River Daughter by Jane Hardstaff EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author:Jane Hardstaff
- Language: English
- Genre: Children’s Fantasy & Supernatural Mystery Books
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
‘Sweet Harry’s scabs! Yer like a frog with hair, Leatherboots.’
‘Bet you’ve never seen a frog do this!’
Moss dived down, turning a full somersault as she went, leaving Salter
grinning on the riverbank. As she stretched to touch the stony river bed, she
felt the drag of the water against her body. The river here was in no hurry.
No roar, no raging currents, just a wide bend and a grassy bank that ushered
the moorhens politely on their way. Moss knew this stretch of river as well
as she knew the scratches on her knees. She knew the vole holes. She knew
where the kingfishers flicked their jewel wings. She knew every dip in the
river bed. Because it was here she’d learnt to swim.
She wore an old apple sack with holes cut for her neck and arms. At first
Moss had gasped at the clumsiness of her kicks, fists gripped tight to the
branch that kept her afloat, her friend never more than a few steps away. On
the surface was a spluttering fight for air. Yet under the water, the quietness
calmed her. So Salter had tied a rope around her middle and she’d let
herself sink, eyes open, arms outstretched, and gradually her legs had
learned a rhythm that propelled her body forward. When she ran out of
breath, she would rise to the surface and gulp another. And if she strayed
too far into the river, Salter would haul her back on the end of his rope like
a strange fish.
Now the rope was off. More than a year had passed since she, Pa and
Salter had left London, and though Salter said she frightened the trout,
Moss had spent much of those summer months swimming the river.
There were times when Moss could barely believe how different this new
life was to their old. All those years in the Tower of London, the taunts of
the Tower folk, the thump of the drum on Execution Day, Pa standing on
the scaffold with his axe in his hands. And Moss herself, holding her
wretched basket ready to catch a rolling head. Just thinking about it made
the bile rise from her stomach. How many hours had she spent gazing from
the battlements of the Tower, willing the mighty river Thames to carry her
away from that miserable life? The river had saved her, thought Moss. But
it had almost killed her too.
A breeze rustled the leaves on the willow. Autumn was coming and it
would soon be too cold for dipping. She stared down at her feet, curled
against the stones of the river bed. This was a very different river to the
Thames. Here the water was clear and waist deep. The only place for fish to
hide was among the water crowfoot, giant green ribbons that swayed with
the flow. But Moss avoided the tangled weeds and the clutch of anything
that might drag her down.
Salter was lying in the grass, his dirt-smudged face propped on his
elbows.
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