Crown of Fire

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In 1901, when her fiery hair was now completely gray, Dorothy stirred from a deep slumber. Her eyes had completely failed her by this time in her life. But she swore she could see a beautiful young Indian maiden, dressed in pale buckskin garb, standing in their room. The Indian maiden was nearly as beautiful as Kuy Neer had been, that first day as their children played on the teeter-totter outside of Dauber's Mercantile.

The Indian maiden smiled and beckoned with her hand. Dorothy felt her weary limbs struggling to refuse the maiden's draw.

"Come, dear friend," the maiden spoke quietly, pointing toward the open door of the bedchamber, toward the light that spilled into the room.

"But, but, I cannot leave my Kuy Neer," Dorothy begged as she slipped out of the bed.

"Kuy Neer will be along soon," the Indian maiden promised, smiling happily. "Come, Dorothy of the crown of fire. Come."

THE END

**Author's Note: I write these stories for my pleasure; I post them here for your enjoyment. I thank you for reading my stories.

Have a sweet day.