Like a River Glorious by Rae Carson

Author:Rae Carson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-08-24T04:00:00+00:00

It takes me a second to parse it. Tomorrow. I nod.

He wipes the glass with the side of his fist, then breathes on it again. This time, he writes:

He repeats the process once more and adds:

My heart races. Can I do it? Can I sneak out of this cabin right under my uncle’s nose?

He presses his palm to the glass. The work of the day is evident on his skin—tiny cuts filled with dirt, a blister at the base of his thumb.

Slowly I reach up with my hand and place my palm against the glass, too, fitting my fingers inside the outline of his larger ones.

Jefferson gives me a quick grin. He rubs at the window to erase any trace of what just happened, then he ducks away and disappears.

I watch the empty camp for a while to make sure no one saw. A couple of the Chinese tents glow from within, with either candles or lanterns, but everyone else seems fast asleep.

Hiram said they would tie Jefferson up at night. How did he get free? How could he take such an awful risk to come see me?

I slip down onto the bed and sit with my back against the wall, knees to chest. Tomorrow. Midnight. Behind the stable.

The next morning, Mary shows up to make breakfast. One of her sleeves is torn, and a dark bruise swells along her left cheekbone. I know a hitting bruise when I see one; Jefferson used to have them all the time. I try to meet her eye, to gauge whether or not she’s all right, but she ignores me.

Uncle Hiram doesn’t seem to notice. He eats his scrambled eggs slowly, his gaze distant as if his thoughts are far away. I hate to admit it, but my uncle is a fine-looking man. Finer looking than my daddy, though he shows nothing of Daddy’s warmth or kindness or joy. He’s better groomed, too, with a close-shaved jaw and hair neatly parted and slicked.

Mary comes to remove our dishes from the table, which is when I finally gather the gumption to say to my uncle what’s on my mind.

“Frank Dilley killed a man yesterday.”

It might be my imagination, but Mary’s step stutters a little before she bends to scrape the dishes.

“Yes,” Hiram says casually. “I heard.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin.

I gape at him. “Well, aren’t you going to do something about it?”

My uncle folds the napkin neatly and places it on the table before him. “I already have.”

“Oh?”

“I gave Frank a stern talking-to about being more careful. Topper tells me that Indian was well respected among the savages. A leader of sorts. He’s not the one I work with, an Indian by the name of Muskrat. But the other savages looked up to him almost as much. Frank should have made an example of someone different.”

I blink, trying to sort out what he just said. It’s like we’re having two different conversations. I might as well have asked, “Will you mend the back fence?” only to have him answer, “Sure, I’ll fetch you a cup of water.

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