Jinnie grew cold from head to foot. Her father’s words, “He won’t find in you much of an obstacle,” came to her distinctly.
“Does your uncle know where you are?”
This question brought the girl to the present.
“No. I don’t want him to know, either. Not till—not till I’m eighteen.”
“Why?”
Molly’s tone was so cold and unsympathetic Jinnie regretted she had accepted her invitation to ride. But she need not be afraid; Lafe would keep her safe from all harm. Had she not tried out his faith and the angels’ care with Maudlin Bates? However, she felt she owed some explanation to the woman at her side. 167
“My uncle doesn’t like me,” she stammered, calming her fear. “And Lafe loves me, Lafe does.”
“How do you know your uncle doesn’t love you?”
Thinking of Lafe’s often repeated caution not to divulge her father’s disclosure of Morse’s perfidy, Jinnie remained quiet.
The birds above their heads kept up a shrill chatter. On ordinary occasions Jinnie would have listened to mark down in her memory a few notes to draw from her fiddle, but at this moment she was too busy looking for a proper explanation. Glancing sidelong at the woman’s face and noting the expression upon it, she grew cold and drew into the corner. She would not dare––