Soon Be Free by Lois Ruby Page A

the dishes and glasses in place.
    â€œWhat are you doing in here?” Mr. Berk asked. His harsh voice rocked me back on my heels.
    â€œJust tidying up,” I sweetly replied, but my heart was pounding.
    Mr. Berk put on his exaggerated limp for mybenefit. “Listen, just leave the fresh sheets and towels. Me and the missus will take care of it ourselves.”
    â€œBut it’s part of the bed-and-breakfast service; it’s our pleasure—”
    â€œYeah, well, my pleasure is to take a long, hot shower to clear out my sinuses and go back to bed. I’m coming down with it.” He stepped forward and coughed directly in my face. “Sorry.”
    I glanced at the suitcase. The book was showing. I dropped to the floor. My left hand stuffed the book back under the magenta sweater, and my right closed over something stiff and clammy under the bed. Holding my breath, I said, “Oh, look, your socks, Mr. Berk.”
    Close call! I didn’t breathe again until I could take a refreshing whiff of the potpourri on the hall table.
    As soon as I could get away, I’d go to the library and read up on the Delaware Indians. Kiowa I knew about, and Pawnee and Shawnee and Apache, but I couldn’t remember one single thing about the Delaware.
    But I should know about them, because James did, and he and I had some weird, coppery-wire link that stretched from his century to mine.
    What did the Delaware Indians have to do with James Weaver?

Chapter Sixteen
March 1857
DELAWARE WOMAN
    The coach bounced along the rutted road for about half an hour, until James thought his brains were sloshing around inside his head. Across from Will and him, Miss Farrell, the lady, was green, even with all that makeup. Her jowls flapped in the jarring rhythm of the coach.
    All day like this, James thought, and then disaster—or was it luck?—befell them. The four-horse team refused the urging of the driver to bypass a mighty pothole, and they tore straight ahead into it. James felt the soft earth suck them in until the two right wheels were up to the hub in mud and the horses on that side were up to their flanks. James was practically lying on his right side, Will smashed against him, while Miss Farrell jammed one hefty boot across the bench to brace herself.
    But two wheels and two horses weren’t stuck, and those horses were chomping to get going. All four were whinnying at one another. The mud-deep horses won the battle. They simply lay down on a hard patch of ground and pulled the wagon overuntil horses and passengers were caddywampus and the baggage and Will’s crutch were thrown into the bushes that were just bursting with new spring greenery.
    Miss Farrell landed on top of James and Will, and her hoops just about swallowed them up. “I never!” she cried as they tried to push her off, but she probably weighed more than the two of them combined.
    Now Solomon and the driver were pulling on the horses to stand the wagon back up, but all the animals were spooked and the coach was a hopeless wreck. A wheel had broken off and rolled into a ravine, and the door hung by one hinge like a flap of skin.
    â€œI quit!” yelled the driver. “Two months driving this thang until my kidneys is loose in my belly, and they don’t pay me but a slave’s wages, which ain’t enough to keep my dogs any meat on their bones, let alone my wife and children. Out, all of you.”
    James and Will and Miss Farrell tumbled out onto the solid earth. James helped Will up and propped him against a tree. The driver collected their baggage, kicked a wheel coated with mud, handed Will his crutch, and pointed through the trees. “Yer in luck. Through there’s the river, and they’s a Frenchman’s got a Delaware wife runs a flatboat across the river.” He handed them back the three and a half dollars they’d each paid and grinned mischievously. “Have an elegant trip,