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Hi, my name is Susan Anderson, but everyone calls me Red. Not for the usual reason - I don't have red hair. My hair, in truth, is a really dark brown, nearly black. They call me that because of the pretty sweater my grandmother knitted me. It's a beautiful, hooded sweater that flows down almost like a cape. My mother, jokingly, called me 'little red riding hood'. The nickname stuck, and everyone's called me Red since then. And Grandmother makes me a new coat every year. Same color, same style, just bigger the older I get. I'm fully grown now, so my sweaters stay the same size.

Anyway, my story starts with a head cold. Not mine, but my grandmother's. Father took the team to Grandmothers, as usual, early Sunday morning to transport Grandmother to church. He found her still in bed, with a minor fever. Quickly, he built her a fire and returned to let me and Mother know what had happened. Mother was in a quandary. Normally, she'd have headed right over to Grandmothers, but Mrs. Brown was also sick. Mrs. Brown normally plays the organ for church, but Mother had promised to relieve her. And Mother needed Father to drive her to church. With her poor health there was no way she could walk that far. It was obvious what needed to be done; I would walk to Grandmothers. My health was fine, and I was in good shape, what with helping with the farm chores and all.

The problem? The fastest way to go was the main road, and outsiders used that road. Everyone knew that you couldn't trust ...

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