Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (39 page)

“‘To the uncle of Kirby Hyde, Jonesboro, Arkansas. From his wife.’ ”

“Shit!” John snatched the letter from the man’s hand and crammed it into his shirt pocket.

“That’s what it says.” The Yankee’s voice was not quite steady. “I’m glad I’m not the one to break the news to his widow. It’s a shame to come through the war and get yourself killed on the way home.”

Without a word, John took the shovel, walked a few paces, and began to dig in the soft river sand.

The breeze died down with the coming of dawn. The silence was eerie as John read through the letter, pocketed it, then carefully printed the name of the dead man in his hat and tied it to a stake he drove into the ground. When he was finished, he leaned the shovel against a tree where it would be easily found, and without a glance at the men sitting around a small fire he saddled his horse and rode away.

*  *  *

Addie had been quiet, scarcely breathing while John talked. Now she stirred restlessly.

“Addie, Kirby is dead. I’m sorry he had to lose his life that way. But he was going to kill me.”

“I can’t imagine Kirby killing a man with a knife. He didn’t even want to kill a chicken. In the back of my mind I thought of him as kind of . . . cowardly.”

“I don’t think he wanted to do it. I think he was pushed into it by the other man.”

“Who was he?”

“There was no name on him. Only a picture of a woman bare from the waist up.”

“That was the only letter I wrote to Kirby. I thought he should know he had a son. I wasn’t sure it would even get to him. I guess it did.”

“I didn’t want to tell you this.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know if . . . you cared for him. You had his son.”

“Yes. I had his son, and no, I didn’t care for him . . . after a while. He just used me. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I think he was hiding from something or someone when he came to the farm.”

“You may be right. Are you convinced now that the captain isn’t Kirby?”

“Oh, John, I don’t know. The man you describe doesn’t seem to fit the Kirby I knew. But it’s been so long, and war can change a man.”

“I’ve got the letter in my pack back in the storage wagon.”

Addie was quiet. After a while she drew back from him so she could see his face.

“Why did you come to Freepoint?”

“I had some time. I was going to leave word to be passed to the Hyde family, but someone had already brought the news to the store. I heard the storekeeper tell you about it when you came in that day.”

“You heard talk about me and Trisha, too, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I saw you and didn’t believe a word of it.”

“Did you marry me because you were sorry you had to kill my husband?”

“Addie, love, I married you because I was determined not to let you get away from me.”

“It’s hard to believe that you’d . . . want me . . . for myself.”

“Believe it, love. I killed that man before he could kill me. I hated the thought that he left a wife and a son, and that might be the reason I went to Freepoint. I was going to leave a little money with the store man if you were in need.”

“Is that why you were in the store?”

“I was nosing around to see what I could find out. I heard him call you Mrs. Hyde. After you left, I hung around and talked to him. He let me know that he thought you were too good for the likes of Kirby Hyde.”

“Not many people knew Kirby—”

“I liked what I saw of you that day, liked you even more after I heard you talking to the two drunks that came to the farm that night. It was the first I’d heard anyone cussed out in such ladylike language.” He chuckled. “Even when you got warmed up, you couldn’t think of anything worse to call them than chicken-livered polecats.”

Addie hid her face against him. “I was so mad!”

“I was fascinated with you after you invited me in to breakfast, and when I heard you finally break out into real profanity when you were raking the old preacher over the coals, I was so smitten with you I hated to leave you to go back to town to see the magistrate. I hurried back the next morning.”

Addie wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you, you know. Please don’t ever leave me.”

“Ah . . . sweet girl. You’d have a hell of a time getting rid of me.” His big arms squeezed her, his lips nuzzled her neck. “You are my Addie girl. I’m going to tell you I love you every day for the rest of our lives.”

*  *  *

Sheet lightning played in the clouds continuously the following morning. By the time the wagons circled for the midday stop, bulging gray clouds were being nudged along by a brisk wind, and thunder had become a constant rumble of sullen threats. A chain of lightning came sputtering down, as if tearing itself loose from the heavens.

The big wagons had formed a tight corral to hold the stock being unhitched and to give them protection from the storm. The belt of rolling white and gray clouds that bore down on them from the southwest reached eagerly forward. Below the roiling clouds was a solid expanse of color, a dark dirty gray tinged with green.

To Buffer Simmons, riding with the herders circling the extra stock, the green-tinged cloud meant only one thing. Hail. The huge rumbles of thunder reverberated, making the ground tremble. The nervous stock was milling about. Buffer heard the rush of wind overhead. A big drop of rain spattered against his hat. He thought of Trisha in the wagon with Miss Addie and the kids and hoped that she wasn’t scared.

The wind and the rain hit quickly and with surprising violence, as if it meant to snatch the clothes from his back. A tremendous clap of thunder broke overhead with a burst of light. It shook the earth. Darkness closed in and it wasn’t even noon. The intense flashes of lightning emphasized the darkness. Rain came down in sheets. The cattle milled but were holding, then suddenly the signal passed through them. The oxen bawled, the horses whinnied, and the mules let out frightened snorts.

A herder wrapped in a poncho passed Buffer, his hat brim pulled well down on his head, protecting his face. Buffer turned his horse to ride counterclockwise around the herd. The raindrops, driven by the wind, felt sharp as hail against his back. Through the rain and the gloom, he noticed that the rider who had passed him veered off toward the circle of wagons.

The horse had carried Buffer fifty feet before the thought came storming into his brain. The rider who had passed him was wearing a poncho but not a round-brimmed Mexican sombrero. Gawdamighty! The man was sitting too tall in the saddle to be a Mexican.

Buffer yanked his horse around, dug his heels into its sides, and raced toward the wagons. The rider was out of sight, but instinct told Buffer where he was heading. A cold band of dread settled around his heart. Trisha had been so sure the “devil man” would not go away as long as she was alive.

He found no buryin’ hole. He won’t go till he knows I’m dead.

*  *  *

John reached the wagon as soon as it had stopped and the mules had been unhitched.

“Don’t be afraid. This is a good heavy wagon. Huntley and I will make sure the canvas is tight. If you light the lantern, Addie, put it out when the wind comes up.”

“We’ll be all right.”

“Papa, is it gonna storm?”

“I reckon so, son, but it’s nothing to be scared of. Colin isn’t here, so your the man in charge. Take care of Jane Ann, your mother, and Trisha.”

“I’ll take care of ’em.” Dillon looked proudly at his mother. He already loved John dearly.

“Shall I give them the presents?”

“Presents?” The word was echoed by both children.

“That’s a good idea. I think you could even break out the candy sticks, Addie.”

“Candy?” both shrieked.

Trisha and Addie laughed.

“They’ll be a-wishin’ for a storm every day, Mr. John.”

“I hope they don’t get one every day. I’ll keep an eye on the wagon.” John leaned from the saddle and kissed Addie.

“Put on your slicker—”

He laughed. “Yes,
Muvver.
”

Jane Ann was speechless when Addie handed her the doll. When finally she could speak, she whispered, “She’s mine.”

“Yes, honey. John bought her for you.”

The child’s eyes were as bright as diamonds. “He
is
my papa, ain’t he?”

“Yes, he is, honey.”

“Looky, Trisha. Looky at her dress. She’s got fingers!”

Dillon was interested in the doll until he saw the tin soldiers. The look on his face was one of awe. The box held ten brightly painted soldiers; five in the uniform of the North and five in the uniform of the South. He grabbed a Union soldier from the box.

“Look, Muvver! This is like that man.” He was so excited he could scarcely talk. “See, Trisha?”

“Did Papa get Trisha a present?” Jane Ann asked.

“He bought her some ribbons for her hair. I’ll get them out later.”

“He didn’t do no such, Miss Addie,” Trisha whispered.

“How do you know, Miss Smarty?” Addie put her arm around her friend and hugged her. “Oh, Trish, we’re so lucky to have John. I think of the time back on the farm as a nightmare.”

“It wasn’t bad, ’cept there at the last. Mr. John come in the nick a time.”

“And Buffer did too. Remember when we first saw him in town? He collared those two drunks and sent them sailing out into the street. He liked you even then.”

“But he . . . knowed—”

“It’s all the better. He liked you in spite of that. You do like him, don’t you?”

“He’s all right now he’s got that brush off his face.”

“John says he wants to marry you.”

“He . . . can’t!”

“Trisha, it’s one thing to be proud, it’s another to be so stiff-necked proud that you ruin your chance to be happy. I know you’re not ashamed of your colored blood; but you’ve got far more white blood than colored, so go with what you’ve got the most of.”

“I was thinkin’ it was red!” Trisha giggled.

Addie laughed.

The wind hit the wagon with a force that rocked it.

Addie hurried to put out the lantern. Trisha tied down the back flap. A tremendous clap of thunder broke overhead, and Jane Ann let out a little shriek. Trisha reached for the child as the wind-driven rain struck the tightly stretched canvas. Addie held Dillon and his precious tin soldiers in her arms and wondered if John and Colin were out in this heavy downpour.

The wind slackened some, but rain continued to pour out of the sky. Inside the dark wagon, there was just enough light for the two women holding the children to see each other. Water began to come in around the front flap. Trisha moved Jane Ann close to Addie and hurriedly removed the mattress from the overjet and placed a rag rug beneath the leak to catch the water. Then she went back to sit on the trunk with Jane Ann.

The noise made by the driving rain against the canvas prevented Addie from hearing the voice that called out to Trisha from the end of the wagon. But Trisha heard it, and fear spread through her brain like a writhing serpent. She reached for Addie’s arm, squeezed it, and put her finger to her lips.

“Come outta thar, girl!”

“It’s him!” Trisha mouthed. Then, hearing a sound from Jane Ann, she clamped her hand over the child’s mouth.

“Shhh . . . honey,” she whispered against her ear. “Go get under the overjet. Hurry!”

It took less than half a minute for the women to shove the children under the overjet and to lift the trunk and place it in front of them. Trisha motioned frantically for Addie to get under the jet with them, but she shook her head.

“I’ll empty both barrels in thar if’n ya don’t come out.”

Addie looked for a weapon. The old buffalo gun was under the wagon seat. Colin had taken Trisha’s rifle. The knives were in the chuck box, but its door was outside.

The rumbling thunder was constant now. Addie looked across at Trisha. She stood poised, one hand on the bow of the wagon, the other clutching her knife.

A sudden
rip!
Through a yard-long slice in the canvas the head and shoulders of a man appeared. Rain-soaked black hair was plastered to his head. A black beard covered his face. His eyes, even in the gloom, shone with the light of insanity.

“Ya ain’t gettin’ away this time.”

Trisha launched herself at him as he was bringing up the double barrel of his gun.

She never reached him.

He was suddenly swept away by a long arm that looped around his throat. The gun he was holding went off, the bullet going through the top of the wagon. The attacker dropped the useless weapon and struggled to reach the knife tucked in his belt. Then Buffer’s fist came at him with such force that his head snapped up and his body arched back. He staggered, but when he righted himself he had a knife in his hand.

“Come on, ya
vulture!
” Buffer roared, reaching for his own blade. “I’ll cut yore gawddamned heart out!”

The huge man was wild with rage. The bearded man knew that this would be a fight to the death.

“She ain’t nothin’ but a split-tailed nigger!” he sneered. With hot fevered eyes on Buffer, he began to sidestep to force Buffer against the wagon tongue.

It was a mistake. The instant the intruder’s back was to the wagon, Trisha launched herself through the opening in the canvas. With all the strength she possessed she plunged her knife into his back. She fell to the ground and bounced back to her feet like a cat. The black-bearded man staggered, then stood motionless for a few seconds. He turned slowly as if dangling from a string, his eyes wild, his mouth open.

“Nigger bitch! I’ll whup the meat off yore bones!”

Trisha backed away. Vaguely she could hear Buffer calling her name and then his arms were pulling her back, shielding her with his body.

As the bearded man stared at her, the stiffness went out of his legs and his knees folded. His hate-filled eyes never left Trisha’s face as he sank slowly, his knife hand reaching out for her. Then he was on his face, Trisha’s knife protruding from his back. Buffer stepped forward and kicked the knife from his hand, then bent and yanked Trisha’s out of his back.

The man screamed.

“Shit!” Buffer muttered. “The bastard ain’t dead!”