Free Calico Captive by Elizabeth George Speare

one way of running a gantlet, she thought. At least the Indians give you a chance to run.
    How long she could stand there meekly enduring their inspection, she was beginning to wonder, when a door opened and a step caused the women to jump back with instant respect. Into the cricle advanced a woman, such a figure as Miriam had never encountered in all her life.
    She had a beautiful shell-white face and a tall haughty carriage. Her clothes were incredible, swaying billows of gleaming green with frothy white ruffles and a flash of gold and jewels at throat and wrist. Her hair was utterly astonishing, snow-white, topped by a brilliant bird's feather. Most unbelievable of all, she spoke in English stressing the syllables oddly.
    "Your name, girl?" Her voice was sharp.

    "Miriam Willard, ma'am," the girl answered, and then, as the woman looked puzzled, "Captain James Johnson is my brother-in-law, and he will come for me tomorrow."
    The woman lifted one eyebrow. Her chill blue eyes flicked over Miriam from matted hair to grimy toe.
    "
Incroyable!
" she murmured. "You must take those clothes off at once. And I suppose you are hungry?"
    "Not especially," Miriam lied, her pride stiffening.
    The woman shrugged. "Why you English prisoners are any concern of ours I fail to understand. But Monsieur Du Quesne, my husband, has most generously agreed to allow you to stay here till your ransom can be arranged."
    "That is very kind of him, ma'am," responded Miriam, seeing that gratitude was expected, however little she might feel. "I am sure I shall not have to trouble you for long."
    "That we shall see. In the meantime, I expect you to make yourself useful."
    "Indeed I shall try, ma'am."
    The woman turned to the others, who, Miriam now realized, must be servants, and issued a series of orders in rapid French. When their mistress's voluminous skirts had swished through the doorway, the women fell to work. Into the center of the kitchen they dragged a large wooden tub and filled it with steaming water from the kettle. Then they stepped back, pointing from Miriam to the tub, as though she were a dim-witted creature who might not understand what it was all about.
    They can think I'm stupid if they like, thought Miriam stubbornly. If they expect me to undress while they all stand and watch me and laugh at me, they can wait all night. Even the Indians had more shame.
    All at once, a young girl stepped out from the circle. "
Sortez-vous!
" she ordered, shooing the others away like chickens. Seizing a red blanket from a chest near the hearth, she held it wide between her outstretched arms, making a screen between Miriam and the rest of the room. "
Allons!
" she smiled.
    The other women laughed good-naturedly and moved away. Miriam's defiance suddenly melted in surprise and gratitude. The face that twinkled back at her over the red blanket was frank and friendly, without a hint of malice. The girl had round rosy cheeks and wiry black hair that crinkled crisply all over her head. The small pointed teeth that stuck crookedly out in front and her eyes, shiny as black buttons, made Miriam think of a little chipmunk, and all the girl's motions seemed to be as merry and quick. A lump rose treacherously in Miriam's throat, and she began hurriedly to untie the deerhide thongs. Slipping off her clothes as fast as possible, she leaped for the tub, and gasped as she crouched down into the scalding water.
    Even the sidelong glances of amusement that still needled her could not entirely spoil the bliss of hot water and good yellow soap. Miriam rubbed the heavy suds into her matted hair, relishing the sharp sting on her eyelids and the bitter taste in her mouth. She scrubbed until her skin smarted and her pores had given up the last trace of Indian. The thick towel that the French girl warmed at the hearth wrapped all the way round her. Then there were clean, fresh-smelling clothes, a sturdy petticoat, a short blue homespun skirt, and a white cloth bodice, thick