Waiting for Deliverance Quotes

“Rising Hawk. Would you do something for me?”
Her voice suggested some new torment. His vulnerable expression fled. He wasn’t going to be made to look like a fool. Not even by Livy, no matter how dear she was to him. He thought about the winter. She made him laugh. Most of the time, she made him happy. They all believed she still had him bewitched. Maybe she did. Against his better judgment and his gut feeling, he felt himself nod yes.
She took a deep breath. “Turn around and walk away.”
“What?”
“Turn around and walk away.” She had done all the thinking she could. By itself it held no answers. This was her last chance.
“That’s what you want?”
“Yes.”
His next words had to fight their way out. His teeth were set like a bear trap. “I don’t know why I love you. It never makes any sense to me. Nothing about you does.” He turned.
Livy watched him walk away. His familiar stride, the way he held his head, and the slight limp helped her remember the trail, their strange journey, and the gunshot. It’s not fair, she told herself as the pain of seeing him walk away one last time took hold of her.
“It’s not enough,” she said aloud in an angry sob that rose in her throat and nearly choked her next words. “But I can’t help it. I can’t, and I don’t care anymore. I don’t care. Rising Hawk, wait!” she called, and broke into a run. He slowed at the sound of her voice and looked over his shoulder. The old smile returned to his face, gentle, mocking, assured. He didn’t wait for her to reach him, but turned to meet her halfway.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“Just a moon ago, at dawn, I was drunk. Very drunk. I wasn’t thinking of you. You were the last thing on my mind. I was trying to get up from where I lay on the riverbank without falling in. I couldn’t tell the water from the sky. I was seeing two skies and two rivers and knew that if I took a wrong step I would probably drown, and I was deciding whether or not that would be a bad thing. The next thing I knew I was in the center of the river on that flat rock you used to sit on, and I looked up into the sky, and suddenly my vision cleared. I knew that you wanted me back. I knew, at that moment, we were both seeing into your heart.”
She didn’t tell him that was probably the morning the baby came, but he saw her struggle and her resignation and her surprise. There’s no real reason for this, she thought. There’s no good reason. I can’t believe such nonsense, but it happened. I don’t know my own mind even now when he’s standing right in front of me, so dear, so beautiful, and much too good. Much too good. Why can’t I have his faith?
Rising Hawk watched her face, and he began to believe that if he could just touch her, kiss her the way he had on the trail, she would give in. But then she said, “Rising Hawk. Would you do something for me?”
Her voice suggested some new torment. His vulnerable expression fled. He wasn’t going to be made to look like a fool. Not even by Livy, no matter how dear she was to him. He thought about the winter. She made him laugh. Most of the time, she made him happy. They all believed she still had him bewitched. Maybe she did. Against his better judgment and his gut feeling, he felt himself nod yes.
She took a deep breath. “Turn around and walk away.”
“What?”
“Turn around and walk away.” She had done all the thinking she could. By itself it held no answers. This was her last chance.
“That’s what you want?”
“Yes.”
His next words had to fight their way out. His teeth were set like a bear trap. “I don’t know why I love you. It never makes any sense to me. Nothing about you does.” He turned.
Livy watched him walk away. His familiar stride, the way he held his head, and the slight limp helped her remember the trail, their strange journey, and the gunshot. It’s not fair, she told herself as the pain of seeing him walk away one last time took hold of her.
“It’s not enough,” she said aloud in an angry sob that rose in her throat and nearly choked her next words. “But I can’t help it. I can’t, and I don’t care anymore. I don’t care. Rising Hawk, wait!” she called, and broke into a run. He slowed at the sound of her voice and looked over his shoulder. The old smile returned to his face, gentle, mocking, assured. He didn’t wait for her to reach him, but turned to meet her halfway.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“You fought like a demon. Everyone was astonished. Me most of all. The violence of your tongue I was used to, but this! When it was over, you rose from the floor and looked at me.”
She laughed again. It was like a familiar birdsong, lost for the winter, now returned.
“And at that moment, the light of your eyes went into mine, and mine into yours in return.” Timidly, he touched her cheek, and felt ready to cry with relief when she raised her hand and touched his.
“That sounds very pretty, Rising Hawk,” she said gently, “but it’s not enough to trade my life for.”
“Livy, we both know that once this happens, one is blind without the other. What do you need for proof? Another winter like this past one? Listen, I never would have come back like this, been so sure, if something hadn’t happened to make me realize I had to. That you wanted me to.”
“What do you mean? Don’t tell me about another dream, Rising Hawk, because I don’t believe in them.”
“This was not a dream. Just a moon ago, at dawn, I was drunk. Very drunk. I wasn’t thinking of you. You were the last thing on my mind. I was trying to get up from where I lay on the riverbank without falling in. I couldn’t tell the water from the sky. I was seeing two skies and two rivers and knew that if I took a wrong step I would probably drown, and I was deciding whether or not that would be a bad thing. The next thing I knew I was in the center of the river on that flat rock you used to sit on, and I looked up into the sky, and suddenly my vision cleared. I knew that you wanted me back. I knew, at that moment, we were both seeing into your heart.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“What happened between us was my fault.”
“No, it wasn’t. I said I wouldn’t marry you. What else could I expect? Your only fault was in leaving without saying good-bye. That made it terrible.”
“I’m sorry, Livy. I behaved like a spiteful boy.”
“Yes, you did.”
She agreed much too easily, he thought. She might be more gracious about it. “My uncle was right. A man should never meddle in women’s affairs.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that it was foolish of me to speak to you of marriage. Only an older woman would have known how to calm your fears.”
“No amount of talk from anyone could do that, Rising Hawk. I wish it would,” she admitted with a sigh.
He reached for her hands. He pulled gently, but she set her heels and wouldn’t budge, so he did. Coming as close as he dared, he whispered, “Do you remember our last day at Jenuchshadego? You fought like a demon.”
“It wasn’t just me. We all went crazy.”
“But you most of all.”
She laughed, and he remembered how desolate winter had been without her.
“You fought like a demon. Everyone was astonished. Me most of all. The violence of your tongue I was used to, but this! When it was over, you rose from the floor and looked at me.”
She laughed again. It was like a familiar birdsong, lost for the winter, now returned.
“And at that moment, the light of your eyes went into mine, and mine into yours in return.” Timidly, he touched her cheek, and felt ready to cry with relief when she raised her hand and touched his.
“That sounds very pretty, Rising Hawk,” she said gently, “but it’s not enough to trade my life for.”
“Livy, we both know that once this happens, one is blind without the other. What do you need for proof? Another winter like this past one? Listen, I never would have come back like this, been so sure, if something hadn’t happened to make me realize I had to. That you wanted me to.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“When the company had passed on, Rising Hawk laid the deer carcass on the ground at her feet. “This is for Polly,” he said shyly. “It is unthinkable for a bridegroom to claim his bride without proof of his hunting skill. The deer around here are not well. Your winter must have been bad, like ours. This was the best I could find.” His eyes finally met hers. He was the same, a little haggard. She was older. Neither of them was sure that they read anything in the looks they gave each other. “Gideon gave you my message? I was afraid it would not get here before I did.”
“He told me yesterday,” she said, “but he didn’t tell me you were bringing a wedding party.” She was cool, without anger, very polite--as if she were addressing an acquaintance, and a distant one at that. Rising Hawk felt his confidence melting away.
“Why didn’t you send word sooner?” she asked, her voice accusing.
“I tried, but there was no one to take my message, once I had the courage to try. Anyway, there seemed to be no words for my sorrow that you had not heard before.”
“Oh.”
He was beginning to think he had made a mistake. This was shaping up as a refusal. And after all the persuading he had wasted on his uncle and grandmother. He glanced down at the deer. It was humiliating, but he hadn’t come all this way to stand here dumb, like a chastened twelve-year-old. Without raising his eyes he said, “I missed you so much my soul was sick. My only dreams were of you. On the winter hunt my aim was terrible, like an old man with fading sight. My friends pitied me. I could listen to stories in the longhouse, but I could not tell any afterward because my heart held no memory of them.” He paused, ashamed to admit it. “I tried drinking for a while.”
He saw her start slightly and she said, less harshly, “Me too.”
“What happened between us was my fault.”
“No, it wasn’t. I said I wouldn’t marry you. What else could I expect? Your only fault was in leaving without saying good-bye. That made it terrible.”
“I’m sorry, Livy. I behaved like a spiteful boy.”
“Yes, you did.”
She agreed much too easily, he thought. She might be more gracious about it.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“First she saw light, the rising sun reflecting off something at the clearing’s edge. In that moment before she heard the voices, she confusedly thought she was seeing fireflies in the daytime, then realized it was silver brooches catching the light. No one had told her to expect the family, but there they were: Rising Hawk’s uncle, his parents, and assorted cousins, including Dream Teller, who gave Livy a tight smile she took for a peace offering. Rising Hawk lagged behind, carrying a scrawny deer over his shoulders, his eyes focused on the path. The others had the good sense and tact to pass on with a simple greeting, but Buffalo Creek Woman put her hands to Livy’s chest and with a stream of words, finally cut short by Cold Keeper, forgave her everything.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“Do you think he’s married, Gideon?” Trembling, she took a long drink from the jug before handing it back.
“No. Even if he didn’t love you, which he does, he’s young. Seneca don’t marry young.”
He stared into the fire, looking solemn. Livy lifted her hand for the pipe, and he passed it without a word.
“How do you know he loves me?” It was strange how easily she could ask that question. Up to now, just using the word love had made her feel as if she’d gone naked to church. It was probably the darkness that made her bold.
“I know my brother. He never stays here for more than a month. He’s always afraid I’ll ask him to help me with the farming. Something had to be keeping him. I never thought it might be you.”
Livy stared into the fire a long while. He passed her the jug.
“I blame myself,” he said.
“For what?”
“For everything. All of it. For you and Rising Hawk, for this,” he pointed to his eye patch. “For…Polly. I shouldn’t have beaten Eph. That’s what started the trouble. I wasn’t raised to it, and it felt wrong from start to finish. When it comes to figuring the right path, I’m a blind bear in the woods. Sometimes I think being educated by Father Clairemont was a curse. When all I knew was the Seneca way, I never had to make so many decisions. Now, looking at both sides of everything has got to be a habit, and it slows me down. The only good that came of it was Polly.” He took the jug from her hand and gulped. “Never, never, never do anything that goes against your gut, Deliverance.”
“That doesn’t work. If I’d gone with inclination, I wouldn’t have stepped into that canoe. It was my head made me do it, to spite you.” She lifted her hand for a drink, but he shook his head.
“You’ve had enough, child. You’re getting philosophical.”
“T’aint fair. You’re just mad ’cause I’m right. When I first met you, I thought you were the lowest creature I ever saw, and I was sure Rising Hawk was evil incarnate. That was trained into me, but it felt like gut, and it turned out to be wrong.”
“You were scared of everything then.”
“Yes, I was,” she said, taking a deep draw on the pipe. “Only one thing scares me now.”
“What’s that?”
“That I’m crazy and will never get these thoughts of Rising Hawk out of my head.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“Livy woke as Rising Hawk leaned in and gently brushed her bruised cheek. She smiled sleepily when she recognized him.
“You told them we made a baby?”
“Yes.”
“Knowing what would happen?”
“Yes.”
“You are a most contrary girl, Livy Pelton. When I offered to show you the delights that can get a baby, you wouldn’t let me.”
“No.”
“And you wouldn’t let me now, would you?”
“No. I haven’t changed my mind about that.”
“You went against your village for me,” he whispered. “Even though I wasn’t sure I could do the same for you. You made your own people cast you out. You are a strong and wonderful woman, Livy, and braver than I’ll ever be.”
He crawled into her sleeping compartment and lay next to her.
“I’m not so brave, Rising Hawk,” she whispered, nestling close and laying her head on his shoulder. “Those people aren’t my village. You are.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“Rising Hawk was dozing in the longhouse when the hanging on his sleeping compartment ripped aside.
“A baby? What were you thinking of?”
Rising Hawk blinked owlishly at Gideon. Ephraim was standing off to the side, looking guilty.
“I had to tell them, Rising Hawk. For Livy’s sake.”
Rising Hawk struggled into a sitting position.
“As soon as you can stand on your own, I’m beating the stuffin’ out of you,” Gideon promised.
“Whose baby?”
“Livy’s! The one you fathered on her. We know. She told the Wilkeses. You idiot!”
“Rising Hawk, it was the meanest thing I ever saw,” Eph broke in. “One minute old Mrs. Wilkes was bleating over Livy like she was her lost lamb. The next, she’s sending her to hell and back for being a fornicator. She locked her in the cellar overnight and wouldn’t even let her eat breakfast in the house, but made her sit out in the yard.”
“Servant girl with a bastard ain’t that shocking,” Gideon said grimly. “But you’re an Indian, Rising Hawk. Do you have any notion of the sorrow you’ve brought down on that child?”
Polly looked in, one hand laid instinctively over her own flat stomach. “Rising Hawk. How could you?”
“She told them I gave her a belly?” He struggled to the edge of the bed, dragging his injured leg painfully over the side. “Brother, give me your hand,” he said impatiently.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“You poor, dear child,” Mrs. Wilkes said, after several restorative sips. “I can only begin to image the insults and humiliations you have been forced to endure, living among those…savages.”
Tipsy, Livy wondered if she was referring to Lawson or the Gunns.
“I can’t change what you have been through, but I can promise you this. You will never have to see the Gunns again. They were intolerably negligent in placing you in a situation where a savage could propose to make you his…his…wife.”
Mrs. Wilkes mouth pursed, as if she’d gone for the snuff and mistakenly taken alum. She lay a hand over her heart. “You needn’t fear going back. You may stay with us for as long as you wish. I swear to you, there is nothing on heaven or earth that could ever persuade me to return you to that nest of vipers.”
Mr. Wilkes came in carrying a shawl. “When I think of a child of her caliber being forced into such degraded association with those red instruments of Satan, it makes my blood boil.” He draped the shawl around Livy’s shoulders and patted her kindly.
“Mr. Lawson may be a rascal,” Mr. Wilkes continued, “but we owe him a debt of gratitude for rescuing you. I cannot believe one of those creatures actually proposed marriage! To be honest, the mere thought of you with him makes me ill. You were fortunate, Deliverance. I mean to say, I am assuming that the savage did not actually act on his evil intentions?”
Livy flinched at his words. Mrs. Wilkes looked sympathetic, but her eyes were bright with curiosity. Every grown person Livy’d been near lately seemed to have their minds stuck on Sodom and Gomorrah. They made her feel dirty. And they wanted to keep her here. To rescue her form Rising Hawk. From Rising Hawk!
She looked into the fire. There were bright blue and white tiles the entire length of the hearth. A silver tea service sparkled on a walnut sideboard. This room, with its warm fire and pretty things, had seemed like a haven, peaceful and civilized, up to this moment.
They watched her, her head down, studying the tabletop. Suddenly she stood up.
“Mr. Wilkes, Mrs. Wilkes. You have both been so kind to me and Ephraim that I feel I owe you the truth.” She paused and put a corner of the shawl to her eyes. “The fact is, me and the Indian have been sinning together for, oh, I don’t know how long. And now here I am, a month gone already and nearly a widow before I’m married.”
Mrs. Wilkes fainted with a loud thud. Livy took a certain satisfaction in the sound.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“Mister, I understand why you hate Indians and Tories so.”
“Well now, you’re a fair-minded duchess. Just been led astray, I reckon.”
“But Rising Hawk was only a baby when those terrible things happened. You can’t blame him.”
“A Indian’s a Indian, sis. I seen firsthand what they’re capable of. Don’t try and fool yourself. It comes natural to them. That fella’s done plenty of evil.”
“No, he hasn’t. He’s probably the kindest human being I’ve ever known, excepting Polly Gunn.”
Lawson’s face softened a little at the mention of Polly. Nonetheless, he took her arm in silence and made her walk on.
“Please, please let me go. Even if he isn’t bleeding now, he’s sick and weak, and what happens if a bear or a panther finds him there?”
“Then that’ll be one less savage to worry about.”
“Let me go! You have no rights over me. You’re probably breaking the law. You broke the law shooting Rising Hawk. That was no accident, was it? You shot him on purpose.”
She twisted suddenly and bit the filthy hand holding her. She ran and was off the road and deep into a pine grove before he caught up and knocked her to the ground. He had his foot on her back before she knew she was down.
“I oughta knock your teeth out for that. I will, if you try that again, you little hellcat. And don’t talk to me about no damn law. I know all about rights. Here’s rights for you. I’m bigger than you, I run faster than you, and I got a gun. Them’s my rights.”
Despite her pain and fatigue, Livy struggled furiously to get up. But he held her down until the rage passed out of her and she lay still. Then he let her up and tied her hands again, preaching all the while.
“What you do not understand, child, is that a white woman who lives with savages of her own volition is lower than one of them Indian girls. And a white woman who breeds with them is lower than a whore even. You are a nice little girl and too young to know the damage you are doing. I am saving you from yourself.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“I don’t fit in, Rising Hawk. They think I’m odd.” She looked down at her lap. “And maybe I am, but I just…can’t…breathe there. Can you understand that? There are too many people, watching all the time. At least in a white village we don’t have to share a house with the neighbors. Besides, what are we arguing about? I’ve realized over the past few days that you are my best friend in the world, and nothing will change that.”
Rising Hawk spoke very quietly. “We’re arguing because I want to make love to you, and I probably shouldn’t.”
“It was my fault, Rising Hawk. I’m sorry. I started it. I didn’t realize--”
“Livy, stop. You never used to talk at all, and now you talk too much. Listen to me for a moment. There is a medicine ceremony where you must dip water from the water road…the river, you understand? When you dip into the current, you must not dip against it, or the water spirits are disturbed and the medicine will not work. But this is just what you do. You always dip against the current. The medicine works when you accept what life gives you.”
“I’m never getting married. To you or anyone. It’s not safe.”
Rising Hawk smiled gently and leaned forward, taking hold of the medallion he had given her. “Livy, you are very young and very, very stubborn. But someday, in two, maybe three, years, you will lose this fear you have and you will marry a man, and we will both be very disappointed if that man is not me.” He pulled a little on the necklace, making her lean toward him. “Life is so simple, Livy. We will take care of each other, that’s all.”
Livy sat very still. “It’s not that simple,” she said quietly. “If they had caught us, would you have gone against them? Your uncle and father and everyone?”
He stared at her. After what seemed an eternity, he averted his eyes and very slowly released the necklace.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“White men never come to Jenuchshadego,” Rising Hawk had told her with some pride. “Not by themselves or in armies. The Genesee towns are surrounded by white settlers, but not us.” He grinned in satisfaction. “Not even the missionaries bother us.”
Now he was saying, “This could be a very important dream. But why would a white dog choose you as a messenger?” Rising Hawk rested his chin in his hand and frowned. Livy wasn’t sure she liked his tone.
“There wasn’t any message.”
“And it doesn’t ask anything of you. This is curious. Perhaps I should tell my mother of your dream. It may mean more to another woman.”
“It’s just a dream, Rising Hawk. Don’t make a fuss. It doesn’t mean anything.”
There was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. How could his brother allow such dangerous ignorance to fester in his own home?
“Dreams are more important than anything that happens when you are awake,” he insisted. “You can cause yourself great harm if you do not listen. We must find out what it means for you to do. This dream could come from outside of you, from the spirits. To ignore the needs of either can mean sickness for yourself or danger to others, to us.” Exasperated by her blank look, he added, “I am really very surprised my brother has not taught you this.”
“He keeps a Christian household, and Christians don’t hold with such things as dreams,” Livy said primly.
“Did you know that the missionaries taught me from that book?”
“I knew all along you had Christian leanings,” she said, pleased that Gideon had been wrong about his brother.
Rising Hawk made an abrupt motion with his hand, dismissing her idea. “Is your white God so very difficult that one needs a book to understand him? Actually, I believe the priests wrote it themselves,” he confided.
Speechless, Livy watched him roll onto his feet and disappear into the brush. She half expected lightning to strike him. She hated the way he was always thinking about white people and making comparisons and acting superior. Why, she hardly ever gave Indians a second thought. She wriggled out of her blankets and began bundling their bedrolls, squeezing them into the smallest possible packs, tidy and easy to manage. When Rising Hawk emerged from the trees, unscathed, a moment later, she was mildly disappointed.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“They came all that distance just to see a baby?” she whispered.
“For heaven’s sake, they’re not a war party. Nothing’s going on. Just because Polly’s folks were Tories and Gideon lived at that school in Canada doesn’t make them dangerous.”
“What if he’s a British agent, Eph?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Livy. That’s a harebrained, womanish idea.”
“Why?” she said angrily. “It’s your pa said there were plenty of them making trouble out here. He said those British in Upper Canada keep telling the western tribes the king will come to their aid if they war with the Americans.”
“Gideon lives right in the middle of Americans. What would he have to gain by starting a war in his own backyard?”
“I don’t know, Eph. All I know is what Uncle John said. Upper Canada wants Indian territory sitting between it and America. A strip below Lake Ontario and Lake Erie. If Gideon helps them, maybe the British will give him land as a reward. Rising Hawk’s probably in on it, too. He’s always traveling over to Canada to the nations at Grand River. Couldn’t he be carrying messages to the British garrisons there?”
“Rising Hawk’s not a sneak, Livy. Besides, he could never keep big secrets. He’d turn them into stories and blab to everyone.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“Why didn’t you send word sooner?” she asked, her voice accusing.
“I tried, but there was no one to take my message, once I had the courage to try. Anyway, there seemed to be no words for my sorrow that you had not heard before.”
“Oh.”
He was beginning to think he had made a mistake. This was shaping up as a refusal. And after all the persuading he had wasted on his uncle and grandmother. He glanced down at the deer. It was humiliating, but he hadn’t come all this way to stand here dumb, like a chastened twelve-year-old. Without raising his eyes he said, “I missed you so much my soul was sick. My only dreams were of you. On the winter hunt my aim was terrible, like an old man with fading sight. My friends pitied me. I could listen to stories in the longhouse, but I could not tell any afterward because my heart held no memory of them.” He paused, ashamed to admit it. “I tried drinking for a while.”
He saw her start slightly, and she said, less harshly, “Me, too.”
“What happened between us was my fault.”
“No, it wasn’t. I said I wouldn’t marry you. What else could I expect? Your only fault was in leaving without saying good-bye. That made it terrible.”
“I’m sorry, Livy. I behaved like a spiteful boy.”
“Yes, you did.”
She agreed much too easily, he thought. She might be more gracious about it.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“I cannot believe one of those creatures actually proposed marriage! To be honest, the mere thought of you with him makes me ill. You were fortunate, Deliverance. I mean to say, I am assuming that the savage did not actually act on his evil intentions?”
Livy flinched at his words. Mrs. Wilkes looked sympathetic, but her eyes were bright with curiosity. Every grown person Livy’d been near lately seemed to have their minds stuck on Sodom and Gomorrah. They made her feel dirty. And they wanted to keep her here. To rescue her from Rising Hawk. From Rising Hawk!
She looked into the fire. There were bright blue and white tiles the entire length of the hearth. A silver tea service sparkled on a walnut sideboard. This room, with its warm fire and pretty things, had seemed like a heaven, peaceful and civilized, up to this moment.
They watched her, her head down, studying the tabletop. Suddenly she stood up.
“Mr. Wilkes, Mrs. Wilkes. You have both been so kind to me and Ephraim that I feel I owe you the truth.” She paused and put a corner of the shawl to her eyes. “The fact is, me and the Indian have been sinning together for, oh, I don’t know how long. And now here I am, a month gone already and nearly a widow before I’m married.”
Mrs. Wilkes fainted with a loud thud. Livy took a certain satisfaction in the sound.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“Two days ago, you were in your first battle. You were wounded. You bled. You didn’t cry then.”
Livy let out a snort, then gasped. “Don’t make me laugh, Rising Hawk. It hurts.” He leaned against a tree trunk and let her arrange herself against him. She pulled the blanket to her chin.
“When Father Clairemont was teaching me English, he was fond of saying, ‘There is a first time for everything.’ For example, you hit my cousin very hard on the head with that firewood. That was the first time you tried to kill, wasn’t it?”
“I wasn’t trying to kill him, Rising Hawk. Stop it.”
“You do not know that my uncle proposed a new name for you. Two names really. We should choose between them. Do you prefer Throws Her Firewood or Mankiller? Is it possible that in that place you come from, they were afraid of you and happy to see you go?”
“You have to stop now,” she said in a strained voice. “I don’t think they’re broken, but a couple of my ribs hurt, and you’re making it worse.”
He touched her side gently. “Does this hurt?” he asked, his voice full of concern.
“I guess not. No more than a bruise hurts.” She looked up. His face was five inches away, and he wasn’t looking at her side. He was looking straight into her eyes.
“You are a most unusual girl,” he whispered. “What will you be like in two or three winters?”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“Livy sat with her back to him, tallying up his faults. Her arm was bleeding, and it was growing cold—the kind of cold that soaked into her like water and made her shake. Rising Hawk had finally bundled and tied the blankets. When she asked for one, he shook his head and put a finger to his lips. She gave him another black mark.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“Shadow looked over at Livy, who was still furious and not at all contrite, and said sullenly, “She is very unwomanly. She fights like a boy . . . a white boy.”
Stands Ready tightened his grip on Dream Teller and suddenly laughed out loud. “I am surprised to see she has such a strong arm. You would not know it to look at her. We must call her Throws Her Firewood or, possibly, Mankiller. My son’s head has a lump on it the size of an apple.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“Despite her mother’s good intentions, she would have to take the girl over. Rising Hawk was an idiot.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“If I knew just a little Seneca, I could learn the words for jackass, simpleton, bully, idiot, and fool. Gideon and Rising Hawk and even Polly know how to talk it. I don’t know what I was thinking all these months.” Runs Faster looked back at Livy, who was following her doggedly up the trail. The little one was talkative this evening. Being angry with Rising Hawk had set something free. It was very funny. Livy returned the look. “I know you can’t understand me, but those are all good English words that describe your brother,” she said. “Rising Hawk—is—a—f-o-o-l.”
Runs Faster pointed behind Livy. Despite their protests, Rising Hawk was following them up the mountainside, from a safe distance. “Full,” she said, to Livy’s delight.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“There wasn't any message."
"And it doesn't ask anything of you. This is curious. Perhaps I should tell my mother of your dream. It may mean more to another woman."
"It’s just a dream, Rising Hawk. Don’t make a fuss. It doesn’t mean anything.”
There was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. How could his brother allow such dangerous ignorance to fester in his own home?
“Dreams are more important than anything that happens when you are awake,” he insisted. “You can cause yourself great harm if you do not listen. We must find out what it means for you to do. This dream could come from within,” he said, indicating his heart, “or it could come from outside of you, from the spirits. To ignore the needs of either can mean sickness for yourself or danger to others, to us.” Exasperated by her blank look, he added, “I am really very surprised my brother has not taught you this.”
“He keeps a Christian household, and Christians don’t hold with such things as dreams,” Livy said primly.
“Did you know that the missionaries taught me from that book?”
“I knew all along you had Christian leanings,” she said, pleased that Gideon had been wrong about his brother.
Rising Hawk made an abrupt motion with his hand, dismissing her idea. “Is your white God so very difficult that one needs a book to understand him? Actually, I believe the priests wrote it themselves," he confided.
Speechless, Livy watched him roll onto his feet and disappear into the brush. She half expected lightning to strike him. She hated the way he was always thinking about white people and making comparisons and acting superior. Why, she hardly ever gave Indians a second thought. She wriggled out of her blankets and began bundling their bedrolls, squeezing them into the smallest possible packs, tidy and easy to manage. When Rising Hawk emerged from the trees, unscathed, a moment later, she was mildly disappointed.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“Why aren’t you in Canada?”
“That’s pretty much none of your business. I guess Rising Hawk never told you about Oniata, the Dry Hand?”
Livy glared at him.
“You’d best watch out for it. It’s a hand that flies around looking for nosy people and pokes their eyes out.”
“My father and Uncle John fought Butler and Johnson. They were at Cherry Valley. Were you? They said the Indians had a Seneca war chief. Did you go?”
“No. Would it matter?”
“My father and Uncle John helped bury the bodies afterwards. Women and children, even babies, lying butchered in the snow. The slush was red, mixed with their blood. A hundred or more.”
“There were thirty killed, Livy. Your uncle was exaggerating.”
“My uncle said that when the scalp’s off a body, the mouth hangs all slack in a scream, and he said the Indians killed babies by dashing their brains out.”
“He shouldn’t have told you that. It’s not fitting for a child.”
“Neither’s getting your brains dashed out.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“Even Rising Hawk looked upset then, and he usually doesn’t show things,” he added thoughtfully.
“Is Rising Hawk teaching you those words?”
Eph turned red. “He’s been showing me how to follow a trail. He’s teaching me about the plants and things, too. You needn’t look like that, Livy. It’s not a crime.”
“Your father would be real proud, Eph. You can’t even read through a sermon on Sunday, but you manage to learn a heathen tongue.”
“It’s only a few words . . .”
“Every day I worry about keeping us together, covering up for you when you run off to the woods with that stupid bow of yours.”
“It’s not stupid.”
“I’m endangering my immortal soul with all these near-lies I have to tell, all so you can run off and play Indian. We never have been close, and I don’t expect you to actually love me, Eph, but I do think you could show some loyalty.”
“But I do love you, Livy,” Eph said in a small voice. “Even when you get to nagging on me. It reminds me of Mother.”
Livy turned redder than he. “I didn’t mean to make you say that.”
“You didn’t. It’s all right.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“This is your home now.”
“No,” she said, drawing a ragged breath, “it isn’t.”
“In time, you will learn to be content,” Rising Hawk said. “Meanwhile, I have thought about your misfortunes and”—he paused dramatically—“have decided I should overlook your bad manners.”
She was speechless for a moment. Her fever rose. “My manners are much better than yours,” she retorted.
“Really? I was taught very young not to wear my angry thoughts on my face. You have given me nothing but angry looks since you came here. You should learn . . . There is a good word Polly uses for this; let me think.” He frowned, one hand raised to his ear as if to catch the memory of its sound. “Decorum,” he said finally.
Livy scowled and realized too late that she was wearing her thoughts on her face again. “At least I don’t go around scaring folks to death. Folks who never did you any harm.” She spoke with a self-pitying whine. “You’ve picked on me at every opportunity and you’ve been sneaky about it so Polly and Gideon don’t know. Is that what you mean by decorum, being sly?”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“She had a real capacity for hysteria. It wasn’t a quality he admired. Nonetheless, she ran well under its influence.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“Livy leaned down into the cornmeal barrel, aware that Rising Hawk was awake and watching. She had learned to sense his presence. Like sheep sense a wolf, she thought grimly. It’s no wonder Seneca think up all that devilment to do to Christians. Any man that lazy has nothing better to do.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance

“Now then, little missy. Why don’t you stand up so’s I can get a good look at you.”
Livy bristled at the title, missy. Miss was a reprimand reserved for the ill-tempered and the disobedient. She was neither, and no one, stranger or relation, had ever addressed her with anything less than a missus. She glanced over at Mr. Wilkes, justice of the peace, overseer for the poor, and their temporary guardian. He nodded. The mayor was an unschooled frontiersman, so Mr. Wilkes made allowances, but his rueful look was the same one Livy saw him direct at his wife’s back a hundred times a week.
Reluctantly she stood, clutching Ephraim’s hand behind her back.
“How old are you, gal?”
“Fourteen, sir,” she said with a curtsy. The Pelton children had been raised to “make their manners” to all adults, no matter how lowly. Livy was sure these were the lowliest she had ever seen.”
― Betsy Urban, Waiting for Deliverance