Read Online Ashes by Laurie Halse Anderson - Free Book Online

from a farm in Georgia after the Savannah battles. He was living rough, earning a bit of coin by collecting pine sap and tending the tar-burning kilns, which gave the air its stink. His wife lay buried by a laurel tree with their baby boy, born dead after his mother labored three days and nights to bring him into the world. Huntly said his wife died of a broken heart hours later.
    He offered to trade us an old axe for Nancy Chicken. We turned him down but gave him that day’s egg, which he enjoyed mightily. Using a stick, he scratched out a map in the sand to show us the safest way through the rest of the barren, detouring us around a collection of unsavory folk. Then he offered to marry me, should I be so inclined to stop my journeying.
    I thanked him politely and declined his offer.

CHAPTER XI

Friday, August 24–Sunday, August 26, 1781
    O NE OF THE MEANS OF PREVENTING INTERMITTENT [FEVERS] IS WARMTH . P ERMIT ME TO RECOMMEND IT TO YOUR WHOLE FAMILY, IN CLOTHING, BED CLOTHES, AND IN LARGE AND CONSTANT FIRES.
    â€“L ETTER FROM D R . B ENJAMIN R USH TO A BIGAIL A DAMS
    W EEKS OF HARD TRAVEL HAD weakened and wearied us all. Ruth had been limping for days on account of a twisted ankle; though, of course, she would not let me tend to her. Curzon had a ragged cough, and my bowels had declared rebellion. Added to all that misery was Aberdeen, that half-witted looby, that fool slubberdegullion, who had begun to doubt our course. He suddenly wanted us to head west, away from the war and everything that wanted to chase us. He and Curzon argued the merits and weaknesses of his plan ceaselessly, dogs scrapping over a meatless bone.
    I feared that if Aberdeen left, Ruth would follow him, but I knew that the scrawny lad would more likely listen to Curzon than to me. I strode ahead on the path, my gaze flitting from tree to tree like a sparrow, hoping to spot an apple tree heavy with ripe fruit. I fought a yawn and lost. Curzon had taken to making each day’s journey longer and our time for sleeping shorter. ’Twas another sign of how anxious he was to be quit of us.
    â€œRuth!” Aberdeen suddenly yelled.
    I spun around. The boys were kneeling next to Ruth’s twitching form, sprawled on the ground. She’d been seized by a fit.
    I ran as fast as I could, cursing myself with every step for walking too far in front. By the time I got there, the fit had ended. Ruth lay still, eyes closed, her breath coming regular. I saw no blood nor sign that she’d hurt herself in the fall. If she were still a child, I’d have cradled her head in my lap and spoken quiet and sweet to her until she’d come back to herself. Fits confuddled and sometimes alarmed her. But I hung back, unsure of how she would react to me. It was Aberdeen who brushed the leaves from her kerchief and cupped his hands around her face, her eyes still closed.
    He looked up at me in horror. “She’s burning up!”
    Â Â *  *  *  
    We made camp right there.
    At first it just seemed a pestilent fever. Ruth slept deeply but woke if pinched hard on the neck. Each time I roused her, Aberdeen or Curzon would get her to drink water until she slipped back into sleep. She had a few more shaking fits but never opened her eyes. Her body gave off the sour smell of illness, as if the fever were slowly burning its way through her. She slept an unnatural sleep all that night and the day after that.
    This was my fault, all of it.
    I should have stayed by her side no matter how much it vexed her. I should have slowed the pace of the journey. No wonder Ruth couldn’t abide me. I was a wretched, impatient, horrid sister. I knelt next to her, bowed my head, and prayed without cease, but it did not seem to help.
    At dawn we moved her to an abandoned shack near a stream. It was more of a hovel than a shack: three leaning log walls with a few roof beams but no roof, and a fire pit instead of a proper hearth and chimney. The boys