A shrill scream shattered Keelan’s musings, snapping her attention to the yard. She raced from the garden, searching for the source of the alarmed cry. A young slave boy, of perhaps nine or ten years, burst from the smokehouse, his shrieks ringing across the grounds. He wobbled and fell.
Keelan recognized the child as Ruth’s youngest, Joseph, whose chicken-feeding duty had been performed earlier by Slaney. Although crippled, he did a fine job tending the smokehouse, fueling and keeping the coals smoldering while defending the meat from the dogs.
Handling the fire poker as a brace, he now struggled to heave himself to his feet. Keelan ran to help. Had he been burned? Slaney had an ointment that would help.
Before she could close the distance between herself and the boy, a snarling wild d
