Guide Me Home by Kim Vogel Sawyer

“I reckon I owe ya.”
    “Why?”
    His dark eyes narrowed, his lips went tight for a moment. “I know that cave like the back o’ my hand. When yo’ brothuh went wanderin’ an’ got hisself lost, I knowed I’d be able to find him wherevuh he landed, so I promised yo’ mammy I’d bring her boy out. An’ I did. But not alive like she expected me to.” He sighed again, his shoulders rising and falling as if he tried to dislodge a mighty weight. “No ’mount o’ money’ll bring yo’ brothuh back again. But if it’ll ease yo’ family’s burdens fo’ you to earn money fo’ a headstone, then I can sign you on.”
    Mr. Sandford’s kindness astounded her. His sense of responsibility humbled her. She swallowed a knot of worry. “You—you won’t get into trouble, will you, if other folks figure out I’m not a boy?”
    A smile rounded his full cheeks and painted starbursts at the corners of his eyes. “See now, here’s the thing. Ain’t no writ-down rule that says only fellas can be guides. Oh, now, we allus done it that way. Just makes good sense. Whole lot easier to move ’round in there with britches on ’stead o’ skirts. Folks is more likely to listen if some man tell them to stay on the trail. So it’d be best to have you gussyin’ up like a fella ’stead of a girl. But I ain’t breakin’ no rule. Othuhwise I wouldn’t take you on. But like I says, I owes yo’ family.”
    He tipped his head to the side and seemed to study her. “Did ya know guides live right here on the estate?” He gestured to the row of cabins. “Hank Dauber—he’s the one who took sick ovuh the wintuh an’ done passed just last week—lived in that’n next to mine. Now it’s sittin’ there empty. Mr. Janin’ll prob’ly tell you to move in.”
    “Oh.” She hadn’t considered living away from home. What would Daddy say? “Um, do I have to?”
    Mr. Sandford’s forehead puckered. “I reckon not, but it’ll make things a mite easier on ya, not havin’ to go back an’ forth. An’ the pay’s twelve dollahs a month plus victuals. Almost seems like throwin’ away part o’ yo’ pay if you don’t stay on the grounds, take yo’ meals an’ such here.” He leaned in, waggling his eyebrows. “Place o’ yo’ own. Three meals a day. Ol’ Coop, he’s a right fine cook. You won’t go hungry.”
    Rebekah nibbled her lip. If she didn’t eat at home, it would mean more food going into her sisters’ bellies. The thought of a whole cabin to herself appealed to her. And frightened her, too. Sharing a room with so many others, she’d often yearned for privacy, but she’d never been completely alone. Would she pine for her parents and sisters?
    He patted her on the shoulder. “You think on it. But to ease yo’ mind, the guides an’ helpuhs, they’s all trustwuhthy men. You don’t gots to worry about any of ’em pesterin’ ya. ’Specially with me so close.” He stepped up on the cabin’s stoop and waved his arm at her, the way Mama tried to shoo the chickens when they followed too close on her heels. “You skedaddle now—go tell yo’ pappy ’bout yo’ new job.” He closed the door behind him.
    Rebekah stood for several minutes, absorbing everything Mr. Sandford had told her. He wanted her to keep wearing britches, and it didn’t matter that she wasn’t a boy. The job included a cabin all to herself and three meals a day cooked by somebody else, and best of all it paid twelve dollars a month. Her pulse stuttered and her mouth went dry. Twelve dollars? She’d never seen twelve dollars in one place before. Her mind scrambled through the things they could do with so much money.
    Eagerness to tell Daddy about their good fortune propelled her feet into motion. She dashed through the woods for home.

Rebekah
    R ebekah burst from the thick growth behind their small field and half jogged, half stumbled across the uneven ground to her father. “Daddy! Daddy!”
    He jerked his gaze in her direction. His