Anderson - Seeds of America. 03: Ashes

A LSO BY

Laurie Halse Anderson

Chains

Forge

Fever 1793

Independent Dames: What You Never Knew About the Women and Girls of the American Revolution

Thank You, Sarah: The Woman Who Saved Thanksgiving

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

Declaration of Independence

This book is dedicated to the fulfillment of that promise.

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the authors imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright 2016 by Laurie Halse Anderson

Jacket design by Debra Sfetsios-Conover and Lizzy Bromley

Jacket illustrations copyright 2016 by Christopher Silas Neal

Map on p. v by Leo Hartas

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Book design by Debra Sfetsios-Conover

CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

ISBN 978-1-4169-6146-8

ISBN 978-1-4424-4508-6 (eBook)

I N SHORT, MONARCHY AND SUCCESSION HAVE LAID... THE WORLD IN BLOOD AND ASHES. T IS A FORM OF GOVERNMENT WHICH THE WORD OF G OD BEARS TESTIMONY AGAINST, AND BLOOD WILL ATTEND IT.

T HOMAS P AINE , C OMMON S ENSE

V EXATION, BOTHER, AND BLAST, I muttered, trying to blink away the sweat that stung my eyes.

Curzon dug his elbow sharply into my side, scowling, then tapped his finger on his lips. He wanted me to be silent as the grave, even though the British patrol we were hiding from was much too far away to hear us.

A little closer, I whispered low, maybe I could read it then.

Any closer and youll be gutted by bayonets. He turned his head so his lips touched my ear. Patience.

That foul word again. Pox on your patience.

I shifted my gaze to the lobsterbacks gathered at the edge of the woods. If they werent a patrol, then they were a foraging party sent to plunder farms. Whatever their purpose, they looked about to expire of the heat. The cool shade of the enormous live oak had so delighted them that theyd quickly stripped off their sweat-soaked coats and waistcoats and hung them from branches to dry. Two had even removed their shirts and rinsed them in the stream, showing a shock of white skin paler than any ghost would ever dream of being. Twas a frightful sight, but their desire to cool themselves had allowed Curzon and me to crawl safely to a hollow that was sheltered by tall ferns and overhanging magnolia and bayberry branches.

Wed had several encounters with patrolling soldiers in the previous weeks. Our course of action had always been to retreat slow and careful, and then circle wide to avoid them. This time we could not. A milestone stood at the crossroads a few paces from their fire. Hidden under their collection of bloodred coats and dingy haversacks was the carving of letters and numbers that showed travelers the direction and distance to Charleston, South Carolina.

After walking more than a thousand miles, after months spent laboring first in Lancaster, then Baltimore, then Richmond, and at whatever mountain farm would have us... After having been cheated, lied to, near captured twice... After months lost in worry, waiting to see if Curzon would recover from the wounds inflicted by a falling hemlock, then another half a year wasted as I fought an intermittent fever that gripped my lungs so tight I could barely walk... After dodging two armies, wild packs of banditti, and armed Loyalists deep in liquor... After sleepless nights haunted by ghosts and endless days of empty bellies... After all that, I was close to finding my baby sister, Ruth.

The thought of it made my heart pound.

All I needed was the information on that milestone.

We stayed hidden under the ferns in the hollow so long that the sun swung from the east to the west, and the damp ground soaked through both my skirt and the shift under it. The smell of the rabbits roasting over the British cook fire pained me. Wed eaten our last meala small, hideous fish boiled with bitter greens plucked from the edges of the swampmore than a day and night previous. We were out of salt and hadnt tasted bread nor porridge for weeks.

A mosquito bit my neck. I pinched it dead between my fingertips. In our years of journeying Id grown accustomed to being bone tired, starving, and filthy, but I could not abide the bloodsucking demons.

Im going to move a wee bit closer, I said.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Too dangerous, Curzon said.

I killed another mosquito. Not knowing where we are is the real danger. What if they decide to camp here for the night?

A broad-shouldered, pink-faced soldier placed his damp coat at the end of a long stick, which he held above the fire in an attempt to dry it. Not a moment later the stick broke, the coat fell onto the rabbits roasting on the spit, and the whole lot tumbled into the flames. The soldiers roared with laughter, save the one who owned the coat. He snatched it out and stomped on the smoldering cloth, cursing vile and loud, while his companions rescued their supper.

Theyre barely keeping watch. I pointed to a fallen tree trunk halfway between our position and the road. Twas alarmingly close, true, but several young pines sheltered it from view, the tips of their branches touching the ground like a drapery. If I hide behind that log, Ill hear every word they say.

The sun has fried your wits. Curzon used his sleeve to wipe away the sweat trickling down my cheek, the scarred one. The unexpected kindness of his gesture startled me.

As we lay silent, my tired mind drifted into the past, to the day Id first met Curzon back in 76. Id been a terrified maid of twelve, still in shock from the circumstances that had landed Ruth and me in New York. Hed been a cheerful lad, two years older than me and foolish enough to be eager for war.

Thunder rumbled again and a cool breeze stirred the moss that hung from the branches above.

I snuck a look at Curzon. He now stood a head taller than me and had the forged-steel strength of a man. He was still capable of mischief on occasion, but his smile was rare. Hed long ago traded the red hat he affected for a dark blue cap that did not draw attention. Likewise, the piratical earring he used to wear was now hidden in the lining of his filthy jacket.