Free Ashes by Laurie Halse Anderson

time the poultice on her heel cooled, I fetched a hot one.
    She did not wake.
    Â Â *  *  *  
    Curzon entered the hovel at first light.
    â€œHas she said anything?” he asked. “Opened her eyes?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œAre you crying?”
    I sniffed back the tears. “Nay.”
    He felt Ruth’s forehead. “Can’t tell if she’s cooler or hotter.”
    â€œShe’s as fevered as she was yesterday,” I said, “but no more. And her foot seems less swollen.”
    â€œShe’s strong,” he said. “She’s already survived much.”
    I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. His kindhearted words could not cheer me or even offer hope. I felt sucked into the heavy mud of a pestilent swamp, trapped and unable to move. I had failed in the only thing that mattered: taking care of my sister, keeping her safe, free, and happy.
    Curzon squatted. “If we had all of the King’s riches at our disposal, what medicines would you want from the apothecary?”
    â€œWe don’t have time for foolish games,” I muttered.
    â€œâ€™Tis neither a game nor foolish,” he said. “Is there anything that could help her?”
    I tried to rub the crick out of my neck. “Peruvian bark is the best for fevers, but only those caused by miasma. If she would just rouse enough to swallow proper, I could get some willow tea into her. That would cut the fever much as any physician’s decoctions or tinctures.”
    I stroked Ruth’s limp hand. Her fingers were longer than mine and thinner. More than anything, she needed food. “With the King’s riches I’d order my cook to make a sweet pudding with cardamom and a pot of beef marrow broth with barley. I’d bake loaves of soft bread for her and churn the butter myself. And honey; I’d send a maid to market to fetch some honey for the bread.”
    I stopped. The fantasy was painful.
    â€œIt’s foolish to talk about impossible things. We have no riches at all, much less the King’s. All we have is worry and pine needles.”
    â€œAnd willow bark, and your fortitude and cleverness, and . . .”
    Ruth’s fingers curled a bit, holding on to mine. I held my breath. Ruth’s chest continued to rise and fall, and then she uncurled her fingers. I raised her hand and rubbed it against my cheek.
    â€œIsabel,” Curzon said softly. “I want to find a farm or market, use our money to buy the victuals she needs. She needs proper food to strengthen her.”
    â€œAll we’ve seen are forest and a few tobacco fields.”
    â€œFields mean farms. Farms mean food.”
    â€œFarms mean trouble.” I rested her hand at her side. “You show up, they’ll put you in chains, set you to work in that tobacco.”
    â€œThink back on what Huntly told us in the pine barren.” He spoke slow, like he was explaining the matter to a befuddled child. “We’re only three or four days from the sea, and I’m near certain we’re in Virginia. It won’t be hard to find a town, buy some food.”
    I shook my head. “It’s too dangerous.”
    â€œThere are more free blacks here than in Carolina, more room for justice. I’m a free man and I defy anyone who tries to prove me different. I have papers.”
    He spoke with an uncommon tone of defiance. I lifted my head and met his gaze. He looked older. He was turning into someone I barely knew.
    â€œYou’ll be caught,” I said. “They’ll throw your papers in the fire.”
    â€œSeems it’s my choice,” he said. “Not yours.”
    The only sound was the very faint noise of Ruth’s breathing.
    â€œDoesn’t matter what I think,” I finally said. “You’re leaving.”
    â€œAye.” He paused. “But it didn’t seem right to go without saying good-bye.”
    â€œWill you come back?” The question flew