Crossing Over Read Online Free Page B

Crossing Over
Book: Crossing Over Read Online Free
Author: Anna Kendall
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slept in or under the wagon, eating provisions Hartah had bought in Stonegreen. His good mood subsided, replaced by a restless tension I didn’t understand. But he didn’t hit me or Aunt Jo. He barely noticed us, until one night, over a campfire built beside a rocky landslide that hardly blocked the cold wind, Hartah looked at me directly. His eyes flickered red and gold with reflection from the flames, like a beast. “How’d ye like to be rich, Roger?”
    For some reason, I thought immediately of Cat Starling, back on her prosperous farm. Of her clean black braids, her carefully ironed petticoat. I said nothing.
    “Scared ye, have I?” Hartah jeered. “So much the better. There’s fearful work for all of us ahead, and all of us will share the spoils. That’s only right. You’re a great one for right, ain’t ye, Roger?”
    Anything I said might provoke him. I stared at the fire. Hartah took another swig of the brandy he’d brought from Stonegreen.
    “That’s good, stay silent, boy. Silence is what’ll be needed, mark my words. But you’ll stay silent or swing with the rest of us, eh? You’ll see that. I know.”
    I had no idea what he was talking about, nor did I care. As long as he left me alone, as long as he kept his fists on the brandy and not on me. When he again raised the bottle, I slipped down into my blanket and prepared to sleep.
    But then I glimpsed Aunt Jo’s face, her eyes wide and horrified, her withered lips parted in a silent scream.

     
    The next day I could smell the sea on the wind, although I couldn’t yet see it. We left the main road and climbed a muddy track upward into hills even wilder, cut with deep ravines and falls of rock. The horse, old to begin with, faltered and strained. I thought the poor beast might drop dead in her traces, but still Hartah urged her on. The wagon wheels groaned, even though the load now consisted only of its driver. Aunt Jo and I walked behind. All of our provisions were gone except a half loaf of hard bread, and Hartah had dumped the ragged faire tent into a ravine. When I dared to ask him why, he laughed and said, “Rich men don’t need such sorry lodgings!”
    We reached the top of the track with the horse still alive, pulling the wagon into a thick wood of old oak and wind-bent pine. Here the tang of salt air was strong. In a clearing beside a swift hillside stream sat a crude wooden cabin, its log roof sealed with pitch.
    “Hallooooo!” Hartah called. Two men came out of the cabin, one young and one about Hartah’s age. The older leaned on a wooden staff, one of his legs bent and useless. He hobbled toward us.
    “So you’ve come.”
    “We have,” Hartah said.
    “Is this your boy?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, see that he does his share of the work.”
    “He will.”
    The younger man stared at me, scowling. He looked about seventeen or eighteen, wide-shouldered and handsome, with yellow hair falling over bright blue eyes. I found myself wondering if Cat Starling would have liked him, would have kissed him.
    “Then come,” the older man said.
    “Are the others—”
    “Soon.”
    Hartah said to Aunt Jo, “Make camp. There, under the trees by the creek. Don’t come near the cabin, or you’ll wish you hadn’t. You too, boy.” He and the yellow-haired youth strode into the cabin, the lamed man limping after them.
    My aunt and I drew the wagon under the trees, tethered and watered the horse, made a fire. There was nothing to cook. As I gnawed on my share of the bread, hard and moldy, three more men arrived in the clearing. None had families with them. They disappeared into the cabin.
    My aunt handed me her piece of bread. She had not touched it. When I looked at her in surprise, I gasped. Never had I seen a face like that. Whiter than frost and her eyes just as frozen, wide open and fixed in terror.
    “Aunt . . . what . . .”
    Abruptly she turned her head and vomited into the weeds. Thin strings of brownish green bile retched from her

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