She descended the steps with her husband.
Then stopped when she saw the younger Apache woman.
For a long moment, they looked at each other.
The wealthy woman spoke first.
"You believe our daughter is yours?"
The younger woman nodded.
"Yes."
The wealthy woman swallowed.
"We were told her mother died."
"I did not die."
The words fell into the silence between them.
The wealthy woman's eyes filled.
She turned toward her husband.
He looked away.
Then the younger woman spoke again.
"She has a little mark beside her left ear."
The wealthy woman went completely still.
I saw the change in her face.
The younger woman continued.
"It is shaped like a small leaf. Her hair was black when she was born. She had a strong cry."
The wealthy woman covered her mouth.
Her husband looked toward her.
"What?"
She shook her head.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then she whispered, "The mark."
The younger woman began crying.
The wealthy woman stepped forward.
"How could you know about that?"
The younger woman's voice broke.
"Because I held her."
The wealthy woman looked toward the marshal.
Her hands were trembling.
"Please come inside."
The little girl was in a nursery upstairs.
We did not all crowd into the room.
The marshal remained with the wealthy couple and reviewed the documents. The younger woman waited in a sitting room with the older woman and me.
Then the wealthy woman returned.
She carried a small child wearing a white cotton dress.
The little girl had large brown eyes, black hair, and one hand curled around a wooden toy horse.
She couldn't have been much more than a year old.
The younger woman stood so suddenly that her chair scraped across the floor.
Then she stopped.
Her face changed completely.
For a moment, she looked as though she had forgotten how to breathe.
The wealthy woman held the child carefully.
The little girl stared at the strangers.
The younger woman raised one hand toward her mouth.
"My baby."
The words were barely audible.
She took one hesitant step forward.
Then another.
The child turned her head.
And there, beside her left ear, was a small birthmark shaped like a leaf.
The younger woman began crying.
Not the frightened crying I'd heard beneath the tree.
This was something deeper.
Something that seemed to rise from the part of her heart that had spent more than a year believing her daughter lay in an unmarked grave.
She reached toward the little girl.
Then stopped herself.
The child clung to the wealthy woman's dress.
The younger mother understood immediately.
Her daughter did not know her.