Joanna Kellogg, one of Joseph's sisters, was stumbling.
For Joanna, the world was blurred. Her eyes didn't focus the way other people's did. Leaves on trees were green blots against a blue sky. She couldn't recognize people until they were within a dozen paces. When an Indian brave took Joanna's hand, she had not seen her mother die and did not know this was the killer.
She was only ten, but her pack was nearly as large as the ones grown men carried. Joanna did not complain or call out. She just walked more and more slowly.
Ruth Catlin lost her temper. She flung the pack she had been given into the snow. She grabbed Joanna by the shoulders and ripped off Joanna's pack, flinging that into the snow too. She hurled an iron frying pan across the snow and then a whole leg of lamb. Indian and captive alike were mesmerized.
"You savages!" Ruth screamed. "Don't you even think about hurting Joanna. She's too little! You are vicious and mean! I hate you!"
She dragged Joanna forward as if the two of them meant to reach Canada first, by God. "Go ahead and kill me!" she yelled, holding out her hair to be scalped. "I dare you!" She made a fist around her own hair, yanked it tight and waved the bristles in Indian faces. Nobody tomahawked Ruth.
She stomped past Indian after Indian, calling them names.
Ruth stormed right up to the front of the line, where the lead Indians were trampling out the path. She could go no farther. The Indians politely stepped back and gestured north, making it clear that Ruth was welcome to lead the way.
Ruth kicked wildly at one of the braves, but he stepped back and Ruth's burst of energy vanished.
She wanted to lie down on her own soft bed, bury her face in her pillow and weep for the family that had died around her. Even more, she wanted to kill an Indian. Or ten of them. But she had no weapon and as for softness, even the snow was not soft today. Well, at least she would not give those Indians the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
Glaring, dragging poor Joanna, she marched on.
For Joanna, the world was blurred. Her eyes didn't focus the way other people's did. Leaves on trees were green blots against a blue sky. She couldn't recognize people until they were within a dozen paces. When an Indian brave took Joanna's hand, she had not seen her mother die and did not know this was the killer.
She was only ten, but her pack was nearly as large as the ones grown men carried. Joanna did not complain or call out. She just walked more and more slowly.
Ruth Catlin lost her temper. She flung the pack she had been given into the snow. She grabbed Joanna by the shoulders and ripped off Joanna's pack, flinging that into the snow too. She hurled an iron frying pan across the snow and then a whole leg of lamb. Indian and captive alike were mesmerized.
"You savages!" Ruth screamed. "Don't you even think about hurting Joanna. She's too little! You are vicious and mean! I hate you!"
She dragged Joanna forward as if the two of them meant to reach Canada first, by God. "Go ahead and kill me!" she yelled, holding out her hair to be scalped. "I dare you!" She made a fist around her own hair, yanked it tight and waved the bristles in Indian faces. Nobody tomahawked Ruth.
She stomped past Indian after Indian, calling them names.
Ruth stormed right up to the front of the line, where the lead Indians were trampling out the path. She could go no farther. The Indians politely stepped back and gestured north, making it clear that Ruth was welcome to lead the way.
Ruth kicked wildly at one of the braves, but he stepped back and Ruth's burst of energy vanished.
She wanted to lie down on her own soft bed, bury her face in her pillow and weep for the family that had died around her. Even more, she wanted to kill an Indian. Or ten of them. But she had no weapon and as for softness, even the snow was not soft today. Well, at least she would not give those Indians the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
Glaring, dragging poor Joanna, she marched on.
( Caroline B. Cooney )
[ The Ransom of Mercy Carter ]
www.QuoteSweet.com