Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (28 page)

It was all so peaceful, Liberty thought as she headed back to the house. Four days had passed without a word from her father or Stith Lenning, but she didn’t allow that to lull her into believing that she had heard the last of them. During the noon meal today, Colby had mentioned that if the men at the Shellenberger place expected to seek protection at the fort, they damn well better do some of the work. Farr had merely grunted a reply, but Liberty suspected that was because he didn’t want to talk about it in front of her and Amy.

Her sister came running to meet her.

“Libby! Are you through with the plantin’?”

“Yes, thank goodness. I don’t think my hands would have lasted another day.”

“Let’s go down to the sawyer camp. Just for a little while?” Her eyes were bright and she barely suppressed a giggle, when Liberty eyed her knowingly and smiled.

“Are you sure it’s the
sawyer camp
you want to see?”

The giggle came floating out on the breeze, and Amy flipped her loose hair back behind her ears. “Well . . .” she admitted.

“Amy Carroll. What would the matrons in Middlecrossing think about you if they could see you with your hair loose and your skirt above your ankles?”

“They’d think I was a . . . fallen woman.”

“Fallen woman! What do you know of such as that?”

Amy tossed her head. “I know a lot more than you think I do, Libby.” She grabbed her sister’s wrist and pulled her toward the path leading to the thick stand of trees where the men were working. “Come on. Willa will watch Daniel and Mercy. I asked Uncle Juicy if we could go down there and he said we could if we didn’t get in the way. He said be careful if we went to the river, ’cause it was high.”

Liberty admitted silently that she was curious to see what was going on in the timber beside the river. She allowed Amy to guide her to the camp and they sat down on a stump to watch the operation. Colby and Rain were doing the felling, limbing and cutting the trees into sixteen-foot lengths. A team harnessed three-abreast was being handled by a black-bearded man from the Sufferite community. He skidded the logs in pairs to the pit, where they were worked onto a large A-frame and ripped. A pit had been dug and over it a stout scaffolding erected. Liberty was amazed at the amount of work that had been done in such a short time.

Farr and Mr. Washington were in the pit handling the huge two-man saw. The pit was a hot and dirty place. Both men, stripped to the waist, were covered with sweat and sawdust. Sweat ran in streaks down Farr’s sides, and his hair was stuck to the back of his neck. They sawed for thirty minutes before pausing, and that was only to walk to the other end to start another cut. Each log was squared off, then tipped into planks four inches thick. Already a stack was growing on the flat area beside the pit. The boards they were ripping were for the barracks Farr had told her would be built first. Then the stockade would fan out from each end of it. The work was slow and brutal, and after seeing it, Liberty understood why Colby had said all who would benefit should share in the work.

If Farr was aware of her presence he never let on. Liberty suspected that nothing went on that he
wasn’t
aware of. Amy was craning her neck so she could watch Rain. The young boy never as much as glanced their way as far as Liberty knew, but Colby shouted and waved.

Liberty began to feel uncomfortable sitting there watching the men work. She wanted to yell out and ask if there was something she could do, but she didn’t because she feared her offer would embarrass Farr.

“Let’s go, Amy.”

“Let’s see the river first. Uncle Juicy said there have been floods up north and the river is full. I bet that’s why Mr. Washington’s here. He didn’t want to take his ferry across.”

“All right, but just for a few minutes. I’ve got work to do.”

They took the path to the river that Liberty had used the day she had discovered Fawnella’s grave. She thought of it now, and wondered if the marigolds she had planted around the headboard were up. When she thought of the girl on the hill who filled every corner of Farr’s heart she wanted to cry. She felt an aching torment knowing she would never have her husband’s love. He had promised her nothing but his protection, she told herself sternly. Her heart skipped a few beats and then settled into a dull ache. More and more often now she found herself yearning that someday he would turn to her with love in his eyes. She tried to crowd that hope out of her heart with other thoughts, but it remained secure in a small corner to flare up at the most unexpected times.

Amy had boundless energy. She danced up and down the path plucking flowers from among the dense growth on each side of the narrow lane.

“Look at these!” she laughed, waving a fistful of light blue flowers in Liberty’s face.

“Watch out for snakes,” Liberty cautioned.

“They’re just the color of your eyes, Libby,” Amy said, ignoring her warning.

“And yours are the color of cattails.”

“Your hair is like . . . dirty snow!” Amy laughed and danced away.

“It is not! Yours is like that old shaggy dog we had back home.”

“It is not! It’s like ermine fur! You told me that yourself.” Amy’s laugh rang out and she raced down the path. “Your nose is like a pig’s snout!” she shouted. It was a game they had played since she was a little girl not much older than Mercy.

They reached the river bank and Liberty steered Amy to the south, along an animal path away from Fawnella’s grave. When they came to an opening in the dense growth of young willows that lined the river, they passed through and came out onto a lip. The lazy river of a few days before was now a raging, muddy torrent that came up to within a foot of where they stood. It rolled and thundered as it swept past them carrying decayed vegetation and small uprooted trees.

“For goodness sake! They must have had a terrible flood up north of here. No wonder Juicy told you to be careful. Stand back, Amy. This bank could give way any minute.”

“Look, Libby! Oh, looky there,” Amy yelled over the roar of the water as she pointed upriver.

A canoe, riding the swiftly moving water, came careening down the river. It spun against a boulder, struck the bank, turned and came on sideways. An Indian woman knelt on the bottom, her hands fastened to the sides, her long, black hair wet and sticking to the sides of her face. As the canoe turned, Liberty could see a small child strapped in a carrier on her back.

“Oh, my God! She’ll drown!”

The words had no more than left Liberty’s mouth when a huge wall of water came rushing down to lift the canoe as if it were a toy. The woman was swept up and thrown to the top of the crest. Her terrified screams ceased suddenly as she sank beneath the roiling water. The thick brown river poured over her head, and when she reappeared, Liberty could see her groping and grabbing before she sank out of sight again.

Whimpering sounds of horror came from Amy as they witnessed what was sure death for the woman and her child. Then to their amazement, the woman’s body surfaced, was swept up and thrown again, crashing her cruelly into a tree trunk that had been wedged between two boulders. In a wild panic she flung her arms around the trunk and clung to the only solid thing in the plunging flood.

“Hang on! Hang on!” Liberty shouted. She grabbed the hem of her dress, pulled it off over her head, and ran to a place along the bank where she could get into the water. “Hang on! I’m coming!”

“Libby! You can’t go in—”

“I must. Stay here and help me pull her out!” She took a deep breath and plunged into the cold, swiftly moving water.

Liberty was a strong swimmer. Against all the prejudices of her day about a woman learning how to swim, her mother had insisted that her uncle teach her. She opened her eyes as soon as she surfaced and stared over the water to where the woman still clung to the branch. The water beat at her with its cold, mighty force as she swam against the strong current, grateful she was upriver from the stuck tree trunk because the current was pulling her down. She took great gulps of air when she could and prayed she could reach the middle of the stream before she was swept past the boulders and the tree trunk where the woman clung. Lifting her head high out of the water she saw the red band of cloth that was wrapped about the woman’s head, and increased her effort.

By the time she reached the boulder and inched her way around, choking, and clawing at the slick rock, she was tired. The woman’s terrified eyes clung to her, and when she reached out a hand to her, the woman shook her head vigorously. Clinging to the trunk with one arm she reached to unfasten the harness that held her child to her back. Liberty understood and turned, slipped her arms into the straps and settled the child high on her back between her shoulder blades.

“I’ll be back,” she croaked and pushed herself away just as she felt the tree trunk break loose from the rocks. Muddy water washed over her. She gasped at the air when she came up, looked wildly around for the child’s mother, and when she didn’t see her, began to swim with the current, the weight of the child on her back holding her low in the water. She heard Amy calling and used all her strength to keep her arms and legs moving. When she reached the bank, Amy was there. She pulled and tugged until Liberty could get her foot anchored in a tree root so she could heave herself up out of the water. She choked and gulped cold air into her burning lungs.

“The woman,” she gasped and pulled her arms free from the harness. The baby’s little face was puckered as if it were crying loudly, but only soft mewing sounds came from its little mouth.

Amy was crying too. Liberty shoved the child into her arms and turned to search the river for the child’s mother.

“Amy!” she cried desperately. “Where did she go?”

“There! Down there . . .” Amy pointed downstream.

Liberty ran along the bank, her eyes searching. She saw the green of a tree top, and then the red headband. The woman had both arms wrapped around the tree trunk. The current had washed the tree closer to the bank and it appeared the end was stuck in the mud. Without hesitation, Liberty jumped into the water again. The current was not as strong there, and when she reached the tree her feet could almost touch the slimy bottom. The woman was so terrified that Liberty had to pry her hands from the trunk. Her throat was too raw to talk to her, so she placed the woman’s hands on her shoulders and pushed the two of them away from the tree before the woman realized what she was doing.

Liberty could feel her strength leaving her as she flailed the water with her arms and legs. Each of her limbs felt as if it were tied to a heavy weight. Using every ounce of power she possessed, she inched them toward the bank. As they neared, her feet felt the bottom and she sagged. She was beyond tired. She couldn’t lift herself up out of the water.

Amy, with the child in her arms, shouted encouragement and tried to reach her with an outstretched arm. The Indian woman seemed to come to life, and with a surge of strength pushed Liberty up onto the bank, and then, slipping and sliding in the mud, managed to crawl up herself. When she reached for her child, Amy placed it in her arms and then tried to help Liberty stand.

“Get Farr—” Liberty gasped. She slipped out of Amy’s arms and fell facedown on the grass, battered, bruised, her clothes torn and muddy.

*  *  *

Farr knew the moment Liberty and Amy came in sight of the sawyer camp and the instant they got up to follow the path to the river. He had glanced up and seen them. The first thing he noticed was the sun shining on her hair. It was braided and wound around her head like a crown, held in place by three long, silver hairpins. He knew this because he had seen them lying on the box in the wagon where she placed them every night. There were many crinkly little waves struggling to escape the braid. The skin on her face and arms was now an ivory tan after hours in the sun. Without even looking at her he could visualize the arch of her brows, the molding of her nose and mouth, the chiseling of cheekbones and chin. Every angle of her was just right. It amazed him, and yet he felt an undercurrent of anger, as though a trick had been played on him, when he found himself thinking those thoughts about her.

He had meant to consummate the marriage that first night, for she had agreed to the terms. He had made sure she fully understood his reasons for taking a wife. He had gone to the creek to bathe, and when he returned, she was in the wagon asleep. Every night since, for some reason that he himself didn’t understand, he had waited until he was sure she was sleeping before he crawled in beside her. The last four nights had been agony. He had lain in torment for hours, wanting to reach for her, knowing that she would come to him, yet also knowing that inwardly she would cringe away. He had endured the terrible ache in his loins, aware that relief was a mere foot away if only he reached for it. The hours were long until the tiredness of his body released him from that torture and he went to sleep.

Thinking about it now, he pushed and pulled on the saw handle with vigorous strokes. The young black giant on the other end of the saw glanced at him questioningly. He had seen Farr’s head turn more than once and his eyes flick over his young wife while she was sitting on the stump.

“Lawdy!” he murmured, his thick lips barely moving. “Mr. Quill’s done gone ’n lost his heart as sure as the sun is comin’ up in the mornin’. It didn’t take him long, not long a’tall.”

“Farr! Farr!” The sound of the nearly hysterical female voice overrode the buzz of the saw, the jingle of harnesses and the sound made by the dragging logs. Farr lifted his head in alarm. Then his heart leaped into his throat when he saw Amy running toward the camp. He jumped out of the pit, snatched up his rifle and ran to meet her.

“Farr! Farr! Come . . . quick.”

“What is it? Where’s Libby?”

“In . . . the river . . . She . . . Indian . . .” Amy was so breathless she could say no more.

Farr ran toward the river as if he were being chased by a pack of mad dogs. Libby! Libby! Sweet, sweet girl! He wasn’t even aware of the thoughts that pounded in his head or the ugly, blasphemous words that poured from his mouth when he reached the river and paused to read the tracks. He saw the imprint of Liberty’s shoes going south and turned and ran along the animal path. He came out onto the lip where Amy and Liberty had first seen the canoe. He found Liberty’s discarded dress, picked it up, but then dropped it when he heard a faint mewing sound over the roar of the river.