By the time we hit the far bank, I can hear the jangle of tack behind us, the hollow clatter of shod hooves on rock. Birdie’s limp worsens. I feel the tremor roll through her muscles. I pull her up short in a thicket of sweetgum, slide off her before she can fall.
She’s shaking as I press my forehead to her neck.
“You done good, Birdie. You done real good.”
The riders’ voices come faint through the trees—one calls orders, the others answer.
Birdie stands a moment longer, head low, then eases herself down with a sigh that breaks something clean inside me. I reach out, touch the warm velvet of her nose. “Rest easy, girl.”
Then I run.
Not sure where, I just move. Branches claw at my coat, roots twist underfoot, shadows swallowing me with every step. My lungs burn, stitch flaring in my side.
Behind me, hooves crunch through the forest floor. I veer off the trail, tumble down a shallow embankment, and crawl beneath a thicket, the earth damp, pine needles sticking to my face.
Silence. Just the sound of me sucking in air and my heart beating in my ears.
They pass close—so close, I hear their horses panting. Then a pause. Something not right. One of the horses shifts, snorts.
“He’s close.”
Bootsteps. Too many.
I make a move, but before I’m upright, a hand grabs my ankle. I lash out, wild, catch a cheekbone or a jaw, but a second man slams me down. Knee in my back, arms twisted till I see stars.
“Easy now,” says a third. “Ain’t no use getting broke before Sherman sees him.”
Sherman.
Son of a bitch.
I stop fighting. The cold numb settles in slow.
They haul me to my feet. One wipes his split lip with the back of a glove, grinning at me through blood. Another rifles through my coat, comes up empty.
“Thought you’d make it farther,” he says. “For a train robber, you sure ain’t got much sense.”
They laugh.
“You’re out here riskin’ your neck for daddy Virgil?” I mock. “Wonder how else he puts that neck to use, you cocksuck?—”
Before I can finish, a fist to my cheek shuts me up, blood surging in my mouth.
“That’ll do,” says the third man, voice flat. “Bring him in alive.”
Chapter 38
ALICE
Virgil knew precisely what he was about, that small and calculating man. He could not simply cast me into the street. What would that have said of the illustrious Sherman name? No, he must appear benevolent, must send me “home” under the care of another. How thoughtful of him, to place me in the keeping of a stranger.
The cruelest part is more than once I have glanced across the yard and felt my heart rise at the sight of a tall, broad silhouette, foolish and wild, before I realize it’s only Collier. Kodiak would never loom so uncertain, as though the weight of his own limbs perplexes him. There is nothing of a leader in Collier’s posture, nothing of a man who knows his own mind. Collier slouches even when he stands still. Kodiak stood tall, walked like he owned the ground beneath his feet.
Collier has not spoken to me since that night. He passes me in the hall as one might a piece of furniture, yet his temper speaks in other ways: a heavier pail to carry, a longer list oflinens to scrub. Still, I keep my head high and my work neat. He can pile on every burden he pleases; I would sooner die than give him the satisfaction of seeing me stumble.
It has been weeks now since I’ve seen my bear. I remind myself that the journey from Ohio to New Orleans took weeks, and his path now will be far rougher. Since his flight from the courthouse, every newspaper from here to the coast carries his name. The whole world knows of his escape. And yet, I cannot help but believe he is out there, making his way to me.
This afternoon, I dare the upper hall, meaning to climb to the observatory. The key hangs on its nail by the door, though the stairwell has gone unused since before Collier took the house. I thought perhaps, just for a moment, I might look again through the great brass telescope.
