Soul of a Crow by Abbie Williams

windows,” I said, recalling the phrasing of one such letter. Inevitably we circled back to the idea of winter; Jacob was a descriptive writer, prone to excessive detail. For the countless time, I found myself anxiety-ridden, speculating just what Jacob Miller would think of my unexpected presence; Boyd kept his uncle well informed, and he was insistent that Jacob and Hannah would welcome all of us with open arms, but I was still apprehensive to meet them. As I told Sawyer, I would be content to forgo homesteading and roam the prairie for the rest of our days, as long as he was at my side.
    Malcolm declared, “I aim to throw a snowball, that’s what.”
    â€œAnd catch a fish bigger than you,” Sawyer teased the boy. “Boyd, you recall the catfish in Sutter’s Creek that was known to eat boys in one gulp?”
    Boyd laughed, reining Fortune so that they could ride alongside Sawyer and Whistler. A smoke dangled between his lips; he spoke around it to reply, “For certain. Goddamn thing. Tried to snatch itself a piece of my foot, on occasion.”
    â€œDaddy said it might snatch itself our winks, if we didn’t stop swimming bare-naked,” Malcolm giggled, prompting everyone’s laughter.
    â€œShit, I believe I just been insulted,” Boyd said, still grinning. “My wink’s big enough that no catfish would ever mistake it for food, thank you kindly.”
    Sawyer said with mock solemnity, “I’d like to think the same, of mine.”
    â€œYou-all wish! I seen you twos in your nothings-on,” Malcolm cried, taking great joy in teasing them, and Boyd reached and flicked a finger beneath the brim of his little brother’s hat, setting it sailing; the boy had not latched his chin strap, as it was a windless day. I could not stop laughing.
    Malcolm yelped and halted Aces to retrieve it; as he rejoined us he said, with an air of slight disdain, “Besides, that catfish was just a legend, Uncle Malcolm told me.”
    I teased affectionately, “This from the boy who believes in hoop snakes with all his heart.”
    â€œLorie! I can’t tell you again, them things are real!” the boy insisted, dark eyebrows lofted high. He peered at me from beneath the brim of his newly-resettled hat.
    â€œBut not a man-eating catfish?” I pestered, smiling at him.
    He pursed his lips and squinted one eye at me in the way he had, replying, “No, but I done heard of a bird in the North that eats children. Flies down an’ swoops ’em up in his talons.”
    â€œPerhaps like those?” Sawyer asked in all seriousness, though I caught the note of teasing in his voice. We all looked upwards, where he was indicating, at a pair of wide-winged birds gliding on an updraft, crisp and black against the deep blue backdrop of the sky.
    Malcolm whooped, and both Aces and Juniper shied at the unexpected sound, snorting and stomping. He yelped, “Run for cover! Lorie, get down !” He heeled Aces and cantered ahead, still shouting for all he was worth, as though in pursuit of the birds; he took aim with an imaginary pistol, and I could see the bunching of the horse’s muscular flanks as he flowed smoothly into a gallop. Malcolm’s already-lively imagination had been much stimulated since the night the catamounts bounded through our camp.
    I changed the subject, taking up an earlier conversation, “Do you believe we’ll be able to purchase land upon arrival?”
    â€œWe’ll apply immediately,” Sawyer said. “The purchase will be determined upon approval of our application. And that’s where it becomes a fair amount sketchy for us, as former soldiers. We’ve taken up arms against the United States government, officially, and therefore might not be granted permission by the Act of ’sixty-two, though Gus was certain that it wouldn’t be so strictly enforced any longer.”
    â€œWe’ll pray