Star Shell bit her lip. How much have you denied. Star Shell?
You’ve seen the changes. She doesn’t act like a little girl anymore.
But how could she, after everything she’d been through?
“Ouch!” Silver Water tried to twist away. “Not so hard, Mama.”
“Sorry, Tadpole. Here, let me do your, hair. When did it get so tangled? You’ve got sticks in here … and what’s this? A tick?”
Silver Water made suffering sounds as Star Shell plucked the partially engorged tick from her scalp and let it float away in the water. After the time spent crawling through the woods, it was a wonder that they weren’t covered with the bloodsuckers.
“Star Shell?” Pale Snake called from above. “I’ve some clean clothing. Heads up! I’m sailing it over the edge in a bundle.”
Before she could say no, a rounded mass launched over the terrace in an arc, thumped onto the grassy slope and rolled to the very edge of the water. The fabric looked new. She looked back up to where she expected to see his beaming face.
“Nothing for Silver Water, I’m afraid. Poor planning on my part. I do hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Thank you,” she called back, and in a lower voice, “But I’m sure we can do without your rags.” Their own would be fine.
She shook her head as she let Silver Water escape to shore.
Then she waded over to retrieve her daughter’s clothes. She scrubbed them out as best she could, aware of Silver Water’s shivers as the girl jumped up and down, arms crossed.
“I’m freezing, Mama!”
“Go on up to the fire. That Trader may not be worth much, but his fire is. Go get warm. But, baby, don’t let him touch you, all right?”
“Yes, Mama.” Silver Water sped up the slope, driven by shivers.
Star Shell scrubbed herself as clean as she could and washed out her hair. The mats and tangles would take a while to pull free. She discovered a painful bruise on one shoulder and wondered when that had happened. Perhaps in that mad rush through the trees after’Tall Man’s … Wearily she wondered how she’d managed to block that horror from her soul.
You’re tired, Star Shell. Not thinking clearly. She splashed water on her face, staring at the wavering reflection in the water.
I need all of my wits now. But her thoughts seemed as muddy as the water she looked into.
She turned and laid Silver Water’s clothing out on the grass.
The child was nearly in .. She clicked a sound of dismay with her tongue as she started to work on her own garments.
The pitiful remnants had been a beautiful dress once, moons ago.
It’s all right. Star Shell. One day, maybe in a moon or so, you’ll be able to act like a woman again … make a comb, mend your clothing.
She wrung the last of the water from her hair, gooseflesh pricking her skin. She did feel clean, and somehow better about herself. Pale Snake had been correct about that. She started to don her wet dress; then, out of curiosity, she opened the bundle he’d thrown down.
A thick new blanket enclosed a brand-new woman’s dress and a pair of heavy moccasins. The dress was stunning—the bodice adorned with bone, shell, and copper beads laid out in chevrons. Long fringes hung from the sleeves and down the yoke in the back. Instead of the fabric she’d expected, she fingered finely tanned buckskin that had been scraped to a perfect thinness and softened until it melted against the skin. She lifted it, inhaling the rich aroma of hickory smoke.
It’s so beautiful. She sank envious teeth into her lower lip, then looked back at the worn rags she’d been traveling in. Why would he give her a dress like this? How deep would she place herself in his debt if she accepted it?
He wouldn’t have thrown it down here if he didn’t expect something from you. Nevertheless, her fingers kept running over the soft leather. It would be so warm. And she hadn’t been warm in a long time.
The humming of a mosquito broke the logjam of her indecision.
She pulled the wonderful dress over her head, sighing at the way it conformed to her cold skin. She smoothed it over the swell of her hips and looked down. Leather molded to the body, of course,->but the dress was just the slightest bit too small; it fit like a second skin. She flushed at the way it accented her full breasts, flat stomach, and narrow waist.
The knee-high moccasins had been dyed a lustrous crimson and were made of a thick leather she’d never seen before. When she slipped them on, it was with a gasp of delight, for they might have been cut for her feet alone. Thongs secured them firmly to the calf.
Finally, she rolled up their old wet clothing, slung on the Mask pack and made her way to the top of the slope.