White Dawn Read Online Free PDF Page A

I going to do? I don’t want to die.” Emily sobbed, resting her forehead against her updrawn knees as she fought the nausea welling inside her. Her body trembled and shook so hard, her sides ached. She clasped her hands together, ragged nails digging into her flesh. The trembling increased. It turned to a rumble, as if the earth beneath her was angry at the injustice.
    Emily pressed her palm to the ground. It continued to tremble beneath her. She lifted her head and glanced around. Shouts came from her right. Hope rose inside her. Had Millicente’s husband gotten help and come after her and her mother?
    On the other side of the river, farther upstream, she spotted a large group of riders heading toward her parents. She started to stand, but sudden yells filling the air chilled her soul.
    Savages!
    This was not help from the neighboring mission. Instinctively, Emily shrank down low, pulling her shawl more tightly around her. Normally Indians didn’t frighten her. Those who lived near the mission had been friendly. But from the cries filling the air, and the lances held high overhead, she knew these Indians were not.
    They splashed through the water, riding en masse toward her parents. Emily’s gaze returned to the stopped wagon and she watched in mounting horror as her father climbed onto the seat and stood tall, his Bible held high for the savages to see.
    “No! No!” She tried to warn her father, but the words seized in the back of her throat.
    Horrified, she saw a flurry of arrows fly through the air. Stunned and helpless, she watched her father topple from the wagon and heard her mother’s screams. The mules bolted, and the savages gave chase. Stunned and helpless, Emily gasped as she saw her mother fall off the wagon and beneath its wheels.
    “Dear God, no,” Emily sobbed, over and over. She was more scared than she’d ever been, but instinct took over. She slid around the trunk of the cottonwood tree, farther back under the brush and deeper into the shadows of the grove, making herself as small as possible. She covered her head with her garments, the shades of brown on both dress and shawl blending in with her surroundings.
    The Indians’ wild yells continued to echo across the meadow. Numb with fear, Emily buried her head beneath her arms, afraid, yet feeling guilty for not having done anything to help her parents. The knowledge that she was helpless to do anything was little consolation.
    After what seemed hours, the acrid scent of smoke filled the air, followed by more loud, victorious cries. Peeking through the brush, Emily saw the savages riding away, continuing in the direction her parents had been headed. In their arms, they held the blankets and bolts of material her parents had intended to trade for food and other necessities.
    When the earth’s trembling and the savages’ triumphant yells died away, Emily stumbled to her feet and stared at the burning wagon in the distance. The mules were gone. Cloth from torn clothing was plastered by the wind against a tree nearby.
    “Ma,” she whispered. A dark shadow passed overhead. Then another. Emily glanced up, then cried out at the sight of the large, dark birds soaring closer, circling overhead, waiting. Running out into the open, Emily prayed as she’d never prayed before. Reaching her mother, she fell to her knees. Blood from an arrow stained the bodice of the woman’s dress and dribbled from her mouth. Her legs lay at awkward angles.
    “Ma!” Emily grabbed her mother’s hand. The skin felt chilled. Her mother couldn’t be dead. “No. Please, no,” she cried.
    “Em—”
    Startled by the faint whisper of sound, Emily glanced at her mother. “Ma. Oh, God, you’re alive. You’re going to be fine, I’ll take care of you.” The rush of words left her mouth as fear shoved back the impossible truth.
    “No. Too late. Take—” Beatrice Ambrose broke off as a spasm of coughing overtook her. Blood bubbled from her mouth.
    “Don’t talk.”