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

Clara.”
    I couldn’t.
    She struck my face. I blinked, touched my cheek.
    â€œWe’re going to take one step, then another, then another.”
    â€œI hear you. Everyone hears you, Mama.” I sloughed Mama’s hands from my shoulder. “Everyone hears what you say. That’s why we’re here. Hold tight,” I told her. Mama looked confused, but I only needed her to hold my hand again, to keep me from floating like a bubble from the washtub up, up into the air and far away into blue sky.

T EN

Desert Starlight
    N ight. Darkness. Whisperings. “If you must take us, please let Clara die first, Lord, so she won’t have to die alone without her mother tending her.”
    A rumble far away. A storm brewing. Whispered words continue. The thunder.
    â€œClara! Do you hear that? A storm! We’ll have water.”
    I hear her scrambling in the night.
    â€œWhere is that frying pan? We’ll collect water. It’ll rescue us, that old pan!”
    She sounds happy. Mama is happy. I look up. No moon. No rain. Only pinpricks of stars. I close my eyes.
    â€œClara. Listen to me. I need to tell you something. Listen now. Clara?”
    â€œMy ears aren’t tired. Only my eyes.” I keep them closed. There’s nothing to see but darkness. I sleep maybe. I dream of
julekaga
, Mama’s Christmas bread, so sweet, so filling. One slice and I am full from allthe love that goes into that bread for Christmas morning. Smells fill the kitchen. Am I dreaming? “Do you have
julekaga
, Mama?”
    â€œClara. Listen. It’s not Christmas. I must tell you a secret thing.” She holds me in her arms. I’m little, like Lillian. She rocks me. “There’s something I hoped I would never have to tell you, but you should know this. If something happens to me—”
    â€œAre you going away again?”
    â€œNo. No. But if I … If you get back to Boise but I don’t, you should know.” Thunder rolling, closer this time and steady, rolling and rolling through the still night air. She sits up, pushes me up too.
    â€œA secret, Mama? Another secret?”
    â€œClara,” her voice changes. “Clara, I don’t think that’s thunder.” Joy in her voice then. “Clara! Oh, Clara, look!”
    It’s too dark. I can see nothing but a tiny star moving across the low horizon far in the distance.
    â€œA star.”
    â€œNot a star at all,” Mama says.
    â€œLightning in the storm. Rain will come.”
    â€œNo. No storm, Clara. It’s a train! God has sent us a train!” She stands. She leaves me. “Where is that compass?” She clatters over the rocks, finds her grip. I can hear her, then see her in the lantern light. “Yes! That’s the direction we will follow in the morning. We know where we’re going! Oh, Clara, we’re saved. We’re truly saved.”
    Is she going to tell me another secret? How many does she keep?

E LEVEN

Changing Clothes
    W eak as a kitten, I followed her in the morning. She put everything into one grip and carried it. I had to carry only myself. I imagined
lefse
soaked in butter and rolled up around fresh blackberry preserves, or
sandbakkels
shaking sugar from their crispy shapes, and my licking the crystals from my mouth. I imagined cream porridge served with milk and eating mounds of boiled potatoes, saving the water for the next day to use for making bread, fresh brown buns, straight from the oven, soft and smelling of yeast. I could see the
julekaga
. I could see tables spread and a chicken steaming, its oyster-flavored stuffing spilling out onto the plate. I saw pools of water Mama said weren’t there.
    â€œClara. Sheep!” She pointed and held up the empty canteen, shouting to them. “Water! May we have water?”
    Sheep will give us water?
    Two Basque sheepherders halted, then walked out of the desert heat toward us. They spoke no English, but it