Read Online Coyote Rising by Allen Steele - Free Book Online

shrugged. “Like I said, not very much. She hasn’t told me everything.”
    “Probably not.” He looked down at the ground as they walked along. “He used to be my best friend, back when we were kids. But then he killed my brother and . . . anyway, there’s things you just don’t forgive.”
    Apparently not. And now she had a better idea whom he was talking about. “If he shows up, I’ll let you know.”
    “I’d appreciate it.” By then they were on the outskirts of town; her shack was only a few hundred feet away. “You know, she’s really come to like you,” he said. “That’s a major accomplishment . . . for her, I mean. She used to live in Liberty, in the cabin my dad built for us. I still live there, but she moved all the way out here because she didn’t want to see anyone anymore . . . not even me. But you’ve managed to get through to her somehow.”
    “We’ve got much in common,” Allegra said. And that, at least, wasn’t a lie.
     
    Allegra took a nap, then changed into a long skirt and a sweater. Through her window, she could see Uma setting to the west, Bear rising to the east. She usually began making dinner about that time, but this night she’d get a break from that chore if Chris kept his word about sending over food from the community hall. So she picked up her flute, along with the one she’d finished the previous evening, and went out to sit on the porch and watch the sun go down.
    As twilight set in, Shuttlefield went quiet. No doubt everyone had gone into Liberty for the fiesta. She waited until she heard the chickens clucking in her neighbor’s backyard, then she picked up her flute and began to play. Not one of her own pieces this time, but a traditional English hymn she’d learned while studying music at Berklee. For some reason, it seemed appropriate for the moment.
    After a while, she heard the door of Sissy’s shack creak open. Allegra didn’t look up but continued playing, and a minute later there was the faint rustle of an apron next to her. “That’s very nice,” Sissy said quietly. “What’s it called?”
    “ ‘Jerusalem.’ ” Allegra smiled. “It’s really easy to play. Would you like to try?”
    Sissy quickly shook her head. “Oh, no . . . I can’t. . . .”
    “No, really. It’s simple. Here . . .” She picked up the new flute. “I made this for you. Try it out.”
    Sissy stared at it. “I . . . but I have to start dinner. . . .”
    “No, you don’t. It’s being brought to us tonight. Roast pork, potatoes, fresh greens, pie . . . the works.” She grinned. “Believe me, it’s good. Helped make it myself.”
    Sissy stared at her, and Allegra realized that it was probably the first time in many years that she had been offered a meal. For a few seconds she was afraid that her neighbor would flee back to her windowless hovel, slam the door shut, and not emerge again for several days. Yet alook of wary acceptance came upon her face. Taking the flute, Sissy sat down on the porch.
    “Show me how you do this,” she said.
    It didn’t take long for her to learn how to work the finger holes; teaching her how to master the first notes, though, took a little more effort. Yet Sissy didn’t give up; she seemed determined to learn how to play, and she gave Allegra her undivided attention as the younger woman patiently demonstrated the basic fingering techniques.
    They took a break when someone arrived with two covered baskets. Allegra carried them inside; Sissy was reluctant to follow her until Allegra pointed out that it would be much less messy if they ate indoors. The older woman stood quietly, her hands folded in front of her, and watched as she lit the oil lamp and set the table for two. Allegra only had one chair; she was about to sit on the bed when Sissy abruptly disappeared, returning a few moments later with a rickety chair of her own. She placed it at the table, then sat down and watched as Allegra served her a