Excerpt of White Dawn by Susan Edwards

For as long as Emily could remember, her father had been a cold, distant man. The older she'd gotten, the worse he'd become, as if the simple act of her body maturing from child to woman made her evil. And now, at sixteen, she attracted the attention of men wherever she went—which made her father even more unreasonable. Glancing over at her parents, she winced when her father threw a pot of beans at her mother.

"He's insane," she whispered. The anger in his voice as he continued to shout at her mother was frightening.

Emily had never seen him so out of control. When he swung his furious gaze in her direction, Emily backed up and quickly averted her eyes. "It's not right," she mumbled, wishing she had the courage to stand up to him. After all, she hadn't asked God for the extra curves and flesh on her short figure. In fact, her looks—her generous bust and her white-blond hair and blue eyes—had brought her nothing but trouble. It seemed it didn't matter if men were married, young or old. They looked.

A few brave men had even tried to court her, but they had only caused Emily grief. The more persistent a suitor, the more hours her father forced her to spend on her knees in prayer, begging forgiveness. If he caught lust in the eyes of a married man, he'd take a belt or a switch to her, accusing Emily of using her body to entice them into committing adultery. And the final straw had been Father Richard's interest. In Timothy Ambrose's eyes, tempting a man of God had made Emily the daughter of the devil.

It did not take him long to load the wagon and hitch the mules, and when Emily spotted her father heading toward her, holding his well-worn Bible in both hands, she clutched the ends of her shawl tightly around her and swallowed a moan of pain. Her arms and shoulders still burned with her every movement.

"Kneel, daughter of Satan," her father said as he reached her. He closed his eyes and clutched the Bible to his chest, as if drawing strength from it.

Emily bit back a cry of protest at the abominable name he called her. Gingerly she knelt, wincing as she assumed the expected pose: clasped hands, the picture of a sinner begging forgiveness, though she prayed not for forgiveness, but for mercy. She'd done nothing wrong, nothing to be ashamed of. It wasn't her fault that her father refused to part with any of the cloth he reserved for trading with savages so that she could sew a second dress for herself. Sometimes it seemed that her greatest sin lay in being born a female.

Her father lifted his voice in prayer. "Hear me, Father in heaven. I have tried to instill virtue and humility in this child entrusted to my care. But I can do no more. She refuses to act in a manner befitting a humble servant of God. She has forsaken the church; she lures men of God down the path to hell."

He paused. Emily risked an upward peek. Her father's eyes were wide open, staring heavenward. His voice dropped to a whisper, and his eyes closed as if in pain. "The day I left my mother's life of sin behind, I promised my life to you to atone for her sins. I can do no more. Take this child and do with her what you will."

Timothy Ambrose stepped back and stared down at his child with eyes that were chillingly empty. "I have no daughter."

Emily stared up at her father in confusion. Instead of anger in his eyes, she saw nothing. No emotion. It was as if she no longer existed. An ache settled in her chest. This outright rejection left her breathless.

"Father?" Her voice choked.

"The Lord has spoken. This is His will." Taking another step away, he said, "You, daughter of Satan, are at the mercy of our Lord and God. You live or die by his hand." He called to Beatrice: "Come, wife, we are leaving. We have His work to do."

Emily's mother rushed forward and put her arms around her daughter. "Timothy, no! Have you lost your mind? There are wild animals. And savages. In the name of our Lord, be reasonable!" Desperation filled her voice.

Emily clutched her mother's arm. Her father planned to leave without her, he planned to abandon her in the wilderness—in the name of God! "You can't do this," she whispered, numb with disbelief, stunned to know the depths of his hatred for her.

The man walked back and yanked her mother away. "I said, we are leaving." He dragged the woman, sobbing and pleading, toward the wagon without a backward glance. "You, too, will pay for your sins," was all he said.

Shrieking, the woman fought to return to Emily. "No! I won't leave my daughter," she screamed. A hard blow to the side of her face silenced her.

Stunned by the violence of her father, Emily stood rooted to the spot. But when the man tossed her mother's unresisting body up onto the wagon seat, she ran forward. "No!" Fear as she'd never known left her shaking so hard that her teeth chattered. He wouldn't do this. He couldn't. She was his daughter, no matter what he'd said.

"No! You can't leave me. Ma, don't let him do this! Don't leave me! Father! Please!"

Her father whirled around. "You are no daughter of mine. Begone!" He picked up the reins and urged the mules forward. Her mother screamed until another blow silenced her.

Emily ran after the wagon. "How can you do this? This is not the will of God. What about forgiveness? What about love?" She grabbed the back of the wagon as it left the shadows of the tall stand of cottonwood trees where they'd camped, headed into an open meadow.

The wagon stopped. Relieved, Emily tried to still her frantic breathing. Her father would take her back if she begged, if she promised to be good. She'd pray on her knees all day if that was what it took. "Please,

Father—"

She froze at the sight of the shotgun in his hands,