Well, no matter. Sanctuary from the storm was the important thing-a dry stall and hay for Nell, a warm fire and hot food for Ben Shock’s son. Heigh-ho! There might even be a dollar or three to be made from the ferryman’s family and the stage passengers.
Annabelle Murdock
I leaned against the buckboard, blinking away angry tears and saying words no young lady should utter.
Lady? I thought bitterly. When had I had an opportunity to learn and polish ladylike skills in this godforsaken delta? Now it might even be the death of me. At seventeen, before I’d ever have the chance to experience all the good things life had to offer in such places as San Francisco.
I’d tarried late at the River Bend general store, lingering over fancy dress fabrics that I couldn’t buy and might never wear, reluctant as always to return to Crucifixion Crossing. The storm had come more quickly than anybody’d expected, and by the time I left town, the rain had started. Now it was pouring down something fierce. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, a few minutes ago the front wheel hub had loosened and then jammed and the wheel had nearly come off. The spindle nut was jammed so tightly I couldn’t loosen it with the wrench from the toolbox. If no one came along soon, I’d have no choice but to walk home-more than five miles, with the storm worsening by the minute.
I raised my arms to the sky and shouted: “I hate it here! I hate my life!” Maudie, our tired old bay mare, turned her wet head and gave me a sorrowful look. “I hate you, too!” I yelled at her. And then I burst out crying.