18It was Sunday, the day of rest. But didn’t they say there was no rest for the wicked? There was certainly going to be none for Caleb. He waited as long as he deemed decent before pushing Nero at full gallop along the backwoods track that would take him to the Russell’s place, Sabbath or no.
Sir John had been at the meeting last night, had seen what had happened, but they’d had no chance to discuss the implications. Caleb was hoping in the clear light of day he’d see what he needed to do next with more clarity. And for that he valued Sir John’s advice above anyone’s.
There’d been a light frost overnight, and Nero felt just as ready for a good run as he was. The brown plains’ grasses sparkled as tiny ice crystals melted into diamond droplets and slid down dry stalks. Mist rose from the d
