by Holly Webb
“Noah wrote that you were sad because your calf was sold,” she murmured. “And that you stood on his foot and it swelled up, but he thought you probably didn’t mean to.”
The horses’ ears flickered again, and Amelia stepped back as one of them stamped and snorted.
“Did I scare you?” she whispered.
But the horses weren’t paying her any attention now – they were looking eagerly towards the door. Amelia turned to look, too, and heard footsteps crunching through the snow.
“Someone’s coming!” she hissed. She looked wildly around the stable, trying to see if there was somewhere in the shadows she could hide. But the stable was tiny – all she could see was a tangle of harnesses hanging up in the corner. She crouched behind it hurriedly, hoping that whoever was coming wouldn’t stay long.
She peered round the harnesses as the door opened and a boy who looked a couple of years older than she was dashed in, banging his mittened hands together against the cold. A tall, bearded man followed him inside, wearing a fur hat just like the one Amelia had found in the attic.
“I swear it’s freezing harder than ever out there,” the boy said, as he wedged the door half open with a chip of wood.
Amelia tried not to lean out too far from behind the harnesses, but she was so desperate to listen to them talking. The boy sounded American, but not like on television, she thought, frowning. Different – harder to understand. Maybe like people talked in America a hundred and fifty years ago… And they both definitely had old-fashioned clothes – great clunky leather boots and woollen coats. Amelia peered through the dimness in the stable and swallowed. The coat the boy was wearing, that was the coat with the wooden buttons from the trunk. She recognized the pattern, those big brown checks.
“Hey, Ruby, hey, Russet. Good girl, Lucy. Brought your hay, look.” The boy bustled around the stable, filling the nets with fresh hay, while the man – his father, Amelia guessed – swept up the soiled straw on the floor. Amelia shrank back as far behind the harnesses as she could, pulling up some straw around her knees. The boy looked quite friendly – he had dark, floppy hair like Tom’s, but his eyes were softer, blue instead of brown. He looked – nicer. Maybe it was just that whenever Amelia saw Tom he was being sneery about people who were scared of dogs. But however kind the boy was, his father seemed stern. He had a black beard, and huge black eyebrows that made him look as though he was scowling. He didn’t seem to talk much either.
The boy was petting the horses, and murmuring to them as he refilled their water buckets, and the man clapped him gently on the shoulder. “I’ll go back and chop the wood, Noah. Come and help me when you’ve finished the stable work, you hear? I’ll need the chips picking up.”
“Yes, Pa.”
Noah watched his father stride away between the snowdrifts, and sighed. “I’ve got to go out and check on the pup, though. Maybe Pa won’t notice how long I’ve been.”
Amelia saw him stop petting the horses – his fingers clenched into fists and he shook his head angrily. “I’ve got to keep him fed. And what if he wanders off? If he goes too close to the Wrights’ place, they’ll shoot him. I can’t let that happen. I can’t… I have to help him. I’ve got to keep him alive, however hard it is.” Then he added, in a whisper so low that Amelia could only just hear, “It’s just like last year. I couldn’t save Grace. I’m not letting it happen again…”
Amelia frowned. He had mentioned Grace a few times in the diary – talking about things they’d done together, or how he missed her. Amelia had thought Grace was one of his friends, and maybe she’d moved away. But then he’d talked about Grace being in trouble for tearing her dress, and his ma having to mend it.
So she must have been his sister. Amelia’s stomach twisted as she suddenly realized. Grace was Noah’s sister. His little sister, and she’d died. That was why his voice had been so shaky. Now he was leaning against the nearest horse’s neck to hide that he was crying.
Amelia swallowed. He’d said that Grace was pale and tired, and talked about her coughing all the time. But Amelia had never thought that meant she’d died. Probably it wasn’t that unusual to lose a brother or sister, living out in the woods with no doctor anywhere near. And even if the doctor could get to you, there were no antibiotics, hardly even any painkillers back then. Amelia’s teacher had told her class that it wasn’t that long ago that people thought eating a fried mouse was a good cure for whooping cough.
“But how am I supposed to find enough to feed him? Especially with Pa already watching me like a hawk. I reckon the pup’s been slowly starving these last few days, he’s so hungry,” Noah muttered.
Amelia wrapped her arms round her knees and stared at the boy quietly stroking the horse’s neck. She could do it. She could go and check on the pup for Noah. Except – it was a wolf, and a wolf was an even scarier sort of dog. With bigger teeth, probably. Amelia didn’t go near dogs, ever. She’d only been up in the attic and found the diary because she’d been trying to stay away from a dog!
But why else was she here? If it wasn’t all just a very, very real sort of dream, she’d travelled into the time of Noah’s diary, back nearly a hundred and fifty years and halfway across the world. There had to be a good reason for something like that. Amelia tried to think how she would feel if anything happened to Bella. She couldn’t imagine not having her big sister around. Bella didn’t fuss over Amelia, exactly, but she always looked out for her.
Amelia was pretty sure that Noah had looked out for Grace, too. He must have felt so guilty when there was nothing he could do to help her. Worrying about the wolf pup was bringing all those feelings back.
Amelia pushed the harnesses aside and stood up, a tiny, determined figure in her scarlet hoodie and furry slipper boots. There was straw stuck in her curly black hair, but she didn’t care. She scuffed the floor with her feet, so that the boy heard her and turned round sharply.
Noah gaped at her.
Amelia stared back and tried to smile. “Hello,” she murmured.
“What are you doing?” he said at last. “Where did you come from?” He took a step towards Amelia and reached out, his hand wavering. But he didn’t quite dare to touch her. He drew his hand back, as though he thought she might not be there and that his hand might go right through.
Seeing him almost more scared than she was made Amelia feel braver. She managed more of a smile. “I’m not a ghost, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Then she stopped. “I don’t think so, anyway. I’m definitely alive, but I might be a dream… Or you are – I’m not sure.”
He snorted and folded his arms. “I’m not a dream. How did you get here?”
“I just woke up here.” Amelia shoved her hands into her hoodie pockets, wondering how much to tell him. “I read your diary,” she said slowly. “I don’t really understand how this is happening, but I think I’m supposed to help you with the wolf pup. The one you’ve got hidden in the hollow tree out by the spring.”
Noah glared at her angrily. “You were listening. Eavesdropping. And you can’t have read my diary. It’s in my coat pocket.” He went pink then, as though he realized he shouldn’t have said that.
“I have. You know I have, if you think about it,” Amelia pointed out. “I was listening just now – I couldn’t help it, you were right next to me. But you didn’t say anything about where the wolf was, did you? You think the pup belongs to the wolf that Joshua Wright shot a couple of days ago.” She grinned. “And you think Joshua Wright’s a skinny beanpole with ears like jug handles. You said so.”
There was silence for a moment, while the two of them gazed at each other.
“You did read it…” Noah whispered. “I wrote that.” He stepped closer to her, looking her up and down. He raised one hand and didn’t quite touch her dark curls. “When I first saw you in the corner, I thought you were…” He gulped. “I thought you were Grace. My sister. You know what happened to her, don’t you? If you’ve read the diary.”
Ameli
a nodded. “I think so. I’m so sorry. I haven’t read all of it but I know she died…” Her voice went very small. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what to say to him.
“She had a cough, and it wouldn’t go,” he said slowly. “It got worse, so she could hardly breathe. She couldn’t eat, and she just slept all the time, and she only woke up when she coughed. And then she just didn’t wake up any more. You look like her, a bit. Same size. Same curly hair. But I think you’re older – you sound older.”
“Everyone says I’m small,” she admitted. “I’m nine. My name’s Amelia.”
“Gracie was only six. She’d be seven, now.”
Amelia nodded again. She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“What are you wearing?” he demanded suddenly, and Amelia almost laughed, she was so surprised.
“A hoodie. Does it look strange? I suppose you don’t have them.”
“You’ve got trousers on!” He sounded quite shocked, and Amelia fought not to giggle. “I know. I suppose girls don’t ever wear trousers here.”
“Well, if you’re staying, you can’t wear those things.” He swallowed, and added gruffly, “Suppose I could find you one of Grace’s dresses, if you like. And her cap and shawl. You’ll need them, if you’re coming out in the snow to see the pup.”
“You’d really let me wear her things?” Amelia whispered.
He shrugged. “You look like her,” he said again. “And you’ve come to help. You said so. You know all those things about me, things you shouldn’t be able to know. So someone sent you, they must have done. I wanted help, and I guess you’re it.”
Amelia nodded. He didn’t look all that impressed – and considering how she was with dogs, he was probably right not to be. But like he said, something had brought her here. Some sort of magic from the diary, maybe, or a link passed down through their family.
I suppose Grace was my ancestor, too, Amelia thought sadly. Perhaps I can help him for her.
20th October, 1873
Just writing this quickly while I look in the old trunk for some of Gracie’s clothes. I shouldn’t be, because someone’s waiting for me, but I need to think.
There’s a girl in the stable. I don’t know how she got there, or where she’s come from, but she’s read my diary. This diary. How can that be? I’ve never shown it to anyone. But she knew things about me, and about Grace, and the wolf pup.
The girl – Amelia – says that she doesn’t know how it’s happened, either, but she says she can help with the wolf pup – and I need the help. Should I trust her? I want to, but I think that’s because she looks a little like Grace. She has curls like Grace’s, and the same dark eyes, but her face is rounder. Not so pale and tired-looking. When I first saw her, I wanted to rush and swing her round in the air and make her squeal. I thought she was Grace, hiding so she could jump out at me, but then I remembered that won’t ever happen again.
I’m letting her borrow Grace’s clothes, because hers are all wrong. She’s got trousers on, which isn’t proper for a young lady.
It will be strange to see her in Grace’s brown print dress.
Amelia stood by the side of the cabin, shivering in her hoodie. She should have waited in the stable, where it was warmer and there was less danger of Noah’s mother or father seeing her. But she couldn’t just stay there, hiding in the dark. So she had followed Noah, watching him hurry through the wooden door. She’d heard him say something – to his mother, she supposed. Then Amelia had crept after him, and up to the tiny window. How could she not look? It was another world.
She stood at the side, where she couldn’t be seen from indoors, and peeped carefully through. Noah had gone, upstairs she guessed, but his mother was there, in a dark green print dress and an apron, leaning over a fat, black iron stove.
Was she setting bread to rise, perhaps? Amelia wasn’t sure, but the covered pans she was carrying looked as though they could be bread. Amelia frowned. Her mother made bread sometimes, and Amelia helped. But not every day!
From what she’d read in the diary, the nearest town was a day’s journey away, which meant that Noah’s mother had to make everything. All the food – and probably most of the family’s clothes, too. Now she thought about it, Noah had written that the new shirts his mother had sewn for him weren’t as soft and worn as the old ones. Amelia had a feeling that Noah’s mother didn’t have a sewing machine, not even an old hand-turned one. She would have to take very good care of Grace’s dress, she thought, wondering how long it had taken to stitch together.
Noah’s mother turned away from the stove and Amelia whisked sideways, hoping she hadn’t seen a shadow at the window. She stood pressed against the wooden wall, shivering. Seeing the cabin – such a small space for three people, four until a few months ago – had made her understand that she was actually here.
This was real, it wasn’t just a dream, or one of those school trips where the class dressed up and tried to live like people in the past. She was here, in someone’s real life, for a reason.
“How big is the pup?” Amelia asked, as she followed Noah through the snow. He looked back at her curiously, and she shrugged. “I don’t know very much about wolves. I’ve never seen one for real, I’ve only seen pictures of them.”
Amelia swallowed, tugging Grace’s shawl tighter round her shoulders, and trying not to look as though she was scared. Noah was suspicious enough already. She didn’t want to admit that she was terrified at the thought of meeting a wolf – even a little one. If she could convince Noah that she wasn’t scared, maybe she could convince herself. After all, why had she ended up here, if it wasn’t to help Noah and the pup? There had to be a reason this was all happening – she couldn’t spoil it by being frightened.
“I guess he’d come up to just below your waist,” Noah said, looking at her thoughtfully. “I reckon he’s about three or four months old. He must have been born late in the year. Really late. Usually wolves have their pups in the springtime, so that by the time it’s cold like this, they’re big enough and strong enough to hunt with the rest of the pack. So either he came along late, or he’s the runt of the litter, maybe.”
“The rest of the pack…” Amelia’s voice wavered. “Yes. Wolves hunt in packs, don’t they? So … why’s this wolf all on his own? Are you sure the others aren’t here, too?” She glanced sideways, almost expecting to see dark shapes slinking after them through the trees.
“There is a wolf pack,” Noah explained. “When my pa first built our cabin, a few years back, he’d see them every so often, and close by. But they don’t usually hunt around here any more. Pa says he sees their tracks beyond the river sometimes, but not in this stretch of the woods. Too many hunters like Pa about, you see. Wolves are clever and they’re cautious, too.” He frowned. “Which is why I don’t really understand the mother wolf sniffing around the Wrights’ place.”
Amelia nodded. “Me neither. Why was she all on her own?”
Noah shrugged. “Wolves go off like that sometimes, if they want to start a new pack. But I don’t think that’s what this is. It’s more of an accident, I reckon. She’s got this tiny pup. Maybe the others had to move on to find a fresh hunting ground, and he was too little to go with them, so they both had to stay behind. If she’s been trying to care for the pup, without the rest of the pack to hunt for her, she’s getting desperate. When Joshua shot at her, the pup must have been frightened off. She couldn’t follow him, I suppose, if she was hurt. So she holed up somewhere till she was better.” He frowned. “By the river, maybe. There’s a load of caves up there, and it’s close to where Samson Wright said they were when Joshua shot her. Then by the time she was well enough to look for him, she’d lost the pup’s trail, with the snow falling.”
Amelia was silent for a moment, as they trudged on through the snow. The trees were heavy with it, and the whole forest was eerily quiet. “Would they ever be able to go back to the pack?” she asked. “Are they outcasts forever?”
No
ah looked round, frowning. “I just don’t know. I hope not. I was thinking, if I feed him for a little while, get his strength up so he could travel, and if we find his mother, maybe they’d be able to go after the others.” He sighed, and Amelia saw his shoulders slump. “If, if, if… He might not even be at the hollow tree any more. He could have wandered off again. And how are we going to find his mother? Every time it snows, any tracks she leaves get covered up, too.”
“It doesn’t help that the last person she saw shot her, either,” Amelia said. “She’s not going to be friendly, is she?”
They stared at each other, until Noah saw Amelia’s eyes widen.
“What is it?”
Amelia wrapped her arms round herself, tucking her mittened hands under the shawl to stop them shaking. He was there.
The wolf pup was standing on the path, looking at them hopefully. His ears were pricked up and his eyes looked bright and curious. He scratched at the ground uncertainly with one paw, and looked from Noah to Amelia and back again.
Noah gave a little snort of laughter. The pup couldn’t have asked, Who’s she? any more clearly if he’d spoken out loud. He was used to Noah, but the girl was new, and new was dangerous.
“There he is,” Noah said proudly, nudging her. “Must have heard us talking. He’s a smart one. Look at him, eyeing you up.”
“Yes…” Amelia whispered. The way Noah had been talking about the wolf, calling him a pup, and the runt of the litter, she had hoped that she wouldn’t be scared. He was only a baby, after all.
But the wolf pup’s dark eyes were fixed on her, and she could see him sniffing the air, trying to catch her scent. He didn’t look helpless to Amelia, not at all. He was a hunter – much more frightening than any normal dog she’d hidden from back home. Her fingers twisted in the fringe of the shawl, and she gulped air, trying to breathe away the panicked dizziness inside her.
