Read Online Belle of Batoche by Jacqueline Guest - Free Book Online

from all directions. They had nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide! She glanced back at her mother, struggling to carry Samuel, and Sarah who still seemed dazed.
    She had an inspiration. “Come with me!” she shouted, turning to follow the trail that skirted the river. Her mother and Sarah hurried after her as she raced through the willows. As they ran, Belle kept a constant eye out for the government troops. When she had gone some distance along the path, Belle began looking for the hard to find spot on the hillside.
    â€œWhere are we going?” Sarah asked.
    Belle heard the fear in Sarah’s voice. “Someplace safe!” She tried to sound confident, but knew the soldiers were closing in. They had only moments before they would be seen crossing the prairie. Gunfire echoed in her ears and she couldsmell smoke from the burning buildings. With a burst of speed, Belle sprinted across the open grass and scrambled up the side of the steep embankment.
    She smiled with satisfaction as she spotted what she’d been looking for: the old root cellar door.
    â€œSarah, help me!” she said, tugging on the weathered wooden handle.
    Belle and Sarah pulled with all their might until, with a groan, the door opened. “Quickly, go inside!” she instructed Sarah.
    â€œBut it’s dirty and dark and there’s probably spiders!” Sarah whimpered, sounding like a young child.
    â€œThere’s a lot worse than that out here! Go on, Sarah, I’m right behind you!” Belle gave Sarah a gentle push that sent her tumbling into the dark root cellar. Belle’s mother followed, Samuel still in her arms.
    With one last look at the terrible battle taking place in her peaceful little town, Belle pulled the heavy door closed behind her.

13
Belle Takes Charge
    The root cellar was dark and still damp with the late thawing ground. Belle was surprised at how large the man-made cave was.
    â€œAre root cellars usually this big, Mama?” she asked, peering around in the gloom. She saw Sarah sitting, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking quietly back and forth.
    Her mother placed Samuel gently on the ground. She inspected her surroundings. “This must be the old Belanger place. I remember the family moved to Batoche late in the year and had to live in the root cellar the first winter because they couldn’t build a house until spring. I had no idea this still existed.”
    Belle, busily snooping at the back of the dim cellar, discovered an old rusty lantern. She shook it. “It still has a little oil. Now all we need is a way of lighting it!” Then she remembered the small leather bag her mother kept tied to her belt. “Do you have your flint and steel?”
    â€œTake the pouch,” her mother instructed.
    Belle thought this was odd, but did as she was instructed, untying the soft deer-skin bag from her mother’s belt.
    Easing the glass chimney off the lantern, Belle laid it on the ground, then rummaged in the pouch, withdrawing the steel and flint. “If I do this right, we should be able to see, at least.” Belle struck the flint against the steel, sending a shower of sparks onto the oil-soaked wick.
    A small ember flickered to life, then the wick flared. The glow from the old lantern bathed Belle’s face as she replaced the chimney. Smiling, she looked up at her mother and stopped.
    â€œMama, what’s the matter?” she asked, noticing how her mother held her hands away from her body.
    â€œIt’s nothing, Belle. When I was rescuing Samuel from the roof, my hands were burnt a little.” Her voice was light, but Belle saw the sweat on her mother’s forehead.
    Belle lifted the lantern and looked closely at her mother’s hands. “Oh, Mama!” she gasped, noting the red blisters and raw open patches where the skin was entirely burnt away. “We must do something.” She looked into her mother’s eyes, seeing the agony