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After learning so much about her past and George Whaley’s role in it, Shoshana could no longer call him father as she had done until the truth of her background had been disclosed to her.
When she was lost in another world, when she could not recall anything of her past, she had called George Whaley father.
But not now!
Never again would she address him as father!
But she, who had had so much love and respect for her adoptive mother, still thought of her as the woman who’d taken her in and raised her with all the love of a mother.
Although Shoshana remembered her true mother so very clearly now, she still thought of Dorothea Whaley with the same affection as always.
And even though her adoptive mother had died a year ago from a heart attack, it still seemed strange that she was not there each day with her sweet smile and hugs that always prompted Shoshana to start her own day with a smile.
Today Shoshana was too confused by the dream to smile even if Dorothea had been there.
The dream. What could it mean? It seemed so real!
When she heard a click-clack sound from beyond the door where she now stood with a pounding heart, she knew that George Whaley was coming to the door.
He had a wooden leg, from the knee down.
His right leg had been damaged irreparably by an arrow a few days after he had saved Shoshana and taken her to raise as his own with his wife, who had never been able to have children.
Shoshana and George were now at Fort Chance near the Piñaleno Mountains, a place of beauty so enchanting, it had taken Shoshana’s breath away the first time she had laid eyes on it.
The mountain had a mystical, haunting quality about it, as though—
Her thoughts were interrupted when the door opened and she saw George Whaley standing there, staring down at her with his pale blue eyes. He leaned his weight on a fancy, pearl-handled cane.
Shoshana was struck again by how much he had changed since the death of his wife. His face was lean. His lips had a purplish hue from his own weak heart.
And instead of the thick crop of red hair that she had first noticed that day when he had swept her up onto his horse with him, he was now bald. His frame was no longer large, but instead shrunken and bent.
But in his eyes, Shoshana saw the same love for her that she had seen from as far back as she could remember. His feelings for her surely could not be any more genuine than if he were her true father.
And she had called him father, up until she discovered truths that made him more a stranger than a father.
Now, no matter the hurt it caused him, she only called him father when she was forced to do so.
Suddenly she was again overwhelmed by the dream that had only moments ago awakened her. She felt tears building in her eyes as George took her gently by an arm and ushered her into his bedroom.
“Shoshana, tell me what’s wrong,” he said, turning to gaze intently into her dark eyes.
More and more these days he was struck by her loveliness. It would be difficult to find anyone who displayed more grace, dignity, and self-possession.
And not only that . . . she was blessed by innate good sense.
She was petite in stature.
Her hair was like her Apache people’s, black and glossy.
Her eyes were very large, dark, and lustrous.
He knew that if she had remained with her people, she would have been the pet of her tribe, who were called “Stately Ones.”
Almost in one breath, Shoshana told him about the dream. “What can it mean?” she asked when she had related the most intriguing part of the dream . . . about the eagle carrying her Apache mother away, then telling her that her mother, Fawn, was still alive.
“Could it be real?” she asked, her eyes anxiously searching his. “Could she be alive? You know how my dreams have often foretold things that later happen. Can this dream mean that my mother is alive?”
