He took the book from her. He did not need it. He took her hand and placed it on her belly where the child was moving. a small strong kick. "This," he said, his voice thick. He then put her hand on his own heart, which hammered steadily beneath her palm.
"And this," he pointed to the cradle, to the small carved deer, to the new walls of the room he had built. "That," he said, "is love. It is not just a word. It's the It's the work." She looked at the cradle, at his hands, at her own belly.
She finally understood. It was not a feeling. It was a thing. A solid thing you could build and fight for and hold. She nodded.
A slow, deep understanding. "The work," she repeated. Yes, they had to go to town. The baby was coming and they needed flour, salt, and more than anything, cloth. Soft cloth.
Daniel dreaded it. He had not seen a single person since the day he had buried the preacher's men. Brody had never come back. The world had left them alone. He did not want to poke the hornets's nest.
"I will go," he said. "You will stay." "No," Tyen said. Her voice was quiet, but absolute. She was no longer the frightened girl he had found.
She was the mistress of his home, the mother of his child. I will not hide. You said this is my place. I am your wife. I will ride with you.
He argued, but it was useless. Her mind was set. They rode into Santa Fe 2 days later. He rode Sully, his rifle in its scabbard, his pistol on his hip. She rode the mule he had bought, sitting straight and proud, her hair was in its married braids, and her condition was obvious to anyone who looked.
The plaza went silent. It was as if he had thrown a switch. Men who had been talking stopped, their mouths open. Women who had been sweeping their stoops froze, their brooms still. Every eye in Santa Fe turned to them.
To the gaunt bearded killer, Daniel Reed and his pregnant Apache wife. He felt the hatred, the fear, the disgust rolling off them in waves. He kept his hand near his gun, his eyes scanning the rooftops, his body rigid. Tyen, however, looked straight ahead. She did not flinch.
She did not lower her gaze. She was, he realized, braver than he was. He dismounted and tied the horses. He helped her down from the mule, his hand protectively on her back. They walked into the general store.
Silas Cooper was there. His face went pale as if he had seen a ghost. "Reed," he stammered. "Silas," Daniel said. He handed him a list. flour, salt, coffee, lard, and 10 yards of your softest flannel."