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Clay stared at the girl. "Do you want to go back with them?"
She seemed to think about his question before answering. "No," she met his gaze now. "My father risked his life to come get me, I will stay with him. Before my mother died, she told me he would come for me, and that I must go with him." She said, as she hovered over her child. "My husband is dead; I have nothing to go back to. Besides, on the reservation I'm just another mouth to feed, and they don't need that. My baby is a little over two months, I will not leave him with them. I will die first."
Clay turned all his attention on the Indians. They were not going to give up.
An hour of fighting wore them all down. The ammunition was getting low, arrows were all over the place, and Clay was scrambling for ideas on how to run them off. The rain had finally stopped.
But Clay glanced at his father and noticed an arrow sticking out of his arm.
"Dad!" He shouted and came up to him.
The girl came too and pushed Clay away. She had lain her baby down on a blanket in the other room, then rushed to Charlie's side. "I will take care of him."
Clay stared at her a minute, then nodded.
William turned to his daughter, "I couldn't leave you there Willa, you'd have starved…"
Willa nodded. "I know… It was my mother's wish that I be with you, I will stay, and so will my son."
About that time an arrow pierced William's back and he fell to the floor, dead, Clay realized by the blank stare in his eyes.
Willa ran to him and cried, "Father…. You cannot die now… I won't allow it." She said as tears rolled down her cheeks.
Clay shot her a look of sympathy.
With silent tears she looked up at him, their eyes meeting. "I am sorry, I have brought this on you. I will go… " She moved toward the door, after gathering her child in her arms.
"No… " Charlie hollered from the bunk in the far corner. "You stay put. Your pa didn't want you with them, you won't go. We'll handle this." Charlie shook his head adamantly.
She had pulled the arrow from Charlie's arm, and bandaged his wound as though she were well used to doing such things. He stood up now and got his gun.
After Charlie and Clay managed to shoot three or four of them, they gave up and left.
Clay slid to the floor with a long hard sigh. "They'll probably be back."
"Maybe…" his father shot him a glance.
Charlie stared at the girl, who was nursing her child right in front of them.
Clay's mouth fell open. He'd been prepared for a lot of things, but not this. He couldn't pull his gaze from her now; it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. She had draped a soft blanket over her shoulder and was staring lovingly down at her child. She wasn't exposed but the way she smiled at her child lit her face, and Clay swallowed hard at the beauty of the moment. It hit him in the gut, as though just now aware of a woman who would nurse her child in front of him. Still, she was Indian and to them it was commonplace, Clay reasoned.
But the sudden notion that he had no idea what to do with this woman hit him square in the face, too. His dad was hurt, her dad was dead, and that left, him, the girl, and the baby.
The Indians had gone, but Clay was sure they hadn't heard the last of it.
Chapter Three
"What are we going to do with her?" Clay asked his father the next day as he gathered the eggs and his father followed along, carrying the kitchen scratch bowl and pitching it on the ground. The chickens quickly gathered around them. They'd spent the entire morning pulling arrows off the cabin exterior. Charlie absently rubbed his hurt arm.
"Not sure yet. Her father just died yesterday, son. It ain't right to boot her out so soon." Charlie insisted. "We'll bury him today and see what she wants to do."
"Well, she can't stay here!" Clay shouted. His father's head jerked up and stared at him.
"Why not? We need a cook."
Unaware that the girl was standing not far from them now Clay was embarrassed she'd heard him.
"I will go." She bent her head, turned and went back toward the house. Misery was clearly written on her face, and the slump of her shoulders.
