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 wentโwhich 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
looksโher generous bust and her white-blond hair
and blue eyesโhad 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
wildernessโin 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,
© 2003-2026