Together Apart Read Free

whinnied in greeting. I lifted Megan and Joey into the back of the wagon and told them to wait there, then dashed across the street, startled the bell above the door to Fowler's Emporium, and strode to the place on the wall where the handbill was tacked. Once it was in my pocket, I turned on my heel, hiccupped, and startled the bell once again on my way out.
    We waited another hour for Papa. Megan and Joey bided the time napping, their heads resting in my lap. I bided my time mulling over Eliza's question.
    ***
    "Did you trade for everything on your mother's list?" Papa asked when he climbed onto the seat of the wagon.
    "Yes, sir," I answered.
    Megan rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and before I could hush her with a finger to my lips, she said, "Hannah took us to a castle."
    Papa seemed not to hear, and I was glad for this. I wanted to wait until after supper, when I had Papa and Mama together, to tell them my news.
    The road west out of town quickly narrowed to the jarring double ruts of a wagon trail. Every mile after that, less traveled trails branched off to the north and south. The Union Pacific railway tracks ran alongside for the trail's distance. Here and there were farmsteads, some with sod houses, others with newly built frame houses. Nearly all had grand barns. And not a one was without a windmill, a scattering of scrawny trees, and fine fat chickens strutting in the kitchen yards. In the fifth mile we came upon Harmony School. Harmony, with its daydreaming windows—shattered. Its maps of mountains, deserts, and vast oceans—shredded by the wind. Its desks with sweetheart initials carved in the wood—splintered or removed. Harmony, with a gaping hole in its roof. My eyes hurt from the looking.
    Papa mumbled under his breath then, and a moment later I saw what he was mumbling about. There, beside the trail, stood Isaac Bradshaw, skinny as a rail, his cheeks peppered with freckles, and rags tying his shoes to his feet. He tipped his cap to me. I felt my cheeks flush. I smiled and nodded.

Issac
    I STOOD THERE BESIDE THE TRAIL, MY HEART THUMPING AS IF A six-footed rabbit was trapped inside my ribs, and stared after Mr. Barnett's wagon until it disappeared over a rise. Stared until Hannah disappeared over a rise. Hannah with hair the color of midnight. Hannah, who had danced on the prairie. Hannah, the girl who'd saved my sorry life. I was mighty tempted to chase after the wagon, ask Hannah how she'd been faring, but thought better of it. There'd been a warning in Mr. Barnett's scowl—stay away from Hannah or else. So I hog-tied my want and headed for the schoolyard.
    The dampness from the grass seeped through the holes in the soles of my shoes, chilling my toes. This put me in mind of something Hannah had said during the blizzard. "Make believe your feet are loaves of bread, hot from the oven." I'd never been one to put much stock in make-believe, but I'd survived when others hadn't, still had my feet and hands when others didn't.
    My empty stomach, not knowing the difference between pretend bread and real, begged and growled as I climbed the schoolhouse steps. "Soon," I said, and my stomach shut up. I stopped before going through the door and tried to recollect how many times I'd stood there before. Far too few. Plowing and planting had kept me away every spring. Harvest stretched into late fall. In between there were fences to mend, wood to chop, hogs to butcher, and any other chore my stepfather, Mr. Richards, could dream up so I wouldn't, as he put it, "Get too smart for my britches." If it hadn't been for my ma holding her ground now and again, Mr. Richards would have put a stop to my schooling by the age of nine or ten. As it was, I'd gone whenever I
could
—a day here, three in a row there.
    When I stepped inside the schoolhouse, I half expected Miss Farnham to gawk over the top of her spectacles and frown, half expected the girls to giggle, half expected a spit wad to splat between my eyes.