Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (7 page)

The camp had been attacked at night. The women who lay sprawled beside the wagons wore their nightdresses. The weak wailing sound he had heard came from a small child sitting on the ground beside his dead mother. He was looking at her face, twisted into a mask of agony, and pounding his small fist on her blood-encrusted breasts. Farr surveyed the area keenly, then strode quickly to the child and picked him up. The boy locked his arms around his neck, and rage like a red tide washed over Farr. He felt once again the almost overwhelming desire to hunt a man and kill him.

Four women and one young girl not much older than Amy had been fiendishly raped before they were killed. The five men had died in their pallets beneath the wagons. White men had done this. White men who were supposedly civilized. They had murdered and raped for oxen, horses, and what little money the pilgrims had with them.

Carrying the child in his arms, Farr went to each of the men and bent down to peer at their faces. He was not surprised to find that Hull Dexter was not among them. The wagons had been looted. Clothing and the personal belongings were strewn about. In one of the wagons Farr found the body of a young boy who lay where he had tried to crawl under the bed and hide. His throat had been cut. He made a silent vow to hunt down the men responsible and kill them.

After Farr made the rounds of each wagon he turned to see Liberty coming up the trail. The sun shone on tendrils of her startling hair and for just an instant he saw Fawnella. He shook his head. No, it couldn’t be Fawnella. This woman was taller, her hair lighter. Liberty was well ahead of the wagon, but it was still coming.

“What is it?” she called. “What’s happened?”

Farr was breathing hard when he reached her. “I told you to stay back! What in the name of God is wrong with you? Get back there and turn that wagon around!”

Liberty’s eyes swept over the destruction of the camp and the bodies sprawled on the ground. She gave a strangled cry, “Oh . . . oh, my God!”

“Take this child and go back! You don’t want your sister to see this!” He jerked the rifle from her hands and thrust the boy into her arms.

“I’m going to throw up—”

“No, you’re not. You’re going to do what I tell you. Get back there and tell your pa to get up here. We’ve got to do something quick and get away from here.”

“The savages! The damned heathens!”

“White savages! Keep that in mind! If your man hadn’t come down sick you’d be here too. Get your pa.”

Liberty hugged the small boy to her and pressed his face to her shoulder. “Pa’s drunk,” she managed to say.

“Good. What we’ve got to do won’t be easy. We’ve got to put those bodies in a wagon and set fire to it.”

“No, you can’t! We traveled with them. We’ve got to bury them.” In horrified fascination, Liberty’s eyes swept the area again.

“We’ll burn them,” Farr argued.

“Burn them?” she echoed stupidly.

“Unless you want to leave them to be a meal for those scavengers.” He flung his arm upward where the buzzards and the crows waited. “Unless you want to stay and dig ten graves and wait until Hull Dexter comes back to find out if your man had the flux. If not for that, you’d be here too.”

“But . . . maybe some are alive.”

“They’re all dead! Now, take this rifle and go!”

“This one’s alive,” she persisted.

“I suspect his ma tossed him into the berry bushes. Look at him; he’s scratched all over.”

Liberty turned and stumbled blindly back down the trail. “Papa,” she called. “Stop the wagon.”

“What fer? Are ya agoin’ back?” Elija reeled in the saddle. “Who’s that?” He peered drunkenly at the child in her arms.

Anger and frustration washed over Liberty. “Act like a man for once in your life, Papa,” she shouted. “Go help Mr. Quill.” She dropped her rifle and slapped his mount so hard on the rump that her hand stung. The startled horse sprang forward. Elija grabbed the saddle horn.

“Why’d ya have to go ’n do that fer?” His complaining voice reached Liberty where she stood beside the wagon telling Amy to take Mercy and crawl into the back.

“Who’s that, Libby? Why’re you mad at Papa? Did we catch up with them other folks?”

“Yes, Amy, we did. I need your help, honey. Could you and Mercy take care of this poor little boy? He’s gone to sleep, but I suspect he’s hungry. Stay in the back of the wagon and hold him. Sing to him so he’ll know he’s not alone.”

“That’s the little Phelps boy, Libby. I threw a ball to him one day. His name’s Daniel. Where’s his mama?”

“She’s dead. They’re all dead. Now, don’t think about it, just take care of Daniel and Mercy. I’m going back and help Mr. Quill.”

“Did they get the lung sickness like Jubal?”

“No. I’ll tell you about it later. Stay in the back with the little ones. Play like you’re their mama, honey. If Daniel wakes up, give him some of the cold pap and put some syrup on it. Give Mercy some too. I’ll not be gone long.”

Liberty dreaded going back to the clearing more than she ever dreaded anything in her life. But knowing Elija’s condition, she doubted that he’d be any help to Farr. She grasped her rifle and ran up the track to the massacre site. The first thing she saw was her father’s horse, cropping the grass, dragging the reins. Elija was holding onto a young sapling and emptying his stomach on the ground.

Farr was carrying the stiffened body of one of the women toward a topless wagon. He had tied his handkerchief over the lower part of his face, and his voice when it came to her was muffled. “Go back.”

“No. You need help and you’ll not get it from him.” Liberty tossed her head toward Elija who was moaning and retching at the same time.

“Then gather up all the dry timber you can find. Small twigs and grass to cover the bodies, big stuff to go on top. We’ll burn them in the wagon.”

“But won’t they see the smoke?”

“We have to take the chance. We either burn them or let the wolves have them.” He turned back to another dead body, knelt beside the woman and covered her privates with her nightdress before he lifted her.

Liberty worked fast and mindlessly. She carried armload after armload of dry branches and piled them beside the wagon where Farr was placing the bodies of the ill-fated group. She used the axe that had been embedded in a stump by one of the murdered men. No doubt he planned to chop wood for the breakfast fire. She hacked and carried wood until Farr took the axe from her hand. Together they tossed the grass and the wood onto the wagon until the bodies were covered. Farr took a flint from the pouch that hung from his belt and struck a spark, blew on it, then nourished it within his cupped hands until the grass caught. By that time Liberty had gathered several large handfuls to use as torches, handed them to Farr, and turned her back on the burning pyre. He took them from her hand without a glance and soon the wagon was aflame. Thick dark smoke filled the clearing and billowed above the trees.

“That’s all we can do. Come on.”

“But . . . a prayer—”

“We don’t have time. We must get as far from here as we can. I figure they were here the night before last, but they couldn’t travel fast with oxen unless they put them on a barge and floated them downriver. No doubt they had their sights set on someone who needed them and could pay the price,” he said with a curl of his lips. He took her arm and urged her out of the clearing.

Elija stood with his head resting on the neck of his horse and his hand in the small of his back.

“Come on, Papa. We’ve got to go,” Liberty said quietly, too shocked at what she had just witnessed to be ashamed of her father’s weakness. She went to the tree where she’d left her rifle and then, with a quaking stomach and trying not to breathe too deeply of the smoke coming from the pyre, she walked on down the track beside Farr.

“We’ll turn off into the woods and leave the wagon,” Farr said when they reached it. “If we travel all night we’ll be at my station by noon tomorrow.”

Liberty, struggling to keep him from knowing how frightened she was, looked up at his still, grim face and felt a choking reluctance to begin asking questions, but it was not her nature to hold back. “Must we leave the wagon? It’s all we have.”

“You have your life, and your sister and father have theirs. What are these things compared to that?” His penetrating eyes searched her face; and had Liberty been less distraught, she would have seen admiration there.

She caught her lower lip firmly between her teeth and nodded. Her cornflower-blue eyes were full of torment, but her voice was steady when she said, “You’re right, Mr. Quill. We’ll do what you think best. Just tell us what to do.”

“Good girl.” A ghost of a smile played around his grim mouth. His hand cupped her shoulder and squeezed gently. “I’ll come back for the wagon. I promise.” Farr was a man who appreciated courage in others, and without a doubt this slight woman was blessed with an abundance of it.

Farr turned the wagon around, and they went back down the road a hundred yards. They were turning the oxen into the woods when Elija rode up. He didn’t say anything, just followed along behind the wagon, his shoulders slumped, his chin on his chest. Farr led them at a fast pace until they were deep into the forest. He urged the oxen around dead-falls and beneath branches so low they scraped the top of the wagon. Liberty walked behind the wagon leading the extra horse. She was exhausted when Farr finally stopped.

“There’s no way we can hide the tracks. Let’s hope, if they come back, they’ll look no farther than the road. The way we turned the wagon, they may think you’ve turned back. Fill a bag with your valuables and some food, Liberty, and hurry.” Her name came so easily from his lips that he wasn’t aware he had said it. He helped her climb into the back of the wagon. “Amy can ride with her pa. You take the boy up with you and I’ll carry Mercy.”

Liberty turned to look down at him. “No,” she said quietly. “I’ll hold the boy and Amy can ride behind me. Papa can hold Mercy in front of him. I think the sight back there sobered him.”

Farr nodded. He opened his pack and took out powder and shot and another small pouch. He looked at Amy sitting on the floor of the wagon holding the small boy and winked. When she smiled, her whole face lit up. She would be a beauty someday, he thought. After he sat Mercy in front of Elija, he opened the pouch, took out a hard, brown flat cake, and held it up to the child. She looked at it, but made no move to reach for it. He put it to his mouth, then to hers. Her small red tongue came out, and then a smile appeared. He closed her small fingers around it and went back to hobble the oxen so they wouldn’t stray far from the wagon.

When she was ready, Liberty led the horse to the wagon so she could climb up on the wheel to reach the stirrups. The bag she hung on the saddle horn contained her coins, some of her mother’s letters, tea, dried apples and corn meal. In another bag she had put her packets of garden seeds. She hated to leave Jubal’s pottery behind. Just the night before she had promised him she would keep it forever. She didn’t have time to think about it because Farr was lifting Amy up behind her. He then placed the sleeping boy, wrapped in a shirt, in front of her.

“Hand me the shawls, Mr. Quill. It may be cold tonight. I’ve got one each for Amy and Mercy. I’ll wrap the boy in mine.”

He brought the shawls to her, and she looked deeply into his eyes. “Why do men do such shameful things, Mr. Quill?”

His eyes were almost tender as he looked at her. “I don’t know, Liberty.”

She noticed his use of her given name and was pleased. They looked at each other for a long time.

“Do you think Daniel will . . . remember?”

“You know his name?”

“Of course. Daniel Phelps.”

“He’ll remember. It will lie there somewhere in the back of his mind for as long as he lives. But he hasn’t lost everything. He’ll know who he is. It’s more than Mercy will know.”

“Thank you for staying with us.”

“You’re welcome, Liberty Bell.” His eyes twinkled for just a moment. “I know you’re tired, but we’ve got to travel fast. Here are some sweets I bought from a Frenchman just up from New Orleans. I gave one to Mercy. You and Amy have some. Sweetening will carry you a long way. When the boy wakes, he’ll be hungry. Try to keep him quiet.”

“I will. Amy fed him some pap and cleaned the poor little thing. He must not have moved from his mama all night long.”

“Good girl, Amy.” Farr’s praise brought a wide grin from the child. He glanced around the site while tying his powder and shot bag around his waist; then he flung a water bag over his shoulder and picked up both rifles. “Let’s get clear of this place. You may not be able to see me all the time, Liberty. Keep moving toward the sunset. I may backtrack, but I’ll catch up. Be as quiet as you can; voices carry in these woods. Everyone within sight of that smoke will be curious about it.”

“We’ll do what you say, Mr. Quill.”

He nodded and started off through the woods. Liberty followed, blessing fate for having thrown them in the path of Farr Quill.

M
oonlight filtered through the trees in ghostly patches and the woods seemed ominously quiet. Liberty’s arms ached from holding Daniel; her legs and buttocks ached from hours in the saddle. When darkness came, Farr had taken the reins from her hands to lead the horse along a path that wound through the silent forest of trees whose branches seemed to reach to the heavens. Amy was asleep, resting against Liberty’s back. Farr had tied the ends of her shawl around Liberty’s waist to make sure she didn’t fall off the horse. The boy awakened several times during the night and cried for his mother. His whimpering, little cries were the saddest thing Liberty had ever heard. She cuddled him close, crooned to him, and after a while he fell into an exhausted slumber.

They came out of the woods and into a clearing where the grass was so high it stroked the belly of the horse. Farr led the party along the edge of the forest in the shadows of the giant trees that surrounded the clearing. The breeze from the south still carried the faint odor of wood smoke even at this distance. Dazed by fatigue and hunger, Liberty was scarcely aware the horse had stopped until Farr was at her side, his hand on her arm. She was thinking about roast turkey, plum pudding and a warm soft bed. She would eat, sleep and rest, rest . . . and sleep. . . .