Free Ashes by Laurie Halse Anderson Page A

from my mouth before I had time to consider it.
    He frowned. “What sort of fellow do you take me for? Of course I will. I’ve convinced Aberdeen to stay. He’ll help keep watch and maybe have some luck with fishing.”
    He stood in the doorway. The light shone in around his form, causing his face to disappear in shadow. “I’ll be gone awhile. Five days, likely. If I’m not back in a week’s time, you need to move on without me.”
    He left without waiting for my response.

CHAPTER XIII

Monday, August 27–Monday, September 3, 1781
    I AM CONSCIOUS THAT I HAVE THE FACULTY OF I MAGINATION, THAT I CAN AT PLEASURE . . . REVIVE THE SCENES, DIVERSIONS, SPORTS OF CHILDHOOD, CAN RECALL MY YOUTHFUL RAMBLES, TO THE FARMS, FROLICKS, DALLIANCES, MY WALKS, LONELY WALKS, THROUGH THE GROVES, AND SWAMPS, AND FIELDS.
    â€“D IARY OF J OHN A DAMS
    R UTH SUFFERED ANOTHER SHAKING FIT shortly after Curzon left. When it was over, I looked up to see Aberdeen watching close.
    â€œCan you help me?” I asked. “She has to drink this tea to bring down the fever, and . . . well . . . the truth of the matter is that she’s more fond of you than me.”
    â€œYou want me to try to rouse her?” Aberdeen asked.
    â€œPlease.”
    It took a long time, but Aberdeen–by teasing, shouting, telling jokes, and pinching Ruth’s ears–was able to get her to come to the surface of awakeness long enough to take a few sips of willow tea. Then the fever pulled her back into a deep sleep. It was a small improvement, but ’twas an improvement all the same.
    I settled Nancy Chicken close to Ruth’s side, then followed Aberdeen out to the fire.
    â€œShe looks worse,” he said, his face creased with worry.
    â€œShe drank some,” I said. “That’s a good sign. Thank you for your help and for your kindness with her.”
    He grunted and poked at the small fire with a stick. “How do you know she won’t die?”
    Because I cannot allow myself to think that , I thought.
    â€œIf she dies, she can no longer torment me,” I said, trying to shove a false note of good cheer into my words. “She’ll want to live for that reason alone.”
    He did not smile. “The way she looks in there?” He pointed at the hovel with his stick. “That’s what she looked like when she first come to Riverbend.”
    I sat on a log. “You were there?”
    â€œAye. She came in a wagon from Charleston with a load of carpets from over the sea. Missus Serafina tried to get her to eat something, but Ruth just laid herself in front of the hearth and stared into the flames. Hardly ate a bite. Wouldn’t move from the spot. Folks said she’d soon be measured for her grave. Did Fina tell you any of this?”
    â€œWe didn’t have time for stories,” I said.
    He took off his sling and slowly stretched his arm above his head, then to the side.
    â€œOne day,” he continued, “an old hound dog wandered in and lay down next to Ruth. She reached out and petted it. The dog stuck by her side after that. Then Ruth started to eat more, and she gained her strength. Mister Walter saw that she liked critters, so he put her to work helping with the horses, cows, and everything else in the barn. Some folks said Ruth had hexing ways, but they was wrong. Ruth was just patient; part patient and part stubborn. She’d wait out a horse or a duck till it calmed. Then she’d be its friend.”
    He rubbed his collarbone, nearly mended now, and then his shoulder. Soon he’d be able to make his own way in the world too.
    â€œShe tried running away at first, though she’d never say where she was going or why. She’d just sneak off, cause all kinds of worry. That’s why the old folks put the fear of ghosts in her. To keep her safe, Fina filled her head with scary stories about haunted woods and devilish ghosts. That stopped Ruth