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  His emerald gaze caught and held hers.

  “What’s your name, lass?”

  “Raven… Raven Amelia Eagle,” she blurted out.

  He chuckled. “Ah now, ’tis a unique name for a unique lass.”

  “Not so unique really,” she said. “My father is Chief Proud Eagle of the Western Apache tribe.”

  He smiled. “Then you are an Indian princess?”

  She never thought of herself in such a way, but by tradition she was a princess. She nodded.

  He regarded her quizzically. “But your eyes are blue, and the manner in which you speak—”

  “My mother is white,” she broke in. “It is her family I am going to visit in England.”

  He searched her face as though he wished to memorize it. “Aye, that explains it, then.”

  She realized it was growing very late. If Sunny woke to find her gone, she’d be very worried. “I must go.” Gathering her skirt, she ran up the stairs.

  “Wait,” he called after her. With a few strides of his long legs he was soon standing at the foot of the steps looking up at her. “I meant no offense.”

  “None was taken,” she assured him over her shoulder, making her way to the landing. Then she stopped and looked down at him. “Thank you again, sir, for your help. And…for your kindness.”

  He bowed from the waist. “The pleasure was all mine, Miss Eagle.”

  A smile trembled over her lips at his gentleman ways. “May we live to meet again, my friend.”

  He gave her a slight nod before she disappeared around the landing.

  Praise for ONE PERFECT FLOWER

  "ONE PERFECT FLOWER takes you from the dusty Midwest to the lush greens of the Emerald Isle, bringing two cultures together and binding them by love and respect. My pick on this book is a mixed berry pie. You get a little bit of everything in it…absolutely delicious reading!"

  ~Jaclyn Tracey, author of EDEN'S BLACK ROSE (The Wild Rose Press)

  "ONE PERFECT FLOWER, the second story in the Between The Rifle and the Spear series, proves Roberta C. M. DeCaprio has an incredible imagination. With flair and flavor she continues the unusual love-swept journey with her last heroine’s grown daughter seeking a new heritage a continent away."

  ~Deb Tompkins, author of MIKE, THE MOLLY AND ME (The Wild Rose Press)

  One

  Perfect Flower

  by

  Roberta C. M. DeCaprio

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  One Perfect Flower: Between the Rifle and the Spears, Book Two

  COPYRIGHT Ó 2009 by Roberta C. M. DeCaprio

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Cactus Rose Edition, 2010

  Print ISBN 1-60154-741-2

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my father, Anthony T. DeCaprio,

  who passed away June 28th, 2009.

  I thank him for his constant support

  and faith in my writing career.

  Also many thanks to

  Great-Aunt Lucy Formichelli Doyle,

  who drove me to elementary school every day and

  instilled in me the importance of a good education. To my Godparents,

  Uncle Carmine DeNofio and

  to the memory of Great-Aunt Annette Formichelli,

  who also encouraged brain power.

  And to Aunt Peg DeNofio Wos, who showed me

  that above all, having fun at what you do is important for a happy and healthy life.

  As well as to Great-Aunt Jane Formichelli Bohunicky, whose zest for living has inspired me to embrace life to the fullest.

  To my fellow writer-friends and critique partners, Elaine Stock, Deb Tompkins and Jackie Kearney/AKA Jaclyn Tracey,

  to the memory of the late Kathleen E. Woodiwiss. (her "Shanna" inspired the writing of this book),

  and to my editor Patricia Tanner

  for again giving this second book of my saga

  a chance for others to enjoy.

  “’Tis the seed planted with love, from which one perfect flower grows.

  And love always finds a way:”

  Chapter One

  Western Apache Reservation, Phoenix, Arizona

  Spring, 1892

  Raven Amelia Eagle lay still, the night breeze cooling the moist, sticky film coating her thighs. The desecration of her body took only a few moments, yet she would remember it for the rest of her life. With trembling hands she pulled her skirt over her knees and stood. Her legs shook, and she found it necessary to steady herself against the trunk of a nearby tree. With laborious steps she made her way to the river, her mood veering sharply to anger. She seethed as she washed the abuse from her flesh; vigorously scrubbing away the reminder.

  Will I ever feel clean again? Violently her body quivered, the cold river water trickling down her legs.

  She dared not breathe a word of the violation to her family. Her father and brother would want to avenge her honor and could wind up dead. She would not be the one to bring more trouble, more hardship to her people. This nightmare she must keep to herself, so no one else would get hurt. Besides, it was her fault.

  She was well aware of the danger an unaccompanied woman could encounter by the hands of the white agents controlling the reservation. They knew no mercy, turning the men of the tribe into scouts and mistreating the women with physical abuse. They also destroyed the corn and melon fields to keep her people dependent. Clothing, blankets and other items intended for the Indians were sold instead to traders in the town of Globe. There was not even enough hide left to make moccasins, they too had to be purchased from the agents, if needed.

  Many nights her stomach rumbled with hunger from the inadequate rations doled out each week. Twenty people were expected to live on one small shoulder of beef and twenty cups of flour. Scarce food and poor conditions left her people’s spirits low. Hopelessness filled the reservation, and sadness consumed the faces of those she loved.

  Usually she complied with her parents’ rule, but tonight she had no choice. An hour before sunset she had been sitting by the river with Water Lily, her cousin Rising Star’s wife, when she went into labor. By the time she had helped Water Lily to her gowa, fetched the midwife, and found Rising Star, night had fallen.

  She squared her shoulders now, brushed the dirt from her clothes, and took a deep breath. With a heavy heart she lifted her face to the night sky. A slight breeze played with the tendrils of hair that framed her face. The treetops stirred. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself and casting her gaze ahead. The passageway to her gowa stretched eerily before her. She braved the distance, glancing back with caution, stomach clenching. With each step fear her attacker would return mounted.

  Sweet Lord of the heavens let me make it home safely, she silently prayed and picked up her pace.

  When she entered the wickiup, her mother and siblings sat around the fire pit.

  Her brother, Gabriel Golden Eagle looked up from his meal, his brows furrowed beneath the strip of pale hair that spl
ashed across one side of his crown. The same splash of pale hair graced their great-grandfather’s crown and to the Apache it looked like he’d been kissed by lightning. “I was just ready to come looking for you.” His sharp, impatient tone made her jerk to a stop.

  She forced a smile and took a seat beside her sister, Sunny Eagle. The younger sibling’s hair was golden, like their mother’s. “I had to fetch the midwife, then search for Rising Star.” Graciously, she accepted the dish of corncakes and juniper nuts her mother handed her. “Water Lily is about to give birth.”

  Her mother, Golden Lady, smiled. “Ah, a baby is being born.”

  “I am not so sure bringing a new life into this hell is wise,” Gabriel mumbled.

  She understood why her brother felt as he did. A baby’s birth meant anything but good news to him, since his young wife had died in childbirth three years ago. Nahdaste, Fire Star’s death left him overwhelmed with loneliness. Once he confided in her losing his wife and infant son left him old and worn. He vowed never again to love another woman, and at only twenty-seven, he went through the motions of life without really living. Raven knew his sorrows also included concern for the family—most of all his sisters.

  Both she and Sunny turned the heads of the white agents. A maiden who had not yet chosen a warrior to marry became more of a target for the lusty appetites of those who intruded upon her people’s land. She neared twenty, and Sunny, her golden curls framing an angelic face, just entered her eighteenth year. Gabriel was very protective of his younger sisters, although they were women in years. Being nine years older than Sunny, he shielded her like a parent. He feared daily for their welfare, taking it upon himself to watch out for them whenever he could.

  “Stay close to our wickiup,” he warned, over and over again. “And never walk the reservation alone after dark.”

  He had suffered more than grief for his wife and son’s passing in the last few years. Gabriel was one of the scouts for the white agents. They had molded him for the job perfectly. Other than the deep brown of his skin and shoulder length black hair, he could pass for any other trader roaming the countryside; wearing a white shirt, buttoned down vest, and leather boots—castoffs with cracked soles that seeped water when it rained. For all his hard work and efforts, the reward and pay were small. Many times the indah, as her father called the white men, left Gabriel no bedroll at the end of a journey, forcing him to endure the cold Arizona nights without a blanket. Upon his return to the reservation, he was exhausted and sore, his body full of insect bites, and his spirits low.

  Her mother sighed. “My heart is saddened by what our homeland has become. Gone are the days when I could run alone from the wickiup on a hot night, down to the river for a swim. Now, the joy of living free has disappeared. Our village has been turned into a reservation.” Her large blue eyes looked around the fire pit, resting momentarily on each of her children’s faces. “And we’re the prisoners.” With a downhearted expression upon her delicate face, she stood and made her way to the bed she shared so many years with Raven’s father, Chief Proud Eagle. “I wanted so much more for all of you.”

  Raven set her meal aside and went to her mother, placing an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Do not be sad, my mother.” Her own grief surfaced, stomach churning as she rehashed what had just happened to her. She forced the grief down deep inside of her for fear she would blurt out the abuse she endured in the woods. That would only cause them all more pain. She took an audible breath. “We must only think of the good times.”

  Her mother’s eyes twinkled through her sorrow. “And there were so many years of happiness, especially when all you children were small.” There was a trace of laughter in her voice. “Your father and I had our hands full teaching the three of you everything you needed to learn.” Golden Lady stroked her cheek. “You enjoyed your grandmother, White Dove, and her wisdom. All of you listened with wide-eyed excitement as she told her stories of the old times.” Casting a glance at the fire, Golden Lady watched the flames dance. “I have fond memories of the first Thanksgiving celebration I brought to the tribe,” she said. “Your grandfather, Cunning Eagle had been eager to learn of my traditions. I even danced for the old chief. This left your father boiling with jealousy while my dear friend, Reverend Joshua Holmes, looked on.” She sighed. “Oh, how I miss the beat of the drums vibrating in my soul, the songs and sense of humor that our people were noted for.”

  “With the agents taking over the village, we do not celebrate much of anything anymore. Most of our concerns now are how we are to keep from starving,” Gabriel mumbled.

  Golden Lady sighed again, ignoring her son’s words. “How I miss Josh.”

  “He was the holy man who had been like family to you after the death of your parents, right my mother?” Sunny asked.

  Golden Lady nodded. “It’s been twenty-seven years since I last set eyes on him. When he realized my heart was only for your father, Josh set sail to his homeland in England. I’ve heard bits and pieces from him through Ben Newcomb.”

  Raven knew Reverend Newcomb was the preacher who replaced Josh. He and his wife Sylvie brought food and blankets to the reservation and school supplies so her mother could continue to educate the Apache children.

  Sunny stood and sat on the opposite side of her mother. “You look so troubled, my mother.”

  Golden Lady searched her youngest child’s soft features. Out of the three, Sunny looked the most like her, though all of them had the rich blue of her eyes.

  “I was just thinking how much I wish the good people of the past were still with us.”

  Sunny moved closer, curling her legs beneath her. “Tell us again about the first time you met grandfather.”

  “Ah, yes, Cunning Eagle.” Golden Lady stretched her arms out to embrace both her daughters. “Now, there was a wise and honorable man. The day Proud Eagle first brought me to the village to be accepted by his people was quite a day.” She looked into each of her girls’ faces, and then cast a glance at her son, still sitting beside the fire. “It was a time when Indian and white man feuded openly and violently, so the union between your father and I was not something either side wanted. When I first caught sight of your grandfather, his stern face shook me to the very core. But later I found him to be a very loving and gentle man.” She smiled. “How proud he’d have been of all of you.”

  Raven could not help secretly wondering if her grandfather would be proud of her now that she was tainted and spoiled by a white man’s lust. She sighed, returning to sit by the fire, and silently watched the flames dance within the pit.

  ****

  Amanda lay awake; dreams of her and Proud Eagle riding bareback through the hills would not appease her thoughts tonight. They were too filled with concern for her children, especially Raven. Within the last few days her middle child was preoccupied, jumpy, and withdrawn. Though she tried several times to pry from her the problem, the girl’s lips remained sealed. She had seen this behavior before, amongst the other women violated by the agents. She kept their secret, knowing full well the tribesmen would be forced to fight for their women’s honor if they were told. None of the women wanted their men dead, so they hid the issue.

  Raven was unmarried and the daughter of the chief. Proud Eagle would be compelled to act. She was sure this was why her eldest daughter kept silent, harboring the trauma alone. The sorrow Raven endured broke her heart. Should Raven become with child was something she couldn’t bear to imagine.

  She traced the straight line of her husband’s nose with the tip of a finger. “Are you asleep, my shikaa?” Using the affectionate Apache word for husband always turned his heart tender… not that Proud Eagle ever was anything but tender toward her.

  His eyelids fluttered open, a smile curved his lips, and he turned his gaze her way. “We both know by now it would not matter if I was. When you are troubled, no one sleeps until you are troubled no more.”

  She snuggled against him, laying her head upon his warm m
uscular chest. “The conditions here are getting worse, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are we to do, Proud Eagle?” She raised her head, searching his large black eyes. “I fear for our children.”

  He pulled her close. “I love you, Golden Lady… and our children. I would never allow any harm to come to any of you.”

  She placed her head again upon his shoulder. He may not allow them any harm, but he could not prevent it from happening. There was a better than good chance Raven had already been compromised.

  Proud Eagle tightened his arm around her. “Trust me, as you have always done.”

  “I pray for our children to live happy and free,” she whispered.

  He placed a finger beneath her chin and raised her face to his. “You have my word our children will live happy and free.”

  His mouth gently covered hers, the shape of his lips memorized by way of a thousand searing kisses, consuming for the moment all her thoughts and fears.

  She responded, desire carrying her away to a world of sensuous feelings and unbridled pleasure. For the time they explored each other’s bodies and climbed to the peak of their burning passion, all else was forgotten.

  Lying fulfilled in his arms she smiled. “Twenty-eight years with one man and he still makes me feel newly wed.”

  Proud Eagle playfully pinched her backside. “That is because the woman still acts like a bride.”

  ****

  Proud Eagle rode up beside his son, dressed in his full Apache attire. “I wish to ride into town with you, my ciye.”

  Gabriel flinched at the sound of the Apache word for son and eyed his father’s way of dress, resentment and shame flashed across his face.

  Proud Eagle’s lips thinned. “Come,” he said, turning his eyes to the road and riding on ahead. Though he sat tall upon his horse, chin held high, a pang of disappointment swept through him. Lately his son shied away from his Indian customs. Wearing traditional clothing caused problems amongst his white employers, and Gabriel needed to keep his job. Even meager pay was better than no pay at all.