Light to the Hills: A Novel (40)

“Even Harley was bumfuzzled,” Rai said. “He give her pages of the Bible to puzzle out, and sure enough, she could make out stories we knew was in there.”

“Well, land sakes. Sass, you’ve opened a treasure box. You’ll always have the key to that box now. Books hold all kinds of treasures waiting to be discovered. Anything you want to know, you can look up in a book somewhere.”

Finn laughed. “Well, I hope you brought a bunch today, Amanda, because Sass here’s been reading every darn word around here. Labels on store goods, receipts from the mine store, newspaper stories that’s been glued to the wall for years now. They argue every night about turning down the lantern for bed because she’s wanting one more page.”

“It won’t be long ’fore all the rest of you are doing the same, I’ll wager. It’s a wonder, isn’t it, Sass? Feels like something magical?”

Sass’s head bobbed up and down. “Yes, yes! It does feel like magic,” she agreed. “Lines on a flat page get in your head and make a whole story with people and animals and everything.”

Amanda tilted her head back and laughed. Sass’s excitement was catching. She remembered when it had all come together for her, in her father’s study, when letters made sounds and sounds made words, each one with a secret meaning that she had the power to understand. A curtain had parted, revealing a whole new way of seeing. She was a hard green buttercup bud that had finally busted out in bright yellow, open to the sunshine. All that flooded back watching Sass, proud as a peacock that just realized it has a whole tail full of feathers.

A crackle like the sizzle of onions in a skillet started outside, and Amanda jumped up from her seat and went to the window. As she’d ridden in, a misty drizzle of rain had fallen steadily, but now it had turned to sleet, and icy pellets bounced off the porch steps outside. It looked like heaven was broadcasting handfuls of salt over every surface.

“Junebug!” Amanda grabbed her coat from where it hung on the peg by the door. “You mind if I snug him in the barn? I leave him out in this and he’ll be in a foul mood come time to ride home.”

Finn got to his feet. “I’ll help you with that.” Nobody said anything as he shrugged into his coat and jammed a hat on his head. Fern raised her eyebrows and nudged Sass with an elbow. Sass paused mid-page, flipping through a new book, and Amanda felt Sass watching them as Finn held the door open and edged out with her, one hand on his walking stick and one on her lower back.

Just before they’d shut the door, Amanda heard Sass whisper to her mother, “Finn needs to be careful walking in the ice.”

“Looks to me like he’s making it just fine,” Rai said, and Amanda glanced back to see Rai smiling at the window, her chin just above Sass’s head.

Amanda untied Junebug, who’d pinned his ears back and stamped his feet at her arrival. “Sorry, Bug,” she said. “Let’s get you outta this mess.”

Finn led the way, holding the barn door open wide so that she could lead the mule in. They worked together, Finn tidying an empty stall between the two horses while Amanda slipped off Junebug’s bridle and saddle, hanging them to dry. Sleet hammered the roof above them.

“Better now?” she murmured. Junebug’s ears swiveled toward her, and he shook himself like a dog, glad to be out of the weather.

Finn laughed. “He’s got opinions, don’t he?”

Amanda closed the stall door as she slipped out. “Most certainly. But we understand each other. He takes pretty good care of me, so it’s on me to return the favor.”

They lingered in the shelter of the barn, resting their arms on the stall door and watching Junebug rustle in the hay with his damp nose. Amanda thought it was the most natural thing in the world when Finn reached over and laid a hand atop her arm. In response, she tilted her head until it rested on his shoulder. She was close enough to feel his chest rise and fall with his breath. When he laid his cheek atop her hair, she closed her eyes to savor the nearness of him.

They remained that way for only a moment, but it was enough time to signal a change between them, a new tenderness that made Amanda grip the stall door a little tighter to steady herself. Her heart ached to trust him. They held hands as they walked to the barn door, letting go to wrap their coats tighter as the wind bit outside.





Chapter 13


When Harley wasn’t digging like a mole underground, he would take Cricket out to hunt whenever they could. Sometimes when Amanda stopped by, she’d miss the two of them altogether as they’d be gone most of the day if the weather was clear enough. Even Digger and Tuck, who’d spent their lazy summers lolling on the porch, did their part now, trailing scents through the trees, howling and baying their deep a-youuu, a-youuu to signal they’d treed a squirrel or raccoon. Finn would listen for the sound echoing through the cold woods and narrate for them how the hunt unfolded.

“That’ll be Digger, now. Hear that? He’s got a lower voice. He’s always first on the go.” Finn would hold up a finger, his eyes closed. “And here comes Tuck, the copycat. He barks twice as much to make up for missing the scent in the first place. They’re likely a mile off to the east, prob’ly near Flat Creek. I hope they don’t go after no beavers, now.” Not long after the yowls and bays reached a crescendo, a shot would echo over the roof of the cabin, and the hounds would quit yapping. “Wonder if that was Cricket or Daddy? Guess we’ll hear about it when they get here.”