later, Mike. For now—”
There was a shout. Several. Michael pushed himself away from the carriage, looking toward the woods. Rebecca leaned forward, craning her neck.
Many more men were coming out of the woods. For an instant, Rebecca was paralyzed with fear. But seeing the odd costumes and weapons, she relaxed. More of Michael’s men. More of these—Americans?
Then Rebecca saw the first women coming through the trees, their faces filled with worry and concern. Like a child, she burst into tears.
Michael. And women.
Safe. We are safe.
For Rebecca, the rest of that day—and the next, and the next, and the next—passed in a daze. She was lost in legends not even Sepharad had ever dreamed. All she ever remembered were glimpses and flashes.
Bizarre vehicles, not drawn by anything other than a roar from within. But those roars, soon enough, she understood to be machinery. She was more fascinated by the speed of the vehicles—and still more by the smoothness of their progress. A carriage traveling at that speed would have been shaken to pieces. The secret was only partly contained in the incredible perfection of the road itself. There had also been—
When she climbed out of the vehicle, in front of a huge white-and-beige building, curiosity overcame concern for her father. She stooped to examine the vehicle’s wheels. Odd-looking, they were. Small, squat, bellied—almost soft-looking. She poked the black substance with a finger. Not as soft as she thought!
“What is that?” she asked the hidalgo. He was leaning over her, smiling.
“Rubber. We call those ‘tires.’ ”
She poked it again, harder. “It is filled with something. Air?”
The smile remained as it was. But the hidalgo’s eyes seemed to brighten. “Yes,” he replied. “That’s exactly right. The air is—ah, pumped—into them at high pressure.”
She nodded, and looked back at the tire. “That’s very shrewd. The air acts as a cushion.” She looked back up at him. “No?”
There was no reply. Just a pair of bright blue eyes, staring at her intensely. Very wide, too, as if he were
There was a shout. Several. Michael pushed himself away from the carriage, looking toward the woods. Rebecca leaned forward, craning her neck.
Many more men were coming out of the woods. For an instant, Rebecca was paralyzed with fear. But seeing the odd costumes and weapons, she relaxed. More of Michael’s men. More of these—Americans?
Then Rebecca saw the first women coming through the trees, their faces filled with worry and concern. Like a child, she burst into tears.
Michael. And women.
Safe. We are safe.
For Rebecca, the rest of that day—and the next, and the next, and the next—passed in a daze. She was lost in legends not even Sepharad had ever dreamed. All she ever remembered were glimpses and flashes.
Bizarre vehicles, not drawn by anything other than a roar from within. But those roars, soon enough, she understood to be machinery. She was more fascinated by the speed of the vehicles—and still more by the smoothness of their progress. A carriage traveling at that speed would have been shaken to pieces. The secret was only partly contained in the incredible perfection of the road itself. There had also been—
When she climbed out of the vehicle, in front of a huge white-and-beige building, curiosity overcame concern for her father. She stooped to examine the vehicle’s wheels. Odd-looking, they were. Small, squat, bellied—almost soft-looking. She poked the black substance with a finger. Not as soft as she thought!
“What is that?” she asked the hidalgo. He was leaning over her, smiling.
“Rubber. We call those ‘tires.’ ”
She poked it again, harder. “It is filled with something. Air?”
The smile remained as it was. But the hidalgo’s eyes seemed to brighten. “Yes,” he replied. “That’s exactly right. The air is—ah, pumped—into them at high pressure.”
She nodded, and looked back at the tire. “That’s very shrewd. The air acts as a cushion.” She looked back up at him. “No?”
There was no reply. Just a pair of bright blue eyes, staring at her intensely. Very wide, too, as if he were