Sierra's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Sierra slept in the tent by the hearth, but she woke before dawn. The hens meant the owner would come back. She could not be found asleep in a stranger's home, warm and fed on their food. So she made a plan. She would not hide. She would work, and let her work speak for her. She hauled water, split kindling, and fed the thin hens their scraps. If the owner came, they would see a person who had earned her keep, not a thief. By midmorning she heard footsteps on the plank porch. The door scraped open. An old woman stood in the light, small, in a purple sweater and a flowered skirt. Round glasses sat on her nose. She carried a cloth sack of feed. Her eyes moved from the fire to the tent to Sierra, and her hand tightened on the sack. "Who let you in my house?" the woman asked. Sierra kept her hands open and low. "Nobody. The door was unlocked. I thought the cottage was empty. I found your hens hungry, so I fed them. I split wood too. I'll go if you want." The woman set down the sack. She walked to the coop and looked at the hens pecking full crops. She touched the neat pile of split kindling. She said nothing for a long moment. "I'm Ethal," she said at last. "I've kept those birds nine years. My knees don't let me carry feed like I used to." She looked at the trench of ash Sierra had cleaned from the hearth. "You've done more here in one night than I manage in a week." "I'm Sierra. I'm sorry. I had two energy bars and a tarp. The cold came fast." Ethal studied her. "City legs," she said. "But you work. I can see that." She lowered herself into a chair by the fire. "I don't need much. But I can't split my own wood anymore. Stay through the cold months. Carry the feed. Keep the hearth. Earn your place, and the beans are yours too." Sierra's shoulders dropped. She had braced to be driven back into the woods. Instead she had a roof, a name for the woman, and a bargain. "There's a ridge east of here," Sierra said. "Nobody's crossed it. I mean to map a way over." Ethal laughed. "That slope? Men have broken legs trying. But you'll want a base to come home to." She pointed at the tent by the fire. "That'll do for now." So Sierra stayed. She had a home and an ally. But that night Ethal spoke of her son's old mine in the hills, its mouth choked with fallen rock, and the crystals still glittering inside where no one dared go. The ridge Sierra wanted lay just beyond it. To reach the east slope, she would have to pass the blocked mine first.