Chapter Forty-Six

Amalia hurried into the kitchen to find a tall array of shelves on the floor and all its former contents scattered across the linoleum. The young men were standing in a confused huddle around something. To Amalia's surprise they moved apart without a word and let her through. Tasha lay underneath two heavy cast iron kettles. With a cry, Amalia knelt down beside the girl and moved the metal pots away, feeling her all over for broken bones. The girl was breathing, but faintly. "Tasha," she said. "Tasha, wake up."

She looked around wildly. Something didn't seem right, but with the men watching her in confusion and with her own heart pounding at how narrowly they had missed a gunfight over access to the linen closet, she couldn't gather her thoughts. How could that shelf just fall over? And how could the pots have flown off and hit Tasha in just such a way?

"Tasha, can you hear me?" Tasha's eyelids flickered and Amalia bent closer. "Are you all right?" The girl moved again, but this time it was just one eye, almost like she was trying to wink. Amalia sat back, startled. She looked around again. No, there was no way those kettles could've fallen where they did by accident.

Amalia glanced up at the young men. They weren't afraid to shoot a woman in cold blood, but an injured child was another matter. She forced down a sudden leap of hope and screamed. "This is all your fault! You did this!"

The leader took a step back, startled. "Ma'am, I wasn't even in this room."

He had called her ma'am. That was a good sign. "It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't come here, if you could've just taken what you needed and left. But no, you had to scare this poor child so bad she tried to climb the shelves to get away from you. And look what happened!" She jumped to her feet and the three men all moved back.

"Look at her!" She was shrieking again now and Donovan came rushing into the room in spite of his promise to guard the closet. "Look what they did to the baby!" Amalia said to him, trying to signal that Tasha was all right without the raiders catching on.

Donovan looked at the still form on the linoleum and remembered the day she and Will had tried to pick his pocket in Macrina. With difficulty he suppressed a smile and glared at each of the young men in turn. "What's the matter with you that you'd hurt an innocent child?"

"I'm telling you," the leader said, "we weren't even in here."

"Well, help us get her into bed where we can at least care for her," Amalia said. She turned to the one in the military uniform, who seemed to be the weakest and most easily led. "Pick her up and take her to the children's room. It's the second one down the hall." When she saw him move to obey, she turned to the one in the suit. "You start some water boiling, in case we need to sterilize anything. And you," she turned finally to the leader. "Come with me and help me check for broken bones and monitor her for signs of concussion or skull fracture."

Donovan stepped out of the way while the young men sprang into action. He went to the bathroom and tried to look busy sorting through herbal concoctions and bandages while keeping a casual eye on the linen closet. From the children's room he could hear Amalia's voice directing the men and cooing at Tasha. Every now and then one of the raiders would hurry past, galvanized by Amalia's orders to complete some useless task. Then he heard new steps, light and cautious, coming down the hall.

He grabbed Carina and yanked her into the bathroom.

"What's going on?" she demanded.

"You won't believe it," Donovan said. "Just go in the children's room and play along. Tasha's okay."

She looked at him in confusion. "Did they hurt her?"

"No, she's faking." He shoved her back into the hallway and after a moment, he heard her shriek. Now all was confusion again, one man's voice raised in denial, another one dashing toward the kitchen on some new errand. The rangy man in the suit appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, fingering a loose button. "I'm supposed to get some bandages," he said. Donovan handed him a roll of bandages and a pair of scissors and he darted off.

Gradually things calmed down again as Carina took charge of directing the medical operations. Soon Donovan could hear Tasha's voice, bewildered and rising in a series of questions as everyone, even the raiders, spoke soothing words to her. It didn't matter what happened next. The raid was over.

Donovan went and stood in the door of the children's room, gazing in amused silence at the tableau— the child, the hovering women, the nervous young men standing in uncomfortable poses in the corner. Amalia looked up and met Donovan's eyes with an expression of barely suppressed relief. She murmured something to Carina, then went to meet him. Together they went into the kitchen.

"That was some stunt you two pulled off,” Donovan said.

"She's a very clever girl." Amalia looked at the floor, covered in broken crockery. "Although if I'd known she had a trick like this up her sleeve, I'd have made sure not to have anything breakable on these shelves."

Donovan squeezed her hand. "We'll clean it up, and I'll get you some new stuff in Macrina." He gave her an affable smile. "You're really amazing, you know that?"

She pulled her hand away. "Go tell that to Tasha when those bastards are gone. It was her idea.” She glanced toward the back of the house where they could still hear Carina's soft tones directing the men at some trivial task. "I hope that's it, though. I hope they leave after this."

"They will.”

"How do you know?"

"If I'd been brought up out here instead of the city, they're what I would've become. After something like this, I would've just taken whatever seemed easy and left."

True to Donovan's prediction, the raiders left soon after Carina said it was time for Tasha to get some rest. They pocketed a few items on their way out and stuffed their saddlebags with food while Carina pretended to examine their horses, delaying their advance to the Petersons. But they made no more attempts to search out hidden nooks and crannies. They showed no more interest in closed doors. And as they swung into their saddles and rode away, they looked like little more than boys playing a dangerous grownup game.

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