Prologue

Seventeen Years Ago

Péhe oror ran his fingers over the worn spine of the Bible. He stared at it in the dimming light of the fire, the gilded letters nearly worn off with age.

He hovered at the edges of the elder’s tent, listening to their low voices.

“The hate runs deep in Ségùn T’àu’s heart, and he draws closer every day.” The gravelly voice of One Ti Ka echoed through the tent.

He leaned closer to the canvas, trying his best to hear the murmurs of the others.

“Ségùn T’àu will kill our people the same as he has killed others. We will pack the camp in the morning, load the horses, and ride. If our horses are good and swift, we may outrun him yet.”

“There is a chill to the air. The animals are restless. The spirits are calling, but their messages are still not yet clear.”

Péhe oror clutched his Bible tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. God, please grant us swift horses. Keep us safe from the monster drawing closer to my people.

“What are you doing out here?” One Ti Ka said, his arms crossed over his chest. “You are not an elder. You are barely Kiowa.”

“My mother is Kiowa,” he said, his throat thick, tears in the corners of his eyes as he puffed out his chest and stood tall with pride.

“Your mother is a traitor to her people.” One Ti Ka pointed a gnarled finger at him. “You will never be Kiowa. You are the son of a man like Ségùn T’àu. You are a disgrace to our people. An abomination.”

Péhe oror stood taller, clutching the Bible as if it were his salvation. “I am Kiowa.”

“Return to your tent before I find your mother and tan your hide.”

He stared up at the elder for a moment longer before turning and running back to his own tent, his heart pounding in his chest. He threw the Bible on the table. As he wiped an angry tear from his eye, he wanted nothing more than to finally be accepted.

One day, he would show them he was as good as the others. That he belonged with his people.

“Are you ready for bed?” his mother asked, parting the flap of the tent and stepping inside. She allowed the fabric to fall back into place, but there was still a tiny opening to look out upon the rest of the village.

Smoke rose from the tops of tents surrounding the central fire. People settled their horses for the night, children finding their way home as a wolf howled in the distance.

The hunters who stayed up through the night would keep them safe, but a slight shiver ran down his spine anyway. There were always wolves lingering at the far edges of camp.

His mother had repeatedly warned him to return to their tent before dark if they weren’t together. She often said that little boys who roamed alone would often be snatched by the wolves and carried away.

There were times he wondered if that was what happened to his father.

He made a noise in the back of his throat. He was eight, and though he thought he should be allowed to stay awake longer—at least until the fire died down and the others went to bed—there was little he could do to disobey his mother.

She smiled and motioned to the pile of hides tucked in the corner. “You need your rest. You’re a growing boy, and it won’t do to stay up all hours of the night.”

“I don’t wish to stay up all hours, just some of them.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, her warm brown eyes landing on him. They were so much like his own, the color of charred tree bark just before it blackened in the fire. “Come now, child. I shall read to you and tell you the stories of your grandmother and her journey across the river.”

He grinned and clutched the Bible to his chest, making his way to the bed they shared. “Grandmother and the river is one of my favorites.”

“I know.” His mother settled on the floor beside the bed, crossing her legs. She took the Bible from him as he nestled beneath the thin woven blanket. Even in the summer heat, the blanket could be too much, but tonight, there was a chill in the air.

He nestled into the hides, wrapping the blanket tighter around him. Whatever the elders were worried about would be a problem for the morning. At that moment, he only wanted to rest and listen to his mother tell the stories he loved.

“When your grandmother was a young woman, she was sent to gather berries for the tribe. She would dry and pack them away to last the winter. However, there weren’t enough berries close to camp. The bushes were barren from the rabbits and birds that liked to feast.”

Péhe oror lay down and rolled on his side, propping an arm beneath his head. “But grandmother knew where she could find more.”

“Yes, she knew that across the river, endless berries grew on the bushes. She had seen them when they crossed the river the morning prior.” His mother leaned onto the bed, setting the Bible to the side. “She traveled back to the river with her horse, and when she came upon the river, all looked calm. She thought it would be safe to cross.”

“But it wasn’t,” the boy said, his eyelids growing heavy. “She shouldn’t have crossed.”

“No, she shouldn’t have. The water was rising beneath, and as soon as she stepped into the river, she was swept away.”

He pulled the blanket higher before reminding himself that he was older now. He shouldn’t be hiding when his mother got to the scary parts of the story. He was brave. He had the heart of a warrior.

He was a protector at heart and wouldn’t allow a story to scare him. He was far too old for that now.

His mother smiled and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Your grandmother was a strong woman who could swim as good as the fish. She fought her way out of the river, but when she pulled herself onto the bank, she wasn’t sure where she was.”

He bit the inside of his cheek but put on his best brave face. “I would’ve rescued her. I would’ve tracked my way down the river and back to the camp.”

“You’re a very skilled tracker.” His mother’s thumb drifted over the back of his hand. “I have no doubt that you would’ve found your grandmother and brought her back home. However, your grandmother was a skilled tracker as well. She was the niece of the chief, after all—”

“And she knew how to track and hunt as good as the men!”

His mother laughed and nodded. “Yes, she did. She was a powerful woman, and she found her way back to the spot on the riverbank where she had been swept away. Her horse was still waiting for her when she returned.”

“And the berries?”

“Well, your grandmother sat on the bank of the river and stared at the berries. She waited until the sun went down, and as it did, the water stilled. Now, she knew better than to get in the river this time, so she grabbed a log.”

“An entire log?”

“Only a small one.” His mother held her hands apart, showing how long the log was. “But it was heavy. She thought that if the river dragged away the log quickly, it would drag her again, too. But as she threw the log in the river, she heard a voice.”

“Grandfather.”

His mother smiled and smoothed her hand over his hair. “Yes, Grandfather found her. They were not in love then, but they would be soon. He asked her what she was doing, and when she told him, he called her a clever woman. Together, they swam across the river and gathered as many berries as they could, for the log was floating, barely moving.”

“And then Grandfather and Grandmother had you.”

“Yes, they had me twelve moons later. And then they told me to find a husband who would be clever and kind, for one without the other will destroy a person. See, Grandmother was clever, but she could be harsh at times. And Grandfather was kind, but that often meant the others in his tribe took advantage of him. Together, they were able to accomplish great things in life.”

He nodded and smiled, nestling deeper into his bed. “Now the Bible.”

Laughing, his mother cracked open the Bible, turning to her favorite passage. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

He closed his eyes and said his prayers, wishing for health and a good hunt for him and his mother. He wished that their tent would withstand the summer storms and that they could spend their years together laughing beneath the sun.

As the words played over in his head, he considered asking her what they meant to her. She often read the verse, yet she didn’t explain the meaning. He supposed his mother might be brokenhearted without his father. She once said that their love was a great one. Something unlike what she had ever known before.

But the boy didn’t believe that such a love existed.

If it had, his father would still be with them.

So perhaps that was why his mother favored the verse. She had faith that the Lord would save her. That He would take care of her.

His mother continued to the next line. “A righteous man may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all. He protects all his bones; not one of them will be broken. Evil will slay the wicked; the foes of the righteous will be condemned. The Lord redeems his servants; no one will be condemned who takes refuge in Him.”

He closed his eyes, listening to his mother’s soft voice, his faith in the Lord stronger than ever. He would protect him. He would seek refuge in the Lord, and though he may have trials, the Lord would protect him.

“Goodnight, Mother,” he said as he opened his heavy eyelids and looked up at her.

And then the screaming started.

The cries of war echoed through the camp.

Péhe oror sprung to his feet, rushing to grab his bow, but his mother grabbed him by the arm.

“No,” she said, her tone firm though her eyes were wide and filled with terror. “You will stay here beneath the hides until I come and get you. Do not move.”

He had never heard that tone from his mother before and knew he couldn’t disobey her. She hid him beneath the animal skins, pulling them over him. He wriggled close to the edge and lifted a corner, needing to look out and see what was happening.

Screams echoed through the night, sending chills straight through him. His mother grabbed the dagger she kept hidden beneath the thick blanket in the corner, sliding it out and gripping the sinew-wrapped hilt.

“I love you, my son,” she whispered before slipping from the tent.

Now, there was a bigger gap left in the opening. He wished there wasn’t.

A man fell to the ground right in front of his tent, an arrow piercing his neck. He clamped a hand over his mouth, trying to keep his ragged inhale quiet. He squeezed his eyes shut before forcing them open again.

A warrior shouldn’t be afraid.

He kept the hand clamped tight to his mouth, but he wasn’t sure he could scream even if he wanted to. Not that his would be heard above the shouts throughout the camp.

The fires burned brighter, spreading through the camp, smoke choking the air. He had never seen anything like it before. Orange and yellow flickers of light danced closer to the tent.

The flap opened, and a tall man stepped in, dark eyes roaming. Is this the feared Ségùn T’àu?

When the intruder’s gaze lingered too long, Péhe oror thought he was caught.

And then a dagger caught the light.

His mother stabbed the man in the back, clinging to him like she could save them. He watched in horror as the man stumbled back into one of the poles of the tent before throwing his mother to the ground.

Péhe oror’s blood pounded in his ears. His heart felt like a herd of wild stallions racing across the plains. Thunder rumbled outside, or perhaps it was the sound of his own terror trying to escape his body.

He squeezed his eyes shut, curling into a tight ball, trying to stay hidden. When he opened his eyes again, his mother was dead.

Chapter One

Independence, Missouri, May 2, 1868

If I never see Independence again, it will be too soon.

Adeline Wolfe stepped down from her family’s wagon into the night, knowing that her sister would disapprove if she knew Adeline was lurking around the camp. Even though Adeline was twenty years old, her older sister still treated her like a child.

In the last ten days of travel, Adeline couldn’t remember a single night she hadn’t been up, taking the long dagger from the trunk containing the little clothing she still had. She’d slip the dagger into her skirts, hiding it in a pocket, and wander the camp. It was the only thing she could do to keep the nightmares at bay. Those walks chased away the remnants of the dreams, proving to herself that she was safe.

There would never be another moment in her life when she would be caught unable to protect herself. She shivered at the memory of being helpless—pinned down and unable to get free. Deep inside, she knew her fear was irrational, and mostly, she could cope during the day. It was the nights… that was when her fear took over. She only carried the knife at night.

She crept through the camp, glancing at the wagons laden with goods surrounding them. It had been a long journey from their home in Arrow Rock to Independence, Missouri. They were set to join a wagon train heading to Santa Fe, New Mexico. That meant there were still long days of traveling ahead.

Days spent with her father, sister, and nephew. Wondering if she would be able to carve out a life for herself once they were settled in Santa Fe. It would be nice to be in a new place where no one knew who she was. She would be with her family, and that was all she needed.

Adeline stuck her hand in her pocket, feeling for the hilt of the knife, the fluttering in her heart stilling just a little.

She pulled her hand from her pocket, tucking a rogue strand of her wavy brown hair behind her ear. She pressed her full lips together, wishing that she could return to the moments before her life had been stolen from her.

A life before fear became her permanent companion.

Dozens of wagons surrounded them, with different families settled inside the wagons or tents pitched just outside for the night. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called out, making Adeline jump. Her hazel-eyed gaze darted around the camp, the hair on the back of her neck standing.

Spinning in a slow circle, her hand slipping into her pocket and clasping the handle of the dagger, she peered through the night. After a second circle, she took a deep breath and laughed, shaking her head. She was fine. She was still close to her wagon and the pastor’s.

“Adeline.”

She jumped, spinning around, her heart slamming against her chest. Her hand flew to her chest, and she let out a ragged breath before inhaling sharply, trying to calm herself down.

Jean, the pastor’s daughter, appeared at the back of her family’s wagon, shifting the canvas out of the way before slipping her slim frame through the crack. Her deep brown eyes looked even darker in the night, and her hair was as black as a raven’s wing. “You’re supposed to be sleeping. We have one more day here before we have to continue. You should be getting your rest.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Adeline said, forcing a smile that felt more like she was putting on a show.

“The nightmares again?” Jean’s eyes shone with concern as she hurried over to Adeline, but it wasn’t the same haunted look that Adeline’s father gave her.

Jean was the one person Adeline felt like she could be herself around. Though Jean’s family had only joined Adeline’s on the road from Lexington to Independence, those several days had given Adeline a friend she hadn’t known she needed.

Adeline nodded. “The nightmares. I didn’t want to wake the others. They need their rest since we’re meeting the guides for the trail tomorrow.”

“I don’t know how you plan to hide the nightmares from them until we get to Santa Fe.”

“Neither do I, but it’s better to keep them to myself for now.” Adeline forced another smile. They used to come so easily to her, and now it felt like she was caught in a whirlwind, trying to mesh the person she used to be with the one she was now.

Jean sighed. “I wish you would tell them. Or perhaps speak with Pa.”

“So he can tell me that what’s terrorizing my dreams every night is all part of God’s plan?” Adeline scoffed and shook her head. “I’ve found comfort in accepting reality, devoid of what people may believe God’s plan is.”

“You might find solace in His word.”

“I would find solace in walking.” Adeline shifted the subject, her stomach turning. “Walk with me for just a little. How was making camp with your family tonight?”

Jean looped her arm through Adeline’s. “If I have to sit with the children for one more night, I think I might scream. The three of them are starting to get to me, but Ma and Pa won’t let them out of the wagon to run before bed.”

“I’m sure they will settle once we’re moving again. Staying in Independence is doing my head in as well.” Adeline smiled as they walked together. She stopped to watch one of the younger cows, nearly melting when the big brown eyes met hers. “Do you ever think about what awaits us on the trail?”

“I keep thinking that we’ll meet a group of bandits who will take everything from us. They’ll stalk us through the trail, and then they’ll surround us late at night.”

Adeline took a sharp breath. “You truly think we’re going to meet bandits?”

Her skin prickled, sweat beading on the back of her neck. The sick feeling circling through her stomach grew worse.

“I’ve spoken to a couple of people who met bandits on their way here. They spoke to Pa about it. I think they were looking for comfort and reassurance that this was God’s plan for them, but their faith was wavering. After all, I sometimes wonder how a life of hardship could be what He wanted for so many people.”

“I would think that it was more a life of trials than one of hardship.” Adeline pressed her lips together in a thin line. “My mother used to say that God never gives us more than He thinks we can handle, even if we don’t understand it at the time. The older I get, the more I think that’s a lie.”

With the trials she had faced in the last several months and the ones that had plagued her family, she found it hard to believe that God cared one lick for them. She didn’t believe that He had a plan.

Rather, she felt they were nothing more than toys to him, as her dolls were to her when she was a young girl.

“Pa says something similar in his sermons.” Jean shrugged and towed Adeline toward the pond, where several horses drank from the water. “I can sympathize with questioning His plan, but I believe that there’s something more. There has to be. He wouldn’t give us fire and ask us to walk through it unless something better awaited on the other side.”

Adeline paused, unwinding her arm from her friend’s and looking at her. “I keep searching for it between the pages of His word, yet I come up empty. It doesn’t feel like there’s a plan. It’s far more likely that my life is on a downward spiral, and waiting for some mystical man to reach down from Heaven and fix things for me isn’t going to happen.”

“There’s more to God than a man sitting in Heaven.”