The sheriff wrinkled his brow. “Boy, come here,” the sheriff ordered. “I have a question for ya. Come on over here. Righ’ here, righ’ now.”
Carson hesitated and looked up at his father with questioning eyes.
Devil John nodded his permission. “Go on, Son, do as the sheriff asks.”
“Yes, sir.” Carson lowered his head and walked doggedly over to the lawman.
The sheriff put a hand on Carson’s shoulder, bent his head to the young man’s, and pointed his finger at me and Pearl. “Now, boy, I want you to tell me who these girls are and their names. Tell me the truth now, or you could get arrested for obstructing justice and lying to a lawman. Yessir, go straight to the hoosegow.” He shot a suspicious eye toward Devil John.
I tried to swallow, but the fear seized hold, almost strangling me. The afternoon sun shone bright, and I put my fingers under the scarf and tugged, loosened and stretched the knit yarn, sliding it off my neck and into my damp gloved hand.
Pearl bent slightly over Pie, muttering something I couldn’t hear.
I stepped back to Junia’s side, placed a firm hand on her withers, and took a deep breath. The ol’ mule shuddered, feeling the bother. I pressed my dry lips together, waiting for the worst. It would only take me a fast Kentucky second to jump on her back and run. But what if poor ol’ Junia stalled? She couldn’t outrun a bullet if the sheriff decided to shoot me.
“Speak up, young man!” the social worker screeched.
Carson raised his arm and pointed at us. “Why them’s my sisters, Lettie and Colleen Smith. And, dang it, Colleen”—he wagged a shaming finger at me—“Ma’s none too pleased with ya today for taking off without doing your chores. Me neither. Second time this week ya done gone and left a pile of dirty laundry.”
My cheeks warmed as all eyes fell on me. I felt the blue deepen, itch at my hands and feet. I peeked down at them, making sure the color hadn’t leached out. “Real sorry, Carson. I’ll help ya with your chores the rest of the week. Promise.” I tucked my head like a scolded pup.
The sheriff looked over to me and Pearl, then back to the boy and over to the social worker. He narrowed his eyes, lightly scratched his neck.
An uncomfortable silence batted around in the crisp March winds. A crow squawked overhead, then the sheriff frowned. “Let’s go, Mrs. Wallace. Our work here is done. The snow’s put me behind in my official duties as it is. And now my dinner’s getting cold,” the sheriff grumbled, hitching his utility belt up over a ripe belly. “Girl’s probably stowed away to long-lost relatives in West Virginny by now! Good day, Mr. Smith.”
Devil John said, “Let’s water our mounts and get home, young’uns.”
Mrs. Wallace’s angry eyes darted back and forth between me and Pearl, then steadied on mine, narrowing.
I crossed my arms, tucking my gloved hands under them, fearing any minute she would rip them off and out me as a Blue.
She looked again at Pearl before locking eyes with mine.
I met hers with coldness, determined to do whatever it took to stay free and escape the horrid chains she was determined to put me in.
Six
When the social worker finally tore her gaze away and turned toward the automobile, my hands shook so violently that I dropped Junia’s reins. Pearl slid off her horse and handed them to me. “They’re leaving now, Honey.”
I nodded, unable to speak, the fear still clinging to me like the sweat dampening my forehead.
We led the horses and mule over to the springhouse in silence as the automobiles drove off, their tires slapping away at the snowy slush.
Finally, Devil John said, “Honey, Evan Faust told me he picked up your pa’s horse and would tend to it for you. Said Bob Morgan was assigned by the courts to be your lawyer. He’ll be in touch soon. Your folks’ attorney know’d you’d been sent to Troublesome, so he wanted to get word to you that the law was coming to try and take you to the House of Reform.”