The Captive Heart Read Online Free PDF Page A

His hand rested on the butt of the pistol at his hip, his elbow slightly extended, and she even thought once or twice of casually slipping her hand under his arm, but the thought made her blush and she knew she didn’t have the nerve. When he glanced at her he almost seemed to smile, but he said nothing. The man could be dreadfully stingy with words.
    He waited outside as she went into the post office and collected a little clutch of letters from the man at the counter.
    â€œLetters from home,” she said, flipping through them as she rejoined Domingo in the dusty street. “But none for me. They’re all for Mamm and Dat, from friends in Ohio.”
    Domingo grabbed her arm and pulled her to the side as a horse-drawn wagon rumbled by a little too close for comfort.
    â€œThank you.” She smiled up at him while he still held her arm. “I’m glad you came with us today. I feel safe when I’m with you.”
    He smiled back. “You are welcome, Cualnezqui.”
    But then he let go of her arm and said nothing else, turning to head up the street. He went a few paces before he turned around and looked back.
    Miriam had not moved. Another wagon trundled close by, loaded with hay, but she ignored it. Her frustration welled up, and she knew she was going to say something or burst.
    â€œI know what that word means,” she said, in High German. “Cualnezqui.”
    He turned about and came back to stand in front of her. He seemed to measure her then, looking deep into her eyes, but in his face she saw only compassion. It was not what she was looking for, longing for.
    â€œSomeone has told you,” he said.
    â€œYou told us it meant friend , but then we found out from Kyra that it really means beautiful one . And you saved it for me alone. Why would you do that?”
    He looked away, and then his eyes went to his sandals. He shrugged and said quietly, “Because you are beautiful?”
    She studied him for a few seconds, confused, unsure of what to say next. She took a half step closer so that he was forced to look down into her face.
    â€œWhen a man calls a woman beautiful, it makes her think he is . . . fond of her.”
    A small nod, but he said nothing.
    â€œDomingo, why won’t you talk to me?”
    He took a deep breath and raised his head, again looking elsewhere, as if he could not bear to look into her eyes.
    â€œRespect,” he said softly, then turned away abruptly and started walking up the street, leaving her behind.
    She rushed to catch up with him, and when she did she grabbed his elbow without thinking. They stopped again, their feet crunching in the cinders in front of the blacksmith shop as a hammer rang against an anvil in the background.
    â€œRespect?” she said. “Is it respectful to make fun of me, calling me beautiful? Is it respectful to lie to me? There is no respect in words you don’t mean.”
    â€œBut I did mean it. You are beautiful, and I am very . . . fond of you.” He shrugged. “But a man does not live only by his feelings. A man must respect another man’s fences.”
    â€œWhat is that supposed to mean?”
    â€œLook around you. There are beautiful women in the village, but they are married. Everywhere, there are fences. A man who does not respect another man’s fences is not an honorable man.”
    â€œI am not married.”
    â€œNo, but you are a yanqui , a white woman, and I am Nahua. Your family owns property and I am poor. Then there is your father, and your religion. Fences.”
    â€œWhat has my father to do with it?”
    Domingo turned and started walking again, but she clung tightly to his arm and kept up. An old woman in front of the butcher shop stopped to stare at her prayer kapp. Miriam ignored her.
    â€œI have worked on your farm for a year now,” Domingo said, “and I have learned enough about the Amish to know that your father would not wish to