After a minute or two, Peony pulls up in protest, and I let her. I dismount and wrap my trembling arms around her sweaty neck. “That man won’t take you,” I choke out. “You’re not going back to Uncle Hiram. No matter what.”
The most dangerous part of the journey is close to home.
The woods hemming the road are dense and black, and I lead Peony into the cold thick of it. She needs time to walk off her sprint, so I don’t stop until we find a stream with a trickle of water; nighttime makes it look like an inky scar slashing through the ground. I work mostly by feel, feeding Peony what little oats I’ve got in my pack, rubbing her down, checking her over. Galloping her was a stupid and dangerous thing to do in the dark; we’re lucky she didn’t injure herself.
I take my time, making sure to brush away every speck of that stupid mud. When she bumps her head against me, I know she’s finally forgiven me for this terrible day and is ready to rest. I shiver with cold as I hobble her beneath the trees.
Good thing Daddy made me learn how to start a fire in the dark. I scrape a small hole in the ground, rooting around for dry wood as I go, then I pull out my tinderbox and coax up a fire. I hunker over the flames until I stop shivering.
There’s nothing to eat except the trail food in my saddlebag, but I don’t want to touch it. What if it has to last? There could be Abel Toppers in all the taverns, general stores, and boardinghouses from here to Independence.
What’s she doing out here? Abel Topper said. He wasn’t expecting to see Peony. Which means my uncle didn’t send him. In fact, Topper probably arrived hours ago. Maybe even yesterday. Long before I left.
The thought frees me to grab some hardtack and force myself to eat. As I chew, my thoughts drift to Jefferson, who set off with even less than I did. I hope his supplies are lasting and the sorrel mare is doing well by him. I hope he’s safe, with a cheery fire of his own. And to be honest, I hope Jefferson’s soul is giving him a sting that he ran off on me, leaving me all alone.
No, he couldn’t help it. He was in a bad way as much as me, with a daddy who is worse than no daddy at all. It wasn’t Jefferson’s fault. It wasn’t.
The hardtack turns to grit in my teeth, and my stomach rolls over in protest. Turns out, I don’t have room for much inside me except worry and anger and tears that haven’t been given leave to see daylight.
Speak of the devil and you summon it, because just thinking about tears invites them to spring to my eyes. I blink rapidly, trying to tamp them down because they feel like angry tears, not sad ones.
There, I’ve said it. I’m mad.
I’m mad at my parents for not being here, I’m mad at Jefferson for leaving without me, and I’m mad at myself for not going when he asked. I’m mad at everyone back home for brushing off my parents’ murders, and I’m mad they turned the funeral into a church social. Most of all, I’m mad at Uncle Hiram for being a slimy, villainous beast and taking every single thing I ever loved. I’m scared and I’m mad, and both keep me awake in the dark for a long time.
The cold wakes me before dawn. The fire has burned down to nothing. I’m shivering, teeth chattering, and my blanket is soaked with dew.
My stomach is truly empty, and my tears have dried; I won’t be shedding more. I chew on another bit of hardtack as I saddle Peony.
The only way to go is forward. “C’mon,” I say. “We have to keep moving.”
Chapter Ten
The sun is still low enough to brush the hilltops when I see a woman off to the side, collecting eggs from a coop. I keep to the far edge of the road and try not to attract attention.
“Do you want to buy some eggs?” she calls out.
My heart races, but my stomach rumbles. Reluctantly, and maybe eagerly, I turn Peony toward her.
She cradles the eggs in her apron. Her straw-colored hair peeks out of her bonnet, which hasn’t done a thing to keep the freckles from her cheeks. “How many do you want?” she asks.
“I’ll give you a dime for a dozen.” As soon as the words are out, I know I’ve offered too much.
Her eyes narrow. I resist the urge to check the wrapping around my chest or lower my hat brim even more. “Don’t have that many today,” she says, “but I’ll give you a half dozen for three pennies.” Which is a fair price.
After eating so little last night, I need a good meal, and badly. “Do you have a burning pit nearby where I could fry them up?”
“Come on in, and I’ll fry them myself. Split an armful of wood and bring it inside with you.” She nods toward a stack out by a shed. A maul leans against the wall.
I’m not keen to delay. Or go inside a cozy cabin where someone might get too close a look at me. Then again, I can’t afford to turn down a good meal.
I hop down and hitch Peony to the post beside the watering trough. I work hard and fast, one eye on the road. The effort loosens my cramped legs and makes my shoulders sing. When I’m done, I split and stack a little extra, just by way of saying thanks.
I carry my armful of firewood to the house and find the door propped open. A chubby baby, not even a year old, plays in a rail crib. Bacon pops in the frying pan on the box stove. A plate of fried eggs and a steaming bowl of grits wait for me at the table.
The woman reminds me of my mama, with hair that won’t stay neat and a skirt hem that won’t stay clean. Her husband is probably off at work somewhere, maybe panning in a nearby stream or working one of the smaller mines.
“Drop that wood in the basket,” she says when she sees me hovering. “Then have a seat. I made extra since you seemed so determined to work up an appetite.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” I tip my hat to her, which reminds me that I ought to take it off while inside.
Her gazes catches on my ragged hair, and I suddenly feel like a rabbit about to bolt, but the moment passes and she scoops some bacon onto my plate. “Eat up.”
My mouth waters as I sit down and grab a fork.
“It’s early to be on the road,” she says. “Getting cold out there too, though your pretty mare looks to be putting on a nice coat.”
Stopping here was another mistake. She’ll remember Peony for sure, if someone comes asking. “She’s always been a good winter horse,” I say around a mouthful of food. After swallowing, I add, “Heading to Dalton to see family. Guess I’m in a hurry to get there.”