But she did not know him. Not really. He was a man of silences and she had learned not to ask questions of people who did not offer answers. Tonight though, in the strange intimacy of crisis fragments of his story, emerged without his meaning to tell them. Saw a lot of this in the war, he said at one point, watching Clara work.
Men freezing men fevered. Learned that the body's a strange thing. Sometimes it gives up when it shouldn't. Sometimes it fights when there's no reason to fight. He paused.
She's a fighter. This one, you can see it in her face." You were a soldier?" "Medic. Union Army, 3rd Colorado Cavalry." His voice was flat, offering the information without pride or shame." Saw Sand Creek.
Saw what men do to each other when they decide someone isn't human." He looked at the woman on the floor, native vulnerable, utterly at their mercy, and something dark moved across his face." Swore I'd never let that happen again. Not if I could help it." Clara absorbed this information, filing it away. It explained things about Eli. She had wondered about his distance, his watchfulness, the way he always seemed to be standing between other people and something they couldn't see.
"She's Apache," Eli said after a long silence." From the markings on her dress." "Maybe Chiricahua." "Hard to say. Does it matter?" He looked at her, something flickering in his gray eyes. might matter to some folks." There's been trouble up north. Raiding.
The army's been moving people onto reservations. Anyone caught off the land..." "She's a woman with a child," Clara cut him off." Sick and half frozen. Tonight, that's all that matters." Eli nodded slowly, and Clara thought she saw something like respect in his expression. Or maybe it was just the fire light playing tricks.
The child had not moved from her corner. Clara brought her a cup of water and a blanket sitting both on the floor within reach, but not too close. The girl watched her with those enormous dark eyes, still and silent as a held breath. She was tiny, Clara realized. too small for what Clara guessed to be four years old, underfed like her mother. Her dress was a miniature version of the woman's buckskin, and around her neck hung a small pouch on a leather cord, a medicine bundle, Clara guessed, though she knew nothing of Apache ways.
"It's all right," Clara said softly, kneeling until she was at the child's eye level. No one here will hurt you. But the child did not believe her. Why would she? Clara did not know what this girl had seen.