The entire farm had been left in his care. It felt like power had been gained, yet he knew not what to do with it. The only words Ruby had left with him were short, and lacked details in her rush to leave. "Make sure you keep up with the work, and milk that cow when she needs it. Yourself, sleep in the hayloft and don't come out if intruders come around." Those were her words of parting.
The boy had never been in charge of a farm before. To say that he had rarely even worked on a farm before was much more in accordance to the truth. For most of his life in Georgia, he had made his keep as a travelling musician, returning to home every now and then.
So when Ruby said milk the cow when she needs it, he didn't know when she needed it. Yet he was very eager to please her. He thought very hard on the subject of what must be done on a farm. First he decided that maybe the cow would like to roam around and find food in the woods. So he unlatched the barn door and the cow wandered off and disappeared in the trees, a trail of frozen breath streaming behind her. Then he went to the henhouse to search for eggs. When there were none to be found, he assumed that that job must have been done sometime earlier in the morning. So he sat balanced on the railing of the front porch, while the end of his nose froze over from the sharp air, and he looked about Black Cove with interest. Since it was yet winter, more than half of the farm wasn't functioning. The vegetable garden consisted only of the remains of the summer's crops; dry tomato vines, rotting pumpkin patches. Everything was brown and dead.
Glancing at the sky, Georgia estimated it to be close to six o'clock, as the sun was sinking low in the west. That meant Ruby and Ada had only been gone an hour. They wouldn't have reached the resting place of Stobrod and Pangle for many hours yet.
In the distance, Cold Mountain pierced the rose coloured sky, threatening to the boy. For his first time in those mountains, they sure hadn't given him reason to compliment them. Each of his companions could be found buried there, the latest of which would be frozen underground later that day. First there had been Doyle, his cousin. Together they had set out to join the war, but both grew sick of it. Georgia didn't see glory in the slaughter of men, no matter what colour their jacket was. Doyle just thought the job tiresome and more than he bargained for. So together they ran, aiming for their homeland. But confused about directions they became, and found themselves lost. Somewhere along the way, they must have had unknowingly taken a wrong turn. So tangled in a web of highways, country roads, paths, and footpaths they were, until by some chance they ended up in the mountains surrounding the great Cold Mountain. Caught in a snowstorm and unacquainted with the current date, they stumbled across a small cave which they took shelter in for the night. There in that cave, Doyle met his doom, for he caught the flu. He passed within nights, and left only one boy from Georgia to live alone in the little cleft in the side of a mountain. And now Stobrod and Pangle, the musicians, would soon join Doyle under the frozen ground.
As the sun dipped lower beyond the mountain ridges, the boy resolved that perhaps it was time to find the cow, for night was coming on and she would probably freeze in the dark. He slipped off the white railing of the porch and started for the woods, his feet crunching in old snow. By that time, the air was beginning to change to blue; the sun slowly burned out and became a dim orange sliver on the horizon. When he reached the edge of the trees, the height of them blocked completely any of the remaining light. Faintly, in the twilight, the boy spied dim indents in the snow, indicating where the cow had travelled. He continued on through the woods, weaving between bare trees, branches like the claws of ancient women. The cow was nowhere in sight, and there was no evidence of its presence. All was silent. He thought of calling the beast, but its name was unknown to him.
Then there was a crunch in the snow. Somewhere behind him, an animal sighed. He turned to the sound and went to it, peering through the dim light for the cow. Yet it was not a cow in which he found. In a tiny clearing not twenty feet before him, several horses stood still, save for the odd stamp of an impatient or cold foot. One man, large around his girth, slid off his horse and sauntered towards the boy, who felt something of a threat in the strange riders. Soon after the large man approached, a few others drew nearer on their horses and pulled up behind him.
The large man spoke first. "Where are Miss Monroe and Miss Thewes?"
The boy said nothing in response.
An extensive abdomen jiggled in laughter, and the others snickered. "He's dumber than that fat boy we shot."
A sudden wave of realisation flooded over the boy. He now recognized the man. Teague and his band of Home Guard.
"Are you from around here, boy?" Teague inspected him as carefully as he could in the growing dark.
"No," the boy muttered.
"I bet it's safe to say you're from the state of Georgia?"
No answer. Teague appeared to be pleased with the awkward silence. "Well then, maybe my friend Birch, here, you will talk to."
A slim boy leapt from his horse and landed right in front of Georgia. The now rising moon reflected off his white-blonde hair. He brandished a pistol and thwacked Georgia's temple. Stunned, the boy stumbled back and tripped over a tree root and landed on his rump. A trickle of blood travelled down his cheek.
The white-haired boy pulled Georgia to his feet and shoved a sharp knee into his stomach, causing Georgia to retch violently.
"You don't talk much, do yah?" Teague spat in Georgia's eyes. "Speak up, boy."
Georgia shook his head. Whatever business they had with Ruby and Ada, he would have no part in it. His silent mouth resulted in a hard blow of the pistol across his face. Taking a retaliating swing at Birch, Georgia flew past him blindly and almost lost control of his feet. Teague's rifle came down hard on Georgia's bent back. He fell to his knees, grunting quietly in pain. Teague circled around and kneeled in front of him.
"Where have Ada and her slave girl gone?" Teague bellowed once again. It seemed it would be the last time he asked, for he cocked his rifle and aimed right between Georgia's eyes.
"They're in the mountains, that way," Georgia gasped and nodded his head in the general direction. "I'm not saying no more."
Teague's lips parted into a malicious grin. "Oh, we shall talk more later." With that said, he hit his rifle across Georgia's head so hard that he knew no more.