A War of Daisies Read online

  Dynah and her mother had been on the receiving end of that punishment from time to time as well, but Penelope had it the worst. When her father got in one of his moods, the best thing you could do was just stay quiet and do as you were told. Usually Penelope did that, too. Dynah couldn’t imagine what had come over her last night, to speak to him as she did. And somewhere deep inside, just for a moment, a tiny part of her had been proud of her sister. A part that Dynah had quickly shoved down. Hopefully, Penelope had gone to Willow’s house. She didn’t have the energy to worry about her sister and her father at the same time.

  The door to the back room opened, and Helena emerged, followed by Dr. Hudson. They could have been brother and sister, though Dynah knew they weren’t. Both had wispy blonde hair, brown eyes, and pale skin. The doctor, however, rose tall and thin, whereas Helena was shorter and full-figured. For an older woman, she drew a lot of attention from the men of the town. Dynah made a point to notice these things.

  She noticed none of these things now, however, as Dr. Hudson strode toward her. Because instead, she saw a strange black shadow that hugged the frame of his body. It startled her so much that she gasped, hand flying to her mouth.

  “Oh, there, there,” Dr. Hudson said soothingly. “I know you’re distraught about your father. Try not to worry, my dear, at least until I’ve taken a look at him.”

  Dynah bowed her head and nodded as he patted her back. With her gaze turned toward the floor and her curls falling like a curtain to shield her face, Dynah could only see the doctor’s feet. The brown leather of his shoes, gleaming slightly. The cuff of his pants. The dark, shifting fog encircling him.

  It clung tightly to his body, moving and swirling slowly as if alive. Dynah realized after a moment, much to her horror, that it emitted a faint whisper as well. A sound that evoked the nightmares she’d had since the day of the cyclone. Of things that crept in the darkest of places.

  After a moment, Dr. Hudson straightened. “I’ll get my horse from around back.”

  He walked off, and Dynah let out a sigh of relief.

  “You take care now, Miss Johnston,” Helena said. “He’ll fix your father up in no time.”

  Dynah nodded numbly and walked out to collect Moon. She tried to compose herself as she untied his reins from the rail with shaky hands. Was she having hallucinations? Perhaps because of the stress; first Penelope, now her father. Sensing her upset, Moon turned his head and nudged her with his soft nose. Dynah patted him on the neck distractedly and swung up into the saddle.

  “Ready?” Dr. Hudson asked as he rode around the corner on his bay gelding.

  Dynah nodded, trying not to tremble. She blinked her eyes several times, but the shifting shadow surrounding the doctor remained.

  She led the way home, riding alongside the man and the writhing darkness.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Willow

  Bullet flew across the earth so quickly that Willow felt sure at any moment they’d sprout wings and rise into the sky. She lay low across her neck, red mane whipping in her face. Heat rising up from the mare’s pumping muscles, heat rising up from the plains. They were speed incarnate. They were unstoppable.

  After about a mile Willow reined her in, and they trotted the next mile to cool off. When they reached the curve of the railroad tracks where they swooped south past Hawk’s Hollow, Willow knew they were getting close to home. She’d been doing sprints with trot intervals in between to build up their endurance for weeks now. Lately she’d increased the distance, going a dozen miles each day, south out of the canyons by her house until she reached the wide-open sprawl of the plains and then back again.

  The cross-country endurance race would last two days and cover a hundred miles. From Hawk’s Hollow south along the Navajo reservation border, up to Devil’s Eye Peak, and back along the mountains to the north. One big circle back to town. A grueling test of horse and rider. Dangerous terrain. Hot temperatures. Snakes, mountain lions, and coyotes. Willow grinned at the thought of it.

  In addition to being a woman, she also had another secret weapon she bet none of the men had: Bullet was a mustang. Willow had found her out in the plains three years prior, alone and injured, and had nursed her back to health, sleeping in the barn with her for a week straight. Along the way she’d earned the mare’s trust, and it hadn’t been long before they’d been galloping across the open plains. Mustangs had the trifecta of speed, endurance, and hardiness that made them perfect for this sort of race. Their meeting had clearly been meant to be. And soon they’d be out of this place, exploring the world together.

  As she came within sight of the red rock canyons again, and the glittering curl of the river leading to her house, Willow saw another rider ahead. A rider with tan skin, black hair, and a golden buckskin. Her heart climbed into her mouth.

  “Zane,” she called when they got within distance. She slowed Bullet to a walk. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Same thing you’re doing.” He smiled. “Practicing for the race. Except I have a disadvantage—I’m not from around here, remember?”

  “Well, the race is going to be held that way.” Willow raised a brow and pointed to the west.

  “Eh, we’ve been all over today. Just winding down.” He reached down and patted his gelding on the neck. The buckskin snorted and pranced in place.

  “Where’d you say you were from again?”

  A grin. “I didn’t.”

  Willow wasn’t going to let him dodge so easily. “So?”

  “I don’t call any particular place home.” He shrugged. “And you, Will? You’ve lived in Hawk’s Hollow your whole life?”

  Willow rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Unfortunately.”

  “Why is that unfortunate?”

  “Let’s just say Hawk’s Hollow is a bit behind the times.” Willow sighed. “I want to see other places. Like you have.”

  Zane pulled his gelding alongside Bullet, riding so close their knees brushed against one another. “Don’t underestimate a place to call home,” he said softly.

  Willow looked over at him, and for a moment his gaze was distant, as if he saw something other than their surroundings.

  “Well,” she said. “I can always come back. After I’ve seen a few things.”

  “So, is that your plan if you win the race? Use the winnings to get out of here?”

  Willow nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Well, then, it will give me sorrow to beat you.”

  His grin was back, and she almost reached out to swat at him playfully before remembering that men didn’t do that to each other. Don’t flirt, you moron! It was exceedingly hard to remember to be a man while in Zane’s presence. Damn it to hell. If he blew her cover…

  “We’ll see about that. I hope your walk is as big as your talk.”

  “Oh, it most certainly is.” His voice deepened, and the look he shot her gave her heart palpitations.

  “Um, well, I was about to head home. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” Willow turned Bullet toward the river.

  “I’m sure you will,” Zane said.

  As she rode away, Willow wanted to kick herself. She’d never been interested in boys. Why now? It was the worst possible timing. She needed to win this race. Then she’d not only have the prize money, but she’d also reveal to all the antiquated townsfolk of Hawk’s Hollow that they’d been beaten by a woman. They’d have to change the rules going forward. It would be her farewell gift to the place she’d grown up.

  Zane, however, was not part of her plan. His presence was dangerous. If she lost this thing because she felt giddy over a handsome cowboy, she would never forgive herself. She made up her mind then and there: no more Zane. Not until after the race started. They had their little bargain, and she’d keep up her end. But until then? Bye, bye, cowboy.

  Decision made, she felt some of the tension in her body release. The low-level buzz she felt in his presence faded away. She didn’t like how her body reacted to him (against the wishes of her
brain). It was a loss of control she wasn’t accustomed to.

  When she reached the river, Willow stopped to let Bullet have a drink of water. They were south of the canyon, still out in the open plains. Her house sat another mile or so upriver. After standing there watching the water shimmer over the rocks for a couple minutes, she couldn’t help herself. She turned around to see if she could catch one last glimpse of Zane riding off across the plains.

  But he was already gone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Penelope

  As the last sliver of sunlight disappeared, Penelope realized that she rode alone in the wilderness with no food, no map, no plan. She couldn’t see the Navajo rider anymore in the velvety darkness that surrounded her, and the moon hadn’t yet risen. Even if she did somehow find him, did somehow make it to the Navajo reservation, what then? Would they have any more interest in her than her mother’s people?

  She brought Domino to a halt, indecision gnawing at her insides like wild dogs. She could always turn around now and find her way back to Willow’s house. It wasn’t too late.

  But, as she looked over her shoulder toward the safety of familiar territory, the howl of a lone wolf broke the night.

  It was the sign she needed. The wolves had always shown her the way in her dreams. She knew they wouldn’t lead her astray now. Penelope urged Domino forward. They moved across the plains, kicking up dust and avoiding clumps of sage and cactus. When the moon rose a few minutes later, it illuminated the path before her, a single silvery strip across the land. The road leading her home. The home she’d never known.

  The wolf howled again in the distance, farther away this time, and Penelope moved Domino into a trot. With the moon lighting their way, they made better progress. Time passed strangely. She knew she’d just begun, but at the same time, with a strange sense of déjà vu, it felt like this journey had been happening her whole life.

  She cantered Domino here and there, onward into the great wide-open, farther than she’d ever traveled before. Everyone knew the Navajo lived this way, and the peace between them and the white people was fragile at best. She didn’t know much about what had happened, only that there had been a lot of fighting, battles even, and that sometime shortly before she was born, a treaty had been signed and they’d moved to the reservation. Penelope had only seen the tribespeople a handful of times in her life. She lamented, not for the first time, how tragically little she knew of her own history.

  As the hours stretched on, Penelope began to worry. What if they ran into bandits? Or stepped on a snake? Or Domino tripped in the dark or stumbled into a hole? Domino trusted her, and she would hate herself if something happened to him. She’d had him for nearly twelve years, the truest of companions. He wasn’t a young colt anymore, he approached eighteen years of age. Please, she thought, though to whom she directed the thought, she didn’t know. Let us get safely through this night. I just want the truth of my people.

  Another wolf howl, this time to her left, which was… south? She wasn’t even sure at this point. She turned Domino off their moon path, following the sound. The moon had climbed higher now and illuminated more of the plains, a pale-yellow orb bulging just past half-full. Yearning to be whole, just as Penelope did. A shiver ran across her skin like the breath of a ghost.

  And then, far in the distance, she saw lights.

  Clusters of them here and there, flickering dots of orange against the black, like clouds of fireflies in the night. It could be nothing but the Navajo reservation. Wonder and trepidation spun circles in her stomach and fluttered in her chest. She couldn’t believe she’d done what she’d done. Walking out on her family. Riding through the night. And now she’d actually made it.

  Hoofbeats came up behind her and Penelope spun. Out of the darkness came a rider on a chestnut and white paint horse. He stopped next to her and they looked at each other. He seemed a few years older than her. Penelope knew instantly he was the lone rider she’d been following. She’d only ever seen his silhouette, but an energetic connection stretched between them that she couldn’t explain.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Hi.” She raised a hand in greeting. “I’m Penelope.”

  “Penelope,” he repeated. “I am Atsa.”

  Penelope nodded. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Silence fell between them. Penelope didn’t know what to say next. How could she explain her purpose out here in the dead of night, that she’d seen him from afar and followed him?

  “Well, um, I guess I should…” she began.

  Atsa raised a hand. “I know why you are here, Penelope. Follow me.”

  “You know?” Her mouth opened and closed a couple times.

  “All will be clear soon.” Atsa urged his horse forward toward the reservation.

  The howl of the wolf rose into the night once again.

  “Yanaha is waiting for us.” He smiled over his shoulder at her.

  “Yanaha?”

  “My wolf.”

  Penelope nodded and followed him. They rode in silence toward one of the clusters of glowing lights. Penelope wondered what time it was. The moon now hung high in the sky. It had to be close to midnight, or perhaps even later.

  Another hour of travel brought them to a small cluster of several buildings. Penelope stared in amazement as they rode past the first of the houses, an eight-sided log structure with earth mounded around the sides and top. Smoke spiraled up from the apex of each roof out of a small hole. Woven blankets hung in the doorways of some, where others were open, light glowing from within.

  Because of the late hour, it was quiet and still. Atsa lead them past two houses and stopped in front of a dwelling that rose taller than the rest. Smoke snaked out the top of it, white against the black sky. A blanket woven in a pattern that reminded Penelope of lightning hung across the entrance. And in front of the door, waiting for them, sat a solid white wolf. It turned to them with glowing green eyes.

  Atsa pointed to the beast. “The guide for your journey.” He slid off his horse and patted the wolf on the head. Her tongue lolled out of the side of her mouth and she grinned toothily.

  Penelope dismounted as well.

  “Will your horse stay?” Atsa asked her.

  Penelope nodded. She had trained Domino to ground tie a long time ago.

  Atsa lifted the blanket covering the door and gestured for her to go inside. Taking a deep breath, Penelope stepped forward and ducked through the opening.

  Inside, Penelope could see the artistry and skill of the symmetrical pattern of the logs. Strong and sturdy, straight sides forming the walls, then more logs that slanted upward toward the apex in the center, where the smoke escaped. More patterned rugs hung around the sides of the building, and a small bed of woven blankets lay on the far side. A table and shelf next to it were covered in an assortment of herbs, feathers, crystals, and books. And sitting in the center of the structure, on a rug next to the fire, sat a very old woman.

  The woman looked up at her and smiled. “Welcome to my hogan, shitsoi,” she said, waving a hand to indicate the house. “I am so happy you made it.”

  Penelope looked from the woman to Atsa and back. “Shitsoi? What does that mean?”

  “It means grandchild,” Atsa said softly.

  Penelope’s mouth fell open. “Grandchild?”

  “Yes,” the woman said. “I am Nascha. Your grandmother.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Felicity

  The day after the thieves broke into their barn, Felicity’s mother announced that they’d be having the preacher over for dinner.

  “The timing couldn’t be better,” Felicity’s mother said. “After squelching all the rumors from yesterday.”

  They sat in the parlor, and their housekeeper Beatrice had just brought Felicity and her mother glasses of tea. The parlor was the grandest room in the house, though the dining room gave it fair competition. Mahogany floors and walls, a marble fireplace, a grand piano in one corner which Felicit
y played, along with her harp, whenever they had company.

  Felicity’s mother paused in her knitting to take a sip of tea. “Actually,” she said, lowering her voice, “It may end up being a good thing we were robbed.”

  “Why on earth would you say that?” Felicity asked, eyebrows raised.

  “Well, to be stolen from means you have something worth stealing.” Another sip of tea.

  Felicity didn’t think her mother would appreciate her response, so she pressed her lips into a thin line.

  “Though I do hope Sheriff Longford locates our missing bridles. But about dinner tonight: we’ll need to run to the butcher to get beef and prime rib and quail.”

  “All three?”

  “Of course.” Felicity’s mother shot her a dark look. “We can’t be too extravagant for the preacher. Don’t you agree?”

  “Of course, Mama,” Felicity said with a nod.

  “I’ll need you to perform on the harp, naturally. Plus, with the fair coming up, the preacher and his wife are sure to want to see how your solo is coming along.”

  Felicity’s insides tightened. Indeed. The song her music tutor had shamed her for a few days ago. The one which made her feel like she was plucking sinew from her own body rather than the strings of her instrument. But she just nodded again. “Yes, ma’am.”

  They drank their tea, Felicity’s mother chattering inanely about all manner of gossip in Hawk’s Hollow. Felicity found it fascinating how someone could be so terrified of being talked about in a negative light, and yet turn around and do the same to everyone else. She found her thoughts drifting to her story in her book up in the barn. Her fingers itched to take up a pen again, to be rid of her mother’s irksome voice, her smothering personality, her control of every aspect of their lives…

  “Felicity!” her mother shrieked.

  Felicity straightened in her pink wingback chair. “Yes?”