Free A Veiled Reflection by Tracie Peterson Page A

they are human beings with rights and privileges the same as you,” Mary countered. “I hardly see how you can hold Little Sister responsible for what happened to her when you know yourself how Mr. Cooper can be. Didn’t I hear you warn Davinia about the man?”
    â€œThat’s beside the point. I don’t want any daughter of mine married to an Indian agent. I would rather see her settled back East where civilization causes folks to remember their places.”
    â€œTheir prejudices, don’t you mean?” Mary asked.
    Jillian saw how uncomfortable the young Navajo woman had become. She had no way of knowing whether the woman understood all that was being said about her, but Jillian felt confident that she understood the implication. The woman bowed her head and stared at the floor, as if deeply ashamed to even be seen.
    â€œI do not consider it wrong to allow for each person to keep to their own kind,” Mrs. Everhart replied. “Even the Navajo want nothing to do with the white way of life. They’ve made it clear.”
    â€œSo you believe it is best to leave them to their own culture and ways, is that it?” Mary questioned.
    Jillian could tell by the way Mary smiled that she was laying a trap for the snooty woman.
    â€œI believe . . . well . . . I think that they should recognize that we have a better way. Our children can read and write. They know right from wrong, which is more than I can say for the likes of this pathetic creature,” Mrs. Everhart said, marching toward the woman Mary had called Little Sister. She frowned at the girl as she raised her head to meet the older woman’s glare. “She stinks to high heaven and she bears the consequences of her actions. She’s a harlot, seducing a good man for whatever devious purposes she had in mind.”
    Anger coursed through Jillian, but she had no idea what to say. She had been raised to remain silent and allow her elders their say, but this seemed most unfair. By the time Mrs. Everhart had finished her harangue, Little Sister fled the store in tears.
    Mary nodded to Jillian. “I’ll talk to you later.”
    Jillian watched Mary walk proudly through the store. She paused in front of Hazel Everhart and, peering up over the stack of cloth, said, “Just remember, whatever you do unto the least of these . . .”
    She let the words trail off and turned without hurry to march out the front door. The scene was so upsetting that Jillian couldn’t even remember what she’d come for. Instead, she walked past the now silent women and stepped out onto the thin boardwalk.
    â€œCome by any time, Mary,” she called out to the woman who was now atop the wagon seat with Little Sister safely beside her.
    â€œI’ll do that, deary,” Mary replied, then flicked the reins on the backs of the mules and moved off down the dusty street.
    The dust rose up to swirl around Jillian and choke out the fresh air, but she hardly seemed to notice. Even this was pleasant compared to what she’d just endured inside the store.
    Deciding to give up on her shopping, she walked over to Mac’s, determined to talk to him about what had just happened. Not only that, but she was due to have her stitches out. Actually overdue, but she’d needed the extra time to work up her courage. No telling how painful this was going to be.
    She knocked softly on the door and smiled shyly when Mac came to answer. He was dressed casually in jeans and a well-worn work shirt. He looked nothing like the properly attired doctor she’d first met.
    â€œI’ve come to brave the removal of my stitches,” Jillian said, holding up her hand. “If you have a bullet for me to bite, we can get started.”
    â€œGood to see you too,” he said, then added in a whisper, “Jillian.”
    She stepped inside and followed him to the examination room where once again she took a seat and waited for Mac to wash