Where the Broken Heart Still Beats by Carolyn Meyer

wife of the People when both of them were prisoners here, so far from home?
    The idea of escaping was never far from Naduah's mind. Her first attempt had been foolish; she had not planned carefully enough, and, of course, they had caught up with her and brought her back. After that there was always someone watching her—usually Loo-see during the day and the others taking turns at night—to make sure she did not try again. But time had passed, and they were no longer so careful. The days and nights were mild now, and she had the buffalo robe for protection if she needed it.
    She knew well enough how dangerous such a journey would be. The main problem was food. Another was water. She would take what she could, but if the search for the People was long, there would be nothing more to eat when that food was gone. The cold weather was past, but this was still long before the plum bushes and grapevines and persimmon trees would bear fruit or the roots and bulbs and plants of the prairie would begin to grow. The People called this "The Season When Babies Cry for Food," because it was the time when their supply of buffalo jerky and pemmican was nearly exhausted, and all of them were hungry.
    Even if she were well supplied, which way should she go? Some of the People could read the stars. Although she sometimes stared at the night skies above the cabin, they told her nothing. She would, she decided, ride in the direction of the setting sun where she would eventually find her way back to the People. Or they would find her.
    And if she died out there on the vast, empty plains, it was better than dying here.

Chapter Nine
From Lucy Parker's journal, March 21, 1861
    No sooner do I begin to feel more confident about Cynthia Ann, that she is truly finding contentment here among her family, than something terrible happens.
    She ran away again. It was much the same as the last time—only this time she took Grandfather's gelding from the shed and two other horses, not ours. She took her buffalo robe, of course, and she supplied herself with several loaves of bread—she has learned to make it, and very good it is, too—and some jars of Mama's preserves. And, oddly enough, she also took our can of starter, as though she planned to bake more bread on her journey. Where she thought she would find flour, I cannot say.
    This time the weather was favorable—we are having a dry spring, for once—and she left no tracks. But she rode into the Bigelows' farm ten miles west of here and made off with two of his horses! The dogs set up a clamor, and Mr. Bigelow pursued her and after a long chase managed to capture her when her horse stepped into a hole. He told us when he brought her back that she fought like a wildcat. That was five days ago. At this moment she appears so subdued, so calm, that I cannot believe she bit and scratched him, although he claims to have the marks to prove it.
    Mama and Martha are quite beside themselves over this, but Grandfather says that we must forgive her and pray for her. So there is much prayer going on in our household, for patience for ourselves as much as anything. Frankly she does appear to be completely heathen and is unmoved by our efforts. She has forgotten that her own father's father, Elder John Parker, actually founded a church in Illinois and brought it here to Texas, that had it not been for Elder John and his faith, she would not be here at all.
    At least it was not while I was watching her that she ran away. Papa fell asleep when it was his turn to guard her through the night!
    Two days ago a Mr. A. F. Corning arrived from Fort Worth with his camera. He had heard about Cynthia Ann—our cousin is very famous in these parts now, the Rescued Captive—and wanted to make a photograph of her. I tried to explain to her what was happening, but how does one go about explaining such a thing?
    At any rate, she sat on a bench (
not
on the buffalo robe!), and while Mr. Corning was preparing to make his portrait,