Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series) (23 page)

The morning found everyone in a foul mood, but by afternoon, Brock produced his harmonica while a bottle of native brandy was passed among the men. At the crux of his willpower, Lucius refused the liquor, for he was forbidden to drink. While the others happily consumed the beverage, he sulked to the Australian’s music, deciding that he absolutely despised Brock Donnigan more than anyone in the world.

He would have been completely dejected if not for a certain pair of eyes that watched him from the corner of the room. There sat Evelyn Brennan, regarding him with curiosity. No doubt she imagined he would succumb to temptation, but he was determined to prove her wrong. Each time the brandy made the rounds, he valiantly denied it, watching for Evelyn’s approval. It was evident she was torn between scowling sternly and laughing with amusement, for Lucius’ inward battle and his obvious desire to make it known were both pitiful and hilarious.

She was making fun of him, but it was no matter. At least someone could appreciate the sacrifice he was making.

                                                                      * * *

The company set out as the sun descended, Lucius in the rear
bungo
with Josephine and Adele, and Brock leading the party with Evelyn and little Bartholomew, whom Evelyn attended, relieving Josephine of her assistance. As much as Adele adored her son, Evelyn had wished to give her time to cope, with her young nurse to tend to her every need. The poor woman had needed rest, and Evelyn was only too happy to take the child in allowance for solace and sleep.

The jungle quickly grew dark and torches were lit to aid their vision. In front and behind, the eerie yellow lights of dozens of
bungos
reflected on the water and could be seen stretching beyond each bend in the river.

The natives rowed in silence for many hours, while the moon rose white and languorous in the night sky. As nocturnal creatures woke and roamed the surrounding hills, their exotic music filled the air. Some were pleasant, chirping sounds, while others were louder, deeper, and more frightening. All were mysterious and foreign.

            Bartholomew was soon asleep in Evelyn’s arms, and Evelyn felt her own eyes growing heavy. Her head began to nod, and before long, she too succumbed to sleep.

            She did not know how many hours had passed when a strange noise startled her awake. The moon, she noticed, was no longer visible, but the landscape was still in shadow. Night remained.

At the narrow bow of the
bungo
, the stone-faced native chattered in his indigenous tongue. His tone was sharp, betraying anxiety.

Evelyn leaned forward to see what was happening. Brock sensed her alarm and in the darkness, he turned and placed his hand on her knee. She felt a shock at the unexpected touch.

            “There are trees in the water,” he told her, his voice low and hushed. “No need to worry.”

            “Trees?” she repeated. “Whatever are you talking about?”

            There was a loud crack as the raft collided with another protrusion. Bartie awoke with a jolt of surprise and began to wail.

            Rising from the inky black water were shapes that looked like many-fingered claws, stiff and monstrous. They were the broken and jagged stumps of long-dead trees, and while some stood as silhouettes against the night, others were buried beneath the river’s surface.

Everyone braced themselves against the sides of the rafts.

            “What is going on?” Adele asked, the present danger enough to break her long silence.

            “We’ve hit a bit of an obstacle course, it would seem,” Lucius told her. “Steady on. I’m sure our boatswains know what they are doing.”

            Evelyn tried to shush the boy, but the
bungo
jolted once more. She reached forward and grabbed Brock’s arm to steady herself.

            “I wonder if our boatswains have considered that we might
avoid
these dastardly collisions if we only row a bit
slower
,” Lucius shouted.

            “They can’t
see
every tree, ya bloody galah,” Brock retorted. “We go fast or slow, it’s a fair go this boat’s gonna take some damage.”

            They could hear the underwater foliage scraping below their feet. Evelyn wondered if their boatswains had prepared for this unsettling dilemma. Surely the natives had made this journey before, and recently? The
Steam Rose
was not the first to deliver California-bound travelers. Many had traveled this road as of late.

But had all of them made it to Panama City, and in one piece?

Had the curse of Chagres given chase? Was this some sort of evil enchantment, sent to cast all brave adventurers into the clutches of the river? These present souls had escaped the fever, but would they survive the jungle?

As if to confirm her fears, Evelyn looked to the riverbank and saw the devastated carcass of an abandoned, overturned canoe.

These trees could impale and sink them. They could be forced to swim ashore and conclude the rest of their journey by foot. Their belongings could be destroyed.
They
could be destroyed… for who among them even knew how to swim? Evelyn certainly did not, nor did the child in her care. Bartholomew was utterly helpless. If Evelyn could not save herself, how could she save him?

She turned to catch a glimpse of his mother. Adele was gripping Josephine’s hand tightly, her eyes betraying her terror. 

Amidst her doubts, Evelyn fought to uphold her strength of mind, and seeing that Adele was in need of a little strength herself, she offered her the slightest hint of a smile.  It was all she could conjure.

Lucius sat at the tail end of the company, where he found himself studying his wife in the muted light. She looked frightened and uneasy, yet somehow courageous. When she smiled for Adele, Lucius received it for himself. If Evelyn could put on a brave face, so could he. After all, this was not the first time he had borrowed courage from Evelyn. Whether or not she knew it, which he supposed she did, he had been doing it their entire lives. Somewhere deep down, Lucius Flynn was a bit of a coward, while Evelyn Brennan would not diminish herself by becoming one. She had proven this when they were children, when Lucius was learning to ride his first horse. Evelyn had insisted upon joining him, though she had never ridden in her life.

He had responded with a lofty, “you’re far too little. Wait till you are older, lass.”

At this, she was indignant. Although he was nine years old and she was only seven, they were the same height.

            “I can do anything you can do, you silly boy,” she told him. “You’re just afraid I might best you because I am brave, and you only do what you are told to do.”

            “I do whatever I want,” he retorted, indignant.

            “I don’t believe it. You won’t take a step unless your father lays out a carpet for you. You’re too frightened to disobey him, and that’s why you won’t let me up on that horse. You are afraid of what your da would say.”

            “You’re bloody wrong! Get the devil up here.”

            He had swung an arm down and pulled her up behind him, and when he kicked the horse to launch into a gallop, she screamed and fell off the rear. Confident of his immediate consequences, he leapt from the horse and ran to her, praying to God she was not injured, lest he encounter the wrath of both their fathers.

            He heard her then, and knew with intense apprehension that she was crying. He knelt beside her, his death sentence looming over him, when she burst into laughter and flung mud in his face.

            “I told you I would best you,” she giggled. “Take a fall like that and we’ll be even!”

            As the memory faded, Lucius realized he had caught Evelyn’s eye, and they held one another’s gaze for the briefest of seconds. He felt something like a shock in his chest, and wondered what Evelyn could possibly be thinking and feeling in that moment, and if those thoughts and feelings were possibly bent upon him.

The moment came to an abrupt close as her raft was thrust against another tree, causing her to lurch forward. A sharp crack cut through the thickness of night.

            Lucius blinked, and when he opened his eyes, Evelyn was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Twenty

            Stillness settled around them as the
bungo
was corrected, but it lasted no longer than a few seconds. Bartholomew had been flung from Evelyn’s arms, colliding with the broad back of Brock Donnigan and landing in a heap on the hard, hollow bottom of the raft. The quiet shock stretched only as long as it took for the child to catch his breath.

            He began to scream, while Lucius called out Evelyn’s name.

            The noise seemed to waken the others from a stupor. All at once, everyone in the company craned their necks to look into the water.

It was black as obsidian, and Evelyn was lost beneath it.

            “Where has she gone?” Adele asked, her voice peaked with fear.

            “Overboard!” Brock shouted. He turned sharply to the natives. “Stop rowing, you bloody fools!”

            The current was against them, and Evelyn’s body would be drifting downriver.

            “She cannot swim!” Lucius cried.

            Adele watched with a quiet, horrified expression. Beside her, Josephine clung to her arm, her eyes fastened upon Brock.

            “Josephine, Mrs. Whitfield,” Lucius began, “you must counter my weight. Lean to the right while I search for Miss Brennan.”

            The women obeyed as Lucius plunged his arms into the water.

            “Please, God,” he muttered. “Please, God.”

            He felt nothing, and at once he knew that simply breaking the surface was not enough.

He must dive in after her.

* * *

Evelyn found herself waving frantic arms in search of some security, but instead discovered a surreal sensation of floating nothingness. There was no wood beneath her feet, no rail to steady herself, no sturdy human form to cling to. Where was the boy? He was no longer in her embrace.

In a blur of confusion she realized she could not breathe, but was instead lost in a thick swirl of moving water. She had fallen into the river, with nothing below, nothing beside, and nothing above to give her leverage. She struggled, but in what direction she advanced, she did not know. Was she sinking? Was she ascending? She clawed at the water but found no form of resistance. She tried to swim, but did not know how, and the current seemed to scoff at her attempts. She was tossed against the stump of an old tree and the impact forced the remaining oxygen from her lungs.

            A foreign pressure sank against her chest as her heart threatened to stop. She thought she heard a muffled cry, and wondered if it had come from inside her, when something touched her arm. It wrapped itself around and lifted her up, up to the surface of the river and out of the water’s clutch.

Brock pulled Evelyn into the raft, her long dress heavy from the weight of the water. She coughed, the pressure in her chest lessening with every sputter, her ribs aching from her collision with the stump.

            Her senses were a bit muffled. She could faintly hear Adele worrying over her, the natives speaking in their exotic tongue, and Brock insisting there was no harm done, that she would be all right.

            Her wet clothes inspired a deep and racking chill. Brock quickly pulled the shirt from his back to drape about her shoulders, and she noticed that Bartholomew was sitting quietly in front of him, his eyes watchful and wide with curiosity.

Downriver, Lucius emerged from the surface of the water to catch his breath and gather his bearings.

“Lucius!” Brock hollered.

Lucius shot a look in his direction.

“I got her, mate. She’s safe.”

Lucius stared a moment, struggling to understand. He wiped the water from his eyes and saw her: a frail, wet bundle in the raft beside Brock. He nodded, relieved, and searched for his own boat. Getting back into that thing without capsizing it was going to be a bloody challenge. He hadn’t thought about that when he leapt into the water after Evelyn. Her life had been the sole item on his mind.

Josephine and Adele managed to assist him, and once he was safe and settled, he ran his fingers through his dripping hair, his heart racing.

            “My God, Evelyn,” he shouted across the river. “We nearly lost you.”

            She turned to look at him, taking in his sodden appearance. Had Lucius fallen into the river as well? Shivering, she pulled Brock’s shirt a bit closer.

            “What happened?” she managed to ask, teeth chattering.

            Silently, Brock produced a flask and unscrewed the cap. He offered it to Evelyn.

“Have a swig, Duchess. It’ll do you good.”

It smelled of rum, and Evelyn did not have the discipline to abstain. She took a large, confident swig. Upon first taste, the beverage was potent and smooth, but quickly turned hot and sharp as it passed through her throat, painfully catching on its way down. She began to cough, but chased it down with another drink.

Brock raised his eyebrows and chuckled.

 “My, my. First cigars, now liquor. What kind of duchess are you?”

Evelyn returned the flask and Brock took a swig himself.

“A thirsty one,” she replied. “Now, do not finish that, Mr. Donnigan, as I shall like some more when you are through.”

Brock smirked.

“We hit a protrusion in the water, and you took quite a plunge,” he explained.

“Lucius as well?”

“He jumped in after you, love. The boy’s not bloody worthless, after all. It was a wasted effort, however, for you were within my reach. The poor blighter should have known I had you.”

Evelyn gazed at Lucius, whose distant expression was veiled in the surrounding darkness. Josephine was fussing over him, using her smock to help him dry.