She had a fleeting moment of longing for the large enameled stove of the mission school, with its even heat and easy accessibility to fuel. She may have disliked those days bent over a hot iron pressing items that seemed a complete waste of her time, but she had to admit that the hand-turned washing machine was much easier than hoisting her laundry bundle and heading to the river. If she had been totally honest or allowed herself the pleasure of any further reflection, she even might have admitted to missing a few of the mission’s tasty dishes. But Running Fawn determined to close her mind to the past two years of her life and look steadfastly forward. She was Blackfoot. She was where she belonged, living the life to which she was born. If there were parts of it now that did not please her, she buried them deeply within and did not allow herself to think about them. “Go see Man With The Book.” Gray Hawk spoke the words while Running Fawn leaned over the fire, stirring the pot of seasoned stew.
