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Like a shifting shadow, something flitted through the boy's eyes. Turning toward the river, he tipped his head downstream. "That way."
Watching him, Bree felt uneasy. "What do you mean, that way? Down by the sea?"
"And beyond," he said.
Bree knew a stone wall had gone up between them. He was avoiding her questions. Upset now, she pounced. "What are you trying to hide?"
"Hide?" He looked innocent, but he reminded Bree of a boy she knew who didn't tell the truth.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Michael," he told her.
Michael. Instantly Bree remembered a story in the Bible. When a courageous man named Daniel fasted and prayed, a high-ranking angel named Michael came to help him. But there was something about the way this Michael said his name. It bothered Bree. What was it?
I'm just jumpy, Bree told herself. As she started to ask more questions, the boy shivered. In the changing air Bree felt the cold. Though Michael also had good reason to be cold, she watched him closely.
His next shiver looked real. Grasping his upper arms, he hugged himself against the wind. "Do you have a blanket?" he asked. "Any food?"
Bree jumped to her feet. When she was only a young child her mother had taught her the Irish way. Countless times, Bree had seen her mother offer food, water, and shelter. "Sure, and it's the Lord Himself that we serve," she'd always say. But now a thought flashed through Bree's mind. Whoever this lad is, I don't want to invite him home.
"My mother will loan you some dry clothes," she told Michael.
Even as she spoke, Bree kept watching him. The boy couldn't be much older than she, but he seemed more grown-up. More sure of himself. Bree wondered about it.
Then her family's habit of hospitality won out. "I'll get you something to eat."
Michael nodded. He trembled now, and his teeth chattered.
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Walking quickly, Bree crossed a nearby pasture and climbed over a stone wall. Beyond were a grass-covered hill and then the oak forest. Partway up the hill, Bree suddenly changed direction. Not even to herself could she explain why.
Instead of taking the shortest route home, Bree headed for a rise where trees grew close together. When she reached a place where she could slip out of sight, she looked back.
Michael still sat at the edge of the river, huddled against the cold. Even from where she stood, Bree saw the trembling in his shoulders. He had turned to watch which way she went.
Raising an arm, he waved. In that moment Michael seemed just another boy about her age. For the first time Bree felt sorry for him. He would have been better off walking fast with her. At least he would have stayed warm. But Bree still felt uneasy and wasn't willing to ignore that warning.
The moment the trees hid her, she changed direction again. As she climbed the steep hill at the bottom of Brockagh Mountain, she felt grateful for her strong body. Just last week her brother Devin had told her, "Bree, you've kept up to me all your life. You don't have to do everything I do."
'"Yes, I do," Bree had answered. But even to this brother she loved, Bree couldn't explain why. Always she had known that she needed to be physically strong, able to climb mountains without panting for breath. Able to walk long distances and swim in cold water. This morning had proved it.
Moving quickly between the oaks, Bree doubled back onto the shortest route home. Soon she dropped down to a meadow. Sheep grazed there, looking so peaceful that for the first time ever, they seemed out of place.
By the time Bree reached her family's farm, she decided she had imagined all her reasons for questions. Inside the house, she snatched up dry clothes and a blanket. In the kitchen she gathered a loaf of bread and a small pail of milk. As she headed back out the door, she nearly crashed into her older brother.
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