Chapter 23

“Rosa ... what is it?”

She shrugged one shoulder and shook her head. Tears spilled from her eyes. “My baby boy. Luther’s spirit is not yet at rest. Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“His grave? Where is my son ... laid to rest?” Her voice caught in her throat.

Zeke’s gut twisted. “He’s not laid to rest, exactly. He was ... cremated and his ash—remains are in an urn in the house. It’s how he wanted it.”

“Oh.” Rosa squeezed her eyes tight and turned away. Her shoulders trembled.

His throat tightened. “The pastor thinks I summoned you.”

Rosa twirled around. Her eyes flashed fire. “You didn’t summon us. We’ve been here a long time. We can’t let go of the ones we love. Even now, my son is dead and I can’t seem to let go of this place.” Hysteria serpentined her words.

“Rosa?”

She labored to breathe. Her lip quivered, but her eyes held steadfast.

“Why is Hoffman still here?”

Rosa scanned the ground as if the answer was somewhere among the leaves. Her mouth opened, and then she closed it again. At last, she said, “Otto ... loves me, I suppose.” She looked back at the trees. “He wanted to marry me, but I refused. When I realized I was pregnant with Paul’s baby...” She pulled a turquoise stone out from under her shirt. “Paul gave me this.”

It was a charmingly hand-crafted turquoise stone, about the size of a silver dollar. The stone was held in a gold setting by a long golden feather, with the reverse image of three crosses punched out of the band of gold along the bottom of the stone. The middle cross stood taller than the others.

“He made it himself. It represented both our beliefs, his Spiritual Guide by the eagle feather and my Christianity by the crosses.” Rosa’s eyes clouded with tears. “He gave it to me as a promise to marry me. But then,” she choked out the words, “he never came back.” Her octave pitched higher as she continued. “It has always hung here, over my heart.”

“It’s beautiful,” Zeke murmured.

She tenderly returned the necklace to its place beneath her work shirt.

“So ... Hoffman killed Paul, because...”

“I supposed it was because he wanted me to marry him. I don’t know.” She swiped at the tears trailing her cheek. “Otto hates the Indians. All the Germans do. Well, did, I guess.” She swallowed and shook her head. “That’s not fair. Otto’s family had their way of thinking. To them, the Indians were a threat to what they wanted. I never understood.” She shifted her weight. “What I do know”—strength returned to her voice—”is that I loved Paul Two-Rivers with all my heart. He was a good man and he loved me.”

The quiver in her voice tugged at Zeke’s heart.

She shifted and looked away. With a heavy sigh, she said, “Anyway. I gave birth in shame, without a husband. Then I found out Otto had killed Paul. We argued about it. I was so angry. I confronted Otto and tried to strike him. He pushed me away from him, but when he did, I tripped and fell against the well.” Her eyes darted to the heap of stones. “It’s ironic when you think about it. I lost my life in the very thing I was supposed to find my wishes.” She licked her lower lip and sucked it into her mouth.