Homecoming. Jill Marie Landis

the time being, I’ve decided to call her Deborah. We can’t just go on referring to her as ‘the girl’ until Jesse discovers who she is.”

      “Why Deborah?”

      “It came to me tonight, as I read from the Book of Judges. Deborah’s song is a song of victory over the enemies of Israel. God’s enemies.” She paused, touched Joe lightly on the arm.

      “This girl was taken by our enemy and nearly lost forever. Now she’s been found.”

      Shadows filled his mother’s eyes. She sighed. “You know God’s enemies are always destroyed, don’t you, Joe?”

      He heard the worry in her voice, saw the sorrow in her eyes and knew he had put it there. He wished there was some way he could explain why he could no longer bring himself to believe at all. He couldn’t imagine believing as deeply and unquestioningly in God’s presence and power as she did. He wished he could tell her when and where he’d lost his way, but he knew then that she would blame herself and he wasn’t willing to lay that burden of guilt at her door.

      There was simply no way he could put his thoughts and doubts—not to mention his anger—into words that wouldn’t hurt her and so they remained unspoken between them.

      His attention fell upon the girl again. Their voices had awakened her and once more she sat poised and regal as a queen, watching them. The barriers of language and customs made her appear aloof and proud, strong as the woman Deborah, the prophetess and warrior woman of the Bible.

      He wondered if the girl had fought against the regiment that raided her encampment. Was the dried blood on the front of her Comanche garb that of one of the soldiers? Or that of her Comanche captors?

      The answer, he decided, might always be a mystery.

      A thought came to him as he rose to his feet.

      “I’m going to nail the windows shut.”

      “You’re going to what?” Hattie frowned.

      “Nail the windows shut in Mellie’s room.” He nodded at the girl. “She might try to get out.”

      “Joe, I don’t think—”

      “Don’t talk me out of it, Ma. We can’t be too careful.”

      “Are you planning to lock her inside the room, too?”

      Slowly he nodded. “I hadn’t thought of it, but that’s not a bad idea.”

      “Look at her. Her hands are burned and bandaged. She’s dead on her feet. Who knows what all she’s endured over the last few days.”

      He didn’t plan on changing his mind no matter how much Hattie protested.

      “I can see there’s no talking you out of it,” she mumbled.

      “Not in the least.”

      “Then you’d best be getting a hammer and nails. I’m putting that child to bed.”

      Since Mellie’s death, the door to the small room once filled with her things had remained closed. Hammer and nails in hand, Joe opened the door and paused just over the threshold. His mother had been in earlier, gotten it ready for their “guest.”

      He took a deep breath, pictured his little sister with her legs folded beneath her, seated in the middle of her bed on a blue and white quilt handed down from their grandmother Ellenberg.

      Mellie loved to make up stories for the origin of each and every piece of fabric. She’d drag him into her room with her white-blond ringlets bouncing and a dimpled smile that lit up a room. More often than not, that smile shone just for him. She’d beg him to pull up a chair and listen as she spun her tales.

      Tonight, a single lamp burned on the dresser and beyond the lamplight, the room was cast in darkness. Mellie’s smile was forever extinguished and she’d taken the light with her.

      The windows were open to the cool night air until he closed and nailed them shut. Then he went back to the front room where Hattie waited on the settee beside the girl.

      His mother pointed to herself and repeated her own name over and over. “Hattie. I’m Hattie. Hattie.”

      When she noticed Joe in the doorway, she waved him over.

      “Joe.” She pointed to him and repeated his name.

      Then she pointed to the girl and waited for her to tell them her name.

      Hattie waited. The girl remained silent.

      “Hattie. Hattie.” His mother tried again.

      “She’s not going to say anything, Ma.” Joe sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m turning in.”

      Hattie refused to give up yet. She pointed to herself and said her name twice more. Then she pointed to the girl and said, “Deborah. Deborah.”

      The girl said absolutely nothing.

      Joe rolled his eyes and walked out.

      His mother tapped on his bedroom door a few minutes later.

      “She’s all settled.” Hattie looked exhausted, but there was a new enthusiasm for life, a sparkle in her eyes that he hadn’t seen in them forever.

      “I really would prefer you didn’t nail her door shut, son. I’m afraid I’ll be up all night worrying if you do. What if there were a fire?”

      “I won’t lock her in if you’re going to lose sleep over it.”

      He already figured he’d be losing enough sleep of his own.

      “Thanks, son, for giving in on this. We have to do everything we can to help her.” She took a deep breath. There was no denying the tears that shimmered in her eyes. “I can’t help but think that, if things had turned out different, if Mellie had been taken captive instead of…well, instead of being killed…I like to think if she’d been found that someone would have opened their home and hearts to her the way we’ve done for this poor child here.”

      Joe knew he may have opened his home to her, to Deborah, but it was only because his mother wanted it. Even in the shadowy hallway, his mother’s scar was visible.

      He might open his home, but never his heart.

      Hattie said good-night and disappeared behind her own door. Joe lingered in the hall, listening. He was about to close his bedroom door when he heard soft footfalls in Mellie’s old room. Then a soft thump or two and he knew without a doubt, the girl was trying to open the window.

      He crept closer and halted outside the door, held his breath and listened. The footsteps stilled, but he heard the hush of breath directly on the other side of the door. The girl was standing there, separated from him by thin planks of wood.

      If she thought he was going to give her the chance to walk out, or worse, to try and kill them in their sleep, she had another think coming.

      Barely breathing, he waited until he heard her bare feet against the floor again. He waited to hear the bed ropes creak, but the sound never came.

      He walked back to his room, pulled off his boots and grabbed the pillow off his bed. Then he went into the sitting room, picked up the rifle he kept by the front door and carried it back into the hall and stopped outside the girl’s door.

      The pillow hit the floor. He hunkered down, lay the gun on the floor and stretched out beside it. He wasn’t a stranger to sleeping without the comfort of a bed. He’d spent weeks sleeping on the ground during roundup.

      But tonight, he doubted he’d sleep at all.

      Eyes-of-the-Sky stood in the middle of the small place where the woman had left her. She’d been forced to change into another garment. The woman gave her to understand, with gestures and signs, that this one was meant for sleeping. The cloth was light as air and the color of