The Captive Heart by Griep Michelle;

Author:Griep, Michelle; [Griep, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 4689331
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2016-12-14T05:00:00+00:00

Eleanor watched the two men disappear into the wild, staring until nothing but sunrays and shadows moved along the path they’d taken. Emotions chased one after the other, like a dog after its own tail. Relief that the fearsome Inoli was gone. Confusion that Samuel called the dark-skinned fellow his brother. Anger—accompanied by a small feeling of being valued—at Samuel’s dismissive commands. And for some odd reason, a cold, hard terror lodging deep in her stomach. There was something Samuel wasn’t telling her.

A frown twisted her mouth. There was always something he wasn’t telling her.

“Drink, Ama?”

Grace’s pet name for her turned Eleanor’s face from the wild to the child. Grace squatted by the water bucket, peering up at her over the rim.

“You know how to use the dipper, little one. You may get your own drink.”

The girl shook her head. “No drink.”

Turning her back on the wilderness, she crossed over to Grace. Usually the girl loved to play in the water bucket, serving herself and make-believe companions so much water that it drenched her dress. Perhaps after seeing her papa for only a few minutes, Grace felt as out of sorts as she did.

She drew near to help—but the water bucket was empty.

“Drink?” Grace repeated.

La! What to do? Samuel had hardly been gone ten minutes. Should she disregard his wishes so soon? She could grab the bucket and refill it in a thrice with a quick trip to the creek. But what would he say if he returned for some forgotten item and found her gone?

She bit her lip. She knew exactly what he’d say, for his anger, when unleashed, left welts on her heart. He may have a fierce friend in Inoli, but the man was savage himself when crossed.

She held out her hand. “Come along, Grace. We shall find something to do inside until your papa returns home. Hopefully he will not be gone long.”

But he was. The afternoon dragged. Grace alternated between crying for water and screaming for her papa. Eleanor preferred the crying. Surely the girl would collapse from the effort, pop her thumb into her mouth, and doze off. Where had the sweet-tempered child of only a few months ago gone? Eleanor calculated as she searched out the window for the hundredth time. If she’d arrived from England nine weeks ago or so, as near as she could tell—though maybe more like ten or eleven—and Grace had been a little over a year and a half at the time, then … She drummed her fingers on the rough wooden sill. Of course. The girl must be two years old now. Life was about to get very interesting—and tiring. She’d have to pick her battles with the care of an infantryman. Behind her, Grace wailed again. The day had been long, but a full night of weeping would be an eternity. It appeared this skirmish would go to the child.

Eleanor whirled from the window. “All right, little one. There is no telling if your papa will be home before dark, and the shadows are already knitting themselves together.

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