I nose Peony behind the barn and into the woods. I bend over her neck to avoid low branches as we twist through the maze of chestnut and red oak and digger pine. The trees break wide too soon, revealing the white ribbon of open road. I pull Peony up short.

If I take the road, I risk being seen by someone who knows me. If I keep to the thick woods, I can’t go fast enough to outrun Hiram.

With a kick and a “Hi-yah!” I urge my horse into a gallop. I refuse to look back.

Chapter Nine

Peony and I fly down the road. The wind sweeps my hat from my head so that it flaps like a sail at my back, the chin strap strangling my neck. The icy air on my face makes the corners of my eyes tear. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m leaving home forever, as fast as I possibly can.

We reach the fork, and Peony slows, sides heaving. She noses toward the familiar route into Dahlonega. I steer her left, on to Ellijay Road, but she tosses her head and veers right again. “Please don’t fight me, girl. Not today.” When she feels the reins against her neck a second time, she gives in.

I resist the urge to spur her back into a gallop. Though she pulls our wagon almost every day, I haven’t been running her regularly. I need to take care of her if she’s to stay sound all the way to California.

But this is precious, precious time; the only part of my journey when I can put distance between myself and Hiram before he realizes I’ve run away. Which means I’ll have to run Peony again once she cools off. I’ll have to.

The most dangerous part of the journey is close to home.

“We might make Prince Edward by dark if we hurry,” I explain, my voice sounding hollow and lonely in the empty winter woods. “Daddy’s been there.”

My plan is simple: stay on the big road until I get to an even bigger road, and head off into the woods if I see someone familiar. If I’m lucky—very lucky—the gathering at the courthouse will last awhile, leaving the road empty.

An hour passes. I urge Peony into a gallop again. This time, she pulls up even sooner, and I dismount to walk beside her for a spell, giving her a chance to rest.

I feel smaller when I’m not on Peony’s back. Smaller, lonelier, colder. The woods loom to either side, dotted with adjoining paths that all look the same—gloomy tunnels through leafless forest, barely wider than deer trails. What if I’ve missed an important turn? I hope I’m going in the right direction.