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Tears filled Joylynn’s eyes as she slid a hand to her belly. What grew inside her was memory enough of that day. Why did she have to constantly relive the worst time of her life in her recurring dreams?
She knew why. She could not let herself forget even one thing about that man who had raped her. Afterward, he had stood over her ravaged, naked body, one foot on her belly as he took the time to smoke a cigarillo.
Once he had finished his smoke, he had viciously strangled her, leaving her for dead. He had left the heavy bag of mail behind. All he had wanted that day was her body.
But somehow she had survived his strangling, gasping for air after he had left the forest.
Defiled, in pain, with his fingerprints marring her throat, she had finally managed to get on her horse, which Mole had carelessly left behind. Perhaps he was so satisfied with what he had achieved, her horse had slipped his mind.
Joylynn had decided not to complete her mail run. She had not wanted anyone to see her in that state . . . to know she had been raped.
Realizing someone would come to check on her if she didn’t arrive at her destination in time, she managed to hang the mail bag in a tree, low enough to be seen. Whoever came searching for her would find the mailbag and see to it that the mail was delivered to its rightful destinations.
Joylynn had then gone home and bathed and made plans. She had left for parts unknown to anyone. All she wanted was to hide from the world. If she was pregnant as a result of the rape, she would have to make a decision about what to do with the baby when it was born.
She did know that she could not raise a child of rape. And she was also certain that she would find the sonofabitch who had done this to her.
Finally, she had reached a place where she could make her temporary home, far from anyone who knew her. The abandoned cabin, set deep into the forest, suited her needs perfectly.
She had been lucky. Although everything was dusty and old, the cabin was partly furnished. There was enough furniture for her to get by for the short time she planned to live there.
Even a kerosene lamp, half filled with kerosene, had been left in the cabin, and also books, yellowed, with some pages missing.
She had gone to the closest town and bought enough supplies to last many months, and a wagon with which to transport them. She had even bought seed to plant a garden. Then she had left civilization behind.
“And here I am, in Nebraska, and definitely pregnant,” she whispered to herself.
She had counted herself to be twelve weeks along and was now beginning to show, but only barely. Someone who knew pregnancy well would recognize that she was with child.
But no one else could tell, not yet anyhow. Though soon they would be able to. That was why she was staying hidden now, with enough food and supplies to last until after the child was born.
She had finally made a decision about the child. After the baby was born, she would take it to the nearest church and leave it on a pew at the front of the church so that the minister would quickly see the tiny bundle wrapped in a blanket.
She could not, would not, rais
e this child.
Angry that she had had the nightmare again, Joylynn went outside in the moonlight to get a breath of fresh air, and to check on her chestnut stallion, which she had named Swiftie.
She had built a small corral not far from the cabin for her beloved steed. If not for her horse, she would be all alone in the world.
Yes, they were best friends. She was glad that the evil man hadn’t taken Swiftie that day, for without her stallion, she was not sure she could have survived this life of isolation and loneliness.
Tears shone in her eyes as Joylynn stroked the stallion’s sleek mane. When a loon cried its eerie call somewhere close by the creek, the sound made Joylynn’s loneliness twofold. In her mind’s eye she saw her father, his rusty-red hair blowing in the breeze as he rode his white mare alongside Joylynn after giving her the beloved chestnut stallion.
Those days were oh, so long gone. She wondered what the future now held for her. In her eyes it looked nothing but bleak. . . .
CHAPTER THREE
The moon was high and bright in the sky as High Hawk and his warriors rode toward home, with several head of horses secured behind them.
High Hawk felt he had stolen enough horses for the night, at least enough to appease his father. Once again, he had raided the Sioux, proving his cunning at stealing horses from the enemy.
To his people, captured horses were the legitimate spoils of war. The wealth of the Pawnee was in their horses.
He smiled at how easy it had been to take the animals. At least a hundred powerful steeds had been grazing on land a short distance from the Sioux village.
It had been as easy as a falcon sweeping from the sky to capture a snake within its talons.
