Winter Fire by Kathy Fischer-Brown

Author:Kathy Fischer-Brown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, love, honor, history, destiny, betrayal, historical, passion, haunting, indian wars, raw, culture clash, books we love, last of the mohicans, rich in details, well researched
Publisher: Books We Love Ltd.

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On the brink of restless sleep and uneasy wakefulness, Zara dreamed.

She was a small child in a room brightly lit with shimmering candles reflected off crystal. So bright, the light stung her eyes, brought tears to her eyes. The old man held her. Weeping. She wept as well, as she wrapped her arms tight about his neck.

“You must go now, child. Go. They wait for you.”

She picked up the poppet from the floor, and grazed her fingers over its once smooth, painted features distorted by her tears. She clutched it to her chest…her Dolly! Dolly was broken—and held it up to the old man. “You will mend her, won’t you, Poppy. That way you will not forget me.”

Please, don’t forget me!

She awoke with a start, a deep stab of longing wrenching her heart. Hot tears dampened her cheeks in the cold. Save for the images in the dream, there was nothing tangible to grasp, nothing of real substance to remember. All remained vague, dreamlike, as hazy as the past.

And yet, a deep sense of loss—obscure as it was—ached in the depths of her.

Wrapped in Ethancaine’s warm coat on the cold floor of the store closet, she closed her eyes to shut out the dingy light, and tried to will back the dream. Perhaps she could catch a fleeting glimpse of the old man’s face, a clearer recollection of the room, an understanding of the circumstances that had so filled them both with sorrow. But the vision was gone and not to be recaptured. Only the emptiness remained. An emptiness without a name.

Settling deeper into the coat, she turned onto her side, drawing her knees to her chest, and hugged herself for the comfort denied.

Something hot and wet stroked her cheek. She slowly opened her eyes.

The dog’s massive head rested but a fingerbreadth from her hers, his sad eyes fixed on her with a supplicating look. At seeing her eyes open, he thrust his cool, damp muzzle closer, and licked her once again.

She had not noticed before the two light brown spots mottling his yellow head—one above each eye and just slightly askew. In the dark of their initial predawn encounter, they had been impossible to see, but now the marks were obvious. She could not help smiling. Such a dog was a good sign.

“Gayei Nadehogo eda!” She spoke softly, raising a hand to touch the spots. “Four-Eyed One. You bring much hope in times of great sadness.”

The dog nuzzled her hand, an invitation to stroke his head. She obliged him, laughing with as much restraint as she could muster, lest the people of the house overhear. The dog responded by burrowing his face into the open coat, and she scratched him vigourously behind the ears.

All at once, she sensed another presence in the room. Turning swiftly, she saw the little girl, Abby, crouching not an arm’s length away, observing her.

A look of panic froze the child’s face. Her little body twitched, as if she wanted to flee but suddenly found herself incapable of movement.

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