Daughters of the Summer Storm Frances Statham (bill gates book recommendations .TXT) 📖

day, the routine was well established with Jake seeing to the lodgings and paying from the small metal box he had brought with him.

"My father will reimburse you, Jake," Marigold assured the man as she climbed into the carriage.

The sun was already up, and it promised to be a good day for traveling as they left the yard of the inn.

"I'm not worried about the money, Miss Marigold," Jake said.

Neither one spoke of the worry that served as a goad to hasten them on their way—the knowledge that Crane might be directly behind them.

It would not go well with either the black man or Marigold if Crane should catch up with them before they reached the safety of Charleston.

By mid-morning, Jake stopped in a clump of trees to give the horses a rest. Unhitching them from the carriage, he led them down to the old Indian springs hidden from the road by a small, grassy mound.

Marigold, glad to stop for a while, flicked the dust from her dress and walked in the opposite direction of the springs. When she returned to where the carriage had been, she was surprised to see that Jake had moved it so that it could not be seen from the road.

"Jake?"

"Cain't be too careful, Miss Marigold," he admitted.

"You think my husband is following us?"

"Could be. I got this feelin' in my bones. Woke up with it this morning . And my bones is usually right."

The light went out of Marigold's eyes. "I. . . won't go back with him, Jake, if he finds us."

Jake nodded, showing no surprise at her avowal. In another half-hour, the black man had the horses hitched to the carriage, and he pulled out onto the road.

Because of Jake's words, Marigold began to glance regularly at the road behind her. The sight of other carriages did not alarm her. She looked for a lonely rider on horseback—a rider with coal black hair and cruel eyes.

They were on the old peltry road north of Blacksfield when the left wheel of the carriage developed a wobble. The carriage jolted and tilted to one side. Marigold held onto the strap inside the vehicle until Jake could bring it to a stop in the middle of the dusty, lonely road.

She climbed out of the carriage and watched as the black man ran his hands over the wheel to assess the damage. Marigold waited for him to speak.

The orioles in the trees sang their summer song and darted in and out of the woodland, while the horses jerked their heads up and pawed the ground.

Finally Jake said, "We can't go no farther on this wheel, Miss Marigold. It's done for, good and proper."

"Can't you fix it?" she asked, trying hard to keep the mounting anxiety from her voice.

The man shook his head. "Looks like somebody deliberately damaged it, Miss Marigold. And the pothole in the road musta done the rest. We was lucky to get this far."

While Jake talked, the dust in the road behind them began to clear. And as it did so, Marigold saw in the distance the large roan horse with its lone rider bearing down upon them.

Stifling the exclamation, Marigold's hands went to her mouth, and at her actions, Jake looked back.

There was no mistake. The distinctive riding posture of Crane Caldwell could not be duplicated by another rider.

"Mr. Crane's caught up with us, Miss Marigold." The man's voice was sad at his pronouncement.

But Marigold was not about to wait like a trapped animal for Crane to apprehend them. She had gotten this far. She would not give up now.

"Quickly, Jake. Help me unhitch the horses," she ordered and ran to the horses' heads.

"What you plannin' to do, ma'am?" he asked, following her.

"We'll ride the horses into the woods. Crane hasn't won yet."

"We got no saddles," he objected. "You won't get far, Miss Marigold. Me—now I'm used to ridin' bareback on a mule, but a lady has to have a saddle."

Marigold laughed as she climbed upon the horse's back and urged the animal into the woods. How many times she had ridden like this in growing up, giving her brother Jason a good run down the narrow road through Emma's Bog. Of course, she had always gotten a good tongue-lashing from Feena afterward, but now it did not matter that her petticoats were showing. The important thing was to hide before Crane Caldwell spotted them.

Into the wooded forest they rode, away from the carriage and the rapidly approaching figure. When the two had reached the safety of the canebrake, Marigold led her horse into cover and watched as Crane got off the roan to survey the carriage with its injured wheel.

He glanced to the back and to the front of the abandoned carriage and looked to one side of the road and then the other, as if undecided what to do. Finally he climbed back on his horse and galloped south, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

Marigold's elation plummeted when Jake spoke. "He'll be waiting for us at the next inn."

Marigold pulled at a long strand of golden hair, twisting it around her finger as she thought. "Then we won't stop at the inn, Jake," she said aloud, and again lapsed into silence.

The train. How far had the tracks been laid? She tried to remember what Shaun had said—something about when it was finished all the way to Hamburg in 1833, it would be the longest rail line in the world. It could not be helped if she risked coming face to face with Shaun. That was preferable to being caught by Crane. Surely, the line had come farther by now.

"We're taking the train, Jake," she announced. "We'll head southwest until we find the tracks. And if you don't have enough money to buy our tickets, we'll sell the horses."

Crane Caldwell waited at the inn until it became apparent that Marigold was not going to be stopping there. Blast the girl, he thought, as he tried to decide what his