Morning Star by Judith Plaxton Read Free Book Online Page A

have Calvin to ride.” Francine turned to Felicia and Delia. “Come and say hello.”
    Delia raised her hands and shook her head, but Felicia stepped forward and gently touched the horse’s face.
    â€œWhere did she come from?” asked Renate.
    â€œHow old is she?”
    Francine clipped cross ties to the halter, removed the lead rope, and said, “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” She returned with a photo showing a sorry looking, emaciated horse, its head hanging, every rib and both hipbones painfully evident.
    Even Delia was amazed. “This can’t be the same animal!”
    â€œYes, it is. I found her at a sale, rescued her from a farm that had been impounded by the courts. A number of horses were there in terrible condition, so neglected. Some were immediately put down.”
    â€œHow could anyone be so mean?” asked Sophie.
    â€œIt’s hard to imagine, isn’t it? But she’s come along nicely. I’ve been training her, and she’s wonderful, a real treasure.”
    Felicia looked into soft, brown eyes, and it seemed the horse returned her gaze. “What’s her name?”
    â€œI’m calling her Morning Star because of the star shape on her forehead. And when I went to bring her home—it was early in the morning—I could still see the moon, very faintly, and a large, bright star in the sky beside it.”

CHAPTER 15
    Flower
    THERE WAS no sound to warn
them, only the sense that they were no longer alone. Flower heard her mother’s
soft moan of fear, opened her eyes, and saw a tall man looking down at them. He
was dressed entirely in black, with a black hat on his head. Beneath the brim,
his pale face was lean and craggy, the light from the fire deepening the shadows
beneath his eyes.
    Her father managed only one word—“Mercy.”
    The stranger stepped forward, moving into the
firelight. “Yes, ’tis God’s mercy—he has delivered you safely to me.” He noted
the condition of the group assembled at his feet, their sodden clothes and
shivering bodies. “Did Jonah’s craft sink, take on water?”
    â€œWe met no Jonah. We made our own raft. It hit a
rock and broke apart.”
    â€œCan you walk?”
    They struggled to their feet.
    The stranger told them he was Noah Pemberton, a
Quaker and a friend. He led them up a stony incline and through a field to a
narrow frame house, light spilling out from an open doorway. A woman holding a
lamp stood on the threshold. She, too, was dressed in black, with a small cap on
her head concealing her hair. Her face had the same sharp angles as the man’s,
but it was smaller, more birdlike.
    â€œOh my,” she said as she observed the ragtag group
assembled before her. “Come in, come in.” She held out her hand and motioned for
them to come forward.
    No one moved. They stood sodden and hesitant,
unsure about entering a white person’s home.
    â€œRound the back then—men to the stable and mother
and children to the kitchen. You can change out of those clothes. Come now,
before you expire.” She herded them round to the back of the house and
introduced herself as Sarah Pemberton. She helped Cleo sink into a chair, cooing
over Gabriel as he was released from his sling.
    Flower felt nimble fingers remove her wet clothes,
a washrag scrub her face and hands. “There. That will do for now. You can bathe
properly tomorrow.” Sarah lifted a cotton gown over Flower’s head and helped her
find the sleeves.
    When they were dressed, she invited them to sit at
the kitchen table. Mrs. Pemberton lifted a loaf of bread from a box and began to
slice it. “There’s cheese coming. Please help yourself.”
    Flower tried to copy her mother’s delicate
nibbling, though she wanted to tear into her share. Her father’s first swallow
was accompanied by a long sigh.
    After their simple meal, the men returned to the
stable, and