Miracle Jones by Nancy Bush Page B

something about her father. Maybe he even shared his acquaintance!
    It had been an elderly Clatsop squaw who’d given Miracle that one piece of information that had set her on her course, the Clatsops being one of the few remaining offshoots of the once powerful Chinook tribe. Miracle and Uncle Horace had run across Little Rain quite by accident while they were selling her grandson some roots and herbs not generally found in the Northwest. The grandson, White Rapids, spoke some English, and Uncle Horace engaged him in conversation, telling him Miracle was half Chinook. White Rapids then passed on the knowledge of Miracle’s heritage to other members of the tribe, and eventually the news got back to Little Rain, who had once been slave-traded to the tribe of lower Chinook from which Miracle’s mother had come.
    Little Rain was a “flathead,” the name whites had given Chinooks who used to flatten their children’s heads at infancy by pressing a heavy rock against their unformed skulls, and she spoke Nehalim, the Clatsop’s tribe adopted language. Chinook jargon had disappeared a generation back, and Miracle, brought up by Uncle Horace and Aunt Emily, knew neither Chinook nor Nehalim except for a few scattered phrases.
    White Rapids knew enough English to interpret, however, and Miracle, heart pumping with excitement, learned more about her mother in that afternoon than Uncle Horace or Aunt Emily had known combined.
    “Sitkum siwash,” Little Rain declared, pointing a finger at Miracle.
    “Half-breed,” White Rapids explained to Miracle’s look of bewilderment.
    “Does she know who my father is?” Miracle asked, her throat dry
    White Rapids translated, and Little Rain, who was as old and dried up as parched earth, sat silent and still so long that Miracle lost hope of her ever remembering. But then she spoke to her grandson. Miracle sat by, hands clenched together, afraid to hope for too much. When Little Rain finished, White Rapids turned to Miracle and shrugged somewhat apologetically.
    “She say he got many money. He from southern.” Here he swept his arm to encompass all the land south of them. “Dark hair, blue eyes like the sky.”
    “She met him? She saw him?” Miracle asked eagerly.
    The elderly woman spoke again, interrupting her grandson. “Hiyu stone mitlite tenas waum illahee.” She nodded regally, as if she’d imparted news of great import.
    White Rapids looked perplexed.
    “What did she say?” Miracle demanded.
    “Rocky springs,” was his answer.
    Miracle had searched her mind ever since for an explanation of that strange message, and then she’d learned of the town of Rock Springs. Twenty years ago, when Miracle’s mother had known her father, Rock Springs was a fledgling community. If Miracle’s father lived there, surely someone would remember a man with his apparent wealth, a man who’d made long trips from the Cascade foothills to the Columbia River, a man with dark hair and blue eyes who’d stolen a young Chinook woman’s heart.
    ¤   ¤   ¤
    The tension in the Garrett parlor was so thick that even Kelsey’s rangy mutt, Maggie, ceased wagging her tail and letting her pink tongue loll from her mouth. She laid her head on her mistress’s lap, turning dark, anxious eyes up to Kelsey. Kelsey absently patted her, while Emerald’s lips turned downward at the thought that the dog should be allowed in the parlor at all.
    “If I knew where Harrison was, don’t you think I’d tell you?” Jace bit out, glaring into his sworn enemy’s set face.
    Tremaine Danner was unmoved. “He was with you last.”
    “He stood up my sister!” Jace raged. “If you find him, I want first crack at him!”
    The tail of Jace’s elegant suit coat started quivering. Kelsey recognized how nervous he was. Her eyes narrowed. Did he know something of Harrison’s disappearance?
    She turned her gaze to Sheriff Raynor, who was uncomfortably twisting the brim of his hat as he stood in the archway