Dove's Way Read Online Free PDF

borrowed bracelet wasn’t enough for her to feel close to her mother. Finnea glanced at the silvered mirror at the end of the dining room. She looked at her eyes, her face, to find some glimmer of proof in the reflection that indeed she bore some relation to the beautiful woman who sat across from her.
    “So tell us, Miss Winslet, it must be a tremendous relief for you to be back in civilized society,” stated a woman named Grace Baldwin.
    The dinner party consisted of twelve people. The host and hostess. Finnea, Jeffrey Upton. Her mother, Nester, and his fiancée, along with several other people Finnea had never met. Grace Baldwin. Another woman named Adwina Raines. A flighty couple called Dumont. And of course, Matthew.
    Finnea shifted her gaze and tried to make sense of the woman’s question. Relief? Back in civilized society? She hadn’t lived in Boston since she was six, and those early years were nothing more than a distant haze.
    “Tell us, Miss Winslet,” Adwina Raines began, one arched brow slightly raised, “where exactly did you live? With some tribe of sorts, I hear.”
    Mrs. Dumont gasped, peering closely at Finnea. “A tribe of savages?”
    Finnea sat very still, unable to think, much less respond.
    “Those heathens are carnivores, you know,” Mrs. Dumont added in a breathless rush. “Flesh-eating savages.”
    “We all are carnivores, Mrs. Dumont. Each and every one of us at this table.”
    All heads turned to Matthew, his abrupt words rumbling through the room, surprising the occupants, since he hadn’t spoken thus far. He had sat quietly all evening, a barely contained violence shimmering about him like a mist over the sea.
    But Mrs. Dumont only sniffed and glanced meaningfully at his face with a brittle tilt of brow. “Speak for yourself, Mr. Hawthorne.”
    An embarrassed silence descended about the table. Matthew only stared, his spine rigid. Finnea suddenly remembered the Europeans hurrying from the second car. Could people truly run from a face that would be merely beautiful without the dignity of such a scar? Were these Americans no different?
    “Miss Winslet,” Mr. Dumont chimed in too brightly, breaking the quiet. “Please tell us about the beauty of Africa.”
    Before she could answer, Adwina Raines interrupted. “I hear there’s no beauty about it, Mr. Dumont,” she stated with a superior nod. “All wild jungles and heathens, as your own wife just pointed out. Naked heathens,” she added with a knowing and impugning glance at Finnea.
    Finnea began to simmer.
    “Africa, I hear,” Mr. Dumont stated, “is called the Dark Continent.”
    “The White Man’s Grave.”
    Their tones were accusatory, and Finnea tried to think of words to defend her beloved land. But what they said was true. Africa was a dark, forbidding place, though beautiful beyond words. She knew instinctively that these people with their clothes up to their chins and servants to do their slightest bidding would not understand its unforgiving beauty.
    “Yes, heathens the lot of them,” Grace Baldwin breathed, her eyes growing wide with excitement. She glanced from side to side, blotted her lips delicately with her napkin, then leaned forward, her sapphire-and-diamond necklace catching the light from the chandelier. “I heard the Dutch heiress Alexine Tinne sailed up the Nile to some desolate place and attempted to cross the Sahara desert—”
    “To hear it told,” Adwina interjected yet again, pulling the attention back to her, “the fine woman’s attempt was sabotaged by her native guides, who slashed off her hands and left her to die in the desert while they made off with her provisions and money.”
    The women blanched and even the men gasped.
    “Proof,” Adwina stated with a confirmatory nod, “that Africa is a land of barbarians.”
    “I would wager it was those cannibals who did her in,” Mr. Dumont stated, leaning back in his chair, grasping his lapels importantly.
    “No doubt,” confirmed