Whispers by Erin Quinn Read Free Book Online Page B

Gracie went to the porch and stared through the pouring rain as Dr. Graebel got out and ran around to the other side. Sheltering his passenger, he hurried them both up to where she waited. When he lowered the umbrella, Analise stepped forward into her mother’s waiting arms.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Six
     
    May 1896
    Somewhere in Colorado
    THE first scream carried across the plains like the howl of an October wind. It brought my head up and around. I was on all fours, trying to pull some deadwood free from a tangle of roots. As the sound settled around me, I perched up on my knees like a prairie dog to see over the waving sea of grass, but that didn’t help much. All I saw was more of the same.
    I figured it must have been a crow or buzzard I’d heard. There’d been plenty of each on the way, and I hated them both. In fact, today I hated just about everything and everyone.
    I’d been mad for days, ever since my daddy came home and said we were pulling up roots and running away. He hadn’t said “running,” but that’s what it was all the same. I wasn’t old enough to argue, but I was old enough to be mad about it. I hadn’t even gotten to say good-bye to Charlotte or Willie Johnson, who’d been acting like he might want to be more than friendly with me. Seventeen was only old enough to do a woman’s share of chores, not speak my mind.
    The fact that we were running like cowards bothered me as much as anything. I’d begged my daddy not to testify in court about the holdup, but of course he didn’t listen. Men. The bank sure didn’t deserve his loyalty, but he’d given it all the same. And look how it had paid him back. Momma had tried to sway him, too, but then he’d gone all Stonewall and decided that, as the man of the house, he’d say where and what and why things got done. Even at my age, I was woman enough to know life wasn’t fair.
    We were five days from Alamosa now, and I was still madder than a hornet. I didn’t like walking day in and day out. My momma looked like she was carrying a litter of babies, though we both prayed just one would come out. Even though her ribs must have felt like they were ready to burst, Momma still took in the scenery like she’d been blessed to even step foot on God’s green earth. I couldn’t see it that way. Not when I was sleeping on the hard ground with bugs sure to be creeping and crawling over me all night and my bed at home as empty and neat as could be.
    I picked up another stick, shifting the bundle in my arms and giving myself a splinter in the process. That only spurred my mad.
    And then I heard the next scream.
    This time, there wasn’t any doubt. That was no bird. I rocked back on my heels, looking over the swaying seed-pods toward our camp on the other side of the hill. The sun arced low in the sky, dragging shadows out with the wind. A gun fired, and an instant later a gray puff of smoke wafted upward.
    I scrambled to my feet, dropping the wood I’d been gathering as I raced without thought toward the sound. More gunshots cracked the dusky blue day, followed by a triumphant whoop of glee that made my blood run cold. Indians? Was it Indians?
    I dropped to my knees at the top of the hill and scooted up to look over. My skirts tangled about my legs and ripped when I didn’t heed them. Belly flat to the earth, I peered down at our camp. Five men on horseback rode circles around it, firing pistols into the air just for the fun of it, I guessed. Not Indians. These were white men, men who looked like they’d not seen a bath for many years. They seemed to be playing a game of some sort, turning and riding and darting around. I couldn’t see beyond the wagon, though, to what was at the center of their sport. I cupped my hands to my eyes to block the glare of the setting sun and searched for my momma and daddy, grandma and brother. Had they gone to gather wood or hunt? Were these bandits robbing us while they were gone? But even as I thought it,