Read Online The Daughter's Walk by Jane Kirkpatrick - Free Book Online Page A

for Mama and me.
    Mama repeated. “The old miner said, ‘Beyond them hills there, you can see the flat plain where you’ll meet up with the railroad. Shouldn’t be no trouble at all to make up time.’ ”
    Make up time
.
    â€œI told you we shouldn’t have come this way,” I croaked with a parched mouth. Both of our canteens were down by half. No shade. Nothing green to even consider eating, and no living thing roamed except snakes. The lava cut our shoes, and I’d stumbled and jammed the palms of my hands against long strips of rock that looked like turkey talons. They stretched for miles, making walking uneven and our energy spent. I’d thought we were exhausted through the rains, but this ache sucked at my bones; the heat of the day weighted our chests, stole our breaths. My face burned from the sun despite wearing a hat, and Mama … Mama’s eyes had a frantic look that unsettled me more than the snakes we watched out for.
    We rested on a rock so barren it didn’t even host a lichen. “We’ll try traveling at night,” she said, wiping her brow. “It won’t be so hot, and we’ll use the lantern to watch the compass.”
    â€œI can barely walk in the daylight without falling,” I said. But I complied. What else could I do?
    Coyotes yipped in the distance. We didn’t make it far before Mama fell too in the dark, and she agreed we needed to stop and pray that the daylight would bring us new clarity about where we should go. Every sound startled my attempts to sleep. Was that a rattler? Was that a coyote closing in? Were there scorpions out here?
    I did pray. Oh, how I prayed!
Please, please, please. Don’t let anything happen to Mama. Please, forgive us for being foolish
. I’d never take the word of a stranger, not ever again! I’d never take a wager like this. Money needed to be earned, not received for wild schemes. I prayed for my brothers and sisters, thinking,
What will they do if we die here?
They’d never even know. We’d be two lost clusters of bones found one day by strangers, and they’d make up a story about what happened to us. I started to laugh.
    â€œClara. What’s the matter with you?” Mama asked, shaking me as I leaned against a rock that looked like a statue of flowing water.
    â€œWhat will they find of us?” I said. “My curling iron. Your frying pan. How will they ever explain that?”
    â€œDon’t,” Mama said. “Don’t think that. We have to get out of here. We have to.”
    I started to cry then. The fear, the hunger, the realization that we were lost set in.
    â€œPlease, show us the path and we’ll walk in it. Please, save my child if not me,” Mama whispered into the still night. I could feel her rocking beside me.
    The night was a grave, time disappearing into darkness.
    I slept, awoke in a start. “Mama? Is Papa here to take us home? Over there? By the lantern.” My face felt like I had my head in an oven, checking on the brown rolls. “Are you talking to him?”
    â€œNo, no,” Mama said. “You’re … I’m so sorry. Let me hold you. I’m praying, child. That’s what you hear. Hush now. The crying won’t help us, and it robs you of strength. Try to rest.”
    She held my hands, rubbed at my fingers, smoothing over the rough edges. I didn’t remember her ever holding my hand. I must have been a little child.
    â€œYour nails, they’re all torn,” she said then.
    In the morning, Mama held the compass. She directed us to the northwest, saying we’d walk back the way we came, back to Boise City. I lagged behind. Thirsty. Rocks looked like soft pillows I could just lie down on. I sat in a crevice between rocks as big as buckboards.
    Mama shook my shoulders. She looked blurry and fuzzy as a rabbit. I wished I had a rabbit to hold.
    â€œListen to me,