Free Fairer than Morning by Rosslyn Elliott

your brother deeply, and I pray that you will always remember that love, no matter where life may take you.
    I also want you to be a strong and brave boy, and to do what is right, even when it is difficult. Take care of your brother. I know that you must live on different farms, but please make every effort to see him when you can. He is too young to remember, and you must help him.
    Finally, do not be angry at God for our illness. He has His own ways and His providence is beyond our knowledge. The loss of your sisters was bitter to us, and we grieve them deeply, but they are beyond suffering now, as we all shall be some day. That is the promise in which I trust, and in which you must trust.
    There are many more things I would write, but I tire too easily this month. I will write again as soon as I am able.
    Your loving mother
    In the wake of telling Allan that her mother was gone, the letter struck her as powerfully as it had the first time she read it. She wanted to meet this boy. She would understand him, and he her. She would tell him how she had saved the letters for him. He would not be uncomfortable or wordless. He had known the same loss she had known in that terrible year of 1817.
    The deck was completely dark and empty when she emerged from her stateroom. She carefully made her way toward the stairs to the promenade. Below on the engine deck, hoots and shouts arose from card games. The hum of the boiler traveled through the deck and vibrated under her feet.
    As she passed the midpoint of the ship, she walked closer to the railing, drawn toward the inky skies pricked by countless points of light. It would be a good night for stargazing.
    A muffled thud rose from the engine deck where it stretched out to the side and below her. There, two men stood very close to one another in the gloom. She could barely make them out.
    The first man pressed the second against the wall of the boiler room. He muttered something. The other man responded in an angry half whisper and broke away from the first man’s hold, walking quickly toward the bow. As he passed under the lamp in the wall sconce, she saw with shock that it was her father. After a moment, the other man slunk in the opposite direction. The moonlight behind him traced the silhouette of his beaver hat.

Eight
    W ILL STOOD BETWEEN THE ARMS OF THE HANDCART and pulled like a beast of burden, bracing his feet against the frozen ruts of the road. The cart would not budge. He did not know if he had grown weaker or the load heavier since he hauled it from the wharf yesterday. Two weeks had passed since he last hauled the oakum to the poorhouse, but the arrival of March had failed to ease February’s bitter chill.
    Tom stood in the yard eyeing him skeptically. “You should let me try.”
    â€œDon’t be a fool. You’re half my size.”
    Tom stood up straight, squaring his thin shoulders. “Then I’ll push.” He moved to the back of the cart and set his shoulder to it. “Ready, steady . . .”
    Will heaved forward and the cart followed, Tom stumbling in its wake.
    â€œJust don’t stop!” Tom said, panting as he caught up with Will’s steady, quick pace.
    â€œEasier said than done.” Will’s breath billowed behind him.
    â€œI should come with you to help if you get stuck.”
    â€œIt’s too far for you without a real coat and gloves,” Will said. “I can barely stand it even in this rag. Besides, the master’ll have your hide if you don’t finish with the pigs.”
    Tom fell back out of sight, and Will couldn’t look back and risk losing his momentum. He soldiered on. It seemed an eternity before he made it past the Good property and Dr. Loftin’s stately home. His thoughts grew vague and slowed to nothingness, his full concentration simply on placing one foot in front of the next.
    A rattle and a jingle drew his attention to the road ahead. Rounding the corner from the hill was