I blew a sigh. “No.”
Who knew how my brother determined we’d reached our destination? It all looked like the same endless forest to me. But when the sun had slipped low enough in the sky to blaze like a fiery kite trapped in the branches, Gid halted. He dropped his pack to the ground. “This is it.”
I shrugged wearily. If he said so.
After felling a few trees for the cattle to browse, Gid took down a dry stub. I made a fire out of it, cooked a hasty supper, then struggled to construct a small lean-to for our night’s rest. My brother’s mood improved a little as he set about blocking the path to pen in the cattle. He managed a smile when he glanced at my hodgepodge nest. “Looks like the beginnings of a great bonfire.”
With a grunt, I heaved a last limb on top of the jumble and, after snatching a blanket out of my pack, crawled into the shelter. A brittle leaf fell on my face. I swatted it away, mentally cursed the roots digging into my back, and squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could extinguish everything troubling me as easily as I could cut short the day.
Not far from here, Rachel was settling into yet another home. Not far enough from here, Mr. Linton was running his household however he wished, exercising complete authority over his family. His drunken savagery and blatant negligence didn’t rob him of this privilege. The law guaranteed his rights, just as surely as it erased his wife’s. If I were to marry, who was to say my future might not resemble Mrs. Linton’s? Of course, not every man was a Mr. Linton. Daniel Long, for instance.
“What are you doing?” Gid asked outside the lean-to.
“Going to sleep.”
“Already?”
Fancy flew in, pounced on my stomach, and washed my cheek with her tongue. I grimaced. “I’m tired.”
Lord, I was tired. Tired of unjust laws and the senseless dictates of society, tired of life’s challenges, especially for women, who could never be free when they knew so few choices, tired of wading through the wilderness, tired of being cold and sore and uncomfortable, and tired of missing Daniel. Missing him and pretending not to.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The following day, I declined to visit the Welds brothers. Gid thought me unnaturally antisocial, but in my current mood, pretending to be a stranger around two men I’d known forever didn’t appeal to me. Even with the threat of bears, wolves, and panthers, I preferred to take my chances alone in the forest, where I could just be myself. Whoever that was.
I spent the morning improving our makeshift lean-to of branches and calling back Fancy when she wandered too far from the camp. While I worked, I worried about Rachel. And I thought about home.
Around this time of year, the family was very likely working with Daniel Long’s crew at the sugaring. Surely, by now, with the Middleton nights’ sharp freezes and the days’ quick thaws, the sap was flowing properly.
I pictured my faraway family and friends hauling the sugar buckets from the woods, pitching the thin liquid into the great boiling pan, and feeding the fire to keep the sweetness cooking, while the raw air around them sprang alive with smoke and the fragrance of steaming sap, a scent like wood and flower. Would Mama dish out a sample for my little sisters? Were patches of snow still on the ground, so she could cool the ladleful into taffy swirls? Would Daniel pack some of the rewards of the week’s efforts into a jar and deliver it to the Goodrich family as a present? This last thought violently aggravated me until I reasoned that the sugaring, if it was under way, must be progressing without Daniel’s assistance. He wouldn’t make it back home for at least a week.
My hand automatically started for my pocket before I remembered: no lucky spile. No Daniel Long. No home. For the first time, I fully understood the meaning of homesick. Missing everyone and everything I used to know—it felt like a sickness, a piercing ache in the belly, a terrible squeeze around the heart.
Sighing, I gazed around at the woods. There was plenty of sumac for spouts in these parts, not to mention maple trees for sap. I wondered if Phineas, Mrs. Gale, and Rachel would be spending the week sugaring. It was quite possible, though at Mrs. Gale’s breakfast table, Phineas hadn’t mentioned it. In fact, the only task he’d discussed was manuring his fields, a chore he clearly dreaded.
My brother and I were a long way from that labor. We had no fields to manure. We just had trees, thousands and thousands of trees. As I thought about the cutting, hauling, stumping, and burning ahead, I winced. Clearing would be a new endeavor for me. I doubted it would be fun.
*
Gid returned by midday, his expression somber.
I looked up from the soup I’d concocted. “Don’t tell me. The Weldses have become just like Linton, despicable drunks.”
He didn’t smile. “They’re sick.”
I stopped stirring. “Badly?”
“Not deathbed sick—it’s not ague season yet—but the boys are pretty dragged down with colds. I did their morning chores. They’re as weak as newborn kittens.” He cast a wistful glance at the woods. “Guess I’d better head back. Do you know any of Mama’s cold remedies?”
I straightened by the fire. “Sure I do, and I’m better suited to administering them.” Gid didn’t know a thing about playing nursemaid. “Let me eat a quick bowl of soup, and I’ll go in your stead.” Might as well introduce my false self to the brothers and get it over with. “You can stay here and chop down trees to your heart’s content.”
He shook his head. “It’s a sickly place, with the boys coughing and sneezing. I’ve already put myself in harm’s way. No point in you breathing the putrid air.” He grimaced. “I’ll need to warn away Phineas, should he show up searching for the brothers.” At my questioning look, he explained, “Bob and Ed were to go to his place this morning to join in on the sugaring. Mrs. Gale made the arrangement in Phin’s absence.”
“Ah.” So I had the timing right. “Let me see to the boys. I’m as healthy as a horse and no use to you here.” I didn’t know much about cutting down trees. Besides, I preferred taking my chances with the brothers recognizing me than just sitting around and waiting. How boring. “I hardly ever get sick. I’ll be fine. Promise.”
“Stupid. You were sick, a couple of months ago, and exactly like the brothers. No, I’d better go, but I’ll be back by suppertime.” He drummed up a smile. “Make me something tasty to celebrate my return, and keep an eye on the cattle.”
In twenty minutes he was gone, an onion for toasting and some mint for tea in his possession.
After eating, I collected browse for the oxen, played fetch with Fancy, and organized the provisions. When I ran out of things to do, I sat against a tree. Fancy rested her head on my leg and fell asleep.
The woods seemed to curl up closer to me as soon as I stilled. Birds resumed their twittering, and the bare branches cracked against one another. Soft crunching, splashing, rasping, and rustling intermittently joined the birds’ bolder racket. It was the low rustling that urged me to my feet. I glanced around nervously, imagining all kinds of wild creatures. Hungry, toothy, venomous creatures.
I spotted Gid’s felling ax beside our branchy shelter and went over to grab it, thinking it wouldn’t hurt to keep a weapon handy. The sharp blade was square, lipped, and heavy-polled, and it glinted in the dappled sunlight. I gave the ax an experimental swing and liked the powerful feel of it. I swung again, wider this time, and Fancy barked and slunk into our lean-to. “Come back, dog,” I laughed. “I won’t hurt you.”