I pause, my rag hovering over the wooden stock. “I could do it,” I say.

“What’s that, sweet pea?” Daddy says.

“I could take our gold to get assayed in North Carolina. I’ll drive Chestnut and Hemlock. The colts’d be glad for—”

“Absolutely not,” Mama says.

“It’s nice of you to offer,” Daddy says in a kinder tone. “But the road is no place for a girl all alone.”

“You’d be robbed for sure,” Mama adds. “Or worse.”

I sigh. It was worth a try.

Mama’s gaze on my face softens. “You are such a help, my Leah, and I love you for it. But you would do too much if I let you.”

“Tell you what,” Daddy says. “When this cough settles, maybe your mama will let you come with me.”

“Maybe I would,” Mama says unconvincingly.

“I’d like that,” I say.

When this cough settles, when this cough settles, when this cough settles. I’ve heard it so many times it’s like a song in my head.

Maybe I’ll set traps this winter. Maybe we’ll have another big flood, which will give us an excuse to say we found more gold. Maybe our winter wheat will do better than expected. Maybe I’ll escape to Charlotte with that bag of gold and beg forgiveness afterward.

Maybe I’ll become a real witch, who can cast a spell that will keep our barn dry and fill our cellar.

Chapter Three

By morning, the air has warmed enough that fog slithers thick and blue through the creases of my mountains. Because of yesterday’s hunting success, Daddy lets me hitch Peony to the wagon and drive to school.

As soon as I pull up, I can tell something is amiss. Instead of pelting one another with snowballs or playing tag or hoops, the little ones stand clutched together for warmth, holding tight to their dinner pails, speaking in hushed tones. It’s like someone important has died, like the governor. Or even the president. But no, the courthouse flag is not at half-mast.

I hobble Peony and scan the schoolyard for Jefferson. He has a knack for seeing everything around him, and if anyone can speak truth to me, it’s him.

Annabelle Smith, the judge’s daughter, finds me first. “Well, if it isn’t Plain Lee!” she calls out. “Driving to school like the good boy she is.” The girls my age are clustered around her, and they giggle as I approach.

“You seen Jefferson?” I ask.

“Shouldn’t you be out hunting?” Her smile shows off two adorable dimples. God must have a wicked sense of humor to make such a devil of a girl look like such an angel. “Or mucking around in the creek?”

“Please, Annabelle,” I say wearily. “Not today. I just want to talk to my friend.”