Nov 18, 2013 6 min read

? Chapter Eleven

THE STORY SO FAR: The night after the children’s escape from Mr. Cottland’s house, they discover that half their money is gone – and that Jesse is missing Papa’s letter.

June 26-July 1, 1828. On the road to Hardensburg, Kentucky.

Papa’s directions take us along the road to Hardensburg. We spend five days on that fine, dusty road. There are even bridges over some of the creeks. Little groups of people and animals pass, but they’re all hurrying west, driving pigs, cows, and even a flock of geese down the muddy track. “Where are they going?” I ask.

“Out to the prairies,” Moses says. His face is sad as he watches them go, but he kicks up Pearl with his heels. I guess he’s given up on his dream.

Mr. Cottland’s tin tub seems a long way back. Our clothes are muddy, my hands are blistered from holding the reins, and our supplies are running low. One night Moses shoots a hare and we feast on rabbit stew, but the next day we’re back to johnnycake again. When I scorch our supper, Solomon weeps for Mama and Louisa joins in. Even Sandy whimpers, but I don’t let myself cry. Once I start, I might never stop.

Six days from Shawneetown, we finally burst out of the woods. I’m so happy to see the open sky, I don’t notice the steep hill until the mule breaks into a trot. The wheels rumble and slide on the dry ruts. “Slow down!” Moses shouts. He’s up ahead on the mare.

“Whoa!” I yell, and pull back on the reins. The wagon bucks and lurches. “We’re going too fast!”

Solomon and Louisa scream, the puppy yips, and Moses slides off Pearl, grabbing Sadie’s bridle as she canters past. She jerks her head and drags him along. “Grab the brake!” Moses yells.

Louisa and Solomon lean back on the wooden brake, but their spindly arms aren’t strong enough to stop the clattering wheels. I haul on the reins. “Moses, let go! She’ll crush you!”

He turns, lunges for the wagon, and catches the brake. His eyes bug out like a grasshopper and he braces his body against the wheel just as an ox cart lumbers toward us. It fills the whole road. “Watch out!” I scream.

Sadie swerves to the side. The wagon scrapes a tree and nearly tips over. Sadie squeals and kicks, caught in the traces.

Louisa and Solomon are wailing but safe. I run to Moses. He crouches in the road gripping his ankle, his face streaked with axle grease. “The wheel ran over my foot. Find Pearl,” he moans.

The mare is gone, our wagon is wedged between two trees with a broken spoke, and Moses is badly hurt. I stare at my brother. If I touch his bleeding ankle, will I make it worse? I bite my lip. Moses is the oldest, the one who takes care of us. If he can’t walk, how will we go on?

I feel like giving up, but someone shouts, “Hold tight! Help is coming!”

A short, bowlegged man trundles toward us. He clucks over Moses like an angry hen, then pokes his ankle. Moses moans, but the man says, “Not broke; just sprained, with a nasty cut. We’ll help you, lad.” He points at me. “Take his other side.”

Moses drapes one arm over my shoulder, the other over the man’s, and we lift him up. I turn toward our wagon, but the man shakes his head. “Put him in my cart. Cabin’s just down the road. Martha will fix him.”

Is this man safe? Never mind; we can’t worry about that now. Moses sits in the back of the cart, his leg propped up, while the man and I back Sadie out from between the trees. Solomon yanks his thumb from his mouth. “The devil!” he cries, pointing at the man.

“Solomon! Don’t be rude.” But I see what he means. Everything about the man is red: his bushy hair and beard, his shirt and cheeks, even his suspenders.

The man laughs. “Don’t worry, lad. I’m just old Henry Smith. Martha and I will get you out of this fix.”

The wagon works, in spite of the broken spoke. We find Pearl just beyond the oxcart, her eyes wild, her ears flat against her head. The white circle on her nose, which gives Pearl her name, is smudged. “Easy, girl,” Moses calls. I hand him the reins, and he keeps a tight hold as Pearl trots after the cart.

“We’re going the wrong way,” Louisa says suddenly.

I look down at her, surprised. “Aren’t you smart!” I stroke her hair. “Don’t worry. We’ll get back on the trail as soon as Moses feels better.”

The Smiths’ cabin sits at the edge of the woods. A little field of tobacco grows in the hollow at the foot of the hill. The shiny green plants zigzag around the rotten tree stumps. They make me think of Papa’s corn that never came up right.

Mr. Smith whistles and a tall, bony woman with big hands comes to the door. A smile lights up her face. “You poor young ones!” Her voice trills up and down as she fusses over us. “What a lovely surprise!”

Having Moses hurt doesn’t seem “lovely” to me. When Mrs. Smith pulls off my brother’s boots, I cover my mouth. His foot is caved in where the wheel rolled over his ankle. Mrs. Smith cleans his foot and wraps it in a poultice. “Hold onto my boots,” Moses says. I clutch them to my chest.

“Do you have willow bark for his pain?” I ask.

Mrs. Smith’s eyebrows shoot up. “What a clever girl. Who taught you about healing?”

“Mama,” I say, and then clamp my mouth tight. How could I be so dumb? I’m shaking inside, but I can’t let on. We’re about to do the most dangerous thing of all: stay in a strangers’ home – without Papa’s letter to keep us safe. And it’s all my fault.

• NEXT WEEK: The Trick