"If the time comes you need to talk about it, you can share anything you need to with me. I won't judge you--not for anything." Loretta stiffened. "What could you judge me for?" She pulled away. Rachel averted her face. "Oh, Aunt Rachel, not you, too? Is it a crime to live through something like this and emerge unharmed? I starve myself. I chose death, just like any self-respecting woman would. But then he promised to bring me home, and I started eating again. He hadn't harmed me, and I figured--" Loretta broke off. It was clear as rain Aunt Rachel didn't believe her. "Merciful heaven, would you rather I was dead?" Amy groaned and tossed her head. Lowering her voice, Rachel replied, "No, I wouldn't rather you were dead!" She lifted trembling hands to her face. "Lord, no. I--oh, Loretta Jane, no. I love you. I just can't understand. You come home looking fit as a fiddle, claiming they didn't touch you? I saw you kiss him with my own eyes. And Tom said you shared the Comanche's bed, that it appeared you were receiving good treatment. I can only wonder what you had to do to survive so you could be here tonight. It's amazing what we women can live through--the things we're willing to put up with just to get by. Look at me. Stuck here in this unforgiving land with a man I despise. Do you think having him touch me is pleasant? But I let him and pretend I like it. Without him, where would the three of us be?" Loretta couldn't answer. For an instant it was like being mute again, her throat felt so tight. She could understand Uncle Henry's not believing her. He was one tier short of a full cord, anyway, and a body expected him to be an imbecile. But Aunt Rachel? That hurt--a bone-deep hurt that would be a long time in easing. Even if eloquence had been hers, Loretta would have offered no defense. She knew the truth, and that would have to be enough. Aunt Rachel stood up and wiped her palms on her shift. "I'm here if you need an ear. You can count on me." With that, she left the loft. Loretta wrapped her arms around her knees and gazed out the window at the moonlit yard, remembering another night, a lifetime ago, when Hunter had sat astride his black stallion there, his arm lifted to her in a salute, his fisted hand holding her stolen bloomers. How could it be that a Comanche understood the song her heart sang and her own aunt did not?"