Raft of Stars by Andrew Graff (good books for high schoolers .txt) 📕

of the boulder. Beyond her the overturned canoe bobbed heavily in the water. Tiffany saw a paddle near the far shore.

“Are you okay?” Tiffany called, shielding her eyes from the glare on the water.

Miranda coughed as she swam. Tiffany hauled her in. Miranda collapsed on her back in the shallow water, winced. The two women just breathed for a moment. They made it. The angle of the sun made the water they sat in a pool of light.

Tiffany couldn’t remain quiet any longer. “I’ve never experienced anything like that,” she exclaimed. “When that boat went under? Whoosh! I mean—the power of it!” Part of her felt like doing it again. Everything seemed to be so bright right now. The trees were extra golden and green. The river shone like the sun itself, the rapids spraying sparkles of fire and ice. The air smelled so good she could taste it. She could taste rocks and river. She could feel her heart in her chest, the blood in her veins. She took a deep breath and held it in so the oxygen could spin around in her body awhile. “And you,” she said, “you were amazing out there! I didn’t know church girls could cuss like that!”

A red grin crept onto Miranda’s face as she tried to push herself up. She winced and clasped her wrist to her stomach. “I’m a Pentecostal,” she said. “People say we’re enthusiastic.”

Just then the canoe floated past their little pool of light, its bulbous hull floating belly-up in the water. Like an exhausted carp, it nosed onto a rock and lay there. Laughter rose into Miranda’s eyes and mouth. She bowled over and cackled. Tiffany laughed too. It felt wonderful to laugh. It gave the adrenaline a place to go. Tiffany remembered what Burt had said about Pentecostals, but the word seemed less frightening out here, amid the roar of the river, the tall cedars, the expanse of things.

Tiffany watched Miranda wipe her eyes and lift her face to the sunlight. She was praying, Tiffany knew, speaking a silent poem to it all. After a time, a lone cloud passed. Miranda cradled her wrist against her stomach and frowned downriver, and Tiffany knew the woman was thinking about her son again.

Thirteen

CAL’S SORE TAILBONE FORCED HIM TO STAND MORE HEAVILY IN the stirrups, which helped him move as one with the horse rather than as an accessory to it. In all, he began to feel less like a saddlebag, physically at least. They had moved slowly during the night, and Teddy had been good enough to take the reins of Cal’s horse and lead it directly behind his own through the dark. For the first several hours, Cal rode in a ducked position and felt the branches brush over his back. It made him feel like a child being led on a pony ride, but the maintenance of his tailbone mattered much more than his pride at the moment. One more fall on that thing and he would be thoroughly out of commission. Eventually—lost in the darkness and branches and sound of hooves—Cal closed his eyes and dozed.

When dawn arrived, the air was cool and the sky vivid. Cal opened his eyes to horsehide, and lifted them toward orange spires shooting up and breaking apart the purple sky. To his left, the river ran like a sliver of light through the trees. The conifers awoke and filled the forest with musk. Cal smacked his lips and wanted water. He had horsehair on his tongue. Teddy rode ahead of him, still holding the reins.

“How long was I sleeping?” Cal asked, slightly embarrassed. He reached for his canteen.

“Didn’t know you were” came the reply. Ted turned and smiled, bags under his red eyes, and tossed Cal’s reins back to him. As the morning turned to day, they were able to spur the horses into a canter from time to time. When the shoreline grew too thick, they followed deer trails and creek beds. They weaved between white pines. Cal noticed the landscape begin to change. The thick underbrush and river marshes opened into meadows that grew wider and larger, the edges bordered with wild blueberries and poplar slashings.

Jacks jogged wildly along with the horses, bolting now and again after a squirrel or rabbit. The dog had refused to leave his toy cat behind, so Cal stuffed it into his saddlebag so Jacks could run and breathe without his mouth stuffed. He smiled at the thought, and then smiled at his smiling. Cal hated to admit it, but he was beginning to enjoy being out in this forest, up here in the Northwoods, in the Land of the Beaver. It smelled good. It filled the lungs with pine and river. The forest itself seemed to breathe. Cal exhaled. He still had to concentrate on riding, but he could see himself getting into this woodsman’s life, maybe learning to hunt with a bow, one of those recurve jobs with cedar arrows and feathers hanging from the quiver. He could wear moccasins, carry a bowie knife. He shook his head. That was too much. But there was grace out here, a mercy of sorts. Being led on the horse made him feel like a child, but being led by Teddy allowed him to accept it in some new way. The whole forest seemed to be giving Cal a nod, telling him he was okay, where he was, as he was, a sheriff without a gun, missing a boot. It was enough. It was plenty.

The sun rose high overhead, and the day grew warm. They emerged from beneath a canopy of hemlock into a sun-filled meadow bordered by immature hardwoods. Teddy drew his horse to a slow walk. It shivered its hide at a mosquito, switched its tail.

“You hungry?” Teddy asked, stepping down from his horse in one smooth movement.

“I could eat.” Cal closed his eyes and tilted his head up at the sun. After missing last night’s supper, now even