“What do you mean, lose Hannah?” An image of the little girl flooded Jennie’s mind. Flaxen curls and heart-melting chocolate brown eyes. “Is she sick?”
“She’s fine—physically. She cried when they took her.”
“Took her?” Jennie shouted into the phone. “What do you mean? Who took her? Mom, what’s going on?”
Mom sniffed and blew her nose. “Her case worker came this morning. Hannah’s dad wants her back.”
“No! They can’t do that—can they?” The idea of Hannah going back to that terrible man repulsed Jennie. He didn’t deserve to have his little girl back. He’d beaten his wife and … Jennie shoved the horrible images away. “You can’t let him take her.”
“We’re doing what we can. Michael and I are seeing an attorney this afternoon.”
Michael Rhodes was Mom’s fiancé. The thought of him being involved brought some peace of mind. If anyone could stop them, he could. Being a youth director, he’d dealt with social workers before. He’d know what to do to get Hannah back.
“I don’t think Children’s Services will let Chuck take her,” Mom went on, “but they’re talking about sending her to Arizona to live with his parents.”
“Maybe I should come home.” Jennie hated being so far away. Mom probably needed a hug. Nick would be devastated.
“There’s nothing you could do here. Besides, Maggie needs help and—” Mom took a deep breath as if she was about to say something Jennie didn’t want to hear. “Honey, we have to remember that Hannah doesn’t belong to us. We basically have no claim to her.”
“Sounds like you’re giving up.”
“I’m just facing reality. I want to keep her as much as you do—so does Michael.”
“How does Gram feel about this? Is she going with you?”
“No.” Mom hesitated. “Gram is out of town. I don’t think she’ll be back until next week.”
“Oh, I was hoping she’d come here. It’s a great resort. She could write an article about it.”
“Jennie, are you homesick?”
“Of course not. I just thought Gram would enjoy it.” No way was Jennie going to tell Mom what she really wanted Gram there for.
“I’ll mention it if she calls, but you know Gram. She’s always forgetting her cell phone or the cord. And if she’s on assignment we probably won’t hear from her until she gets back home.”
They talked a few more minutes and hung up. Jennie grabbed some tissues out of the box on her aunt’s desk and blew her nose.
“Jennie, what’s wrong?” Maggie came in and closed the door.
Jennie explained as best she could. “It isn’t fair. She’s just a little girl.”
Maggie put her arms around Jennie and held her. “I know. Life often isn’t fair. Sometimes it’s downright cruel.”
Jennie felt suddenly ashamed. They hadn’t even lost Hannah yet, but Maggie and Jeff had been through so much.
Amber pulled open the door. “I got the horses ready … Hey, what’s going on? Did you hurt yourself?”
“No.” Jennie didn’t feel like going through the story again. “Would you tell her?”
Maggie did and added, “Jennie’s sad about Hannah and might not feel like going for a ride.”
“But everything’s ready. Besides, when I’m sad, riding makes me feel better.”
Jennie hauled in a ton of air and blew it out again. “I’ll go. It’ll beat sitting around here feeling sorry for myself.”
Within a few minutes, riding had put Jennie in a better mood. Her horse would have made a good psychiatrist. While she talked, Gabby listened and even made all the appropriate sounds. A nod here, a head shake there, and exactly the right amount of snorting and whinnying.
The news about Hannah still upset her, but after talking it over with Amber and Gabby, Jennie realized that Mom was right. Being at home wouldn’t change matters. She just had to trust that God would work everything out right.
With Amber acting as trail guide, they headed toward the northwest corner of the White Cloud property where Joseph lived. They’d ridden about twenty minutes through the woods when they reached a fenced clearing. Several llamas grazing near the gate straightened and fixed curious gazes on them.
Amber twisted around in her saddle and waited for Jennie to catch up. “We have about a hundred head of llamas out here.”
“Why do you separate them?” Jennie asked. “I noticed several by the stables.”
“We keep several near the ranch for packing.”
“Packing? You eat them too?”
Amber giggled. “I meant putting packs on them for wilderness treks. They’re sure-footed and better than horses on some of the steeper trails.”
“No offense, Cinni.” Amber reached forward to pat the horse’s neck, urging her forward. The name fit her. She glistened like warm cinnamon-and-sugar coating on a sticky bun.
They rode along the fence until they came to a gate that crossed a dirt road. They dismounted, led the horses through, secured the gate, then mounted and rode on.
“I can’t believe how huge this place is,” Jennie said, looking over the clearing and up into the foothills. “How much land do you own?”
“Twenty-thousand acres.”
Jennie let out a long whistle. “That much land must be worth millions.”
“The land belongs to Papa.” Amber frowned. “Some of the people around here think Papa stole the land from the Elliots. They used to live here. Now that mean Chad Elliot is telling people that Dancing Waters belongs to him. He’s lying though, ’cause Papa would never steal anything.”
Enemies. Marty had said the White Clouds had a lot of them. “Do you think this Elliot guy could have …” Jennie stopped before mentioning the explosion. This is not the conversation to be having with a ten-year-old, Jennie reminded herself. Even though Amber sometimes sounded like an adult, she was still very much a child. “Never mind.” Then hoping to cheer her cousin, Jennie said, “You probably don’t need to worry. After all, your dad’s a lawyer—I’ll bet he’s dealt with a lot of land disputes.”
Amber sighed. “I hope so.”
They rode along in silence for a while as Jennie tried to bring some kind of order to the bits and pieces of the clues she’d managed to glean so far. Chad Elliot was accusing the White Clouds of stealing his land. Could he have caused the explosion? Jennie definitely needed more information, but at least now she had some specific questions.
How did Joseph White Cloud, a Nez Perce Indian chief, come to own this much land? And who wanted that land bad enough to kill for it? Her pulse quickened, hoping Amber’s grandfather would have some answers.
After a few minutes, they paused to admire a hillside ablaze with Indian Paintbrush. Amber pointed out several other plants. “These are pretty, but you should see it in the spring. The pastures are covered with Bitterroot. That’s how the valley got its name.”
“The Montana state flower, right? I read about it on the map.”
Amber nodded. “The Indians call it ‘spetlum.’ They used to eat the root. Papa told me an old Indian legend about how the flower came to be. Want to hear it?”
“Sure.”
Amber’s expressive eyes glistened with importance as she sat straighter in the saddle and cleared her throat. “In ancient times, an old woman slipped away one night, thinking that if she were gone, the family could have her share of the little food they had. After walking a long way, the woman stopped beside a brook and loosened her long silver hair. Soon she would sing her death song. The woman thought about her family and cried with deep sorrow.”
Amber gracefully raised her hand to the sky. “The Great Spirit saw her unselfish act of courage and smiled. He honored her by sending a spirit bird whose breast was red as blood. The bird promised that she and her tribe would be saved. Food would come in the form of a flower with leaves the color of her silver hair and blossoms as red as the bird’s breast. The roots would be bitter as the tears she had cried and filled with the strength she carried in her heart. Each spring the flowers came to give food to her hungry people. And they continue to bloom to this day.”
“What a neat story, and you told it beautifully.”
“Papa says I will become the family historian. He’s teaching me to be a storyteller like him so I can pass our heritage on to our children and grandchildren.”
“That’s a great idea …”
“Shh.” Amber pulled Cinnamon up and signaled Jennie to be quiet, then pointed to a small clearing. Sun streaked through the branches of the giant fir trees, making it look like a holy place. A deer nibbled at a low shrub. She raised her head and looked straight at them. Jennie expected her to bolt. Instead she came toward Cinnamon and nuzzled Amber’s saddlebags.
Amber slowly reached into the bag. The deer stretched out her neck and accepted the cookie Amber offered.
“She’s beautiful.” Jennie pulled a cookie out of her bag, too.
“Her name’s Tasha. Papa found her when she was a fawn. A hunter killed her mother.”
“Sounds like a Bambi story.” Jennie leaned farther forward and extended her hand. “Here, Tasha.” The doe ambled over and snatched the cookie Jennie offered.
Amber nodded. “Hunters aren’t allowed here, but sometimes they come anyway. I worry about her.”
“And well you should, Tiponi,” a deep mellow voice said. “Tasha is young and has not yet learned to fear humans. If she is to live long enough to see her children grow, she must know this fear.”
Startled by the voice, Jennie yanked on Gabby’s reins. The horse sidestepped and reared, throwing her off balance. She grabbed for the saddle horn with her casted right hand and missed. She yelped as she tumbled from the saddle and landed on her rear.
Tasha darted into the underbrush. Gabby turned and nuzzled Jennie as if to apologize.
A figure appeared in the haloed light and came toward her. “I frightened you. I’m sorry. Are you hurt?”
Still dazed, Jennie took the hand he offered and scrambled to her feet. Her fear melted the moment his steady gaze caught hers. “I—I don’t think so.” She brushed off the dirt and debris from the forest floor. Her leg and tailbone still hurt, but the pain was beginning to subside.
“It’s my fault, Papa.” Amber swung her legs to the side and slid off Cinnamon’s back. “I should have warned her about the way you sneak up on people.”
He chuckled, then bent to embrace her. Amber kissed his brown furrowed cheek and hugged him. He wore a feather, Jennie noticed, a brown one with a white tip, tucked into the long gray braid that hung down his back. She’d expected him to be dressed like an Indian chief, in a feathered headdress and buckskin, but he wasn’t. In his faded blue jeans and aqua chambray work shirt he looked like a typical rancher. Joseph gathered Gabby’s and Cinnamon’s reins in one hand and began walking. “Come, my children. I have been expecting you. I have made your favorite, Tiponi. Fry bread. We will eat and share stories. I am eager to hear about Jennie and her family.”
“And I want to hear about yours.” Jennie took Amber’s hand and fell into step in front of Joseph and the horses. “Why does he call you that strange name?” Jennie asked Amber.
“Tiponi? That’s my Indian name.” Her eyes widened and her lips parted in a wide smile. “It means ‘child of importance.’”
“Tiponi. It’s a beautiful name, and you know what? It fits.”
“I know.” Amber couldn’t have beamed more if she’d have been a light bulb. “Maybe Papa will give you a name.”
“Actually, Gram gave me one. Not a name exactly, but she says I’m like an eagle—steady and strong.”
“It suits you,” Joseph said. “Your grandmother sounds like a wise woman.”
“She is.”
As they walked, Jennie answered more questions about her family. Since he already knew about the Calhoun side—her mom and Uncle Kevin—she told him about the McGradys. Gram first, of course, and how she’d been married to Ian McGrady, a government agent who’d been killed nearly eleven years ago. Joseph seemed disappointed when Jennie told him Gram had recently married again.
When Joseph asked, she told him about her father, from whom she’d inherited her height, dark hair, and cobalt blue eyes.
“We’re almost there,” Amber announced, then ran ahead of them. Jennie dropped back and walked beside Joseph.
“Maggie tells me you are quite a detective,” Joseph said. “This, I have seen for myself.”
It took Jennie a moment to realize what he was referring to. “Oh, you mean the other night. You had me going there. I thought God had sent an angel.”
His eyes twinkled. “Not an angel, but certainly an assistant. I was coming home from visiting a friend.”
So the voice she’d heard in the woods had belonged to him. “Did you have to be so sneaky? Why didn’t you just come out and tell me how to get back?”
Joseph had the smile of a man with many secrets. “If a child is always carried, he will never learn to walk.”
“You mean if you had shown me the way, I wouldn’t have learned to make it on my own. I wouldn’t have learned how to listen to the earth.”
“Or to your spirit.” Their path ended at a rustic log cabin that looked as old as he did.
“Papa, Papa.” Amber ran back to them, tears running down her cheeks.
“Hush, Tiponi.” He knelt and pressed her head against his chest. “What has upset you?”
“They killed her,” she sobbed and glanced toward the house. “They killed Tasha.”