Scar Island(60)

He started to stand up but stopped when I cocked the hammer of the gun back with a click that rang clear as a church bell on Sunday.

“I will,” I said. “I sure enough will, Mr. Grissom. I ain’t never shot a man, sir, and I hope I never do. But I’m gonna get my horse back. And if you try to stop me, I swear I will put a bullet in you.” My voice still had that scared-boy shake in it, but underneath the shake was a hardness that I know we both heard. An iron hardness that sounded an awful lot like the truth.

His eyes squinted uncertainly at me.

“Your pa left you in my care, boy, along with your horse and—”

“My papa didn’t have a choice. And I know he’d want me to go after her, no matter what.” I swallowed and hoped it was true. It was so hard to know.

“But that’s my gun! You can’t take my gun!” The high whine came back into his voice.

I shook my head again.

“No, sir. This was my papa’s gun. He taught me to shoot with it. He—” My voice caught in my throat, and I had to stop to swallow down the sadness that was always there, ready to rise up and choke me. “He’d want it to be mine. If something needs shooting, you’ve still got your rifle.”

I stuffed the money into my bag and backed up to the plank door. I opened it with my free hand, the gun still raised between us.

“You can’t take all that money, boy! It’s all I’ve got! I’ll starve!”

I knew it wasn’t true, but I paused there in that doorway. It’s sure enough hard sometimes to tell right from wrong. He’d gotten the money from selling my horse, and I knew I’d need it to buy her back. And I knew the money was more likely to go to liquor than biscuits. But I could feel my mama’s eyes on me, watching. And my papa’s. I wanted to do ’em proud, but right and wrong were lost in the dark of the cabin. I clenched my teeth. A man’s only as good as he treats his enemies, Papa had said.

My hand slid back into my bag and found the eight ten-dollar bills. I pulled one out and set it on the handle of the ax leaning by the door.

“There you go, sir. I’ll be going now. You won’t be seeing me again.”

I was mostly out the door when he whined his parting words.

“He’s long gone, you know! He’s at least twelve hours ahead, with you on foot and him riding. You’ll never catch him, boy.”

My teeth ground hard against each other. I lowered the gun and looked him straight in his stubbly face.

“I will, sir,” I said. “I will get her back.”

I let the door close behind me and without a look back I walked off as quick as I could through the darkness. The sky beyond the hills was just beginning to grow pale with the coming day. The angels and the devils could all go to sleep now. But I sure enough hoped that one angel would stay up and keep by my side.

The grass and the stones and the dirt ruts of the road were covered in an icy white blanket of morning frost, and my boots crunched with each step.

I’m coming for you, sweet Sarah girl, I thought to myself. I would find her, and I would get her back. I knew I would. Or I’d sure enough die trying.





As always, there are far too many people to thank and recognize. I feel so grateful and lucky to be surrounded, both professionally and personally, by so many many people who support, help, encourage, and inspire me.

My family, who cheers me on more than they probably ought to. Karen, Eva, Ella, Claire, Mom, Dad, Erin, Justin, Grandma, Noni, Bops, Brian, Linda, Michelle, and Michael. Love you all.

My friends, who lift me up but keep me grounded. Jabez, James, Carver, Andy, Tim, Kat, Jen, Pat, and Aubrey.

My agent, Pam Howell, and Bob DiForio, who always have my back.

My amazing editor, Nick, whose judgment and wisdom make all my stories better, and to all the tremendous folks at Scholastic: Jeffrey, David, Emily, Lizette, Reedy, Sheila Marie, and all the rest. I’m so over-the-top lucky to be with such an amazing team. And a special shout-out to Nina Goffi, the cover designer who has given my stories such beautiful faces to show to the world.

To the wonderful educators I’m so lucky to work with at Mission View Elementary and the Wenatchee School District. There are too many of you to name, but you are an inspiration and a force of incredible good in the world and I’m blessed to know you.

To all the fellow writers I’ve been fortunate to meet and connect with over the past couple years; it’s been a thrill to get to know you, and the world is richer for having your stories. Your dedication to storytelling has inspired and strengthened my own.

To all the good folks at NaNoWriMo … Scar Island began as my first NaNo project several years ago, and look at it now! Thanks for supporting writers and writing, dreamers and dreaming, and a mad month of marvelous imaginings.