Kris Read Online Free Page B

lowering my bottom eyelid as he searched. I knew what he was looking for. But the signs of the plague are not always left on the body. He saw nothing but the story of my misery in the tears that never spilled from my eyes.
    â€œI have a horse.”
    â€œThen you’ll work his keep off too.”

    We didn’t beat the blizzard. Gerda didn’t have a sprint left in her. Slowing his pace to ours, I would have thought Josef was endangering everyone on his wagon if he didn’t give off the impression of unquestionable control. The last few stretches of land were the most difficult as the road all but disappeared. Despite the last span of days, Gerda seemed to know that a true rest was just ahead and, though not fast, she kept a modest pace.
    The world was nearly an impenetrable blur of white by the time we deposited each of the apprentices at their homes. Jonas’s family was so relieved when they greeted him at the door. Hugs and kisses.
    â€œPlease come in! It’s safer to stay!” they hollered over the deafening wind. Josef waved them off with a polite refusal. Marcus’s father met him at the door with a pat on the shoulder and a simple nod at Josef. No one welcomed Noel home.
    The carpentry shop and Josef’s home were connected, though I couldn’t tell how large they were from the outside. I couldn’t even tell how he located the building until it was right in front of me. We put the horses up before we went to the main house.
    The barn had been mucked out and was just roomy enough for all three horses. We lit the corner stove, though it didn’t quite warm the whole space. I cried when we liberated Gerda from her harness. As we removed each piece, the terrible toll on her body was revealed as was the horrible injustice done by me. There were minor cuts and abrasions from the sheer toil of our hard journey. But the worst, almost too difficult to look at, were the gashes created by the tackle and straps. The breaching, the girth, and the tug had all cut deep wounds through her skin and into the muscle beneath. When we removed the breast collar, without the pressure, blood flowed freely down the front of her legs.
    â€œHow long has she sat in harness?” Josef demanded. “More than seven days?”
    Tears welled in my eyes. I couldn’t bring myself to answer.
    â€œGrab that sack and the bucket of water.”
    I quickly complied and started to let her drink.
    â€œThat water is cold. She’ll drink better if you make it warm. The cold water will help to stop the bleeding. Grab another bucket and go outside. There is plenty of snow for you to heat over the fire.”
    When I returned and had set the water on the stove, he called me to his side. He took two huge handfuls of what looked to be finely ground salt from the sack and poured them into the cold bucket of water, mixing it with his hands. Suddenly he grabbed my hands and immersed them in the freezing brine, holding them under.
    â€œGrab the salt. Grab it in your hands,” he commanded.
    I did as I was told. Slowly he pulled my hands from the bucket and placed them on her wounded body. A salted wound can be a terrible pain, so immediately I drew back.
    â€œHer suffering cannot be ignored. You will find that the salted water pains her less than water alone and will begin her healing.”
    Josef ran our hands all over her body, guiding them into her deepest injuries.
    â€œRid the wound of any dirt and debris. Flush it out. Don’t leave anything, even a piece of her own flesh.”
    Again I recoiled, pulling back. But he firmly held my hands as I cried, pushing them through the cuts and over the abrasions. The flick of her ears and tail, and the deep laboring of her breath were the only signs of her discomfort. And as I worked along her side, I could feel her lean into me, just lightly.
    Though I was not conscious of it, cleansing the atrocities done to her body was a form of purging for me, a