Salem's Fury (Vengeance Trilogy Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

Sarah. “I have missed you sorely.”
    “Aye, and I you. The others send their love and wish you would visit at the next trading.”
    Sarah frowns. “Come. I would hear all about our brother and Bishop.” Her eyes meander to my neck. “And how you came by such a pretty necklace.”
    I laugh that she should notice, though she were ever observant of such things.
    We take our time entering the village, pausing whenever she needs to give her legs rest.
    It pains me that Sarah’s body works against her, though I hide my feelings and continue telling her of our time at the trade post. We work our way through the maze of wikiami s, dome-shaped huts crafted of saplings tied together and covered with bark and animal skins.
    We reach our own, and I pull back the buckskin flap to allow Sarah enter first.
    The scent of smoke and spices hangs heavy in our hut.
    I sit cross-legged beside the fire, listening to it sing with crackling pops . Its light casts long shadows of my sister and me against the far wall. They dance in time with the flickering flames.
    A black bear’s stretched hide lies before me. I glide my fingers through its soft fur, parting hairs in my wake. Even now, I find it easy recalling the day I tracked the beast to its lair. Easier still remembering the faces of those who mocked me.
    None are so foolish now.
    Indeed, few braves can match my aim with bow or rifle. Only one can best me with the tomahawk and the long knife.
    Only Father.
    New pelts lay upon the floor, and I study the hides—elk, beaver, fox. My thoughts turn to memories of tracking such worthy creatures with Father. I honor them again with silent thanks for the lessons each taught me during the many hunts. Yet for all the pelts before me, I know the bounty lacks one prized hide—the elusive trickster of the forest. The only pelt I have yet to acquire.
    Seated across the fire, I catch Sarah watching me.
    I am no stranger to the look she gives. Many of the squaws in our village disapprove that I should go into the wood alongside our braves to fetch game and pelts for the trading posts.
    But my sister is no squaw, and the disapproval in her eyes cuts worse.
    “You should not look on the furs in such a way, Rebecca,” Sarah says. “You have only just returned from our brother’s post. Can we not sit and talk together without your attention turning to hunting and hides?”
    My fingers dig deeper, clutching tufts of fur. “Father would not care.”
    Sarah shakes her head. “I have asked you more than once to cease such pretenses.”
    She wraps a bit of tanned leather round a bundle of pelts. Jerk the knot tight.
    “Our father died long ago. My husband remains—” She levels me with her eyes. “And Priest will never be father to you. No matter how you might wish it.”
    I know that I should hold my silence in keeping with Father’s lessons. My sister does not often fall into such a foul spirit, but I have learned to tread lightly when such a mood strikes her.
    Still, for all Father’s teachings, I have not yet mastered his skillful, quiet way.
    “Your husband is Father to me,” I say. “More so than the other one you speak of. That man is but a shadow in my memory.”
    Sarah grimaces. “Odd that you should say so. I recall our true father showed you more favor than ever he did for George or me.”
    She ties the other end of the pelt bundle, and chuckles in a way I like not at all.
    “Perhaps it is just,” says Sarah. “That you also think of Priest in such a goodly manner. You were ever the only one to coax the smallest of smiles from our real father. Why should you not also steal my husband’s affections?”
    Her biting words swell anger within me. Still, my conscience warns I am partially to blame for goading her. I humble myself, as Sarah oft preaches her god would have us do, and steady my tone. “Sister—”
    “Do you think I cannot not see him turn from me?” Sarah asks. “I may be crippled, but I am not blind.”
    “You