Free A Veiled Reflection by Tracie Peterson

already told you. There’s some scrap pieces in the crate out back. You can have those. Otherwise, I’ve promised Mrs. Everhart I’d give her some remnants for her ladies’ society.”
    â€œLadies’ society, my foot. She just wants to keep it out of the hands of the Navajo,” Mary protested. “Well, how about I buy the cloth?”
    The man perked up at this. “I can hardly say no to a paying customer.” Mary plunked down some change. “Give me whatever this will buy.” The man scooped up the money and quickly went into the back room. Mary bit back further comment as Mrs. Everhart entered the store with a basket over one arm and her daughter, Davinia, on the other. Another woman, one Jillian recognized as Mrs. Mason, followed closely on Mrs. Everhart’s heels.
    All three women stopped in short order at the sight of Mary. Then their gazes traveled around the store and finally settled on the young Indian woman who stood not three feet away.
    Mrs. Everhart pulled her daughter close and moved away from the Navajo. Then, with as much drama as she could muster, she reached into her basket and pulled out a handkerchief. “I cannot abide the stench in here,” she announced, handing a cloth to Davinia before taking up another. Davinia raised the cloth to her nose and dabbed at it lightly, trying hard to look sophisticated.
    Jillian thought the entire act appeared staged. It was almost as if Mrs. Everhart had known what she would find inside the store that day. Mrs. Mason, Mrs. Everhart’s faithful follower, quickly imitated her mentor. Together they created a trio of handkerchief-waving forms. Jillian thought they all looked silly but considered it typical of the type of people she’d discovered the Everharts to be. Mr. Everhart was certainly no better. He ran the town’s bank and assay office and doubled up by filing claims and land records for Pintan. He was quite outspoken at the church picnic, saying behind Reverend Lister’s back that “the day he was equal to a low-down dirty Injun was the day pigs would fly and cows could knit.” This had brought a hearty laugh from several of the listening townsfolk, revealing to Jillian just the kind of people Reverend Lister had to deal with.
    â€œI simply cannot abide that you let the likes of this squaw stand inside the store,” Mrs. Everhart said as the clerk came back with an armful of material. She frowned at the sight and added, “I thought we had an agreement regarding remnant cloth.”
    â€œMrs. Barnes bought and paid for this,” the man offered apologetically.
    â€œVery well. If she chooses to spend her money on those savages, then let it be upon her head. They will no doubt abuse it anyway. Just as they abuse anything else offered them. Why, look at poor Mr. Cooper. He has tried over and over to help these people, and instead of being grateful and doing as they are told, they send that demon seductress to entice the poor man.” She turned to stare at the pregnant Navajo. “The daughter of Satan is who you are. You, who would steal the very soul of that poor man. Plying your wares before him, then parading your consequences around town as though it’s something to be proud of. You’re nothing better than a—” “Hazel Everhart, I’m half inclined to stuff this material down your throat,” Mary said, interceding on the girl’s behalf.
    Jillian backed up a pace as Mrs. Everhart drew nearer. She had loosened her hold on Davinia, and both the girl and Mrs. Mason stood back as if to watch their heroine go to battle for them and all of proper society.
    â€œMrs. Barnes, you have forced this town to endure your meddling. However, you need not think you have the right to infringe upon our way of life by forcing us to approve the Indian ways as natural.”
    â€œI didn’t ask you to approve the Indian ways. I merely ask you to accept that