The evening turned to night, but Georgette heard nothing more from the DuBois witch who’d spoken in her head earlier. The wagon had come to a halt, and the men driving had rolled up the canvas to watch the Choctaw men have their way with Georgette. As if on cue, the most hateful of the men grabbed Georgette, pulled her to him, and began to acquaint himself with her body. The drivers started to laugh and cheer. They poked a stick through the bars and urged the other two men to join in. Georgette ignored the lascivious suggestions they yelled out as the men took her over and over again. She’d been refusing water and pushed the meager rations of food she was given to the Choctaw, wishing she would die of starvation and end it all.
“Remain calm,” the voice said in her head, “we’re on our way.
