“No one around this early to start a riot with, but there’s food. Have a seat.” Phineas toed out a chair and nodded approvingly at my outfit. “You’re looking as bright as a gold coin.”
“Thank you.” I had changed into my one spare set of clothes—articles, patched and altered, from my brother’s outgrown wardrobe.
Gid eyed me. “I used to have a short coat just like that.”
“Really?” I smoothed my hands down my front and patted the tops of my thighs. “Probably similar trousers, shirt, and vest, too.”
“Almost assuredly,” he answered dryly. He stood and peered anxiously out the window. The glass’s ripples and bubbles distorted the sunny scene, weirdly warping the young maple by the porch. “Eat fast, Freddy. I want to make it to Barre by noon.”
“I bet you do.”
After shooting me a discouraging frown, Gid went to check on our animals. Phineas kept me company while I enjoyed my eggs and bacon. He lounged and chatted until I started a second cup of coffee; then he left, as well, to gather his overnight things from his room. I finished the remainder of my meal and wandered outside, where my brother was half sprawled in the wagon. Most of our possessions littered the yard. Gid was probably organizing the provisions. The few travelers bustling around their vehicles looked like they were doing the very same thing.
The sun shone gloriously bright, completely unhindered by clouds. For the first time on this trip, I realized how big the sky was in these parts. Before Batavia, endless trees had roofed us, and I could never see very far ahead through the branchy mesh, but in this cleared oasis, I was able to take in my surroundings. I didn’t mind the flat terrain. Without mountains standing in the way, the sky plunged straight to the ground. I raised my face to the sun’s beams and breathed deeply, then headed across the yard to help my brother.
“Freddy! Over here.”
Phineas was stroking the nose of a fine mare that was tethered to a post. A leather bag hung from the saddle. “What a beauty,” Phineas said, when I reached his side. “Such a pretty head: the flaring nostrils, the soft eyes, the shallow mouth. That mouth! She answers the bridle quickly enough. Stand here. Now look at her in profile. See how the length of her back”—he pointed from the withers to the croup—“is precisely one-half of the underline?” With his gloved finger, he drew an imaginary line from the point of the elbow to the stifle. “And here, the distance from poll to withers, then here, from throatlatch to the neck-and-shoulder junction? The two-to-one ratio? This is the sort of information you need to pick a quality horse.” He gushed about various ratios and distances and how all of these measurements tell a prospective buyer a great deal about the horse’s pedigree and temperament.
When he got going on the importance of good balance in a horse, I stopped listening. All of a sudden, this particular horse struck me as more than a beautiful specimen. It began to look like a familiar one. Terribly familiar. Unlike Phineas, I was no expert on horseflesh, but I had the uncanny suspicion that I’d seen this animal (heaven help me, could it be … was it possible … how … why?) on frequent occasions.
“So you see, Freddy, so much depends upon the slope of the shoulder. Ah … what are you doing?”
I could only answer with a shake of my head. I’d unlatched the saddlebag. Feeling like a sleeper trapped in a dream, I slowly reached into the satchel, unbuttoned the interior pocket, and, with my heart pounding and breath suspended, rifled around for a moment before my hands found precisely the kind of thing I dreaded I’d find.
It was a small wooden instrument, a kind of flute, meticulously carved, lovingly detailed, very nearly if not completely finished. I stared at it hard, feeling a prickle along the back of my neck and something akin to a fist in the region of my heart.
When my eyes started smarting, I squeezed them shut. “It can’t be,” I breathed. But when I forced my eyes open and twisted the instrument around, there, on the opposite side of the last note hole, I saw it: D.U.L.
“Freddy?”
I jumped at the sound of Phineas’s voice. Scanning the yard, I blindly stuffed the instrument back into the bag, shakily latched the cover, and stumbled away from the fence, my eyes reeling like those of an unbalanced, half-wild, Phineas-unapproved horse. Then, half crouched, I raced toward Gideon.
With a bewildered squawk, Phin followed.
I leaped into the wagon. After scurrying to the back, I squatted low and lifted the bottom of the covering so I could peek out.
Gid folded up the canvas to widen the part. He gazed at me in amazement. “What the devil—”
“He’s here,” I whispered. “Oh, God, he’s here. Get down. Get down.”
My brother just stood there. “Who’s here?”
“Daniel Long.”
“No.” My brother blinked. “Really?” He gazed around wonderingly.
“Would you please—please—hide? You can’t let him see you.”
“Who’s Daniel Long?” Phineas asked.
“Why can’t I let him see me?” My brother’s expression turned obstinate. “Whatever your feelings are, I like Daniel.”
Phineas looked over his shoulder. “Who’s this Daniel Long?”
“The … the … silversmith.”
“The evil silversmith?” His mouth began to split into a grin. Then he saw my face, and his smile fled. “You really don’t want to see this man, do you?”
I shook my head and covered my eyes with my hands, wishing I could cover my feelings just as easily. Amazement that Daniel Long would follow me here—for why else would he appear in these parts?—conflicted with a terror that he would discover me like this, disguised as a boy, a living example of hoydenish defiance and plain-as-day insanity.
No, no, no. He couldn’t find me.
I grabbed hold of my satchel, my pillow for all of these traveling days, and buried a sob in its softness.
“Calm down now, Freddy,” Gideon pleaded. He’d finally crouched. As he gazed cautiously toward the tavern entrance, he reached into the wagon and patted my head.
I swatted away his hand. I had torn open my stuffed satchel and, with shuddering breaths, began wrenching out its contents.
“I suppose I could just slip inside and gather the things in your room,” Phineas said, his face politely turned away from my tears.
Gideon shook his head. “Fancy’s still in there. You know how loyal to Freddy she is. She’s sure to get anxious and bite you if you try to carry her out—probably bark up a storm, too. We’ll have everyone in the whole tavern out here inspecting the situation.”
“I haven’t paid the bill yet, either.” I unfolded my old dress.
Phineas frowned. “What do you have that for?”
“I wore it to escape.”
A laugh burst out of him. “I can’t believe a soul would mistake a lanky stick of a boy like you for a girl.” Chuckling softly, he shook his head. “A girl!”
Gideon stared at him in consternation.
I choked on a sob of a laugh and wiped my face with a sleeve. “Gid, you know he’ll recognize both of us as we are right now. And he knows I’m—I tried to escape as a female. Our best bet is for me to hide until he comes out. As soon as he leaves the yard, I’ll slip inside to pay the bill and grab my things. You and Phineas can stay out here and finish packing.”
Gideon scratched his head. “But he’ll know you’re here when he sees me.”
I shoved the dress at him. “Not if you’re wearing this”—I plopped my old bonnet on top of the folded dress—“and this.”
Phineas burst out laughing again.
Gideon gaped. The gape turned into a glare. “No way. No chance in hell.”
“Please, Gid. Please. You have to help me. I can’t let him find me like this. I can’t. I just can’t!” My voice had risen alarmingly.
And this—combined with a streaming of fresh tears—turned my brother into a reluctant accomplice.