Free Broken Song by Kathryn Lasky Page B

least! He was exhausted. They had eaten the last of the veal. His left foot had a blister the size of a latke. They were out of clean nappies, and Rachel stunk to high heaven.
    Suddenly he heard rowdy voices. From the other road that led at a right angle into the main road where they now stood, Reuven saw a group of men. Not just any men. They were Cossacks, and not just any Cossacks. By the light of the now full moon Reuven could see the flash of the gold braid, the white plumes on their helmets, and the silver glint of their crossed bandoliers. They were the most elite contingent, part of the tsar’s personal regiment.
    “Oy yoy yoy!” Reuven gasped.
    “Oy yoy yoy.” Rachel mimicked him perfectly.
    Reuven immediately dropped to his knees with Rachel still in her basket strapped to his back. They hadto get as low to the ground as possible. The side of the road dipped into a deep culvert. He scrambled for it. The snow had melted, and he felt the wet marshy ground beneath his knees. Luckily there was a screen of thick weeds and stalks, now sere and dry, from the previous summer. He slipped the basket from his shoulders and pulled Rachel out. He felt better holding her in his arms. If she began to talk too loudly, he could put his hand over her mouth.
    “Hungry,” she demanded. He reached for their last hunk of bread and gave it to her.
    He put his finger to his mouth. “Ssshh. You must be very quiet, Rachel.”
    She put her finger up to her mouth and very loudly said, “Ssssh.”
    “No, Rachel. I mean it—very quiet.”
    They could now hear the thud of the horses’ hooves. There was drunken singing. Maybe the soldiers were too drunk to notice them. But if they were discovered, drunk Cossacks were the worst of all. The alcohol made them terrible. The clouds scudded off the moon and the entire landscape turned silvery bright. It was a warm night for this time of year, and there was a dampness in the air. Reuven watched as a fringe of tiny beads of moisture collected on Rachel’s dark eyelashes, turning them silver. Then a long shadow cut across the drainage ditch and against the bleached ground—a horse’s head snorting and tossing that appeared like a moving silhouette. Then there was a crisscross of shadows as dozens of horses’ legs latticed the night. It was as if he and Rachel were being trampled by shadows. The Cossacks were soclose. Reuven could have almost reached up and touched one of the clopping hooves. The tall black boots in silver stirrups glimmered with the light of the moon.
    A tiny voice began to sing. “I have a little potato—”
    Reuven clapped his hand over Rachel’s mouth. She squirmed violently in his arms. He felt her hot little breath trying to scream. Why in God’s name did she have to choose this time to sing the latke song? Her feet were thrashing now. His other arm wrapped around her legs. He looked in her face. Never had he seen such fury in her eyes.
She is hating me, but by God this is the way it has to be
! he vowed.
    Reuven did not know how long it took the Cossacks to pass. It seemed like forever, but it might not have been more than three minutes, as there were only twenty or twenty-five of them. When they finally did pass and he took his hand away from Rachel’s face, he did not hear the yowl he had expected. She merely whimpered and rubbed her nose. This made him feel worse.
    “I’m sorry, Rachel. I really am.” She didn’t even look up at him.
    Although the Cossacks had headed off in the opposite direction from Vilna, Reuven made a quick decision that the moonlight was too bright for them to be out on this road. It was a good road too, and with still sixty kilometers to go he was reluctant to leave it for the shelter of the thick forest. Perhaps tomorrow the night would be cloudy and they could travel on it again. But for now the safer choice was to go into the woods. So with Rachel on his back, he climbed out of the ditch andheaded across a barren field to the