19
Stretched out in a wagon with her head propped up on Desa’s coat, Mercy slept. The warm sunlight fell upon her, causing her to sweat – Desa would have never expected such a human reaction – but she didn’t wake no matter how much she was jostled about.
And there was plenty of jostling.
The wagon rumbled along a dirt path that cut through a green field with trees on either side. Elms, poplars, maples: they grew tall and strong, providing sporadic bursts of shade as the caravan of refugees passed beneath them. Desa was grateful for it. It was quite warm for a day in the middle of spring.
She knelt beside her “patient,” smoothing the hair off Mercy’s forehead. She wasn’t sure what else to do. With their food supplies dwindling, Tommy had ordered everything cleared out of this wagon and
