Walk on Earth a Stranger Read Online Free

revealing feet that are bare, even in winter—He must have outgrown his boots again. His face is framed by thick, black hair and a long, straight Cherokee nose he got from his mama. An old bruise yellows the sharp line of his cheekbone.
    He sees me, and waves a bit of paper. He extricates himself from the girls and meets me halfway, at the entrance to the small white clapboard that serves as our schoolhouse. The girls eye me warily, but they don’t follow.
    â€œIt’s
gold
, Lee,” he blurts before I can open my mouth to ask. “Discovered in California.”
    My stomach turns over hard. “You’re sure?”
    He hands me a newspaper cutout. It’s already smudged from too many fingers, and it’s dated December 5, 1848—morethan a month ago.
    â€œPresident Polk announced it to Congress. So it has to be true.”
    Thoughts and feelings tumble around too hard and fast for me to put a name to them. I sink down on to the slushy steps, not caring that my second-best skirt will get soaked, and I rub hard at my chin. Gold is everywhere. At least a little bit of it. How much gold would it take for the president to make a special announcement?
    â€œLee?” he says. “What are you thinking?” His usually serious eyes blaze with fever, a look I know all too well. A look that might be mirrored in my own eyes.
    â€œI’m thinking you’re going to head west, along with this whole town.” That’s why everyone’s so somber. Dahlonega was built on a gold rush of its own, and every child for miles will understand that change is coming, whether they want it to or not.
    He plunks down beside me, resting his forearms on skinny knees that practically reach his ears. “They’re saying the land over there is so lush with gold you can pluck it from the ground. Someone like me could . . .”
    Silence stretches between us. He hates giving voice to the thing that hurts his heart most; he hardly even talks about it to me. Jefferson is the son of a mean Irish prospector and a sweet Cherokee mama who fled with her brothers ten years ago when the Indians were sent to Oklahoma Territory. Not a soul in Dahlonega blamed her one bit, even though she left her boy with his good-for-nothing da.
    So when Jefferson says “someone like me,” he means “a stupid, motherless Injun,” which is one of the dumber things people call Jefferson, if you ask me, because he’s the smartest boy I know.
    â€œDaddy will want to go,” I whisper at last. And I want to go too, to be honest. Gold is in my blood, in my breath, even in my eyes, and I love it the same way Jefferson’s da loves his moonshine.
    But, Lord, I’m weary. Weary of trying to be as good to Daddy as three sons, weary of working as hard as any man, weary of the other girls scorning me. And I’m weary of bearing this troubled soul, of knowing things could go very badly if someone learned about my gold-witching ways. If we moved west, to a place where there was still gold to be had, it would start all over again, harder and more troublesome than before.
    Then again, maybe California is a place where a witchy girl like me wouldn’t need an explanation for finding so much gold. Maybe it’s a place where we can finally be rich.
    â€œDa will want to go,” Jefferson says. “But we don’t have enough money to put an outfit together. Look at this.”
    He unfolds the newspaper, and the bottom of the article is a list of all the items a family needs to go west: four yoke of oxen, a wagon, a mule, rifles, pistols, five barrels of flour, four hundred pounds of bacon . . .
    â€œThat’d cost more than six hundred dollars,” I say.
    â€œFor a family of three, like yours. But even one person needs at least two hundred.” He shakes his head. “There’sgot to be a different way.”
    I know from his tone, as surely as I know Mama’s locket doesn’t