Mystic Mountains

employ a chit of a girl from the slums of Stepney to teach their offspring?
    The children were full of beans, laughing carelessly. Even their faces looked different from the half-starved urchins populating the streets of London. These healthy, strong-limbed children were happy. Isabella guessed their exuberance was due to the confidence of not having to worry where their next meal was coming from. They doubtless wouldn 't know what it was to steal to get food in their bellies.
    Her attention was caught by a flock of birds, some sort of parrots. Noisily they argued over perches in a nearby tree. Their plumage was a vivid green and several shades of blue, the brightest colors she'd ever seen. The tree was strange; its branches spread wide and high, its trunk shedding its bark. There was a stark sort of beauty in its gangly shape; quite unlike the oak, poplars, and elms of England.
    Taking a few deep breaths Isabella turned slowly, her face to the sun, feeling slightly light -headed. What heaven after the confining horror of the ship. This English gent who'd gone to try and fetch Dougal couldn't be all bad to have agreed to her demand.
    Hold on, Bella, she cautioned. Don 't go getting all soppy at this late stage. He's an Englishman. No doubt he'll have you warming his bed in short time. Likely he'll want Dougal there too. She'd heard plenty of tales on board about the loathsome acts some of the gentry tried to force the maids and lads in their service to perform for them. Of course—that was probably why he'd agreed so readily to fetch Dougal.
    A thought hit her then: he' d left her here alone. She didn't have to dally like that stupid monkey. What was there to stop her making off? Glancing about, she prepared to make a run for it.
    But then she chided herself. Don 't be a fool, Bella. Where would you go, and what would you do? The crew had told tales of the wild endless jungle beyond the town and how a person could die of thirst in the desert that went on forever beyond the limits of the colony. Of course she could lose herself in the maze of streets here on this hill but there was little doubt what life would have in store for her if she did. No doubt her English master would delight in dishing out his punishment once he found her; which she was positive he would, with his connections to the Governor.
    Might as well wait and see if the Englishman kept his word and brought Dougal back. At least Dougal would watch out for her. She and Dougal could run off together once they had the lie of the land worked out. She 'd have more chance of survival with her faithful friend beside her.
    A row of filthy prisoners shuffled by in a line, their odd clothing bearing a pattern of arrows. Their ankle shackles clanked and Isabella shuddered when she caught sight of raw and festering skin beneath the fetters. A few of them called out obscenely to her and the guard in charge of them wielded his weapon and shouted an order to keep moving.
    Isabella swallowed as she watched until they were out of sight. Then she looked down at her own legs. At least she wasn't shackled like those poor wretches. And not locked up in some filthy cell as she'd been for months back home. Shuddering, she brushed a hand over her eyes. Nightmares still haunted her of that cell and her fellow inmates. Once the sun set her fears came back to torment her, and probably always would. The stink, the heat, then the intense cold; the fear when she'd begun to bleed and the woman beside her had yelled for the guard who'd leered at her blood-soaked skirts. If not for a kindly nun who came to offer comfort to the women awaiting transportation she would be dead now.
    The heat made her sleepy. She yawned. They 'd been up since the crack of dawn staring anxiously at the shore, she and Gracie whispering their hopes and fears of what would happen to them in this god awful colony the sailors had painted such horrendous pictures about. So far it hadn't turned out anywhere near as terrible as they'd expected. What was Gracie doing now? Had she fared any better or worse?
    There was a flap at the back of the wagon that could be let down, but it was much too high for her to climb up there so, after giving it a bit of thought, she clambered up the front using one of the smaller wheels. She sat on the bench. All at once she felt sick, weary, and scared out of her wits. Supposing this Tiger Carstairs was as evil as most of the other gentry she 'd ever come in contact with.
    Twisting