Gabriel's Journey Read Online Free PDF Page B

myself. I was right about this being no place for a lady, even Annabelle. When I met up with her by the cornfield, I should have sent her straight back to Woodville Farm, no matter how loudly she protested.
    I search for a hiding place. By now, Annabelle and the valise are lead weights on my arms. If we keep running, we’re going to attract suspicion. I’m not sure where the tents of the colored cavalry are located, but I do know where Ma is living. Her tent is a long way from here, and I don’t believe Annabelle can make it without a rest.
    A squad of soldiers marches down the road toward us. I slow to a walk. “Thank you,” Annabelle puffs. “My corset’s pinching and I was about to give out.”
    â€œAct like we belong here,” I say under my breath. “Be quiet and pretend like we know where we’re going.”
    Annabelle sees the soldiers, too. She straightens her crooked hat and smoothes her dusty skirts. Linking her free arm with mine, she tips her chin and we stride purposefully down the road. “I could pretend much easier if I had my parasol,” Annabelle whispers. When the soldiers pass, she bobs her head politely and calls, “Good day, gentlemen.”
    They don’t break formation as they march by, but it’s only a matter of time until someone does stop to question us. “Just keep your mouth shut,” I warn her. “There’s a stable ahead. We can hide in a hay shed until dark and then find Ma’s tent.”
    The stable yard is busy with soldiers grooming horses and putting them up for the night. Immediately I think of Woodville Farm, and a pang hits me. Are Tandy, Jase, and Short Bit taking good care of Aristo and the other horses?
    Nearby, blacksmiths tend the coal fires and shape horseshoes on anvils. Like thieves, Annabelle and I sneak behind the stable, the dusk masking us. I spot a three-sided straw shed tucked a ways from the road and drag her inside.
    Annabelle sinks into the pile of straw. “This feels better than a feather mattress,” she says. She takes off her hat and, using my bundle for a pillow, curls up in the hay. “Thanks for all you did, Gab’iel,” she says, the words slurring in her weariness. “A lady could not have as’t for a more gallan’ escort . . .” Her lashes flutter, her breathing slows, and an instant later she’s asleep.
    I scatter straw over her skirts, then cover the basket and valise so no one will spot them. I try to stay awake—it won’t be long before dark and we’ll have to be on the move again. I also need to keep watch for stable hands bearing pitchforks. But my eyelids soon grow heavy. Even though straw dust tickles my nose and the blacksmiths’ hammers clang in my ears, I burrow into the mound and drift off, too.
    *  *  *
    A calloused hand roughly shakes me. I’ve been dreaming about the fire in the barn at Saratoga, and I thrash awake. Golden light blinds me, and I cover my eyes with my fingers, shielding them from the flames. “Fire!” I holler. “Save the—”
    A palm slaps over my mouth. “Hush, boy, ’fore you wakes de dead.”
    My eyes gape. An old black man is staring down at me. A lantern in his hand is shining in my face. “Dere ain’t no fire,” he says. “So hush.”
    I nod to show him I understand, and he removes his hand. He smells like horse manure, so I gather he’s a stable worker.
    â€œSoldiers on night watch patrol ’round dese barns,” he says in a low voice. “You best skedaddle ’fore dey catch you and toss you from de camp.”
    â€œThanks for the warning.” I glance behind me, hoping Annabelle knows not to stir from her hiding place. I glimpse the toe of her shoe poking from the straw, and pray the old man doesn’t notice. I jump up to block his view. “What’s the quickest way to the washerwomen’s