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Page 126
jotted down what had already transpired: the river rapscallions; the wolves; the Indian.
What was next?
Amazingly, her own life had become even more exciting than Matilda's. Matilda hadn't had so many adventures. Her story had been told in one hundred twenty short, exciting pages, the standard for a two-hour film.
Mariah's life, thoughthere might be no limit.
Damn Pierce anyway! After years of misery, she'd finally taken control of her life, started a career based on her skills, gained self-confidenceonly to find herself here with no power at all. She slammed her fist against the small table, making it wobble. As she stood to stabilize it, her quick motion caused the flame on the betty lamp wick to flicker and almost go out.
"Cool it!" she commanded herself, sitting down again. Her fingers still clenched, she made herself take one calming breath, then another. Making notes would give her back some small sense of control.
What could she remember from the script? If only her memory were photographic. If only she'd known her life might depend on memorizing the screenplay. As it was, she had perfect recollection of some parts of the story, but only dim recall of others.
There had been something about a group of settlers, though she had skimmed over that part. Now Mariah understood why an army troop followed the homesteaders, though she hadn't while reading the script. She jotted down all the detail she could remember, listening to the scratching of the quill on the paper, pleased she didn't make even one blot.
Thanks to Thorn.
No. None of that. She set her mind back on her task.
There was an Indian uprising in the screenplay, and Matilda's capture. Mariah shivered at that recollection. After her brief ordeal with Nahtana, she prayed that this was one incident in which the script would be way off base. What she'd gone through had been scary, but it was minor compared to the incident in the screenplay. If that took place, she wouldn't want to be in Matilda's boots.

 
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