Read Online The Color of Freedom by Michelle Isenhoff - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michelle Isenhoff
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to pray for yours!" she snapped acidly as he spurred his horse and led his pack animal up the road.
"I declare, Wynn," Salizar said, slouching in dismay as he watched the man go, "you've been ornery as a woman of late."
Meadow's mouth dropped open then snapped shut with a click. She whirled to face the front and refused to speak for the rest of the afternoon.
∗ ∗ ∗
The rain had let up, but the world lay soggy and muddy under a clearing sky. Twice the wagon bogged down, so they made camp early, tension still heavy between them.
"There's another town close ahead, but I just don't have the heart to continue tonight," Salizar declared. "We'll pull in tomorrow morning."
The old man turned in, as glum as Meadow had ever seen him.
Meadow rolled her blankets onto a woven mat underneath the wagon but immediately felt mud soak through to her skin. Uncomfortable and distraught, she lay awake a long while listening to the sound of night creatures. Not far away, Aberdeen chomped contentedly at the tender new grasses.
Late into the night, she threw her blankets aside and rolled from her bed.
An owl swooped overhead, gliding on silent wings. The moon played hide-and-seek in the thin clouds, casting a silvery sheen over the fields then greedily snatching it back again. In the uncertain light, Meadow pulled her coat tight to trap what body heat she could and wandered back to the ribbon of road, following it eastward toward the ever-elusive city.
A strong impatience took hold of her. She became almost desperate for this long journey to be over. To be warm and safe and dry. To feel the security of her father's strong arms about her once again, shielding and protecting her as they had done when she was a child.
But she was no longer a child, and the whole world had turned upside down. Peace and safety had become mere illusions. The future wavered like a cloud, like a mist that blocks one's view, with no form or solidarity.
In a moment of weakness, Meadow sat under the shelter of a huge boulder and buried her head in her arms, too tired to weep.
Reaching into her coat pocket, she removed her Bible and stroked the cracked cover, drawing comfort from its familiar scent. She wound her rosary around her hand and breathed the comfortable words of The Apostle's Creed, "I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth. I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord. He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary..."
She hunched beneath the rock, swaying with the rhythm of her grief, at last falling into a restless slumber.
Long after midnight, the muffled echo of hooves pounded the road ahead. Shouts rent the night air like paper. Awakened, Meadow jumped behind a low stone wall that separated the road from the field beyond and cautiously peered out over its top.
Across the moon-speckled darkness, several riders splashed recklessly through the mud. Only a fool, she knew, would ride so hard under such treacherous conditions. A fool - or an alarmist.
As they passed an isolated house, the shouts wavered again, forming into urgent words that caused her breath to catch in fright.
"Wake up! The army is coming! The regulars are out. Make ready! The troops are marching from Boston!"
So focused was she on the three riders pounding from the east that Meadow failed to hear more approaching through the field across the road.
Suddenly, a mounted patrol of four British officers with pistols drawn surrounded the riders, pulling them up short. Frightened, one of the horses reared wildly, throwing its passenger who scrambled away into the darkness.
In the confusion, someone gave a shout and both remaining riders spurred their mounts. One cleared the top of the wall twenty yards from Meadow and thudded away across the field with two officers in pursuit, but fortune failed the last rider. He thundered past, heading for a small wood just as six officers galloped out of it. "Stop! If you go an
"I declare, Wynn," Salizar said, slouching in dismay as he watched the man go, "you've been ornery as a woman of late."
Meadow's mouth dropped open then snapped shut with a click. She whirled to face the front and refused to speak for the rest of the afternoon.
∗ ∗ ∗
The rain had let up, but the world lay soggy and muddy under a clearing sky. Twice the wagon bogged down, so they made camp early, tension still heavy between them.
"There's another town close ahead, but I just don't have the heart to continue tonight," Salizar declared. "We'll pull in tomorrow morning."
The old man turned in, as glum as Meadow had ever seen him.
Meadow rolled her blankets onto a woven mat underneath the wagon but immediately felt mud soak through to her skin. Uncomfortable and distraught, she lay awake a long while listening to the sound of night creatures. Not far away, Aberdeen chomped contentedly at the tender new grasses.
Late into the night, she threw her blankets aside and rolled from her bed.
An owl swooped overhead, gliding on silent wings. The moon played hide-and-seek in the thin clouds, casting a silvery sheen over the fields then greedily snatching it back again. In the uncertain light, Meadow pulled her coat tight to trap what body heat she could and wandered back to the ribbon of road, following it eastward toward the ever-elusive city.
A strong impatience took hold of her. She became almost desperate for this long journey to be over. To be warm and safe and dry. To feel the security of her father's strong arms about her once again, shielding and protecting her as they had done when she was a child.
But she was no longer a child, and the whole world had turned upside down. Peace and safety had become mere illusions. The future wavered like a cloud, like a mist that blocks one's view, with no form or solidarity.
In a moment of weakness, Meadow sat under the shelter of a huge boulder and buried her head in her arms, too tired to weep.
Reaching into her coat pocket, she removed her Bible and stroked the cracked cover, drawing comfort from its familiar scent. She wound her rosary around her hand and breathed the comfortable words of The Apostle's Creed, "I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth. I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord. He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary..."
She hunched beneath the rock, swaying with the rhythm of her grief, at last falling into a restless slumber.
Long after midnight, the muffled echo of hooves pounded the road ahead. Shouts rent the night air like paper. Awakened, Meadow jumped behind a low stone wall that separated the road from the field beyond and cautiously peered out over its top.
Across the moon-speckled darkness, several riders splashed recklessly through the mud. Only a fool, she knew, would ride so hard under such treacherous conditions. A fool - or an alarmist.
As they passed an isolated house, the shouts wavered again, forming into urgent words that caused her breath to catch in fright.
"Wake up! The army is coming! The regulars are out. Make ready! The troops are marching from Boston!"
So focused was she on the three riders pounding from the east that Meadow failed to hear more approaching through the field across the road.
Suddenly, a mounted patrol of four British officers with pistols drawn surrounded the riders, pulling them up short. Frightened, one of the horses reared wildly, throwing its passenger who scrambled away into the darkness.
In the confusion, someone gave a shout and both remaining riders spurred their mounts. One cleared the top of the wall twenty yards from Meadow and thudded away across the field with two officers in pursuit, but fortune failed the last rider. He thundered past, heading for a small wood just as six officers galloped out of it. "Stop! If you go an
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