Wild Indigo Read Free Page B

watched him, listening with hushed admiration, wishing she could learn German faster, wishing she could sing like that.
    Wishing a man like him would take her from the Single Sisters into a home of her own.
    Not Brother Blum himself, of course. Until just last year, he had had that plump, happy wife, the first Moravian woman to soothe her fears. The one who died in the smallpox epidemic, leaving him in sole charge of their dreadful children. Everyone was talking about Jacob Blum’s problems with them. Carefully, because he was an Elder. Even kindly, because he was well liked. But talking all the same.
    Barefoot, she welcomed the creek’s lukewarm water as she crossed it. A dwindling flow glinted in the moonlight. Whimpers greeted her as the young wolf propped on its front legs and dragged itself toward her.
    Cautious, it slurped bear grease off her palm. When she teased it with the forcemeat, it growled.
    â€œYou’re getting stronger, girl,” she said, pleased with its show of spirit. One hugely swollen hind leg grazing the ground, it lurched onto three rangy legs, struggling to wag its tail and balance on three huge feet all at once.
    So brave, she thought, with a catch in her throat. And like her, a foundling.
    Downstream, she had come across its pack, mangled by some farmer scared of wolves, and left for buzzard bait. The cruelty and waste tore at her heart.
    Still wary, the young wolf let her stroke its plush fur.
    Leaving it to gnaw a marrow bone, she lifted her gown to clear the creek. She was so glad to be outside. Down here the air was almost cool. She had never understood why white men slept in houses. On hot nights the Cherokee would lift bark flaps to the evening breeze. They had been her family, and she missed them, even though she had never truly been one of them.
    Life had been simple, and she had been free, before the soldiers had massacred the clan that had adopted her.
    Where the meadow leveled out and the grass had been grazed short, she spun in place. She hadn’t been old enough to join the ball-play dance of the Indians who had raised her. Perhaps they wouldn’t have taught it to her, a white child. But they had let her watch. She remembered its stately rhythm, their hypnotic chants, all day and through the night. And tonight she danced as women danced, advancing toward men who weren’t there for her, and whirling and dancing away.
    In her mind she heard the tribe’s soft, insistent drum and their gourd shakers’ happy rattle. Her body moved to memory.
    â€œSister Mary Margaretha!”
    Rosina Krause’s harsh whisper stunned Retha to a stop.
    â€œNot only have you no permission to be out—” Rosina continued.
    â€œâ€”but there are soldiers everywhere, dear.” Sarah Holder shakily took her arm. “Redcoats, Tories, deserters.”
    â€œTheir persuasion wouldn’t matter a jot if they laid their hands on a pretty young thing like you,” Rosina scolded.
    Retha’s joy from the dance curdled. What if the Sisters had seen her wolf? She stole a glance at the creek. No sign of it now. Breathing in little gasps, she lowered her head.
    On her shoulder, she felt Sarah Holder’s trembly hand. Old age, Retha thought, hoping she had not frightened that sweet old woman and wishing she had been more discreet.
    â€œI didn’t mean to alarm you.” She had not meant to anger them either. But she would leave the house again for her wolf. She willed it to hide, be safe, be well until she could come back with more morsels from the pantry.
    Slowly, deferring to Sister Sarah’s arthritic tread, she walked up the field toward Brother Blum’s house.
    â€œYou have gone too far this time, Mary Margaretha,” Rosina Krause said softly. “What were we thinking to let you roam the woods for dyes?” The measured scolding raked Retha’s nerves.
    â€œEven that is far too dangerous now,” Sarah added solemnly.
    Retha