Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga D.A. Randall (top 5 ebook reader TXT) 📖

Suzette bouncing on his shoulders. No more of his quiet kisses to Mama when he thought we weren’t looking.

The forest was still.

I dismounted and limped to the rabbit, gritting through the pain. I jammed the bolt deeper and worked it back and forth until the rabbit stopped struggling. I picked it up and tied it to the saddle. “Dinner,” I said as I dragged myself back onto Crimson.

“Helena …” Father Vestille began in a broken voice.

I met his gaze. “Can’t let good meat go to waste,” I told him, urging Crimson forward.

We rode back to the clearing. I pulled Crimson to a halt and climbed down to gather up Papa’s musket. I wiped off some of the blood –

Papa’s blood – on my burlap cloak. I cleaned it slowly, thinking about how Papa used his gun.

How careful he was in the forest, how quick he was to fire.

He must have shot the wolf. But it still killed him. And it still lived, somewhere in the blackness.

I secured the musket to Crimson’s saddle beside the hanging rabbit. I mounted, allowing no more tears to start, no time to think. Only to act. I 131

turned at a sudden sound and stared at Father Vestille. “Did you hear that?”

He looked about. I had jarred him out of his grief. “I – I don’t know. What did you hear?”

I glared at him and wondered if I was going mad. “Perhaps nothing. We should go.” I stared at the path leading out of the forest, setting my jaw.

“Don’t want to get caught out after dark.”

We turned the horses back to the cottage.

But I still felt an unsettling tremor in my spine. I could not possibly have heard what I imagined.

Still, I glanced over my shoulder again as we rode toward home.

From the dark recesses of the forest, I could have sworn I heard some wild animal laughing.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust …”

We sat quiet and still in the pew at la Chapelle de Saint Matthieu, listening as Father Vestille gave the eulogy and then prayed over Papa’s body. Incense filled the air, within the dim candlelight that cast dismal shadows on the stone walls and stained glass windows.

The casket was closed.

Father Vestille examined it, as though he could see Papa’s face beneath the heavy lid. “Henri Basque – was my dearest friend. A kind man who always looked out for others. Always wanted to provide for others. Protect others. Shelter others.

Even in his death, he died protecting his daughters from a dangerous animal as he – as he chased after it.”

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I sensed people staring at me. I was thankful to have Mama and Suzette beside me, with Pierre and his parents sitting nearby.

“Henri and Celeste invited me here after they came and settled, when they saw there had been no priest for several years. They allowed me to stay with them, until I was able to purchase my own hovel. They supported the new church here, attending regularly and helping draw others in.

Henri wanted to provide for people’s spiritual needs as well as their material needs. He lived his life providing for others, and he died protecting his daughters.”

Mama withdrew one of her embroidered handkerchiefs and dabbed at her bloodshot eyes.

She looked too tired to weep anymore.

I felt hollow inside as Father Vestille concluded his eulogy.

The Mass ended and the casket was carried outside by Monsieur Leóne, Duke Laurent, and four other men. They put thick ropes under the casket and lowered it down into the giant pit. Then they pulled the ropes out and left Papa’s body there.

Pierre stood beside me. “Weird.”

I said nothing, but waited for him to continue.

“I mean, you’re certain your father wouldn’t have missed. But if he hit the wolf, why couldn’t they find it? It couldn’t have gotten far.”

I didn’t answer. I just stared into the dark hole.

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He cleared his throat. “Sorry, Red. I shouldn’t keep talking about the wolves.”

He stepped away to join his parents.

I stood stiff and unmoving, saying nothing at all.

“I’m so sorry,