May tossed in her hard bed in the wagon. It was too hot in here to sleep, and besides, she wasn't feeling sleepy anyway. Quietly, she got up and stole gently across the wagon bed and out into the cool night air. She padded down to the water's edge and sat down in the soft grass. For the first time that day May felt as if she could breathe.
It was a clear, cool night, and May turned her face up to the velvet sky. The stars seemed so close tonight, so real, as if she could reach up and touch any one of them. May tried to imagine what touching a star would be like. Cold, like ice, she thought, but it would burn and tingle, too. Fiery ice. May looked up at the sky and imagined strumming the stars with her fingertips. Just like harp strings, she imagined. They would probably make music, too, clear and haunting and ancient, just like the sky itself. Singing stars. May closed her eyes and smiled.
There was a noise from the wagon. Glancing over her shoulder, May saw her father leave the wagon. His lamp made eerie shadows in the grass as he strode off toward Mister Bolger's wagon. Wonder what he's up to? May thought.
She laid back on the soft hill of dirt she was sitting on. As much as she'd tried to forget the day's events, the images kept playing themselves over and over in her mind. And Adelard's sneering face was right in the middle of them.
~~~
It had started after the forest episode. Adelard was in a nasty mood the next day (surprise, surprise), and determined that someone should pay for "dragging him off into the forest and injuring his innocent person." He demanded that whoever was responsible should be forced to care for him until his was sufficiently recovered from his illness. And yes, of course. Mayflower Chubb was entirely responsible for the entire mishap.
Or so Adelard was convinced.
And what could her mother and father do? She
had been irresponsible, and she
should be punished. Besides, the Proudfoots were a very wealthy family!
May was furious, to say the least. Any sympathy she had felt for the Proudfoot boy had vanished when his stood, face purple with rage, pointing an accusing finger at her, and yelling about what an injustice she had caused him. No, May was not pleased at all.
And right now May was quite convinced that she hated Addy Proudfoot. With all her heart she hated every inch of his fat, stuck-up self.
May got up and returned to the cart.