Light to the Hills: A Novel (8)

Outside, at the foot of the steps, Cricket danced in place as he held the book woman’s mule by its bridle. Amanda draped her saddlebags behind the saddle and threw her rain slicker once more over her shoulders. Taking the reins from Cricket, she turned the mule’s nose so that they were facing back the way they’d come.

“Enjoyed the company,” she said, and placing her left boot in the stirrup, she swung up into the saddle in one sweeping motion. “I’ll aim to come back thisaway in a couple of weeks, Lord willing and the creeks don’t rise.”

“I’ll put in a good word for the rains to hold off, then,” said Finn with a lopsided grin and a wink. “So them creeks won’t be a hindrance.”



Sass came out and watched Miz Rye go, the mule’s ropy tail swishing side to side. Mama also stood on the front porch, a sleepy, too-big Hiccup on one hip, her little sister’s head nestling into its accustomed spot just beneath her mama’s chin. Sass was already thinking ahead to the next time the book woman came through, what she might have in her library satchel. She hadn’t got to ask about the book with the clock. Still, an uneasiness had curled up in Sass’s stomach when she’d seen Fern clasp the book to her chest, an unwelcome sourness of being not quite up to snuff, which Sass didn’t like one bit.

Amanda pulled up Junebug and turned in her saddle. “Oh, and happy birthday, Sass!” she called with a wave and a smile. The mule tossed his head, impatient to be on his way. Sass leaned into her mama with a sigh as they watched Amanda disappear into the dusky forest. Rai placed a tender hand on Sass’s head.

“You’re gettin’ nigh about as tall as me,” she marveled. “Maybe we need to stop havin’ birthdays.” She rubbed circles on Sass’s back. Her hand warmed Sass’s still-damp dress.

“What happens when she comes back?” asked Sass.

“I wouldn’t be expecting a pie ever’ two weeks, if I’s you,” Rai said with a chuckle.

“No, I mean when she figures out we can’t read the books she got.” Rai’s hand stilled.

“Ain’t no shame in that. Lotta folks can’t read. It’s all fine when you got a full belly, plenty of firewood, and no holes in your roof. Then you got time to figure and study on things. You see any of those things ’round here?”

“I know, Mama.”

“Everybody’s got their something, Sass. You reading is the same as Miz Rye’s husband.”

“Could her husband not read either?”

“That’s not what I meant. Mind your business, and keep today’s worries for today. No need to stockpile ’em for two weeks from now. Get on in and help with the washing up, but be quiet about it. Your daddy’s snoring loud enough to wake the dead.”

As Sass turned to go in, she scooped a sticky bit of apple from Hiccup’s cheek with her finger. She rolled it around gently on her tongue as she headed back into the cabin, savoring the unfamiliar sweetness.



Sass and Fern had dried and stacked the last of the plates and sat side by side on the hearth, their heads bent together over the pages of the book. Cricket sprawled on the floor, one leg splayed in front, the other bent at the knee. He whistled softly as he chipped away at a soft piece of basswood with a sharp pocketknife, turning it over in his hands this way and that. Hiccup snuggled against Mama’s chest as she rocked near the window and watched her brood, absently stroking the child’s curls. The rocker chirped a steady squeak in a mesmerizing rhythm that drew Hiccup’s heavy eyes closed. Over on the corner bed frame, Harley and Finn lay motionless in a deep and mindless sleep.

The two sisters whispered to each other over the pictures as they turned the pages.

“Lookit, Fern, this ’un here is the boy’s toy rabbit.”

“He’s got a whole room full of toys by the looks. Maybe he’s a prince and this is his castle.”

“Sure enough, but he looks to be sick.”

The pictures told the story pretty well but Sass knew there was more to it than what they showed. She glanced at the letters strung together in lines, ran her finger down the page as she’d seen preachers do in the worn Bibles they waved from the pulpit on Sundays. She knew bits of the Bible from memory, and plenty of songs, but could not for the life of her puzzle out how to make the words in her head translate to what lay on these pages. Sass frowned. Books held secrets she wasn’t allowed to know. It wasn’t fair. She knew other girls her age who could read, had seen them in town as they read the signs in the mine store, and she felt their scoffing eyes land on her like live hot pokers.

Sass rubbed the edge of a page between her fingers. She folded it back and forth in a little triangle and creased it with her thumb while Fern chattered on about the pictures. Her face burned hot. It was suddenly too warm by the hearth. The words on the page swam for a brief minute before she blinked hard. She wouldn’t look at the words anymore if they were just going to shame her. It was silly, thinking the book was being deliberately hateful toward her. She knew this couldn’t be true—a book couldn’t have intentions, but Sass felt it turn spiteful and mean in her lap. Well, Sass could be spiteful, too. She looked Fern in the eye and mumbled something about how soft the rabbit’s fur looked while bit by bit, she soundlessly tore the tiny creased corner from the page.