Messenger by Moonlight Read Free Page A

the growing concern that Bart and Bill might not make it to St. Jo. Annie felt bad for the poor mules, their heads hanging low, their hooves barely clearing the earth as they ambled along. What would they all do if Bart and Bill dropped in their traces?
    Around midday, when Frank said they were going to have to walk, Annie immediately thought of the hole in the soleof her right boot. Emmet did, too. “You and I can walk,” he said to Frank and proceeded to climb down. But when Annie moved to join her brothers, Emmet stayed her with his hand. “Those boots of yours won’t take much walking. Besides, you don’t add much to the load, little as you are. Bart and Bill can manage a few extra pounds.”
    Truth be told, there wasn’t much to any of the Paxtons. They were a fine-boned, wiry lot, with twins Annie and Frank not quite five feet tall and Emmet not much taller. Still, with Bart and Bill almost on their last legs, Annie said that every pound would make a difference, and she wasn’t going to be the reason they ended up stranded beside the road with three trunks and no way to move them.
    “That’s our girl,” Frank said. He directed Annie to take off the boot with the biggest hole in the sole and then snatched up dried grass to provide a little extra padding over the folded paper that already shielded her stocking from the earth.
    Emmet slipped his hand beneath the throatlatch at Bart’s head and pulled to keep the team moving. The sun was sinking fast when the wagon finally topped the last hill. The mules seemed to know they were near the end of the journey. They didn’t move any faster, but they lifted their heads and picked up their feet a bit.
    Annie took note of the scarlet-rimmed clouds in the western sky and smiled. Colorful slivers of light, even as night descended. She began to pay attention to the city itself. What she saw as they made their way into St. Joseph fascinated her. In one candlelit room where the drapes were drawn back, a family sat around their dining table. As Annie watched, a maid wearing a white apron presented something to the man sitting with his back to the window. So enthralled was Annie as shewatched that she nearly fell when she encountered a rut in the road. She would have fallen if not for Frank’s steadying hand.
    “If you lived there,” he groused, “you’d be the one in the apron—not the one sitting at that fancy table. You’d have a tiny room in the attic and you’d freeze all winter and swelter all summer. And be at some stranger’s beck and call every hour of the day and night.”
    I wouldn’t care. I bet their cook doesn’t have to make do with a tiny stove in a corner. She probably doesn’t have to worry about stretching the grits or making the molasses last, either. If I worked there, I’d be able to set the table with china. And polish the silver. Real silver.
    She thought those things, but Annie didn’t say them. It was pointless to argue with Frank when he was in one of his dark moods, and the set of his jaw and the way one corner of his mouth turned down were evidence enough that such a mood was fast descending. Poor Frank. Only nineteen years old and already sporting a permanent furrow between his eyebrows—a furrow that would only deepen if he didn’t find a way to harvest happiness from life.
    Tucking her hand beneath his elbow, Annie gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. “You’re probably right, but once they tasted my apple dumplings, I bet they’d give me an extra day off and a bigger room, just to keep me on.”
    Frank snorted softly. “And plant you an apple orchard, I suppose.” He was still grousing, but his downturned mouth didn’t look quite so grim.
    “Not an entire orchard, silly,” she teased. “Just a couple of trees would be enough. After all, that yard wasn’t all that big.” She glanced behind them. “Although peach trees and a cherry tree or two would be nice.”
    A faint, lopsided smile appeared. “Don’t forget the