Chapter 5

The sobbing woke her, the dry, persistent fight for breath; the soft, pitiful gasps of a frightened child. Cassie came awake clutching the edge of the buffalo robe, her fingers tangled in the thick, rough hair. She swiped at her cheeks with her hands, feeling guilty and ashamed. Only the dream ever made her cry.

She might have known she'd dream tonight, after being driven from her home by her Indian husband, after being used by Standing Pine to bait the soldiers, after coming to a place that seemed so strange.

"Cassandra?" Sally McGarrity pushed back the blanket curtain and stood in her nightdress and cap, a candle in her hand. "Cassandra... all right? Have... dream?"

"A dream," Cassandra nodded. "When Kiowa—" She bit her lip, searching for the words. "—took me."

Sally set the candle aside and came to kneel on the pallet Cassandra had made for herself on the floor.

"...you doing down here?" she asked, drawing Cassandra into her arms. "Oh... doesn't... matter, does it?"

Cassie resisted Sally's embrace at first, uncomfortable with her closeness, the sense of being confined. But there was warmth in Sally McGarrity, warmth and comfort, compassion and tenderness.

My mother held me like this, Cassie found herself thinking. She stiffened in Sally's arms. It wasn't good for her to remember things like that. It wasn't safe. If she thought about what her life used to be like, she'd want to go back, and there was no going back. No family, no friends, no home in Kentucky.

"There, there," she heard Sally McGarrity whisper.

Cassie knew there was no family left. It would do no good to ask Drew about the massacre. Drew's survival was miraculous enough. She dared not hope that Ma and Pa had lived to start the trading post in Santa Fe they'd dreamed about. She knew in her heart that Susannah, Lucy, Faith, and Janey were dead, not flirting with beaus or happily married and having children of their own.

She fought down the wave of grief she'd held inside for nine long years. There was no time for grieving now, just as there had been no time for it when she and Julia had been fighting to stay alive.

Julia.

Cassandra closed her eyes. Julia weighed heavily on her conscience, a burden of truth she had to share with Drew. But how could she explain what had befallen Drew's treasured younger sister? She could not tell him through Alain Jalbert, not in Hunter's words, not with Hunter there to hear her. They must speak of it alone. She must somehow find the words to tell Drew about Julia herself.

Sally McGarrity gradually loosened her hold on Cassandra and smoothed back her hair. "Better now?" she asked.

Cassie nodded.

"You want... bed... there?" she inquired, indicating the narrow iron bedstead.

"Pokes me," Cassandra answered, jabbing with her finger.

Sally McGarrity laughed and came to her feet. "Straw ticks do that. You want,"—she gestured as if she were pouring from a pot—"coffee? It's getting light."

Without waiting for an answer, Sally went into the kitchen. Cass heard the rumble of the coffee grinder and smelled the thick, dark essence of the beans. Taking a moment to search out her blanket and moccasins, Cassandra joined her.

She was surprisingly comfortable sitting across the table from this woman she had known less than a day. But then, Sally McGarrity seemed content with Cassie's silence, content to wait for the coffee to boil.

Taking care not to stare, Cass studied the older woman, seeing kindness and warmth in her deep blue eyes; the soft, sweet line to her mouth, waving strands of silver in her auburn hair. She seemed possessed of an abiding serenity, an infinite calm. It must have made her the perfect foil for the major's energy.

He rumbled into the room a short time later as the two women sat over steaming cups of coffee. "...three... after six," he grumbled, glaring at his pocket watch, "...that bugler... blown... yet!"

His words were cut short by the sound of the trumpet.

"There!" he said, closing his watch with a snap. "Finally."

"Coffee, Ben?" Sally asked, already reaching for the pot.

He sat forcefully, gruffly, the way he did everything, and reached for one of last night's biscuits.

Sally passed him a cup of coffee and the jam. The smile he gave her was only one step short of adoration.

"I want you... Cassandra... office," he said around bites of his breakfast. "There... questions... answered. Want... about... Cheyenne... I'll see Jalbert... there, too..."

"Can... you... time... Cassandra... talk... Captain Reynolds?" Sally inquired, and Cass looked up. "They have things... after so many years."

Ben McGarrity nodded, downed the rest of his coffee in a single draft, and surged to his feet. "Bring Cassandra... after guard..." he instructed, and dutifully bussed his wife's cheek.

Sally smiled and watched him go.

Cassie saw the softness in the older woman's eyes, the abiding tenderness in the curve of her lips. Sally loved her big, bluff husband. She had found her special place in the world. And what Cassandra wanted more than anything was to find a place of her own.