Free The Mapmaker's Children by Sarah McCoy

into some unseen pool. The universe turned upside down. Maybe some soul stood out there, looking up at them, whisperingdreams and making legend of earth’s face as hopefully as they did the man in the moon. Her head ached at the thought—the known suddenly unknown, reality gone hazy as the Milky Way.
    No one had spoken during the entire carriage ride. If fatigue, hunger, and the cold of the open coach hadn’t been enough to mute them, despair would have finished the job. What was left to say? They rode huddled together under a wool military blanket, Sarah and Annie on either side of their mother. The girls’ breaths plumed long and gray in the darkness, while their mother’s came in dandelion tufts. It reminded Sarah of a Hans Christian Andersen story her father had brought back from Europe when she was a child.
    Little Gerda arriving at the Snow Queen’s palace. So Sarah did as Gerda had and whispered the Lord’s Prayer, wishing her breath, too, would take the shape of angels and battle the guarding snowflakes.
    â€œThank you, Sarah.” Her mother squeezed her hand tight after she finished.
    Sarah hoped God wouldn’t punish her for having used the prayer indecorously. She hadn’t heard a word of what she’d said, preoccupied with make-believe tales and the comforting cadence of recitation.
    The carriage passed through the town’s main thoroughfare before coming to a halt on a side street. The team of horses nickered violently against their bits and clomped their hooves on the compacted dirt. The soldier driving rapped on the rooftop, then threw down their luggage. It landed with a soft thud in a row of boxwoods cut to either side of a short picketed gate.
    â€œThis here’s New Charlestown,” he called out, then jumped down to open their door. “The Hills’ house.” He pointed to a brick home up the lane with a pinhole of lantern light winking from the shaded window.
    George and Freddy had been following and now circled their quarter horses around to a barn equal in size to the house.
    The soldier helped Annie and her mother out of the carriage, but Sarah refused his hand, gathering her skirts in her fists and stepping out with as much fortitude as she could muster.
    George and Freddy emerged from the darkness, a lean setter the color of red tea trotting alongside them. It gave a low growl at the soldier, who quickly climbed back up onto the carriage.
    â€œOn your word, Preacher.”
    â€œOn my word.” George tipped his hat.
    The soldier nodded, turned the team, and headed back to the jailhouse at a faster trot than that which had brought them. The three-beat rhythm soon faded into the sound of the wind stirring fallen poplar leaves to a flurry.
    â€œWelcome,” said George when the gust died down.
    The dog nuzzled its snout into Freddy’s leg until he reached down to run his fingers under its chin.
    â€œThis is Gypsy.” George nodded toward the dog. “Found her digging through a pile of rations on the ship we came over on. Freddy was but a lad of seven—snatched her up before the cook used her in the haggis. Hasn’t left Freddy’s side since. Come, let’s get out of this gloomy cold. Priscilla and my daughter, Alice, are anxious to greet you.”
    Though his words welcomed them forward, his body walled their path. The women trembled against the wet chill of snow trapped too high in the atmosphere to fall as it threatened.
    â€œI must warn you, however, our Alice is more…
simple
than other girls of her age. What she lacks in mind, she makes up for in heart. She may welcome you with fervor. I pray you take no offense.”
    â€œA loving spirit is more admired than wit,” said Mary.
    George led her and Annie up the walkway.
    Gypsy sniffed at Sarah’s skirt. She’d placed the leftover hardtack in her coat pocket and had forgotten about it. She patted Gypsy’s muzzle, and the dog nestled