Kingdom of Secrets

I woke with a start, just as the violet glow of dawn began seeping behind my eyelids. If the sun was up, so was Mr. Fletcher, already tending his sheep and his fields. If we lingered in the mill, he’ soon find us and ask questions I wasn’t prepared to answer. I shook Abi out of heavy sleep.
“Five more minutes,” she mumbles, rolling over and rubbing her eyes.
“We don’t have five minutes.” I lifted one end of our bed and tugged, turning her out onto the cold dirt beneath.
“Fine, she whines, groggily stumbling to her feet. “How come HE gets to sleep in?” She motioned to Cole, still snug in the cushioned wagon and making soft num-num sounds.
“Because he’s still a three-year-old when he wakes up.”
“Good point, said Abi. “Let him sleep.”
Abi and I gathered our things and erased all evidence of our night at Fletcher’s Mill. As we folded the tarp, we heard a lone voice outside. And by the sound of it, its owner was heading in our direction. “If I’d a been there, I’d a caught ’em all, every last one,” it said.
“It’s Mr. Fletcher,” I whispered. “Hide!” Abi grabbed the wagon’s metal handle and pulled it to the corner of the room slow enough that the rusted wheels wouldn’t squeak. Cold didn’t wake up; in fact, he burrowed deeper into the pelts, soothed by the movement. Abi stowed him behind a tower of spools, and the two of us crouched behind a loom and held our breath.
“Pshaw,” cackled a female voice. “I’d like to’ve seen you try.” With a pang, I realized it wasn’t Mr. Fletcher bearing down on us the the Kluwers, hunting for last night’s escapees. Hunting for me.
“Do you realize how much you cost us, woman? Twenty-five cents for each girl. Four girls. That’s almost… That’s… That’s a lot of money!” said Mr. Kluwer. He pushed open the door to the mill, and they stepped inside. A chill wind accompanied them, and my skin rippled with goose bumps.
“If you’d stop yer whinin’ and start lookin’, maybe we’d find ’em and get our money back,” said Mrs. Kluwer. “Ever think a that?”
“It’s a fine thing you’re not in charge a the boys,” said Mr. Kluwer. “We’d be broke!”
That comment was followed by the fleshy thunk of his wife’s palm landing squarely on the side of his head. Mr. Kluwer gingerly rubbed the spot where he’d been smacked, while Mrs. Kluwer looked around and released a long whistle.
“Will ya get a load a this?” she said. “Whatta place! What is all this?” She approached the jerking machine that concealed Abi and me. We huddled closer together behind it.
“C’mon woman, we’re not here to sightsee,” said her husband. “Nobody’s here. Let’s go.”