Read Under a Painted Sky for Free Online Page B

grown quite fond of it.”
    â€œThat’s yours to keep, Henry.” Mr. Trask’s tawny eyes twinkled. “Sold the store, now I’m off to see the Pacific Ocean. That coast is ready to explode. Dreams are ripe for the picking in all that sunshine.” He grabbed his red suspenders and straightened his back, always managing to look taller than Father, though they were both a hand under six foot.
    â€œI’m leading a train of seven. You ever think about heading west, Henry?” he asked.
    Father turned his gaze on me, sweeping up coffee beans. “I think about it a lot.”
    Mr. Trask and his wagon train stayed in town three more nights as they waited their turn on the ferry. He and Father went to Belly’s Tavern every night after we closed up shop.
    On the last night, Father removed Mother’s bracelet from our wooden safe and fingered the many-colored jade stones in the circlet. It was so dear, we’d bought the safe especially for it.
    I looked up from my Latin reader in alarm. “What are you doing?”
    After a long pause, he dropped the bracelet into a velvet pouch. Then he held the pouch in his hand, his eyes far away for a moment.
    When he tucked the pouch into his pocket, I protested, “You’re not selling it? That’s the only thing we have left. That
is
her. You’re giving away Mother?”
    He ignored my disrespect. “You will see it again one day. Your mother would understand.”
    â€œHow would you know?” I huffed.
    He buttoned up his coat, then collected his walking stick. Before he left, he said in a voice more sorrowful than angry, “It is not for children to question parents.”
    That was the end of February, eighteen days ago.
    I tell Annamae about Mr. Trask.
    â€œSo what did your daddy want to do out there in California?”
    â€œI don’t know, exactly.” I press my fingers into my hard head. “He tried to tell me, but I was still mad about the bracelet and wouldn’t listen.”
    â€œSo after you find this Mr. Trask, maybe he’ll help you out. Look after you?”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œThat’s a comfort. Girl like you shouldn’t be out by you’self.”
    â€œNor a girl like you.” Something pokes my heel. I stop to shake a pebble out of my boot. She offers me her arm.
    â€œOh, I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. Practically a man already.” She snorts. “You don’t have to worry about me. So what’s this Mr. Trask look like?”
    â€œA few inches taller than you. Head like a nest with an ostrich egg in the middle, mustache, and a beaky kind of a nose. He always wore red suspenders and a white shirt. Not exactly the kind of man who stands out.”
    â€œWell, my brother
is
the kinda man who stands out, tall as a lamppost, and good-looking, like his sister”—she smiles—“but unlike your Mr. Trask, he won’t be just strolling pretty. You know the way to California?”
    â€œFollow the Oregon Trail to the California Trail, is all I know.”
    We trudge along.
    â€œMaybe you’ll find some folks who can help. I’ll go far as I can with you. But soon’s I find out where Harp Falls is, I’ve gotta be on my way. Could be tomorrow, could be next month.”
    â€œI understand.” An anxious bubble forms in my stomach. I’ve known Annamae for less than a day, yet I feel bonded to her in the way common suffering can knit two souls together. Or maybe it’s just my small spleen talking. People with small spleens are notoriously cowardly.
    â€œYou know any hymns?” asks Annamae.
    â€œSure. ‘God of Our Fathers.’ ‘Glory Be.’”
    â€œDon’t know those. You know ‘Chains of Mis’ry’? ‘Moses Split the Tide’?”
    â€œNo.”
    She scratches her neck and her forehead crimps. I’m about to suggest we might have better luck