excerpt from Flight of Little Dove
Posted: Sun Mar 26, 2017 8:11 pm
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America's Frontier, 1870
...
Dozens of Indians descended on the stagecoach. Arrows flew, filling the sky. Bodies lay bleeding and motionless in the dust. Cries of terror, pain, and agony echoed in the valley. Crouching in fear, Emma gripped the rock she hid behind so hard her fingers burned.
When silence fell, she watched from the shelter of her rock as the Indians ransacked the stagecoach and gathered the horses. The guide, driver, and two passengers lay dead, their bodies twisted and soaked in a pool of blood.
The piercing shrill of a woman's cry for help raised goosebumps on Emma's skin.
A woman trapped against the boulders prayed aloud: "Father, please protect me from these savages".
As the Indians closed in, the woman begged for her life.
"Come now!" Emma whispered from behind the boulders. "Please, come now and we can escape." She even risked extending a hand when the woman didn't move. Emma anxiously pointed to her horse, hoping she'd run to the animal with her.
"Are you one of them?" the woman said as she sobbed.
"No, I can help you." Emma realized then that her Cheyenne garb confused the woman.
"Please, call them off. I will give you anything of value."
Rather than endanger both their lives, Emma stayed hidden behind the rocks, crouched down, and slid a gun she'd taken from Deer Shadow's belongings to the fearful woman. "Use this against them."
"Holy Father, if this is to be my salvation, then so be it." The woman held the gun and looked up at the sky. A shot rang out and the woman dropped to the ground. Horrified, Emma realized the woman had taken her own life. Emma clutched her stomach and forced herself to stay hidden behind the boulders.
After the Indians tore at the dead woman's clothes, rummaged through her belongings and stole some trinkets, they left howling like wolves across the prairie. Savages. The word haunted her. She hadn't heard it since living among her own people.
She waited until the war party was long gone before running to the dead woman's body. It took all her might, but she dragged the body to a cove in the boulder where the animals were less likely to find it. The vultures gathered overhead as she covered the body with small rocks and said a silent prayer.
Emma repacked the woman's valise and discovered her future. A journal revealed the dead woman's identity: Margaret Bridalson, a spinster schoolteacher traveling from Philadelphia to the town of Banksville in the Colorado territory. She fervently read the journal for a second time, knowing each page took her closer to a better life.
Encouraged by what she'd learned, she donned the woman's garb. Although the loose fitting dress was blood stained, she didn't have the time to go through the valise. Nor did she want to appear unscathed.
Pulling the braid out of her long, auburn hair, she dragged her hands through it. The boots were far too big, but Emma preferred that to tightness. Fear and doubt twisted a knot in her gut as she struggled to walk in the cumbersome attire and boots.
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America's Frontier, 1870
...
Dozens of Indians descended on the stagecoach. Arrows flew, filling the sky. Bodies lay bleeding and motionless in the dust. Cries of terror, pain, and agony echoed in the valley. Crouching in fear, Emma gripped the rock she hid behind so hard her fingers burned.
When silence fell, she watched from the shelter of her rock as the Indians ransacked the stagecoach and gathered the horses. The guide, driver, and two passengers lay dead, their bodies twisted and soaked in a pool of blood.
The piercing shrill of a woman's cry for help raised goosebumps on Emma's skin.
A woman trapped against the boulders prayed aloud: "Father, please protect me from these savages".
As the Indians closed in, the woman begged for her life.
"Come now!" Emma whispered from behind the boulders. "Please, come now and we can escape." She even risked extending a hand when the woman didn't move. Emma anxiously pointed to her horse, hoping she'd run to the animal with her.
"Are you one of them?" the woman said as she sobbed.
"No, I can help you." Emma realized then that her Cheyenne garb confused the woman.
"Please, call them off. I will give you anything of value."
Rather than endanger both their lives, Emma stayed hidden behind the rocks, crouched down, and slid a gun she'd taken from Deer Shadow's belongings to the fearful woman. "Use this against them."
"Holy Father, if this is to be my salvation, then so be it." The woman held the gun and looked up at the sky. A shot rang out and the woman dropped to the ground. Horrified, Emma realized the woman had taken her own life. Emma clutched her stomach and forced herself to stay hidden behind the boulders.
After the Indians tore at the dead woman's clothes, rummaged through her belongings and stole some trinkets, they left howling like wolves across the prairie. Savages. The word haunted her. She hadn't heard it since living among her own people.
She waited until the war party was long gone before running to the dead woman's body. It took all her might, but she dragged the body to a cove in the boulder where the animals were less likely to find it. The vultures gathered overhead as she covered the body with small rocks and said a silent prayer.
Emma repacked the woman's valise and discovered her future. A journal revealed the dead woman's identity: Margaret Bridalson, a spinster schoolteacher traveling from Philadelphia to the town of Banksville in the Colorado territory. She fervently read the journal for a second time, knowing each page took her closer to a better life.
Encouraged by what she'd learned, she donned the woman's garb. Although the loose fitting dress was blood stained, she didn't have the time to go through the valise. Nor did she want to appear unscathed.
Pulling the braid out of her long, auburn hair, she dragged her hands through it. The boots were far too big, but Emma preferred that to tightness. Fear and doubt twisted a knot in her gut as she struggled to walk in the cumbersome attire and boots.
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