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Chapter Eleven
While Taran helped Finn with his lean-to, Paige helped scrub out the cooking pots from lunch, turning what she’d learned from Elsie, over and over in her mind. Everything Elsie had said about Austin was the complete opposite of the man Paige knew.
Despite the hurtful letters scratched into the cave wall—which surely had a valid explanation—it was difficult to believe the villagers were describingherAustin.
“More water?” The woman called Lisette asked in her pretty French accent. She handed Paige a bucket and pointed to the well.
Happy Lisette could at least speak a little English, Paige nodded. She’d tried asking the other women gathered there about Austin, but they either didn’t recognize his name or didn’t understand, so she’d finally given up. Even so, the language barrier hadn’t slowed the work down, and they’d laughed together over her comical attempts to pantomime. Ruefully, she wished she’d paid more attention to other language options in school. Regardless, she was pleased to have made new friends, even if only temporary.
It seemed Taran too, was making acquaintances. When she’d walked back from her lunch with Elsie, she’d seen him talking and laughing with a small group of men. She wasn’t surprised. He was incredibly likeable. Loveable even, she mused. If one were to let themselves consider such a thing.
Finally, with all the metal and clay pots scrubbed and stacked, the women dispersed to let Lisette’s husband haul in a fresh stack of chopped wood and prep the fire-pits for tomorrow’s lunch.
Promising to come early and help, Paige said goodbye, grateful for the last couple of hours of diversion, and went in search of somewhere else she could lend a hand. She much preferred staying busy over being alone with her thoughts, wondering—assuming the rumors were true—how Austin could have preferred staying idle with so much work to be done around him.
Walking through the village, head down, Paige chewed on her thumbnail as she pondered Elsie’s words about Austin somehow learning she was here. She’d insinuated there was a spy or go-between in the village. If she just knew who that was, maybe they’d take her to Austin, and she wouldn’t have to wait for him to come to her.
What kind of hold could the so-called ‘Others’ have over Austin, that he would go along with them, let alone condone their actions?
Why choose them over the village? Life here would be difficult enough, but in the forest, moving around like Nomads? It just didn’t make sense. Especially if the winters were as harsh as Elsie had been told.
“Watch out!” A harsh woman’s voice sliced into Paige’s thoughts. “Watch where you’re going.”
Darting out of the way, Paige looked up to see a sixty-ish woman with flowing gray hair sneering in her direction. Somehow, she’d managed to pour her large frame into a pair of faded overalls and cinched a belt so tight at her waist, Paige wanted to take a breath for her. “Excuse me,” Paige muttered. “I didn’t see you.”
“Obviously.” Pressing her lips into a tight line, the woman perched her basket of reeds and willows on one hip. “So, you’re the new transplant.” She looked Paige up and down. “Don’t look like much to me. Don’t know what all the fuss was about.”
“Fuss?” Paige asked, looking around.
“There’s always a fuss over a newbie,” the woman groused. “Where’s your man?”
“My man?” They thought Taran belonged to her? Though wrong, it pleased her immensely. “He’s working.”
“Why aren’t you?”
“I just finished,” she explained, pointing back toward the well and fire pits.
“Banker’s hours?” the woman taunted.
Refusing to be baited, Paige laughed and held her hand out. “You must be from the U.S. as well. I’m Paige Williams. And you are?”
The woman shifted her basket to her other hip but ignored Paige’s outstretched hand.
“Wilma,” she finally said, letting the edges of her tight lips curve a little. “Here.” She shoved the basket at Paige and walked deeper into the village. She’d gone a dozen feet when she stopped and turned back. “You coming, Newbie Paige? Or are you just going to stand there with my basket?”
Unsure what else to do, Paige hurried to catch up. It didn’t take long to figure out they were headed to the tepee.
Ducking under the flap, Wilma nodded to the Native American woman. “Aiesha.”
“Wilma,” the woman grunted back.
Tossing a thumb over her shoulder as Paige followed her inside, Wilma did the introductions. “Paige.”
Aiesha nodded her greeting.
Paige had never been inside a tepee. It was beautiful and so spacious. Like Old Man’s home, a fire burned in the center, and around the perimeter tidy sections of perfect organization set the spaces apart.
Piled furs made a comfortable looking bed in one area, while clay pots, wooden bowls and cooking pots hung from support poles in another. Baskets in several stages of completion dotted the floor around a fur rug. Nearby was a pile of willows and reeds like the ones in Wilma’s basket.
