Storyteller by Patricia Reilly Giff

Author:Patricia Reilly Giff [Giff, Patricia Reilly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-375-89744-3
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2010-09-14T04:00:00+00:00

When I awoke, it was dark, but I could see the pale path the moon made through the cave opening.

My forehead was burning, burning. My lips were thick, dry. I reached for the water jug and took a sip, watching water drip down my arm like a thin stream of rain running off a tree branch.

Stiff hands.

Slept.

I awoke suddenly to another day.

How much time had gone by?

And I was alone.

I looked up at that rock ceiling. I’d never been alone before. Mother had been there, or Father. Ammy planting with me in the field. John. Isaac. Julian and Miller. I had dreamed about Miller. He’d helped Father the past winter, shoveling heavy snow from the roof, grinning down at me.

I picked up the water jug, which lay on its side. It had no weight to it: almost empty, then.

I pushed myself up against the wall with my feet and held my hands out in front of me, my fingers too stiff to bend. How would I ever get to Father? To John?

No one was there to tell me what to do. “Think,” I told myself aloud. “Think by yourself.”

I needed water. I needed to eat.

I looked around me in the dim light. The linens for my hands lay across the cave floor. I must have shaken everything out of the bag, because Mother’s spoon was on the ground, too, and so was the map Father had drawn.

I pulled in my breath. The meat was gone. An animal had come close to me during the days I had been there. A small animal, I hoped. I shuddered, thinking about it.

Never mind. Water first.

I’d have to go down the mountain to the river.

It was so far, too far.

It had to be done. I inched my way out of the cave, holding the jug under one arm.

Outside, the sun’s narrow rays filtered through the trees. I held my face up to the light, to the warmth. I was alive.

I heard the gurgle of water nearby and looked up. A thin stream splashed its way down the side of the mountain. I ran forward and knelt, my face in that water, gulping, drinking until I couldn’t hold any more. I leaned forward. With both palms holding the jug, I managed to fill it.

How lovely it would be to stay there for a while, to soak up the sun, to listen to the water spilling over the rocks. But I had to use my time well.

I went back to the cave and took the filthy linens to the stream. I couldn’t pound them, but I held the ends and let them drift in the water until they were the color of cream again.

I moved into the deepest part of the stream, hands raised, and let the water do its work. It leeched the mud out of my petticoats, and underneath, my feet and legs felt new and clean.

The rocks were slippery. I took a misstep, and my feet went out from under me. I slid gently into the water.

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