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Authors: Nancy Springer
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could go for miles and days in these hills and still be in forest. The valleys between the mountains were mostly cleared for farms and towns, but the mountains didnât lie in neat ridges any more, not once you got west of Canadawa. They lumped and rumpled like a thousand wallowing pigs across the rest of the state, and except for right around Pittsburgh all their backs grew thick with woods.
Shane was heading that way. West, toward Wyoming.
Bobbi followed until it became too dark to see the trail and she was afraid she might lose it. In that last dark ravine, she had barely been able to make out the sign at all. Off to one side she had thought she saw oval prints, dark and moist, as if the black horse had just come down to the stream to drink. But she must have been mistaken, must have been seeing shadowed deer tracks in the dusk. She felt sure the black horse was far ahead. Once out of the ravine, on the dryer ground atop the bank, she sat down on the dirt. She could pick up the trail again at first light.
She thought of the bag of food in her hand, and for some reason her stomach turned. Just as well she wasnât hungry, she decided. Likely she would be ravenous by the next day. She would save the food until then.
She sat, too tired to sleep, and tried to think instead. Where was she going, once she and the black horse had parted paths for good? She had relations scattered all over the map, her fatherâs brothers and sisters, her motherâs brothers and their wives, Aunt This and Uncle That. Half of them, she forgot exactly where they lived. There were none of them she felt anything special for or trusted not to send her back to Pap. Then there was her mother, in her ward with the other crazies. And her motherâs parents, Grandma and Grandpa Buige, who she sometimes saw when they came to visit her mother on Chantillyâs birthday and Bobbi was there too. They lived in Louisiana somewhere, and always sent Bobbi Christmas presents that showed they didnât understand her at all. She had never been friendly with them, because she had sometimes felt that they might like to take her away from Pap. Huh. A good thing, now, if they did.
The night had gotten very dark, and chilly. In her unlined windbreaker and cotton shirt, Bobbi started to shiver. The ground under her was damp. Somewhere spring frogs were chorusing: a sound that Bobbi loved, usually, but this time it felt cold and wet to her. In the cabin, Pap would be lighting a fire in the woodstove to take the chill off the airâ
She should not have thought of Pap in that way. All in a moment the full extent of her anger and hurting broke through, like a fire breaking through a thin wall, and Bobbi could have screamed with the sting of it.
I-DONâT-WANT-TO-SEE-YOUR-FACE-DONâT-BOTHER-COMING-BACK.â¦
The words might as well have been branded on her mind, and still smoking. She cursed aloud with pain. âJesus Christ!â she blurted at the night. âHow could he have said that! He might just as well have saidâhave told meââ
That he didnât care about her. Go away, Bobbi. You Have Done Wrong. I donât love you any more.
She put her head on her knees and cried. Crying made her feel angry at herself as well as at Pap, but she couldnât help it. She hurt all over, inside and out, as if she had taken a licking. Pap had never done that to her, but this was as bad or worse.
âHell,â she muttered to her knees when she was mostly done crying.
Something howled in the woods, not unlike the way she had been howling, but with an animal voice. Her head jerked up. Pennsylvania coyotes had interbred with Canadian wolves on their way east, and they were big.
It howled again, farther away. This time Bobbi paid no attention, for beyond the wash of tears in her eyes she saw a whitish blur in the air. She dug at her eyes with her knuckles. Her vision cleared, but the blur was still there: a dim, floating
Shane was heading that way. West, toward Wyoming.
Bobbi followed until it became too dark to see the trail and she was afraid she might lose it. In that last dark ravine, she had barely been able to make out the sign at all. Off to one side she had thought she saw oval prints, dark and moist, as if the black horse had just come down to the stream to drink. But she must have been mistaken, must have been seeing shadowed deer tracks in the dusk. She felt sure the black horse was far ahead. Once out of the ravine, on the dryer ground atop the bank, she sat down on the dirt. She could pick up the trail again at first light.
She thought of the bag of food in her hand, and for some reason her stomach turned. Just as well she wasnât hungry, she decided. Likely she would be ravenous by the next day. She would save the food until then.
She sat, too tired to sleep, and tried to think instead. Where was she going, once she and the black horse had parted paths for good? She had relations scattered all over the map, her fatherâs brothers and sisters, her motherâs brothers and their wives, Aunt This and Uncle That. Half of them, she forgot exactly where they lived. There were none of them she felt anything special for or trusted not to send her back to Pap. Then there was her mother, in her ward with the other crazies. And her motherâs parents, Grandma and Grandpa Buige, who she sometimes saw when they came to visit her mother on Chantillyâs birthday and Bobbi was there too. They lived in Louisiana somewhere, and always sent Bobbi Christmas presents that showed they didnât understand her at all. She had never been friendly with them, because she had sometimes felt that they might like to take her away from Pap. Huh. A good thing, now, if they did.
The night had gotten very dark, and chilly. In her unlined windbreaker and cotton shirt, Bobbi started to shiver. The ground under her was damp. Somewhere spring frogs were chorusing: a sound that Bobbi loved, usually, but this time it felt cold and wet to her. In the cabin, Pap would be lighting a fire in the woodstove to take the chill off the airâ
She should not have thought of Pap in that way. All in a moment the full extent of her anger and hurting broke through, like a fire breaking through a thin wall, and Bobbi could have screamed with the sting of it.
I-DONâT-WANT-TO-SEE-YOUR-FACE-DONâT-BOTHER-COMING-BACK.â¦
The words might as well have been branded on her mind, and still smoking. She cursed aloud with pain. âJesus Christ!â she blurted at the night. âHow could he have said that! He might just as well have saidâhave told meââ
That he didnât care about her. Go away, Bobbi. You Have Done Wrong. I donât love you any more.
She put her head on her knees and cried. Crying made her feel angry at herself as well as at Pap, but she couldnât help it. She hurt all over, inside and out, as if she had taken a licking. Pap had never done that to her, but this was as bad or worse.
âHell,â she muttered to her knees when she was mostly done crying.
Something howled in the woods, not unlike the way she had been howling, but with an animal voice. Her head jerked up. Pennsylvania coyotes had interbred with Canadian wolves on their way east, and they were big.
It howled again, farther away. This time Bobbi paid no attention, for beyond the wash of tears in her eyes she saw a whitish blur in the air. She dug at her eyes with her knuckles. Her vision cleared, but the blur was still there: a dim, floating
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