Read Online Soul of a Crow by Abbie Williams - Free Book Online

damp as I all but ran from the bathhouse, into the gathering grays of twilight in the small Iowa town; at once I saw Sawyer, heading my way from where the wagon was parked at the side of the dusty street. Relief flowed as palpably through my body as blood, displacing the chill. He sensed that something was amiss, perhaps my posture or just a feeling, as he jogged the last few strides to meet me, catching me against him. I held fast, possessively gripping the material of his shirt and cradling my cheek to his heartbeat. Death had come so close to picking me utterly clean of those I loved.
    â€œI’m here,” he whispered, understanding without words. “Come, Lorie-love, let us go. Boyd has promised something to eat, back at camp.”
    Once free of the town the light subtly shifted, reaching us with no manmade structures to block its radiance, and promptly I felt restored; upon the open ground of the prairie the sun shone with soft yellow tones, beaming long and low from the west to touch us as we rode the short distance south to our camp. Sawyer drove the wagon, Whistler following alongside, as she had this morning, and I turned to look back at her. In the sunset light, her hide gleamed rust-red and cream. Her intelligent brown eyes acknowledged my attention as much as her quiet whicker.
    â€œWe’ll ride tomorrow, how’s that?” Sawyer said to our horse, and she snorted as though in agreement. There were times, as now, when I was certain she truly understood our words.
    â€œWhistler,” I murmured. “You good girl. You kept him safe in the War, didn’t you? You brought Sawyer to me.”
    Sawyer said, “She loves you, too, you know. She raced to get to you. We knew you were in danger, and she ran as she never has before.”
    Boyd had a side of beef grilling over the fire, the rich aroma causing saliva to dart into my mouth. Malcolm whooped at the sight of us, springing up from where he sat polishing his saddle in the last of the light, and deep within I felt a sense of coming home, strange as it might seem to feel such stirrings for a place with no permanent structure, a camp we would vacate at dawn. Sawyer drew the wagon near before surrendering me to Malcolm’s enthusiasm; immediately the boy asked, “You wanna play some marbles, Lorie-Lorie? I smoothed me out a big circle in the dust, yonder.”
    â€œOf course I do,” I said happily, and reflected for the countless time how fortunate I was to have this family, my Sawyer and Boyd, my sweet little Malcolm, to call my own.

- 3 -
    The four of us lingered for a long time around the fire that evening, in our usual places. The sky was clear and without end, the stars cold and glittering, somewhere far distant from us. Boyd brought his fiddle from the wagon and bowed out notes here and there, quietly, in keeping with the mood of the night. I studied the orange flames as they licked the wood, drifting somewhere between wakefulness and sleep; I let my eyes close, and Malcolm whispered, “Lorie’s sleeping.”
    â€œDon’t fall asleep yet, I still have your present,” Sawyer murmured into my ear, and then to Boyd and Malcolm, “I believe we’ll retire, you two. Good-night.”
    â€œâ€™Night, Sawyer, ’night, Lorie-Lorie,” Malcolm said, kissing my cheek as I reached to hug him.
    Boyd played us Byerley’s Waltz as Sawyer helped me to my feet and into our tent. The music was so sweet that I shivered, as Sawyer hung our lantern upon its hook, staked into the ground close to our bedding. When I reached to unbraid my hair, he stilled my motions, requesting, “Let me.”
    Without a word, I nodded; his gentle touch sent immediate shivers fluttering down my spine. I pressed both palms lightly to my belly as he worked efficiently and tenderly, freeing the last twist so that my clean hair fell loose in a heavy sweep, which he entwined in his fingers.
    â€œMy beautiful