Aunt Jinny—teach me? The thought had never occurred to her, and it startled her. She’d thought—well, she’d thought that her aunt was going to try to cure her up, that was for sure. And she’d thought maybe Jinny was on the lookout for a kind of servant she wouldn’t have to pay.

But—teach her?

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. The idea both excited her—because Caleb was right, Jinny’s potions were highly sought after, and she’d always have the means to make ready money—and nauseated her, because of what else Caleb had said. She takes some gettin’ used ter. And don’t be put off by what she looks like.

Just what kind of a woman was her aunt, anyway?

Images out of those stories Missus Sawyer had read to them last night rose unbidden into her mind. A twisted crone, nose so long it touched her chin, clad in tattered black robes and spiderwebs. With black cats and toads at her feet, and a cackling laugh. Gray hair like dead straw sticking out from under a pointed black hat. A house made of gingerbread was absurd—but a little stone hovel, barely big enough for a fireplace and a bed, certainly was not. And where would she sleep? In a shed? In a haystack?

All manner of strange possibilities ran through her mind, and none of them made her feel in the least little bit hopeful.

4

JEB’S Daisy had ambled. Caleb’s team was not minded to amble. They moved about as fast as a strong boy could run, full-out, which did not make for a comfortable ride until they got well clear of Cleveland and onto a road that was not so rutted. The discomfort of being atop the swaying wagon overcame the weakness she’d been feeling since yesterday noon, and it wasn’t until things smoothed out a bit that she noticed that weakness was gone.

By that time she and Caleb were chattering away like old friends. Or rather, he was making slow, steady conversation, and she was listening. She learned that he and his son had a cartage business hauling copper ingots from the Burra Burra mine to Cleveland and the railhead, although he could haul ore from the mines or timber from the river to the smelters as well, which was why his wagon was so deep. That right at this very moment his son would be setting out from Ducktown with a heavy load of metal.

That he had six children, and they did not live in Ducktown, or even the Ducktown Basin. “I wouldn’ let my wust enemy raise a fambly there,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“Why?” she asked, because it was an obvious question.

He scratched his head. “They melt th’ ore inside them smelters, and they feed them smelters with timber, ’cause there ain’t no railhead t’bring in coal. They done cut down ever’ tree in th’ Basin, an’ there’s somethin’ ’bout the smoke that pizens th’ air, so the rain’s—bad. I cain’t ’splain it no better. But ain’t nothin’ grows in Ducktown an’ around it. Ain’t nothing but bare ground. Now, Lonesome Holler, where Miz Jinny lives, is fur ’nuff away, with ’nuff mountain ’tween her an’ Ducktown that they ain’t a-comin fer her trees when they kin cut ’em north and float ’em downriver easy. But you wouldn’ b’lieve what Ducktown looks like. It ain’t natural. And I ain’t a-goin’ t’let my fambly live thar. We live ’bout a mile from Lonesome Holler, an’ thet’s all the closer I aim’s t’get.”