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It was one of his favorite places to spend time.
After getting an orange and peeling it, Wolf Dancer sat down on a thick pelt on the second-story balcony that overlooked his village. As he enjoyed the orange, he watched his people: The adults went about doing their daily chores, while the children were happily romping and playing amongst themselves.
His mind returned to the white woman who was now widowed. He would go and watch her some more as he planned how to get her away from the evil white man who had widowed her.
From what little he had observed today, he’d noticed that she had two children with her. One was black, surely a child of a slave, and the other was white-skinned, an exact replica of the woman, with her same golden hair and pretty face.
Surely this white child was the woman’s daughter. The child, too, must be in despair over the loss of her father.
In time, Wolf Dancer would save her as well from the clutches of the evil man, providing her mother would let him come into their lives to help them.
It had been many moons since he had allowed himself to be infatuated by a woman. His wife, Pretty Butterfly, had died after being together as man and wife for just one night.
An alligator had killed her the next day. It had found its way onto the island while his wife wasaway from the village, searching for turtles for her cook pot.
It had taken him years to begin getting over his loss, but now that much time had elapsed, he knew his heart was healed enough for him to love a woman again.
Yes, he did hunger now, not only for a woman, but also for a family of his own.
Driven to know whether the white woman was alright, Wolf Dancer left his home and went to check on Joshua. After discovering him sleeping peacefully, he continued on to his canoe and slid it back into the river.
His heart beat with an anticipation that he had not felt for years. Each stroke of the paddle taking him closer to the white woman made him realize just how empty his life had been without a woman in it to share laughter and conversation with him.
Yes, he would observe what was happening at the huge plantation house. He would make certain that the widow and her daughter were safe enough for the time being, until he decided how he could claim them both as his own!
And he would.
Somehow…he…would!
Chapter Five
Dost thou love life?
Then do not squander time, for that’s the
stuff life is made of.
—Benjamin Franklin
Unable to stop thinking about what had happened on this fateful day—the murder and burial of her poor husband—Lavinia scooted lower in her bed and covered her head with her blanket.
Sobs racked her body as she relived the moment when she had seen her husband lying dead in Hiram’s arms, an arrow in his chest.
She still couldn’t believe that the peaceful Seminole Indians who made their home in the nearby swamp could be responsible.
In fact, she was certain that they weren’t.
Did that mean another band of Indians also lived somewhere near?
If so, no one had ever mentioned their causing problems before.
&
nbsp; The slaves worked safely in the fields, and Lavinia came and went in her horse and buggy when she pleased.
Some inner sense told her that whoever had killed husband had used an arrow to make it look as though Indians were responsible.
But who would have wanted to kill Virgil?
