Diana's Diary

2011-11-22T11:27:00.005-06:00

First Diary:

December

January

February

March

April

May

Second Diary

Christmas Eve

2007-12-24T14:21:00.001-06:00

My Christmas present from Auntie arrived yesterday-- some photos from home, cards from Auntie, Miguel, and Kitta, and best and scariest of all, a promise. Auntie says she and Miguel had a long talk, and if I can get accepted into veterinary school, they'll find a way to send the money to help me pay for it!

At first I was so happy I wanted to run all over the farm screaming, but now I'm just scared. Scared I won't get in, scared I'm not smart enough, scared that even if they let me in, I'll do badly and they'll make me leave. I've been lazy with my algebra because it's so hard, but I'm going to try again. I can't let Auntie down.

And now Lee is here, telling me to hurry up. We're supposed to go sing Christmas songs for people. I never did this back home, but it seems to be a popular thing here. It ought to be a good time-- it's a cold, clear evening with a moon rising and just enough snow on the ground to make the fields look like the white sands back home. It's magical.

The only thing that would've made it perfect would've been if I had heard from Robert.

Gotta go sing "Joy to the World" now.

Almost Christmas

2007-12-16T02:47:00.000-06:00

I can’t believe it’s almost Christmas.

I wanted to send gifts home to my family, but I couldn’t afford it. Even if I'd had the money, Auntie would’ve been mad at me for spending it that way, since she wants me to save my earnings for school.

She was excited when I told her I was studying for the veterinary school entrance exam. I almost didn't write to her about it, worried that it would bring up a lot of painful memories. But instead she sounded happy in her letter and said it was exactly what her sister would’ve wanted for me, since Carina had once thought to open a school in our valley where she could teach practical veterinary skills. She had always assumed I would be one of her best students.

So instead of sending gifts home, I made cards with pictures I drew with my colored pencils. I thought about doing traditional Christmas scenes but decided to draw pictures of Northwind and its horses and grounds, instead. I sent one of the cards to Auntie, of course, and I enclosed one to Will with instructions for Auntie to use her best judgment on whether or not to give it to him. I made a special card for Kitta, the little girl Auntie is caring for. And I sent a card to Robert. I mailed it to Castaño, so I hope he goes home for Christmas and doesn’t get stuck on campaign somewhere.

Lee acted jealous over the card to Robert, but he has no right to be. What’s the use in being jealous of someone so far away? “If there was anything between us,” I said, “I wouldn’t have come here.”

“Then why do you write at all?”

“Because he got me this job. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t even know me, so maybe you should send him a card, too, and thank him.”

Lee didn’t have an answer to this, and I was glad. I didn’t want to argue about Robert.

It’s been two weeks since I sent the cards. I still haven’t gotten anything from home, although I know Auntie sent something because I had a message from her at Sam’s when I stopped in to say hello and ask how our telephone company was coming along. If my Christmas present doesn’t arrive until after, that’s okay. I know I’m loved, just the same.

My First Kentucky Thanksgiving

2007-11-28T22:02:00.000-06:00

Thanksgiving was kind of weird.

It started out okay, though. I got up early and went to the house to help with the cooking. I washed and cut potatoes, helped bring canned goods up from the cellar, watched pots and baking biscuits, and finally helped move furniture and set up extra tables for all the guests. It was hard work, but it was cozy to be in the company of such a cheerful group, with all those good aromas from the roasting and baking. And best of all, we cooks got to sample everything!

Guests began arriving early in the afternoon. By 3:00 as Erica and I were setting tables and laying out bowls of pickles and nuts for snacks, it was getting crowded. When the turkeys were finally brought out in all their steaming glory, I was exhausted and it seemed there were hundreds of people underfoot, although I’m certain it was no more than thirty.

Once we were all seated, Eli offered a prayer of thanks for the food, good company, and all the blessings of the year. And then we started passing the dishes around.

How wonderful! Eli’s prayer had put me in a reflective frame of mind and as I loaded potatoes, beans, turkey, squash, and buttered biscuits on my plate, I thought of all those years of hardship back home, all the years of eating nopales and whatever else my friends and I could scrounge. I thought, too, of the uncertainty of my meals on the long trip that brought me to this place. My daily meals here aren’t always this rich of course, but I never want for anything.

And it was while I was thinking how truly blessed I’ve been, that someone mentioned Sven.

I was sitting next to Erica, who sighed and said, “It’s a shame he’s not here.”

She had really liked him. Even though he had a girlfriend on seemingly every farm in the county and was no good for her, I felt a pang of guilt.

“He’s never been gone this long,” someone else said.

“Probably shot by a jealous husband,” said one of the hands.

This brought a few chuckles, but Erica pushed a piece of squash around her plate and said, “You know that’s not funny. And someone would’ve told us if that was the case.”

“Not necessarily,” Lee said.

“He probably just took sick,” Patrick said from the other end of the table. Because of his age he should’ve been sitting at the children’s table, but he’s taken to studying something called rhetoric and argued his way into a spot at the grownups' table. “Remember that guy Ray a few years ago? The one who everyone thought had run off and it turned out later he was in a hospital in Lexington the whole time?”

A few people wanted to dismiss Patrick’s words because he was only thirteen but I seized on the opportunity to change the course of the conversation. “So what would happen to someone who got sick away from home?” I asked.

As I had hoped, this led to a lively debate that included a discussion of charity hospitals, money, types of severe illness, and injuries. Things had taken a gruesome turn and a hand named Marcus was talking about gangrene and amputations when Sabine put a halt to it all. “Enough. This is supposed to be a happy holiday, when we think of the things we’re grateful for.”

“Glad to not have gangrene,” someone muttered.

“Well, I’m glad to have so many of my friends and neighbors here and that we can all come together for a fine meal like this.” Sabine looked around the table with a pious air. “Now who’s next? Erica, what are you grateful for?”

Erica squirmed beside me, still thinking of Sven. But she dutifully said she was glad for our paddock of healthy two year-olds and for so many promising foals.

This got everyone’s thoughts back on the real business of Northwind, and we each had a chance to remark on the good racing season, adequate hay for the winter, successful breeding season and good sales. I expressed thanks for the opportunity to work with such fine horses and with the young riders, and Lee was grateful for our sturdy barns and for the way everyone had helped get the materials he would need to finish the new barn this winter. “And I’ll be even more grateful when we can have a barn-warming dance,” he said.

Heads nodded and I worried this would turn into a discussion of dancing and romances that would lead us back to talk of Sven. But to my relief, Sabine announced that if everyone had eaten enough, it was time to clear the table and bring out dessert.

I had already seen and smelled the desserts as they were cooking over the last few days, but even so, it seemed a marvel of decadence when half an hour later we got them all laid out on the table— apple pie, pumpkin pie, sweet potato pie, egg custard, plum cake, rhubarb tarts, bread pudding, and stacks of golden cookies. I filled my dessert plate, got a cup of hot cider, and went onto the patio with some of the others, where a few braziers had been set out for warmth against the cool November night. Lee sat beside me and we talked about pie and horses, chimed in on some of the conversations around us, and eventually fell to picking out constellations in the clear night sky as the cold and darkness deepened.

It was late when people finally started saying their good-byes. I went inside to see if Sabine needed help with cleanup, but she had already enlisted the children in that effort, and there wasn’t much left to do. So I let Lee walk me to my barn. We kissed for awhile near the tack room, but when he started fumbling with the buttons of my sweater and suggested we go in my room, I pulled away.

“You’re supposed to be a good Christian boy who doesn’t do such things,” I reminded him.

“Do what? Go in rooms?”

“You know.”

“It’s not nice to think the worst of a man. But you’re right. It would only lead to temptation.”

He seemed annoyed. Well, it’s his own fault for having bragged about his morals in the first place.

I kissed him again to show I had no hard feelings, and then I sent him on his way with the excuse I had to be up early tomorrow morning.

It’s good to have him gone, but it’s starting to get a little lonely, living with the horses month after month. I need to do something about my situation soon, but I’m not sure what. I’m happy with Northwind and my work, but I need a proper home.

But this is Thanksgiving, a day to be grateful. And I am grateful— so grateful for everything! In this past year I successfully crossed over a thousand miles in search of this place that used to be just a dream. In spite of hardships and my own ignorance, I got here safely, got myself established and am well on my way to being able to take the veterinary school entrance exam next summer.

I have friends, a wonderful future ahead of me, and I have much to give thanks for.

Prelude to Thanksgiving

2007-11-24T21:53:00.000-06:00

Well, Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and although people are starting to wonder about Sven, no one seems to think Patrick or I have anything to do with his disappearance. Let’s hope it stays that way.

Sam was glad to get the money and said it might be enough to keep McElhinney appeased for a few months while he rounds up the rest of the bribe. But he didn’t believe me when I said I had gotten the money through donations.

“So who’s your investor?”

“There’s too many to name one by one.”

His eyebrows went up. “These are some pretty big bills for a lot of little investors.”

“I went to the bank and had all the coins and small bills put into big bills so it would be less to carry around.”

“You didn’t steal it, did you?”

I wondered if he would consider it stealing if it came from someone who was dead. “Of course not. I have to live in the community, you know.”

“All right, then.” He folded the money and put it in a drawer but seemed uneasy about it. “So would you like to stay for supper? Some people from our phone company are coming over to talk strategy and it might be interesting for you.”

It was tempting, but Eli was organizing a turkey hunt and I wanted to get home, clean my guns and turn in early.

This morning those of us who were going on the hunt met at one of the barns while it was still dark. There were a lot of us and I guess I looked concerned because Lee moved in close and told me not to worry, that there would be plenty of turkeys to go around.

“Even if people from other farms are hunting, too?”

“We have an agreement during the rest of the year how many we can take so there will still be enough for everyone during the holidays.”

“I’m surprised you don’t just raise turkeys.”

“Domestic turkeys are for folks who can’t shoot wild ones,” someone said. Everyone laughed.

Lee and Eli had been scouting the surrounding wooded area for over a week and had a pretty good idea where we might find a flock. We set out and weren’t disappointed. Soon we found our flock and charged it, breaking it up so we could pick and choose our birds as they came back together. By late afternoon, we had several fat hens and a couple of jakes. Not only would we have a good Thanksgiving feast, but so would many of our poorer neighbors. Eli counted the birds, Sabine assessed the state of her pantry, and they made a decision on the spot how many extra people they could feed.

“Do you have anyone you’d like to invite?” Sabine asked me.

Of course I didn't. I suppressed a sigh and tried not to think how different this holiday would be from last year. I guess I got a little wistful because when I headed back to my room for the night, Lee chased after me.

“Don’t worry. It’ll be a fun holiday season. You’ll see.”

“I’m sure it will be.”

“As we get closer to Christmas there will be parties and caroling, and you’ll be invited to everything.”

“I guess that means I need to figure out what to do for Christmas presents.”

“We don’t do much of that. Just tokens, when we give anything at all.”

I nodded but wasn’t reassured, since presents weren’t really what was on my mind.

He grabbed my hand. “If we get snow, there’ll be sledding.” He smiled and tried to get me to look at him. “And if the snow isn’t deep enough for a sleigh ride, we’ll put the sleigh bells on our sleds and have Flecha pull us around the paddock.”

In spite of myself, I smiled. “And sing Jingle Bells, too? Come on, I’m not a kid you need to entice with promises of silly games.”

“It’s no game. It’s good clean fun.”

“I suppose it would be.” I sighed and looked out over the autumn landscape, barren and waiting for winter.

When we got to my barn, Lee grabbed my other hand so that now he held them both, and playfully backed me against a wall. “What’ve you got against fun?” He gave me a quick kiss.

I tried to move away, but was cornered. “Can’t I miss my family over the holidays? What’s wrong with that?”

He kissed me again, more seriously this time. “Nothing, except that you’re always missing someone or something. Why’d you come here, if all you’re going to do is think about how it’s not like where you’re from?”

Good question. I keep telling myself I’m committed to this place, but then I get sucked back into nostalgia. Why do I torture myself? So I let Lee kiss me some more, since that seemed harmless enough. And before long, one of the hands came to get something out of the tack room and Lee pulled away from me and went on about his business.

In the morning I’m to report to the kitchen at the main house and help with the Thanksgiving meal preparations. I’m going to work hard and savor every moment of the day. It’s going to be a fine Thanksgiving and I’m going to enjoy it with no regrets, even if it kills me.

The Treasure Hunt

2007-11-20T02:53:00.000-06:00

I don’t know if I should be writing this. But it’s been three days and no one seems to suspect. So maybe it’ll be okay to put it on paper, after all.

I met Patrick at the Granger place on Saturday night. I had brought some digging tools as he suggested, and although I’m embarrassed to admit it, I was kind of excited. Sure, it was a silly goose chase and nothing would come of it. But what if something did?

Nevertheless, I pretended to be annoyed when Patrick stepped out of the shadows.

“I knew you’d come,” he said.

“Only to keep an eye on you, so you don’t do something stupid and get hurt."

He approached my horse, looked at the packs and smiled. “That’s why you brought a shovel, right?”

Who did I think I was kidding, trying to fool a child prodigy? I got down off my horse. “Just show me where this trap door is, okay?”

He led me and Flecha across an overgrown field, past the blackened ruins of the house. The skittering of rats among the ruins sent a chill down my back and made Flecha twitch her ears and shake her head. The jingle of her bridle rings sounded loud—even louder than the rustle of our footsteps in the weeds.

“You know where we’re going in the dark?” I whispered.

Patrick nodded and pointed, but I was more concerned with the sensation that something behind the empty eyes of the house’s broken windows was watching us. A sudden sound like the tumbling of a piece of wood, made me jump and stifle a shriek. My heart pounding in my ears, I grabbed my gun and looked all around.

“It’s just the house,” Patrick said. “Stuff falls all the time.”

I drew a shaking breath, ashamed of myself. If a thirteen year old boy wasn’t scared, neither was I. I settled the gun back in its holster and started walking again.

When we got to the overgrown garden and broken wall, Patrick led me to the spot and started scrabbling at the weeds. I gave him a trowel out of one of my packs, then took the shovel and together we cleared the rocks and dirt away from the door. When it was finally clear, he grabbed hold of the iron ring and pulled.

Nothing happened.

He pulled again, harder, but still no luck. I pushed him aside and tried it myself, but the door wouldn’t budge. I took my lantern and looked for a lock, but saw nothing to indicate a problem. “I bet it’s just rusted,” I said.

We took our knives and scraped dirt out of the grooves around the edges of the trap door, then I got a crowbar from my packs and we tried again. This time, with a grinding and metallic shriek that was probably heard as far away as Louisville, the door prized open.

We propped it with a metal bar and stood for a moment, staring in wonderment at the black hole in the ground. “Well?” Patrick finally said. “We go in, right?”

I was about to comment on his bravery when I noticed he was pale, his eyes worried. In spite of the cold, a sheen of sweat lined his upper lip. “We could come back in daylight,” I offered.

He shook his head.

We strung a lantern on a length of rope and lowered it into the hole. It illuminated spiders and insects, some rickety stairs, and a cracked concrete floor.

Patrick got on his belly for a closer look. “There’s stuff down there."

“What kind of stuff?”

“Can’t tell. It’s in boxes and plastic tubs.”

I stood up straight and looked around. The moon had come out and we were alone. Flecha seemed calm, and as long as I didn’t look at that creepy burnt house, there was nothing about the landscape that suggested danger. Why not go into the hole?

So we went down. The air was musty and thick with dust. But it was warm and still down there, and oddly peaceful. I went to a stack of boxes along one wall and opened one. It was full of shiny silver pouches stamped with a date from more than sixty years ago.

“It's just old food,” I said. “What did you find?”

Patrick had opened a box on the other side of the room. He reached inside and started to pull something out, but the material fell to pieces in his hands. He read the fading label on the side of the box. “Something called an air mattress.”

The rest of what we found was similar. We found mosquito netting that disintegrated at our touch, moth-eaten winter coats and rotted bicycle tires. Bins that once held grain had holes gnawed in them and were empty but for a few mouse droppings. Drums of water were only half-full and the liquid that remained was murky and smelled bad. We found a few useful tools, though, and some cast iron cookware that I thought I might be able to scrub the rust spots off.

We gathered these things in the center of the room and debated the best way to get them home without having to explain where they had come from. We were feeling relaxed by now, our earlier fears dissolved in the banality of finding ourselves surrounded by nothing more frightening or exciting than rotten emergency stores. So neither of us was at all prepared for the sudden sound behind us as a shadow leaped into the room and lunged for us.

Someone screamed. It could’ve been Patrick, it could’ve been me, it was quite likely both of us. Patrick panicked and knocked over our lantern. I grabbed my gun and fired into the darkness, stopping only when I heard a heavy body fall to the floor.

“Where’s the light?” I wasn’t even trying keep my voice from shaking. “Goddammit, Patrick, where’s the light?”

I heard him fumbling in the dark, heard him strike his flint over and over.

“Hurry up!”

“I’m trying!”

Finally he got the lantern lit and held it aloft, his hands trembling so badly the light flickered and shadows lurched around the room. I looked at the stranger, lying in a pool of spreading blood.

But it was no stranger. It was Sven.

We did what we could. I swear we did! But he had been at close range and two of my shots hit true. It’s likely he didn’t even know what hit him. I can only hope so.

“What do we do now?” Patrick asked.

How the hell was I supposed to know? “It was self-defense."

“We don’t know he would’ve hurt us.”

“But we don’t know he wouldn’t have. He did say he wanted to find the gold. Besides, he was trespassing.”

“So were we.”

“Well, no one but us knows about this place.”

I could tell from the look in his eyes that Patrick knew what I was getting at. “And if we cover the door back up, no one else will ever know.”

So that’s what we did. But before we left, I checked Sven's pockets and found a wallet with several New Dollars in large denominations. It wasn’t the Granger gold, but it was better than nothing, and he would have no need of money in either Heaven or Hell.

After we covered the trapdoor, we had to make a decision about Sven’s horse, which was tethered to an old fencepost near the house. The saddlebag held a change of clothes and a few valuables—a silver vase and a bit of jewelry—but I didn’t dare take them, for fear someone might identify them. We ended up turning the horse loose near the pond where we went fishing and swimming last summer. I doubted anyone would think Sven had gone for a swim, but it was all I could think of under the circumstances.

“We’ll never mention this to anyone,” I said as we stood at the edge of the pond, watching the play of moonlight on its shimmering surface. “And if anyone ever suspects me, I’ll say I was alone.”

Patrick nodded. “Same here. I was alone and you were at home, asleep.”

We shook hands on it.

“And no more of these crazy ideas,” I said. “Okay?”

“Nothing but studying,” he agreed. “If I want adventure, I’ll read Treasure Island again.”

I wasn’t sure what Treasure Island was, but any book was better than shooting our neighbors. “Good. Then let’s try to forget tonight ever happened.”

Since then, things have been oddly quiet. I say odd, because the only speculation about Sven is that he’s off on a drinking and gambling binge in Frankfort, which is a common enough occurrence to merit only a bit of head-shaking. And I don’t know where the horse has wandered off to, but no one has found it yet.

The mail run is tomorrow and I’m going to give Sam the money I found in Sven’s pocket. It’s not enough to buy off McElhinney, but it might be enough to buy us a little time. It’ll feel good to get rid of that money, because having it here makes me uncomfortable. It’s like having my guilty conscience made visible.

When I give it to Sam tomorrow, I just hope my guilt at how I got it doesn’t show in my eyes.

Patrick's Plan

2007-11-19T00:10:00.000-06:00

I wish Sven had never mentioned that stupid Granger gold! Now Patrick has it in his head that it really exists and we can find it.

“Look,” I told him while we were taking a break from our books last night, "I don’t have time to go hunting for some mythical buried treasure. I want to get into veterinary school, remember?”

“But it’s not mythical. I’ve been talking to some people and—

“Oh, come on, Patrick. You’re smart. Why would you believe that it’s even still there, if it ever existed at all?”

“No one’s ever said they found it.”

“And why would they? If I found a big stash of gold, the first thing I’d do is leave fast and not tell anyone.”

He smiled like he knew a secret. “No you wouldn’t. You're not selfish. You’d invest it in the phone company and then set up a charity or something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I reached for my book, hoping the sudden heat in my face wasn’t visible. “I’d go far away and live a life of luxury, with electric lights and my very own motor scooter.”

He said nothing more about the gold, but when he brought me my new library books today, he had a smug look about him that spelled trouble. “Some of us went over to the old Granger place after school,” he said.

I opened a biology book. “That’s nice.”

“Want to hear what I found?”

I pretended to be very interested in what cells look like. “I guess you’ll tell me whether I want to or not.”

“A ring.”

I looked up. “People drop rings all the time,” I said cautiously.

He waved a hand. “Not that kind of ring. A ring in the ground. Like a trap door.”

“Oh.” Back to the cells again. “Likely just the basement. No one would hide gold there. It’s the first place someone would look.”

He sidled up closer. He smelled of dirt and grass—unusual for a brainy kid who usually smelled of ink and musty books. “It wasn’t anywhere near the old foundation. It was in a field.” He waited until I looked up again. “It was under where part of a wall used to be. Not a house wall, a fence wall.”

I had to admit he had me curious now. “So what did you do?”

“Nothing. I covered it back up with rocks and weeds like it had been before, and pretended to keep looking in the grass, like the other kids were doing.”

“Hm.”

“So can we go check it out? I can sneak out again, like I did when we went to the scrap yard. If we do it on Saturday night, my folks will be drunk, anyway, and won’t even notice I’m gone. We’ll be back before morning, and—

I slammed the book shut. “No, Patrick. This all just too silly. No.”

“Fine. Forget it, then.”

But he didn’t forget it, and neither did I. He stayed for supper and stared across the table at me the whole time. And even though he helped me with my math afterwards, the issue hung so heavy between us it might as well have been a banner strung across the room. He would help me with a word problem or a formula, watch me do a few problems, then turn back to his own books, sometimes scribbling things on a piece of paper.

When it was time for him to go home, he dropped a folded scrap of paper in my open book. “See you Saturday.”

I waited until I got back to my room at the barn to take a look. It was a map of where to meet him, along with times and suggestions of things to bring.

A treasure hunt. Does he not realize I’m not a little kid? I’m almost twenty years old!

Patrick has obviously read too many fairy tales.

The Granger Gold

2007-11-17T23:30:00.000-06:00

I told Lee about the stupid phone tax, or rather the phone bribe, that McElhinney is demanding. “Too bad Eli and Sabine can’t help,” I said.

“Not unless we can pay the tax in hay and horses. And even then, I doubt Eli would do it.”

“Can’t give away the stock if they want a better year next year,” I agreed.

We shook our heads and I thought about how lucky I was to be getting any money at all for my work, when it seemed lately that all Northwind had to offer was the food it could grow and the shelter it could provide. And even the shelter was starting to look questionable. Lee had run out of nails and metal reinforcements for ceiling joints for the new barn, and Eli had no money for more. Instead he had put the farm children to scavenging old nails and scrap from an overgrown field where some outbuildings had once stood before the resource wars.

“What we need,” Lee said, “Is one really rich patron.”

“Either that or a whole lot of poor ones.”

I was thinking of Patrick when I said this. When I had told him of our dilemma, he told some of his school friends and collected almost five dollars. But that was just a drop in the bucket of what we needed. Heck, it was less than a drop. It was one of those molecule things that maybe if it could find more molecules to join with might someday be a drop.

“I wonder if the church would let us pass a plate,” Lee said.

It was worth a try. But when we talked to the preacher a few days later, he had a very different view on the matter.

“I’m afraid I can’t condone using God’s house for the collection of money to be put to worldly purposes."

It crossed my mind to ask what he did with the Sunday collection money, if not such worldly things as pay his salary and hire workers to maintain the church and grounds. Instead I pointed out that communication could have Godly purposes just as easily as worldly ones. “You can spread God’s word over the phone, can’t you? And phones can be used to keep people safe and warn them of danger.”

“And feed the hungry,” Lee added, “You can use it to tell people where to send food to people who need it.”

The preacher smiled. “I know all that. I’m not as young as I look. But I don’t want to cause controversy among the congregation, and many of our faithful believe technology is at the root of the sinful ways that led to resource wars. They say telephones would lead us back down the path toward evil.”

Lee and I argued our case as best we could, and to his credit, I don’t think the preacher really believed that telephones are the first step on the road to Hell. But enough people in the congregation believed it that he didn’t dare support our efforts in a public way.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I believe your motives are good, but this is the wrong place to look for assistance.”

I mentioned this to Patrick tonight as we did our lessons after supper. A group of us were in the dining room working on various projects, since it's starting to be too cold at night to sit outdoors.

“I don’t know why your preacher indulges those Luddites,” Patrick said.

“Actually, they’re Nuvo-Presbyterians.”

He looked at me like I was stupid, and I bent back over my book.

As if to cover for my embarrassment, Sabine sighed. “Too bad money doesn’t grow on trees.” She dropped a stitch on her knitting and fumbled with the yarn and needles.

“You need to find that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow,” Erica teased. She was crocheting another of her fancy sweaters that I so wished I could make. “That’ll solve all your problems.”

“Find a treasure map,” someone else said.

“Treasure map, hell,” Sven muttered, from where he was mending a boot near the heating stove. “What you need is to find the Granger Gold.”

Everyone laughed.

“What's the Granger Gold?” I asked.

“A local fairy story,” Lee said.

“You never know,” Erica told him. “It could’ve happened.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me a bit," Sabine added.

“Me, either.” Sven stabbed an awl into the sole of his boot. He wasn’t doing a very good job. “I looked for it once. Didn’t find so much as an old paper dollar. But that don’t mean it isn’t real, only that I didn’t find it.” He tried again with the awl, pierced his finger instead and cursed.

“The children!” Sabine reminded him, waving a hand toward the group of kids doing their lessons at the other end of the table.

“What’s wrong with a little vocabulary lesson?” He grinned at the children and they giggled.

The conversation veered off into mundane matters after that, but later I took Patrick aside. “What’s this Granger Gold they were talking about?”

His eyes lit up as if he had been hoping I would ask. “Don’t believe everything they tell you. It’s real.”

“Okay. But what is it?”

He told me a rambling story about a rich local family who had bought gold before the attack on Iran. When the old dollar collapsed and the price of gold quadrupled, the feds came nosing around, trying to enforce their anti-hoarding laws. According to legend, the Grangers hid their valuables somewhere on the property.

“But the two boys were killed in the war, the old man died of a heart attack, the mother died during a yellow fever epidemic, and when the only person who knew where the gold was hidden came to get it, the house caught fire.”

“That’s awful.”

Patrick nodded, enjoying his tale. “They found a body in the house, but it was so burnt up we don’t know if it was the cousin who came for the gold, or someone else entirely.”

“I’m guessing no one ever found the gold.”

He shook his head. “Lots of people looked for it at first, but then they gave up. Now they say there was never any gold at all.”

“Well,” I said, “It certainly makes for a good story.”

Patrick drew himself up as tall as a thirteen year-old can manage. “It’s no story. It’s real. And I think we should look for it.”

I shook my head. “No goose chases for me, thanks. I have a real problem and it needs a real solution.”

“But I’m telling you—

I looked at his eager face. Poor kid. Ever since the night at the scrap yard, Patrick has been confident in things besides just his intellect, but in a way that borders on foolishness. “Maybe as a summer project,” I told him. “But for now—

He turned from me in disgust. “Fine. Sell your horse or hunt up the Frankfort mafia for your money. See if I care.” He picked up his books and stomped out the door.

I tried to study some more in my room tonight, but didn’t get very far. I know it’s silly, but it sure would be nice if the Granger Gold were real and I could find it. People did hide valuables during the resource wars. And some people died and never retrieved them. So it’s certainly possible that there’s a hidden treasure on an abandoned property nearby.

But of course if this particular treasure were real, someone would’ve found it by now. It’s just a fairy story, like Lee said. But what a nice little dream it is!

Taxing Troubles

2007-11-07T00:11:00.000-06:00

They celebrate Thanksgiving here in Kentucky, just like they do back home. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, since it wasn’t really so long ago that we were all Americans. And who doesn’t like a harvest festival?

It isn’t for a few weeks yet, but already I have mixed feelings about it. Thanksgiving was the last holiday I spent with Auntie. She and I both knew I would leave before Christmas, and she wanted to know my exact intentions. But she no longer dared treat me like a child and insist I explain myself. And I couldn’t have told her my plans even if I had wanted to, since the only plan I had was to leave. It wasn’t until the morning I set out that I made my final decision, although I have no doubt Auntie, Will and Robert all think I knew from the start what I would do. And maybe I did. The preacher at Lee’s church says God knows what’s in our hearts before we do it, so it must be true that we make our decisions long before we realize it.

So my memories of last Thanksgiving are of going through the motions of celebrating. It should’ve been such a happy occasion—the first real Thanksgiving Auntie or I had since leaving Valle Redondo eight years before. But instead we circled each other the entire time, like fighters looking for an angle of attack, all the while smiling and being so nice and polite to each other that by the time Miguel stood at the head of the table to lead us in a prayer and carve the turkey, my stomach felt like it was full of rocks and the thought of eating was enough to make me sick.

So I guess this year can’t be any worse.

With a holiday on the way and the weather growing cooler, I went to a second-hand shop in Lexington today, when I did the mail run. I bought a couple sweaters and felt guilty that I’m not a good enough knitter to make my own. I can’t make good ones, at any rate. Not good enough for church or for days when I give riding lessons and have to look presentable in case any parents stop by check up on their child’s progress. I also bought a nice wool dress. It’s dark gray with a white collar and it reminds me of the one Susannah lent me back in Missouri. Maybe someday I’ll have pearls for it. Wouldn’t that be funny if I ended up a proper lady, after all!

I went to show Sam my new clothes before heading home, and he was nice enough to pretend to be interested. But men don’t really care about such things, and he had other matters on his mind.

“I don’t suppose you’re up for killing anyone?” he asked over tea, after closing up the shop.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Of course. But there’s some new developments with our phone company and there’s a man who, if he were to drop dead tomorrow, it wouldn’t be soon enough.”

I toyed with my teacup. “What is it this time?”

“He calls it a tax.”

“I thought Americans voted on taxes.”

Sam smiled. “That’s sort of true. But in this case it’s just a way for a politician and his buddies to get their cut of the action without admitting they want a bribe.”

He went on to tell me about some guy named McElhinney who heads up a local patronage organization. It sounded like a mafia to me.

“Why not just pay him?” I asked. “If he’s that powerful, then won’t he protect our lines from being dug up and stolen by metal thieves? This could be a good thing, don’t you think?”

“If the tax were in any way reasonable, yes.”

“But the mayor wants a telephone, so why doesn’t he—“

Sam waved a hand in annoyance. “The mayor’s just a figurehead. McElhinney and his cronies are the real power around here. And unfortunately they haven’t got brains enough to see that they’ll make more money by letting us get our phone company started cheap and taxing us later, than by taxing us before we’ve even begun.”

“Well,” I said, “I suppose if you really think killing him would help. . .”

Sam had been examining the cuff of his sleeve as if it held clues, but now he looked up, startled. “I wasn’t serious at all. And even if I was, it would do no good. One of his friends would just take over his patronage machine, and we’d be back at square one.”

“Okay.” I realized I had rested my hand on my gun out of habit. Now I made myself fold my hands in my lap, nice and ladylike. “So if you don’t want me to kill the guy, what do you want me to do? Steal some money, maybe?”

“Actually, I just wanted a sympathetic ear. But now that you mention it, if we could find a way to raise a little cash—legally, mind you—it might solve our problem.”

“McElhinney won’t ask for money again next year?”

“Perhaps. But once people see we can deliver the goods on the phone service, we’ll have enough orders to pay the tax. And besides, I'm guessing we can probably pay the next round of taxes in phones for party bosses.”

This made me smile. “They’d be good customers, wouldn’t they? They’d tell their friends, who are probably rich.”

“And then their enemies would want phones of their own.”

“Well, we’ll just have to find the money, somehow.” I got to my feet, so excited I was ready to run out the door and start approaching strangers with a tin cup, begging for nickels.

“Don’t go getting one of your crazy ideas,” Sam said. “If you and Lee go robbing a bank or something, I’ll be very unhappy with you.”

“Hey,” I said. “I’m trying to be a good Christian, remember? I’m not supposed to steal.”

“Or kill,” he reminded me.

“I know. I'm changing everything, not just my address, just like you said I should.”

I left Sam's shop in high spirits. But as I rode home, I couldn’t come up with a single good idea. And why would I? If I knew how to get money, I wouldn’t be poor! So I guess I’ll talk it over with Lee tonight and see what he has to say. There must be a way!

Halloween

2007-10-31T00:02:00.000-06:00

I got a letter from Robert today. I tore it up. It was full of nonsense about copper, and not a word about him or me or anything. I don’t know why it made me so mad after all this time, but I would’ve thrown the torn pieces into the nearest fire, if it hadn’t been for the way Sam was watching me.

“Bad news?”

“Just stupid stuff about copper.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with that? Are you giving up on our phone company?”

“No, it’s just—“ I looked at the pieces of paper in my hand. “Here.” I shoved them across the table at him. “It’s all boring technical stuff about deliveries and something called conductivity. I don’t even know why he bothered writing to me, if that's all he has to say.”

Sam tried to piece a few bits back together. “Sounds like it might be important information for our work.”

“Then you can answer him. Because I’m through writing to him.”

“Oh, really? That hypocritical church boy has turned your head, has he?”

What on earth did he mean by that? “Lee isn’t a hypocrite."

“I thought his church prohibited dancing. But you said he danced with you at the barn-raising.”

“The Bible says there’s a time to dance.”

“What does the Bible say about killing people?”

“You would have to bring that up.” I gestured toward the letter and changed the subject. “Robert is always moving around and doesn’t have a fixed address. But you can write to him at the school, in care of Miguel Sanchez. ”

“I’ll contact him via radio,” he said. “I’m not much of a letter writer.”

I shrugged. What did I care how Sam got in touch with him? As far as I’m concerned, it’s over. Robert might as well be dead, for all he matters to me any more.

I was still in a bad mood when I got back to the farm. Lee met me near the gate. There was a little girl with him, sitting her pony like she'd been on a horse all her life. I recognized her from the riding lessons. I said hello, then asked Lee what they were doing. “Is she bothering your workers down at the barn or something?”

“She forgot it was mail day and was looking for you. I told her I’d wait for you with her and make sure she was safe.”

“I’m sure you’re quite safe,” I told her. “The cuycuy only comes at night, you know.”

She blinked, as if she had never heard of the cuycuy. “You promised to help with my costume.”

“Halloween,” Lee reminded me.

Of course. We went to my room, where I dressed the girl up like a Nativist Apache from back home. When I was finished, I sent her on her way. “Don't run off alone. Stay with your friends,” I told her, but she left so fast I don’t know if she heard me.

“You fixed her up pretty good,” Lee said from where he sat in my one chair. “There’ll be no one like her out on the pike tonight, that’s for sure.”

“I thought that was kind of the point.”

Lee didn’t say anything at first and watched while I put things away. Finally he said, “So how long were you out there? With the Apaches, I mean.”

“About three years. It was nice until the Nativists got the upper hand and made us leave.”

“And then you joined the civil war?”

“We were just messengers at first,” I said, not sure why I felt defensive. “We never intended to stay long enough to get drawn into the fighting. Anything was better than the refugee camps. At least we always had enough food. And we had decent shelter, clothes and horses.”

Lee stood up and came over to where I was folding a scarf. “I wish I could’ve been there to take care of you.”

So that was where this was going. I should’ve known. “I can take care of myself.”

“A girl shouldn’t have to.”

“That’s what my adoptive brother used to say. It wasn’t true then, and it’s even less true now.”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong. I like it that you’re a tough girl. It’s just I wish so many sad things hadn’t happened to you.”

I shrugged off his attempt to pull me into his arms. “Sad things have happened to everyone. The resource wars, the pandemic, the droughts and various secessions. . .”

“You’ll have a hard time convincing me those are the things you’re thinking about on the porch after supper when you’re pretending to study, or when you’re out riding the fields, or when you sit with me at church and get to looking out the window.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m happy here.”

“Then why do you look so sad sometimes?”

“I guess I just have a sad face.”

He wasn’t convinced, and he took my hand. “Well, how about we go to the house and help give out apples to the trick-or-treaters? We can practice our smiles.”

“I thought we were supposed to try and scare them.”

“We could do that too, if you’d prefer. We could hide in the bushes and jump out at them.”

“And yell?”

“Growling and snarling might work better.”

“Maybe we should have costumes." I sent him out into the barn to gather what he could, while I went through my bags and boxes, looking for anything that might serve as a disguise. I ended up cobbling together some crazy costumes of straw, blankets and feathers. We painted our faces with mud and wrapped our hands in rags. I don’t know what we were supposed to be, but we did look odd, and as we hurried toward the house in the darkness, I figured we were at least intimidating enough to scare children.

And we were. We were careful to merely startle the little ones, but when the older children came around, we made growling noises, threw things and snuck up on them before leaping out and screaming. Some of the kids were genuinely frightened, and they all thought it was great fun. Quite a few bags of treats were dropped and apples, popcorn balls and burnt-sugar candy lost in the darkness. Any loot we found, Lee and I claimed as just spoils of war.

By the time the last trick or treaters had gone home for the night, my dark mood of earlier had lifted. Sabine heated some apple cider, which Lee and I sipped out of china cups on the porch. The night was cool and even though I was still in my heavy costume, I allowed Lee to settle in close and I leaned against him for warmth. The cider was sweet and the steam tickled my nose as I held the cup close.

“I see now what makes you tick,” Lee said.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“You. You’ve got the devil in you. You need a little ruckus now and then to keep things interesting.”

I had never thought of it that way, but maybe he had a point. “The Apaches used to call me Little Troublemaker.”

Lee stole an arm around my waist and pulled me closer. He sipped his cider for awhile, then finally said, “You wouldn’t cause trouble for me, would you?”

I rested my head against his shoulder. “No, of course not.”

Autumn Thoughts

2007-10-24T22:43:00.000-06:00

I can’t believe how busy I’ve been and how fast the time goes! Back home, farm life meant constant work, and this place isn’t much different. Even though there are a lot of us and we each have special duties that we get paid for, you still can’t do nothing during your free time because there's just too much that needs doing.

My own free time is for letter-writing, clothes-mending, studying, working in my personal garden, and caring for Flecha. Even if I didn’t have all these things to do, everyone talks about everyone else around here, so it’s important to work hard and keep a good reputation.

I’m working on the reputation thing. I made a serious mistake agreeing to help get Sam’s copper by force. I don’t think anyone here at Northwind knows I killed that man, other than Lee and Patrick, of course. And I don’t want it to get widely known. People will either think badly of me, or they’ll make me out to be some sort of hero, when I’m nothing of the kind.

So instead I’m trying to think of what kind of person I want to be known as, and I try live each day as if I were that person already.

It’s not easy.

I lose my temper over the math books Patrick gives me. It seems I no sooner figure out some complicated new thing like ~~pie~~ pi, and then I turn the page and there’s something new to learn!

And then there’s the riding lessons. I’m trying to be patient with the children. Really, I am. But it’s hard. They complain, they won’t wait their turn, some are scared to jump the low bars that are hardly jumps at all. Others are ready to charge their horses at the paddock fence and see how high they can leap. And I can’t get angry, I can’t even curse. I have to be patient and smile or Sabine will think I’m some sort of monster who hates children. I don’t hate them at all, but they really do drive me crazy.

I’ve also tried my hand at crocheting a sweater like the one Erica lent me for the picnic. The less said about that the better. I guess I’ll stick with knitting socks and winter scarves.

And then there’s church. If there’s anything duller and more annoying than church, I don’t know what it is. I miss my quiet Sunday mornings riding the fields with Flecha, going to the duck pond to watch the fish and see the ducks dip their heads below the water and tip their tails toward the sky as they search for their breakfast. I miss the mornings of working in the small garden by my barn, alone with my thoughts, grateful for the sun, the earth, and for simply being alive in the world, surrounded by growing things.

Now my Sunday mornings consist of putting a skirt or dress borrowed from a friend or traded for at the local co-op. I go to the church with Lee, sit in a pew and try to look like I’m not bored to tears. But everyone is very nice and they seem so happy to see me there that I hate to disappoint them. So I keep going. It will be winter soon, anyway, and then it will be too cold for much else on a Sunday morning. I suppose I’ll be glad for church, then.

I wrote about some of this to Auntie, but she didn’t have anything helpful to say except that I could’ve done all the things I’m describing right there at home. Of course she’d say that. But she’s wrong. Everyone wanted to control me at home. Auntie wanted me on her mountain, Will wanted me fighting for Unitas by day and in his bed at night, and Robert wanted. . . Oh, who knows what he wanted? If I had known that, things might’ve gone very differently. I'm sure he had his own agenda for me, just like everyone else. At least here I can make my own choices.

The one thing I’m feeling good about these days is the telephone company. Sam and his people got the first line hooked up. It’s between the police station and the mayor’s house. Sam says there’s a way he’ll be able to tap into the phone system soon, and that if some of his ham friends are successful in doing the same in their areas, I might one day be able to hear voices on the telephone from as far away as home. Great. Auntie will be able to fuss at me from over a thousand miles away. Won’t she be pleased! I guess when that happens I’ll have to set out on yet another journey, maybe to Canada.

I don’t know why I’m so grumpy today. Maybe it’s the pictures Auntie sent me, reminding me of what I gave up to come here.

Maybe it’s the first hint of coming winter, reminding me of death and other sad things. Or maybe I’m just a little bored. There is a definite price to safety and virtue. I’ve given up adventure. When I arrived here last spring, I thought the price was worth it. But now with the leaves turning and winter on its way, I'm not so sure.

The Picnic

2007-10-05T00:35:00.000-06:00

I went to the church picnic, and it wasn’t at all like I expected. I thought it was going to be like church, with preaching, praying and maybe some candles. But instead it was just an ordinary outdoor party, like many I had attended as a child in Valle Redondo, except the picnic was in daytime and there was no dancing.

It was held at Lee’s church. . .

. . . but outside in a field, under some trees.

Erica lent me some clothes for the picnic, since I still don’t have anything for special occasions except my pink dress. The dress Erica gave me was green with yellow flowers and it had a little green crocheted sweater to match. I felt very proper with such nice clothes! But when I asked Erica if she was coming to the picnic too, she got a funny look on her face and said she went to a different church.

I’m not sure why she thought that mattered. Maybe she didn’t know that there would be no preaching, and that the only prayer would be an offering of thanks for the food. I’m sure there’s no religion that says it’s wrong to be grateful for food, so I’ll have to let Erica know that it’s okay to go to picnics at Lee’s church.

The picnic itself was pleasant, although a little dull, since all everyone did was eat, talk, and run after their children. No music, no dancing. But the people were nice. I already knew some of them from Northwind, the Ogilvie place, and a few other farms in the area. And Lee introduced me to a lot of other people I had never met before. It felt funny to be shown around by him, as if I were his girlfriend. But everyone was so nice, and they like Lee so much, that I didn’t let it bother me for long.

The food was good—fried chicken, fall vegetables, apples, wheat bread, something called potato salad which contained a lot of mustard, and of course ice cream.

That was what I was really there for, and it was so good! Of all the flavors I sampled, I liked the ginger ice cream best and I would’ve eaten all they had, except that Lee laughed when I got my third bowl and said I was going to get fat if I kept it up.

“That would be good,” I said. “I don’t want to look like a skinny refugee all my life. I want to look like I’m rich enough to have food whenever I want it.”

This made him smile like I had said something funny, and he took me to meet the preacher. He was a nice man, and he and his wife said they hoped I’d come to the church service on Sunday. I said I’d think about it.

And I have. I’ve been thinking about a lot of things lately, especially what Sam said about needing to change everything and not just my address. I want so much to be a good person—the sort that people can look up to.

So maybe I’ll try going to church and see if that helps. And I’ll see if Erica can show me how to make a sweater like the one she lent me, and I’ll make some for poor people, not just for myself. And of course I have to keep studying so I can get into veterinary school. And I also have to work, write to Auntie, and. . .

Oh, who am I kidding? At this rate, I’m going to be too busy to be anything but good!

My Talk with Sam

2007-09-30T23:20:00.000-06:00

I went to do the mail run and dropped in on Sam like I always do. I was curious to hear how things were going now that we had gotten him his copper. But instead of telling me the news, he mumbled something, rummaged in a drawer and handed me a folded piece of paper.

“About time you came around for this,” he said.

I opened it up. It was the Robert's answer to my radio message from a week ago.

I was quiet for so long that finally Sam said, “Looks like you went to a lot of trouble for nothing, killing people in the dead of night and getting us mixed up with a mafia.”

I shoved the paper into a pocket, refusing to look at him. “How was I supposed to know? You said Robert probably couldn’t get the copper.”

“But you said maybe he could, and you were right.”

“Well, it’s not like I knew at the time we did it. Lee said we probably wouldn’t have to kill anyone, and I trust him. He’s a good person. He goes to church.”

“Plenty of bad people pray to God. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

My thoughts drifted back to the man who organized the raid on my valley and ordered the death of my mother. He went to church all the time, the bastard. “Well, sometimes these things just turn out different than you think they will.”

There were no customers in the shop, and Sam locked the front door. When he came to where I stood, I thought he was going to hit me, he was that mad. “There is no worse liar,” he said, “Than someone who lies to herself. Did you or did you not tell me you came to Kentucky because you were tired of killing people?”

My face grew hot. “I said that, and I haven’t killed anyone before now. If Evans hadn’t—“

He took a step closer and I could feel the heat of his body. “Cut the crap, Diana. If you don’t want to kill anyone, it’s real simple. Don’t go riding around late at night threatening people at gunpoint.”

“But I—“

He turned away in disgust. “I know you’re not stupid, so quit playing games. Or are you stupid, after all, and I’ve just been giving you too much credit?”

Friend or no friend, he wasn’t going to get away with calling me dumb! “I didn’t come here to be insulted,” I said, stepping toward him. “And if you don’t—“

He looked at my hand resting on the handle of my knife. I had no intention of hurting him, of course. None at all. Placing my hand on a weapon when I was angry or scared was just instinct. It was how I had survived since the raid on my valley. “It’s a natural reaction,” I said, stumbling over my words. “I grew up in a dangerous country. I’ve always had to defend myself. It doesn’t mean—“

The look in his eyes brought me up short.

I took off the belt containing my gun, knife and extra ammo and threw it on the floor. “There. Happy now? I’m completely defenseless, but at least I’m in the moral right, which will be a fine comfort to me when I get raped or robbed, or when I’m dead, or—“

Sam’s features softened and he shook his head slightly. “That’s not what I meant at all. Pick your stuff up. Quit acting like a child, and let’s have some tea and talk.”

He walked toward the back room without even waiting to see if I would follow. I thought about letting myself out and leaving, but after a few minutes, I tagged after him. “The other thing I came here to get away from,” I said as he set a kettle on his electric hot plate, “Was people telling me what to do all the time.” When he didn’t answer, I rambled on a bit about my mother, Auntie, Will, and Unitas, but when Sam continued to work in silence, I finally shut up, sat at the kitchen table and waited for my tea.

When he set the steaming cup in front of me and took the other chair, he surprised me. “Actually, it’s immaterial to me whether you seek work as a hired killer or whether you head up the NeoChristian Pacifists’ Association. It just worries me that you say you want one kind of life, but behave in ways that seem precisely calculated to keep it from turning out that way.”

“What are you talking about? I said I wanted to live in Kentucky on a horse farm, and it took five months of travel but here I am, doing it.”

“And you’re doing a fine job. But don’t you see you’re risking it all by behaving in old ways? If you want your life to be different, you have to live it differently. And that means all the way different, not just your address.”

We talked a long time and I drank so much tea I had to use the toilet twice. By the time I was ready to leave, we were friends again, and I told him I was going to the church picnic with Lee and might even join his church if they seem like nice people.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Are you and Lee becoming an item?”

I asked what he meant by “item.”

“Well,” he said, “I kind of had the impression you were in love with this Robert friend of yours back home.”

My hand touched the pocket where the crumpled message lay. “What’s the point in loving a person fifteen hundred miles away who always signs their messages, ‘Regards’?”

“You take the world at face value, don’t you?”

Another cryptic statement. But I thought he looked a little sad, so I didn’t bother asking what he meant this time.

I’m just glad Sam isn’t as mad at me as I had initially thought. All the way home to Northwind, I considered the things he said. He gave me a lot to think about, like he always does. That’s what makes him such a good friend.

The picnic is coming up soon. I’m looking forward to it. And maybe we can still find a use for the copper Robert says he can arrange for us. Sam is so short-sighted sometimes. I bet we’ll be able to run the phone lines halfway to Missouri now!

Invitation to a Picnic

2007-09-23T21:42:00.000-06:00

Lee woke me up just before noon, knocking on my door and then waiting while I dressed and combed my hair. We walked together to the main house, where most of the other hands had gathered for lunch. We were sleepy-eyed, and I must’ve still had sheet wrinkles on my face because Sven gave us a big randy grin and said something about “nooners” that made everyone laugh. I felt myself blushing, even though there was no call for it.

I sat down next to Erica and she passed me a dish of potatoes. “Don’t let them make you feel bad,” she whispered.

“But we haven’t done anything,” I whispered back. “Not anything like what Sven is hinting at.”

“They know. It’s just they’ve never had anything to tease you about before now.”

She was right. These people have a joke to tell about everyone. It’s what makes you part of the group. So I guess I’m one of them now, but I wish their teasing was about something else. I don’t appreciate them hinting I’ve been spending time in Lee’s bed.

I told Lee as much later. “I don’t want people thinking things about me and you that aren’t true.”

“It’s okay. No one really believes it. If I thought they did, I’d put a stop to it right quick.”

I nodded, but wasn’t entirely satisfied.

“You know, you really surprised me last night. You’re one vicious girl in a fight.”

What did he mean by that? “Civil war is no picnic."

“I suppose not.”

He fell silent and we walked toward one of the paddocks.

Finally he said, “Speaking of picnics, I was wondering if you’d like to go to one this Sunday.”

“Just me and you? If people are trying to start a rumor about us, I don’t know. . .”

“It’s a church picnic. A lot of people will be there.”

“I’ve never been to a church picnic.”

He looked at me from under the brim of his hat. “Don’t churches have picnics where you’re from?”

I shrugged. “I suppose. But the only church in my valley was Catholic, and my mother and grandparents were Lutheran.”

“So you never went to church at all?”

“Well, not never-ever. But not until I was older, and then. . .” I couldn’t finish. I had a feeling he didn’t want to hear that churches were just opportunities for spying when I was with Unitas. I didn't even go to a church for my wedding, and besides, Lee didn’t know I was married. Nothing I could say was going to sound good unless I lied, so I shut up and pretended more interest than usual in the horses.

“Come with me, then.”

“Where? To church?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I don’t know if I’ve got any business going around a church,” I said. “I’m not a very good person.”

“Yes, you are. And even if you weren't, that’s why we go to church in the first place.” When I hesitated, he added, “Or just come to the picnic. There’ll be no preaching, just nice people having fried chicken together.” Then he added the final temptation. “There’ll be ice cream.”

I had been looking at a fence post, pretending to examine it, but now I looked up. “You’re kidding, right? Real ice cream?”

“With the last of last winter’s ice. So until your friend Sam figures out how to start a refrigeration company. . .”

This made me laugh. “I wonder who we’d have to kill to get him started with something like that?”

“Someone without dogs, I hope.” He said it with a smile, but I saw him rub the spot on his arm where he got bitten last night.

“And then we’d have to kill someone else to start the automobile company. . .”

“And an airplane business. . .”

“That would require aluminum,” I said, proud of having learned something from my studies. “We’d definitely have to shoot someone for that.”

We leaned against the pasture fence, chuckling over such silly notions, and whatever tension remained between us over the events of last night disappeared like clouds after a good hard rain. He took my hand. “So you’ll go to the picnic with me? They’re nice folks at my church and I’d love to introduce you around.”

I stopped smiling. He wanted to introduce me as his girlfriend, that much was clear. The first hint of autumn coolness was in the air and nearby a horse nickered. Lee was nice, and it might be a good thing to hang around some church people and establish myself a little more firmly in the community. It would be a chance to get a reputation as someone good, instead of just some stranger who could ride horses and kill people.

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll go.”

Like last night, he kissed me quickly, before I had a chance to protest or pull away. Then he went off to check construction on the new barn and I went in search of Flecha.

It looks like I’m soon to have my first real date in Kentucky.

Fight at the Scrap Yard

2007-09-22T00:45:00.000-06:00

I got Lee’s signal just before supper. I was annoyed because I had worked hard all day, first mucking stalls, then teaching a group of children. Their horses had been balky and the children even worse. But I was as patient as I knew how, knowing if I could just make it through the afternoon, there would be meatloaf for supper—a strange food, but one I’ve grown to love.

And then Lee signaled it was time to go.

Damn him, and damn technological progress, too!

I guess my mood was obvious, because the first thing Lee said when I joined him at Northwind’s east gate was, “Mighty fine day, Miss Cheerful.”

This made me smile. I still can’t get over the funny way people talk around here. “Oh, I’m okay. It’s just I’d been looking forward to some of that meatloaf.”

“That makes one of us.” He rummaged in his saddlebag. “Here. Enjoy Sabine’s care package.”

I took the paper-wrapped offering. It was a piece of meatloaf between two slices of bread. What a great idea! I ate while we walked our horses down the road toward Patrick’s house. “The only thing this needs,” I said, “Is some green chile. Then it would be perfect.”

Lee made a face and changed the subject. We chatted all the way to Patrick’s house and found him at his family’s small barn, milking a cow. I offered to finish up while he made his excuses to his mother, and Lee snuck his horse out through the back pasture.

Soon we were all on the road together.

I asked Patrick what he had told his parents.

“Just that I’ll be over at Northwind for awhile, helping you study.”

“That was a dumb thing to say. We won’t be back for most of the night.”

“Or maybe not even until tomorrow,” Lee added.

Patrick shrugged. “Don’t matter. Elaine is covering for me, and she’s the best liar in the state.”

“That’s a mean thing to say about your sister,” I said.

“But it’s the truth. And she knows she has to cover for me or I’ll tell Mom and Dad about her sneaking out to see her boyfriend. And I’ll tell about the time she had to go to Doctor Blackwell, too.”

“Doctor Blackwell?”

Patrick was about to explain, but Lee made a motion with his hand and silenced him. “Female trouble,” was all he said, but the disapproval on his face and the odd set to his crooked shoulders told me all I needed to know.

When we got to the ring of decayed suburbs outside Lexington, Lee directed us down a side street. In a dilapidated shopping center, we met up with three riders, one of whom was the rude man from earlier in the week. Only this time he wasn’t so bad. He touched the brim of his hat and called me Miss, so I pretended I’d forgotten all about the other day. We were on a mission, after all, and Unitas taught me to put personal stuff aside at times like this.

Our plan was simple enough: go to the scrap yard, confront the dealer, and make him honor his agreement, at gunpoint if necessary. Patrick’s job would be to keep watch from a nearby street corner and signal if he saw trouble.

Simple.

When Lee, his mysterious friends, and I pounded on the scrap metal dealer’s door, I thought we were going to pull this thing off without a hitch. The man who answered our knock was white-haired and kind-looking, with bright blue eyes. His smile and polite words threw me off guard.

“Evening, folks. How can I help you?”

One of our men spat on the ground and another took a step forward, his hand resting on the gun at his hip. “You know why we’re here, Evans. Honor the deal you made or we’ll make you honor it.”

Evans looked at each of us in what seemed genuine confusion. “Did I make a deal with you? If I did and you’re unhappy—“

“Cut the crap.” One of our men drew his gun.

“Now, gentlemen—“ he looked at me. “--and lady. I’m sure this is all a big misunderstanding.”

Lee and two of our men advanced on the old man, crowding him back inside his dingy shack. Evans stammered and stumbled, looking from one face to another until finally fixing his eyes on mine in such a woeful appeal for mercy that for a moment I was convinced we had made a mistake. This was just a harmless old man. There was no need to threaten violence to get our copper!

That’s when I heard the shots. Patrick’s signal.

I drew my weapon and spun around to see dark shapes advancing on us through the hulking mounds of scrap and mud. At the same time, three dogs appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. The beasts launched themselves at us, snarling, while the men rushed us from the yard.

Shots rang out, I don’t know who fired first. But I didn’t have time to get my bearings. I shot at strangers. I shot at dogs. I ducked behind a rusty washing machine and fired at anything unfamiliar that moved. And when I ran out of bullets and a dog leaped for me, I pulled my big hunting knife and plunged it into his belly.

Above the howls of dogs and shouting of men, I thought I heard something else—a high-pitched shout, then a shot and crashing of wood and metal as something was knocked over. Then the old man’s voice rose above the rest. “Fucking brat!”

I peeked around my washing machine to see Evans swing at Patrick with a club of some sort. The boy let out a yelp and fell to the floor. Where the hell had he come from? We told him not under any circumstances to come in if there was trouble! And now he lay as if dead at the old man’s feet.

“You mother-fucking son of a bitch!” Without thinking I threw myself at Evans, saying even worse things, according to Lee, but I don’t remember it. I only know that one minute I was in hiding, the next I was on top of the old man, stabbing him over and over, Lee’s shouts and the renewed staccato of gunfire somewhere in the background.

And then, as suddenly as it had all begun, it was over. I was a bloody, slippery mess, dark forms lay in every direction, and Lee was bending over me, saying words I couldn’t understand at first. But then I made out the word, “okay.”

Okay? What idiocy! Nothing was okay. I looked around in confusion. Patrick was still lying limp on the floor, but now I could make out the faint rise and fall of his chest. He was alive!

Lee and I bent over him, checking for injuries. My hands were shaking and I finally had to sit back and collect myself. Lee found some water and held it to my lips so I could drink. Then he splashed the rest of it on Patrick, who frowned, mumbled, and sat up, rubbing his head and blinking. He saw me staring and gave a crooked smile. “That was completely nuclear, wasn’t it?”

One of our men was injured, so we tended to him. The man who had been rude to me earlier in the week was dead, and good riddance. The third man helped me and Lee clean up a bit, then he and Lee wandered off to talk, leaving me alone with Patrick.

“That was a dumb thing to do,” I said. “We told you to stay out. When someone gives you an order, you follow it.”

“But I could hear the fighting and thought—“

“You’re not supposed to think. You’re supposed to do as you’re told.”

He turned away with an injured air. “Well if it wasn’t for me, Lee would be dead.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I shot one of those men. He was aiming for Lee, and I—“

“You killed a man?”

“What’s the matter? You killed a man tonight.”

“That’s different. It’s what I was trained to do. But you’re a civilian and you—“

The boy sighed. “It’s okay. I only wounded him. Lee killed him. But I—“

“You’re an idiot,” I said. But I went over to him anyway and gave him a hug.

Lee came back and Patrick squirmed out of my arms.

“Go get our saddlebags,” Lee told him. After he had gone, he said, “We’ll stop by Sam’s on the way out and let him know he can send his people for the copper in the morning.”

I frowned. “Wait a minute. Didn’t Evans have heirs? Won’t the police investigate? We can’t just steal the copper.”

“It’s not stealing. It’s appropriating.”

“Call it whatever you like, but it amounts to the same thing. Aren’t there laws—“

“Of course.” He shifted on his feet and looked at the floor. “And there’s also people who don’t have to follow the laws.”

The man he had been talking to a minute ago was moving around in the shadows, just at the edge of my line of sight. A horrible suspicion struck me. “You aren’t friends with one of the mafias, are you?”

Lee refused to meet my eyes. “Racing is a shady business, and I used to be a jockey,” he reminded me. “I was a good one, too. Some people made a lot of money betting against me, and they still owe me a few favors.”

I didn’t know what to say, and at that moment Patrick returned with our saddle bags and I went into a back room to change into clean clothes.

We stopped at Sam’s on our way out of town and woke him up to give him the news. We said only that he could now get his copper, but he looked at me in a strange way that made me wonder what he suspected.

All the way home, Patrick was excited, talking, bragging, and asking questions until Lee and I both lost our patience and snapped at him. Then he trotted on ahead in silence, sitting his horse with a confidence that under any other circumstances would’ve made me proud.

We got home at dawn and Lee helped me bed Flecha down. We worked without speaking right up until the end, when he said, “You can sleep in this morning. I told Eli and Sabine yesterday that we'd probably be out late.”

“What did you tell them?”

“The truth. Sort of.”

I must’ve sighed or something, because he put an arm around me. It was nice to feel a man’s touch and I leaned into his thin body. “I came here to stop doing this sort of thing, you know. You never said it would turn into something like this. You said—“

His arm tightened around me. “I’m sorry. I really thought. . .”

I nodded. Given what I've been through in my life, I shouldn’t judge. “I know. Things sometimes don’t work out the way we plan.”

He led me to my room. “Get some sleep. I’ll come get you around lunchtime, okay? And we’ll talk some more when we’ve both rested a little.”

He kissed me, and it was a nice gentle kiss, like a butterfly brushing my lips. And then he left, his boots clomping across the wooden floor. I lay down on my cot and closed my eyes but couldn’t sleep. So I figured I might as well write all this down. Now that it’s on paper, I still don’t know if I feel any better or understand what it all means.

I didn’t come to Kentucky to kill anyone. Not over telephones, at any rate.

Damn it.

Waiting

2007-09-21T01:38:00.000-06:00

Patrick is in. Okay, he’s more than just “in.” When I asked if he wanted to be our lookout on the copper mission, I thought he’d burst out of his skin, he was that proud! As a brainy kid, late in catching on to the horsey things his friends could do practically from birth, I bet no one ever asked him to do something daring and dangerous before.

Not that this will be dangerous for him, of course. No way would I endanger a kid. In Unitas, we never did that to children, and I’m not about to start now. Patrick will be safe at all times, as long as he follows directions and doesn’t do something dumb.

I spent a long time tonight explaining what we would be doing and going over the basic rules of being a lookout. Patrick actually took notes, like he was in school! Well, if it will help him remember, I suppose I have no problem with it. But it sure is a world away from the way I learned.

Not much else is happening around here. Lee is acting all funny again, and says to expect his signal within the next forty-eight hours. I’ve always hated waiting. Flecha knows something is up, and I think she’s as impatient as I am for whatever it is to all be over.

Sweet Flechita, it won’t be long now. Soon we’ll have telephones!

Copper Plans

2007-09-20T23:43:00.000-06:00

Today was my regular mail day, and while I was in Lexington, I sent a message to Robert from Sam’s shop. I hope he answers quickly and knows how we can get some copper. Sam thinks he won’t be much help, though.

“Just because he has friends at the copper mines won’t help. You don’t dig copper out of the ground and put it straight into your telephones,” he said.

“They have smelters in Cobre,” I told him. “Those are the things with the big chimney towers, right?”

“The copper still has to be made into wire. And it has to be made to spec.”

“Spec?”

He explained. It sure sounds complicated.

“Well, you never know,” I said. “It’s worth asking, isn’t it?”

He agreed that it couldn’t hurt anything, and said he would send my message. I would’ve liked to have hung around while he sent it. I still have a sentimental notion that if I could only hear the voice of someone in the long chain of voices leading to Robert, it would be almost as good as hearing him, myself. But that’s dumb, and I know it. Besides, I needed to get back to the farm with the mail.

I got to Northwind just as a courier from Frankfort came trotting up on a shiny black gelding. The man was in a hurry and when I asked him at the gate if I could help, he looked me up and down like I was a nuisance.

“Looking for Lee Jameson,” he said. He didn’t even bother calling me “Miss,” as most of these Kentucky people do when addressing a young woman.

“If you’ve got something for him, I can deliver it.”

“It’s personal.”

His tone was so haughty I was tempted to hit him. But that wouldn’t have been a wise move, and at that moment, Flecha decided she didn’t like the black gelding any more than I liked the rider, and she lunged at him.

“Control your beast, would you?”

I jerked on Flecha’s reins. Who the hell did this man think he was? “Wait here,” I snapped. “I’ll send Lee to you.” I kicked Flecha hard and took off at a canter.

I found Lee at one of the new barns we're building along the tree line.

“There’s someone at the gate for you,” I said. “I don’t know what he wants, but he’s a real primitive and I hope it’s important.”

Lee had been doing something with a level, but he set it down and gave me a curious look. “What do you mean, a ‘real primitive?’ He wasn’t rude to you, was he?”

“He wasn’t no Southern Gentleman, that’s for sure. I’ve met snakes and coyotes with better manners. So like I say, I sure hope it’s important.”

Lee’s eyes narrowed. He thanked me for getting him, and went to the gate while I delivered the mail around the farm, trying to forget the incident.

Lee was absent from supper, and I didn’t see him afterwards when I went to study on the porch. I studied with Patrick for awhile, and then visited with Erica. She’s still suffering a terrible crush on Sven, and by the time we got through plotting crazy fantasies for how she could entice him to give up his roaming ways, I had forgotten all about the stupid courier from the afternoon. So I was surprised when Lee stepped out of the shadows as I walked toward my barn to go to bed.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked.

That was a silly question. “America is a free country again, isn’t it?”

“You know what I mean.”

He followed me into the barn. My room was a little small for talking, and in spite of his words from this summer when he said his intentions toward me were honorable, it seemed a bad idea to have him sitting on my bed. So we sat on rickety work stools near Flecha’s stall, instead.

“I want to start by apologizing for the behavior of the courier this afternoon,” he said. “He. . . Well, let’s just say he wasn’t brought up right and had some confused notions. But I set him straight. He won’t ever talk to you like that again.”

This surprised me. “I’d been hoping I wouldn’t have to see him ever again.”

Lee looked at the dusty floor, picked up a stalk of hay and slowly shredded it. “Actually, if you’re still in on the copper plan, you’ll be seeing him again real soon.”

“What copper plan?” I said. “You keep talking like there’s a plan, but you won’t tell me what it is. I can’t—“

He waved a hand. And then he told me everything. When he was done talking, I didn’t say anything at first. But he looked at me for so long that finally I said, “You’re talking crazy. Are you sure it’ll work?”

He reached for my hand. “You’re the first girl I’ve liked in a long time. You think I’d get you involved in something like this if it wasn’t going to work?”

“But what about the police? The government? They won’t appreciate us taking matters into our own hands like this. What if--?”

“Don’t you think I know what I’m doing? I was born in this region and I know the local politics and prejudices a lot better than you.” When I didn’t answer, he went on. “You said a couple days ago I could count on you. Is that still true? You’re not scared, are you?”

I pulled my hand out of his. “I was doing scarier missions than that when I was fifteen years old,” I said. “I could do what you’re asking blindfolded and with nothing but a BB gun. Of course I’m not scared.”

He stood up, smiling. “Good.”

He helped me to my feet and gave me a quick hug, pulling away before I could wiggle free. “I’ll let you know when we’re ready. Be prepared to go sometime in the next few days.”

“How about we ask Patrick to go with us as a lookout?” I asked. When Lee hesitated, I added, “I trained him to ride, you know. He’s capable. And it’s his phone company, too.”

Lee was reluctant, but agreed that he could join us if he wanted to. “But he’ll have to keep up. If we need to make a run for it, there’ll be no going back for stragglers.”

“Of course not. I’m not stupid. I’ll make sure he understands.”

Lee picked up his hat and scrunched it on his head. For a moment he looked like he wanted to take my hand again, but instead he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Wait for my signal, then. The mayor of Lexington will have a working telephone by Christmas.”

Lee went out the door, into the cool September night. I sure hope he’s right!

More Thoughts on Copper

2007-09-16T00:33:00.000-06:00

I think Lee has a plan about how to get the copper wire.

For several days he went around frowning and silent, mulling things over and acting surprised whenever someone tried to talk to him about ordinary farm things like barn doors and fences. Then he disappeared for a whole day and returned with dark circles under his eyes, avoiding everyone and being even more quiet than before.

Yesterday evening as I was trying to figure out 3 + x = 12 on the porch after supper, he came over to me.

“You told me once you fought in the civil war back in your country.”

“That’s right.”

“You ever kill a man? On purpose, not in a combat situation.”

I set the book down, not at all sure I liked where this was going. I answered vaguely, to give myself time to think how much I should admit.

“Look,” he said, not at all his usual nice self, “I need to know if I can count on you. If I put together a plan to confront the scrap metal dealer, can I trust you to carry out your end?”

“That depends on what my end is. I came here to get away from having to kill people, not to do more of it.”

He stared at me for what seemed like forever. It was plenty long enough for me to remember Tanner, the hobo on the train, and the man who was holding Vince’s gang members hostage. It was long enough for me to remember Strecker and the man nearly two years ago who raped me. Oh, yes, I was quite capable of killing, if it had to be done. But over copper wire? “If you think it’s really necessary…”

To my relief, Lee shook his head. “It shouldn’t be. But I don’t make promises I can’t keep. And that goes for threats, too.”

I understood. “If you think we should confront the guy and you have a solid plan, I’ll go and I’ll do whatever has to be done. It’s my phone company, too.”

He smiled like I had just solved all his problems and sat down next to me. We then spent a pleasant hour adding letters to numbers, as if we had never discussed anything more unpleasant than algebra. Lee really is very nice. Sometimes I think I should just cut my losses and let him be my boyfriend. Love can grow from like, can’t it?

I just hope whatever Lee is planning, it all works out peacefully. Maybe I should have Sam contact Robert and see if he can help. He’s done so much work in the copper mining towns of my country that maybe he’ll have an idea how to get us what we need without our having to fight for it. I’ve worked really hard to get to this peaceful place, and I don’t want to do anything to mess it up.

The Problem of Copper

2007-09-14T00:11:00.000-06:00

Summer is ending, and the farm children are talking about school. Patrick is excited, but some of the others complain they’d rather stay here and work with the horses. They have no idea how lucky they are to go to school!

I wish I were going to college this fall. But it’s for the best. It’s important I be good at math and science, and not just learn what I need to pass the entrance exam. Fractions and percents are how I’ll know how much medicine to give the horses when I’m a veterinarian, so I need to be patient and make sure I get it right.

I hate being patient.

But good things are happening around here. Someone found out I was giving Patrick riding lessons, and told Eli. He investigated, and this week he called me into his office and told me he was taking me off some of my security duties and assigning me to help his wife Sabine with the lessons she gives the local children. I was a little intimidated.

“I’m not used to working with really young children,” I told him.

“That’s okay. What we’d like is your ideas. We had given up on Patrick, so we’d like to see what you did different.”

Great. The only thing I did different with Patrick was talk about fulcrums. I have a feeling that’s not going to go over too well with a group of six year-olds. But I’ll do my best to teach them what I know. And if all goes well, maybe it will mean an increase to my pay.

A pay raise would be nice, because we’ve already had our first major setback with the telephone company, and I’m worried. It seems our technicians can’t find enough copper wire. I’m not sure why it has to be copper in particular, but Sam says nothing else will do, the books all back him up, and who am I to judge?

Unfortunately copper has been a favorite with scrap metal thieves for decades. During the worst of the economic crises, people stole it from underground, inside walls, and from overhead lines. Now most of those old “analog” lines that would’ve been so useful to us, are gone. There’s another type of phone cable that people sometimes come across, but it’s plastic and requires computers to make it work. No one has parts to fix the computers, so the plastic cables are useless, except to the plastic-pickers.

So without enough cable, we have no telephone company. We'll have to find another source or give up. We've already paid the men making the switchboard, so there's a good chance our investment will be lost.

These were the things on my mind as I rode home from Lexington today with the mail. Sam had been in a bad mood over the telephone company, his customers had been surly and demanding, and there was no mail for me, so I was feeling grumpy, too. I arrived at Northwind anxious to deliver the mail and go off by myself for a little while. Riding through the bluegrass always cheers me up.

But Lee must’ve picked up on my mood when I gave him his letter from his sister, because I hadn’t gotten very far into the fields, when he came cantering after me. I thought about galloping off so I could be alone, but that would’ve been rude, and I haven’t been here long enough to not have to worry about my reputation. So I let him catch up and watched him sullenly from under the brim of my hat, hoping he wouldn’t ask me what was wrong.

To my relief, he didn’t. He merely drew up beside me, reined in, and walked his horse by mine. After a little while, he said, “Pretty day.”

I shrugged.

“It’s almost fall. Leaves should start turning soon. Do the leaves turn color where you’re from?”

I started to mumble a reply, but my mind flashed on the golden poplars and shimmering aspens of home.

I was surprised to find a sudden lump in my throat. I tried to swallow, but my eyes stung and I swiped at my nose in frustration. I wasn’t going to start crying over a memory of yellow leaves, was I? I needed a distraction, quick!

“There’s a few problems with the phone company,” I said. I started babbling about copper wire, and it kept me from thinking of home.

“I would’ve thought they would’ve had a source in mind before taking investors’ money,” Lee said.

“They did. Or at least, they thought they did. The man found out what a big deal this might turn out to be, and raised his price.”

Lee cursed the scrap metal dealer’s stupidity. “I guess it didn’t occur to him to donate it or offer a reduced price in return for a partnership?”

“Sam says they tried to make him an offer, but no luck.”

“Some people are damn short-sighted.”

I agreed and we lapsed into silence. It was my favorite time of day, with the sun setting and the fields turning blue in the fading light.

After a long time, Lee said, “I wonder what it would take to convince the dealer to make a fair trade?”

“I think they’ve tried everything.”

“That’s impossible. Anyone can be persuaded. Let me understand something, though. Was there initially a deal, or wasn’t there?”

“I think there was a deal.”

“We don’t need thoughts, we need to know. It makes a difference.”

“Well, I had the impression. . .”

He sighed and looked annoyed. “Can you get someone to cover your afternoon shift, day after tomorrow?”

I thought about it. My work with the children hadn’t started yet, so I told him I probably could.

“Good. You and I are going to Lexington. We’re going to get this straightened out.”

Tonight I’m wondering just what Lee intends to do. It’s so frustrating to live in a foreign country! Back home, I would’ve known exactly what to do if something like this happened, but here, I’m dependent on other people to lead and advise me. I came out here for my freedom, and at times like this I feel so helpless!

Entrepeneur

2007-08-30T02:46:00.000-06:00

It’s done. I’m now an investor in a telephone company.

True to his word, after our disastrous session with fractions, Patrick produced books on communication systems and we pored over them by solar lantern on the patio. Lee found us, and when Patrick explained what we were doing, he was intrigued. So for a week it was three of us, educating ourselves out of books each night.

Lee was the smartest, understanding communication principles like he had been born knowing how such systems worked. I suppose in retrospect, I shouldn’t have been surprised, since he’s the best mechanic in the county. And Patrick figured it out quickly too, in spite of his young age, because he’s so good with math and science.

I was the one who felt stupid. It took all my willpower to remember that I was smart in other ways. It wasn’t my fault I had never been to school. But I was catching up fast, in spite of everything. Or so I told myself.

When the day for the mail run came, we were ready. Lee couldn’t come with us, but he had given me some cash and a piece of paper he called a “check” that would allow Sam to collect money from a bank in Frankfort. Patrick had a pretty good stash of coins and bills from summer jobs, and I had my most recent month’s pay and the last of my Kentucky Derby winnings. Sam was going to front me the rest of my investment and I would pay him back out of my salary and profits.

It made me nervous to be on the road with so much money and no one but an untrained kid to help me defend it. But I rode armed, and I was a familiar sight on the turnpike by now. Everyone knew I was just doing the mail run. I was a poor target for thieves.

When we got to Lexington, we went straight to Sam’s shop. He was pleased to see us and thought it was hilarious that I had gotten two other investors for him.

“I can see where your real talent is going to be. Marketing.”

I’m happy to say I’m not as dumb as I used to be. “I know what that word means,” I said. “You think I’d be good at spreading the word and getting other investors on board.”

“You already got me two. Maybe I should give you a commission.”

I pretended to think about it, embarrassed that I was once again feeling ignorant.

“What about me?” Patrick asked. “If I get my friends to invest, do I get a commission, too? What’s the percent? Would it be off the principle or the profit?”

By the time he got done asking questions and Sam finished answering, I understood exactly what was going on. I was fascinated. I could get money just for getting other people to spend money! It wouldn’t be much, but as Sam had reminded me once before, if you plant your corn instead of eating it, you get more corn. If I put my commission back into the telephone company, it would mean more profit for me, if it did well.

If it did well. That was the part that still scared me. Everything in my life had indicated that one should grab what one could and hold on. Trust no one, and especially don’t trust what tomorrow may bring. And now here I was giving my money away based on a vague promise. It was like throwing myself off a cliff on a dare, expecting the air to hold me up.

It was crazy. But I was doing it, just the same. Was it really so different from leaving Auntie’s comfortable home last December, expecting that I could somehow find my way?

Since Patrick was curious about Sam’s radio operations, I left him at the shop while I went to get Northwind’s mail. While I was at the post office, I mailed a letter to Robert. Stupid, I know. But I couldn’t help myself. I cheered myself up afterwards by going to a shop and buying some colored pencils with the last of my money.

When I got back to Sam’s shop, Patrick was helping with the customers. He was having so much fun I hated to tear him away, and all the way home, he chattered about radios and telephones and other ways of sending information without the need of pen and paper. He was so absorbed in his own talk it was a miracle he didn’t fall off his horse. But I must be a good teacher, because we made it safely back to Northwind. And when he trotted off down the road, I watched him critically, thinking that maybe there really was hope for him as a horseman, yet.

Tonight I had no lessons, and sat out on the patio playing with my new colored pencils, instead. It distracted me and kept me from having to think too much about the risk I was taking with my money.

Lee came over while I was finishing up. “That’s pretty good.”

“It’s just a butterfly. They’re easy enough to draw.”

“Well, I couldn’t have done it.”

“You ever tried?”

“No. Not much point.” He sat down. “So how’d it go in town? Are we capitalists now?”

I set the pencils aside. “Entrepreneurs is the right word, I think.”

“Heroes of the new American economy.”

“Or just fools.”

“Don’t say that. We’ve been needing something like this for a long time. Your friend seems to have a good sense of the market, and we’ll do fine.” He paused and played with a button on his cuff. “He is just a friend, right?”

I tried not to laugh. “He’s old enough to be my father. And yes, he’s just a friend.”

He nodded and looked away, as if he wasn’t sure what to say next. The evening was hot, and I was glad for the occasional breeze against my damp skin, although I was less pleased by the mosquitoes that seemed to find me so tempting. One of the annoying creatures landed on my wrist and I slapped at it. “How much longer before these things all die?”

“Another couple months. But at least there hasn’t been an outbreak yet this year. Yellow fever, malaria, encephalitis. . . you know. Usually it would be pretty bad by now.”

“That family up the road got sick,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, but that was something else. It wasn’t a mosquito disease.”

We sat in silence for awhile before I spoke again. “Do you believe it will ever be like it was before? You know, like in our grandparents’ time, with schools and medicines, sprays to kill the bugs, and food from all over the world in the stores? Do you really think we can build it all again without the oil?”

“I don’t see why not. We’re building a phone company.”

I nodded in the darkness, not sure why his answer didn’t satisfy me. I stood up, collecting my pencils and paper. “Well, I’m tired. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Want me to walk you to your room?”

“No, thanks. I’ve got a date with the mosquitoes. They’d be jealous.”

When I got to the barn, I checked that everything was in order for the night—all the windows open, half-doors shut and locked, the animals bedded down and secure. Then I moved my cot and mosquito netting to a spot where I could enjoy the summer breeze. The room with the sleeping porch at Julia’s would’ve been so nice! But I’m an entrepreneur now, no longer a hero of the civil war, but a hero of the economy. And heroes have to suffer.

At least in terms of sleeping quarters, being an entrepreneur is not an improvement.

An Opportunity

2007-08-19T00:10:00.000-06:00

I got a letter from Robert today! I was so excited it was all I could do to keep from tearing it open and reading it right there at the post office. Instead I trotted Flecha to Sam’s shop, where I sat down at his kitchen table and read it over and over, sipping some cool tea and trying to parse the meaning of the words.

The letter didn’t say much, just that he was busy with important negotiations, and he was sorry he hadn’t been able to write more often. He also said Libby was with him, back from a spy mission and acting as his translator. This made me frown. They had always been good friends. I had never thought to wonder if there was any more to it than that, but. . .

Oh, what a stupid notion! And who cares, anyway? Why do I keep worrying about the past? I wouldn’t dream of picking at a scab, but I’m willing to pick endlessly over Robert. I’m so dumb sometimes.

Sam came into the back room as I was crumpling up Robert’s letter.

“Bad news?”

“No.”

His eyebrows twitched like he didn’t believe me. He poured himself a glass of tea and sat down. “So have you thought any more about my offer?”

I had, and I liked the idea of having a part-ownership in Sam’s new telephone service. But Robert’s letter had put me in a bad mood and I felt like arguing. “It sounds like a good idea, but I don’t think this is the right time.”

“When will it ever be a better time? When more people have a chance to figure it out and start their own services, driving up equipment prices and monopolizing brand loyalty?”

“But I’m still living in a barn. It’s hot in there, and for the same amount of money as you’re asking for, I could have a room in Sabine’s sister’s house, with my very own screened sleeping porch, and electric lights.”

“Oh, come on. You’re a tough girl. What’s a little heat to someone who grew up in the desert? Besides, it won’t be summer forever.”

“And then it’ll be winter and the barn will be cold.”

“And in a year’s time, when you get a raise and your investment is paying nicely, you’ll be able to rent a whole cottage, instead of just a room.”

“What would I do with a house?”

Sam shook his head like I was a hopeless case. “Fine. Eat your seed corn instead of planting it. Eat your eggs instead of—“

“—raising chickens. Yeah, I know. You told me. It’s just—“

“You’ve had a rough life and you’re tired of it all being so hard.”

I nodded and sipped my tea so I wouldn’t have to say anything.

“Come on, Diana. You can hold out a little longer. This is an investment in your future. All the things you say you want—land, horses, education—require money. You won’t get the kind of money you want by doing all the work yourself. Make your money do the heavy lifting, so that when you’re older and not so strong, you can relax and enjoy life.” He hesitated, then spoke again. “Of course, if you don’t have confidence in the investment, that’s another matter. We’ve always been straight with each other, so if that’s the problem, just say so.”

This made me smile. “No, that’s not it at all. Really. I’m just a little scared, I guess. I’ve never owned a. .. what do you call it?”

“Transmitter.”

“Right. I don’t even know what one looks like. But the room at Julia’s house is nice, and at least I know what I’m getting. I mean, what if we pay this guy to fix up that old transmitter thing and it doesn’t work, or we can’t get enough people to sign up for phone service? What then? I’ll have lost my money.”

“So will I. It’s a chance we and the other investors will all be taking.”

“Sounds too risky.”

“So does traveling twelve hundred miles alone on horseback through three countries, hostile governments and outlaws, but you did it anyway.”

I felt like pointing out that what he was proposing was totally different. Out in open country, I could defend myself. But it wasn’t like I could shoot someone if they refused to buy a telephone. “I’ll think about it.”

“Well, don’t think too long. We don’t want to miss our opportunity. We’ve already got city hall, the police department and a fire station on board. The mayor promised to sign up to have a phone in his house, too, if we can get the old analog line working again or run a new one.”

I promised I would think about it some more and give an answer next week. Then I helped clean up while Sam attended to a customer, and then I headed home.

After supper I had a math lesson with Patrick. I had been doing better with my fractions, and was even starting to understand about ~~pie~~ pi, but tonight I couldn’t concentrate. It was after I had added 2/3 and 4/5 to come up with 6/8 that he closed the book in exasperation. “What’s the matter with you? You know all this. You did it two nights ago.”

I hadn’t been talked to like that by a kid since I traveled with Ishkin last December! But he was right. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind. No need to take that kind of tone.”

He fidgeted. “Sorry. I just thought maybe it was something I was doing wrong. I know I ain’t no teacher.”

“You’re a fine teacher,” I said, picking up my pencil. “Let’s try again.”

He gave me another problem, but I did no better.

He slammed the math book shut. “How about science?”

He opened the physics book and flipped through the pages, looking for the place we had left off the night before. “Is there a chapter on telephones?” I asked.

“In this book?” He shook his head. “But I’ve got a book about communication systems at home. How come?”

“Well, a friend of mine asked me to invest in a telephone business he wants to start in Lexington. But I don’t know anything about it and—“

“You’re starting a phone company?” Patrick’s eyes widened.

“I’m not starting a phone company. My friend Sam is. He just wants me to help with the startup costs. He says I’ll get part of the profits, but—“

“That’s great! When will it be working? Will we have phones all the way out here?”

“I don’t think so. And I don’t even know if I’m going to do it. I haven’t decided.”

“What’s to decide? How much money does your friend need? I have savings from my summer jobs. I’ll do it. Let’s go talk to him.”

He looked so eager I was afraid he’d saddle his horse and try to ride to Lexington in the dark! It took awhile, but I finally convinced him that there was still plenty of time to invest. I said he could go with me on the mail run next week, meet Sam and talk it over. “He’ll do a better job answering your questions than I will. I barely understand what it’s all about.”

“Well, I know what we’ll be studying the next few days!”

“Okay,” I said. “Bring the book tomorrow night. We’ll read everything we can about this phone thing.”

So it looks like I’m taking a detour on my course of study. Right now I don’t feel at all confident that this is the right direction to take, but Sam is honest, and maybe once I educate myself a little, I’ll have a better idea if this is what I want to do.

Me, a part-owner of a telephone company? What a funny idea! If I could see the look on Auntie’s face on getting that kind of news, it would be worth a whole year's salary, even if I lost it all!

Cactus and a Fish Table

2007-08-15T21:47:00.000-06:00

I found this photo enclosed with Auntie’s latest letter:

I’m pretty sure Auntie didn’t intend to send it to me. She knows how glad I am that I’ll never have to eat another nopal. I don’t even own a pair of proper gloves for picking them any more, and I’m very proud of that fact. So I think Auntie’s new orphan, Kitta, must’ve slipped the photo in there, because Auntie wouldn’t have sent me a picture of nopales even as a joke. She doesn’t have much of a sense of humor, and why should she? The oil crisis and resource wars hit her generation a lot harder than it did mine. We both lost our family, but she lost her entire way of life, too. I've never known her to be anything other than deadly serious.

The news from home is mixed. Will and Coyote continue to run their maverick operation in the south, sometimes helping Unitas and other times conducting their own personal campaigns against unaffiliated troublemakers. Coyote is still up to his old tricks, derailing trains for his own amusement, which means he and Will are as much a part of the problem as part of the solution.

But it looks like there might be peace soon. Robert got México Lindo to agree to a truce. It’s only for a month, and by now the fighting might’ve resumed, for all I know. It takes so long to get these letters! But Auntie said Robert was also crafting a deal with Don Reymundo, who was México Lindo’s biggest ally in the south, and whose lands Charlene and I had to go around last winter, leading to our having to cross the White Sands. If Unitas can get Don Reymundo's support, México Lindo won't have a prayer.

I’m glad now that I didn’t go to Robert at Christmas and make him run away with me. He’s doing important work that will benefit a lot of people. I was selfish to even think of taking him away from where he’s needed. Love can be found almost anywhere, right? But without peace, people will keep dying, and there has been enough death in my country.

So maybe I’ll quit pushing Lee away. I don’t love him, but he’s very nice to me, and he’s a hard worker. He’s smart, too, in his own practical way. People around here respect him, so I could do a lot worse than having him for a boyfriend or maybe a husband someday.

After I rejected him at the barn-raising in early summer, he kept his distance. But I missed his friendship and conversation, so when he got up a fishing party a few weeks ago, I went, too. There were nearly a dozen of us from Northwind and a couple nearby farms, and we had a great time. We even caught a few fish, before we started acting silly and making too much noise.

We didn’t catch any more fish after that, but we didn’t care. We cooked what we had, ate sweet cornbread, and passed around a bottle of good Tennessee whiskey. Then one of the men took out a harmonica and played, and we had a fine time dancing by the pond, jumping in and pretending to swim, dunking each other, and dancing some more. Somewhere in all that I let Lee kiss me a few times, but when we got home, wet and tipsy, I thanked him for such a good time, but wouldn’t let him follow me into the barn. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t be careless with a man’s feelings ever again, and I intend to keep that promise.

So when a week later, Lee brought me a little table as a gift, I didn’t know what to say.

“It’s just old scrap,” he said. “Better than letting it become termite food.”

What a liar. There’s always a use for wood, even if it’s just to cook someone’s supper. “And the fish?”

He gave a twitch of his crooked shoulders. “I was remembering what a good time we had, fishing.”

“We hardly caught anything, we made so much noise.”

“This is one that won’t get away.”

No denying that, I guess. “Well, thanks. I hardly know where I’ll put it, though.”

“I’ll help you.”

“No. It’s small, and I’m no weakling.”

“But I thought—“

“Right. And once you’re in my bedroom, you’ll just want—“

His look of surprise was genuine. “What kind of guy do you think I am?”

“Well, I—“

“I don’t know what the men are like where you’re from, but I was raised up to be a good Christian. If I ever ask you for more than just a kiss and I haven’t offered you a ring first, feel free to kick my ass all the way down the Frankford pike to Louisville, okay?”

I looked at the floor, hoping he couldn't see the heat in my cheeks.

“Now let’s see if we can’t find a place in your room for this table.”

I let him take the table to my room and we moved a few things around so it would fit. When he went to leave, I thanked him and tried to give him a kiss, but I think he knew I was doing it just to be nice and he waved me off, still offended.

I seem unable to do anything right when it comes to men. We've talked since then, but it's been strictly business. Maybe it's for the best. I have my work and my studies to think about. No need to make my life complicated.

Finally Getting Paid!

2007-07-31T21:44:00.000-06:00

A wonderful thing happened this week—I actually got paid!

I was beginning to give up hope. It’s already the end of July, and I was starting to think I would be an unpaid hand forever.

But a couple weeks ago, one of the stable hands quit. He had a sister in Louisville, and her husband was killed in a rail accident. The railway gave her a settlement, which she used to pay off her house, but that still left her to raise three children alone, so her brother went to live with her for awhile. He’ll get a job in the city and help support her family.

That left Eli and Sabine with a spot on their payroll for me (payroll is one of the new words I’ve learned), and since I had been doing a good job managing my barn and handling security matters, they were happy to start paying me.

It was none too soon. The clothes I got when I arrived in Lexington were starting to look shabby, and my old clothes were nearly rags. Erica and some of the other women offered to let me take what I wanted from the community exchange, but I didn’t want to do that if I could help it.

The exchange is located in an old gas station along the main road. The way it works is people donate things that they either make for charity or that they no longer want. They get exchange points based on the quality of the items. The points can be applied to anything in the shop, although you can also pay money, if you don’t have enough points.

The poorest in the community can get a new work or school outfit twice a year for free, and I qualified for that indulgence. But thankfully I didn’t get to the point where I needed to take advantage of it. The only time I’ve ever been a charity case was after the soldiers came through Valle Redondo, and Auntie, Will and I threw ourselves on the mercy of the local Apaches. And that wasn’t really asking for charity, since Auntie’s sister had doctored their animals for years, and Carina was a soft touch who often undercharged. She did a lot of free work on the reservation, which is why they let us live with them until the young Nativists of the tribe got fed up with harboring innaa and made us leave.

We joined Unitas after that, since it was either that or the refugee camps, and we were too proud to accept charity. I was thirteen, and I’ve worked ever since.

So I was glad to finally get some money for my labor here at Northwind, since it meant I could buy some new clothes. I got paid the day before my weekly mail run to Lexington, so I figured I would see what they had at the used goods stores there. I asked for a recommendation from my favorite lady at the post office, and by the time I finished shopping and dropped in on Sam, I was feeling pretty fancy in my new pants and green shirt. I got another shirt too, a brown one. And some extra bandanas, too.

Sam was busy when I arrived, which made me happy. I always like to see my friends doing well, and work means success. So while he wrote down the details of messages to be sent, handed over messages received, and made change for his customers, I went in the back and started cleaning up.

When he finally got a break, he made me put the broom away, and we sat down to talk over some cool tea. He was glad to hear I was now working for pay.

“It’s about time,” he said. “You’ve been a lot more patient than some people.”

“Well, I had room and board, so it wasn’t like I needed much.”

“That’s not the point, and you know it. Slavery was abolished two hundred years ago.”

This made me laugh. “I was hardly a slave. I’ve seen slaves, and I know the difference. I was free to leave whenever I wanted.”

Sam mumbled something and topped off my glass. “It’s fixed now, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“And now that I’ve got new clothes, I need to start thinking of how to pay for veterinary school. I was hoping you would have some ideas. About saving money, you know. In my math lessons with Patrick, we sometimes do problems that involve something called interest. I was wondering if banks around here do that, or if it’s something old-fashioned that they only talk about in math books.”

“You want to put your money in a bank?”

He said it like the idea was crazy.

“I thought I did. Is there a better way?”

He leaned toward me across the table, as if he was about to share a secret. “Listen. If you want to put your money in a safe place, your mattress is probably as good as any bank. But if you want to make your money grow, you need to invest it.”

He went on to explain about investments, and in such simple terms that even I could understand. “Okay," I said. "So what should I invest in? And how would I know it’s a good investment and I wouldn’t lose all my money?”

“That’s easy,” he said. “Go outside and look around. We’re rebuilding, and there’s always money to be made when a society is rebuilding itself. What do people want most?”

I thought for a moment. “Food and water. Shelter. Safety.”

“Right. What kinds of businesses and technologies make those things better?”

Guns came immediately to mind, but I had a feeling that wasn’t the right answer. “Brick-making? Water purification? Medicine? Electricity?”

“Yes. And also communication. At the turn of the century, everyone had telephones and could summon police anytime, anywhere, by pressing a few buttons. If we could get something like that working again, don’t you think people would pay for it?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “I’m sure they’d like to, but if they’re hungry and thirsty, I think calling the police would be the least of their worries.”

“If we could get the communication system working again, people wouldn’t have to be hungry or thirsty. We would know where there’s a food surplus and where there’s a shortage, and we could transport the food to where it’s needed. We would know where there’s a drought and deliver water and plan irrigation systems. We would know where people are sick and send them medicine before it’s too late. We could—“

The bell on the door jangled as a customer came in. Sam stood up and went to help, while I stayed at the table, sipping my tea and thinking. Yes, I could see where improving communication would be a good idea. But when Sam returned to the table, I said, “This is all nice to talk about, but how fast does an investment pay? I want to go to school in the fall.”

“It won’t pay off overnight, that’s for sure.” He sipped his tea and frowned. “But do you really think you’ll be ready for school by the end of next month? No offense to your intelligence, of course, but every other time you’ve come by, you say what a hard time you’re having with your studies. And are you even earning enough to pay for school?”

“My friends from back home said they’d send money if I asked. But no, I’m not sure I’ll pass the admissions test. If I do, it’ll be just barely.”

“Don’t do it then,” Sam said. “I don’t want to discourage you, but if you can only just barely get in, you’ll struggle with your classes. You won’t enjoy them, you’ll spend all your free time studying, and everything else in your life will suffer.” He pushed his cup away and stood up. “You’re young and have a long life ahead of you. There’s no need to do everything all at once and make yourself miserable. Spend this next year studying, investing and saving. Then when you go to school, you’ll do well and you’ll get a lot more out of it. Trust me on this, okay?”

Before I could answer, a man came in to pick up a message. While Sam attended to him, I cleared the table and washed out our glasses. By the time he was through, I was ready to leave. I would’ve liked to have stayed and talked longer, but it was already late in the day and I had a long ride ahead of me, and chores to do upon my return.

“Thanks for the advice,” I told Sam. “I’ll think about everything you said.”

And I did. I spent the whole ride home thinking about school, investments, banks, and the way he had said not to do everything at once. He’s right, of course. I guess I just feel like I had so much stolen from me, that now I have to make up for lost time. It was nice of Sam to say I have a long life ahead of me, but from what I’ve seen, there’s no reason to think being young means you’re any less likely to die tomorrow than anyone else, and it makes me anxious to do it all right away, in case each day is my last chance.

When will I stop being so cynical?

I was nearly to the farm when a small figure on a bay Thoroughbred came cantering toward me. The rider moved with his horse pretty well, but with a tell-tale bobble that made me smile. “Let her run, Patrick!”

The boy heard me, kicked his mare and let out the reins. For a second he looked like he would lose his balance. He was sitting too high, and I was about to shout to him again, when he remembered and leaned forward over the withers. I checked his form as he flew by, then waited for him to turn around and come trotting back to me.

“Good job,” I told him. “You keep at it, and you’ll be putting those Derby jockeys to shame by next May.”

He blushed. “It’s just physics.”

My first physics lesson had been a breakthrough for both of us. When I saw the pictures of levers and pulleys, I finally began understanding science. And when I showed him how weight and force applied to how one balanced on a horse, it was like lighting a candle in a dark room, and Patrick finally understood.

“It is just physics," I agreed.

“So was there any good mail?”

“Nothing from your grandma this week.”

“Anything for you?”

What a nice kid! “No. But it takes a long time to get mail from another country, you know. Maybe next week.”

“Are you disappointed? Do you miss your home?”

I looked all around at the fields and trees, still green even as August approached. Golden shafts of late afternoon sunlight filtered through the leaves, and a breeze cooled me, even though the day had been hot. What was to miss about my desert home in a land this rich and green? What was to miss about constant fighting, when I was in a land of relative peace?

“This is my home,” I said.

But of course tonight, with my chores all done, my new clothes hanging on pegs and the barn windows open to the summer breezes, I know I’m a liar. I miss the mountains and the strange wild beauty of the desert valleys. I miss my family and friends. I even miss Will, although I don’t miss being married to him. I miss Auntie and all the people I met on my strange journey to get to this place. And of course, I still miss Robert. This place would be heaven if only all my loved ones were here with me!

The Barn Raising

2007-07-10T00:48:00.000-06:00

All last week the Ogilvie hands cleared the foundation where the old barn had stood, while neighbors brought in lumber for the frame and shingles for the new roof. A lot of the materials were already on hand. These farms are big and have a lot of barns. Lee says if a barn were to burn in winter, it could leave animals without shelter for several weeks or more. Therefore, it’s one of the community’s rules that everyone stock building materials for emergencies. Unfortunately, fire is common enough that the lumber has never sat around long enough to get termites or go bad. Or so Lee says.

So in short order, we were ready to give the Ogilvies a barn-raising.

I wasn’t sure just what it would entail, but the first requirement seemed to be an early arrival. Horses and carts started converging on the Ogilvie place before the sun was even up. Lee was in charge of a building crew and I was impressed by the way the men of the neighboring farms deferred to him. His broken and misshapen body wouldn’t have gotten him much respect where I was raised, but here it seemed everyone knew him well enough to know he was strong and had brains.

While Lee worked with the Ogilvie foreman to organize building crews, I was directed to put my horse up and help the other women mind the babies, cook food and keep pitchers full of water for the children to take to thirsty workers. It wasn’t my line of work at all, but I let the Ogilvie women give me orders for awhile and tried not to be impatient. But finally I got a free moment and approached our horse trainer Erica, who had retrieved a wayward toddler and seemed as annoyed to be stuck with the women as I was.

“Is this really the only thing women are allowed to do at a barn-raising?” I asked. “We’re stronger and smarter than this.”

Erica looked around. “It’s true there’s enough baby-lovers here that they don’t need us.”

“You don’t like babies, either?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got nothing against them. It’s just I’d rather spend my time with people who can talk some sense.”

“And with kids, that doesn’t happen until they’re at least six, and usually later,” I agreed. “So maybe we can keep the older children occupied. Let’s give them riding lessons or something.”

“The older children are helping with the barn, remember?”

I did remember. The boys were in charge of delivering tools, and the girls were in charge of handing around pitchers of water. “Well there must be something else we can do.”

Erica got a devilish gleam in her eye. “Stay right here. I’ve got an idea.”

She went away and I busied myself trying to keep one of the Ogilivie children from putting bugs in his mouth. What a weird kid. After a bit, Erica returned with a baby on her hip and an innocent look in her eyes. I was immediately suspicious.

“What did you do?”

A serious-looking matron from the small Sunny Hill farm was approaching, so Erica didn’t answer my real question and instead jerked her chin at the baby. “I thought you’d like to meet Wendy. She’s the daughter of the Ogilvie foreman.” Erica lowered her voice. “But there’s a rumor that she’s really Sven’s daughter. He spent a lot of time over here last year while the foreman was going back and forth to Louisville to visit a sick brother.”

I looked at the child and didn’t see much resemblance to Sven or anyone else. But that hardly mattered, because a sudden whinnying and commotion from the paddock caught my attention. Erica moved fast, shoving the baby at the Sunny Hill woman with a curt, “Gotta check the horses!” Then she grabbed me by the sleeve and we took off running.

When we got to the paddock, the only problem was a few small boys running around, waving their arms at the horses. “Stop that,” I yelled. “That’s dangerous.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Erica said. “I told them to do it. They’ve known these horses all their life.”

It still didn’t sound like good sense to me, but Erica climbed the fence and sat on the top rail with a pleased air about her. The boys had stopped running now and she called them over and told them to go back to the barn and help out. Once we were alone, I climbed up onto the fence and sat beside her.

“So how long before anyone misses us?”

“Oh,” she sighed, “We can milk this for at least an hour. Maybe even two.”

This sounded good to me, and we watched the horses in silence, with the sound of saws, hammers and the occasional shout of a worker in the distance. The horses had calmed down and were now cropping the grass as if nothing had happened.

“I hear you traveled a long way to get here,” Erica said after awhile.

“Nearly five months. I’m not sure how many miles. I got delayed a lot.”

“And you did it all by yourself?”

“More or less. Sometimes I had a traveling companion, but there wasn’t any one person I was with the whole time. So yes, a lot of the journey was alone.”

“You weren’t scared?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It was real scary out there sometimes. But no more scary than anything else I’ve been through. Things are bad where I’m from.”

“Things were bad here for awhile, too.” Erica looked away.

“So what made things get better? This place seems like heaven to me.”

“Things improved when we quit fighting each other and quit looking for someone to save us. Once we agreed to focus on helping ourselves and not worry about what anyone else was doing, the rest was easy. Now we just make sure we pay our taxes to the state and federal government, and keep out the troublemakers. Everything else we need, we do for ourselves.”

“I wish my people could do that back home,” I said. “But until Texas quits trying to annex us and Mexico quits trying to invade, I don’t think my country will have any peace.”

“You should’ve stayed with the United States. They could’ve sent an army to help.”

I disagreed, but thought it best not to recite all the horrible things the feds had done to us. Besides, I needed to quit thinking about the past. The current United States government is different than the one of my childhood. Maybe if my country hadn’t seceded, things really would be better now. Who am I to say?

Erica and I sat out in the sunshine and talked horses for a couple hours, and when we figured we couldn’t stay away any longer without arousing suspicion, we returned to the other women and helped set out lunch for the workers.

We spent the afternoon watching the barn go up and keeping the smallest children out of trouble. It was amazing to see a barn get built so quickly. It was a small one, of a very simple design, but I was still impressed to see the posts go into the ground, then the reinforcing beams and joints, and finally the roof. There were several crews, and each had a specific job to do. They all seemed to know their business, and by early evening, there was enough of a barn for the Ogilvie hands to finish on their own over the course of the next week.

And there was enough for us to dance in.

By now we had set out great basins of water with towels and rags nearby for the men to wash up. We had a lovely picnic supper in the grass, and after we women had cleaned the dishes, a band started tuning up. Lanterns were lit, since of course there was no electricity in the barn. And amid jokes about how we were going to burn the barn down again, we filed inside and the band struck up some lively tunes on fiddle and banjo that put me in mind of the festival I attended with Charles in Missouri. I was about to become nostalgic, when there was a tap on my arm.

“Want to dance?”

Lee had cleaned himself up pretty well, for having spent all day working in the sun. I let him take me out on the floor with the others. He wasn’t graceful, but he was confident and energetic. He spun me to the country songs until I was half-dizzy, and then we switched partners with different couples until I found myself dancing with Sven. For such a tall, muscular man, he was light on his feet and had the grace of a born dancer. I caught the envious glances of some of the other women as he spun me around the floor. I had never been the sort of girl who got to dance with the most sought-after man in the room, and I’m afraid it sort of turned my head. I was disappointed when Lee claimed me again, and Sven moved off with Erica.

After about an hour, the band stopped and another took its place. This one played a different sort of music that I had never heard before. It was rich and vibrant, with a driving beat that seemed to beg for something more than being tamely held in a man’s arms or twirled around the floor. This was music that the whole body had to dance to, and the younger people were doing just that. I got a shot of corn whiskey for courage, and joined in, dancing with an abandon I hadn’t felt since childhood. It was more intoxicating than the whiskey, and by the third song, I was breathless and giddy, and the world had become bright, shiny, and infinitely wonderful.

And then the tempo slowed. A man belted out a song so rich and full of emotion that when Lee took me in his arms for a slow dance, I could’ve cried for the nostalgia of old places and old times. It was that kind of song. It made you feel like you were in love, even if you weren’t. It put me in mind of Robert, although I think Lee thought I was thinking of him, because when the song was over, he led me outside for a walk in the moonlight.

I was glad for the fresh air and the heady smell of jasmine, but soon realized my mistake. Lee held my hand and talked about nothing in particular at first, but he gradually turned the conversation to himself, his future in the community, and how he wanted someone to share it all with.

I pulled my hand out of his. “That’s all very nice,” I said. “But if you’re making me an offer, please don’t. I only just got here.”

“It’s been two months.”

“Like I said.”

He fell silent, and since we were near the paddock we went over to the fence and watched the horses for awhile with the moonlight shining down and the strains of that strange “jazz” music in the distance.

“You know, I didn’t mean—“

“I know. It’s okay.”

He moved a little closer. “How about just a kiss, then?”

I shook my head. Maybe if he had gone on and done it, I wouldn’t have minded, but there’s something unappealing about being asked. And besides, as much as I like Lee, I don’t like him for a boyfriend. I started walking back to the barn and the music. Lee didn’t follow.

I danced a little more that evening, since men from some of the other farms asked and I didn’t want to appear unfriendly and have people think I didn’t want to be part of the community. And I even got to dance with Sven again, although I couldn’t take much pleasure in it.

But I was glad when the dancing was finally over and we could hitch the wagons, saddle the horses and go back to North Wind. I didn’t see Lee in our group, and I rubbed Flecha down, feeling bad about the whole evening.

After I checked that the horses in my barn were bedded down properly, the doors bolted and the windows open to catch the evening breezes, I went to my room. On my pillow was a spray of night-blooming jasmine, smelling so sweet that the scent filled the room.

Yes, I cried. I’m such a girl sometimes.

Letter From Robert

2007-07-02T01:47:00.000-06:00

I received this today:

What does it mean?

Once again he called me "dear." But he signed it "regards." He wants to help me, which is nice. But is he doing it because I helped Unitas or because I helped him?

And to think all along he knew it was me that day in Cobre!

If I ever go back to spying and soldiering, I'm going to have to get better with disguises.

I guess I should quit picking the letter apart, looking for hidden meanings. It's weak of me, and I don't want to get soft. Instead, I'll go to the barn raising this weekend and dance with Lee every time he asks. My life is here and I need to quit being stupid and thinking about the past. It's just my mind playing tricks on me, now that I don't have the distraction of never knowing whether I'll eat or find a safe place to sleep for the night.

Yes, I'm getting soft. And sentimental. That's all it is.

~~Of course, Robert did say to contact him via Auntie. He wouldn't have said to do that if he didn't want~~

This is one of the cats that lives in my barn. He looks very superior.

That's because he knows when he has it good and doesn't keep looking to have more. I can learn a lot from him!

A Fire

2007-06-30T01:10:00.000-06:00

My lessons still aren’t going very well. I just don’t get this math, and I don’t understand what use it is, anyway. I can add and subtract regular numbers just fine. What else does a person need?

This must be how the university tests your dedication, because it sure has nothing to do with what I want to do, which is cure sick horses.

I wish Robert were here. I bet I could learn math from him. But I haven’t heard from him and I don’t know if Auntie will mention him in her next letter. So I guess I might as well forget him. He did me a big favor by helping me get this job, and that will have to be enough. Besides, he’s there and I’m here. I had my chance, and if he were here now, the last thing I’d want to do with him would be study fractions, anyway.

I’m not going to think about him any more.

Besides, if I ever want a boyfriend, there’s Lee. He’s always thinking up excuses to hang around. One nice thing has come of it-- he’s made my room in the barn bigger. He's also added more shelves and even found me a regular straw tick mattress and a chest of drawers. And since I have a real home in this barn now, I’ve sort of become in charge of everything that happens in it. I run everything on a schedule and people actually listen to me. Lee says this is good because sooner or later, it means Eli will have to pay me.

That would be nice. I have a feeling I’m not going to earn one of those scholarships to the LPV program, so I’ll need money if I’m to go to school. I’d rather not ask Auntie for it, if I can help it.

We had a bit of excitement around here a few nights ago. A storage barn up the road caught on fire and because it was full of animal feed, it burned to the ground before anyone could do anything about it.

We were lounging on the big patio where those of us who live on the property like to sit after supper while we mend gear and talk about the events of the day. Sabine’s sister Julia was trying to pull a splinter from her daughter’s hand by the light of a lantern, some boys were playing a game by throwing a ball against the side of the house and trying to catch it, horse trainers Erica and Sven were deep in a serious discussion about a difficult two year-old, Patrick was reading a book about atoms, and Lee was picking out a few notes on a banjo while I knitted a sock with some yarn I had unraveled from a discarded and moth-eaten sweater. It was a peaceful summer evening of a kind I’m starting to get used to.

Then we noticed the smell of burning wood on the air. We all looked up and saw the orange glow against the sky.

We knew exactly what it was, but before anyone had a chance to do or say anything, there was a pounding of hooves and a rider came dashing up the drive, finding his way in the dark by memory and by the glow of our solar lights.

“Ogilvie place!” was all he said. He wheeled his horse and took off back toward the main road to spread the word.

We didn’t have to ask what he meant. We all jumped up and ran to get our horses.

I didn’t need a saddle, so I was one of the first ones on the road, and when I got to the Ogilvie place there was already a crowd of hands and neighbors at work. While some gouged firebreaks in the earth with plows and shovels, others formed bucket brigades. They weren’t trying to extinguish the fire in the barn. It was beyond hope, burning so fast and hot that no one could even get close. Instead they were dowsing the buildings nearby, so they wouldn’t ignite from the sparks coming off the burning building.

Thankfully there wasn’t much wind. Someone was handing out wet feed sacks, so I took one and was helping beat down little runners of flame in the grass, when with a roar and a great burst of sparks fanning up into the sky, the storage barn folded into itself and became just a pile of burning rubble, no more dangerous than an ordinary bonfire. We all stopped what we were doing for a moment and stared, wiping our sweaty, smoke-smudged faces.

“Reminds me of the fireworks I saw last New Year’s,” I told the man nearest me.

“I don’t know nothing about fireworks,” he said, “But that’s a lot of good hay gone to waste.”

“Good thing it’s summer,” someone else said. “At least there won’t be any animals going hungry.”

There were murmurs of agreement, and we started doing what we could to clean up the property and set things back in order.

They say that we’ll be having a barn-raising this weekend. I've never been to such a thing, but it sounds like the community well-diggings we had back home in Valle Redondo, where everyone pitched in to help and there was always a feast and dancing afterwards. In the meantime, the men of the Ogilvie place are busy clearing the foundation where the old barn was, and the children spend the time they’re not in school down by the side of the road selling charcoal from the fire out of old cans and buckets.

I bought some, even though I had plenty of my own. It was cheap, and a little community goodwill is always a good thing.

I used the charcoal to make some drawings.

These are some of the grapes growing on our property. I haven’t yet asked if they’re for food or for wine, but either way, I’m looking forward to them being ripe.

And here’s one of the horses that lives in my barn. Her name is Regal Rosalind, but I call her Rosita.

In all it’s a good life here, although I sometimes miss the adventures of the road—the good ones, not the times when things went wrong. And sometimes on warm summer nights with the fireflies blinking in the meadows like my own private galaxy of stars, I wish…

No, I said I wouldn’t think about him any more. I wish for nothing. I’m happy here.

My Lessons

2007-06-17T01:45:00.000-06:00

I wrote to Auntie today. I didn’t tell her I wasn’t ever coming back, but I did say that for now, I don’t need money. It was nice of her to offer, but I have very few needs here, and I hope that by the time my little bit of money runs out, I’ll be earning wages.

I’m continuing to do mostly security work, riding the perimeters of the fences and keeping an eye out for trouble. The things I look for are:

• No-fault problems, like broken fences
• Wild animals that might harm our foals, such as packs of feral dogs
• Vandalism from kids on a dare or local rivals
• Suspicious characters of all kinds
• Horse thieves and raiders

This last surprised me when Lee came to walk his horse beside me one afternoon.

“I thought you had police and military in these parts,” I said. “How could you have problems with raiders?”

“There ain’t enough government to watch everything,” he said. “They mainly try to keep the roads clear and the trains moving, so people can get food, medicine and other goods. They can’t spare men to chase down every gang of three or four teenagers who think it would be fun to steal a metal gate for scrap or kidnap a prize horse for ransom. When it comes to that kind of stuff, we’re on our own.”

I considered this, looking at the peaceful fields and paddocks. “I haven’t seen any trouble in the time I’ve been here.”

“That’s because we’re in the watch program. Every farm up and down this road is under obligation to monitor their property lines and report findings to the local council that meets once a month. We haven’t had much trouble since we set up the watch.”

I had to admit it was a good plan. I had seen the occasional town or valley back home do the same thing. If everyone has visible patrols on their property, pretty soon word gets around the criminal community that one should look elsewhere for easy marks.

“Kind of makes you wonder what we need state and federal governments for, doesn’t it?” he said.

I straightened up in my saddle. “I had a talk with my Aunt Amalia about that once. She said it’s so no one group will monopolize important resources. You know—like block the rail line and not let the trains pass unless they pay a fee or something.”

“Now there’s a good way to make money!” Lee screwed up his face and pretended to consider the matter seriously, but then gave me a sly smile and wink from under his hat brim. “Speaking of money, when is Eli going to start paying you?”

“When someone quits or dies, I guess.” When Lee frowned, I added, “But it’s okay. As long as me and Flecha have food and shelter, we can go a long time without much money.”

Lee didn’t seem too happy with my answer, but he didn’t argue. It was a pretty day and we chatted about inconsequential things before he rode off to resume his real work overseeing the maintenance of barns and equipment.

In the evening after supper, Patrick came to the barn and we settled in with the math book. I’m supposed to be studying fractions, but instead, I mainly just copy the problems out of the book and stare at them.

Poor Patrick! He’s so patient with me. He makes circles and cuts lines across them so they look like pies and cakes ready for serving. And then he ruins it all by trying to convince me that it’s just as good to have three pieces out of a pie cut into five pieces, as to have six pieces of a pie cut into ten.

“I’d rather have six. They would last longer.”

“But they’re still the same amount.” He pointed to his drawings in exasperation. “Don’t you see? It’s all about finding the lowest common denominator.”

“I thought this was about which was better—three or six pieces of pie.”

“It’s not about what’s better. It’s about what’s equal to what.”

“Three can’t ever be equal to six. That's stupid math.”

I think he got mad at me, because he put the book away and we talked about how plants grow, instead.

We’ll see how smart Patrick thinks he is tomorrow at his riding lesson. He’s gotten better, but he still can’t handle more than baby jumps. He won’t lean his body over the withers and raise the reins high. Consequently, he doesn’t get the right kind of balance, which makes jumping dangerous.

It seems Patrick doesn’t understand anything that’s not in a book. And since his books are full of such crazy things as adding letters to numbers and pretending three can be six, it’s no wonder he’s all confused about how things work in the real world. Poor kid.

But somehow I’m going to learn everything that’s in these books, even if I have to memorize it just long enough to pass the entrance exam. I’m not going to let something as dumb as a few numbers keep me from my goals.

I even wrote to Auntie what I’m doing. I know it will hurt a little, because she’ll think of her sister Carina, who died the day of the raid in Valle Redondo. But Carina thought I had great potential to become a veterinarian, so I hope Auntie remembers this and is proud of me.

Letter from Auntie

2007-06-15T00:30:00.000-06:00

I got a letter from Auntie today!

Here it is:

It's June now, so it looks like from the time I mail a letter to the time she gets it and mails one back is nearly six weeks. I don't know if it will be that long every time, or if sometimes it's faster and sometimes slower. I guess I'll have plenty of time to find out.

Poor Auntie! She obviously thinks I'm only staying a little while and will go "home" soon. She doesn't realize that this is my home now and I have no intention of returning. Maybe some day I'll go back, but it's not my plan right now.

I wonder if I should tell her?

I'm glad she didn't tell Will where I am. I had been a little worried. Would he come after me if he knew where to find me? I wouldn't put it past him. Long ago he made it his job to take care of me and once his mind is made up about something, there's no unmaking it. I think he would cross an ocean to protect me, if he had to. But I don't need anyone looking out for me. I'm not a child.

It was nice of Miguel to want to send money, but even nicer that Robert offered, too. I guess he doesn't hate me. I wonder if this means he'll write to me?

I think if I ever go home, it will be for him. But not now. He probably doesn't want to take a chance on me, and I'm very busy building a life I can be proud of.

I've added Auntie's pictures to my scrapbook. It made me so happy to see pictures from home!

My Scrapbook

2007-05-30T11:37:00.000-06:00

I've started a scrapbook. It isn't very good yet, but it might turn out to be fun, especially if Auntie sends me some pictures, like I'm hoping she will!

I don't have much else to say today, except that the book Patrick got for me makes no sense at all, and Lee sure hangs around my barn a lot. I hope he doesn't like me. He's a nice man, but I'm not ready for anything like that just yet. I want to concentrate on doing good work for the farm and learning math.

There will be plenty of time for men later, after I'm a veterinarian and have established myself in the community.

My Big Plans

2007-05-21T00:42:00.000-06:00

It’s been three weeks since I wrote about the Kentucky Derby, but I wanted to wait until I had my new diary before writing any more. Keeping up with pieces of paper is hard, although it’s a lot easier now than it was on the road.

But I have a new diary now, and it’s nice to see all these blank pages waiting to be filled up with words and drawings. The paper seems a little cheaper than my last diary. I think the other one was much older, because I found it among Auntie’s things and some of the pages were yellow around the edges. My new diary came from a store in Lexington, and I think it's made out of recycled paper and glue. I’ll have to be careful with it. But it won’t get as much abuse as my old one did on the road, so it should be just fine.

I still haven’t heard from Auntie. I know it’s too soon, but I can’t help being impatient. I’m so impatient, in fact, that I asked permission to be in charge of the farm’s mail. Every week I gather it up and take it to Lexington. The man at the post office gives me Northwind’s mail in return. I try not to pester him about how long it takes mail to get to different places, but he can tell I’m anxious. He always smiles and says not to worry, all mail turns up, eventually. To prove his point, he told me about a letter mailed at the start of the resource wars that finally made it to its destination just last Christmas. This made me feel worse, not better. But I didn’t tell him that. He’s a nice man, and he’s only trying to help.

I make a point of stopping in at Sam’s shop whenever I come to town, and he always offers to send a radio message to Auntie, “Just to make sure she got your letter.” But he’s done so much for me already that I don’t want any more favors. So I’ve refused Sam’s offers so far. I’ll wait another couple of weeks and see what happens. If I don’t have a letter by mid-June, I’ll send a message then. I’ve set aside some of my Derby winnings to pay for it.

But I didn’t sit down with my diary tonight to ramble on about the mail service in Kentucky. What’s got me excited tonight is the extra stop I made in Lexington today.

I went to the university!

I have to admit I was terrified. Even the children at Northwind know more than I do, so I was intimidated to go around all those smart college students. But Mother always said that if you can read, you can learn anything. And I read very well. I can even read that Odyssey book Rachel gave me in Missouri, even though a lot of it doesn’t make sense. So when I heard a couple weeks ago that Eli and Sabine’s oldest girl, Janet, was a student at the university’s veterinary school, I started thinking. And then I asked questions.

Janet is studying for a veterinary degree—she’s going to be a doctor of veterinary medicine. I could never do that. There are too many years of education for me to make up for, and I have to earn my living. But the university also offers the LPV degree—licensed practical veterinarian. That’s what Auntie’s sister Carina was, and she was every bit as good as the regular kind of veterinarian. In fact, Carina was one of the first LPVs certified in my country, back when we were still part of the United States. When oil became expensive and people started using horses and donkeys instead of cars and trucks, they needed a lot of veterinarians quick, and the LPV degree was created so people without a college degree could become certified in basic animal care in just one or two years.

So since I’m here in horse country and committed to staying, why not pick up where I left off as a child and learn to be a veterinarian? I talked to Sam about it when I stopped by his shop to chat, and in his practical way he said, “It costs nothing to ask.” And then he gave me directions to the veterinary school and told me to ask any student for directions to the office of the “dean.”

“Okay. And then what do I do?”

“You go on in and ask what you have to do to qualify as a student. Ask what the program costs, and see if they can give you a list of the classes you would be required to take. Ask about financial aid, too.”

“Financial aid?”

He nodded and rambled on for a bit, using a lot of words I didn’t understand. Finally he said, “Look, just tell them you don’t have much money, and what are your options?”

So I did. I was scared I would feel out of place with my country clothes and manners, but I should’ve known better. The veterinary school is full of people from the neighboring farms, and they were happy to tell me where to find the dean. The office was at the end of a long hallway with shiny floors and lights that buzzed overhead, powered by the solar panels on the roof.

The dean’s office was very clean, and a secretary looked up from her desk when I came in. She was pretty and polite, and had nice clothes. I had to remind myself that she was no better than me, and it was her job to answer my questions, no matter how stupid they might be.

“I want to know about the LPV program,” I told her.

“Would this be for the fall semester?”

Of all the questions I had expected, I hadn’t anticipated this one. I didn’t even know what a semester was!

“I’m not sure yet,” I said. “I just want to know how to qualify and what it costs.”

The secretary sat me down and gave me a packet of papers to look at.

“The top page is the list of entrance exam dates, although if you have a high school diploma. . .”

I shook my head. “What’s on the exam?”

“The list is on the second page of your packet. It’s basically an equivalency exam, with an emphasis on math and science.”

Great. I looked at the list of school subjects. I hardly knew any of this stuff. But I could learn it. I had traveled alone more than twelve hundred miles, crossing the borders of three countries. Surely I could learn a little math and science.

“If I can pass the exam,” I said, “What about financial aid?”

The secretary said a lot of things I didn’t understand, just as Sam had done. But the impression I got was that if you’re smart, you pay less. That made sense to me. Educating stupid people is probably a lot of hard work.

“Everything you need to know is in that packet,” the secretary said. “Take it home, read it through, and then come back if you have any questions, or to schedule your exam.”

Since I figured she had plenty of work to do without me hanging around asking questions that might be answered by the packet she had given me, I thanked her and went back to Northwind, deep in thought.

After supper, I went sought out Patrick, who is only twelve years old, but is rumored to be the smartest kid on the farm. I showed him the list of subjects that would be on the entrance exam.

“I need to learn all of these things,” I told him. “But I don’t have any books. And I don’t even know what some of these subjects are.”

He shoved his reddish hair off his forehead and looked at the list. “This isn’t so hard,” he said. “Fractions aren’t much fun, but atoms are easy to understand, and so is basic biology. You know, photosynthesis and all that.”

“Right.” How discouraging. He might as well have been speaking a foreign language.

“Too bad you can’t go to my school. They teach all this stuff.”

“I’m a little old to be sitting in a room full of kids.”

“It’s not just kids. They let anyone take classes. They put you in whatever grade you’re at. Everyone knows sometimes you don't get a chance to go to school until you're grown up.”

“You’re right,” I said. “But I can’t go to school in Frankfort. My job is here and I've got no money. So how can I get some books to study on my own?”

Patrick said he would get me some books from his school’s library. He even said he would tutor me. I felt a little funny about that until he added, “But it’s a business deal, you know. Not charity.”

In spite of myself, I smiled. He was a pretty young kid to be trying to drive a bargain! “Okay,” I said. “You know I don’t earn a wage, so how do you think I’ll pay you?”

He looked away and his cheeks turned pink. “Everyone here is a good rider but me. I want to get better, but. . .”

Of course. How embarrassing to be a poor horseman in bluegrass country! He probably wanted to improve his skills on the sly, and then surprise everyone.

“I can teach anyone,” I assured him. “But you have to promise me you’ll practice. If you do as I say, I’ll even teach you some tricks that will impress your friends.”

We made a deal.

So tonight I’m pretty excited. Patrick is going to get me some books and soon I’ll be on my way to becoming a veterinarian. I have no idea how long this will take. I first need to see how I do with the material on the entrance exam. But if I’ve learned anything over these past several months, it’s that nothing is impossible. I’ll just have to persist, just like I did on my long journey to get here.

Derby Day

2007-05-07T02:49:00.000-06:00

I found out that the guy who tried to blow up Churchill Downs during the resource wars didn’t think he was a horse. That was just Eli and Sabine messing with me. They have a very strange sense of humor and I’ll have to pay closer attention. But the bomber was insane. That much I found out for sure from Tanya, who set me straight on a few things.

It was great to run into Tanya here at the racetrack and tell her I had a job! She was really happy for me, even though technically our farms are rivals, each of us with an entrant in the Kentucky Derby. But on a personal level, friends from different farms don’t usually take such rivalries seriously. We’re all professionals. It’s the bettors and shady people who cater to them that one has to watch out for. Although there is a legal way to bet on the races here, the really big money is in the illegal betting rings run by mafia types. Those are the people who are so obsessed with winning that they'll try to sabotage a favored horse so that their “long-shot” will have a better chance to pay off in a big way.

See how much I’ve already learned since arriving in Kentucky? Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s the sort of thing that I really should be learning. It makes me cynical about people.

I won some money on today’s big race, though. I hadn’t been planning on betting, since I have so little money and I’m not earning a salary right now. I couldn’t take a chance on losing anything. But when Lee rode up from Northwind, he and Tanya combined their efforts and talked me into it.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Lee said. “I’ll place a bet for you at the minimum amount. If you lose, you pay me nothing. If you win something, you pay me back the amount of the bet and keep the profit.”

I had never bet on a race before, so Lee and Tanya had to explain it all to me. And even then I wasn’t sure what horse to bet on. Loyalty to Northwind said I should bet on Chinook to win. He was one of the favorites, and I knew he had a good chance. But I also felt loyalty to Locomotive and his owners. I had seen Locomotive race, and knew what he was capable of.

By afternoon, as the horses were being led out of their stables, I still wasn’t sure who to bet on. I looked at each one of them, trying to make a decision. Chinook was nervous and dancing sideways. Locomotive, on the other hand, seemed almost too calm. Neither of them struck me as being in the right mindset to win a race today.

“If you can’t make up your mind, do a trifecta,” Tanya suggested. “Bet on the first three, instead of just the winner.”

“I can do that?”

“Sure,” Lee said. “Now come on, decide something quick, or it’ll be too late.”

So I bet on Chinook, Locomotive, and a chestnut called Ramsey’s Sandstorm, who was a long shot, but had an alert and eager look about him that I liked. He had never raced a mile and a quarter before, but he looked strong and seemed to have the right attitude. And since I grew up in the desert, I thought perhaps his name would be a good omen for me.

With our bets placed, Lee ushered me and Tanya to a place where we could watch the race. The viewing stands had once been built to accommodate a lot more people than attended now, so it wasn’t hard to find a place with a good view.

Everything was very interesting and formal, not at all like the wild race I had witnessed a few weeks ago. Here there were official men in fancy red coats, who led the racehorses in a sort of parade around the track while a band played a song called “My Old Kentucky Home.” I liked the tune very much, but the words were sad. Everyone sang with enthusiasm, though, and I think if I’m going to stay in Kentucky, I’m going to have to learn this song.

The race wasn’t as exciting as I had hoped. Part of this was because they allowed no dirty tricks, so the jockeys weren’t hitting each other, locking legs, or whipping each others’ horses. I was glad of this. But it’s a long race, and a lot of the horses weren’t really up for it. The one that led from the beginning was called Sun Captain, and he led until around the mile marker, where he faded and was overtaken by the pack.

In the end, it was my long-shot, Ramsey’s Sandstorm, who won! I was so excited that I didn’t much notice that I had won my trifecta with Locomotive and Chinook, until Lee and Tanya congratulated me and started dragging me toward the place where I could get my money.

“Beginner’s luck,” Tanya teased, although I could tell she was happy for me.

“I should’ve insisted on a percent of your winnings,” Lee added.

I counted my new dollars, trying to think what they would buy. I wasn’t familiar yet with the cost of things. “How about I buy us all some drinks?”

So we went into one of the racetrack bars and I bought us a round of juleps—a traditional drink at this race. It was great fun to sit at a table, enjoying the company of friends close to my own age, all of us talking and laughing about our day. I hadn’t had friends I could do this sort of thing with since I left Unitas. A whole year of not having peers to hang out with! No wonder I sometimes find myself feeling lonely.

I was disappointed when I had to go back to the stable. But as it turned out, there was little for me to do. Now that the race was over, security was no longer a primary concern, and although Eli and Sabine were disappointed with Chinook’s finish, I could tell they were relieved that the race was over.

“We can at least get back to a normal life now,” Sabine said, while Eli talked in low tones to Chinook’s trainer. “Sometimes I don’t know why we bother with the Derby, except that it’s tradition. It takes a lot out of us. And a horse like Chinook has good enough bloodlines that we’ll make a profit off stud fees, regardless of whether he wins a major race or not.”

Eli overheard her and called over his shoulder, “But it sure would’ve helped!”

“Only because we spent so damn much money just getting him here,” Sabine muttered.

I don’t think Eli heard her, because he didn’t comment and kept talking to the trainer.

Tonight there’s a big party with music and dancing. I’m not sure if this really qualifies as my “first dance in Kentucky,” but I put on my pink dress and thought of Charles in Missouri, just as he had asked me to. Already my time with him seems so long ago, and that makes me a little sad. I can’t let myself get so caught up in my new life here that I forget all the wonderful people in my past.

But Lee is here, wanting to escort me to the dance. And Tanya is probably waiting, too. It’s great to have friends to do things with.

I guess I’ll have to stick this paper in a spot at the back of my old diary until I can buy a new one. I reorganized my diary while I was guarding Chinook these past couple of days. It was fun to relive my journey.

But now that I have a little money, I'll get a new diary for writing about my life here. As I learn more about this place, I’m starting to get ideas and ambitions. I’m thinking of making some plans, and I'll need a place to write them down.

Me, planning! Yes, that will be a change.

Okay, Lee. I’m hurrying. It’s just a dance. There will be many others.

Churchill Downs

2007-05-04T01:20:00.000-06:00

I’m at a place called Churchill Downs. It’s a race track and the race is coming up soon. It’s very popular here, and it’s been held every year for so long that it’s become a tradition, almost as sacred as church.

I hadn’t expected to go to the race, since I was the new hand at Northwind. But apparently people sometimes pull mean tricks on racehorses that are favored to win, and our entrant, Chinook, was in need of extra security. So off I went! I think some of the hands who had to stay behind were jealous, but it’s not my fault Eli picked me, and they can complain to him if they think anything was unfair about it.

Churchill Downs is about a day away if you’re willing to ride hard. Chinook was already up there with his trainer, groom and jockey, getting used to the track and resting up, so there was no real need to take the train. Those of us going up for the weekend opted to ride, and we made pretty good time, alternating between trotting and walking, dodging other riders, as well as bicyclists, wagons and the occasional coal diesel truck, all on the way to Louisville.

I wasn’t too impressed with what I saw of Louisville. It was just another small city, ringed with decayed and burned-over suburbs. But I got to see some old airplanes when we passed the abandoned airport. And when we came upon Churchill Downs at sunset, I was amazed. It was huge. And it has two big steeples sticking out of it, like a church. No wonder everyone treats it like a sacred place.

And it is sacred! In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve discovered all kinds of statues and markers to horses, jockeys and other famous people and events. The whole place is a giant memorial to horse racing, with the Derby as the main religious event.

Apparently Churchill Downs was once in danger.

“Somebody tried to blow the place up during the resource wars,” Eli told me as we drew near the rings of stables.

“Why would anyone want to blow up a race track?”

“Because it’s a symbol. It would make us mad.”

“Who tried to do it?”

Sabine cut in with a small shake of her head. “Well, the whites accused the blacks. Then the blacks accused the whites of creating the plot as an excuse to blame the blacks. Everyone suspected foreign terrorists, especially the Muslims. And the conspiracy theorists thought the feds were doing it, in the expectation that we would blame their enemy of the moment and rally to the cause.”

“Okay. So who did it, really?”

“That’s the funny part,” Eli said. “As it turned out, it was just some crazy guy, acting on his own. He heard voices in his head.”

“He thought he was a horse,” Sabine added. “And he was later committed to an institution.”

“You’re kidding,” I said. “One crazy guy who thought he was a horse nearly started a local war?”

“So they say,” Eli said. “It seem silly now, but everyone was afraid in those days, and there were a lot of rumors going around.”

“Well,” I said, “I’m glad they figured out the truth in time. I once knew a guy who heard voices in his head, but they never told him to hurt anyone. And he certainly didn’t think he was a horse.”

When we got to our assigned stables, I got to meet our Derby entrant, Chinook. He’s a fine dark bay with black stockings and a wicked gleam in his eye. He looks fast just standing in his stall with a mouthful of hay. He stares at you, sizing you up, as if everyone who approaches is competition.

My job is to help keep him safe. I have to make sure no one who isn’t from Northwind comes near enough to touch him or tamper with his food or water. One of the special tricks I was told to look out for was someone who might try to pet his nose and slip a sponge in his nostril while I'm not looking. The sponge would interfere with his breathing and cause him to lose the race, and it might even cause an infection that could kill him.

People take this race very seriously if they're willing to kill horses to win!

So that’s what I’m doing right now— guarding a horse and making sure no one comes near. This wasn’t quite what I had in mind when I said I wanted to work with horses, but it’s something.

And best of all, I’ll get to watch the race! Everyone tells me it’s very traditional, so I’m looking forward to it.

Day One Hundred Forty Four

2007-05-03T00:31:00.001-06:00

What a busy day!

I got up early, but not early enough. A man named Shawn was already in the barn, getting ready to let some of the horses out to pasture. I dressed quickly and offered to help. Instead he put me to work feeding the horses that would be staying in the barn, and then I mucked out the empty stalls and put down fresh hay.

By then it was time to eat. I went to the house, which has a big dining room where hands can take their meals with the family if they choose. It looks like most take advantage of this, even the ones who have their own homes nearby or on other parts of the property. It’s a nice way to start the day, with all of us together. Not only do we plan the day’s work, but people talk about what’s going on in their personal lives, and everyone tries to help each other. They seem to have a lot of inside jokes that get people laughing for no reason I can see. I’m sure as time goes on I’ll understand what’s so funny about giving Lee the spoon with the nick on the handle, or why everyone teases Sabine’s daughter Sandy about her taste for plum jam.

I had hoped to spend today working with horses, but with my background in fighting, I was asked to work security instead. I tried not to show my disappointment. A good attitude was what would get me better work, not grumpiness.

I spent the day riding the perimeter of the fences, and in a way, it might’ve been the best thing I could’ve done because I now have a much better sense of how the farm is laid out. In addition to the regular stables, there is a special stable just for mares and foals, there is an area for yearlings, and of course there are places where they separate the stallions from the mares and geldings.

This is one of the barns. It’s for mares and foals.

This is also a working farm, with chickens, gardens, and a few cows for milk. The farm area is separate from the horse area, and it looks like it’s mostly under the care of the children. There are a lot of children here! They are the sons and daughters of some of the hands, as well as Eli and Sabine, and some of their family members who live on the property. Sabine’s cousin seems to be especially prolific, and I think at least half the kids running around are hers.

Many of the children attend school in Frankfort, which is about eight miles away. They have to get up early and head out on their horses before the sun is fully up, but in spite of such a wonderful opportunity to learn, it seems most of them don’t go to school very long and prefer to hang around the farm, learning the business. Two of the boys are jockeys, which worries me, but it’s not my business to say anything, so I won’t. Not for awhile, at least.

Today was a pleasant day to be riding the grounds, and I wasn’t bored at all, but I hope I’ll be allowed to do other things soon, like maybe work with the foals or help train the two year-olds. Keeping an eye out for trouble has never been my best skill, even back home.

Home. I thought about it a lot today. Riding the fences gave me plenty of time to think, and although it’s going to take me awhile to put my journey into perspective, I can already see how it’s changed me. Back home, I had grown sorry for myself, thinking my troubles were unique. I’ve met a lot of people in nearly five months on the road, and they all had troubles. Who am I to say mine are any worse than anyone else’s? The best people I met were the ones who took their pain and turned it into compassion. There seems to be something healing about offering kindness to others. This is something I want to get better at.

I’ve also learned that the world is a really big and interesting place, and as much as I’ve seen of it, there is still so much more. The world doesn’t end with Kentucky. There are places to the north and south. There is a great ocean to the east that takes weeks to cross, and there are more places to see on the other side—places where they don’t speak any of the languages I know, and where songs, food and customs are different. It’s humbling to consider that the way I do things may not be the only right way. I need to remember this and not become too proud.

And finally, I’ve discovered that I have more friends than enemies in the world. When I set out from home, I considered anyone who had supported the former United States government an enemy. The feds had killed my mother and grandparents, and burned my home. Why wouldn’t I hate them? But I’ve met a lot of people who supported the old government, and they’re not bad at all. They just had a different idea of how things ought to be. It’s not their fault that things got out of control. We were all afraid of each other, and when people are afraid, they do terrible things. I’ll probably always be suspicious of anyone in a government uniform, but I no longer hate and fear them. Most people are decent if you give them a chance.

I don’t know what all this means for me and my future. I’m staying here for now, and maybe forever. I’ve had a long and interesting journey, but I’m ready to have a real home. It doesn't feel normal yet to have a settled place and regular meals. I feel like I’m living someone else’s life, or revisiting my sheltered childhood on the rancho in Valle Redondo. Maybe I’m picking up where I left off that horrible March day when Strecker and his men came raiding. This is my chance to re-do my life and get it right this time.

I’ve written to Auntie, telling her about this place. I’ve written to Robert too, although I wasn’t sure what to say and kept my letter a little more formal than I really wanted to. I’m looking forward to being able to send a letter and expect a reply. Maybe Auntie will send pictures from home. Maybe she'll send news about Will and my friends from Unitas. I would like that.

I think this will be the last of my daily diary entries. My poor diary is beaten up, its pages falling out. I need to put it back in order and maybe organize it in such a way that I can easily revisit some of my favorite memories, like the motorcycle ride with Vince, or the parrot at the carnival. I want to remember all the good people I've met, and I want to think about the White Sands, and dream of the Mississippi River.

For new diary entries, I guess I’ll have to use loose sheets of paper, since there’s no more room in this book.

So yes, I’ll keep writing, but it will be maybe once a week, or when something interesting happens, like Derby Day, which is coming up soon. As much as I think I’m going to love my life here, much of it will probably be very similar from day to day and not very interesting to write about. But it will be a blessed sameness. A peaceful, healing thing.

Maybe I can finally finish growing up.

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Day One Hundred Forty Three

2007-05-02T03:02:00.001-06:00

I made sure to get up early this morning so I could have coffee and breakfast waiting when Sam woke up. I even brought in his newspaper for him, after a boy threw it onto the doorstep, just like in a story book. Sam pretended to be annoyed with me for doing all this, but I think he secretly liked the attention.

After breakfast, I tried to settle my account with him for the messages, but he wouldn’t take my money. He said that “hams look after their own,” and since Miguel runs a network and is sort of like an uncle to me, I’m part of the “hammer family.” I think it was just an excuse to not take my money and I was extra glad I had cleaned up yesterday and made breakfast this morning. Since it’s my plan to make a life for myself in the area, there will be plenty of time for me to return the enormous favor Sam has done for me by getting in touch with my loved ones. When I can afford it, I’ll get a nice gift for him, and I’ll be sure to send business his way when I can.

With these thoughts in mind, I saddled Flecha, loaded my gear, and headed out in search of the Old Frankfort Pike and Northwind Farm.

It was a beautiful May day, and once I was out in open country, I thought I had surely found heaven.

It was everything I had ever dreamed of back in my desert homeland. No, I take that back. It was better.

My spirits rose with the morning sun and by noon I was nearly giddy. No matter what else happened today, this was one of the best days of my life. I was so sure of it that I stopped to pick some wildflowers, sticking some in my hatband and others in Flecha’s bridle. While I was busy with this uncharacteristically girly task I saw a rider approaching on a fast-trotting horse. He slowed down at the sight of me and Flecha stopped on the side of the road.

“You okay?” he called.

“Just enjoying the day,” I called back.

He reined in and came a little closer. He was thin, and one shoulder was higher than the other, as if he had been thrown from a horse one too many times. His nose was twisted, too, as if it had been broken, but his large gray eyes were honest, and his voice was friendly. “Where you headed to?”

“Northwind Farm.”

This seemed to surprise him, but he didn’t immediately say why. “Any particular reason?”

“I’m looking for work. I have two letters of reference.”

He frowned, and it made his crooked features twist like a knotted string. “Well, that’s where I work,” he said, “And as far as I know, the boss ain’t doing no hiring.”

I refused to let this news dampen my spirits. Not on a day like today. “I’m asking anyway,” I said. “The owner owes a friend of mine a favor. And besides, I don’t need much. I’ll work hard at anything they’ve got.”

The man shrugged, a comical gesture, given the lopsided curve of his body. He extended a hand. “I’m forgetting my manners. Lee Jameson, at your service. Want some company?”

I shook his hand and thought this was a good sign. Maybe Northwind wouldn’t have work for me, but with references, and now a chance to make friends with of one of their hands, I was sure to be treated well. Something good would come of this, no doubt about it.

I rode to the farm with Lee. We talked horses at first, and I couldn’t escape the feeling that he was testing me, but that was okay. I knew my stuff, and pretty soon Lee relaxed, confident that I was no imposter. Then we talked of other things. Lee had been born in the area and like me, had been around horses his entire life. He said he worked as a jockey when he was a boy, riding thoroughbreds in local races until he got too tall.

I looked at him skeptically when he said this. It was hard to tell on a horse, but he didn’t look very big to me. “What size are jockeys supposed to be?”

“As small and light as possible. That’s why they prefer kids. There’s laws against it, but no one enforces them. The one governor who tried to prosecute for child labor met with an unfortunate accident. Everyone since then has focused on the things we really care about, like crime, riots, inflation, and not letting us get dragged into any more wars.”

While what he said seemed sensible, I couldn’t help thinking of the child jockeys that had ridden the horses in Locomotive’s race last week. Lee’s twisted body was testimony to the fact that letting children race horses was a dangerous business. But this wasn’t a day to debate politics. There would be time enough for that once I had established myself. No one likes an outsider to come in and start saying how things ought to be. I didn’t answer Lee’s assertions and instead told him about my travels.

We finally came upon some white wooden fences, and beyond them, more white fences bordering green hills where horses grazed in the spring sunshine. I took in the scene, so happy I could hardly breathe.

“This is it,” Lee said. “Let’s go find the boss.”

The boss was a blunt, middle-aged man named Eli Garrity, and he read both my letters, then left me sitting on the broad patio of the house, sipping a cool drink, while he went to talk privately with his wife. It seemed like he was gone a long time. At one point, I thought I saw Lee go into the house through a side door, and I hoped he would put in a good word for me. Finally I heard footsteps. I sat up straight and pushed my empty glass away.

A pretty, dark-haired woman came out and introduced herself as Sabine. Eli was right behind her. They both sat down with pleasant smiles, but I could tell something wasn’t right.

“We’d like to make you an offer,” Eli said. “But we’ve got a bit of a cash flow problem.”

“We’re what you might call land-rich, but cash-poor,” Sabine added. “We’ve got property, but not much money.”

Eli cut in to say that he could find work for me, but could only pay in room and board. “Your friend Robert has been a good customer. I’ve never lost an animal in trade with him, and his money’s always good. I want to extend a hand to any friend of his, but I’m afraid I can't make you any better offer right now.”

I could tell he was embarrassed and I tried to hide my disappointment.

“It wouldn’t be forever,” Sabine said. “Hands come and go. Do good work, and there will be paying work at some point. We just can’t promise when.”

“Could be tomorrow, could be two years from now,” Eli added. “All I can promise today is three squares, a place to sleep, and a reference if we like your work.”

“What about my horse?” I asked. “Would she get room and board, too?”

Sabine nodded. “Everything our own horses get. If you need some time to think about it, that’s okay."

I shook my head. My needs were few, and anything that would establish me in the community and keep me fed while I was doing it would be a good thing. Besides, it wasn’t like I had any better options.

“I’ll work for room and board,” I said. “When can I start?”

The rest of the day was spent showing me around and getting me and Flecha settled. Northwind Farm used to deal only in thoroughbreds, but has recently begun branching out into another type of horse called a Morgan, that Sabine and Eli say is popular with government officials and police. There are several barns on the property, houses for higher-ranking hands who don’t have homes of their own nearby, and acres of fenced pastures, paddocks, tracks and trails. There is even a duck pond.

I’ve met a lot of people today, but I’m having trouble remembering all their names and what each person does. They all seem okay, though. I only got one suspicious look, from an older man who didn’t seem to like anyone. I also met a very pretty black girl who is about my age and is a horse trainer. She smiled at me and sat next to me at supper, so I think she’ll end up being a friend. I wonder if she’s ever trained a horse to let people stand up on its back, the way I trained Flecha? We’re going to have a lot to talk about.

I’m settled into my room, now. It’s not much of a room at all, but a converted tack room in one of the barns. This suits me fine, because it’s the barn where I’m keeping Flecha. It’s nice that we can start our new life together like this, just a few feet away from each other. My room is small and has a rickety cot, some shelves and pegs on the walls, and a wooden chest that I can use for storage or for a table. I’ve unpacked my things and I’m going to like not having to live out of bags any more.

It’s funny the things one acquires over the course of a journey. I have books, which I’ve put on my shelf, along with the little rabbit Charles carved for me. There’s a candle stub, a flashlight, and a smooth stone that I picked up somewhere. I won’t be needing my cooking equipment, but I’ve kept out my cup and canteen in case I get thirsty in the middle of the night. At the bottom of one of my bags I found a red scarf I didn’t remember having gotten, but it looks pretty draped over the small wooden chest by the bed. Along with all the drawings and the occasional photograph tucked among the pages of my diary, are a few extra pictures that served little purpose before, but look nice tacked onto my walls. Later, I’ll make some better ones. Maybe I can even get colored chalk or paint and make really nice pictures. It’ll look like a regular home before I’m through.

But it’s a home, already. It’s hardly more than a closet, but it’s all mine. I even have an address now. I asked what it was after supper and wrote it down. Now when I write to Auntie, she can write back. I’ll write to Robert, too. Maybe he’ll even answer.

I’m going to try to get some sleep now. Tomorrow is my first day of work and I don’t want to be tired or look lazy.

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Day One Hundred Forty Two

2007-05-01T02:18:00.001-06:00

I woke up to the smell of coffee. What a nice thing to wake up to! I stretched and rolled over. . . and tipped myself onto the floor with the cot landing on top of me.

Who needs coffee when you’ve got a cot?

I got to my feet and set the cot right again, then went into the other room, where I found Sam sipping coffee and reading a newspaper. He looked up when I came in, and his eyes were red with shadows underneath, as if he hadn’t slept well, but he smiled and gestured toward the pot of coffee on an electric hot plate. “Pour yourself a cup,” he said. “Then have a seat. I’ve got a message for you.”

I hurried over. To hell with the coffee. I took the folded paper and opened it.

This was good news, but. . .

“There’s a funny story about that message,” Sam said. “Apparently the lady in Texas who tapped into Miguel’s network got one of his students. The student brought your aunt to the radio, and she went into some very entertaining hysterics. First she thought you were dead, and then she had a hundred questions before she calmed down enough to hear your message.”

“What’s so funny about that?”

He motioned toward the paper in my hand. “Read it again, then you tell me.”

I read it again. No, it didn’t read at all like the words of a woman who had been worried about me.

“That’s Auntie,” I said. “She's probably embarrassed that she got so excited. It’s a sort of honor thing with her not to show emotion.”

I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down, laying the message on the table and smoothing out the creases. I knew Auntie hadn’t touched it, but it still felt like something from home. “I wonder if she got any of the letters I sent over these last few months,” I said. “Or the postcard of the Mississippi River.”

Sam shrugged and stood up. “No telling.”

He went to a cabinet and started taking out food.

“Hey, let me do that.”

“Guests don’t cook. They sit and enjoy their coffee.”

“But I feel like I’m a burden. I’m sorry I was weak last night. Can’t I help?”

He didn’t let me help with breakfast, but I was able to convince him to let me clean up his shop before he opened, and I figured once the day’s business had begun, I could tidy the back rooms, and maybe cook lunch and dinner.

After breakfast, I took Flecha to a local park to have some water and crop the grass for awhile. When I returned, Sam was busy with a customer and didn’t seem to want my help. Sweeping and cleaning the back rooms kept me busy, and tried my best not to move things very far from where I found them. Scrubbing and organizing was a good distraction and kept me from wondering too much when I would get my next message, and what it would say.

It was nearly time for Sam to close up shop and I was stirring a pot of beans and sausage for our supper, when he came into the room and handed me a piece of paper. Like the one this morning, it was neatly typed. Even in my excitement, I had a moment where I thought what a silly thing it was for him to type the messages when he could just as easily write them by hand or call me to the radio to hear them for myself.

I opened the folded slip of paper.

It was from Robert. I stared at it, trying to understand. Sam had gone away and I could hear him typing again in the next room. The sound filled my head and made it hard to think, so I sat in a hard wooden chair, supper forgotten, and tried to make sense of the message.

He had called me “my dear,” but he had signed off with a mere “regards” and his initials. So did he love me, hate me, or what? And what did he mean by saying he owed me favors? What a crazy thing to say! Why didn’t he say where I could contact him?

Okay, that part was obvious. He must be on campaign, not at a fixed location. He didn’t want to risk giving away too much information. Maybe once I was settled, I could send him my address and he would send me a proper letter. Maybe he would call me his “dear” again, and maybe...

Wait a minute. He was giving me a reference. Someone owed him a favor. With Robert’s reference and the one from Yvonne, I might just get a job. A real job, and a home, and—

I jumped up and ran into the other room, in time to see Sam put a folded piece of paper inside an envelope.

“Is that my reference?”

“It sure is.” He dripped some candle wax onto the envelope flap and stamped it with a metal seal.

“Can I read it?”

“Not any more. But you can read the handwritten version, if you like.”

I found his notes on his desk and read them with a growing feeling of elation. I sure sounded brave, talented and important! “Robert said all these things about me?”

Sam shrugged and fanned the cooling wax with a piece of paper. “So my network says. They tell me you’re famous back home.”

I felt my face grow hot. “Some rumors got started, but it’s all an exaggeration, when it’s not a bunch of outright lies.”

“That’s what marketing is all about, kid. You should learn to take advantage of it.” He handed me my letter of reference. “When you’ve got a name, you don’t need a reference, or even any talent. People will give you what you need just for the privilege of being able to say they know you.”

“I don’t think I’d like to live like that. It’s not honest.” I examined the spot of blue wax on the letter. The seal had Sam’s business name and a license number on it.

“That’s so the person you give it to will know it’s legit,” he said. “Otherwise anyone with a typewriter could go typing up messages and passing them around.”

I nodded. I had been wondering about that, but didn’t want to seem like I didn’t trust him.

I helped Sam close up shop, and over supper he described how to get to Northwind Farm. Apparently it’s about twenty miles to the northwest, and has an excellent reputation.

Tonight I’m so excited I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep. I’ve packed and re-packed my gear half a dozen times already. Sam is typing up some messages for customers who will be picking them up tomorrow, and I’m sitting by the radio, listening for a signal, in case someone on his network needs to get through.

I wish I had made Miguel show me how these radios work when I was living on the mountain. Then I could try to contact Auntie myself. Or even Robert. I wouldn’t be able to hear their voices, but just talking to someone who had talked to someone else who heard their voice would be good. Instead, I have only these pieces of paper, folded up and tucked inside my shirt, against my heart. Stupid sentimentality, I know. I’ll put them in my diary instead.

My diary is starting to fall apart from all the times I’ve written in it, and all the extra papers and things I’m keeping wedged between the pages. I’ll have to reorganize it in some way once I’m settled. But for now, those leather cords from when I had my hair long are coming in handy.

Time to tie up the diary and put it away. I’m heading out in the morning. I’m praying that by this time tomorrow night, I’ll have a job.

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Day One Hundred Forty One

2007-04-30T02:05:00.001-06:00

I’m finally here, and it’s nothing like how I thought it would be.

I woke up to the screeching and grinding of brakes on metal wheels. I came out from my hiding place and looked around a stack of feed sacks toward the open door. Buildings flashed by, fast at first, then more and more slowly, until finally the landscape stopped moving.

Were we in Lexington, or was it just another random stop?

After a few minutes I heard people shouting to each other, then the sound of car doors slamming open. People passed carrying goods and pushing stacks of things in hand-wagons. Then I saw a few horses go by. We were unloading. I crept toward the door, still staying in the shadows in case I needed to hide from an official.

A blonde head peeked in. “Diana, you in here?”

I hurried forward. “Is this Lexington?”

A look of relief flashed across Tanya’s face and she motioned for me to hurry. “Come on. Quick, before someone sees you.”

I jumped to the ground and stumbled, but she gave me no time to recover and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me into the crowd. I had turned my ankle, and limped along beside her. “Is Flecha okay? I thought we’d never get here.”

“Everything’s fine. Bastards diverted us north into Indiana for some reason, but at least they stopped so we could water the horses. As much as coal diesel costs, you’d think they’d do a better job of getting the train from one place to another.”

“Uh, yeah.” I couldn’t care less about coal diesel right now. I just wanted my horse. And water. And food, a clean shirt that fit, and a job, and. . .

Tanya maneuvered me past a knot of family members exclaiming and hugging as they greeted each other, then she deposited me in an out-of-the way corner near a long building. “Wait here. I’ll bring you your horse and your stuff. Don’t go anywhere.”

Where would I go without Flecha? I leaned against the building and watched all the activity. I was beside a warehouse of some sort, probably for short-term storage of goods from the train. It looked like it had been constructed hastily, maybe around the time of the resource wars when people started shipping goods by train, instead of truck. I tried to distract myself by guessing what might be in the boxes being brought into the warehouse, but I couldn’t stay focused. My gaze kept returning to the livestock cars. Where was Flecha? Tanya really would bring her to me, right? Surely no one would want to steal my unpedigreed desert horse when they had fancy blooded animals with all the right papers.

It seemed like forever before I finally saw Tanya lead Flecha off one of the cars, already saddled and bridled for me, with my packs strapped on. No wonder it had taken so long. I regretted having nothing I could do for Tanya in return.

She led my horse through the crowd, but there was no time for me to tell her how much I appreciated her help, or to ask any questions about where I should go or what I should do next. She handed over the reins. “I’m sorry. I gotta get back quick, or they’ll be mad.” She flashed me a smile. “Good luck finding a job. If you can, get up to Louisville for Derby Day. That’s where we’ll be. We’re running Locomotive.”

Before I could ask what she meant by “Derby Day,” she flung her arms around me, wished me well, and slipped away into the crowd. I was left staring after her, feeling alone and abandoned.

But I had Flecha back! I rubbed her nose and looked her over in relief. Whatever happened next, we would at least have each other. No more boat rides, no more train rides, I would hand her off to no one else. Come what may, we were in this together.

The first order of business was to find water.

Luckily that didn’t prove difficult. I asked a nice young family leaving the train station, and they gave directions to a nearby park where I found a pond, a trough for horses, and a public fountain for people.

Since I had no idea when was the last time Flecha ate or drank, I made her go easy on the water. I couldn’t afford to pay a vet if she got colic. I washed my face and drank my fill at the fountain, then went under a tree to make a picnic.

That’s when I noticed my food was missing. All my other packs were there, including the one with my spare shirt, which was dirty. But where was my food? I glanced up the street in the direction of the rail station. Had my food been stolen on the train, or did Tanya simply overlook it? Should I go back? What would I say? I had been on the train illegally, so would they arrest me? What little experience I had with authorities was mostly bad. Going back seemed risky, so I drank more water, until I could feel it sloshing in my stomach. I hoped it would keep me from noticing my hunger.

What to do next? My plan had always been simple—I would come to Kentucky, there would be horse farms everywhere, I would get a job and all would be well. But now that I was here, it wasn’t simple at all. Lexington was a small city, and the horse farms were all around. How was I to know which ones were hiring? Would I have to range for miles in all directions? I could hardly go looking for work in the rags I had on. My pants were stained, I was still wearing the hobo’s shirt, my extra shirt was dirty, and my hat had been crushed so many times that it had become a shapeless thing. My only nice item of clothing was my pink dress, and I couldn’t seek rough work on a horse farm in a dress.

But I had no money to buy new things. Or did I?

I raised my hand to my throat, where I still wore the blue stone heart Vince had given me, strung on a gold chain. I had hoped to keep it for sentimental reasons. After looking around to make sure I wasn’t being observed, I unhooked the necklace and held it in my hand. Only the stone mattered. I rummaged in one of my packs until I found one of the leather cords that I used to use on my braid. I strung the heart onto that and tied it around my neck. I dropped the gold chain into my pocket, climbed onto Flecha and headed back onto the street, looking for a place that would exchange my gold for American dollars.

It was obvious that Lexington had once been a nice city, with tall buildings of glass, brick, and stone. Much of the glass was broken now, and boarded up. Squatters lurked in the buildings, but the streets were surprisingly clean, and I saw a lot of mounted policemen, which probably accounted for the lack of street children or people making ramshackle huts in public parks. In fact, some of the parks appeared to have been turned into vegetable gardens and orchards.

I wasn’t sure where would be the best place to exchange gold for dollars, and I was afraid to ask a policeman, so I asked a couple of street musicians, a roadside flower vendor, and a man selling grilled sausages that smelled so good I thought my hungry stomach might leap out through my throat and steal one.

The consensus was that a particular pawn shop on the east side of town always gave a fair price, so that was where I went. I have no idea if the amount the old man offered me was good or not, but he seemed nice enough and was doing so much business that he had two assistants. This gave me an idea. “Got any work I could do?” I asked. “You know, sweep the floors or something, for a bite to eat?”

The man smiled kindly, but gestured toward the spotless floor and shrugged. “My floors are just fine, Miss. You can buy food with what I’m giving you.”

“I know, but I need clothes, too.”

He recommended a dealer in used clothing three blocks away.

“Do you maybe know where I can find out which horse farms in the area are hiring?”

This made him chuckle. “Young lady, everyone wants to work on the horse farms. If you don’t have a relative or a friend already working somewhere, you’re going to have a tough time of it.”

I wanted to ask more, but the woman waiting in line behind me was impatient. To no one in particular, she said, “If the horse farms was hiring, wouldn’t no one be planting tomatoes on the town green or selling their jewelry for government dollars.”

She was right, of course. I felt my face grow hot and walked away.

Since I had no other plan, I went to the clothing reseller. Whether I looked for work in town or in the countryside, or whether I left Kentucky altogether and sought my fortune elsewhere, I would need better clothes.

An hour later, I was in clean canvas pants, a blue shirt with tiny white stripes, a hat that actually had a shape to it, and a neat blue kerchief. I dug my leather wrist guards out of my bag—the ones Vince gave me nearly four months ago. I now felt very fine and presentable.

But who should I present myself to? The woman at the clothing shop had told me the same thing the man at the pawn shop had said—horse farms rarely hired, and always had a long list of people wanting to work for them. A reference was nice, but unless it was a specific recommendation from someone with ties of friendship or kinship, the likelihood of being made an offer was so small as to not be worth the trouble of traipsing around the countryside making random inquiries.

How was this possible? Like a fool, I had undertaken this venture on the strength of just one passing incident back home. Two years ago Robert and our regional commander were shot in an act of treachery by the México Lindo faction. I was given a Kentucky thoroughbred named Huracán and sent with a message. The horse impressed me. When Robert recovered, he told me about some of the deals he made with “the Kentucks,” as he called them, on behalf of Unitas.

Robert would have a connection. He could get me a job, but I didn’t know where he was, and it was crazy to think he would help. I was supposed to run away with him at Christmas, and instead I ran away alone. Even if I could get a message to him, why would he do anything for me?

I would have to manage alone, just as I had always done.

But as I wandered the streets in the growing afternoon, I realized I would have to do something soon. Shadows lengthened, policemen went home to their suppers, and now prostitutes started walking the sidewalks and beggars crawled out of the shadows, holding out their hands to passersby.

That was my fate, if I didn’t find a way to earn an honest living, fast. I had no more time for pride.

As if in answer to my need, I saw a sign advertising a radio operator:

Faster Than Rails. As Reliable as Telegraph. Continent-Wide Network at Fair Prices.

Well, it was worth asking. I went inside, hoping that this place wouldn’t be like the one I had tried to use back home when Ishkin was sick and I couldn’t find medicine.

The man behind the counter had a thick white beard that was so luxurious that it seemed to be trying to make up for the lack of hair on his shiny head. He had bushy white brows, and snapping black eyes that looked a little mean. I paused in the doorway.

“Want something, Miss? I’m about to close up.”

I approached the counter and asked what it would cost to send a message to Auntie and Miguel in Estrella.

The corners of the man’s mouth turned down. He sighed and pulled out some maps and a chart.

“Depends on what operators are available. Some have long range, some don’t. Rates depend on who I can reach.”

“Who do you think will be available?”

“That depends. You need this to go out tonight?”

I told him yes, thinking that he was beginning to sound like that scamming liar, Esquivel, who took my money and never sent a single message.

“You’re better off trying in the morning.”

“Just tell me what it costs.”

He quoted me a price. “That’s assuming minimal number of exchanges. If there’s more, the price goes up.”

I counted out my remaining bills. Sending the message would leave me with nothing for food. Well, maybe I could steal something from the public gardens. I laid my money on the counter. “I want to watch you send the message,” I said. No way was I going to get scammed like last time.

He shook his head. “This ain’t a show for your amusement, Miss. You go on. I’ll give you a claim slip, and in the morning—“

I don’t know if it was the hunger, the frustration, or my own suspicion and sense of utter helplessness, but I started to cry. And to my embarrassment, once I started, I couldn’t stop. I laid my head on the high counter and wept for everything I had been through, all my big dreams and ambitions. I had run headlong into a dead end after refusing so many attractive offers along my journey. I had thrown away everything, betting that here, it would all be easy. Instead, this was the hardest part of all, and I couldn’t call up the inner reserves of strength to carry me through.

I heard the man come from behind the counter and walk to the door. I heard the key turn, locking me in. Was he going to rape me now? Rob me? Torture me for his own sick amusement? I tried to care, but couldn’t even lift my head to wipe the tears from my eyes.

Instead, he did it for me. Then he pulled me against him and held me, not in a bad way, but in the way one would comfort a child. “It’ll be okay,” he said. “We’ll get your message out. It’ll be okay.”

I’m lying on a cot in the back room of the shop tonight, covered with a scratchy wool blanket. I’ve eaten a little, but my stomach feels like it’s tied up in knots, making it hard to eat. Sam is in the next room, and I can hear him talking to a ham operator somewhere in Tennessee. They’re trying to get my message to their contacts in Oklahoma and Texas, and then to Auntie and Miguel on their mountain in New Mexico. Hopefully they’ll know where Robert is and will be able to reach him. Or Miguel may have contacts of his own here in Kentucky, since he used to be a regional commander.

If nothing else, at least someone who cares about me will know I’m alone, out of money and in trouble. It feels good to hand over my problems to someone else for a night. I can’t solve everything myself. Auntie used to say that no man is an island. She got the phrase from a book. I used to not know what it meant, but I do now.

A skinny yellow cat just wandered into the room. She’s looking at me like I stole her bed. I guess I need to scoot over a little. I’m no island. There’s room enough for two.

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Day One Hundred Forty

2007-04-29T01:25:00.000-06:00

I’m still on this stupid train.

I finally grew sleepy last night from the boredom, the darkness, and the rocking of the car. I don’t know how long I had been asleep when I was awakened by a touch on my leg. I opened my eyes, but saw only blackness. I reached for my knife.

Suddenly the full force of the hobo’s body landed on top of mine.

I was so startled that I stupidly let go of my knife, and we struggled in the darkness. I could smell the man’s foul breath in my face and felt his thumb press against my throat while he pulled at my pants with his other hand. I tried to twist away from him, but he only pressed himself harder against me, calling me filthy names.

Damn it, why had I let go of my knife?

At least he was alone and unarmed. He couldn’t fight me and rape me at the same time. But he was heavy, and in the narrow space where I had made my bed, I couldn’t maneuver. He was stronger than me, and it was only a matter of time before he wore me down.

At last I found my knife. I couldn’t get a good angle of attack, but I delivered a flesh wound that made him swing off me with a yelp, followed by a string of curses. I pressed my advantage, driving my blade toward where I knew his belly must be. It was an instinctual move, made without thought, just as I had been trained to do.

But I had never tried this in such tight quarters. When I drove the knife in and jerked it downward, as I had done so often in training and in battle, I hit the abdominal artery and suddenly found myself covered in hot blood. And then with a thump, the man fell on top of me. He twitched as the liquid warmth spread across my body. And then the man lay still.

Damn it all to hell.

I struggled to get out from under him, my mind filled with horrible visions of being trapped under this stinking creature all the way to Lexington. But I finally worked my way free and got to my feet. The boxcar swayed, and I was breathing hard. I leaned against a stack of feed sacks, trying to catch my breath and figure out what to do next.

I had to get the man off the train, of course. And toss away any ruined feed bags, too. I also had to clean myself up and be ready to get off the train in Lexington in clothes that weren’t torn and stained with blood. And then—

I felt my knees grow weak and I sank to the floor. I sat for a long time like that, staring into the darkness at where the dusty floorboards were, my hands shaking, my breathing ragged, my mind a blank.

Then slowly I started pulling myself back together. I had no business letting my emotions run away with me. This wasn’t how Unitas trained me. I was becoming soft and civilian.

When my strength had returned, I dragged the man’s lifeless body to the open doorway and shoved him off the train. I did the same with two blood-soaked feed sacks before my aching back and trembling arms forced me to stop and sit down again.

Now what?

Well, at least I was alone. I stripped off my bloody clothes and lay back down among the feed sacks. I hadn’t thought myself capable of sleep, but the next time I opened my eyes, a gray light was filtering through the open boxcar door, and we were stopped.

I pulled on my clothes in a panic, thinking we were in Lexington. But when I peeked outside, there was only farmland, no evidence of a town or depot anywhere. We were stalled.

Well, at least now I had a little light. I was hungry and thirsty, and maybe the hobo had a stash somewhere. I looked around the back of the car where he had been sitting the day before. My investigation turned up a dirty canvas bag containing food, a badly mended plaid shirt, and best of all, water!

Encouraged at having found such riches, I took a few cautious sips of water. It tasted okay, so I swallowed, but I waited to drink any more. I needed to make a plan for how I would ration it, in case we were delayed all day.

Next I took off my shirt and put on the plaid one. It was too big and it stank, but at least I no longer looked like a murderer. Then I examined the food, hoping it would be something good. But it was just ordinary road food—jerky, nuts, some raisins, and a bit of stale bread with a few faint spots of mold on it. I took the raisins and the canteen to the doorway and sat down, looking outside at the lightening morning sky, wondering where we were and when we would start moving again.

And it was while I was sitting there, leaning against the wooden door frame, that I had a horrible realization. I had no idea what the Lexington train station looked like. This train might stop dozens of times along the way, and how would I know which was the right place to get off? I couldn’t get off the train and look around every time we stopped. I might be seen by an official, or miss the train when it started up again. And after yesterday’s adventure, no way was I jumping onto a train ever again, if I could help it. My arms were already stiffening up from yesterday’s exertion, or was it from fighting the hobo? Either way, I didn’t have the upper body strength to repeat any of yesterday’s acrobatics. Once I was off the train, I was staying off.

But the question remained. How would I know when I was in the right place? By the time I saw the horses being unloaded, there might be train officials around. Would they arrest me?

Well, I would just have take my chances and hope that it all worked out. This was hardly the time to start getting upset about not having a good plan, since I’d never had one any other time I did something crazy and dangerous.

Feeling refreshed after my snack, I started looking around the boxcar for any remaining evidence of last night’s fight. I would need to clean that up. And this was a good time to set up a better hiding place, while the train was stopped and I could walk around normally. I busied myself for about an hour cleaning things and making a comfortable sleeping spot in an area where if we stopped at any towns along the way, the car inspectors weren’t likely to find me. And then in a sudden burst of inspiration, I took some twigs and pebbles from the dusty floor and wedged them into the tracks that the boxcar doors slid on. Now a zealous inspector wouldn’t be able to lock me in.

Satisfied that I had done what I could, I settled in to wait. It was nearly noon before the car jerked and we were on our way again. Soon we were picking up speed, and I felt my way to my hiding spot and settled in.

I spent the day waking and napping, sometimes not entirely sure which was which. I would be lying there, lost in little fantasies, when my body would sense that the train was speeding up or slowing down, and I would sit up, suddenly realizing that I had been dreaming. And other times, I was quite certain everything was a dream, but when I stretched out my hand toward the boxcar wall or the stack of feed sacks, or the dirty canvas bag, I knew that as unlikely as it seemed, I was awake and this was my reality.

Every time we came to a complete stop, I tiptoed to the door and looked out. But only twice were we in an actual station, and neither time were any animals unloaded, nor did inspectors check the cars.

And now it’s night again. I’ve opened the door a little wider so I can have some fresh air and moonlight. We’re moving, but at a pace I could just as easily walk. Will we ever get to Lexington? I find myself thinking of Gilbert, who had been traveling for weeks to get from Mississippi to Chicago, and who was still only in Oklahoma when he invited me to share his whiskey. And then there was Charlene, who never did make it from Texas to Colorado and ended up in the southern part of what used to be New Mexico, instead.

But surely the horse people wouldn’t have put their pedigreed animals on a train if they didn’t have confidence they could get them home. And at some point today, someone must’ve gone onto the livestock cars to feed them, right? My poor Flecha isn’t hungry and thirsty, is she? No, at least one of those stops today must’ve been so the horses could be fed. They’re too valuable, and the farm owners are politically powerful in this state.

So I’ll try not to worry, and I hope we get to Lexington tomorrow. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I never imagined train travel would be like this.

I was better off riding my horse.

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Day One Hundred Thirty Nine

2007-04-28T00:33:00.000-06:00

When I went to get my reference letter this morning, I found everyone in a frenzy of activity, getting ready to head to the railway station. The mules were already hitched to a wagon and the men were loading crates of tack and sacks of supplies. Soon nothing would remain but the tents, which had been rented from a local vendor.

I found Yvonne talking to her son Philip off to one side where Locomotive stood looking around nervously. The only thing keeping the racehorse calm amidst the turmoil was the presence of his stable-mate, a placid gray pony that everyone called Dumpling.

Yvonne had my letter ready and was effusive with her thanks for my assistance, but when I asked if maybe she had thought of something I could do on her farm near Lexington, she shook her head. “I’m sorry dear, but I’ve got as many hands as I need right now. Don’t you worry, though. Something always comes through for someone who’s willing to work hard.”

That was easy for her to say. She wasn’t stranded in unfamiliar country with only a horse, a pack of food, and a few coins. I thanked her graciously and sought out Tanya.

I found her sitting on the edge of a trunk, trying to force it closed. I gave her a hand and together we buckled the leather straps. “So are you coming with us to the station?” she asked.

“I wasn’t planning on it. What good would it do? You know I haven’t got money for a ticket.”

“Oh, just hide yourself on a boxcar. Who’ll know?”

She waved her hand in a flippant way as she said this, but now I stopped what I was doing. “You know,” I said, “That wouldn’t be a half-bad idea, if it wasn’t for Flecha.”

“You’d never be able to do it, even if you didn’t have a horse. The cars are nearly always packed full of goods, so there’s no place to hide. And the railroad people check for hoboes before the trains pull out.”

Two men took the trunk away and I followed Tanya to where her horse was waiting. As she swung herself into the saddle she said, “Ride with us for a little ways. I get bored with only men and old ladies to talk to.”

I don’t think I’ve ever found anyone boring unless they were dead, but Tanya’s words had started me thinking. So I brought Flecha around, and before the sun was even fully above the horizon, we were on our way toward the train station, moving along in a caravan of other horse people, all heading toward either the docks or the rails.

“So they check all the cars on the train?” I asked as we rode along. “Everywhere I’ve been, I’ve seen people riding the freight cars, so it can’t be that hard to get on.”

“That’s because they jump on after the train is moving.”

“Well, I know that.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“I know that, too. But I’d be willing to try it, if I could somehow get Flecha on board.”

“That would be the easy part. We rent livestock cars. How many animals we put on them is our business.”

“Then maybe I—“

She guessed where I was going with this thought and shook her head. “No way. The railroad people are diligent, and once they’ve checked that we aren’t stowing any humans on board and depriving them of a fare, we lock up the cars. Can’t risk someone stealing our horses if the train gets stalled on the tracks, you know.”

“You could hide me in one of those big crates of tack.”

As soon as I said this I knew how foolish I sounded. Tanya laughed. “Then where would we put our gear? Those boxes are full as it is.”

“There’s got to be a way.”

She looked at me from under the brim of her hat. “You’re really serious, aren’t you?”

Until she said it, I hadn’t realized that I was, but now I nodded. “I’ve got nothing to lose. I’ve been on the road nearly five months, and I’m ready for this trip to be over. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

She warned me. She told me all the dangers. There might not be an open car for me to jump onto. And if there was, I might fall and slip under the train’s wheels. And even if I got onto the moving train, I might get thrown off by officials in another town. We might get diverted, we might get stranded, we might derail.

“And the sun might explode and we’ll all die. Come on, Tanya. Help me.”

So she did. It was a crazy plan, gambling everything. Once Flecha was locked in the livestock car, I would have no choice but to get onto the train myself, even if it meant doing something dangerous, illegal, or both.

What was I thinking?

I wasn’t thinking, of course. And a good thing, or I’d still be poking along a broken asphalt road somewhere, dodging traders and refugees, half-mad with frustration and wondering how long my food would hold out. Instead, Tanya took my gear and horse in the milling confusion of the livestock loading area and I watched with a sick feeling in my stomach as she loaded her onto the car. I was committed now.

I walked down the length of the train, searching for a likely freight car and an official who might be willing to look the other way.

At last I spotted the one I wanted. He was young and homely, with a weak chin. I unbuttoned my shirt as much as I dared, bit my lips red, and approached him. My first thought was to convince him to let me hide on the boxcar before the train left the station, but I had no luck with that proposition.

“They’d see you,” he said, glancing all around.

He had a point. There were train officials everywhere. How could the government afford to hire so many? They probably paid next to nothing, and the employees supported themselves off pilferage and bribes.

I had three silver coins in my pocket—small ones that weren’t worth much. I slipped one into the young man’s pants pocket, stroking his leg as I did so and hating myself for feeling compelled to do it.

He wasn’t fooled. He pulled the coin out and looked at it. “This ain’t worth risking my neck over. But if you’ve got another one of these, I can leave the door unlatched. The motion of the train should open it enough that you can jump on once it’s out of the station.”

I looked at him in annoyance. Those blinking, watery eyes hid more resolve than I had realized. “Fine,” I said. I handed him another coin. I would have to find paying work in Lexington fast, or I would be in serious trouble.

The young man nodded, said he’d leave the boxcar door slightly open, and walked away.

By now passengers were filing onto the train, and cars were being inspected and locked down. I needed to hurry if I was going to find a place up the line where I could jump on.

Right. Jump onto a train. I had clearly lost my mind. But it was too late to turn back now. With Flecha and all my gear boarded, I would have to get on or. . . Well, I would just have to get on.

I found a place down the tracks where I could hide in some scrub. Finally I heard the last boarding whistle. Then after what seemed a ridiculously long time, I heard the hum of the engines and the metallic clank of the lead engine starting to pull and the cars behind it falling into line. Now the wheels were screeching, metal on metal. The train was in motion.

But as the first engine passed, I had a horrible realization. This was a diesel train. It could pick up speed faster than one that burned straight coal. What if—

No. I couldn’t let myself think such things.

I crouched, ready to spring forward at the sight of my car. The passenger cars passed, then the livestock cars, swaying as they picked up speed. My boxcar should be along any moment, but where was it? What if that bastard at the station had taken my money but didn’t leave the door open? I craned my neck, searching.

And then I spotted it. Or at least, I spotted one just like it. It was a boxcar, the door was open, and there weren’t very many cars after. I wasn’t ready, but I was also out of time.

I readied myself as the car approached. It sure was moving fast and swaying a lot! Everything looked so far off the ground! What was I supposed to grab onto when I jumped? There was a small handle near the door, but what if it came off in my hand? Or what if I leaped for it and missed? Or what if—

I ran forward, my feet slipping in the rocks of the embankment. I leaped as high as I could, and managed to grab on, missing the door, my feet scrabbling at the side of the car, trying to find purchase. The train kept picking up speed. My hands were wet with sweat, my heart pounding. Everything was moving too fast. I couldn’t find my balance. The open door was right beside me, but I couldn’t see what was inside, and with the car swaying back and forth, I was having trouble leveraging my body weight so I could get in. We were moving faster now. My hands were growing slippery, my arms were taut and trembling with the effort of keeping my body from dropping back to the ground.

I must get in. If I waited any longer, it would be too late. So I said my prayers and flung myself through the open doorway. I landed with a thud on the dusty floor. The air rushed out of my lungs in a gasp, and I felt my sparse breakfast rise up in my throat. I spread out my hands on the filthy wooden floor and held on, feeling like I was on a spinning top that might fling me back out into the world.

“Good job.”

Now I was really going to be sick. I struggled to my knees, peering into the darkness. All I could see was the gleam of a pair of eyes and a gap-toothed grin that didn’t look at all welcoming.

“Good job,” the man said again, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

“Who are you?”

“I should ask the same of you. This is my car.”

“It’s the railway’s car. You’ve got no more claim on it than I do.”

The man made a sort of clucking sound. “You just mind your own business, Miss, and we’ll get on all right.”

Now that I had a chance to get my bearings, I looked around. The car was nearly full of hay bales and feed sacks, but I thought I could make out a corner where I could settle in. I tried to stand, but the rocking motion of the train knocked me back to the floor. I scooted as best I could toward a promising spot amid the goods, where I arranged some sacks of oats to make a nest.

The day passed slowly. If there’s anything more boring than lying in the semi-darkness waiting to get to your destination, I don’t know what it is. I thought a few times about trying to engage the hobo in conversation, but there’s something about him that makes me think it’s best to stay out of his way.

Now that it’s growing dark, I hope he’s not going to be trouble. I wonder how he got here? If he were any friendlier, I’d ask. But instead, I suppose I’ll try to sleep. With one eye open, of course.

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Day One Hundred Thirty Eight

2007-04-27T01:08:00.001-06:00

I woke up this morning with no better notion of what to do than when I went to bed. So I stirred up my campfire and was about to measure some coffee into my little travel pot when Tanya showed up.

“Don’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“We’ve got plenty of coffee. Come drink ours, and save yours for later.”

As expensive as coffee was, I would’ve been a fool to refuse her offer. I put my things away, covered the fire and followed her to the common tent.

“We talked about you last night,” Tanya said. “And we’ve got work for you today, if you’re interested.”

I hadn’t planned on spending an extra day here, but this sounded promising.

“We can’t offer money, just food and the use of our facilities, but my boss, Yvonne, says if you do good work, she’ll write you a letter of reference.”

I tried to conceal my disappointment. “There's no chance I could work on your farm?”

“Not right now. We’re pretty small and we’ve got all the help we need.”

Well, a reference was better than nothing. Over breakfast, I let Tanya explain what I would be doing. It was pretty basic stuff— run errands, walk horses, help keep gear organized, and things of that nature.

“It’s our last day here,” Tanya explained. “Yvonne and her son are going to be pretty busy showing horses to government agents and getting ready for the big race. That leaves us short-staffed, and anything you can do will be a big help.”

I promised I would help in any way I could, and resolved to work twice as hard as I had ever done in my life. With any luck, they would decide they couldn’t live without me, no matter how overstaffed they might be back home. And if nothing else, I would at least have a reference.

What a whirlwind of a day! Tanya took me to their tent-stable, introduced me around, and then dashed off to parts unknown. I was put to work grooming the horses that were to be shown to the government people. Only one of these was a thoroughbred, and the rest were of a different breed. I asked the man I was working with about the difference.

“Tennessee Walkers,” he said. “They’re the main breed we work with. We only got into thoroughbreds a couple years ago when Miss Yvonne’s boy thought he might make some easy money on the side.”

“Has he?”

The man shrugged without looking up from painting glossy stuff on a hoof. “All I know is the government likes the Walkers and they’ve done good by us. As long as the boy doesn’t start dragging us on the race circuit, his hobby won’t do us no harm.”

“This place isn’t on a circuit?” I wasn’t sure what a circuit was, but it seemed the right thing to ask.

“Town is too small to support just races, but it’s close enough to the rail and the river, if you make it a horse fair first and foremost. Show and trade, you know, with races extra. It all works out okay, and everyone’s happy.”

“Have you done well?”

They had. The fair had been going on all week, and they had sold a couple two-year olds and bought a promising filly at the auction a few days before. They had also contracted the stud services of their champion stallion. Today some government men were stopping by for a second look at the Tennessee Walkers, and everyone expected a sale to go through.

“Government men don’t usually bid at the auctions,” the man explained. “They come around separate and make their own deals because there’s always some suspicious bastard at the auction who’d rather bankrupt himself outbidding them than let them get a good price.”

This made me smile. “I’d probably do the same thing.”

He chuckled. “Me, too.”

After the horses were groomed and led away, I was left to muck the stalls and tidy things up. Then I was given messages to deliver, items to retrieve, and equipment to sort and pack in boxes for the trip home the next day. The Walkers were returned and I got them settled, and then I was tasked with helping get the racehorse ready.

“This is Troy’s baby,” I was told, and indeed, Locomotive was a gorgeous animal. He was a bay with a star on his forehead, and his glossy coat bulged with muscles. Everything from his flaring nostrils to his deep chest and muscular hindquarters said he had been bred for speed, so I was startled to find that he was to be ridden by a mere boy.

By now Tanya was back, and she explained that all the riders, who she called “jockeys” were boys.

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

Her shrug said it all.

I hadn’t expected to be invited to see the big race, which was the culminating event of the week-long horse fair. I was busying myself setting out Locomotive’s blanket and making sure his stall was clean, when Tanya rushed in. “What are you still doing here?”

“Working.”

She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the open tent flap. “Can’t you hear the music? The race is about to start!”

I had heard some drums and trumpets, but had ignored them, not wanting to look lazy and miss my chance at a good reference. It seemed everyone was down at the track, and Tanya dragged me through the crowds. “They’re holding spots for us, but we’ll be lucky if—“

I heard a gunshot, followed by a thunder of hooves. The crowd roared and Tanya nearly tore my arm off in her effort to pull me close to the rail. I had raced horses sometimes back home with my friends in Unitas, just for fun, but this was something different. The horses were already at the first turn before I could get my bearings and make sense of the blur of black, bay and chestnut animals, each with a tiny boy rider in a different color outfit, all of them pounding around track in a cloud of dust. As they drew nearer, I could see Locomotive near the front of the pack, pulling toward the inside rail where he would cover less ground. Tanya gripped my arm and jumped up and down, shrieking. Caught up in the excitement, I started screaming too, as he pulled ahead.

They were into the straightaway now, and Locomotive was still running with his head high. The boy loosened the reins and slapped his flank with the whip. The stallion’s head lowered, his body lengthened. He was flying now!

And then, pounding up on the outside came another horse. The two kept pace for a moment, then the interloper pulled his horse closer. Too close. The jockey locked his knee in front of our jockey’s knee, and now if Locomotive pulled ahead, he’d lose his rider.

“He can’t do that, can he?” I asked Tanya.

She ignored me.

With the finish line just ahead, the two jockeys struggled, jostling each other, punching and even swiping at one another with their whips.

Locked together, they swept under the wire.

Locomotive lost by a nose.

I was outraged. “They can’t do that. Our horse won that race! The judges will see that, won’t they? They won’t—“

Tanya shook her head in disgust. “That’s how the game is played. Next time, we need a meaner rider.”

For a few minutes I stood there, trying to understand what had just happened and how it could be that such dirty tricks were allowed. But then I remembered that I had a job to do. In a foul mood now, I shoved my way through the crowd, back to the tent stable to wait for Locomotive. When they finally brought him, wet and still breathing hard, I had his blanket waiting and was allowed to help walk him. When I thought no one was paying attention, I reassured him. “You really won that race,” I said. “It’s not your fault humans are so mean.”

That was the big excitement for the day. I filled the hours until supper doing pretty much what I had been doing all day—cleaning and storing gear and tending the horses. If it hadn’t been for the disappointment of the race, I would’ve thought myself in heaven to have no other duties than to work with animals.

It’s evening now, I can hear the fiddle music in the distance, and I’m wondering what I’m going to do tomorrow. I had thought spending an extra day here would give me a chance to come up with a plan, but I’ve been too busy to do much thinking. Everyone is leaving tomorrow. Tanya and her people have hired cars for the horses and bought train tickets for themselves, so they’re set. I haven’t got money for a ticket east. I guess I’ll get up early, get my letter of reference, and start riding again. At least once I get to where I’m going, I’ll know some people, and maybe by the time I arrive, they’ll have lost a hand and I can get a job right away.

Things will work out. They have to.

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Day One Hundred Thirty Seven

2007-04-26T00:33:00.000-06:00

I can’t believe this. I still have nearly three hundred miles to go.

Yes, I’m in Kentucky, but how was I supposed to know that the part with all the horse farms—the part I’ve been searching for—is in the eastern part of the state?

I woke up feeling happy today, and the day seemed full of promise. I dressed for traveling and went downstairs to check out of the hotel and ask directions to the horse farms. The lady behind the counter was nice, but gave me a funny look.

“Well,” she said, “Any place you go has horse farms if you look around long enough. But if you’re looking for bluegrass country, the real horsy part of the state, you want the area around Lexington and Louisville. That’s farther east.”

I wasn’t surprised. After all, it was pretty obvious that the area around the Mississippi wasn’t horse country. “How much farther?”

I expected her to say fifty or a hundred miles, at most. So I nearly fainted in shock when she said three hundred!

“The easiest way to get there,” she said, “Is to catch a boat going up the Ohio.”

Another boat. No way. I had only a few silver coins, just enough to keep me fed another day or two. I didn’t have boat fare. Why had I done something so stupid as to splurge on a fancy hotel?

I thanked the lady for her time and went to get Flecha. We went down to the waterfront, where I got a cheap breakfast and sat down to think. Three hundred miles. How could I have been so dumb as to think just getting off the boat in Kentucky would be enough? I ate and watched the dock workers, pondering my options.

Of course, I really had only two choices: stay here and look for work so I could pay for boat passage, or start riding east and hope my food and money held out. If I stayed here and found a job, I would have to pay living expenses for myself, and board for Flecha. It would take a long time to save up the kind of money I needed unless I could find work that paid big. And with my lack of skills, the only thing that paid that well was the kind of work I had done for Vince, and I wasn’t joining another gang, wasn’t killing anyone again, ever, if I could help it.

So that left riding east. If I got lucky, I might be in horse country in a week, but more likely two. The thought depressed me. When I was over a thousand miles away, I was undaunted by the distance. But now the thought of an additional three hundred miles seemed insurmountable. How could I be so close, yet still so far away?

But there was nothing to do but quit moping and start riding. So I checked my food packs, bought a few things I needed, then asked for the best road to Lexington. After enduring a few strange looks from people who obviously thought water the best way to travel, I got the information I needed and headed out.

Flecha seemed happy to be on the road, but I wasn’t. I paid little attention to the countryside, or to the other travelers. I kept my head down for much of the way, lost in my own gloomy thoughts. I passed some small places along the way that had horses, and I was so dejected that I was tempted to stop and for work.

But no, this was not where I was supposed to be. I hadn’t gone through so much only to be defeated by the last three hundred miles, had I? I could make it the rest of the way.

In the afternoon, I came to a neat and orderly little town on the rail line. In spite of myself, I was charmed. This was nothing like back home.

I couldn’t stay in town without money, though. So I asked a street vendor if he knew of a place that was safe for camping. He frowned and mulled the question over like I had asked him something complicated about science. Finally he shrugged.

“Maybe the horse people would let you camp with them.”

“Horse people?”

“Races going on, ma’am. First ones since the fire. Everyone’s camping near the track. I bet they’d let you set up nearby.”

This was interesting news, and I followed the man’s directions to a field on the other side of town. In the distance was a wide variety of tents—some as small as my own tarp, others so big they obviously accommodated horses. As I got nearer, I could see the track and the charred rubble of what had once been the surrounding stables and outbuildings.

I approached the camp, suddenly intimidated by all the people in their fancy gear leading their sleek thoroughbreds around. Me and my half-wild Flecha must be quite a sight by comparison! But I asked around and finally found a spot where I could set up my tarp on some borrowed poles, with a bit of grazing space nearby for Flecha. As I was putting the hobbles on her, a young woman of about my own age approached.

“What kind of horse you got?”

I sat back on my heels and looked at her. She had stubby blonde braids and a dusting of freckles on her nose. She didn’t seem critical, only curious. “I’m not quite sure,” I admitted. “Part mustang, part quarter horse, probably.”

“Well, what do her papers say?”

I stood up. “She has no papers. Most horses don’t, where I’m from. And she’s sort of stolen, anyway. Spoils of war, you know.”

She came closer and patted Flecha’s nose. “Where are you from?” she asked. “’Cause there ain’t no war around here.”

“The southwest. I’m from one of the areas that seceded.”

“What are you doing here, then?”

“Looking for a better life, hopefully on a good horse farm farther east.”

She nodded wisely. “Well, I’m from near Lexington, and we’ve got lots of horse farms there. But everyone knows horses. I don’t know that you’ll have much luck finding a job.”

I stared at her in silence for a moment. It had never entered my mind that it might not be easy to find work. But now it seemed obvious. Of course everyone in horse country would know horses. What made me think I was special?

I guess she saw how disappointed I was, because suddenly she smiled and held out her hand. “I’m sorry for my bad manners. My name’s Tanya.”

I shook her hand and introduced myself and Flecha. Tanya was on her way to supper with some of the people from her farm, who had brought horses to race, sell and trade. She invited me to go with her, and I was glad of the offer, since I didn’t feel like cooking.

Everyone I met at supper was very nice, and it was fascinating to be surrounded by people who talked little else but horses. It would’ve been heaven on earth, but for the fact that I was so worried. These people knew their stuff. How would I ever find work, even once I made it the rest of the way to bluegrass country?

After supper, Tanya invited me to go hear some music. “There’s going to be a fiddle player and dancing,” she said.

But I was in no mood for music and dancing, and I wasn’t sure I knew what a fiddle was, anyway. So I thanked her politely, but said I was tired. I’m sitting here now just outside my tent, writing by the light of my solar lantern. What should I do now? I can’t go back home. Should I go back to Charles in Missouri? Something tells me that’s not an option.

I guess I’ll sleep on it. In the distance I can hear the music. The fiddle sounds sweet, like singing bees. I wish I felt a little better and could enjoy it. But maybe it will give me pleasant dreams and I’ll wake up in a happier frame of mind.

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Day One Hundred Thirty Six

2007-04-25T02:14:00.001-06:00

Last night’s dinner wasn’t what I had expected.

For starters, Sumitra isn’t tribal Indian, but from a family that moved here from the country, India, several generations ago. Boy, do I feel stupid!

My first clue that something was different about her was the aroma of her cooking. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was different from anything I had ever smelled before.

The second clue was the table in the corner of her living room. It was set up with candles, little bowls of fruit, and two pictures-- one of a man with the head of an elephant, and the other of a man with blue skin.

Sumitra saw where I was looking and laughed in her musical way. “I’m not a true believer. Neither was my mother, and I have doubts about what my grandmother really believed. I keep the shrine out of habit.”

I thought of the churches back home, and the chapel at Rancho Yeso, where Isabel had prayed to a doll dressed up as a desert guide. “Are these pictures of saints?”

“No, gods.”

I guess I looked like I didn’t believe her, because she added, “They have all kinds of gods in the country of my ancestors, but I don’t believe much of anything, myself.”

Supper consisted of a lot of familiar things, such as beans, potatoes, cheese, and spinach, but they were prepared differently than I was used to, and the spices were new to me. There was rice—a real treat. And best of all, tortillas. Sumitra called them something else, but I know a tortilla when I see one. The food was truly delicious, and for dessert, there was arroz con leche, although she called it something else, too.

I was surprised when she apologized for the meal. “Not all the spices are correct,” she said. “I like to use my great-grandmother’s old recipes, so I don’t completely forget where I come from, but some things are hard to get and I have to make do. I’m lucky, though, to live on the river and to have a son who works as a policeman.”

“How does your son help?”

“His beat is on the waterfront, so he knows when shipments are coming. There’s not much demand for curry here, but there’s a strong Indian community in Chicago, and they’re willing to pay a lot. The boats take the goods as far as they can by water, then put them on a train the rest of the way.”

“And the boats stop here along the way?”

“Sometimes. And when they do. . .”

Her voice trailed off and she blushed. I glanced around the apartment. It was shabby, just like the motel, much of which wasn’t even in use. It seemed unlikely Sumitra could afford rare spices. But a son who was a waterfront cop could probably extort them from time to time. In fact, mild extortion was probably how a lot of families lived around here, just like in the rail towns.

“Do you think your son could help me get on a boat in the morning?” I asked, changing the subject so she wouldn’t feel embarrassed. “You explained it very well, but I’m out of my element here.”

Sumitra said that when he came home, she would ask, and that I should stop by in the morning. And then we settled in for a chat. She told me old family stories about India. She also told me how her father’s prominence in the local community and his generosity during the hardships of the resource wars saved the family from the race riots, but left them nearly bankrupt. And then I told her a little about Valle Redondo and some of my travels.

By the time I went back to my room, I was too exhausted to do anything more than throw myself on the bed and go to sleep.

My real adventures began this morning. Sumitra’s son Balin, who asked that I call him Barry, took me to get a riverboat ticket. He was a beautiful man, slim, with glossy black hair and Sumitra’s chocolate eyes. He had a smile that made you feel like everything was right with the world, and I found his presence reassuring. He didn’t have a horse, so we had to walk to the passenger docks, leading Flecha by a tether, but it was a pleasant walk in the cool of the morning with the mist rolling in off the river, and Barry gave me a history of the town as we went along.

“We’ve done pretty well here,” he said. “The initial oil shocks were hard, but river transport was always important. It’s the best way to move anything any more. We’re sitting on the modern equivalent of an old interstate or flight path. If it wasn’t for the yellow fever epidemic two years ago, we’d be having to put up new buildings to accommodate all the people coming here.”

“What’s yellow fever?”

“A very nasty disease spread by mosquitoes. Avoid it, if you can.”

“How do I do that?”

Barry laughed, and it was his mother’s jingling laugh. “Don’t get bitten by mosquitoes, of course!”

His advice about getting on a boat was more helpful. He took me to a building where I was able to get a ticket for passage on the Reine de Fleuve, which was the first south-bound boat of the day. It wasn’t scheduled to arrive for another hour, though, and boarding wouldn’t be for two hours. With time our hands, Barry offered to show me around.

The area around the passenger docks was crowded, even at this early hour. People were milling about, most on foot, but some on horseback or on bicycles. A few scooters roared past, and even a motorcycle. Bicycle rickshaws jostled donkey carts for space on the street, and vendors were setting up near the docks, offering coffee, food, and trinkets.

“Want to buy a souvenir?” Barry asked.

“A what?”

“A souvenir. It’s something you buy to remind of you where you’ve been.”

“Oh, I’m not likely to forget.”

“How about a postcard, so you can send a picture of this place to your friends?”

I was overdue for a letter to Auntie, and I liked the idea of sending her a picture, so I let Barry lead me to a vendor who was setting out cards with painted river scenes on them. Barry and the vendor seemed to be old friends, and I had the impression that they did favors for each other. The postcard vendor probably kept an eye and ear open for anything suspicious, and maybe even put a few coins in Barry’s pocket in return for protection and getting a little business directed his way. Business like mine.

The postcards were lovely and priced so reasonably that there seemed to be no scam going on. Each card contained a scene of the river, or of a boat, with words like “Wish You Were Here.” Some of the boats were very fancy, like floating white houses. “Is this the kind of boat I’m going on?” I asked Barry.

He interrupted his conversation to glance at the card I had selected. “Yes, it will be similar. It should be here soon.”

I flipped the card over and wrote a message to Auntie on the back. Then on a wild impulse, I selected another card and wrote to Robert. “Is there time to send these before the boat arrives?”

“I can mail them for you,” the vendor said, and he quoted me a price. “I have a boy who makes three trips a day to the post office.”

“I’m sending these to a foreign country,” I explained.

He looked at the addresses, frowned and quoted me a different price. It was quite a bit higher and I glanced at Barry for a clue as to how to proceed.

“That’s the going rate,” he assured me. “Go to the post office, and they’ll charge you the same.”

So I sighed and paid.

Just as the vendor was putting my postcards into a canvas sack, a sound unlike anything I had ever heard shattered the early morning quiet. It was like a train whistle, but different somehow, deeper and with a quality that made the ground vibrate.

“There’s your boat,” Barry told me. “Let’s go see!”

We went down to the dock, and there it was.

I stood in amazement, watching it pull up to the dock. Men from the boat threw out ropes, and other men tied them to thick posts as the huge boat swayed. Then after a little while, a door opened and a broad plank was put out, making a sort of bridge from the boat to the dock. And then people began getting off, walking down the plank bridge. When there were no more passengers, rough-looking crew members started bringing off goods and animals. Some of the horses balked and reared up, the whites of their eyes showing. They were afraid to set foot on the plank bridge, and I can’t say that I blamed them.

“How will I get Flecha on and off the boat?” I asked Barry. “She won’t like this a bit.”

Barry looked around, then pointed to a black boy who was running toward the boat. “I can’t say how she’ll do getting off, but she’ll get on okay, at least. That’s Dominic. He can calm a horse better than anyone.”

The boy looked hardly older than nine. It seemed unlikely that someone so young could be much of an expert at anything, but the boat crew knew who he was and immediately turned over a snorting and plunging stallion to his care. To my amazement, little Dominic got the feisty animal calm in minutes, talking to him and soothing him until he finally stepped down the plank as if he had been doing that sort of thing all his life.

I shook my head. “How’d he do that?”

“No one knows,” Barry said. “It seems to be a family talent. His father could do it, too.”

Once the boat was unloaded, crew members started taking boxes, barrels and sacks on board. Barry touched my arm. “We better get you in line.”

“What about Flecha?” We had left her in a lot by the dock.

“Dominic will get her on board. Let the crew do their job.”

I did as Barry said and got in line to wait. I looked up at the big white riverboat. It hardly seemed possible that I, an ordinary desert girl, was going to do something as crazy and adventurous as get onto this floating multi-story building and go down the famous Mississippi river. “Is there anything special I need to know?” I asked. “Any special rules, or things I should be careful of?”

Barry shrugged. “Just the usual things. Watch out for pickpockets, don’t leave your things unattended, don’t fall overboard, and don’t get seasick.”

“Seasick? We’re not going all the way to the sea.”

“Motion sickness. The bobbing of a boat makes some people nauseous. If it happens to you, try to stay outside with the wind on your face. Keep your body loose and move with the boat, don’t fight it. And keep your eyes on the horizon. That should be enough to keep you from being sick. But if it’s not. . .”

“Yes?”

“Lean over the railing and puke into the water, as a courtesy to the other passengers.”

In spite of my anxiety, I laughed, and almost missed seeing Flecha get boarded. Dominic led her to the end of the dock, patting her and talking. When they came to the plank, Flecha stopped and raised up her head in alarm. I don’t know what Dominic said, but he kept up a running stream of conversation and slowly Flecha’s head lowered and the lines of her body relaxed. She let the boy lead her onto the boat with no more fuss.

“I hope he’s paid well,” I told Barry.

“No one pays children well,” he said with a shrug. “They’re not even supposed to be working, so they have no one to complain to if they don’t get an appropriate wage.”

I took the last of my silver coins out of my pocket and gave it to Barry. “Will you see that he gets this, then?”

By now it was time for passengers to board. A gate was opened and the line started moving. I clutched at Barry’s hand. “I can’t swim, you know.”

The music of his laugh reassured me. “Stay on the boat, and that shouldn’t be a problem. Have a nice trip.”

I walked up the plank with the other passengers, gave my ticket to a man in a uniform, and found myself a place to stand at the railing where I could wave to Barry. He grinned and waved back, then moved off into the crowd.

What can I say about my first trip on a big boat, except that it was endlessly fascinating? The boat had multiple levels, and there were rooms inside, just like in a house. Some rooms were like restaurants, some like lobbies with benches where you could sit, and some rooms were private, for people who had paid extra. The motion of the boat didn’t bother me once I got used to it, but the sound of the engines quickly got old—it was a constant low rumble that made the walls vibrate and intruded at the back of every thought. I wondered how people could stand to work on the boat each day, listening to all that noise. I was accustomed to the silence of country places and knew I could never get used to it.

I wanted to go downstairs where the horses were and check on Flecha, but I was told that the area was off-limits. This made no sense to me, and I worried what would happen if the boat sank. Surely the animals would be trapped and die. But I tried not to think about it and went up on deck and watched the water and other boats go by.

And it was while I was standing at the railing, thinking about how completely amazing and improbable it was that I, a poor kid from a desert valley, should have ended up here on the great Mississippi river after so many misadventures, that I had an inspiration. I was leaning over the railing and my heavy braid had fallen forward over my shoulder. I straightened up and examined it. Except for special occasions, I had worn my hair this way all my life. It was part of who I was. But wasn’t I different from the confused and troubled girl who left the mountain more than four months ago? In fact, I didn’t feel like a girl at all. I was a grown woman. Why was I still going around looking like the child I had once been?

I took out my sharp pocket blade and began hacking at my braid, up high, near my shoulders. I had to work carefully so the knife wouldn’t slip and cut me, but at last the braid came off in my hand. I stood for a moment, staring at it. Mother and Auntie had loved my thick brown hair. Will and Charles had played with it. But it had been cumbersome, too. It took too long to wash and dry. It got tangled. Men who would do me harm grabbed at it, and people had told me that it made me look like a child.

Well, I was all grown up now. I flung the braid into the river and watched the churning waters of the Mississippi drag it under and consume it.

“What was that all about, young lady?”

I spun around. An elegant gray-haired woman was eying me curiously. I reached my hand up toward my shorn hair. Already my head felt lighter. “I’m starting a new life," I said. "I want to feel new, too.”

“Well, you look right ridiculous, all uneven, with pieces hanging down. You look like a rat got a hold of you. How about you let me fix you up? I’ve got some scissors in my room.”

I followed the woman to her private room. She obviously had money, even though her room was hardly more than a closet with a tiny bed, a chair and a mirror. I sat down in the chair and let the woman go to work on my hair with a pair of scissors.

“Tell my your name, Sweetie,” she said. And when I did, she told me to call her Daisy, and made idle chatter as she snipped away.

When she was through, I looked in the mirror. I hardly looked like myself at all.

Daisy took a ribbon out of a leather case and tied it so my hair was off my face. That was better. I smiled at my reflection.

Daisy said I could leave my things in her room, and we went back on deck and walked around. She was a regular riverboat traveler, with children living at various points up and down the Mississippi. She told me about the boat and pointed out passing landmarks, but I didn’t pay much attention. The feel of the breeze through my short hair distracted me, and my head felt so light!

Finally in the afternoon, we came to the port where I was to get off. Daisy wasn’t coming. “I’m going all the way to Memphis,” she explained. “It was nice meeting you, dear. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“I’m sure I will.” I was so excited I could hardly stand it, and I became impatient at the time it took to pull close to the dock and tie up the boat. And then the line of passengers moved so slowly! Was I the only one who wanted to run, shouting with joy at having arrived?

Once I was on land, there were more anxious, impatient moments while I waited for them to bring Flecha off. At first I was concerned as to whether they would even know to take her off the boat, and I had horrible visions of the boat heading down the river with her still on board. But eventually a man brought her out, nervous and tossing her head at the sight of the plank. There was no gifted Dominic here to help bring her to land, and the guard at the gate forbade me to go to her. So I had to watch in agony while two men finally got her under control and brought her onto the dock.

It was a relief to have her with me again. I rubbed her nose and patted her. “It’s okay, Flechita. We’re here now. Can you believe it? We’re actually in Kentucky!”

I looked all around, as if the horse farms would be right there by the water. But that was a silly notion. The waterfront looked much like the one in Missouri, with vendors of food and souvenirs, musicians, and even a street preacher.

What was I supposed to do now?

“Need a hotel, ma’am?”

I looked down. A tiny boy was holding out a piece of paper.

“Best hotel in town. Cheap prices.”

I took the paper from him, thanked him, and watched him scamper off to accost another recent passenger.

I shoved the paper in my pocket and began walking up the nearest street that went east, figuring it was the one most likely to head into town. But once in town, I was still mystified as to what I should do. It was too late in the day to go looking for a horse farm. And I wasn’t even sure where it would be okay to camp.

As usual, I was in a strange place, with no plan.

Well, one thing was certain. I hadn’t eaten all day. I had been too excited. But now that reality was starting to set in, my stomach rumbled. I thought of going back to the waterfront and getting some food from a street vendor, but I had only a small gold piece and the last of Vince’s gold chains. I needed to find a place that could give change.

I reached in my pocket and pulled out the paper the boy on the waterfront had given me. It read:

Riverview Hotel
Clean Rooms, Clean Water, Electricity
All Rooms Have Balcony View

On the back was a map how to get there, but I didn’t need to see the place to know it would be expensive. The boy had said “cheap prices.” What a liar! But as I looked around, I realized I had to make a decision soon. The sun was low in the sky, lengthening shadows and casting a golden glow on everything. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to see the hotel and ask what they charged.

So I went to the Riverview Hotel. And yes, it was expensive. But the price of food and a box stall for Flecha was included, and I liked the idea of having my own balcony. Why shouldn’t I spend my first night in Kentucky, my first night as a new woman, in a nice place? Surely there was enough hard work in my future that I could indulge myself this once.

So tonight I’m sitting on my own private balcony overlooking the river. For a little extra money, I was able to have supper brought to me in my room. I felt like such a grand lady that I put on my pink dress for the occasion. And what a fine lady I am tonight, in my fancy clothes, with my new hairstyle, sitting here with a glass of wine, watching the sun go down on the mighty Mississippi.

Life can be very fine, indeed.

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Day One Hundred Thirty Five

2007-04-24T01:31:00.000-06:00

When I opened my eyes this morning, it took me a minute to get my bearings. But then I remembered I was back on the road, only a day’s ride from the Mississippi river and Kentucky. I sat up stiffly and stretched my arms overhead. I was beginning to feel excited.

I started a fire and began rummaging in my pack for something to eat. I hadn’t dug very deeply the day before, but now as I felt around inside the leather bag, my fingers encountered an unfamiliar object. It was hard and lumpy, wrapped in a knotted cloth. I pulled it out.

It was the money and jewelry I had given Rachel.

Suddenly I remembered the boy who had come to the house with a basket the night before I left. The basket had contained a note and something else I hadn’t been able to see clearly. At the time, I thought it was just some neighborly transaction, but now I understood. Rachel had sent my money back and asked Charles to give it to me. Maybe in her note she had even asked him to forgive me.

Just as I had yesterday and the day before, I questioned my sanity for leaving such good people. But then I willed myself not to think about it. I could always return if things didn’t work out in Kentucky. And now, hopefully, I would be able to afford the price of a safe boat trip down the river. I had been worried about how I would pay for it, trusting that things would work out somehow.

I set out in an optimistic mood, soon falling in with others who were heading east.

“So what’s the town like?” I asked a man.

“Very nice. Boats full of goods stop every day.”

“What does it cost to go on a boat? A big one, I mean. I want to go south, to Kentucky.”

He scrunched up his face in thought. “Well, it depends on a lot of things, but generally you can do it for about five thousand dollars.”

I nearly fell off my horse in shock, until I remembered that he was probably talking about new dollars. “I don’t have dollars,” I said. “Do they take anything else?”

“Depends on the captain.” He eyed me from under the brim of his hat. “What’ve you got, exactly?”

Something about his attitude made me nervous. “Nothing,” I lied. “I was thinking maybe they’d let me work.”

He laughed. “On the river? Not a chance, unless you’ve got credentials. But I’m sure you can find something to do in town. The market is busy all the time, and it’s easy to pick up work there.”

“I’ll remember that,” I said. “Thanks.” I kicked Flecha and moved away.

A little later I fell in with a couple who seemed to have all their worldly goods in a wagon drawn by two heavy draft horses. They told me they were moving to town.

“Three years in a row our crop has failed,” the woman said. “We were going to try again this year, but when we went to plant our spring seed, half of it had rotted.”

“And then our sheep took sick, and the well water started coming up a funny color,” her husband added.

“It tasted wrong, too,” the woman said.

“We’re not really country folk anyway,” the man went on. “When the war ended, I decided to take free land instead of severance pay, and give farming a go. We thought we could be self-sufficient out there, but it’s been one disaster after another.”

“At least in town, we know how to make a living,” the woman said.

I stayed with this couple for a little while, but their wagon moved too slowly for my taste, so I went on.

I got to the town in late afternoon and was pleasantly surprised. It was busy, clean, and prosperous-looking.

I asked where the markets were, and was directed to the eastern side of town, where sidewalks were set up with long tables of goods. Shoppers made their way from vendor to vendor, poring over herbs, sugar, medicine, woven rugs, and fresh fish and vegetables. It didn’t take me long to find some coffee, which the seller swore was “just up from Gran Columbia, taken straight off the boat and roasted this very morning!”

It sounded like an exaggeration to me, but the coffee smelled heavenly. I paid the man’s price.

“So where’s the river?” I asked. “And how do I get a ticket for a boat?”

“River’s just two blocks away, on the other side of those buildings” he said, pointing. “Can’t miss it. And as for a boat, what kind are you talking about?”

Of course not all boats were the same. How stupid of me. “I need to cross the river and get to Kentucky.”

The man explained that I could do that any number of ways. “You’d be most comfortable on a paddleboat. Some are coal-fired, some run on diesel, but either one would get you where you’re going. If you want to do it on the cheap, though, there’s always people on the waterfront who’ll sell you passage on their raft or whatever other kind of boat they’ve got.”

“That sounds like a lot to figure out,” I said. “I don’t suppose there’s a bridge?” I asked.

He laughed. “You want a bridge?” He took a scrap of paper and a pencil out of a pocket and drew a crude map. “Here you go. You’ll see your bridge.”

I wondered what he meant by that, but couldn’t ask because now other people were crowding the booth, wanting to buy. So I followed his instructions down to the waterfront, where I was truly awed and impressed at what I saw. The river was huge, bigger than any river I had ever seen. If flowed down its banks like a snake pouring itself into its hole, deceptively smooth, but with a sense that danger lurked just beneath the rippled surface.

I could’ve stared for hours, but it was growing dark, and there was no time to lose. I followed a different road north around a small bend in the river, and sure enough, there was my bridge. No wonder the man back at the market had smirked!

I wandered around for a little after that, not sure what to do next. There were a lot of docks extending out into the water. They seemed to be for small boats that surely weren’t the kind Rachel had told me about. But I looked in vain for anything larger and finally settled for watching the activity of the fishing boats. It looks like there’s a lot to know about working on the water.

As the sky grew darker, I realized I had to make a decision about where I would sleep for the night. I still hadn’t found out what a boat trip would cost, and I couldn’t stay where I was now. Although the water was beautiful and endlessly fascinating, it seemed like a rough area, shabby, and with almost as many bars as there were people.

So I went back toward the center of town. But I had a dilemma here, too. Any lodging I might find was likely to be expensive. Why hadn’t I tried to make friends with someone at the market before they closed for the evening? How stupid of me!

I hated to backtrack, but going into the countryside and camping seemed like my best option. So I found the road I had come in on and started retracing my steps. I was on the edge of town, scanning the tree line and wondering how far I would have to go to find a safe place, when I came upon the couple from earlier in the day, with their heavy wagon and plodding draft horses.

I trotted up to them, and after an initial flurry of greetings, they explained that they knew of an affordable place to stay, and said to follow them. And so I’ve ended up safe for the night in a run-down suburban hotel. The owner is a pretty brown-skinned widow named Sumitra. She says she’s of Indian heritage, but she doesn’t look like any Indian I’ve ever seen.

After I got settled in my room, which was musty, but better than the cabin from last night, I went to find Sumitra and ask about the boats. She explained everything to me, and even gave me a map of the waterfront. I was in the wrong place this evening, or I would’ve seen the riverboats, she assured me.

She went on to explain that different boats have different fares, and you can haggle with almost all of them. “So ask around and stick to your price,” she said. “You’ll find someone to carry you.”

I thanked her for the information, then looked around the threadbare lobby. “So how long does the electricity stay on?”

“Out here? Until about eight. Closer to the water, sometimes until ten.”

I glanced out the window. “And what about food? Is there anyplace nearby. . .”

Sumitra gave a laugh that sounded like the jingling of little bells. “Only if you want to go back downtown or to the waterfront.”

I was tired and not particularly happy with this answer. I wanted Flecha to rest, and I didn’t feel much like walking alone at night in a strange town.

Soemthing of my feelings must’ve shown on my face, because Sumitra said, “You can eat with me, if you like. As a friend, no charge.”

I hesitated, but only for a moment. Her big dark eyes were kind, her smile broad and welcoming. “Come back in an hour. You like spicy food?”

My eyes must have lit up like one of the light bulbs in the lobby ceiling, because she laughed that silvery laugh again.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” I promised.

So I came back to my room, washed the road dust off myself, and put on my pink dress for the occasion. And now, standing in front of the dim, water-stained mirror, I have to admit I feel pretty festive. I can’t wait to see what kind of food she’s making. I’m definitely enjoying being back on the road again.

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Day One Hundred Thirty Four

2007-04-23T00:55:00.000-06:00

It was hard to leave Charles’ arms this morning. Here I was warm and safe, yet I was about to set out for the uncertainties of the road. I didn’t dare let myself think, or I would have doubts. And if I had doubts, I would never leave. So I got up and packed the last of my gear. Thankfully, Charles didn’t try to discourage or tempt me, and instead made pancakes for breakfast. He even made extras for me to wrap and take along. They would make good road food.

When I brought Flecha around so I could load my gear, she seemed to understand what was going on. She has always loved to travel, and before I was halfway through strapping on packs and bundles, she was tugging at her tether, ready to go, with or without me.

I shared none of her enthusiasm. I worked steadily, but in a dull, automatic way, trying to stay focused on the tasks in front of me. If I let myself think about what I would be doing even ten minutes from now, it would overwhelm me.

So there I was, living each second, as if my sanity depended on having no past and no future, when Charles came out with two more packs.

“Don’t forget your food,” he said, handing me the larger of the two.

I forced a smile. “That’s way too much. You don’t have to give me anything. But since I know you’ll insist, I have room for only half that.”

“Of course you have room. The pack will get smaller each time you eat. And besides, it’ll slow you down a little.” At my suspicious glance, he added, “I don’t want you getting laid up again. So take it easy with this horse. You don’t want her getting re-injured.”

He knew me well. Before Flecha got hurt, I could’ve covered the rest of the way to the Mississippi River in a single day, assuming good weather and decent roads. But I was going to do it in two days, since Flecha and I were both out of the habit of traveling long distances. It would be hard for me to resist the temptation to push on, knowing I was so close. A bulky bag of food wouldn’t add much weight, but would add some inconvenience, acting as a brake on my impulsiveness.

“Okay,” I said. “I don’t know how I’ll balance it against all the others, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

He held out the other bag.

“What’s this?” I took it and looked inside. It was the pink dress and little flat shoes.

“You don’t think I have a use for them, do you?” he asked.

“You could make a scarecrow. What would I do with fancy clothes on the road? It’s just something else to carry around.”

“Wear it to your first dance once you’re settled in Kentucky. And think of me, okay?”

I turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see me cry, and added the bag to the others.

It was an oddly formal leave-taking. I think neither one of us was up for dealing with heavy emotions, so we hugged and kissed in as light and informal a manner as if I were going visiting for the day and would be back by suppertime. It was better to pretend it wasn’t forever.

And as I rode up the path to the main road, fighting back tears and willing myself to not turn around and look back, that’s what I kept telling myself—it wasn’t forever. I could return anytime. I could go as far as the town and come back this afternoon. I could go farther and come back tomorrow. I could go as far as the Mississippi, change my mind, and—

Oh, who was I kidding? I couldn’t come back. Not ever. This place wasn’t my destiny.

I bit my lip, raised my chin and kicked Flecha into a trot. I had to get away fast, or I never would.

Rachel had mapped a route that she promised would keep me on major roads where I would be less likely to run into trouble. So after I went through town, resisting the impulse to stop at the funeral home and tell Susannah that Charles was all hers now, I got onto the main route east.

It didn’t seem very promising at first.

But after awhile, it got better. Even if Charles hadn’t told me about how they had cut themselves off from the feds during the wars, I would’ve figured it out from the way the road improved a few miles out of town. One could still see the concrete blocks, rusted axles, and old logs that had once been used as a barricade. Now the rubble was lying at the side of the road, dragged away so people could have free access.

Still trying to stay focused on anything but the place and people I was leaving behind, I grasped at small things to think about. Had all that debris been hard to move? How long ago had they done it? And would I be able to get coffee where I was going? Surely the port towns on the Mississippi would have coffee and anything else I could imagine. And I could imagine a lot! I spent a good hour letting my mind play with the possibilities.

I took a longer break than I normally would for lunch, and started looking for a place to camp for the night while sunset was still several hours away. I didn’t want to overtax Flecha, and I wasn’t so sure how I would handle a full day on the road either, after two weeks of living like a settled woman.

Since I wasn’t up for encountering other people, I followed an overgrown path leading off the main road, and it eventually led me to a broken-down cabin.

It wasn’t much, but I could make do.

I spent some time getting Flecha settled and making myself a place to sleep. It wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable as the beds at Charles’ house, and I hoped I hadn’t gotten soft. There would be time enough for that, once I had a home of my own.

A home of my own. Yes, that was what I was searching for. For so much of my journey, I haven’t been sure just what I wanted, other than to work with horses, but I think now I know. My goals are these: useful work that I can enjoy, a home of my own where I can be a member of a community, and someday, a man I can love without doubts or complications.

But I can wait for the last of these three. I made a serious mistake with Charles, thinking it could be all fun, with no pain. That’s a mistake I don’t intend to make again. If I have to wait until I’m a hundred years old for the right man to come along, I’ll do it. No more games with people’s feelings, and especially not with my own.

I’m feeling sad tonight, but not in the way I thought I would. I expected to feel heavy, like my body was full of unshed tears. But instead it’s more of a wistful feeling, of things left unsaid and undone, of things forgiven that maybe shouldn't have been.

The familiar rhythms of working my campsite are comforting, though. I gather wood, I feed the fire, I cook, I check Flecha, and I feed the fire some more and heat water for peppermint tea. Flecha stamps a hoof, a cool breeze blows the leaves on the trees, and smoke stings my nose, bringing with it a rush of nostalgia for all the many campfires I’ve tended over my lifetime.

The stars look far away tonight, overlaid from time to time with a patch of passing cloud. I wonder why sometimes the stars are almost close enough to touch, and other times, they’re impossibly remote? They shouldn’t play games. It’s unfair and not worthy of them.

As painful as it is to be on my own again, it feels good, too. Out here on my own, I can hear myself think and be who I am. It’s good to be on my way again.

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Day One Hundred Thirty Three

2007-04-22T01:02:00.000-06:00

This morning I found Charles gone. No note, no evidence he had made breakfast for himself, no sign of where he might be. He was just gone.

I went to the barn, where I let Flecha and the donkey out into the paddock. I checked the chicken coop, where I found an unusual number of eggs, and then I went back to the house.

Still no sign of Charles.

So I ate breakfast alone. The silence of the house was more damning than any baleful looks he could’ve given me. I felt guilty, condemned, and waiting for judgment. It wasn’t wrong to want to seek out my own destiny, but I had been careless, not thinking how my actions might make him feel. What was wrong with me, that I couldn’t think ahead and see situations through to their obvious conclusions?

I couldn’t finish breakfast. It was terrible of me to waste good food, but with my stomach starting to tighten up in knots, I couldn’t eat another bite.

I cleaned up the kitchen then went to my room and counted out my money and valuables. I tried to think of all the treatments Flecha had—ice, packs with iodine in them, drying poultices, new shoes. . . I sighed and scooped everything into a kerchief, knotted it and put it in my pocket. It wasn’t enough, but maybe Rachel would understand.

I left a note on the kitchen table, telling Charles where I was going, and then I saddled Flecha and headed up the road to Rachel’s place.

When I got there, I found her busy in her garden. She looked up at me in surprise. “What brings you here? Flecha’s not having trouble, is she? How are those shoes?”

“She seems fine,” I said. “I just wanted to get one last check before I head out tomorrow. And I wanted to pay you and thank you for all you’ve done.”

Rachel stood up, rubbing her muddy hands on her pants and frowning. “You’re still planning on leaving? Did Charles not ask—“

“You knew?”

She ducked her head. “He asked if I thought he should. I said why not? You can’t go through life afraid to ask simple a yes or no question.”

I jumped off my horse. “That was hardly a simple question. I’ve got the whole rest of my life to be thinking about, and I’m not ready to be making those kinds of commitments.”

“Just how old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

Rachel looked at me sharply. “The way you carry yourself, and the experiences you’ve had, I would’ve thought you were several years older.”

“What difference would that make? I’d still be my own person, with my own plans.”

“That’s true.” She took Flecha’s reins and led her back to the road. She seemed to be thinking, so I remained silent. “You mind if I ride her up and down a bit? I want to get a feel for her gait.”

I didn’t mind at all, and watched as she trotted Flecha back and forth, then cantered her and even kicked her into a brief gallop. She pulled up in front of me looking pleased.

“Now you do what I just did, and I’ll watch.”

So I tried to mimic the exercise, feeling happy with the way Flecha tugged at the reins when I let her gallop. She wanted her head, wanted to go fast, and that was a good sign. “What do you think?” I asked, walking her back and forth afterwards.

“I think she’ll be fine, if you’re careful. How far were you planning to go each day? And do you have a route?”

I didn’t have a route, so after Flecha cooled down and we turned her loose in the paddock, we went inside the house, where Rachel had some maps. She made herbal tea for us both, and we sipped it as we discussed routes east. I was dismayed to learn that I was too far north. Heading due east would put me in Illinois, not Kentucky!

“Depending on where in Kentucky you’re headed, it might be for the best,” Rachel said. She pointed to the state lines. “Cross the southern tip of Illinois, and you’ll be in eastern Kentucky.”

I wasn’t interested in such fine distinctions. “I just want to get to Kentucky. How do I do that?”

Rachel sighed and muttered something that sounded like, “I guess you really are nineteen,” then she proceeded to show me a route that would take me to a river town. “From there, you can catch a boat down the Mississippi. Get off at any of these places,” she pointed again, “And you’ll be in Kentucky.”

“I can’t take a boat. What about Flecha?”

She laughed. “Honey, the boats are huge. You can take your horse, and a dozen more if you’ve got them. Trust me.”

I tried to picture a boat big enough for people and horses, but the only image that came to mind was that of a painting I once saw of a big wooden boat with white things like wings. The boat was being tossed around in a storm, and the thought that I might have to endure something like that worried me. “Aren’t there any bridges?”

“None left that I would trust. You’re better off on a boat.” She patted my hand. “It’ll be okay. Really.”

I nodded, pretending a confidence I didn’t feel at all. “It’s just I don’t know anything about boats and rivers so big you can’t see the other side.”

“They didn’t teach you these things in school?”

“I never went to school. There hadn't been one for years in the valley where I grew up. My mother taught me to read, and I’ve read a lot of books, but none about boats.”

Rachel got up and went into another room. When she came back, she had a book for me. “It’s not about boats,” she said, “But it’s about a man who traveled on a long and difficult journey by boat, and about the interesting people and strange creatures he met along the way.”

I took the book and frowned at the unfamiliar title, trying to pronounce it: Odyssey. Seeing from Rachel’s smile that I had pronounced it correctly, I thanked her. “I guess it’s kind of like my journey? Full of adventures?”

“Well, hopefully you’ll meet with no monsters or witches, but yes.”

“I think I’ll like it, then. It’s been awhile since I’ve had a new book.” On impulse, I stood up and hugged her. This seemed to take her by surprise, but then she put her arms around me and held me close.

“Do be careful out there, okay?”

I nodded and pulled away, taking the knotted kerchief out of my pocket. “How much do I owe you for Flecha?”

To my surprise, she waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’s been taken care of.”

“Don’t be that way. Besides, I don’t want Charles paying for things for me. He’s done enough.”

We bickered for a bit, finally agreeing on a price that didn’t seem too ridiculously low. I left the money on the table, and we went to get Flecha. I hugged Rachel again before I mounted, trying not to cry. I would miss her.

“If you don’t find what you’re looking for in Kentucky, we’ll still be here,” she said.

I nodded and said I wouldn’t forget, but I think we both know I won’t be back. I gave a curt little wave and kicked Flecha into a fast walk, then a trot. I needed to get away fast, or I wouldn’t ever do it.

When I got home, there was still no sign of Charles, nor any sign that he had even read my note. I flung myself on the sofa, feeling sorry for myself, and opened the book Rachel had given me. I read for awhile, then dozed off. I was awakened by a knock on the door. I was getting to my feet to answer when I heard a shout from the direction of the herb garden. It was Charles, calling to whoever was at the door.

I peeked out the kitchen window and saw a boy with a basket trot up to Charles, who took the basket and removed a note from inside. He read it with a frown, then crumpled it and shoved it in a pocket. He pocketed something else that I couldn’t make out, then filled the basket with sprigs of peppermint and coriander, and sent the child on his way.

I wanted to go out to the garden, but felt suddenly shy. Surely if Charles was back from wherever he had been all day, he would come in soon. So I started preparing supper. And I ended up eating it alone. By now it was dusk and I couldn’t see Charles anywhere. I knew he was safe, since I had just seen him a couple hours before, but why wouldn’t he face me?

Running around looking for him would only make me look like a fool, so I covered his plate and put it in the warmer. Then I poured myself a glass of wine, put a fresh battery in a lantern, and sat down in the living room to read. But Charles’ empty chair in the corner seemed to fill the room, accusing me of so many horrible things that I finished off my wine, went to my room and threw myself on the bed.

And finally, the tears I couldn’t find last night came.

I didn’t hear Charles’ footsteps, but I felt his hand on my back. Somehow I had known he would come, and I cried harder. He didn’t say a word at first, only lay down beside me and drew me into his arms, where I cried all over his shirt. If it hurt his arm to hold me, he gave no sign. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I shouldn’t have pressured you. It wasn’t fair.”

“No, I wasn’t fair. I—“

He wouldn’t let me continue. “You always said you were leaving. I just didn’t want to hear. I thought you could learn to love it here. And maybe love me a little, too.”

That made me start crying all over again. “But I do,” I said, when I could finally choke out the words. “But that’s not—“

“I know. That’s not the point. And you’re right.” He fumbled in his pocket. “I made something for you. Want to see?”

I wiped my nose with my sleeve. Great. The best of my two tattered shirts was now dirty. “You don’t have to give me presents to make me stop crying, like I’m some kid.”

“But you are a kid. A very stubborn one.” He handed me a small wooden object.

I sat up, blinking, wiping my nose with my shirt again, since nothing else was handy, and my shirt was dirty, anyway. “It’s cute,” I said.

“I’ve been working on it for a few days. An appropriate gift for talented rabbit hunter.”

“Do I get a little bow and arrow, too?”

He kissed me and stood up. “Listen to you. As careless of your toys as you are of my heart.”

Before I could figure out if he was teasing or not, he added, “Since you say this is your last night, why don’t you change out of those dirty clothes and join me in my room?”

I sniffled and nodded. “Give me a little while. I need to wash up. But I’ll be there.”

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Day One Hundred Thirty Two

2007-04-21T23:37:00.000-06:00

I got up early and rode Flecha along some of the trails near the lake. With the sun coming up over the water, the fish jumping, and the birds singing in the trees, it was hard to believe I was about to turn my back on all this. What was I thinking?

What, except that I want a life of my own choosing, not one someone else has planned and shaped for me. That’s why I left home in the first place. I would be worse than a fool to throw myself into the same kind of trap after having traveled so far and been through so much.

Of course, resolutions made alone on a lake at sunrise look quite different over the breakfast table a couple hours later.

“But we got Eddy,” Charles said.

“That’s not the point.”

“And once we clear all the overgrowth, the place will be visible from the road again, and you’ll have no more worries about safety.”

“That’s not it, either.”

“We’ll hold a community barn-raising for you. Your farm will be up and running in no time.”

I pushed my plate of half-eaten eggs away. “Are you even listening? Those are your dreams, not mine.”

“You don’t dream of having your own horse farm someday?”

“Well, yes. But not like this. I want it to be something I’ve earned, not something I’m given.”

“Consider it a loan, then. We’ll figure out what it costs, we’ll draw up an accounting book and you’ll pay me back when you can.”

I laughed. “Right. Like you would ever in a million years take goods or money from me. Please. Do whatever you like with the land, but don’t give it to me. I can’t stay.”

We talked around each other some more, not reaching any sort of understanding. Finally Charles sulked off to check his traps and I began gathering my gear, getting everything ready for travel.

In the afternoon, I took Flecha out again, and when I returned I worked oil into her saddle and bridle, and mended a fraying spot on her saddle blanket. When I went to the house, I found Charles trying to skin and quarter a rabbit, and not getting very far with it, due to his injured arm. He let me take over, and I tried to make cheerful conversation, but I wasn’t fooling him, and he didn’t say much.

We ate supper in strained silence, but as had happened so often in the past, a little wine relaxed him afterwards, and he joined me on the sofa where I was reinforcing the stitches on a shirt sleeve that I had torn and had already mended once. I wished I had time to get a new shirt, but there would be no more delays. I would take Flecha to see Rachel tomorrow, and if all was well I would pack my bags and leave the next morning. If I had to take to the road in rags, so be it.

“You think you’re about done with that?”

I looked up from my work. “I suppose. Why?”

“I thought it would be nice to walk down to the lake.”

“In the dark?”

“It’s pretty at night.”

It felt like forever since the night we rowed on the water by moonlight. I stood up and let him take my hand.

We went down to the dock and sat on the edge. The water sparkled, more full of stars than the sky.

“I’m sorry we can’t take the boat out,” he said. “But my arm will be better soon.”

I didn’t answer. His arm wouldn’t be healed before I left. It was tempting to stay long enough for one more ride out on the water, but I pushed that thought aside.

“You know,” he said, drawing me to him, “When I said before that you didn’t have to accept Peggy’s land, I meant it. And when I said you could stay here, I meant that, too.”

I nodded. Of course I knew.

“But I didn’t mean that you had to live here as my mistress. I know we haven’t known each other long, but would you marry me?”

I had been leaning against him, but now I sat straight up.

“I don’t mean right away, of course, unless that’s what you want. But I don’t want you thinking I don’t respect you. I’d like you to be my wife.”

Damn it, why hadn’t I told him about Will from the very beginning? It was too late now to tell him I was already married. He would think I had been hiding it from him on purpose, to make him look like a fool. Not that my sham of a marriage mattered much—I could probably marry again here in the United States and no one would ever be the wiser. But I didn’t want to get married and live my life in Missouri. It wasn’t the plan. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s got nothing to do with how I feel about you, but I just can’t.”

Charles stood up and stared at me for what felt like several minutes, but couldn’t possibly have been that long. “Fine,” he said. Then he turned and went back toward the house. I let him go, and after I lost sight of him in the dark, I turned back to the water, but didn’t really see it. I tried to think, but as usual in times of crisis, useful thoughts wouldn’t come. All I knew was that I had failed this man who had done so much for me, and it was a deep, physical pain that seemed to fill every organ and made my heart beat in strange little jerks. And the worst of it was that I couldn’t even cry to let it all out.

I lay back against the boards of the dock and stared up at the sky. I remembered once talking with Will about the stars, wondering if there were other worlds up there. I thought they must be cold and I wouldn’t like them. Now I wished I were on the coldest, most frozen of them all, so I could freeze all the pain I was feeling and know only numbness.

But of course the cool spring breeze continued, and the rough boards felt warm under my back. In a bush somewhere, a night bird sang, its song like liquid notes of water. I got up, brushed myself off, and went back to the house. I went to Charles’ room, thinking I would talk with him, try to make him understand. But his door was closed and I lacked the courage to try to open it. If it opened, what then? And if he had locked me out, I don’t think I could’ve lived with it.

I guess I’ll try to sleep now. I don’t know what else to do. But I am still leaving. He’s not going to guilt me into staying here.

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Day One Hundred Thirty One

2007-04-20T00:45:00.000-06:00

As horrible days often do, yesterday started out nicely enough.

I had gone to bed determined to stay up and help Charles keep watch. Instead, I woke up propped against the bed pillows with my gun in my lap. I went out into the living room, and found Charles slumped over his rifle, snoring.

What a fine pair of guards we were!

Having gotten only a few hours of sleep, I regretted we had no coffee. I made some birch tea, but of course it wasn’t the same. Charles stared into his cup, blinking like a sleepy little boy, and I’m sure I was no better.

I was trying to work up the will and the energy to go down to the barn when there was a knock at the door.

“I wonder who that is?” I said.

“Probably a neighbor wanting food or help with a project.”

“Maybe it’s the killer,” I said. “Maybe he’s polite. Asks if you’d rather he slit your throat or just shoot you.”

Charles got to his feet and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth it. “You’ve got a strange sense of humor.”

He went to the door and I heard Rachel’s voice. This made me perk up. “I was thinking about you,” I told her as she entered the room.

“It’s been a few days,” she agreed. “But people talk, and I know you’ve been busy.” She turned to Charles. “And I’m very unhappy with you.”

Charles made a show of not knowing what she was talking about, but she wasn’t buying that for a minute.

“How long have we been friends? You know I would’ve helped you with Peggy.”

“I didn’t need help. And you have a reputation to think about.”

Rachel sighed in exasperation and turned to me. “How about we go look at that horse of yours?”

“So,” I asked as we walked the path to the barn, “Why does he think you’ll get a bad reputation for helping him out?”

“Oh, there’s still a few people who want to blame him for what happened the night Vickie and the Timmons children died. But most folks have forgiven him. They can see he’s a good man and is trying to make amends. But he’s determined to keep going around in sackcloth and ashes.”

I didn’t know what she meant by that, but I had a good idea.

“That’s why I’m glad you’re here. You’re good for him.”

“I don’t know if I’m here to be anyone’s salvation,” I said. “But he’s made me a tempting offer. He wants me to have Peggy’s property.”

Rachel’s eyes widened in surprise. “What a lucky windfall for you. But. . .”

“Yeah. I have other plans.”

“That wasn’t what I meant. I was thinking that established people in the community might not like it. There are plenty of poor people who’ve been here for generations. Giving that land to an outsider could be trouble.”

I hadn’t thought of that before.

By now we were at the barn. Flecha seemed happy to see Rachel, who went up to her cooing and asking, “How’s my buddy?”

We took Flecha outside and walked and trotted her. Then to my surprise, Rachel suggested we saddle her so she could check how she did with a rider.

“Oh, me and Flecha don’t need a saddle.” It had been a long time since I had ridden bareback, but we walked, trotted, and even did a brief canter. By the time I pulled up and slipped off her back, Rachel was beaming.

“You got so lucky with this horse.”

“She’s a tough girl.” I patted her neck. “And we had excellent medical care. So what do you think? When can I travel again?”

Rachel’s face clouded over. “Give her another couple days. But I do hope you’ll consider staying. You don’t have to accept Peggy’s land. You could stay with me. Or I’m sure if you wanted to stay with Charles, he’d like that, too.”

I shook my head. It was too much to think about.

“Well, whether you stay or not, Flecha will need some new shoes. And my husband got a deer yesterday, so how about you two come over this afternoon and stay for supper?”

What a great idea! Charles agreed, and after Rachel left we hurried to get the chores done. Then Charles hitched the donkey and I followed on Flecha through the woods to where Rachel and her husband, Tom, lived.

Tom was about as I had imagined a man married to Rachel would be—tall and sturdy, with an air about him that suggested he wasn’t easily put out over anything. Rachel and I took Flecha to the paddock so we could work on her hooves, and Charles and Tom wandered off, talking about whatever it is men talk about when they’re away from females.

Flecha behaved herself for the trimming and shoeing, and then Rachel rubbed some stuff on the outside of the hooves that made them look black and shiny. “It’ll come right off,” she told me. “But I’ve noticed that some horses really seem to know when you’ve made their feet pretty and it makes them happy.”

And it did. Flecha picked her feet up, tossed her head and swished her tail as if we had turned her into a princess. It was so funny that I put some ribbons in her tail and forelock, and she preened even more. “You silly girl,” I told her. “You’re still just a horse.”

We washed up and went to join the men, who were drinking some of Tom’s homebrewed beer and waiting to cook some venison steaks. I noticed they had a real old-fashioned iron grate for the brick grill and I was about to comment on it when I remembered that Charles had said they shut themselves off from the feds during the war. So of course they weren’t forced to give up their steel and iron, although a lot of people probably snuck out and sold it for scrap, anyway.

It was a nice supper. In addition to the venison steaks, there were potatoes, wheat bread, and a green salad collected partly from the garden and partly from wild plants. For dessert, Rachel brought out something she called a cobbler, which made me laugh because it looked and tasted nothing like shoes.

And then we sat around, sipping wine and talking, ignoring the dirty dishes as if we were rich and had servants. Rachel and Tom told stories about the town and surrounding areas, Charles told a few stories of his own, and at last I was asked to tell about my travels.

“That could take all night,” I said. But I told them some of the better stories, like about the white sands and the bottomless lakes. And I told them about the tornado and the dying people in Catalunia. And since I felt bad for having told them such sad stories, I went on to tell them about the carnival, which made them laugh.

I had just finished telling them about the parrot and was going to mention the fortune teller when I suddenly stopped cold. Wait a minute. Hadn’t the old woman told me she had seen green hills and white fences in my future? Hadn’t she said not to stay too long with the man with the boat? I looked at Charles. He was watching me with so much love in his eyes I could hardly stand it. I finished my story quickly and drank some wine.

It was dark when we finally headed toward home. Charles had a battery-powered headlamp for the donkey and some lanterns for the cart, and my job was to keep Flecha right behind him. She was a little more calm now, having gotten over thinking she was so pretty. She wasn’t too happy to be walking at a donkey’s pace, but I told her to be thankful I was taking her out at all, and we headed down the road into the night.

The road that had seemed so benign earlier in the day now seemed menacing. I had spent plenty of time in the woods, in the dark, and the forest had never felt like this. I kept peering off into the trees and looking over my shoulder, but saw nothing to justify how I was feeling. It was just a nagging instinct that something wasn't right. I was on the point of saying something to Charles, my nerves stretched so tight I thought they would snap, when I heard the sudden crack of a rifle.

Flecha balked in alarm and I reached for my gun.

There was a second shot, and it seemed to be coming from the left. I couldn’t make out anything to shoot at, but I fired anyway. Charles had grabbed his rifle by now and fired, too.

There was a rustling in the bushes and now I could see something—a dark shape among the trees. I took aim and fired again. Charles jumped off the wagon seat and ran after the shadowy form.

I thought he was a fool, but I jumped off Flecha and hurried after him, as if the world really needed one more fool.

I’m pleased to say that we got him. We dragged the body back to the road and put him in the wagon.

“We’ll bury him at home,” Charles said. “No one needs to know about this.”

“Are you sure someone won’t come looking for him?”

“Eddy lives alone.”

“How did he know. . .”

“Let’s not discuss it. It’s not important.”

He said it in such a way that I didn’t dare ask any more questions, and we finished our journey home in silence.

But when we got to the barn and lit a few lanterns, I noticed Charles had a lot of blood on his sleeve and wasn’t moving his left arm. “Did you get hit?”

“It’s okay. It didn’t hit bone.”

“That’s not the point.”

I put a temporary bandage on it to stop the bleeding, and then I put up Flecha while he selected some shovels and put them in the wagon. We buried Eddy on an unused corner of the property, under some trees. We covered the grave with old vines and shrubbery. “And now,” I said, “You’re going to let me doctor that arm properly.”

As it turned out, Charles was right. The bullet hadn’t hit anything important, although it had bled a lot. “Just you wait until this stiffens up,” I told him after I had cleaned it with iodine and wrapped it with a bandage. “You won’t want to use this arm for a few days.”

He flexed his fingers. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

I poured us each a measure of his strong moonshine whiskey and suddenly the whole wearisome last two days caught up with me. I was exhausted.

This morning, Charles tried to pretend like the arm wasn’t bothering him, but I knew better. Still, I didn’t say anything and pretended like it was normal for him to only use one hand for things. I think we were both emotionally drained because we didn’t do much of anything. Charles weeded the garden, I took Flecha out for a ride, and we settled in for an early supper, both of us knowing it would be an early night.

“Now that there’s no danger,” Charles said as we sat together on the patio after we ate, “You don’t have to worry about taking Peggy’s place.”

I ducked my head and didn’t say anything.

“Unless you’d rather stay here with me.” He reached for my hand.

Still, I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t stay. But how was I supposed to tell him that?

“Do I have to decide tonight?”

“Of course not. Take as long as you like.”

Right. The longer I stay here thinking I’m not deciding, I’m deciding, aren’t I?

I have to go. I’ll tell him tomorrow.

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Day One Hundred Thirty

2007-04-19T02:27:00.000-06:00

We were attacked on the way back from a dinner at Rachel’s and we killed the man. I don’t know how he knew where to find us, but I’m too tired to think about that tonight. I’m exhausted, Charles is wounded (nothing major), and I need to make sure he’s comfortable, and get some sleep myself.

It’s nice to know the danger has passed, though. Charles feels pretty sure we’re safe tonight. I sure hope so, because I don’t want to have to fight anyone again. Not anytime soon.

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Day One Hundred Twenty Nine

2007-04-18T02:12:00.000-06:00

This morning when I went to tend Flecha, she was behaving so much like her old self that I decided I would trot her on a lead and check her gait. And I would do it right away, since it seemed like each day was busier than the one before.

“I’ve sorry I’ve been neglecting you, Flechita,” I told her, as I led her out to the paddock. “But we’ll have some fun today. And I’ll try to do better.”

When Charles finally came looking for me, we were having a grand time.

“I was wondering where you were,” he said, leaning on the fence to watch. “You’re not usually late for breakfast.”

“Flecha needed a little exercise,” I explained. “And it’s been a few days since I spent any time with her.”

“So how is she?”

“I think she’s ready to be ridden again. At a walk, and only for short distances, of course.”

Charles nodded and tried to look like he was pleased. “Well, coffee doesn’t taste any better, the longer it sits. And this is about the last of it too, until I can get more. So why don’t you come inside and have some?”

I followed him into the house and poured myself a cup. Yes, the coffee tasted old and bitter from sitting awhile. “We should’ve gotten more while we were in town,” I said.

“There isn’t any. I asked, but there hasn’t been a delivery in awhile.”

“I suppose I could go look for chicory and dandelion roots today.”

“If you like. But I was hoping you’d help me with a different kind of project.”

As it turned out, he wanted to go to his mother-in-law’s property, the one he wanted to give to me. “I want to see if there are any clues as to what happened, and I want to see what, if anything, was taken. And if there’s time, we can clean up the place a bit.”

I had mixed feelings about such an errand. It seemed dangerous, if Peggy’s killer was still around. But it had to be done eventually, and if the property was mine for the asking, it only made sense to check it out thoroughly before making a decision. It was the practical thing to do. So I agreed to go with him, thinking how proud Auntie would be that I was using my brain instead of just my feelings.

Nevertheless, I was a little scared, so I strapped on my knife and pistol, loaded myself with extra ammo and grabbed my shotgun. No one was taking me down without a fight! When I went out to the wagon, Charles looked me up and down, his lips twitching like he could barely suppress the urge to laugh. “You look like you’re off to fight a civil war,” he said.

I laid my shotgun and ammo in the back of the wagon and climbed onto the seat. Charles wasn’t armed, I noticed, other than a standard hunting rifle. “Well, it looks like someone’s got to protect you,” I said.

“And I can’t think of a more talented and lovely young lady to do it.”

“Right. Save the flattery for someone it’ll work on, okay?”

So we went out to the little cabin in the woods.

Charles pointed out the property lines, where I could see the signs of old fencing, and the new saplings sprouting where fields and pasturage had once been. “I don’t think it would take much to clear it,” he said. “Get a group from the community out here, and you’d be all set in a day or two.”

“And why would the community work that hard for me? They don’t know me.”

“Curiosity.”

Great. If I wanted people to gawk at me, I’d have stayed with the carnival.

I scanned the property, paying special attention to the tree line and looking for signs of danger. Seeing nothing, I followed Charles inside. He thought I was being silly, but I drew my pistol and checked the place for intruders. Not finding so much as a raccoon, I put the gun away.

In the living room I found Charles on his knees, examining the patterns of debris on the floor. “I think somebody has been here,” he said.

I’m embarrassed to say that I couldn’t tell, just by looking at the broken glass and dirty old flocking on the floor. “Well, of course someone was here. Whoever killed Peggy was here first, and then us.”

“And someone since.”

Although I had already checked the house, I felt cold and my hand drifted back to my gun. “Curiosity-seekers?”

“I hope so.”

Charles continued his investigation, checking stains, streaks of mud, placement of random objects, and even dust, for clues. While I’m competent to track animals for hunting, I was completely out of my league indoors. “I’ll be outside,” I said.

“Be careful.”

This gave me pause. What was he seeing that made him think there might be need for caution, after he had teased me earlier about my fears? I went onto the front porch and looked around. Things seemed quiet enough.

But wait a minute. The woods shouldn’t be quiet. Why weren’t the birds singing? I looked up, hoping to see signs of a hawk. Nothing. I took my pistol out of the holster and took a few steps backward, through the open doorway. I knew better than to turn my back on the tree line. Once I was inside, I shut the door. “We’re not alone.”

“I know. Just stay calm. I think it’s only one person, and they’d be a fool to take us both on.”

How had he known?

There was no time to wonder. I peeked out a window from behind a curtain. I saw nothing out of the ordinary, and that frightened me more than if the entire forest had erupted in shouting, weapon-waving warriors. “So you think whoever it is will go away?”

“Perhaps.”

He seemed remarkably calm.

“So what should we do?”

“Wait.”

And so we waited. And waited. It felt like hours were passing, but it wasn’t really that long. The sun barely moved in the sky, perhaps out of sympathy for my lungs, which hardly dared draw a breath. Charles kept watch at a window at the front of the house, and I kept a lookout from a room at the back, straining my eyes for any sign of movement, my ears for any sound at all. My whole body was on alert, stretched tight as bowstring.

I was so attuned to the least whisper of a sound that when I heard the creak of a floorboard, I spun around, raising my gun, my heart pounding in my ears.

“It’s okay. It’s just me.”

I lowered my weapon, drawing a shaking breath. “You shouldn’t scare a girl like that.”

Charles smiled indulgently. “You knew the danger wasn’t inside the cabin. You let yourself get too nervous.”

I put my gun away and noticed my hands were trembling. “I’ve gotten out of the habit of being a soldier, I guess. Used to be, I could wait for my target and pick him off like it was nothing.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure our ‘target’ as you call him, is gone. I caught a glimpse of something near the tree line, then it moved away. If it’s who I think it is, he won’t bother us. Not right now, at least. He knows we’re armed and on the alert.”

I followed Charles to the front patio, and sure enough, the birds were singing in the trees again and a few squirrels were digging old nuts out of the ground. “So who do you think it was?”

He wouldn’t say. “I’d rather wait and be sure. But there aren’t many people who knew where Peggy’s main stash was. Even I wasn’t supposed to know. An ordinary thief would’ve never found it, but it’s gone.”

I pondered this as we drove home. “Whoever it is,” I said, “He knows we know, doesn’t he?”

“He probably knows we’re suspicious.”

“I don’t suppose the town policeman could help?”

He snorted as if I had told a particularly unfunny joke.

We spent the rest of the day making plans, checking locks and readying weapons. Charles set out a few traps on the trails leading to the property, and I dug holes outside the windows and covered them with sticks and brush to make them hard to see in the dark. It felt good to have a plan of action and it went a long way toward relieving my anxiety.

After supper, Charles brought out a chess set. I laughed when I saw it. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What’s the matter? Do you not know how to play? I can teach you.”

“I know how to play. It’s just that I’m no good. I can’t seem to strategize.”

“So you just move pieces at random and hope for the best?”

“I’m not as bad as that,” I assured him. “But I’m close.”

He read to me instead.

Tonight I tried to go to sleep, but couldn’t. Charles didn’t want to join me in bed, but urged me to get some rest. As if I could!

I looked into the living room a little while ago, and he’s sitting there with two guns beside him, a book in his lap and a glass of whiskey on the table. But he hasn’t touched the whiskey and I don’t think he’s reading the book.

I don’t want him to know that I’m nervous, too. It would only worry him. So I’m staying here in the bedroom with my weapons nearby, waiting just like he is. Unlike at the cabin earlier today, I’m calm now. We’ve made preparations. We have a plan. Charles even thinks he knows who our enemy is. He wouldn’t be a very smart one to attack tonight, but I sort of hope he does. Dumb enemies are the best kind.

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Day One Hundred Twenty Eight

2007-04-17T02:13:00.001-06:00

The funeral was today.

I told Charles we should go to town early because Susannah had offered to lend me a dress. This surprised him. “I had the impression she wasn’t much taken with you.”

I thought he hadn’t been paying attention!

“I’m glad you didn’t take her attitude personally,” he went on. “She’s had a tough life. Her father died when the youngest child, Caleb, was a baby. Susannah helped her mother run the business and look after the children. She had no time to have friends or a boyfriend. I think it made her bitter. Since her mother became an invalid last year, Susannah’s been running the place alone.”

“It seems like a depressing line of work,” I said. “But what about that boy who sat in the room with us yesterday? He looked at least fifteen. Doesn’t he help?”

“If you can call it that. He’s got other ideas about life, although I think he has a tough time finding girls who don’t mind that he usually has dead people in the house.”

I agreed that it wasn’t the sort of thing girls found attractive. “So you don’t mind going to town a little early?”

“Of course not. I want you to have friends, and I certainly like to see you dolled up.”

He made to put his arms around me, but I moved away, still not convinced that he liked me for anything but my resemblance to his wife.

Charles seemed puzzled by my behavior, but said nothing and went to hitch the donkey and bring the wagon around. Once we were on the road, he asked, “What did you and Susannah talk about yesterday? Besides that she would loan you a dress, of course.”

“That was all,” I lied. “Other than she was annoyed about the certificate. She said it shouldn’t make any difference when everyone knows everyone else’s business, anyway.”

“That’s true.”

He was silent for so long that I thought his mind had turned to other things and I leaned back against the seat cushion to enjoy the drive.

Charles broke into my thoughts.

“You seem distant today.”

I shrugged and hoped he would forget about it.

“You weren’t yourself last night, either.”

I cast about in my mind for an excuse. “Your mother-in-law was murdered just up the road from us, so of course it’s given me a lot to think about.”

This seemed to reassure him, and he put a hand on my knee. “I’ll look out for you.”

I resisted the temptation to tell him I could look after myself, thank you. Instead, I nodded and scooted a little closer, hoping he would think everything was all right between us and quit asking questions.

When we got to the funeral home, Susannah was waiting. She left Charles in the public room in the company of her useless teenage brother and wild little Caleb, whose hair looked even crazier than the day before, and who seemed to have grown several extra freckles during the night. Charles didn’t seem to mind the boys’ idiosyncrasies, and settled in with them while Susannah led me to a room at the back of the house.

It was a nice room, all pink and gold, with flowered curtains and bedspread. When I commented on it, she smiled. “My father picked it out for me when I was a kid. It’s not my taste any more, but it reminds me of him, so I keep it this way.”

I let her give me a dress to try on. It was dark gray, almost black, with a white collar. “I wish I had known my father,” I said. “In a way, you were lucky.”

“Sometimes I wish I’d never known him. Then I wouldn’t be able to miss him.” She took a step back and examined me with a critical eye. “That dress isn't a bad fit, but something’s missing.”

“My hair, maybe?” It was in its usual plain braid down my back.

“Maybe.”

But after we brushed out my hair and rearranged it, she still wasn’t satisfied. She rummaged in a polished wooden box on top of her dresser and took out a string of pearls. I hadn’t seen such a thing in years. My grandmother had owned some pearls, but they had either been stolen or lost when the soldiers burned my family’s home.

“They’re a family heirloom,” Susannah said, clasping them around my neck. “My great-grandmother bought them on a trip to New York, so be careful not to lose them at the cemetery.”

I reached up and touched the smooth stones, in awe that something from so far away had found its way to my neck.

When we went back to the main room, Charles was alone, the boys having grown bored and fled. He looked at me in my swishing dress and glowing white pearls, and smiled. “Aren’t you the sweetest thing.” He got to his feet and gave me a cautious embrace. “You look too pretty to be going to a funeral.”

Susannah was watching us enviously and I pulled out of Charles’ arms so as not to make her mad. I thought Susannah was much prettier than I could ever be, with her shiny gold hair, pert little nose and long lashes. There was a dignified grace to her movements that I couldn’t in a million years hope to match, and I found myself hoping Charles could see her as I did and return some of her interest after I resumed my journey east.

The funeral was a simple affair, just as Charles had asked for. Susannah had a closed carriage for us, drawn by a black horse, and her teenage brother drove while we sat inside. The cemetery was on the outskirts of the village, and it looked pretty full to me.

There was a Protestant minister waiting at the grave site, and there were a few other people too. They were respectful and I had the impression they were old friends of Vickie and her mother. I wondered how they had gotten word of what had happened, but maybe they knew the officials at the town hall, or maybe little Caleb had spread the word, even after being told not to.

I stood with Charles, trying to keep a good attitude, but it wasn’t easy. Peggy’s open grave and casket were next to an elaborate headstone for Vickie, and Charles’ gaze kept returning to his wife’s grave. I told myself it didn’t matter. Flecha was nearly well. I would be leaving soon, and why should I care if he pined over his long-dead wife? Still, it hurt. When he offered me his arm as we left the cemetery, I turned away.

Although Charles hadn’t asked for a reception, Susannah had arranged for coffee and cake at her house. I thought it was nice of her, and hoped it hadn’t cut too much into her profit. I still thought it was a terrible thing to make money off the dead, but since that was how they did things here, it seemed like they might as well do it right.

At the house, I was formally introduced to the guests who had followed us from the grave site. When one of them commented on my resemblance to Vickie, Charles turned red and couldn’t find his tongue. It was up to me to be gracious and make a polite comment about how kind the lady was to compare me favorably to someone whose loveliness was so well known. But the stress of all the stares and whispers took its toll on me, and I was glad when everyone was gone and I could go back to Susannah’s room and change into my regular clothes.

“Thank you for everything,” I told Susannah. “You’ve been very generous.”

She shrugged and put the pearls away. “I wish it was something I was better at. I admire Charles so much. He’s who I call whenever someone can’t afford a proper funeral or headstone. Even though it’s not easy for him, he always finds a way to help, even if the family has been mean to him.”

“He’s nice to everyone,” I agreed, suddenly feeling bad that I had been so churlish all day.

“I wish I could be more like him, but it’s hard when you’ve got a whole family to take care of.”

“I know,” I said, slipping out of the dress and putting on my worn pants and shirt. “I’ve had a pretty crazy life, too. But Charles says when you do good things, good things will happen to you. He calls it karma.”

Susannah put the dress back on its hanger. “Maybe I should loan out more dresses, then.”

“I don’t think it works if you do it on purpose. You have to do good because it’s the right thing. If you expect a reward, you won’t get it.”

“So I might as well be mean, then?”

Her eyes met mine and we laughed.

On the way back to the lake, I tried to be a little nicer to Charles, remembering his generosity to me and the good he did in the community. He didn’t deserve for me to be sullen and silent, pulling away from his touch. But my mind kept returning to the words of the woman who had compared me to Vickie, and to the way Charles had stared at the headstone. I didn’t mind that he was still in love with his wife, but if he was going to have me sharing his bed, I needed to know that it was because he cared about me. I didn't want to be a replacement for the woman he had lost.

When we got home, Charles let me out at the house and went to put the donkey and cart away. I turned on some lights and started supper, wondering how I would broach the subject that had been troubling me for a whole day now. It was unfair to keep being so cool to him. I owed him an explanation.

I had just about figured out what I would say, when Charles came in. He saw me working on supper and told me to stop and come with him into the living room. This was not how it was supposed to happen.

He took a folded paper from inside a book and handed it to me without a word.

It was the deed to his mother-in-law’s property.

“I’ve been thinking, and I want you to have it.”

I closed my eyes and tried to quiet the thoughts exploding in my mind. “I can’t accept this.”

“Of course you can. This will make you an independent landowner.”

“Thank you, but I can’t put this land to good use. I have other plans, remember? I’m on my way to Kentucky.”

He frowned. “You don’t need to go to Kentucky now. You have your own property. You can do whatever you like—grow crops, raise chickens, start your own horse farm. . . anything you want.”

My mind reeled with the possibilities. My very own horse farm? Oh, wouldn’t that be heavenly! Foals in the spring, riding lessons for the local children. . . Rachel would be our vet, and . . .

I put a stop to that line of thinking. “No. I don’t want to be beholden to anyone, and I especially don’t want to live on your family’s land.”

“But—“

“I know why you want to give it to me,” I said. “And I know why you’ve been carrying on with me this way. It’s pretty low to use me as a substitute for Vickie. I’m not her, no matter how much I might look like her and no matter how many interests we might share.”

Charles stared.

“You thought I didn’t know, didn’t you? But can take this deed and give it to your next Vickie-substitute, because as soon as I can, I’m leaving.”

I tried to hand the paper back, and when he wouldn’t take it, I crumpled it and threw it on the floor. Then I left out the kitchen door, into the darkening night. I worried he might chase after me and I wondered if I should run. What was one supposed to do after flouncing out the door in a huff? Then I remembered the lake. It would be good to be down by the water. It would quiet my mind. So I went to the dock and sat down, dangling my feet over the edge.

Me, a landowner? The only thing crazier than that idea was the realization that I had thrown such an opportunity quite literally back at Charles’ feet. It was a foolish, reckless thing to do. Auntie would surely have told me to take it. I was poor and living on the charity of strangers. Who was I to turn down a chance at independence? It might be years before I would have another chance at land of my own, and it might not happen ever. I was a fool.

But at least I was an honest fool. Accepting that land would tie me to Charles forever. It would also tie me to Vickie, her mother, and a whole community of people who according to Susannah, already saw me as Vickie’s replacement. Accepting that land would mean spending the rest of my life either living that role or trying to break free of itm and I didn’t want that. There have been enough ghosts in my past without adding anyone else’s, too.

I sighed and gazed out over the dark water. I would take Flecha out tomorrow and see if she was ready to travel. Maybe I would even walk her to Rachel’s place. I couldn’t keep on here. Things were getting too complicated.

At the sound of footsteps on the wooden dock, I turned around.

“Can I join you?”

I shrugged and turned back toward the water. Charles sat down beside me.

“I think,” he said, “That you’ve been misinformed.”

I jerked my chin and refused to look at him. “Are you saying I don’t look like Vickie, and that she didn’t like the same things I do?”

“I’m sure the world is full of pretty brown-haired girls who like water and horses. That doesn’t mean I think they’re all alike, and I’m a little hurt that you believe I would think so.”

We talked for a long time, and I began to realize that I had jumped to some hasty conclusions. There were many ways in which I was nothing like Vickie. “And I love you for it,” Charles said.

I let him draw me into his lap and hold me for awhile, and then he asked if I would like to take the boat out. I had never been out on the water at night, and it was still and peaceful with the moon and stars overhead and the sliver fish darting beneath the waves. The world felt like a magical place, where anything was possible. It might even be possible to love the man who wanted to give it all to me.

When we went back to the house, we were hungry, having had nothing to eat since the reception after the funeral. The half-finished supper I had been preparing earlier was cold, so we took some cheese, nuts and dried fruit out onto the patio and ate while sipping dandelion wine.

“Will you reconsider about the land?” Charles finally asked. “There’s no obligation, but it would make me happy to know that you’ve got something of your own and will never be vulnerable again.”

Vulnerable? It had never occurred to me to think of myself that way. I had always managed to find my way out of a bad spot. Now I reconsidered. What would things be like for me ten years from now? Or twenty? Or thirty? Where would I be at forty-nine? Surely I wouldn’t still be relying on my skill and my wits, would I? The land Charles offered was a guarantee that I could always support myself.

“You don’t have to decide tonight. But think about it, will you?”

I nodded and sipped my wine. Yes, I’ll think about it. I’ll have to think very hard about it.

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Day One Hundred Twenty Seven

2007-04-16T00:43:00.002-06:00

After my fears of the night before, this morning seemed stunningly ordinary. It’s funny how much scarier things are at night. Then the sun comes up and it all seems like a bad dream.

But getting Charles’ mother-in-law to the village for burial was no dream. He readied the wagon, grim and silent, while I stood with Flecha in the paddock, apologizing to her for what would certainly turn out to be another day of neglect. I had hoped to trot her on a lead today and check her gait. Well, another day of cropping the grass wouldn’t hurt her any.

We drove through the woods in silence at first, but as we neared the village, I asked Charles why we weren’t burying his mother-in-law on his own land. “You seemed concerned last night that people would make a big deal out of it,” I said. “It seems like we’d have been better off handling it ourselves.”

He looked at me in surprise. “I don’t know what it’s like where you’re from, but all deaths here have to be registered, especially if there’s property involved. I’m her only heir, even though she hated me at the end. I don’t want her land for myself, but I do want legal rights to it so I can properly dispose of it.”

“What do you mean, dispose of it?”

“Give it away, of course.”

Of course.

“The other reason we’re going to town,” he said, “Is because I want her buried next to Vickie.”

He said nothing else until we reached town. This time we bypassed the area where the festival had been and went straight to the heart of the village, passing the town hall. . .

And finally ending up at what seemed like a very nice house.

“Who lives here?” I asked, as Charles halted the donkey. “They must be rich.”

“If we get another cholera epidemic, I’m sure they will be,” he said. “This is the funeral home.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I followed him to the front door. Our knock was answered by a pretty young woman only a few years older than me. She had big brown eyes and shiny blonde hair that reminded me of morning sun reflected on the lake. She seemed startled to see Charles, then recovered and gave him a smile that implied a lot more than just pleasure at the chance for her family to do some business. I was jealous, even though I knew I shouldn’t be. Who was I to care if a local girl liked him? I would be on the road soon, and he and this young lady would probably live out their whole lives in this place.

I tried to push my feelings aside, even though the young woman, whose name was Susannah, gave me a nod that I could barely describe as civil and then proceeded to ignore me.

Charles was too distracted to do more than pace the room while I sat in a shabby chair and wondered what would happen next. Susannah left and returned a few minutes later with a teenage boy who hardly looked old enough to be an authority on much of anything, but he and Susannah urged Charles into a seat and set about the business of arranging a burial. Such formality seemed strange to me. Back home, we buried our own or took them to the local church. Here, death seemed to be a business, and it was hard not to show my disgust when Charles counted out some gold and silver coins into Susannah’s hand.

“I want to keep this private,” he said. “No special notices beyond what’s required by law.”

Susannah nodded and gave her brother a sharp look. “That means don’t tell Caleb, or he’ll tell all his little paper-hawker friends.”

“I don’t know how you think he’ll not find out,” the boy said. “Should I lock him in his room until after tomorrow? Mom wouldn’t like that.”

Susannah sighed and turned to Charles. “We’ll do our best.”

With the arrangements made, everyone shook hands. When Susannah turned to me, I forced myself to smile, in spite of the hostility in her eyes and the way she held Charles’ hand longer than had seemed professional. “Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked.

When I assured her that she would, she turned away. Well, let her be mad. If she wants Charles, she’s had years to let him know. Now she can darn well wait until I’m gone.

Our next errand was the town hall, where I spent several boring hours waiting for Charles to handle some administrative matters. At one point he was told that the certificate the funeral home had given him wasn’t the right kind. “Can you go back and ask them for another?” he asked me. “We’ll get through faster if I don’t have to leave and come back.”

I had no desire to face Susannah again, but anything was better than that we should have to begin bureaucratic negotiations all over again. I returned to the funeral home and knocked on the door.

This time a little boy answered. He had unruly hair and a splash of freckles across his nose. When I asked to see Susannah, he took off at a thundering run that rattled the windows. After a few minutes, Susannah came into the room, sedate, serious, and clearly not pleased to see me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “But a man at the town hall told us we need a different type of certificate.” I handed her the one she had given us and explained what was needed.

She frowned. “This is the kind we always give out.”

I shrugged. What did I know about it?

She snatched the paper from my hand and stomped over to a desk. “Stupid bureaucrats,” she mumbled, more for herself than for me. “You’d think this was a city, with the way people carry on. Like we don’t all know each others’ business anyway.”

After rummaging in a drawer, she pulled out some papers and made a new certificate. She stamped it with a seal and handed it to me. It looked no different than the first one, except that the paper was pale blue instead of white.

I thanked her, but to my surprise she wouldn’t let me have the document. “How long are you planning on staying around here? People say you’re going to be Charles’ next wife.”

I dropped my hand, stunned. Although I had toyed with the notion of staying, hearing it spoken aloud was another matter. “He hasn’t asked me,” I said. “I’m only here until my horse is better, then I’m leaving.”

She looked like she didn’t believe me. “If you’re not marrying him, how come people say you are?”

“I have no idea, but I swear I’m on my way to Kentucky. Besides,” I added, “I can’t marry him. I’ve already got a husband back home.”

I waited for her to express shock or disgust, but instead she smiled. “You’re serious? He really hasn’t asked you to stay?” She pushed the certificate into my hands. “You look so much like Vickie, I’d have thought—”

I suddenly felt sick and didn’t hear the rest of what she said. I looked like Charles' dead wife? A lot of things now made sense—the way he looked at me the night I showed up on his doorstep, the way Rachel smirked and seemed so sure that something would happen between us, and the way people stared at me at the festival. Now it all added up.

“I had no idea I looked like anyone but myself,” I said, trying to cover for my confusion. I looked at the paper in my hand, trying to focus my mind on anything but the inevitable conclusions my mind was trying to draw. If I looked like Vickie and shared some of her interests, did Charles even like me at all, or was he just living in the past?

“Thanks for redoing the certificate,” I said.

I turned to go, but Susannah put a hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

I said it in such firm tones that she didn’t dare argue, but she tagged to the door after me, anyway. Just as I was starting down the steps, she said my name. I turned around.

“You got a proper dress for the funeral tomorrow?”

I hadn’t even thought about it. “No, but I’ll figure something out.”

“I think I’ve got something that will fit. Tell Charles you need to come a little early, okay?”

When I got back to the town hall, Charles was impatient and took the certificate to the authority who had been giving him so much trouble. I went outside and found a place to sit under some trees. I tried to think, but thoughts wouldn’t come, other than the same ones that had already been whirling in my brain. I looked like Vickie and I liked the same things she liked. Charles didn’t want me for who I was, but for who I represented.

A street musician approached and I let him play a song for me. It was a sweet, romantic bit of drivel, and I gave him a coin to go away. He left me to enjoy the far superior songs of the birds in the trees, and I lay back on the grass and tried to get my bearings. It was restful to have the ground supporting the full length of my body. Lying on the living earth like this, I could almost feel the planet breathe. The world was alive. There were no problems I couldn’t overcome. I closed my eyes and tried to draw the strength of the world into my body.

When Charles sought me out an hour later, he found me asleep with a chipmunk watching from a nearby rock. Or at least, that’s what he said. I didn’t see the chipmunk, so he could’ve made it up.

It was nearly dark by the time we got home, and Charles looked at the darkening sky in frustration. “I had hoped to go back to the cabin and do some investigating,” he said. “I guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow or the day after.”

“You decided not to have the policeman do it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t trust him to do it right. He’s got other concerns.”

We had some of yesterday’s leftovers for supper tonight, along with a dessert of stewed plums from the previous summer’s canning. I drank more wine than I should have, and fumbled with my mending after supper. Charles didn’t notice. When we went to bed, I couldn’t enjoy his lovemaking because I kept wondering if he was thinking about Vickie instead of me. I was glad when he fell asleep and I could come out here to the kitchen and pour another glass of wine.

I don’t want to have to think any more tonight.

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Day One Hundred Twenty Six

2007-04-15T01:50:00.000-06:00

We woke up to a damp misty morning. As I went down the path to the barn, I marveled at the fog and how it rolled off the lake and hung over the trees like fine gauze.

I think as long as I live I’ll never get tired of the feel of mist on my face, and the way it dampens my hair and clings in little drops on my lashes. People who haven’t grown up with sandstorms instead of rain can’t possibly understand how refreshing fog on a spring morning can be.

Flecha didn’t seem to have much of an opinion on the fog. And neither did Charles’ donkey. But on my way up to the house from gathering eggs (three today!) I saw a rabbit in one of the gardens, thinking the mist obscured him from view.

“How are we supposed to hunt in this?” I asked Charles over breakfast.

He looked out the window. “It’s not so bad. And it won’t last long.”

Of course he knew his land better than I did, and he was right. The fog soon lifted. We went to a section of the woods near the lake where no one lived any more, and split up. I found raccoons and rabbits in abundance.

There were plenty of deer tracks too, but we were only after small game. When Charles and I met back up, I had three rabbits, and he had four plus some squirrels. I was disappointed, since I’ve always prided myself on my hunting skills. Charles teased me all the way back to the house about what kinds of favors he would expect from me, having won the bet as to who was the better hunter. But when we got home and set to skinning our game, I noticed that some of his didn’t have wounds.

“You bastard,” I said, “You’re trying to pass off animals from your traps!”

He laughed and admitted it was true.

I did a re-count of our kill and declared myself the winner of the contest.

We built a fire outside so we would have room to work, and began making jerky. Charles cut the rabbit meat into strips, and I boiled it in a mixture of salt, pepper and honey. Then I fished the pieces out and draped them over racks and lines we had set out for that purpose.

When we were done, we covered everything with netting so the flies wouldn’t bother it, and declared ourselves finished. The project had taken the better part of the day and we were hungry. Charles had been stewing the squirrels in a pot inside a solar cooker while we worked, but they weren’t done, so I contented myself with some of the previous night’s leftovers while I cleaned up our work area and Charles took the rabbit hides and nailed them against the side of the barn to dry.

We had left one rabbit unskinned and uncooked, and now Charles suggested we take it to a neighbor of his—an older woman who lived alone. “I take her things from time to time,” he explained. “She doesn’t like me to, but I do it anyway.”

“Why doesn’t she like you to give her things? Is she too proud?”

Charles gave a shrug, but I got the sense that it wasn’t from ignorance, but because he didn’t want to talk about it. He put the rabbit in a canvas bag, then filled a basket with fresh vegetables and jars of preserves. We hitched the donkey to the cart and set out.

We drove down a well-used road, then turned onto increasingly smaller and narrower paths until finally we could go no farther. Charles helped me down from the cart, handed me the basket and slung the canvas bag onto his shoulder. “It’s not much farther,” he said. “But from here on, try not to make any noise.”

I did as he said, feeling increasingly puzzled as we picked our way single-file through the woods. Finally we came to the edge of a clearing, and in the distance was a little cabin. It didn’t look like much. It was still and silent, with no signs of movement behind the curtains, no plume of smoke from the stovepipe or chimney. The garden looked in need of weeding.

Charles took the basket from my hands. “Wait here.”

He went to the front door, set down our offerings, knocked, and ran back to me, dropping to the ground to hide from view and urging me into the bushes with him. I crouched down and peered through the leaves, watching the door, holding my breath and waiting.

But nothing happened.

Charles frowned. “That’s not like her.”

“Maybe she went to town. Or to visit a friend.”

“No. She keeps to herself.”

“How about I go knock?” I said.

Charles agreed that this was a good idea, so I stood up, brushed the leaves and pine needles off myself, and went to the door. There was something too quiet and spooky about the place. But I fought down my instincts and instead knocked at the door.

Again, no response.

Now I was curious. I went to one of the windows and tried to peek inside, but it was closed, the curtains drawn. The other windows were the same. Why would the windows all be closed in such fine spring weather? Something wasn’t right.

By now Charles had reached the same conclusion and come out of the woods. “I wonder if she’s sick,” he said.

“Maybe she moved away.”

“She has no place to move to.”

“Doesn’t she have family—siblings, cousins, children?”

Charles’ eyebrows flickered, but he didn’t answer. Instead he put his hand on the door and gave it a push.

The little cabin had been ransacked. Furniture was overturned, stuffing ripped from seat cushions and mattresses, mirrors broken, and books tossed about. Mud streaked the floor, and glass crunched under our feet. Mice scurried away at the sound of our footsteps, and there was a faint, familiar odor that I prayed wasn’t what I thought it was.

Charles’ eyes widened. He glanced all around, then hurried to the back of the house. “Ms. Stevenson! Peggy!” And then, “Mother!”

I chased after him and found him in the next room, standing in stunned silence in front of a bundle of quilts on the floor. They were rat-gnawed and spotted with dried blood. Here too, was the familiar smell, stronger now, but thankfully muffled by all the blankets.

I felt my heart skip a beat and slipped my hand into his.

He shook his head in bewilderment. “Who would’ve done this? She was just an old lady. Just a nice old lady who never bothered anyone, never wanted anything, and—“ He choked on the rest of the words.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I pulled him away, back into the other room, and made him sit on the ruined couch. I opened a few windows, then sat beside him and waited.

After what seemed a long time, he said that we would have to take her home, and in the morning we would take her to town for burial. We had a terrible time getting the body back up the trail to the cart, and the donkey didn’t seem at all pleased with his new cargo. But once we were back on the main road, we made good time. When we got to the house, Charles ordered me out of the wagon, saying he would handle the rest, and that he needed time alone to think.

I went inside, cleaned myself up and then remembered the squirrel stew we had left outside in the solar cooker. By now it was nearly dark, and the food had cooled, so I put the pot on the stove in the kitchen and heated it up. But when Charles finally came in to wash, he wasn’t hungry and instead poured himself a glass of strong–smelling moonshine and went off by himself. After I had eaten a little, I followed.

I found him sitting alone by a window, a book on his lap, staring at nothing in particular. The glass by his side was empty, and when I sat down beside him, I could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I wouldn’t want anyone trying to say I killed her.”

“Why would anyone say such a silly thing as that? No one kills their own mother.”

“She wasn’t my mother, she was Vickie’s mother.”

Of course. He had called her Ms. Stevenson. I blushed at my stupidity. “Well, they still wouldn’t think you had done it.”

He sighed. “They won’t say so in your presence, but it’s what they’ll all think—not that I killed her directly, but that it’s my fault she was vulnerable. She was never very stable, and after Vickie died, she shut herself off from everyone, let the path to her house get overgrown, and refused to have anything to do with anyone. If she hadn’t been so isolated, something like this couldn’t have happened.”

“Maybe so, but who would want to kill an old lady?”

Charles sighed and took my hand. “There’s so much more to this than you realize. Just believe me when I say that she was always a target.”

“Was she a hoarder? Was she rich?”

His refusal to answer said it all.

“Well, I would’ve never guessed it, based on how she lived. So it had to have been someone who knew her.”

“That’s what worries me.”

Charles’ eyes met mine and I suddenly felt cold. “No one would come here and bother us, would they?”

He pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me so tight I could hardly breathe. “I would never let anyone hurt you,” he whispered.

I believed him at the time, but now that he’s finally asleep, after a second glass of moonshine and a lovemaking that almost frightened me in its intensity, I’m not so sure. I’m sleeping with my hunting knife under my pillow and with my pistol and shotgun within arm’s reach. I had thought this was a safe place, but I guess I was only fooling myself. There’s really no such thing.

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Day One Hundred Twenty Five

2007-04-14T01:14:00.001-06:00

We overslept this morning, tired from our long day at the festival. When he felt me stirring beside him, Charles pulled me close and ran his hand up my thigh, wanting to pick up where we had left off the night before, but a knock at the door made him sit up and fumble for his clothes, grumbling.

“Let them knock,” I said. “How important can it be?”

“You never know.” He kissed me and pulled on his shirt, covering up the scars on his chest. “Go back to sleep if you like.”

“No, I need to check on my horse and feed the animals. It should’ve been done hours ago.”

While I padded to my room, wrapped in a quilt, he went to the door. It was only Rachel. When I came into the kitchen a few minutes later, she was sitting at the table talking about chicken ailments while Charles set some coffee to boil. She smirked when she saw me, still sleepy-eyed and braiding my hair at such a late hour. She looked from Charles to me, and back again, but only asked how Flecha was doing.

“Much better,” I said. “I bet she’ll be ready to travel again in a few days.”

“But of course you’re going to be conservative and wait to make absolutely sure,” Charles said.

“Of course.”

After we had our coffee, Rachel and I went to the barn. She didn’t comment on the fact that no chores had been done, and pretended like it was the most ordinary thing in the world for the stalls to not be mucked out and there be no fresh hay or water, even though the sky had already turned from gold to blue.

As we led Flecha outside, Rachel said, “I heard you went to the festival yesterday. Did you have a good time?”

I told her that I had.

“People are wondering about you. Don’t be surprised if you get a few more visitors than you’re used to for the next few days.”

“I don’t care what people think.”

“Good.” She met my eyes. “I’ve known Charles all his life, and I like to see him happy. It’s been a long time for him.”

I murmured something noncommittal and turned the conversation to Flecha. I wasn’t ready yet to talk about what was going on between me and Charles. I had no intention of staying forever, and I didn’t want to think about the hurt I might do him.

After Rachel left, Charles and I worked in the garden for awhile. True to Rachel’s prediction, we were soon interrupted by a neighbor dropping off a cheese which she said was payment for some rabbit hides Charles had given her during the winter. A little while later, a girl came by with her younger siblings in tow, asking if we could spare any food. Charles gave her the basket of early peas we had just finished picking and I had to suppress my annoyance, lest the girl go home and tell everyone I was ungracious.

“That’s a lot of hard work to give away like that,” I said after the girl had gone. “Especially since the only reason she came was to get information for the rumor mill.”

“I know, but we aren’t going to go hungry. She’s just a child, and you want to be a good neighbor, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Besides, I thought we’d go hunting tomorrow morning, early, when the rabbits are out. And I’ll show you some good places to gather wild plants and herbs.”

I had been digging holes to plant sweet corn, and now I sat back on my heels and looked at him in surprise. “You’re going to finally let me go hunting with you?”

“If you think you can keep from scaring the animals away,” he teased.

“Just you wait. I bet I’ll bag three to every two of anything you get.”

“It’s a deal. What does the winner get?”

“What would be a worthy prize?”

“How about I show you?”

I put down my tools, brushed the dirt off myself and let him lead me back into the house, back to his bed.

I spent the afternoon working on my gear, re-fletching some of my arrows, checking all the tips and making sure none of the shafts had become warped. Then I set to cleaning and oiling my guns. I hadn’t done a thorough maintenance on my weapons since I had arrived, and they needed it.

I was so busy with my work that I hardly noticed it was nearly supper time until I smelled the stew cooking. When I went into the kitchen, the pot was simmering nicely, but the room was warm, in spite of the open windows. “I suppose it’s about time to start cooking outside again,” Charles said.

“I didn’t know you had an outdoor oven.”

“I don’t, but I have a couple of solar cookers.”

I glanced out the kitchen window. I had used solar cookers back home, where they worked wonderfully, but that was in the desert. “They work out here?” I asked. “With so many trees, it seems like it would be hard to find a spot that got sun all day.”

“I’ve been doing it for years, and haven’t starved yet. Don’t you trust me?”

I looked into his kind, honest face. “Of course I do.”

He turned back to his meal preparations. “Since it’s too hot to eat in here tonight, what do you say we have a picnic?”

So we did. After we ate, I lay in his arms, looking out over the water and letting my mind drift, thinking of nothing in particular. It was almost too beautiful and peaceful to be real.

Charles kissed me. “What are you thinking of?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re not daydreaming about Kentucky, are you?”

I hadn’t given Kentucky much thought for a couple of days, and I told him so.

His arms tightened around my waist and he kissed me again. “Good.”

His hands moved to the buttons on my shirt, and I let him undress me in the cool of the spring night. There was something magical about being by the water with the darkening sky above and his warm hands on my skin. For awhile it seemed that Kentucky and all my earlier dreams didn’t matter at all.

But now that we’re back in the house, the lamp glowing on the bedside table, and Charles sleeping softly by my side, I’m not so sure. It would be easy to stay here, safe and loved. Why should I take to the uncertainties of the road again? What right do I have to think I would find anything better out there than what I have here— a moderately prosperous farm and a kind man who seems to think the world of me?

It’s a good thing I don’t have to decide tonight. I would make myself crazy.

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