Olivia smiled in return at the mention of her birthday the following day. “It’s not me, my dear friend. It’s the Lord. Now, bring your hands, let’s commit it to the Lord in prayers.”
White Bird readily took Olivia’s hands. Olivia didn’t think that she would hesitate. Since she came to live with the Indians after her parents’ death, she had spoken to them about God, His love, and His mercies as her parents thought her to.
Olivia bowed her head in prayers, feeling the usual peace that engulfed her whenever she wanted to talk to her Father in Heaven. But all of a sudden, she began to feel very anxious, sensing something was terribly wrong.
The sharp cries from the children had her opening her eyes and wondering what was going on.
And then she heard the sound of what seemed to be like a thousand horses galloping into the Indian camp.
Olivia’s mouth dropped open when she turned around and saw about ten white men on horses, riding into the reservation with deadly intent on their faces. Her mouth ran dry and her heart raced as White Bird let out a piercing scream.
Swiftly, she jumped to her feet from the fallen log she had been sitting on.
“Eyes Like The Sky,” White Bird said in a frightened tone beside her.
Olivia quickly turned to her. She hated the fear she saw in her friend’s eyes.
She gripped the Indian girl’s hands. “Don’t you worry, White Bird. Everything will be fine. I’ll find out what they want. I’m sure it’s nothing serious.” She turned her gaze to scared children. “Please tend to the children.”
She took her bible, dragged in a nervous breath, and released it slowly.
Olivia’s heart was in her throat as she ran from the creek. The white men had encircled the village and were now throwing cuss words at the Indians who had come out of their teepees.
“Dear God, please put in my mouth the right words to speak to these men,” she prayed silently as she hurried towards them.
Her twin braids bounced on her back as she covered the distance between her and the men who were spewing obscenities at the Indians.
Her sky-blue eyes took in the scene before her, and alarm rose in her chest when she saw the guns that some of the men were carrying.
She coughed at the dust that the men had roused from the thundering of their horses. She waved her hands to get attention as the men were still bent on accusing the Cheyenne of the recent cattle attack in the area.
“They don’t even understand what you’re saying,” she shouted at the men who were still circling the camp.
Only a few of the Indians understood and spoke English. She had taught a few of them while some had learned from other white people. The chief and some elders had refused to learn, as they didn’t want to be influenced by the ways of the white man.
“Please listen to me,” Olivia shouted as she ran towards the men, clutching her bible tightly.
Finally, one man, the leader apparently who led the others, noticed her.
His eyes raked in her buckskin dress, blonde hair, blue eyes, and her slim and petite figure with something akin to awe. He rode towards her with a lazy grin on his face.
“What do we have here?” he asked and spat on the ground beside him.
Olivia tried to hide her irritation. “Please, you must listen to me. We had nothing to do with the recent cattle attacks.”
Walking Tree, one of the warriors, had brought news some days ago that there was unrest in the town because of cattle rustlers in the area. He had heard rumors that the Indians around the region were being blamed for it.
The chief had called a meeting and advised that no one should leave the village without permission and no one should go anywhere alone.
“We?” the man questioned, raising his bushy brows.
“Yes.” She darted a nervous tongue across her lips. “My people, the Indians, had nothing to do with the attack. Please, you must believe me.”
The man threw back his head and a burst of ugly laughter rumbled from his chest.
“You call these savages your people? They must have used voodoo on you.”
Olivia shook her head vehemently. Wisps of her hair flew from her braids.
