Love's Rescue by Tammy Barley Page B

selected herbs to add to the stew.
    “Where did you learn English, Red Deer?”
    “A missionary came to teach us, and to tell us about the Son of the Great Spirit Father, the one they call Jesus. My sister and I learned this language, as did many of my people. We speak it to the whites, but to one another, we speak mostly the Paiute language.” Her face hardened slightly, like a flower petal frozen from cold. “The missionary told us it is wrong to hate, and wrong to kill the white men for harming us. He said that Jesus forgave the people who killed him, and we should do the same. I still struggle to forgive.” She lowered her eyes to the herbs she had been chopping. “It is often because of white settlers that my people suffer. We have learned that many of our Shoshoni neighbors have been killed because of whites in Idaho Territory. Yet we know that your God sees us as His children, also.” She glanced up with a small smile. “The Bible says that many of those who followed Jesus were fishermen, like the Paiute, though we also hunt antelope and gather seeds and berries. All this land near Honey Lake Valley used to be our home, but now it belongs to ranchers. For hundreds of years, Paiute women have gathered the reeds and grasses for making baskets that we need. The lake and creek held food for us, and with branches from the trees our people made their homes. Now the white men say, ‘This land is ours. You can no longer come here.’ We do not understand such a thing, taking land and keeping for one what had belonged to all. My people have been very angry at the settlers, and there have been many battles, fought by Paiutes who did not want to leave.”
    Red Deer scattered the dried herbs into the bubbling pot, then wiped her hands on a cloth. “But Mr. Bennett is different. He is a good man.”
    Unless danger threatens, Jess thought.
    “He lets us live here so that other white men do not trouble us, and he speaks peacefully to all people. The Paiute men work and are paid the same as the white men. Always there is food for us and for our old people and our children.”
    Jess was ready for Red Deer to stop talking now, but she continued, oblivious to Jess’s animosity toward Jake.
    “Among the Paiutes, he is known as Many Horses, and he is respected. On this ranch, our people can hunt when they wish, and they catch fish. Our elders teach our children the ways of the people, and they also teach them to honor the Spirit Father and to send their prayers to Him.”
    She sighed in acceptance—no, contentment, Jess realized.
    “I know that my family will survive here. While I cook, they are nearby in our village. They, too, work and teach and learn the old ways, and when Lone Wolf and I walk home each night, we know that our place here is good.”
    Red Deer looked up. Jessica was sitting as far from the coffee grinder as she could while dutifully turning the crank. The Indian woman laughed softly.
    “You do not like coffee, Jessica? I will grind; you may stir the soup.”
    Later that afternoon, when they began to set up for the evening meal, Red Deer took the stack of plates from Jess. “You are moving slower. You are not well yet. Why not get some rest? When you feel strong, you may help again.”
    True, Jess was utterly exhausted. She had done little physical work, but invading images of battles and fires had begun to trouble her and wear down her mind and, by extension, her body. With a word of gratitude, Jess put on her coat and mittens, then crossed the yard to the big house. The wagon had not been moved, though a canvas covering had been pulled over its bulging load.
    Winter’s early darkness encroached, turning the wind cold, and she was chilled and shaking when she pushed the heavy timber door closed. Inside felt blessedly warm, like the cookhouse. The hearth blazed invitingly, and Jess moved toward it, still huddled in her coat. Evidently, someone had kept the fire going just for her, since she didn’t think