know how much smoke she breathed. I will give her herbs to strengthen and cleanse her lungs, but, Hank, I may be able to heal her body, but I cannot heal her mind."
"I know," he answered. "I need to go and check the Alston home. Take care of her."
Hank picked up his rifle and headed to his best friend's home.
Hank had served as John Alston's deputy when John was the sheriff. John ignored the protest from some of the citizens concerning hiring an Indian and stood by his choice. Hank served the people of Faulkner with bravery, often risking his life for the townspeople, gaining their respect and loyalty. An unfortunate injury kept him from becoming sheriff when John became a lawyer. Hank caught a bullet in the leg while he was trying to apprehend a bank robber.
The injury left him with a limp and the inability to sit a horse for long periods of time, but today he ignored the searing pain and blazed his way through the woods. He smelled smoke before he spotted the small, black clouds rising from the direction of the Alston home.
Anguish racked his body, plunging to his soul, when he saw the smoldering remains of his friend's home. Hank drowned his feelings; he needed to check for survivors.
Everything in him wanted to rush to the house and look for his friends, but his years as a lawman taught him prudence. The murderers may have returned, so he waited and watched.
When he felt certain that no one else was present, he crept closer to the house.
The heat from the smoldering remains grew in intensity as he approached. His heart pummeled his chest. Hank was not afraid of many things, but the thought of losing someone he cared for frightened him more than anything nature could throw at him, be it a grizzly bear or a man.
He entered the burnt home and took slow steps as he watched for falling timbers. His boots offered little protection from the scorching heat rising beneath them, and air tainted by smoke burned the back of his throat. He placed his bandana over his mouth and nose, ignored the pain from his leg, and continued his search.
"John! Martha!" He knew he called their names in vain, but hope struggled to remain in his heart.
A few more steps and the toe of his boot nudged something. Dread flowed down his body as he gulped.
He grabbed hold of his lame leg and struggled to bend down to the floor. Reaching out his hand, he touched a body. Grief wanted to overtake him, but he could not allow it. He rose and walked a few more steps and found the second body. The bodies were his closest friends, his family. He released an anguished cry.
Little Dove focused on tending to the girl instead of her concern for her husband and what he may find. She removed Belle's tattered dress, washed her wounds, and applied an herbal balm. Rest is what the girl needed so Little Dove coaxed Belle into drinking a tea to help her sleep.
She closed the door to the room where Belle lay and busied herself by washing the dishes used to prepare her remedies. Little Dove turned when she heard the creak of the cabin door.
Hank stood in the threshold; his proud, upright posture now caved at the shoulders. His noble features were fixed with sadness, and the life in his eyes were empty with grief. Words were unnecessary; his face conveyed his news.
Little Dove rushed to him. They embraced and wept bitter tears in the comfort of each other's arms.
After that, Little Dove and Hank took turns sitting with Belle. She thrashed about, babbling her horror in her sleep and crying out for her parents.
Belle's eyes flickered open. The clouds of sleep dissipated as the reality of her situation sharpened in her mind. She bolted upright in her bed. "Mama! Papa!"
Little Dove, exhausted from the chaos, woke with a start when she heard Belle scream. She jumped from her chair and rushed to Belle's side. "Shh, shh, shh," she said as she put her arms around the girl to comfort her.
The warmth of Little Dove's embrace caused her heart to want to cry out, but Belle would not allow it.
"What's going on?" Hank shouted as he ran into the room.
"Hank," Little Dove spoke in a calming voice, "it's all right. Belle woke up."
"Oh," he answered as he eased to Belle's bedside.
He crouched, as best he could, next to the bed. Little Dove sat on the bed next to Belle, keeping one arm around the girl's shoulders.
"Belle, honey," Hank kept his tone soft, "do you remember what happened?"
Belle's body stiffened. "Yes," she replied with a cold emptiness in her voice.
"Hank," Little Dove interrupted, "maybe we should discuss this after Belle has something to eat."
Hank nodded, but Belle gave no response. Her gaze remained lifeless.
"Belle, I'll go get you one of my dresses to wear."
"No!" Belle snapped. "I do not want to wear a dress."
"But, Belle," Hank implored, "I'm sorry, honey, but your clothes are ruined."
"Don't call me Belle. You raised four sons; don't you have some of their clothes here?"
Little Dove and Hank exchanged a perplexed look. "Yes," said Little Dove, "there are some of the boys' old clothes in the dresser. You are welcome to wear whatever you find."
"Belle, I want you to know—
"Do not call me Belle!" she shouted.
Hank inhaled. "Why?"
"Belle is dead; she died with her parents."
"Then who are you, and what do we call you?"
"Belle is dead. I am Fury; you will call me Fury."
Hank looked at his wife. "All right, Fury, you get dressed and come get some breakfast."
Fury nodded.
Hank hesitated and then added, "We need to talk about this."
"Not now, Hank," Little Dove pleaded. "Come help me with breakfast."
Hank rubbed the back of his neck. "All right," he muttered, then he followed his wife out the door.
They ate breakfast in silence. Fury toyed with her food as Hank and his wife exchanged nervous glances.
Fury rose from the table and walked to the door.
"Where are you going?" asked Hank.
"I need to go think."
"Bel—Fury, we need to discuss what happened and go see the sheriff. He will want to talk to you."
"Go, talk to the sheriff. Do what you think you must, but I'm not talking to anyone, and do not tell him I am here."
"Why?" asked Hank.
"The sheriff will want to talk to Belle, and Belle is dead; only Fury remains. And I, Fury, have a mission, and I will not be deterred from completing it."
"What mission?" asked Hank, fearing he already knew the answer.
"To find and kill the men who murdered my parents."
Fury walked out the door.
Hank rose to go after her, but Little Dove stopped him. "Let her go, Hank. She needs to be alone for a while."
"Fine," he replied," but I need to talk to the law, see if they know anything."
"Belle—I mean Fury—told you to do what you need to do, but not say she is here."
"I will honor her wishes and keep her whereabouts secret, for now."