Page 15 of Wagon Train Dreams
“My mother makes good pemmican.”
“I’m sure she does.” She stroked her thumb along the back of her hand. “Joe, when I heard those shots…”
Did he hear her swallow? Did her eyes grow dark, and her lips draw back?
She left off watching her thumb run back and forth to look directly at him. “I thought you’d been shot.” The words came out in a tight whisper.
“And it mattered?” Of course, it did. He was their scout. The one who promised to get them safely to Fort Taylor. Though, ifthey had to, they could turn north until they came to the railroad tracks. Even if trains and strangers terrified Bertie, they’d find someone to help them. Joe wasn’t the only one who could show them the way.
He didn’t remember eating, but his plate was clean. He set it aside.
“I didn’t want you to be hurt.” Her eyes claimed his attention. What was she telling him?
“I’m not hurt.”
She nodded. “I’m glad.”
A thousand fractured thoughts raced through his head. Only one made sense. Did she see him as more than a scout? But that was impossible. And she needed to know it.
“No.”
Her eyes widened. “No? What do you mean?” Her gaze pierced him. Then she blinked as if his denial made sense. “I want us to be friends.”
The slight hesitation before she said friends told him all he needed to know. “Hazel, you are a beautiful woman with a sweet young son.”
She nodded again, a demanding look narrowing her eyes.
“Your hair is like sunshine.” If he’d thought ahead, he’d have used other words. “Mine is black as midnight.”
“What are you saying?”
Please don’t make me say it aloud. But she waited.
“You are a white woman. I am half Native.”
Something flickered through her eyes. Ah. So she understood.
She rolled her head back and forth. “Some things shouldn’t matter.”
“What things?”
“People’s judgments.” She spoke with vigor. “They need to change.”
“I agree, but change takes time.” It wouldn’t happen overnight. Or perhaps not in his lifetime. “I know what it’s like to face those judgments.”
“Tell me.”
“Very well.” Hearing it from his lips might help her change her mind. His gaze drifted past her, past the trees to one time—“The Natives were to sign a treaty with Queen Victoria and officials from Canada. The Natives came together at Fort Qu’Appelle for a powwow before the event. Thousands of them. Drumming, dancing, and much activity. I was maybe twelve or thirteen, but it was the first time I’d seen this. I wanted to be part of it, so I joined one of the groups.” He paused to settle the hurt that still lived inside.
“Joe, what happened?” A voice like sweet birdsong drew him back to the present.
“A young buck drove me away. Said I wasn’t one of them.” Before she responded, he hurried on. “I went to several camps. Got the same response.” He plucked the last blade of grass from the circle before him.
“Why would they say that?”
“Because my father was a white man, and I’d been raised at the fort.”
“Surely, Natives went back and forth. And wasn’t your mother from one of the tribes?”
