Free Under Starry Skies by Judy Ann Davis

her heart leaped to her throat. The mottled gray brown face with its hazel eyes stared menacingly at her. It was a magnificent beast, its body sleek, streaked with shades of chestnut and grays. Tufts of hair beside its ears and the ruff beside its face made it appear like an old unshaven man.
    “Back away slowly, gal,” a gravelly voice sang out from somewhere behind her. “Don’t scream. Don’t talk. Just stare the critter right in the eye, and give it some breathing room. Given a choice, he’d probably enjoy eating a rabbit instead of tangling with you.”
    Feeling helpless, Abigail stepped backward and heard a twig snap beneath her shoes. “Some more,” the voice coaxed. She backed up again, almost stumbling, but she caught herself. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. The lynx slowly raised itself from its crouched position and stood, snarling, revealing sharp long teeth.
    “Go on, be gone with you, you old varmint. Git!” the voice ordered, and before Abigail could react, a hatchet whizzed past her right ear and landed in a limb beneath the lynx, shaking the tree. Startled, the beast turned and leaped into the air, gliding into the soft needles beneath the pine and disappearing into the forest.
    “You can move now, gal. He ain’t gonna bother you none. Got to give you credit, you’re not one of those weeping, fainting kind of females.”
    Abigail turned on shaky legs and found herself looking into the face of a filthy, middle-aged man dressed in sweat-stained lumberman’s clothes. She heaved a sigh of relief. “I think, sir, you saved my life.”
    “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. I reckon that old bugger might have wandered off by himself, given enough time. Heaven knows you weren’t about to.” The man laughed in his raspy voice.
    “My name’s Abigail. Abigail O’Donnell, and I’m certainly pleased to meet you.”
    “Folks call me River Roy,” he replied, “although they might not rightly be too fond of making my acquaintance. Over yonder is my son, Lenny.”
    A young boy, as unkempt as his father, ducked out from among the nearby bushes. Abigail guessed he was close to ten or eleven years old. He had suntanned skin and dark hair and eyes. His coveralls were a tad too small and as filthy as his father’s. His hair looked like it had been cut with an axe.
    “Hello, Lenny,” she said. “Your pa is mighty skilled with that hatchet.” When the boy hung his head bashfully, she turned to the man. “Do you live around here?”
    “In a cabin in the woods way up over the next rise.”
    “I’m new here. My sister is the new school teacher in town. You’ll probably meet her once school starts.” When the remark brought no reply except a quiet, blank stare, she asked instead, “Are you a lumberman?”
    “Yep, lumberman and sometimes miner. My eldest son and I used to work the woods for the local paper mill,” he said, “until the fool kid went off to war and got himself killed. Now it’s just me and Lenny.”
    “I’m sorry.” Abigail hesitated, unsure of what to say.
    “No use in being sorry, gal. He marched away with the best of them, rifles thrown over their shoulders—all of them like eager beavers, ready to beat them Rebs. Only Walt weren’t so lucky, not like that Trumble kid. Walt came home ridin’ in a box.”
    Abigail felt the bitterness radiate from the man. Beside him, the young boy merely hung his head and remained silent. “I wish I had something to offer you for your help.” She reached down and retrieved her bucket containing the few berries she hadn’t spilled. “You’re welcome to what I have.” She held out the bucket.
    The young boy moved beside her, knelt, picked up a few berries from the ground and popped them in his mouth.
    “Keep ’em.” River Roy walked to the tree and retrieved his hatchet. “There’s plenty more where they came from.” He chuckled. “And you left us plenty on the ground.”
    Abigail stepped toward the footpath. “If you ever