Nov 11, 2013 6 min read

? Chapter Ten

THE STORY SO FAR: Headed for Kentucky, the Damron children pay for a room in a boardinghouse. But when Jesse finds a coffin in the parlor, she wonders if it’s safe to stay.

June 25-26, 1828. Outside of Shawneetown, Illinois.

“Who died?” I ask. My voice squeaks like a rusty hinge.

George laughs. “Nobody. Mr. Cottland built it for himself. He’s crazy; ‘tetched in the head,’ as my mama says. Keeps that whisky jug in case he gets thirsty on the way to heaven.”

“Whew,” I say. “That is crazy.” I wipe my hands on my dress. This place is even spookier than I thought.

I don’t tell the others what I’ve seen, but I’m testy all through dinner. I can’t get Moses alone; he’s too busy eating second portions of roast pork and turnips. And when Mr. Cottland suggests we all have a bath, Moses agrees before I can protest. “Saturday is bath night at our house, too,” he adds. “Right, Jess?”

Our house. Moses talks as if Mama and Papa were still alive! Is he pretending we’re not orphans? I keep an eye on that closed parlor door while we help George and Mr. Cottland draw and heat the water.

Louisa and I have the first bath in the tin tub. When my sister strips off her clothes, her ribs look as bumpy as Mama’s old washboard. She smells like curdled milk. We haven’t had a bath since we left Illinois.

“Don’t stare at me!” she complains.

“I’m not. Turn around and I’ll scrub your back.” For a minute I’m furious with Mama for leaving me. Mama would know how to make our sack of cornmeal last, how to cook soups and stews to help the little ones grow right. I’m not even twelve! How will I feed everyone?

When I climb into the tub, wearing nothing but Papa’s ring on its leather strap, it’s Louisa’s turn to stare. “You have bumps on your chest,” she says.

“Go away,” I snap.

Her eyes fill. “I want Mama,” she says.

“So do I.” I pull her into a slippery hug.

I bathe and dry off as fast as I can. My dress feels shabby when I button it, and my feet still look dirty. I try to comb the snarls from Louisa’s hair, but she yelps like the puppy. “You don’t do it right!” she wails.

I give up. I’ll never be able to do things the way Mama did.

Moses and Solomon bathe next. When it’s Mr. Cottland’s turn, I hurry everyone out to the barn. “We’re leaving,” I tell them.

“But it’s dark,” Louisa whines. “I want to sleep here.”

Moses pulls me aside. “What are you talking about? We paid good money to stay.”

“Listen.” I keep my voice low so the little ones won’t hear me. “Mr. Cottland keeps an empty coffin in his parlor. What if he puts one of us in there?”

Moses moves so fast, you’d think another panther was after us. In a few minutes we’ve bundled Louisa and Solomon into the wagon, set the mule in her traces, and saddled Pearl. “Why are we leaving?” Solomon whispers.

“Hush,” I tell him. “Do you want to be bound out, like George?”

Moses and I walk the animals slowly across the yard. Every squeak of the wheels makes my heart thump. As Moses opens the gate, we hear footsteps in the yard. I freeze, but it’s George. He pops out of the shadows, a bundle under his arm. “Take me with you,” he begs.

“We can’t,” I whisper.

Solomon tugs my arm. “Why not? George is nice.”

“Of course he is.” I lean close to George. “We’re headed for Kentucky,” I tell him.

“A slave state?” George drops his bundle on the ground. “I thought y’all were better than that.” He melts back into the dark without saying good-bye.

I want to explain, but Moses grabs my arm. “Get in,” he says. “He might tell the old man.”

I climb into the wagon and turn Sadie toward the rising moon. George’s words make my cheeks burn, but what else can we do? We promised Papa we’d find our way home.

It’s not so easy. The next night, long after we’ve crossed the Ohio River into Kentucky, Moses discovers the money is missing from his left boot. Even worse, I’ve left Papa’s letter on Mr. Cottland’s puncheon floor.

“How could you?” Moses shouts. “That letter was the most important thing Papa gave us!”

“What about the money!” I cry. “How could you leave your boots where crazy Mr. Cottland could find them?”

“What was I supposed to do?” Moses’s voice breaks. “Take them into the tub with me?” We both laugh, even though it’s not funny. Moses sighs. “At least he only robbed one boot – and I have some money in my pocket.” He jingles his coins. “We were both spooked by that coffin.”

“I sure was. Thank goodness Mr. Cottland didn’t chase after us.”

Moses counts out the rest of our money. “Twenty-nine dollars – plus two Spanish piasters. We have to make it last. I’ll try to shoot more game.”

“We could always sell the silver stock on Grandpa’s gun.”

Moses shakes his head. “Not yet. Papa would never forgive us. We’ll just have to be extra careful. And no more staying with strangers, especially without the letter.”

I wave my hand around the dark clearing. “No one will bother us here.” Giant oaks tower over us, and the woods are full of spooky sounds: branches snapping, coyotes yipping, and an owl hooting.

Moses grips the rifle. “I don’t like this place.” He leans close to me. “I’m scared, Jesse. What if we never make it to Grandma’s?”

Now it’s my turn to pretend I’m brave. “Don’t talk that way! Of course we will.” But I’m just as worried as he is. I remember what Moses said: We haven’t heard from Grandma in months. What if she’s gone, too?

• NEXT WEEK: Runaway Wagon