Walk on Earth a Stranger by Rae Carson Page B

open road. I pull Peony up short.
    If I take the road, I risk being seen by someone who knows me. If I keep to the thick woods, I can’t go fast enough to outrun Hiram.
    With a kick and a “Hi-yah!” I urge my horse into a gallop. I refuse to look back.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
    ..................................................................
Chapter Nine
    P eony and I fly down the road. The wind sweeps my hat from my head so that it flaps like a sail at my back, the chin strap strangling my neck. The icy air on my face makes the corners of my eyes tear. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m leaving home forever, as fast as I possibly can.
    We reach the fork, and Peony slows, sides heaving. She noses toward the familiar route into Dahlonega. I steer her left, on to Ellijay Road, but she tosses her head and veers right again. “Please don’t fight me, girl. Not today.” When she feels the reins against her neck a second time, she gives in.
    I resist the urge to spur her back into a gallop. Though she pulls our wagon almost every day, I haven’t been running her regularly. I need to take care of her if she’s to stay sound all the way to California.
    But this is precious, precious time; the only part of my journey when I can put distance between myself and Hirambefore he realizes I’ve run away. Which means I’ll have to run Peony again once she cools off. I’ll have to.
    The most dangerous part of the journey is close to home
.
    â€œWe might make Prince Edward by dark if we hurry,” I explain, my voice sounding hollow and lonely in the empty winter woods. “Daddy’s been there.”
    My plan is simple: stay on the big road until I get to an even bigger road, and head off into the woods if I see someone familiar. If I’m lucky—very lucky—the gathering at the courthouse will last a while, leaving the road empty.
    An hour passes. I urge Peony into a gallop again. This time, she pulls up even sooner, and I dismount to walk beside her for a spell, giving her a chance to rest.
    I feel smaller when I’m not on Peony’s back. Smaller, lonelier, colder. The woods loom to either side, dotted with adjoining paths that all look the same—gloomy tunnels through leafless forest, barely wider than deer trails. What if I’ve missed an important turn? I hope I’m going in the right direction.
    Any direction is better than back, I tell myself firmly. Soon enough, with the sun low and me still not home, Hiram will realize I’m gone. He might be searching already. I did my best to misdirect him toward the sea route, but what if it wasn’t enough? There could be men on the road right now, pattyrollers or borrowed miners, coming to ride me down. Maybe they’ll ambush me, bursting out of one of these silent, gloomy trails.
    I can’t help myself; I swing back into Peony’s saddle andurge her forward. She tosses her head in protest. “It’s just a few days of hard travel. Once we’re out of Georgia, we can slow down a little.” I reach down and pat her neck. Even in the fading light, she’s a beautiful animal, with a shimmery golden coat and a flaxen mane and tail.
    â€œPeony,” I say, pulling her up and sliding off again. “We’ve got a problem.”
    Everyone for miles knows “Lucky’s palomino.” She’s even more recognizable than I am, with a coat bright enough to shine in the twilit gloom. I whip off my gloves and stash them in my pocket. With my bare hands, I shove aside some slushy snow and scoop up the mud beneath it. When I lift it toward Peony’s neck, she twists her head away.
    â€œSorry, girl, but everyone knows that pretty coat of yours.”
    Working fast, I smear mud down the side of her neck. She nips the space near my ear in warning. That’s the thing about Peony—She’s sweet most of the time, but if you do