Dec 2, 2013 6 min read

? Chapter Thirteen

THE STORY SO FAR: When Jesse overhears the Smiths talk about keeping Louisa and Solomon, she decides to trick them with a copy of Papa’s letter.

July 2-9, 1828. Along the south bank of the Ohio River, Kentucky.

After a long time, Mr. Smith clears his throat and frowns. “Don’t look like a man’s hand,” he says.

“Papa dictated it to me. He couldn’t read or write.” I point to the wax. “That’s his seal.”

Mr. Smith shoves the diary toward his wife. “You puzzle it out.” Mrs. Smith reads the way Louisa does, mouthing the words. “Read so I can hear,” Mr. Smith says.

Mrs. Smith reads out loud. When she’s finished, tears roll down her cheeks. “My daddy was a Mason,” she says. “He took a vow to help widows and orphans.” She looks at Mr. Smith. “Their papa asks the Masons to give his children safe passage. We have to let them go.”

I want to dance a jig, but instead I keep a sugary smile pasted on my face. “Thank you for your kindness, ma’am.” I point to the gun, propped beside their pallet. “Do you like our grandpa’s Kentucky rifle? The government gave it to him for bravery.”

Mr. Smith’s cheeks turn as red as his hair. “I was fixing to clean it for you,” he says. “It’s a beauty. Your grandpa must have been a good man.”

Even though my heart is beating like partridge wings, I thank him sweetly.

Later that morning we leave with our bellies full of porridge, the rifle clean and polished, and a new wheel spoke. Moses is too lame to ride Pearl, so he sits beside me in the wagon while his mare trots behind. The minute we turn onto the trail, Moses and I howl with laughter. Louisa and Solomon scramble forward.

“What’s so funny?” Louisa asks.

“Your sister really fooled those people,” Moses says, nearly choking. He explains how I faked a copy of Papa’s letter.

Louisa squeezes between us on the seat. “Did they want to steal us?”

“Yes. But Jesse was too smart for them.”

My cheeks feel warm. I’m not used to hearing praise from Moses.

“But they seemed nice. Mrs. Smith sang to me, like Mama.” Louisa buries her head on my shoulder. “I didn’t mean to tell that we’re orphans,” she says.

I pat her knee. “I know. Just be careful next time.”

n

A week later we’re creeping along a ridge road to escape the valley mud. It’s been raining for two days. We’re all cranky, especially Moses. We’ve pulled quilts around our heads to keep off the rain and mosquitoes. Our cornmeal is wet, and our salt pork is nearly gone.

Suddenly Sadie’s ears go flat against her head, Pearl shies, and we hear a noise like a tornado – but there’s no wind. As the wagon inches forward the sound becomes a roar. My stomach clenches. “What is it?” Louisa cries.

We pull up on the edge of a bluff. The noise comes from a foaming chute in the muddy Ohio River. Solomon screeches as if he’s been stung, jumps from the wagon, and runs to the edge of the bluff. “Look! A boat on fire!” We hurry after him. A huge boat, with two smoking chimneys, steams down the river toward a landing above the rapids. “What is it?” Solomon asks.

“A steamboat.” Moses’s eyes are as big as Solomon’s. “Papa told me about them. The fire runs the boat.”

“Can we ride it?” Solomon asks.

Moses shakes his head. “We need our money to buy food in Louisville.”

Solomon starts to cry, and the rain falls harder, as if the sky is crying, too. I take a deep breath. “If we sold Pearl, we’d have enough money to travel by boat awhile–and to buy more food.” I know it’s mean, but I keep talking. “Traveling in the rain is miserable – and you can’t even ride Pearl now.”

Moses’s mouth is set straight, like he’s caught Sadie’s stubbornness. “Pearl’s my mare, my jewel. I raised her. And I won’t be lame forever.”

I wonder. His ankle is still swollen, as if he stepped into a hornet’s nest. “Pearl eats more than the mule,” I say. “And there’s no grass in the woods. What if we never get home?”

“Don’t say that,” Louisa pleads.

Just then, smoke puffs from the two chimneys and the boat eases into the landing. Solomon pats Moses on the shoulder. “The boat’s turning upstream. Please can we ride it?”

To my surprise, Moses pulls himself up tall. “All right,” he says. “A boat is faster than a poky mule. Maybe someone getting off that steamer needs a good horse.” I touch his arm and try to thank him, but Moses brushes me off. I guess he doesn’t want my sympathy.

In a few hours we’ve sold Pearl to a man headed west. Moses kisses the white patch on Pearl’s nose and turns his back as the man leads her away. Her sharp whinnies make my eyes sting, and Moses’s chin trembles as he tucks some money into my hand. “Buy four tickets to Cincinnati,” he says.

Moses studies our rough map while the crew loads barrels and crates. “We’re leaving Papa’s route,” he says. “How will we find the Licking River?”

“Don’t worry,” I say. “Someone on the boat will tell us.” The crowd pushes us toward the gangway. Sparks rain from the steamer’s chimneys. Solomon bounces with excitement.

Moses ties his bandana over Sadie’s eyes, but she balks and prances as we pull her through the crowd onto the ship. A whistle sounds so loud I clap my hands over my ears. When I uncover them, Louisa is tugging on my skirt. “Jesse,” she yells, “the puppy’s gone!”

“He’s not with you?”

She shakes her head, biting her lip. The whistle shrieks again and Louisa wails, “Where’s Solomon?”

I rush to the railing and shove through the crowd as the steamer chugs away from the shore. “Solomon!” I scream.

The only answer is the boat’s piercing whistle.

• NEXT WEEK: Lost!