Read Online Straw Into Gold by Gary D. Schmidt - Free Book Online
Authors: Gary D. Schmidt
Tags: Ages 10 and up
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the song, then closing as the song descended to a hum. Her rubbing hand moved in time to its rhythms.
"The bleeding has stopped," she soon called to me softly. "But it would take only a rock against a wheel to start it again. He's got to be still for the wound to close. And this cart is not the place for a body to be still."
"It is also the very thing that the king's soldiers will be looking for."
She nodded slowly."Not far away, on the river side of the road, there is an old mill."
"I passed it just yesterday morning."
"Well," she said, "I have known the miller there and his wife. It would be a place to hide Innes until the wound closes. Or at least for the night."
"I passed the mill yesterday morning just by chance," I said, half in a whisper.
"Nothing is ever quite by chance. Go along now. And keep the gait slow. Mind the black horse most especially."
Nothing is ever quite by chance.
I minded the black horse most especially, but he was too tired from his run to cause mischief. We plodded along slowly, while everything in me wanted to whip the horses to a gallop. Slowly the houses started to spread themselves out, slowly the gardens and fields grew larger, and slowly, slowly the mill finally slouched into view. From this side the mill seemed to lean out over the water, its wheel about to tilt in.
"There," the nurse called. "Stop just there."
"The house is on the far side."
"There are reasons for not telling the miller and his wife that you are here. Now help me. I'll see that the wound is fair and clear and then be off with the cart."
"It would be warmer in the house."
"Warmer than you'd like, if the King's Grip comes."
"No reason for him to stop here, of all places."
"Reason enough. Now," she said, gesturing,"there will be bandages there, and two blankets just there. No, by your other hand. Bring them along. And that pouch of herbs there too. And you might as well bring the rest of the oatmeal, if the crockery is not all smashed." While I gathered everything up, she reached under Innes and tucked him to her, all the while crooning her soft lullaby.
The sunlight glinted off the rimy stones of the mill as we carried Innes across, keeping ourselves out of sight of the house beyond. The wheel creaked slowly about as if it were hardly aware of what it was doing. Water sloshed lazily from its troughs and ran over the icy coating that the winter had built up along its edges. Inside, it was warmer but dark as dark. The mill's innards groaned with the crabbed turning of the wheel outside, almost as if it were groaning with Innes. I waited for my eyes to pick out shapes and found myself rubbing the grain dust away from them. It filled the air so thickly, I wondered for a moment if I could drown in it.
"The stairs are there," the nurse called, and we climbed them to the thrumming of the mill wheel. The floors, the beams that spanned overhead, the very air vibrated with the turning. Up in the loft a slit of a window let in enough light to see sacks of properly stacked meal. I pulled three from the pile and spread them flat, then laid a blanket over them all. The nurse laid Innes down and checked the bandage, fussing at its tightness but glad that no new blood showed.
I huddled back against the roughness of the sacks while she fussed, and the smell of the meal dusted up. I closed my eyes and was at once home again with Da, each of our hands yellow with the meal of the week's baking. The smell of the fire, the lumps of dough rolling themselves out to rise, the taste of the meal in the air—they were all so sharp that I almost reached forward for them.
"I'll be going now and leaving you to Saint Jude of blessed memory," said the nurse. She had to yell against the thrumming.
I knew she would have to go. She would hurry the cart along and drag with it any searching horsemen, like wood chips in a boat's wake. Only this time if the Grip caught her, he would not simply warn her against meddling. I nodded as she pointed to
"The bleeding has stopped," she soon called to me softly. "But it would take only a rock against a wheel to start it again. He's got to be still for the wound to close. And this cart is not the place for a body to be still."
"It is also the very thing that the king's soldiers will be looking for."
She nodded slowly."Not far away, on the river side of the road, there is an old mill."
"I passed it just yesterday morning."
"Well," she said, "I have known the miller there and his wife. It would be a place to hide Innes until the wound closes. Or at least for the night."
"I passed the mill yesterday morning just by chance," I said, half in a whisper.
"Nothing is ever quite by chance. Go along now. And keep the gait slow. Mind the black horse most especially."
Nothing is ever quite by chance.
I minded the black horse most especially, but he was too tired from his run to cause mischief. We plodded along slowly, while everything in me wanted to whip the horses to a gallop. Slowly the houses started to spread themselves out, slowly the gardens and fields grew larger, and slowly, slowly the mill finally slouched into view. From this side the mill seemed to lean out over the water, its wheel about to tilt in.
"There," the nurse called. "Stop just there."
"The house is on the far side."
"There are reasons for not telling the miller and his wife that you are here. Now help me. I'll see that the wound is fair and clear and then be off with the cart."
"It would be warmer in the house."
"Warmer than you'd like, if the King's Grip comes."
"No reason for him to stop here, of all places."
"Reason enough. Now," she said, gesturing,"there will be bandages there, and two blankets just there. No, by your other hand. Bring them along. And that pouch of herbs there too. And you might as well bring the rest of the oatmeal, if the crockery is not all smashed." While I gathered everything up, she reached under Innes and tucked him to her, all the while crooning her soft lullaby.
The sunlight glinted off the rimy stones of the mill as we carried Innes across, keeping ourselves out of sight of the house beyond. The wheel creaked slowly about as if it were hardly aware of what it was doing. Water sloshed lazily from its troughs and ran over the icy coating that the winter had built up along its edges. Inside, it was warmer but dark as dark. The mill's innards groaned with the crabbed turning of the wheel outside, almost as if it were groaning with Innes. I waited for my eyes to pick out shapes and found myself rubbing the grain dust away from them. It filled the air so thickly, I wondered for a moment if I could drown in it.
"The stairs are there," the nurse called, and we climbed them to the thrumming of the mill wheel. The floors, the beams that spanned overhead, the very air vibrated with the turning. Up in the loft a slit of a window let in enough light to see sacks of properly stacked meal. I pulled three from the pile and spread them flat, then laid a blanket over them all. The nurse laid Innes down and checked the bandage, fussing at its tightness but glad that no new blood showed.
I huddled back against the roughness of the sacks while she fussed, and the smell of the meal dusted up. I closed my eyes and was at once home again with Da, each of our hands yellow with the meal of the week's baking. The smell of the fire, the lumps of dough rolling themselves out to rise, the taste of the meal in the air—they were all so sharp that I almost reached forward for them.
"I'll be going now and leaving you to Saint Jude of blessed memory," said the nurse. She had to yell against the thrumming.
I knew she would have to go. She would hurry the cart along and drag with it any searching horsemen, like wood chips in a boat's wake. Only this time if the Grip caught her, he would not simply warn her against meddling. I nodded as she pointed to
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