disappeared into his hair.
“You okay?”
She consciously relaxed her face, knowing she’d been sneering in distaste at the memory of being close to Jedediah. “Yeah, fine.”
“You look like you’re gonna yak.”
Sorcha felt Paula’s hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off and moved past Ben to stare at the landscape. Her feet moved practically of their own accord, one step after another until she was standing where the cabin had been. In her mind’s eye, she saw the headstone through the window.
In her peripheral consciousness, she heard Ben ask Paula, “What’s she looking at?”
There was nothing to look at: the ground was completely bare, not even an outline of the cabin’s frame remained. Sorcha walked on, straight through the invisible walls out across the rocky, packed dirt with its patches of dying grass. When she reached general area where the headstone had been, she began kicking at the ground with the toe of her boot.
“What the hell’s going on?” Ben asked. “Sorcha.”
It was the first time he’d said her name and for some reason it broke through her trance. She looked at him and took a deep breath that came out in a heavy sigh. “I’m searching for a gravestone.”
His head went back in surprise. Paula shot her a warning look.
Ben spread his hands as his lips twisted in a sardonic smile. “I’ve lived here my whole life and haven’t ever seen a gravestone. If you want, we can ask my Uncle Harry. He’s gotta be around here somewhere.”
Disappointment swept over her. “It was stupid to come here,” she said. “Let’s go.”
She stalked past Ben and Paula on numb legs, only her determination and the steepness of the path compelling her forward.
Chapter Four
Enid
The transition from sleep to wakefulness was as seamless as ever with one exception: Enid’s morning was marred by the sensation of being shaken roughly. Her eyes opened to Aggie’s worried face and the words, “Wake up, Miss. Wake up!”
Enid pushed the slave girl away and sat upright. “What is it?”
“Ye wouldn’t wake. It’s like ye was dead!”
“Yes, yes. I wake when I wake, and you’d do well to remember that.” Enid spoke more sharply than she intended, but Aggie’s urgency curled her empty stomach into a ball of dread. “What’s wrong?”
“Yer father, Miss. Soldiers came to the door last night and took him off! And the old lady – she’s in a bad way.”
Enid threw the covers back and rushed out of the room, her bare feet thumping down the narrow hallway to Elizabeth’s small room. Her grandmother was in bed, but her upper body was hanging halfway off the straw mattress, face down. For a horrified moment, Enid thought she was dead, but then her frail body began to shake as she coughed. A thin drizzle of crimson spittle hovered over the already bloodstained wooden floor. Elizabeth was feebly gasping for breath between each cough.
Enid did what she always did when her grandmother was taken by a fit. She snatched her homemade cotton face mask from the mantle and quickly fastened it over her nose and mouth. The fire had died down; she tossed a log and some sticks on and added water to the kettle that normally filled the room with steam. The bottle of medicinal elixir she’d concocted from honey mead and herbs from the garden was almost empty, but she lifted Elizabeth’s torso, wiped her mouth with the bed sheet, and coaxed her into drinking the rest of it.
Enid supported her grandmother as her painfully thin body contracted into another spasm, patting her on the back to encourage the phlegm to rise. Elizabeth’s nightgown and bedclothes were soaked from night sweats and Enid barked at Aggie to get fresh linens while she gently removed the soiled garments. With the slave girl’s help, she managed to make her grandmother as comfortable as she could.
“Thank you, Aggie,” she said. “I’m sorry I was cross.”
Aggie’s dark eyes dropped to the floor as
“You okay?”
She consciously relaxed her face, knowing she’d been sneering in distaste at the memory of being close to Jedediah. “Yeah, fine.”
“You look like you’re gonna yak.”
Sorcha felt Paula’s hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off and moved past Ben to stare at the landscape. Her feet moved practically of their own accord, one step after another until she was standing where the cabin had been. In her mind’s eye, she saw the headstone through the window.
In her peripheral consciousness, she heard Ben ask Paula, “What’s she looking at?”
There was nothing to look at: the ground was completely bare, not even an outline of the cabin’s frame remained. Sorcha walked on, straight through the invisible walls out across the rocky, packed dirt with its patches of dying grass. When she reached general area where the headstone had been, she began kicking at the ground with the toe of her boot.
“What the hell’s going on?” Ben asked. “Sorcha.”
It was the first time he’d said her name and for some reason it broke through her trance. She looked at him and took a deep breath that came out in a heavy sigh. “I’m searching for a gravestone.”
His head went back in surprise. Paula shot her a warning look.
Ben spread his hands as his lips twisted in a sardonic smile. “I’ve lived here my whole life and haven’t ever seen a gravestone. If you want, we can ask my Uncle Harry. He’s gotta be around here somewhere.”
Disappointment swept over her. “It was stupid to come here,” she said. “Let’s go.”
She stalked past Ben and Paula on numb legs, only her determination and the steepness of the path compelling her forward.
Chapter Four
Enid
The transition from sleep to wakefulness was as seamless as ever with one exception: Enid’s morning was marred by the sensation of being shaken roughly. Her eyes opened to Aggie’s worried face and the words, “Wake up, Miss. Wake up!”
Enid pushed the slave girl away and sat upright. “What is it?”
“Ye wouldn’t wake. It’s like ye was dead!”
“Yes, yes. I wake when I wake, and you’d do well to remember that.” Enid spoke more sharply than she intended, but Aggie’s urgency curled her empty stomach into a ball of dread. “What’s wrong?”
“Yer father, Miss. Soldiers came to the door last night and took him off! And the old lady – she’s in a bad way.”
Enid threw the covers back and rushed out of the room, her bare feet thumping down the narrow hallway to Elizabeth’s small room. Her grandmother was in bed, but her upper body was hanging halfway off the straw mattress, face down. For a horrified moment, Enid thought she was dead, but then her frail body began to shake as she coughed. A thin drizzle of crimson spittle hovered over the already bloodstained wooden floor. Elizabeth was feebly gasping for breath between each cough.
Enid did what she always did when her grandmother was taken by a fit. She snatched her homemade cotton face mask from the mantle and quickly fastened it over her nose and mouth. The fire had died down; she tossed a log and some sticks on and added water to the kettle that normally filled the room with steam. The bottle of medicinal elixir she’d concocted from honey mead and herbs from the garden was almost empty, but she lifted Elizabeth’s torso, wiped her mouth with the bed sheet, and coaxed her into drinking the rest of it.
Enid supported her grandmother as her painfully thin body contracted into another spasm, patting her on the back to encourage the phlegm to rise. Elizabeth’s nightgown and bedclothes were soaked from night sweats and Enid barked at Aggie to get fresh linens while she gently removed the soiled garments. With the slave girl’s help, she managed to make her grandmother as comfortable as she could.
“Thank you, Aggie,” she said. “I’m sorry I was cross.”
Aggie’s dark eyes dropped to the floor as
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