at him again quickly, surprised, pleased. He smiled, looking down at me. “Headstrong, then.”
They stood in a circle around me, wondering what to do with me. But I was no longer the girl who had left the door to the henhouse open. I was no longer only the girl who had spilled the soap fat, who had burned the bread. I was another person entirely
.
I would go to battle with them
.
“There is still a half day’s march. If she stays with the wagons,” Miller said, “the pace will be easier.”
That was true. I knew it would be hard to keep up with that marching army, even though we must be close to our destination
.
“She will be safer in the rear, too,” Miller told Father, as if I couldn’t hear, as if I were just a child
.
I didn’t listen to the rest. I was so tired. Too tired to eat. Almost too tired to sleep. I went through the trees, not far from where they stood, and lay on the rock-hard dirt, looking at the motionless leaves above me
.
It was much later when Father knelt beside me with water and a crust that I was hardly able to chew
.
Father spoke. “I can only imagine what these weeks have been like for you, Zee. But I know you survived terrible things.”
I felt a sudden burning in my throat. To have him say that was almost worth those weeks alone
.
“The anger I feel is only because I want you safe. You and John are all I have now.” His voice was thick. “And that small bit of land on the edge of the river.”
“If I had stayed back,” I said, “and something happened to you, I would have nothing.”
He was silent, but even in the dimness, I saw that he understood. I reached up and put my arms around him. I had never done that in my life. I didn’t have the courage to say that I loved him, but he knew that; I was sure he did
.
I slept then until light sharpened the world around us, and we were faced with a day that promised to be hot. A terrible day ahead of us
.
I ripped off a shred of my under petticoat to dip into a water jug and clean my face, then tied up my heavy hair so it would be out of my way
.
Miller was in front of me. “I have a ride for you with men bringing up food supplies,” he said. “There’s only a small bit of room, but they promised it for you.”
It was hard to thank him, but I did, telling myself I was truly grateful
.
Father put his hand on my shoulder. “Remember what Old Gerard has taught you,” he said. “Should it be necessary, melt into the trees, go back. Live, Zee. Live.”
elizabeth
TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY
Elizabeth is up early, and Libby, too. “I still have to go to work today,” Libby says. “Terrible, your last day, but—” She runs her hand over Elizabeth’s hair. “You’ll have an adventure.”
“I’ll tell you all about it tonight, every single thing,” Elizabeth says as she and Harry get ready to leave.
It’s a poor day for a Monday in spring, a morning filled with unrelenting rain. Moments later they’re in the truck with rivulets of water running along the side of the road. Even though the windshield wipers beat back and forth, it’s almost impossible to see.
Harry leans forward and swipes the pane. “The park will be closed,” he says, sounding irritable.
Elizabeth wonders why they aren’t turning back. But suppose they do. She pictures the day going forward: saying goodbye to Harry, going into the empty house to wait forLibby, sitting in that chair for the last time, watching the rain cascade off the leaves, her full duffel bags behind her in the corner.
But Harry doesn’t turn back. He’s talking about Brant, the leader of the Iroquois.
Elizabeth had seen a picture of him in Harry’s book and thought how cool he looked, slim and dark-eyed.
“His tribal name was Thayendanegea. A mouthful, isn’t it? He was there with St. Leger.” Harry glances at her. “The Iroquois wanted the British to win because the Americans were crowding them out, building farms smack in the middle of their hunting grounds, and
They stood in a circle around me, wondering what to do with me. But I was no longer the girl who had left the door to the henhouse open. I was no longer only the girl who had spilled the soap fat, who had burned the bread. I was another person entirely
.
I would go to battle with them
.
“There is still a half day’s march. If she stays with the wagons,” Miller said, “the pace will be easier.”
That was true. I knew it would be hard to keep up with that marching army, even though we must be close to our destination
.
“She will be safer in the rear, too,” Miller told Father, as if I couldn’t hear, as if I were just a child
.
I didn’t listen to the rest. I was so tired. Too tired to eat. Almost too tired to sleep. I went through the trees, not far from where they stood, and lay on the rock-hard dirt, looking at the motionless leaves above me
.
It was much later when Father knelt beside me with water and a crust that I was hardly able to chew
.
Father spoke. “I can only imagine what these weeks have been like for you, Zee. But I know you survived terrible things.”
I felt a sudden burning in my throat. To have him say that was almost worth those weeks alone
.
“The anger I feel is only because I want you safe. You and John are all I have now.” His voice was thick. “And that small bit of land on the edge of the river.”
“If I had stayed back,” I said, “and something happened to you, I would have nothing.”
He was silent, but even in the dimness, I saw that he understood. I reached up and put my arms around him. I had never done that in my life. I didn’t have the courage to say that I loved him, but he knew that; I was sure he did
.
I slept then until light sharpened the world around us, and we were faced with a day that promised to be hot. A terrible day ahead of us
.
I ripped off a shred of my under petticoat to dip into a water jug and clean my face, then tied up my heavy hair so it would be out of my way
.
Miller was in front of me. “I have a ride for you with men bringing up food supplies,” he said. “There’s only a small bit of room, but they promised it for you.”
It was hard to thank him, but I did, telling myself I was truly grateful
.
Father put his hand on my shoulder. “Remember what Old Gerard has taught you,” he said. “Should it be necessary, melt into the trees, go back. Live, Zee. Live.”
elizabeth
TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY
Elizabeth is up early, and Libby, too. “I still have to go to work today,” Libby says. “Terrible, your last day, but—” She runs her hand over Elizabeth’s hair. “You’ll have an adventure.”
“I’ll tell you all about it tonight, every single thing,” Elizabeth says as she and Harry get ready to leave.
It’s a poor day for a Monday in spring, a morning filled with unrelenting rain. Moments later they’re in the truck with rivulets of water running along the side of the road. Even though the windshield wipers beat back and forth, it’s almost impossible to see.
Harry leans forward and swipes the pane. “The park will be closed,” he says, sounding irritable.
Elizabeth wonders why they aren’t turning back. But suppose they do. She pictures the day going forward: saying goodbye to Harry, going into the empty house to wait forLibby, sitting in that chair for the last time, watching the rain cascade off the leaves, her full duffel bags behind her in the corner.
But Harry doesn’t turn back. He’s talking about Brant, the leader of the Iroquois.
Elizabeth had seen a picture of him in Harry’s book and thought how cool he looked, slim and dark-eyed.
“His tribal name was Thayendanegea. A mouthful, isn’t it? He was there with St. Leger.” Harry glances at her. “The Iroquois wanted the British to win because the Americans were crowding them out, building farms smack in the middle of their hunting grounds, and
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