Ashes by Laurie Halse Anderson Page B

Ruth.
    She looked at me with pity, as if my ears did not properly work. “It’s coming closer. Sounds like a nice donkey.”
    A voice bellowed from the woods: an exuberant, loud, comforting voice. “Is anyone to home?”

CHAPTER XIV

Monday, September 3–Saturday, September 8, 1781
    T HE GENERAL DOES NOT MEAN TO DISCOURAGE THE PRACTICE OF BATHING . . . ; BUT HE EXPRESSLY FORBIDS, ANY PERSONS DOING IT, AT OR NEAR THE B RIDGE IN C AMBRIDGE, WHERE IT HAS BEEN OBSERVED AND COMPLAINED OF, THAT MANY M EN, LOST TO ALL SENSE OF DECENCY AND COMMON MODESTY, ARE RUNNING ABOUT NAKED UPON THE B RIDGE, WHILST P ASSENGERS . . . ARE PASSING OVER IT . . . : T HE G UARDS AND C ENTRIES AT THE B RIDGE, ARE TO PUT A STOP TO THIS PRACTICE FOR THE FUTURE.
    â€“G ENERAL O RDERS OF G EORGE W ASHINGTON
    R UTH MOVED ACROSS THE HOVEL on her backside and sat in the doorway.
    â€œDonkey,” she said to me. “Told you.”
    Curzon emerged into the clearing very slowly, tugging behind him a reluctant donkey attached to a small cart. He didn’t look any worse for having been gone from us for a week; indeed, he looked better, smiling easily and seeming quite pleased with himself.
    â€œEgads!” he exclaimed at the sight of Ruth. “Lazarus is a lass.”
    I helped her to her feet as Curzon brought the donkey closer. The astonishment and joy in his face had me grinning like a fool.
    â€œHer fever broke on the third day and the cut is beginning to heal,” I said. “Where did you–”
    â€œIt’s a long story,” Curzon said in a rush. “But I’ve got apples, bread, and cheese in the cart, enough to feed us all for days.”
    The possibilities all of this offered us–plentiful food and a way to transport Ruth–cheered me more than anything had in ages. “That is the finest boon I’ve ever seen.”
    â€œWhat’s a boon?” Ruth asked.
    â€œA boon is a nice thing that makes Isabel smile,” Curzon said. He chuckled and tugged on the lead rope.
    The shock of seeing him again, along with the sound of his laughter, set my belly to wiggling, as if toads had begun hopping within it.
    â€œDon’t pull so hard,” Ruth scolded Curzon. “He don’t like that.”
    â€œConsarned beast thinks I am the Devil,” Curzon answered cheerfully. “Mayhaps he’ll like you better.”
    Ruth tilted her head and looked the donkey over like a fine lady measuring the worth of a racehorse. To me the poor thing looked like a collection of sticks wrapped in a moth-eaten hide.
    â€œWhat’s his name?” she asked.
    â€œHe wouldn’t tell me.” Curzon took a small sack from the back of the cart. “He is fond of biting folks. We could call him Gator.”
    He pulled an apple from the sack and handed it to Ruth. Instead of eating it herself, she set it on her palm and slowly extended her hand, offering the treat to the donkey. The creature gave a great snort before biting into the apple.
    â€œYou’ve already captured his heart!” Curzon said. “Every time I try to do that, he bites my fingers.”
    Ruth regarded the creature with a practiced eye. “His name is Thomas.”
    â€œThomas Donkey?” I suggested.
    â€œDon’t be silly,” Ruth said. “Thomas Boon.”
    Â Â *  *  *  
    While we feasted, Curzon shared all the news he’d gathered. We had indeed reached Virginia, where the British army had treated the countryside wickedly for months, burning crops and stealing livestock. Curzon thought we’d best make for Richmond, the new capital of the state. We could seek work for the winter there and push farther north come spring. I argued for traveling on to Philadelphia and finding work with the Quakers.
    Our destination remained undetermined, but we agreed that we needed to move.
    To travel with a cart, we needed to travel by road. That meant we ought make