Indian Summer by Suzanne D. Williams

Author:Suzanne D. Williams
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: multicultural, interracial, romance, western, historical fiction, 19th century, mail order bride, Native American, Christian fiction
Publisher: Suzanne D. Williams
Published: 2016-04-19T00:00:00+00:00

Ona’s hand rested on the center of his chest, her fingers clutching at some imaginable thing. Her head was turned away from him though, as if what she clutched at she’d fought with all night. In fact, she’d slept sound, and he couldn’t recall her rolling or tossing in any way. For that matter, he couldn’t recall feeling quite so fulfilled, her simple presence beside him bringing much peace.

Still, he wasn’t used to lying asleep so long and, therefore, rose carefully, not wishing to disturb her. He made his way out, the barest edge of dawn highlighting the sky, then leaped off the porch onto the ground. He aimed himself for his uncle’s encampment. His uncle had built a chickee last night, a small open building, merely four poles stuck in the soil. Braided palmetto branches made the roof, and a floor of split pine boards suspended it a foot off the ground.

Approaching it, John counted only three huddled figures. “Where is Uncle?” he asked.

His aunt jerked her chin towards the trees.

So he’d gone hunting again, probably to show him up once more. John exhaled. He respected his uncle, but already tired of the competition. He’d told Ona only half of what was actually said the day before, much of it aimed as correction for what his uncle felt was willful behavior. He had spoken truthfully though about the revelation the time spent with his uncle had given him in regards to his father. He’d learned he neither fit entirely into his father’s world nor his uncle’s and had gotten the impetus to somehow find a way to embrace both sides of who he was.

Which, this morning, meant ignoring his uncle’s absence and proceeding with his morning as usual. However, hours later, his uncle hadn’t returned and a knowing in John’s gut spoke uneasily. Reassuring his aunt, who’d also grown concerned, John spoke to Ona, saying he would do a brief search, then mounted his horse and set out.

Finding someone so skilled at not leaving a trace was difficult, but scanning the earth and training his thoughts to match his uncle’s, he soon discovered a trail. The slightest imprint of a hoof, the bend of grasses from a beast’s passing, things he noticed because this place, this land, was so very familiar to him.

The route took him uncomfortably close to Delmas’s property, following the curve of the fence to where he’d crossed over it just days ago on his own. He paused there, his hand on the fallen post and the guilt of his actions took on a much larger scale. His uncle would be aware of “the white man’s” need to claim their things, fencing being a large part of that, but to him, it wouldn’t hold the same significance. In his eyes, this land belonged to all men, the fruit of it given for his prosperity as much as Delmas’ or anyone else.

John hesitated to cross, his promise to not trespass weighing on him, but time passing, his fear for his uncle counterbalanced it.

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