"You look like you belong in town." Ryland paid what he could and promised to bring the rest the following week. Hester waved off the concern. I know where to find you. When they stepped back outside, the children moved differently.
Their backs were straighter. Their heads were higher. For a few precious minutes, they looked proud. Then they reached the town square. A group of Dusty Creek children were tossing a ball back and forth.
The game stopped when the five Apache siblings approached. Jory Bell curled his mouth into a mocking grin. "Well, look at that," he said. "The wild kids the crazy cowboy dragged home." Reco stepped forward, his chin lifted.
"We're not wild." He pointed toward his brothers and sisters. "We're Ryland Voss's family. I'm Reco. That's Kea, Sani, Daro, and Merie."
Jory gave a harsh little laugh. I don't care what your strange names are. My father says Apaches are thieves and liars. Says people like you don't belong here. A few of the other children nodded.
They were repeating the poison they had heard at home without even understanding it. Kea's eyes filled with tears. Sonnie slipped behind Yara. Daro clenched his fists, but before anyone could move, a sharp voice cut across the square. Enough.
Every head turned. Eliza Maher, the town school teacher, was walking toward them. She was around 30 with brown hair pinned neatly back and intelligent eyes behind a pair of spectacles. "Jory Bell," she said sternly. "You should be ashamed of yourself."
Jory's grin vanished. These children are new here. They deserve manners and respect, not cruelty. Apologize. Jory looked down at his boots.
"Sorry," he mumbled. Eliza turned towards the five siblings and her expression softened immediately. "Hello there, I'm Miss Maher." She smiled. "Would you like to come to school on Monday?"
The children stared at her. School for them too. We could learn all kinds of things together. Sonnie's eyes widened. "Really?
We can come." "Of course," Eliza said. "Every child deserves the chance to learn." She looked at all five of them. Monday morning, 8:00, Ryland felt a rush of gratitude toward a woman willing to offer kindness where others had offered only contempt.
Thank you, Miss Maher," he said. "They'll be there." But as the family walked away from the square, ugly voices still followed them. "I can't believe Eliza is letting savages into that school," one woman said. "My children won't sit beside Apaches," another snapped.