The Long Shadow by Beth Kanell

Author:Beth Kanell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gale, Cengage Learning
Published: 2018-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

* * *

The last mile into Coventry village sloped sharply downhill toward the Black River. It should be called the White River in this season, I thought wildly, as we crossed it on a rattling covered bridge. Two general stores and a shoemaker lined the small common, along with a steepled church, a brick meetinghouse, and several large homes. William pulled up by the first store, thrust the reins into my hands, and jumped down to inquire the name and direction of the colored family with its four sons, to whom we must introduce ourselves.

Sarah woke beside me; her quiet sleep in the corner of the sleigh had reassured me that she had not fallen prey to the miasma that must have struck Jerushah’s chest, and even the most terrible coughing had not woken her. Now, she readily gathered the situation and sat up, examining her surroundings with both curiosity and trepidation. “There are so many buildings here,” she noted, “that it’s almost like Upton Center! Do you think we’ll be visiting at one of these whitewashed houses?”

William’s re-appearance answered her question: “It’s a farm family named Hayes,” he reported. “But the farm is close to the village.” He urged Ely out of a tired stance and into a slow pace up a small hill.

“It’s not at that ‘bear ridge,’ is it?” I worried.

“No, although I believe that’s another two or three miles down the same way. But this farm is at a bend of the river.”

We passed through another covered bridge, and I saw a well-laid-out farm on a wide plain. Wood smoke rose from a chimney at the main house and darker smoke from a second, smaller building. When we pulled into the dooryard, a tall and broad-shouldered man stepped out of this smaller structure, setting a sharp-looking hay fork against the building before stepping toward us. He wore a brown leather cap and over his blue clothing a brown apron, also of leather, on which he rubbed his massive fists. They, like his face, were black as grease, and the acrid tang of coal smoke came with him as he approached our sleigh. He was a blacksmith. In the tension of the moment, I swallowed a sob of confusion: a black-skinned man who was a smith. The size and strength of him frightened me—he was nothing like Sarah, or even Fred the fugitive. I dared not rise from my seat.

Fortunately, William suffered none of my discomposure. As he stepped out of the sleigh to introduce himself and our errand, I struggled to pull myself together. Lowering my gaze, embarrassed for having stared at the man, I wiped another handful of snow across Jerushah’s sweated forehead.

Without such a task to occupy her, Sarah grew restless as the men conversed. Abruptly, she cast aside her part of the coverings and slid down from the sleigh’s leather bench, standing and straightening her clothing. In the dim light of late afternoon, she peered around the yard and must have found the gaze of someone watching from within the house.

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