calloused hands. “In the war I drove the wagons.”
“That's good.” Maddy smiled.
“So you could get married to me,” Joby went on.
“What?” Maddy sloshed some water. “No, I can't.”
“Why not? I'm going to have a job in Seattle, driving heavy loads.”
“I, um—I can't marry anyone till I'm sixteen.”
“I can drive an eight-mule team.”
“But I promised my mother,” she declared.
“When is that? When are you sixteen?”
“Two years and one month from now.”
“Is that a long time?”
“How long have you been with Doc Carlos?” she asked.
“Since the war began.”
“How long is that?”
Joby shrugged.
“How many times did the summer come?” Maddy prompted.
“Well—first summer, we camped in the trees, and it smelled so good. Next summer was a bad time, with fever, and mosquitoes on us all the time. Also, men got exploded. Then the last summer was just chopping off arms and legs too much. And the dogs sneaking around the pile trying to eat them. Then we got captured and put into the prison. And for all the winter. Then springtime came and they saidwar was over and we could go. So three times summer came.”
“Oh.” Maddy was trying to find her way around
men got exploded
and
chopping off arms.
“So two years is one less than the time you were in the war.” She poured another dipperful of water. The sound told her the jug was full. She put the cork in and punched it down.
“Anyway I don't want to marry anybody. I'm going to be a doctor.”
“Like Carlos?”
“Well, yes, but nicer.”
“He used to be nice.”
Maddy looked up and saw the tall, thin figure coming toward them, his head down, his shoulders hunched, everything about him coiled and wary.
“I've got to go now, Joby I got my own chores to do. You keep a lookout for the funnel,” she said. “It probably just fell in among the boxes here, okay?”
“Oh yes, Miss Maddy. I didn't mean to lose it.”
“No, of course you didn't.” She darted off before Doc Carlos saw her.
“Miss Marguerite,” Maddy said as they walked along later that afternoon, “do you know much about the war?”
“Mostly from the newspapers,” she said vaguely.
“Did they poison people, do you know?”
“Poison? Whatever do you mean?”
“I'm not sure,” Maddy went on. “But could someone get poisoned in the war so he needs to keep taking poison after?”
“I don't know.”
“Well, have you ever heard about some way poison can also be medicine?”
Marguerite lifted her head, and Maddy thought she saw a keen understanding in the pretty blue eyes. Marguerite's gaze turned toward the wagon train and rested on Doc Carlos.
“I have.”
“How can it be like that?”
“There are medicines that take away pain. Pain from the injury, yes?” Marguerite explained. “But sometimes a person may have another kind of pain, pain in the heart or the mind, and the same medicine can feel like it is helping. But if you take it too long, you start to need more and more, and it becomes poison.”
“Doesn't it kill you, then?”
“I think if one is careful he can take it for a long time.”
Maddy thought about this for a while, listening to the swish of grass against their skirts as they walked.
“What if a person watered down the poison some every day?”
“Ah. Well, that sounds like someone who is trying to quit.”
“So why doesn't he just quit?”
“It isn't that easy,” Marguerite explained. “A person who needs this medicine will be very sick if he quits suddenly.”
Maddy walked on silently. It seemed there was no end to the complexities of hurting.
fter a month of travel, Aiden could hardly remember that life was ever anything but this: endless miles of unchanging miles. The novelty of the adventure was over. Every day looked the same and felt the same—the constant wind, the creaking wagons, the feel of the hard, lumpy ground beneath boot soles. Dust coated his skin and clung to his eyelashes so that every
“That's good.” Maddy smiled.
“So you could get married to me,” Joby went on.
“What?” Maddy sloshed some water. “No, I can't.”
“Why not? I'm going to have a job in Seattle, driving heavy loads.”
“I, um—I can't marry anyone till I'm sixteen.”
“I can drive an eight-mule team.”
“But I promised my mother,” she declared.
“When is that? When are you sixteen?”
“Two years and one month from now.”
“Is that a long time?”
“How long have you been with Doc Carlos?” she asked.
“Since the war began.”
“How long is that?”
Joby shrugged.
“How many times did the summer come?” Maddy prompted.
“Well—first summer, we camped in the trees, and it smelled so good. Next summer was a bad time, with fever, and mosquitoes on us all the time. Also, men got exploded. Then the last summer was just chopping off arms and legs too much. And the dogs sneaking around the pile trying to eat them. Then we got captured and put into the prison. And for all the winter. Then springtime came and they saidwar was over and we could go. So three times summer came.”
“Oh.” Maddy was trying to find her way around
men got exploded
and
chopping off arms.
“So two years is one less than the time you were in the war.” She poured another dipperful of water. The sound told her the jug was full. She put the cork in and punched it down.
“Anyway I don't want to marry anybody. I'm going to be a doctor.”
“Like Carlos?”
“Well, yes, but nicer.”
“He used to be nice.”
Maddy looked up and saw the tall, thin figure coming toward them, his head down, his shoulders hunched, everything about him coiled and wary.
“I've got to go now, Joby I got my own chores to do. You keep a lookout for the funnel,” she said. “It probably just fell in among the boxes here, okay?”
“Oh yes, Miss Maddy. I didn't mean to lose it.”
“No, of course you didn't.” She darted off before Doc Carlos saw her.
“Miss Marguerite,” Maddy said as they walked along later that afternoon, “do you know much about the war?”
“Mostly from the newspapers,” she said vaguely.
“Did they poison people, do you know?”
“Poison? Whatever do you mean?”
“I'm not sure,” Maddy went on. “But could someone get poisoned in the war so he needs to keep taking poison after?”
“I don't know.”
“Well, have you ever heard about some way poison can also be medicine?”
Marguerite lifted her head, and Maddy thought she saw a keen understanding in the pretty blue eyes. Marguerite's gaze turned toward the wagon train and rested on Doc Carlos.
“I have.”
“How can it be like that?”
“There are medicines that take away pain. Pain from the injury, yes?” Marguerite explained. “But sometimes a person may have another kind of pain, pain in the heart or the mind, and the same medicine can feel like it is helping. But if you take it too long, you start to need more and more, and it becomes poison.”
“Doesn't it kill you, then?”
“I think if one is careful he can take it for a long time.”
Maddy thought about this for a while, listening to the swish of grass against their skirts as they walked.
“What if a person watered down the poison some every day?”
“Ah. Well, that sounds like someone who is trying to quit.”
“So why doesn't he just quit?”
“It isn't that easy,” Marguerite explained. “A person who needs this medicine will be very sick if he quits suddenly.”
Maddy walked on silently. It seemed there was no end to the complexities of hurting.
fter a month of travel, Aiden could hardly remember that life was ever anything but this: endless miles of unchanging miles. The novelty of the adventure was over. Every day looked the same and felt the same—the constant wind, the creaking wagons, the feel of the hard, lumpy ground beneath boot soles. Dust coated his skin and clung to his eyelashes so that every
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