The-Hummingbird-s-Cage(48)

The schoolhouse took in younger students, and there was a second school with its own teacher for older ones. I learned all this from Bree after Jessie dropped me off one morning to get Laurel formally and finally enrolled.

The big room was bright and colorful—with maps, photographs and posters, children’s drawings and paintings, a mobile of the solar system and shelves filled with books. There were a dozen children studying at desks, grouped in a reading circle, working math problems on a whiteboard or gathered around a terrarium feeding whatever was inside. No different from a classroom you might find anywhere.

Laurel twisted her hand from mine and ran off to join the group at the terrarium. Before I could call her back, Bree stopped me.

“Let her make friends.”

“I don’t know how you handle so many grades under one roof,” I said.

“It wasn’t that long ago that schools like this were commonplace in rural areas,” she said. “Besides, when you mingle the grades, older students encourage the younger ones.”

She pulled a folder from a pile on her desk and leafed through it.

“I’ve already started a file for Laurel,” she said. “I’ll give her a few placement tests to see where she stands.”

“I guess you have forms for me to fill out.”

Bree closed the folder and tossed it back on her desk with a smile. “Nope.”

Of course not. Why would she?

I watched Laurel at play with the other children; she was oblivious to me.

“It’s pretty painless, isn’t it?” I said.

“She’ll be fine,” said Bree. “And so will you. By the way, I told Reuben how you helped with the wedding quilt, and he’d love to meet you. I’m cooking dinner next Friday night—can you make it?”

Before I could come up with an excuse, Bree took my arm just as she had at the bee and walked me to the door.

“I’m not the greatest cook, but I do know wine,” she said. “Come around six. My place is on the second floor here. The entrance is on the side.”

She opened the door and ushered me through, then closed it firmly behind me.





The Dog That Didn’t Bark





“Mommy! Come quick!”

Laurel ran into the living room to grab my arm, her small fingers digging in. She was burning with excitement, eyes wide.

I dropped my broom to snatch her by the waist for a quick once-over, top to bottom: no cuts, no bruises, no blood.

“What’s wrong?” I demanded. “You okay?”

Before she could answer, before I could even think clearly, an awful thought hit me: Jim. He’d tracked us down. He was outside even now, heading for the door.

I rushed to the front window, where the curtains were open and the view was clear. There was no vehicle in sight, aside from Simon’s yellow pickup at the café, same as always.

Laurel pulled my arm even harder, this time with both hands, desperate to get me to the door.

“Hurry! Before it stops!”

I stared down at her. Before what stops?

I let her tug me onto the porch and down the front steps. In the yard, she dropped my arm and turned toward the Mountain, wiping stray strings of hair from her flushed face.

She pressed a finger to her lips. “Sssssshhhh.”

Then she pointed.

I looked where she was directing me—at a point near the crest, just below the tree line. Yet again my stomach lurched.

I knew very well what Laurel was so anxious for me to hear. I closed my eyes with a shiver, and listened.

And heard nothing. Nothing but the birds, the running creek and Laurel’s quick, expectant breaths.





Simon’s Cabin





After the horses arrived, it became my routine to lead them from the barn every morning and put them to pasture. Their range was the stretch of valley that started at the barn and ran due east. It wasn’t fenced, but Olin said Kilchii and Yas knew the area well and never wandered far, and Nastas and Tse would keep close by.

While they grazed, I would get out the wheelbarrow, grab a pitchfork and muck their stalls. I carted the soiled bedding to the compost pile and laid down a fresh layer of straw. Olin taught me to clean their hooves, then groom them with currycombs and brushes. Sometimes Laurel helped, standing on an upturned bucket to braid Tse’s mane.

While Olin gave Laurel lessons in the corral, I rode Nastas in the pasture, practicing leg pressure and shifting movements. Then, one morning after lessons, Olin saddled Kilchii and suggested he and I take a trail ride. Rather than head along the valley, though, he led us south on the hardpan road into Morro.