turning her attention back to the baby. Tessa could see little more of the child than a thick shock of black hair on top of its head. The rest of it was laced into the cradle board. There'd been a time, when her marriage to Will was still young, when Tessa would have felt a sharp pang of envy for the woman with the baby. Over time, she'd come to accept that she might never have children of her own. Acceptance took the edge from her pain, though nothing could wipe it away completely.

  She turned her attention to the men once more, watching their faces as they spoke. "What are they saying?" Reverend Deering leaned over and whispered in her ear.

  She shook her head. "I don't know."

  Micah's face was as unrevealing in its expression as those around him. Tessa watched him as if seeing him for the first time. With his long black hair, his skin gleaming brown in the firelight, he could ea
sily have been one of the chief's warriors, for all he was dressed in white men's clothes.

  He spoke in the low, guttural tones of the Comanche language, and leaned forward to study a drawing the chief made in the dirt. Tessa felt a heaviness in her stomach. She had thought she was coming to know Micah better, and yet she knew so little. He seemed to have forgotten about her, though she was sitting close enough to touch him.

  She felt a light hand on her shoulder, and turned to see the younger woman standing behind her, smiling. She beckoned Tessa to follow her. With a last glance at Micah, and a farewell wave to Reverend Deering, Tessa followed the Indian girl out into the bright sunlight.

  The girl had the baby strapped on her back now, a headband holding the cradleboard steady. She faced Tessa outside the tent and the two women studied each other. They were about the same height, similar in build, but the similarities stopped there. The Comanche woman's hair was dark and shiny with grease, parted in the middle and chopped off to chin length. She reached out and gently patted Tessa's own piled hairdo, and giggled.

  Tessa smiled nervously, and glanced back over her shoulder at the tepee. Her new friend made a face, and made a sign with her hands like a gobbling turkey, and another sign for time passing. Tessa nodded. "You're right. They'll talk like that for hours."

  The girl pointed to herself. "Queneceah," she said, making the signs for Eagle and Feather. So her name was Eagle Feather. Then she pointed at Tessa.

  "Tessa. My name is Tessa.” The name seemed simple, and even drab, compared to her new friend's colorful appellation.

  Eagle Feather nodded and took her hand. "Tes-Sah," she repeated, leading the way across the camp.

  They passed a group of woman piling firewood inside a circle of stones, and Eagle Feather explained in sign that they were building a bonfire for the celebration tonight. She made the sign for a buffalo running, then indicated an arrow being fired. Then she showed the buffalo dancing. Tessa could see the action. She wanted to applaud the young woman's storytelling abilities, but merely nodded in understanding.

  They continued across the compound to another tepee, where two older women sat cutting up meat to dry. "Tes-Sah," Eagle Feather introduced her. She pointed to the oldest of the women, whose braids showed streaks of iron. "Tabanavood.” Painted Sun. The younger woman, who was plump and round as a dove, was Parriasaermin, meaning Ten Elks.

  Tessa nodded in greeting. Eagle Feather began to talk with much animation, occasionally pointing to Tessa and giggling. Tessa heard her own name again, and Sun Bear's. Eagle Feather drew in the air a tall, handsome man. Tessa's smile broadened. She was talking about Micah!

  Then Eagle Feather pointed to Tessa's hair and touched her skirt. She made a motion like dancing, and the sign for fire and buffalo again. Tessa frowned, confused.

  Ten Elks was frowning, too, but Painted Sun grinned a toothless grin and nodded. She stood and took Tessa's hand.

  The women led her into the tepee, a smaller tent with its own glowing fire. They smiled and chattered, and Tessa smiled too, unsure what to expect, but wanting to fit in.

  Her smile vanished and she let out a cry when Ten Elks grabbed her dress and tried to raise it up over her head. She pulled away and backed into the corner, staring at her hosts, fighting back fear.

  Eagle Feather shook her head and took Tessa's hand again, drawing her from the corner. She touched Tessa's skirt, then pointed to her own clothes. She said something to Ten Elks and the old woman lifted a deerskin dress from a bundle of skins on the floor.

  Eagle Feather handed the dress to Tessa and indicated she was supposed to put it on. Then she made the signs for a bonfire, buffalo, and a tall, handsome man.

  Tessa laughed, understanding dawning. They meant to dress her up for tonight's celebration, as a surprise for Micah. And what a surprise that would be! She obligingly began to unfasten the many buttons down the front of her bodice. Three pairs of dark eyes watched her every move as she removed first the bodice and skirt, then four petticoats and a lace-edged camisole. Possessed by a spirit of daring, she divested herself of her confining corset, so that at last she stood before them clad only in stockings, drawers and chemise.

  Eagle Feather reached out and fingered the fine lace and cambric of the camisole, then tried it around her own torso and grinned. Tessa slipped the deerskin dress on over her chemise and drawers. The hide was butter-soft and decorated with hundreds of beads and tiny shells. The fringed hem had little pieces of tin tied on the ends, so that when Tessa walked across the tepee, a sound like bells followed her.

  She traded her riding boots for long, fringed moccasins. Then Ten Elks removed the pins from her hair and let it fall loosely around her shoulders. She pushed Tessa down onto a pile of deerskins and set about braiding the brown strands.

  Painted Sun brought a pot of red paint and painted a stripe down the part of Tessa's hair, and Eagle Feather wrapped the ends of her braids with strips of beaver fur.

  The three women stood back to admire their work. Tessa did not need a mirror to know they had changed her into someone who would truly fit in at tonight's celebration.