"Truly, there is, and I will tell it to you," answered Czanna. "But, do not say any of what I am about to tell you to Mr. Henrik when he returns, nor to Lilike."
György stuck out his chin, raising it into the air. He said, "I may be young, but I am not as unaware as you seem to think I am."
"I do not believe you to be unaware, my brother. Rather, I fear the news is very bad." Czanna swallowed once, then again, before saying, "I received word that our parents and our brother, Frederic, are alive no longer. They were hung a few months ago."
György said not a word even as the color drained from his face. Then, without warning, he burst into tears. Taking hold of the letter Czanna had placed into the bodice of her gown, she drew it out and offered her brother the post from Sebestyn. "Here," she said, "you can read it yourself, if you wish."
Quickly, György took hold of the letter and read it through. Upon completion, his face drained of even more color, causing him to appear as though he had washed his face in wet, white clayinstead of water. Glancing up at Czanna, even his brown eyes looked pale as he asked, "Are we going back to Hungary, then?"
"We cannot," answered Czanna. "I promised Frederic we would never return to Hungary. He was insistent about this…very insistent. He even demanded I give him my word on it, and I did. Under no circumstance, he told me, were we to return to Hungary. Besides, if our parents and Frederic are no longer alive, there is no safe harbor there for us. Frederic's last instruction to me was to take you and Béla away and bring you both here to America; he entrusted me to make a new life for us all in the American West. He begged me to speak to no one about who we are, not even telling others we are Hungarian. It is why we have no clothes with us, and it is because the manner in which we would be dressed might cause another to learn what our true nationality is. This includes never speaking in our native tongue, not even to one another. Indeed, I have been considering that we should change our names. And now, with Frederic and our parents gone, I am convinced of one other detail I had not considered until now: we must have American names."
György nodded. "You are right, Sister."
Czanna inhaled deeply, then said, "Let us do it now. I think my name is American sounding enough that it could remain the same. Do you agree?"
"I do," replied György.
"Good. Then, we might Americanize your name to George instead of György. It is almost the same, but with a little different pronunciation. Also, we must change our last name from Fehér to…" She hesitated, frowning. Their family name would be, perhaps, the most important aspect about them to require a change. "What do you think of the surname, Finley? Or perhaps Farrell?"
"They are both good. But, I think I like Farrell best," said George.
"Then, it shall be Farrell."
"And Béla?" asked George. "What should our baby sister's name be?"
"Let me think for a moment. Béla is much too European sounding. I believe Briella is an American name, and its sound is much like Béla's own. What do you think of calling her Briella?"
"I like it," answered George. "But, we must also change Lilike's name. Perhaps we could keep it the same, only pronounce it differently. I believe the name Liliann is American."
"I think you are right. Then, Liliann it is. We shall tell her about the different pronunciation at once. But, we must not say anything to her about what has taken place back home. Are we agreed about what our actions must and must not be?"
"Yes," said George.
"Good. Then come, let us eat what food we have with us for breakfast. Then we shall hitch the horses up to the wagon, saddle your horse and be on our way. In this manner, we might be able to take advantage of the remaining daylight to get us as close to Fort Benton as possible. I simply wish we did not have to face making the journey alone."
As Czanna looked behind her toward the direction of the cliff where she had met Stands Strong, she wondered if he had, indeed, followed her. And, if he had done so, and if she could make him aware of their troubles, would he offer to help them?
He had said he would follow her without himself being seen. At the time, she had told him it was unnecessary. But, now she could only hope he had not taken her advice too seriously and had, indeed, trailed her, perhaps becoming aware of her plight.
Silently, she said a prayer, asking the Lord to please make it be so.
***
From the rim of the treeless rise in the land, Stands Strong lay flat on his stomach and watched the white woman, Czanna, trod back toward what was clearly a white man's wagon. But, there was only one of the prairie wagons, not the many she haddescribed to him. Had she lied? Or was this an indication of trouble of a different sort?
He dismissed the lie, however, if it had been one. She had been alone with no one to protect her against him if she had found him to be an enemy. Only a fool would have told the truth in such a circumstance.
Still, he wondered about her plight; she had been close to tears more than once during the short interval when they had spoken to one another. What had been the cause of her grief?
He recalled now how difficult it had been to follow her and remain unseen. The reason for this was, of course, because the wide prairie provided few places to conceal oneself.
But, a well-trained scout could always use the environment to fade into it, and Stands Strong had used his rifle to dig a trench in the dry dirt and sand. When done, he had set several patches of grass around the pit as a shield. In this manner, he’d been able to look out upon his surroundings without himself being detected.
As he gazed down upon the flat plains extending out in all directions, he could clearly see the one, lone wagon with its white, cloud-like covering blowing in the constant winds of the prairie. But, assuming Czanna had been honest with him and there had been more wagons the previous evening, where were they now? And, most importantly, if they were gone, why had they left without her and her family?
From his position, he watched as an older man strode around the front of the wagon to greet Czanna. Stands Strong waited for the inevitable hug between the man and the woman, assuming the white man to be her husband or perhaps her father.
But, there was no hug, nor could Stands Strong detect there was even a moment of cheerfulness in their greeting. Instead, the manner in which they spoke to each other suggested they might share no special relationship; there was too much distance between them to believe they held a unique relationship. Even their hand motions did not suggest any particular affection or intimacy.
