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He snatched his coat off the back of the chair. “Call the carriage.”
Mrs. Dedrick stepped back out of his way. “Yes, sih.”
“She couldn’t have gotten far in this city alone with no money, knowing no one,” he said under his breath as he strode out of the room. “She couldn’t have.”
25
Sapphire didn’t want to remain in Boston and run the risk of Blake finding her. She cut through the elegant properties on Beacon Hill and headed south. She didn’t know how long it would take her to find a job and save the money she would need to book passage to London, but with the coming of winter, she surmised, a girl who had grown up in Martinique would survive better in less frigid temperatures. Especially a girl who, presently, didn’t even have a place to live.
So, dressed like a young man, canvas satchel thrown over her shoulder, she followed the coastline south and tried not to think about Blake or her broken heart. Instead she entertained herself with memories of growing up in Martinique and of the love and laughter she had shared there with her family.
She followed main roads all night, keeping the water on her left shoulder, but when dawn came, she decided that she had better stay out of sight, just in case Blake was angry enough to send someone, perhaps an officer of the law, looking for her. There was no telling what the man might do; perhaps he would accuse her of theft or of committing some other crime just to get her back under his control. A few miles out of the city, she came upon an abandoned stone building on a stream, a structure that appeared to have once been a mill. After eating some apples she’d found along the road, she curled up in a ball on a pile of tattered feed bags, wrapped herself in a wool blanket Myra had found for her and drifted off into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.
Sapphire must have been more tired than she realized because by the time she woke, stiff but refreshed, the shadows inside the old mill were already beginning to lengthen. After eating another apple and half a slice of Mrs. Porter’s bread, she packed up her meager possessions and prepared to set off again. She was just slipping her arms into the woolen barn coat one of the boys in the Thixton stables had given her when she heard something move outside.
Sapphire froze. She wasn’t easily frightened. On the island, she had grown up hearing natives’ tales of spooks and haunts, none of which she feared—but what she did fear was man. It was dangerous for a woman to travel alone and she knew it. She was just hoping her own sense of self-preservation and a little luck would keep her safe.
She heard the sound again: weeds snapping, something brushing against the partially closed door that hung crooked off its old iron hinges. Sapphire held her breath. There was someone out there, but who? Maybe just another traveler looking for a safe place to take shelter.
It was quiet outside again and she slowly exhaled, her heart racing. She heard the snapping noise again. Then a strange sound, almost like a whine.
As a wet, black nose appeared through the crack in the door, Sapphire burst out in relieved laughter. The dog poked its head through the door to look at her almost quizzically.
She laughed again and crouched down. “Hey there, boy,” she said, putting out her hand.
The small, round-barreled, brown and white spotted hound squeezed through the opening in the door, wiggling its stumpy tail. Halfway to Sapphire, it stopped and regarded her cautiously. The dog was thin and homeless…like she was.
Smiling, Sapphire reached into her canvas bag and drew out the other half of a slice of bread she’d been saving for the next day. The dog came at once, tail wagging excitedly, and she laughed as he took the bread from her hand and wolfed it down. After licking every last crumb from her hand, the dog looked up expectedly.
“I’m sorry,” she said, patting his head. “That’s all I have.” She showed him both of her hands. “See, all gone. Now, go on, shoo.” She made a motion with her hands to chase him out the door, but he only wagged his tail more and danced around her.
She slipped through the narrow opening in the doorway, out into the cool early-evening air. The dog followed, but she noticed that it was limping. “What’s wrong?” She crouched down, wondering if the animal would let her look at his sore leg or take a bite out of her. It didn’t seem vicious, so she carefully lifted the injured paw. “You poor thing. You’ve got a thorn in there.” A black thorn protruded from the dog’s pad. “No wonder you’re limping.” Carefully, Sapphire extracted the long thorn. “That should make you feel better.”
The dog licked the paw and then her hand.
“Good boy,” she said, walking away.
The dog followed.
“No, you can’t go with me,” she told him, and she went a long way before she looked back to find the dog still trotting after her. “No. Absolutely not. Go home. Go anywhere.”
She turned, walking backward to watch him, unable to stop smiling. He was so ugly he was cute.
“Dog, you can’t go with me. The last thing I need is you trailing after me. I don’t even know where I’m going,” she explained. “I don’t have enough food for us both and I don’t have much money.”
The hound whined in response and continued up the road.
Sapphire turned, walking forward again, and glanced over her shoulder every once in a while at the hound who seemed to be walking a little better on the injured paw. “So you’re loyal, are you?” she asked him after a mile or two. “Better than someone else I can think of.”
Again, she got a whine and a tail wag.
“Utterly devoted, just like Aunt Lucia’s Mr. Stowe.” She stopped on the hard-beaten dirt road and crouched down again. The hound came to her at once, and this time he licked her hands and tried to lick her face when she got too close.
“All right, all right. So you love me, do you?” She frowned. “At least someone does.” She scratched him behind a ragged ear that had been torn at some point. The wound had healed ages ago but had left him with a broad scar. “So you love me for who I am, do you, Stowe?”
The dog wagged its tail faster, seeming to like his new name.
“All right,” she said, standing up. “But we’re headed south and I don’t know for where, and I don’t know how long I’ll be able to feed you because I’m guessing you don’t eat apples.”
