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carefully away from the edge of the bed. She settled the blanket back over Taabe and smiled at her, uttering more soft words.
    The second woman spoke louder and gestured toward the tray, a clear offer of food. Taabe nodded. That woman, who seemed older than the one who had looked at her ankle, turned away for a moment and returned with a soft bundle covered with cloth as white as summer clouds. Both robed women put their hands under Taabe’s shoulders and lifted her. She gritted her teeth as the pain washed over her. The older one slipped the white bundle behind her head and neck. A pillow—softer than anything Taabe could remember resting her head upon.
    She sank back into its deepness and closed her eyes. Her heart drummed, and her breath came in short hitches. The two women spoke in low tones. Finally they grew silent. Taabe opened her eyes a crack. They still stood there.
    The older one spoke to the other and picked up a gleaming white pottery bowl. The younger one left the room and returned with a stool. Taabe eyed it with interest. The three-legged stool looked very sturdy and useful, but it would never do for people who moved about. The Comanche never carried furniture.
    The older woman sat on it and dipped a metal spoon into the bowl. She leaned close and held the spoon to Taabe’s mouth. Taabe opened her lips and let the woman deposit a spoonful of lukewarm broth in her mouth. It tasted good, but the spoon clacked against her teeth and Taabe winced.
    The woman waited until she opened her mouth again. Why couldn’t they make spoons of wood or horn? The younger woman left the room, but the older one stayed to feed her. Several spoonfuls of broth were followed by small pieces of a bread that tasted of corn and salt and something else. Taabe wished she could feed herself, but sitting upright would cause excruciating pain, so she allowed the indignity of being fed like an infant.
    When she had finished eating, the woman in black touched her chest. “Natalie,” she said. “Natalie.”
    “Nah-ta-lee,” Taabe said slowly.
    The woman’s face lit with a smile. “Yes. Natalie.” She pointed to Taabe. “You?”
    Taabe touched the front of her soft white gown. “Taabe Waipu.”
    Natalie frowned. She touched herself again. “Natalie. You?” Taabe repeated her name.
    “Tah-bay-wy-poo.”
    Taabe nodded.
    Natalie’s face beamed at this small progress. She spoke again, smoothing the blanket and saying Taabe’s name at the end of her words. She rose and moved the stool aside, picked up the tray, and left the room silently, closing the door behind her. Taabe lay back in the dim, cool room and felt her stomach relax as it welcomed the food.
    She exhaled and stared at the ceiling that seemed too close. She longed to get outside this box of a room. She thought of her Indian family. Did her sister miss her? Her adoptive parents were dead, as were others she had loved, but for the past two years she had lived with and loved her Comanche sister’s family. She’d rejoiced in the birth of her sister’s baby girl and taken great pleasure in helping care for the little one.
    Where was Peca, she wondered. If she had stayed, she wouldbe his wife now. Had he given up the chase? And who were these kind women who had taken her in? She’d seen white women’s clothing before—things the warriors had brought back from raids. But she had never seen anything like the long, flowing black dresses these women wore. Perhaps they belonged to a strange tribe. And where were their men? She’d seen a man with them when they found her. The men must be out hunting or raiding, she decided as her eyes drifted shut.
    She woke to the door’s creaking. Closed in as she was, she couldn’t tell the time of day, but light still streamed through the narrow slit in the wall.
    The younger woman who had examined her ankle entered, carrying a lamp. She peered at Taabe and smiled. The words she spoke meant nothing to Taabe.
    The woman tried to get