Sacred Is the Wind by Kerry Newcomb Read Free Book Online Page A

young woman had gained a reputation for persistence—some called it stubbornness—among the people of her village. Rebecca Blue Thrush had beaten even the young men of the village during a race but three months past. It had been a long and arduous course winding from the banks of the Warbonnet to Foot o’ the Mountains and back to the village. Rebecca had not been the most fleet of foot among her peers. There were young men and women far quicker. But she had gained victory from simple endurance, a refusal to quit after others had fallen away with twisted ankles, bleeding feet, aching, tortured lungs. Some called it pride, finding blame in her out of anger for besting the young men in the race, others suspected her of spirit help. After all, wasn’t she the daughter of Star, the medicine woman? While the young women on the creek bank tried to goad and bait one another into betting against Rebecca, to the surprise of everyone, she turned out to be the first to retreat from the onslaught of her good-natured adversaries. A collective sigh of disgust rose from the creek bank, for no one had cast their lot with poor Hope. Rebecca turned toward the bank where the willows swept the water’s edge, stirred by a gentle breeze. Hope. Moon Basket continued to splash until Esther cried out for her to stop. Immediately! Then Esther looked to her companion, sensing Rebecca’s concern.
    â€œ Saaaa … what is it, Rebecca?” Esther said, staring at the willows.
    â€œI do not know. Something.” Rebecca replied, frowning. She shook her head. Water dripped down into her brown eyes and she wiped a hand across her face to clear her vision and brushed back the water-drenched strands of hair. Now the girls on the riverbank fell silent as well. Faith, a solidly built woman whose figure had yet to betray the fact she was with child, stepped up alongside Esther Madison, who shivered as the chill of the spring-fed creek seeped into her slight frame.
    â€œOur clothes,” she whispered to Faith. “Our clothes … on the bank.”
    â€œSomeone tell me what is going on or I shall leave,” Hope complained, suspecting all three of her friends of mischief.
    Blackbirds swooped low overheard, circled in a lazy arc, dipped en masse toward the willow grove, and then loosed their high-pitched trilling calls as they rode the air currents up from the trees, avoiding the grove and scattering. Rebecca started to shout a warning to the others, just as the horseman burst from concealment. With his rifle the ferocious-looking warrior scooped up one of the buckskin shifts and whirled it overhead, loosing a wild cry. The girls on the bank screamed and scrambled up from the creek to disappear into the woods. In the pond, the four bathers swam toward the opposite bank. The warrior’s wild cries only fueled the efforts of the women in the pond. Hope Moon Basket, for the first time in her sixteen years, outdistanced her three companions and was the first to rise soaked from the creek, her chubby form quivering as she clawed her way up the bank. Faith and Esther were not far behind, though. Wet hair plastered to skull and neck and shoulders, they staggered from the shallows. Hope had already vanished down the path through the forest. Faith and Esther lost no time in following, for they could hear the warrior’s wild war cry as his horse plunged through the creek in pursuit.
    â€œQuickly,” gasped Esther, stumbling, bracing a hand in the mud and regaining her balance. Her slight build accounted for her speed as she darted toward the trees. Faith did not look back and most certainly did not tarry at the water’s edge, but figuring Rebecca to be right at her heels, scrambled up the last few muddy yards and headed down the path after her friends. She prayed those ahead had raised an alarm in the village by now. Esther turned and glanced over her shoulder at Faith a few yards back. She slowed, stopped. Faith