Comanche Moon by Catherine Anderson Page A

bed. Peeking out over the windowsill, she looked at the yard and saw—just that: the yard. Not an Indian in sight. Amy reared back, her eyes the size of cow pies. Loretta skewered her with a murderous glare.
    ‘‘Well, it might’ve worked.’’
    Relief made Loretta giddy. She flopped down on the mattress and hugged her pillow. Her heart felt as though it might pound its way up her throat. Hunter. When Amy had said Indians were outside, Loretta had pictured him as he had looked yesterday, high atop his horse with a hundred warriors behind him, his broad chest and corded arms rippling in the sunlight. She had never seen such fierce, burning eyes.
    ‘‘I—Loretta, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you that bad a turn, honest. I was just funnin’ you.’’
    Loretta clenched her teeth and burrowed her face deeper into the pillow. She wanted to throttle Amy for her foolishness.
    ‘‘Loretta, please, don’t be mad. I never thought you’d believe me. Where’s your sense of humor? You don’t really think that ol’ Injun will come back? What would an Injun want with a skinny runt like you? They like fat, brown girls who smear bear grease all over themselves. You’re probably downright ugly to his way of thinkin’, the drabbest-lookin’ female he ever saw. No gee-gaws. Stinky, too, with that lavender smell on you. And no creepy-crawlies in your hair.’’
    Loretta kept her face buried, determined not to laugh.
    ‘‘And sayin’ he liked you? There ain’t no such thing as a polite Comanche. He wouldn’t buy you! He’d just steal you. He came to look at you, that’s all. Maybe he thought he had a hankerin’ for ya and decided different once he got here.’’
    Turning her head, Loretta cracked an eye, smothering a grin.
    ‘‘Come to think of it, you do look sort of pitiful,’’ Amy teased. ‘‘That’s probably why he rode off. He took one look and got such a fright, he still ain’t stopped runnin’.’’
    Springing to her knees, Loretta grabbed her pillow and whacked Amy over the head. Amy, well aware that Henry would tan both their fannies if they woke him, smothered a shrill giggle, dove for her own pillow, and came up fighting. For several minutes they pummeled one another. Then exhaustion took its toll, and they collapsed upon the bed in a heap, their gowns damp with perspiration, their cheeks rosy from suppressing laughter.
    When she caught her breath, Amy whispered, ‘‘I guess maybe I dreamed you was talkin’. You reckon?’’
    Nuzzling her cheek against the quilt, Loretta smiled and nodded. With the golden streaks of dawn behind her, Amy looked like an angel, her hair a molten halo about her heart-shaped face, her eyes big and guileless. What an illusion.
    Amy fiddled with the corner of her pillow, her small, freckled nose wrinkling in a frown. ‘‘You ever heard tell of blessed release?’’ she asked softly.
    It was Loretta’s turn to frown. Talk about out of the blue. Who had told Amy about such a thing?
    ‘‘Last week after we run into them Injuns by the river, Ma was talkin’ to old lady Bartlett, and they was sayin’ a decent woman was better off seekin’ blessed release than bein’ took by Comanches. What’s that mean? It’s somethin’ bad, ain’t it?’’
    For an instant Loretta considered lying. Then she forced herself to nod. This was hard, cruel country, and young or not, Amy should know certain things.
    ‘‘If them Comanches come back and steal you, is that what you’ll do, seek blessed release?’’ Fear chilled the blue depths of Amy’s eyes. ‘‘It’s killin’ yourself, ain’t it?’’
    Loretta’s neck felt brittle when she nodded this time.
    For once, Loretta was glad she couldn’t talk. Amy would demand answers if she could, and Loretta wasn’t sure there were words to describe the horrors she had seen.
    ‘‘I know they did bad things to your ma. My ma wouldn’t never tell what, but she looked funny when I asked her about it. You saw,