Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga by D.A. Randall (ebook e reader .txt) 📕

We arrived at the clothier and stepped up onto its stoop. The store sign suddenly flipped over to show it now closed as the front door slammed.

Papa held my hand and stood in the empty street, staring at the shop door.

The sign above the door read: Clothier de Denue. I never knew Jacque’s father sold clothes.

He must have heard about what happened. Now he wouldn’t speak to us, out of shame. Or fear.

Papa’s hand tightened on mine. His

moustache twitched as he clenched his jaw, before 22

he turned me away from the closed door. “Come on, Helena.”

I glanced back at the shop. An eye peered out from a crack in the window shutter. Then it disappeared. “We’re not getting a dress?”

“Your mother can make you a quick one, perhaps by tomorrow. We’ll ask Doctor Renoire to let us keep these clothes another week. We’re going to see Francois.”

My heart soared. “Oh, thank you, Papa!” I nearly threw my arms around him. Then I slowed myself to hug him without upsetting the pain in my ribs. He knew I needed to visit Francois, especially today. Sometimes Francois was the only person who could make me feel safe. Especially when I remembered the wolf.

Papa marched to the wagon without a word. He studied the noonday sun. He never let me travel all the way from La Rue Sauvage to Francois’ cabin this late in the day, for fear of being out after dark. He never felt anything was worth that risk. We had to hurry.

I tightened my burlap cloak against a draft, scraping my bruises. I glanced back at the shop to see the eye staring at me again before it vanished.

Jacque Denue’s father was smart to stay hidden.

Papa was no coward.

But why didn’t he even knock on the door when we both knew Monsieur Denue was there?

Why didn’t he kick the door open and make him give me a new dress for the way his son treated me?

Why wouldn’t anyone help me?

23

3.

As our wagon rolled up the muddy path to his cabin, I spotted Francois chopping wood outside and smiled. I loved watching his strong arms hammer down on a log with his silver ax. He was a burly man with a round belly and a scraggly beard that crinkled up in a grin whenever he saw me. A wave of warm sunshine bathed me from inside. For the first time since I saw him last month, I felt as though nothing could harm me.

Papa tugged Royale to a stop. I wanted to scramble down from the wagon without waiting 24

for permission. But the pain in my side and my legs nearly slowed me to a halt. “Easy, Helena,”

Papa said.

I hobbled over to Francois as fast as I could, ready for him to scoop me up into his broad arms like always. He thumped his ax into the wood and hurried to me with a fat smile. “Well, well, Helena! What brings you all the way out here?” he boomed. He frowned upon seeing me limp and the pants I now wore. “What happened?”

I started to tell him, but I couldn’t. I fell against him and wept, letting my itchy cloak fall to the mud.

He hoisted me into the air, but didn’t swing me around in a big circle. Instead, he cradled me like a bear holding a tiny cub. I nuzzled against his warm chest, covered with wooden chips and dust.

He patted my back and hugged me. With his heavy arms, who needed a cloak? “It’s all right, Mademoiselle. It’s all right.”

“Some boys in the village,” I blubbered.

“They chased me and hit me and wouldn’t stop.”

“Andre Denue’s son and some of his friends,” Papa said, striding up from behind. “He wouldn’t even open his door to let us buy a new dress. These are from Doctor Renoire’s son.”

I sniffed and swiped a tear from my cheek, brushing one of my triple scars. “They called me a monster.”

Francois’ hands clenched against my back, then relaxed. “You’re no monster. You