walked, with hesitant steps that only gradually grew more forceful, away from the light of his home and into the eveningâs willing embrace.
Part 2
THE CARAVAN MOVED OUT BEFORE NINE. THE BOYS RODE in the cargo wagon, atop crates and satchels of various sizes and descriptions, behind a train of four hitched oxen. Crownsville faded behind them, diminishing in stature and breadth with the passing miles till it was little more than an island mirage in a great, grassy ocean. Eventually even that phantom melted into the sea and was forgotten. James looked back often, a smile across his face that grew with the distance behind them. Gabriel also cast glances back to the north, but his eyes searched the receding horizon as if he feared pursuit. Part of him urged the oxen forward with greater speed, while another part cried out for him to jump ship, run home, and erase this digression before it became a full-blown sin.
James asked Gabriel if this wasnât something, and Gabriel nodded his somber agreement without meeting the boyâs eyes. Heâd spoken few words to him all morning, afraid that something had changed between them but unable to name it truly. The previous eveningâs fight had left a sharp taste of betrayal on each bruised portion of his body. He thought that he should still be angry, that James had proved himself a fickle friend. And yet he was not angry, and somehow he felt that it had only drawn them closer.
It was a small company, eight persons including the boys. Marshall led them, riding his horse nearly twice the distance traveled in a day with his constant trips from the front to the rear of the caravan, asking questions, posing observations, and finding things to laugh at. He wore the simple, functional garb of his trade: a thick, sun-bleached cotton shirt, leather chaps, a blue bandanna around his neck, and a Stetson tilted back on the crown of his head so that it framed his face rather than shaded it. He was all fun except when giving orders. Then he spoke in a quiet voice that broached no humor and allowed no questions.
A man named Bill sat just in front of the boys, driving the wagon. He was as slow and strong as the oxen he tended, with features equally wide and bovine. He rarely used his whip, but when he did he threw his whole body into it and snapped it just above the animalsâ backs, seemingly never touching them but filling the air so full of commotion that they were prompted onward. Early that morning he had overseen the loading, at which the boys had helped, watching them with mistrustful eyes, unsure of their character or motives and fearing some deception.
Another man, Jack, rode with his Stetson low on his head. His nose protruded from underneath the brim as if it were his main feature and the organ through which he sensed the world. His eyes were little more than a notion, hidden in a shadow beneath the brim. He never spoke without first spitting a flume of liquid tobacco. This he achieved with a projectile agility that not only impressed Gabriel but would have impressed even the most hardened aficionado of that activity.
Less appealing still, in Gabrielâs eyes, was Rollins, a surly sort with a long torso and short legs. His arms stretched out as if he were an ape astride a horse, and he seemed always ready to explode in some display of anger and status. He looked at Gabriel and James with a certain amount of scorn, which he made clear by riding up next to them and lecturing Bill on the mating proclivities heâd observed in other young colored men, wondering aloud if these two had the same affection for dogs and whores.
Fortunately, there was another man in the group with a more pleasant disposition, a young Scot named Dunlop. He was in his early twenties, thinly built and long-legged. He enjoyed smiling, and when he did so the freckles on his nose danced and wiggled. In his voice was the ring of his homeland, a cadence that Gabriel found poetic. From his
K.M. Mahoney
David Lehman
Anna Quindlen
Elizabeth Rose
Vanessa Vale
Elizabeth Massie
Rachel Eastwood
Melanie Jackson
Kathryn Thomas
Alastair Reynolds