Chapter 2: The Silent Journey Home

The buckboard wagon rattled heavily as Steward Grainger pulled it onto the main road leading south out of Tucson. The sun was now directly overhead, beating down on the dust-choked trail. The clean, new scent of the girls’ cotton dresses was a small, fragile barrier against the oppressive heat and the grime of the Territory.

Steward rode his mare beside the wagon, his vigilance doubled. He was not just watching for cattle thieves or stray Apaches; he was watching the two silent forms seated in the back, terrified eyes darting between him and the endless, unforgiving landscape. He had spent two hundred dollars and signed a damnable contract. He was legally their master, but he felt nothing like one. He felt like a guardian carrying a profound, unwanted secret.

The first hour was marked only by the squeak of the wagon axle and the rhythmic thud of the horses’ hooves. Steward had tried Spanish once—the simple “¿Están bien?” (Are you well?)—and received only a slight tightening around Elara’s mouth. He gave up on talk, focusing on driving the team and allowing the silence to settle, hoping it would, ironically, feel safer than any words he might speak.

He pulled the wagon off the road near a dry wash, just before they hit the San Pedro River Valley where the road became rougher. The horses needed water and a rest. Steward dismounted, securing the animals, and then turned to face the girls.

Elara (12), now clad in a simple blue gingham dress, sat straighter, no longer cowering. Miya (8), wearing a dress of similar quality, was nestled against her sister, clutching the new doll tightly.