She’d been with the Children for three weeks. A singular moment had occurred one morning. It was a simple act—uneventful really—but for Joan it was extraordinary, maybe because of its plainness. She had filled up large water pails at the river and walked up the hill to the tent. People usually carried and filled one bucket at a time, for they were large and heavy. Joan still felt the pressure of having to perform. That she had to overachieve to prove her worth—to prove she deserved to live. So she carried two. She struggled that morning, in the fog with the buckets. Suddenly, out of the mist, a hand appeared and grabbed one of the pails, lifting it out of her hand, taking the burden from her. She looked up and recognized the broad shoulders and muscular back of Arrow Comes Back as he continued on with the large pail. She hurried after him. At the tent he put down the bucket and walked off without saying a word. He never even glanced at her. She realized later—with gladness—that her first reaction when the unknown hand had grabbed the bucket was not one of fear.
