Clearly, Gideon and Rachel Ann still cloaked themselves in mourning. And this was brought into focus more sharply when I realized Christmas would be upon us soon. Their loss threatened to recall my own part in the tragedy more strongly. My spirits drooped until I realized that little Gabe was not alone. His Uncle Matthew would watch out for him, guide his way. That occasioned another thought. Would Gideon be able to one day join his wife and children, or would the Western Road for whites be separate from the one the mixed bloods traveled? And what of Cut Hand and Otter? Would I be denied their presence because they were pure bloods? Nay. I had long ago settled in my mind that Wakhán Thánkaand the Christian God were one and the same. He merely looked at his people through different faces, one appropriate to each man.