Free Cherokee Storm by Janelle Taylor

thought…”
    â€œDon’t put too much stock in what Gall says. He’s half-French. Cherokee are devious, but a half-breed is worse.” Her father shook his head. “Gall is way too talkative for a Cherokee. He pretends to be a harmless fool, but I think he’s far from it.”
    â€œDa.” She stared at him. “It isn’t like you to judge someone by the color of their skin.” She thought with a start that men would label Da’s child with Oona that name— half-breed. She wondered if it was fair to bring an innocent baby into the world where it would never truly belong to white or Cherokee.
    â€œIt’s not the Indian half I worry about in Gall,” Da said. “It’s the French half. The boy’s never done me wrong, but I never feel quite easy with him. Oona don’t think much of him, I can tell you.” He turned back toward the house.
    Leading the pony, Shannon fell into step beside him. “I gathered that much—that Oona didn’t like Gall.” She kept thinking of the baby, her new brother or sister. Would it look Indian or Irish? She vowed to love it, no matter. A mixed-blood child would face prejudice from all sides and would need all the champions he or she could get.
    â€œOona’s a pretty good judge of character,” her father mused.
    â€œI don’t think she likes me.”
    â€œGive her time. Oona doesn’t know you. She’s never known any white women. She’s just shy.”
    â€œI hope you’re right.” Shannon didn’t think it was shyness…more like jealousy. “I want to…Oh, I forgot the bucket of water.” She glanced back. The bucket was lying where she’d dropped it near the spring. “Can you take him? I’ll get the water.”
    â€œCome back to the store after you fetch the water, and we’ll get started. I want to give you the prices on our bestselling trade goods. Some things are locked up for safekeeping.” He pulled a rawhide cord from under his shirt and showed her a key. “I do the trading for powder, shot, and steel hatchets.”
    She nodded and walked back toward the pool. She was eager to learn all about the business. Buying and selling goods had always interested her, although she’d had little chance to develop her skills at the tavern. She didn’t want to be a burden on her father.
    She picked up the bucket and carried it to the spot where clear water rushed and bubbled out of the rock. She rinsed out the container and began to fill it, conscious of the tranquility and beauty of this spot. How many times in the past years she had wished she was here…a child again without worries or fears…an only child who knew how much she was loved by both her parents.
    It seemed to her as if the trees were bigger here than in Virginia…their branches more massive…the leaves greener. Even the sky seemed larger…higher…the blue more intense. She closed her eyes and drank in the familiar scents of the warm rock, the lush moss, and wildflowers spilling down the hillside. Maybe her father was right…maybe this was the closest either of them would ever be to heaven.
    Sighing, Shannon opened her eyes and held the bucket under the spring until the water reached the rim. Why, she wondered, had her mother never fallen in love with this unspoiled wilderness? Why had she longed for the dark, crowded streets of her native—
    A voice tore her from her reverie.
    â€œI have thirst. Will you let me drink from your spring?”
    She whirled around on Storm Dancer so fast that water spilled down her dress. He stood only a few feet behind her. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
    â€œWhat were you doing with Gall?”
    â€œWe were talking. And what business is it of yours?”
    â€œYou should stay near your father when he is here. Gall can be dangerous for a woman.”
    She glared at him, refusing to