Her Cheyenne Warrior. Lauri Robinson

*

      Lorna couldn’t get out of the teepee fast enough. The chief didn’t frighten her, but he did make her blood boil. He was so arrogant and haughty, she wanted to— Her train of thought stopped right there. Rushing forward, she hugged each of her friends.

      “You are all right?” she asked. “No one hurt you?”

      “Heavens, no,” Tillie said. “They have been so kind. I had a delightful lunch.”

      “I did, too,” Betty supplied. “With a wonderful couple who had three little boys, and...”

      Lorna stopped listening to turn to Meg. Once again, the look on her friend’s face almost stopped her heart. “Meg? Meg, what is it?”

      Meg didn’t turn her way, and Lorna spun to see what was holding her friend’s interest so deeply that she’d all but turned to stone.

      Little One was staring back at Meg, and frowning, as if confused.

      Lorna bounced a glance between the two of them, wondering what each of them saw. Neither of them was frightening. In fact, other than that Little One had brown skin and Meg white, the two looked vaguely similar to one another.

      Meg finally spoke, but it was to Little One. “Carolyn?”

      “No,” Lorna said, “her name is Little One. The Cheyenne call her Aleaha, or something like that.”

      “Carolyn.” Meg pulled the habit off her head. “It’s me, Margaret. Your sister.”

      Lorna was not expecting that. Neither was Betty or Tillie, considering how they gasped. She spun, only to spy Little One with one hand clasped across her mouth and tears trickling down her cheeks.

      Turning back toward Meg, Lorna felt her shoulders slumping. Meg was crying, too, and the next moment, Meg and Little One were hugging.

      A cold shiver rippled Lorna’s spine, and she turned all the way around. Black Horse had left his tent, and the look on his face made her stomach clench. He wasn’t impressed by what he saw, either.