Blood Ties Read Online Free Page B

Parks extended a tiny hand.
    Abbie clasped it, surprised to find how strong the
thin little woman's grip was. "Mrs. Parks, I'm Abbie
Night Horse."
    "Of course you are, child." Aunt Birdy tilted her
head as if listening to something no one else heard.
"You're one of the first people, aren't you?" she asked
in her sweet, reedy voice. Slipping her cane over the
edge of the pew back, she patted Abbie's wrist. "Can I
touch your face, honey?"
    Abbie's favorite grandmother had been blind, so she
understood that it was the old woman's way of seeing.
Abbie cradled the bony hand and lifted it to her cheek.
    "Eyes and hair black as a crow's wing," Emma murmured. "She favors her mother. Beautiful, too."
    "Don't need you to tell me that, girl," Mrs. Parks retorted.
    Her fingertips were warm and light as thistle down.
    "I'm Karen Knight, Abbie's mother," Karen said.
"I'm pleased to meet you. And thank you for allowing
Abbie to put her helicopter in your pasture."
    "Pshaw, cows don't care. I wouldn't mind havin' a
ride in the contraption, though. Never did get any
higher than the attic of my farmhouse."
    Abbie smiled and stepped back. Aunt Birdy turned
toward Karen and then stopped and gripped Abbie's hand again. "There's something dark hoverin' over
you, dear. You take care, you hear?" She shook her
head. "Emma?"

    "Yes, Mama?"
    "Didn't you warn these ladies about that marsh? It's
a bad place, always was. Spirits walk there, not good
ones neither. The ghost of an Injun medicine man.
Evil pagan he was, and evil he still is. The old-time people say his own kind were scared of him. Wicked, godless creature." She tilted her head as though she was
peering up into Abbie's face. "Some folks don't believe in haunts, but you do."
    Abbie's mouth went dry. "No, I-"
    "No need to feel shame, child. Old-time folks believed, and the first people believe. There's lots of
things in this world that some don't see, but they're
real just the same."
    "Now, Mama, don't go scaring these ladies with your
ghost talk."
    The old woman turned on Emma and shook her
cane. "Listen at you. How many times have I heard you
talk about that swamp? It's a bad place," she repeated.
    "Dr. Knight, Miss Horse." Matthew hurried toward
them. "If you'll excuse us, Aunt Birdy. We have some
business in the office. Ladies, if you'd follow me."
    "Don't forget," the old woman warned. "There's
danger in the marsh. And something evil in that burial
ground."
    Uneasiness prickled Abbie's skin as she followed
Matthew Catlin out of the sanctuary. Superstitious
nonsense. It was foolish to let an old woman's fancies
make her uneasy.
    "I'm anxious to see what you mentioned earlier in
your correspondence," her mother said. "And it's Abbie Night Horse, not Abbie Horse."
    It was clear to Abbie that her mother was amused by the minister's mistake. Mom might have changed her
name to Knight with a K after she and Dad had split
and before receiving her doctorate-she'd believed
her modified name would help her blend more easily
with mainstream academe-but Anati was still Indian,
blood and bone. And, despite the adversarial relationship between her parents, Abbie suspected they still
loved each other.

    A door off the sanctuary led to a hall and small office. Matthew switched on a light, beckoned them in,
and closed and locked the door. "My father came to
believe that the Irish reached North America a thousand years before the Viking voyages to the New
World, and I'm convinced he was right. He was positive that he had proof there was contact with the
Chesapeake natives, and that at least one early Irishman was buried on Tawes."
    Abbie smiled. She'd heard the theory, but it was
nothing more than speculation, like tales of the lost
Atlantis and Welsh expeditions to the Great Lakes
country.
    "Father was certain that the things I'm about to
show you were Irish Bronze Age," Matthew said. "I
don't know whether they are or not, but I know they
are genuine and very