Texas Angel, 2-in-1 (25 page)

Sometimes the girls did not sleep so well on their free nights because they were accustomed to different hours. It was no different this night. Liz could hear stirrings in all the little cubicles well past midnight. Maurry and Lyle were taken up with their usual occupation of playing cards and drinking with a group of men in the main cabin. The noise of the drunken men seemed to go on forever.

Finally, around two or three in the morning, the restless throng quieted down. Some probably left despite the storm, preferring to pass the night in their own cabins. But if this was like other similar gatherings, most of the men had probably simply passed out on the cabin floor. They would sleep soundly and well into the morning.

“Well, Hannah, it’s time.” Liz gently brushed aside a strand of Hannah’s hair from her pale face.

She filled the saddlebag with all her pilfered supplies—food, water bottle, the medicinal herbs for Hannah, and a kitchen knife, the only weapon she could get her hands on. Too bad that oaf who had attacked her came back the next day for his knife. Finally Liz lovingly tucked Rebekah Sinclair’s New Testament inside. Then she snugly wrapped Hannah in a blanket from the bed. Tearing another blanket in half, she made a kind of sling in which she could place Hannah, then tie around her own body. It would help take off some of the weight, slight as it was, from Liz’s arms.

For herself, Liz wore her warmest and most modest outfit, a yellow silk skirt with a heavy ruffle around the bottom and a white muslin blouse. Maurry didn’t allow them practical clothes in an attempt, Liz thought, to keep them under his thumb. The yellow was bright, and the green of woods and trees would not blend with it, but it was better than the reds and purples of her other dresses. Slipping a coat over the outfit would help hide it a little.

She rejected the idea of bringing another blanket. The rain would only make it a wet and heavy burden. The clothes on her back would have to do. Placing the saddlebag by a strap around her shoulder, she completed the ensemble with the poncholike mackintosh, which was large enough to cover both her and Hannah.

At last she was ready.

She crept from her room. All was silent except for the pounding of the rain upon the roof of the cabin. In the common room that was exclusively for the girl’s use, the embers of the banked fire in the hearth emanated a delicious warmth, which made going out into the cold, wet night an unpleasant thought. A fleeting notion of abandoning her crazed plan assailed Liz.

Why not accept her life as it was? Warmth, food, shelter. Who was she to think she should have more? She was no plantation belle, only a Negro slave wench.

“Stop it!” she hissed to herself.

She’d made her decision. She had considered the risks. Part of her knew she and Hannah were likely to die in this escape attempt. She was not going to debate the matter further.

She took a determined step, then suddenly froze—but this time not from indecision but rather because she saw the rocker in the sitting room by the hearth move. Someone was awake.

“Storms always keep me awake.” Mae’s voice was quiet, almost soothing. “You, too, Liz?”

“I . . . I . . .”

In the dark, Liz saw Mae look up. Bundled as she was, there would be no way to hide what she was about to do. But contradicting the fierce pounding of her heart, a calm stole over Liz. She could not accept that all was lost so soon.

“I guess it can be a little scary—the rain, you know.” Liz spoke as if they were having a casual conversation, though in soft tones.

“Don’t be scared.” In the glow of the embers, Liz could see a faint smile play upon Mae’s lips. “I think the rain will be your friend.”

“I hope so.”

Mae rose from the rocker, the old wood creaking slightly. The sound made Liz tense.

“I guess I can sleep a bit now,” Mae said. “You gonna sit for a spell?”

“Maybe so. . . .”

Mae quietly approached Liz, her eyes carefully taking in the mackintosh-wrapped pair. She knew exactly what was happening. She reached up and gently patted Liz’s cheek.

“You never did belong here.” Mae’s voice was suddenly husky.

“Neither do you, Mae.”

The older woman shrugged. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Liz only nodded. They both knew they might never see each other again.

The heightened energy from a midnight flight kept Liz going for some miles. When that wore off, weariness attacked her like a ferocious beast. Her arms were numb, her shoulders ached, her feet, clad in old boots that might have been made for dancing but certainly not for hiking miles over broken, slippery terrain, felt like stumps of sheer pain. The hem of her skirt was also soaked, weighing her down like lead. At least Hannah felt fairly dry.

In the dark, Liz could scarcely discern her direction, but earlier in the week she had taken a walk a short distance in the proper direction and left subtle markers. She had encountered them all, obliterating them the moment they were found. But there were no more markers now. Only instinct and a lot of prayer were left to guide her.

By the time daylight came, she judged she might have traveled five or six miles—a distance Maurry could cross in less than an hour on horseback. So despite her weariness, she pushed on, stopping only for short breathers. She kept off the trail as much as possible. Once, when she saw a rider coming from the opposite direction, she veered so far into the woods that she lost track of the trail altogether. Still she trudged on. If she discovered she was going in the wrong direction . . . well, she would deal with it when the time came.

Along about noon—though she could not tell exactly because it was still raining and there was no sun to judge by—she knew she had reached the limits of her endurance. Retreating to a part of the woods where the canopy of trees was thickest, she found a stout trunk and crumpled down, using the tree as a backrest. She made a kind of tent of the mackintosh to protect them from the moisture that found its way past the trees. Now, more than ever, she could feel rivulets of water running down her back. But she made sure none fell upon Hannah.

The baby was so quiet Liz had to bite back panic. She was still alive but her breathing was shallow. And while Liz was shivering with cold, Hannah was hot to the touch. If only it meant that the child was snug and warm, but Liz feared another fever had crept upon her.

“You need some nourishment, sweetheart,” Liz murmured. Getting into the bag without soaking everything was awkward, but she finally managed to remove some jerky and bread and the water bottle. “No milk, honey, but have some water.”

She touched several drops to Hannah’s lips but the child made no response. “Come on, Hannah. You need this. Take it for Mama, all right?”

After a bit of coaxing, Liz got her to take in a couple sips of water and a few crumbs of bread. Only then did Liz take food for herself. She ate sparingly because she judged she had only about two days’ worth of food. It would take twice that and more to get to her destination.

Though she knew it would be impossible to sleep in the rain under the poor shelter of the mackintosh, she closed her eyes. She surprised herself when she suddenly jerked awake. Had she slept a few minutes? A few hours? She could not tell but felt rested enough to continue the journey.

The rain had stopped while she slept, but the sun still made no appearance, and heavy black clouds continued to hang in the sky. Shortly after she began her trek, she struck upon the road again.

“Thank you, God!” she murmured.

A little later she passed close to a cabin. How inviting was the smoke curling from the chimney, even if it was buffeted about by wind. But she had to avoid contact with others. There was no way she could innocently explain why she was trekking through the woods with a baby on such a miserable day. And even if some benevolent soul didn’t care who she was and offered her an hour of warmth and shelter, there was always the chance that word of her passing would get back to Maurry. The settler might let a word slip next time he was in town about the strange woman and baby he had helped. That could get back to Maurry, who would then know his runaway slave had gone north, not south.

No, she must avoid all contact at any cost.

However, that resolve was harder to adhere to when it began to rain again. She tried to tell herself that rain indeed was her friend, but— oh!—why did this friend have to cling so closely to her? The mackintosh was next to worthless as the wind whipped it up around her, making it more an obstruction than a help. Even Hannah was wet now.

Liz trod on through the second night and day, stopping only for a few minutes at a time to rest and eat. Late that afternoon she came to an outcropping of rock in a hilly expanse of the forest. She nearly whooped with delight when she discovered a small cave in the rocks. It went back into the rock about three or four feet and was about the same in height.

“Hannah! We’ve a home for the night.” She didn’t care that there were still a few hours of daylight good for traveling. She was going to sleep out of the elements, do or die.

Nestled in the dry cave, she slept better than she had in weeks. She was still cold and wet and stiff when she awoke, but there was no wind and rain lashing at her. If nothing else, this experience was teaching her to appreciate small blessings.

As if this signaled a celebration, she ate the last of her food after first coaxing Hannah to eat a bit. Then, with great reluctance, she started to prepare to leave their fine little hole.

The rustling of brush made her gasp and freeze. Had a stranger stumbled upon her? Had Maurry caught up with her?

At first she saw nothing. Then the creature moved, rearing up on his thick hind legs. A bear! It was about twenty feet away, but she knew the beast was looking at her, the errant intruder in his home.

Trying not to make any sudden moves, she slowly inched her hand around until it came to her bag. Just as carefully, she lifted the flap and removed the knife. What she could do against a three-hundred-pound bear with a kitchen utensil, she had no idea, but it gave her enormous comfort just to hold it in her hand.

Ready to do battle, she held her breath and waited. But all at once the beast lowered onto its four feet and, incredibly, lumbered away.

There had been many times in the days since her escape that she had felt so alone, so desperately alone, as if only her poor, frail body was all she had to fend off a thousand enemies. Yet now she knew she had never really been alone at all. She had been fair prey to countless wild animals, but none had molested her, nor had any highwaymen, whom she was certain were looking for helpless creatures such as she.

The dangers lurking in these wilds were countless, yet none had touched her. A picture sprang into her mind. As she held Hannah, protect.ing her from the elements and danger with her own body, Liz saw God holding her—nestled in His arm as was cuddled in hers. Perhaps God was even big enough for her to ride in the palm of His hand.

Oh yes! He was big enough!

For some reason she could not fathom, He had taken a prostitute, surely the lowest of all human creatures, and extended His watchful care over her. In the New Testament, He had spoken to the woman at the well. Later He had rebuked the men who had been about to punish another prostitute. He had gotten into trouble for consorting with people whom the more respectable citizens deemed unworthy.

Now He was doing it again. And in a strange, inexplicable way, she no longer felt like the dirty whore she had been for so long. Just the fact that He cared about her made her feel clean.

Filled with renewed strength, Liz rose from the cave and continued on her journey. An hour later the sun came out, but the warmth in her heart was only partly from that source. Most came directly from the Source of all light, of all hope.

CHAPTER

31

H
OW A CREATURE BARELY LARGER
than his hand could make such noise, Benjamin had no clue.

The newborn had screamed until he was red in the face. And that must have reminded Leah that she was hungry also, because she started crying, too. But worst of all, Isabel, who was old enough to put words to her misery, added to the din.

“I want Mama!” she cried over and over.

Benjamin raked his hands through his hair. His head was throbbing. The incessant racket had rarely ceased since Haden had left four days ago.

“Isabel, be still!” he yelled. “You’re too old to act like that!” He regretted the harsh words as soon as they came out. At least he hadn’t slapped her, as he had been so close to doing.

He started toward the cradle, stumbled over something, finding, when he looked down at his feet, the dustpan. He kicked it out of the way, barely repressing an angry outburst. Besides all the noise of three miserable children, the cabin itself was in shambles. Dirty kettles and dishes were everywhere—who had time to wash up when the demands of the children were so pressing? Clothes, also, were strewn all over—very dirty clothes at that. Laundry was the least of Benjamin’s concerns. Yet it was close to becoming as large a concern as the newborn’s screams. With two babies in diapers, he was quickly running out. He’d seen that Rebekah sometimes dried out diapers that were only wet and reused them two or three times, but even using this method, the pile of unusable diapers was growing.

Filling the demanding stomach of a newborn quickly became his most overwhelming task. He had not the proper natural equipment, and any substitutes he tried were more often than not rejected. Micah, in one of his rare cooperative moments, told Benjamin that Haden, while on the trail, had sopped bread in water, wrapped it in cloth and dripped the resulting liquid into the baby. But the baby would be growing now and would need something more substantial than bread and water. It was only after much prodding that Micah remembered a feeding bottle his mother had in one of the cupboards. This contraption helped, but the baby often sputtered distastefully when the coned pewter spout was set to his lips.

The problem of what to feed the child was another headache. Benjamin berated himself for not paying more attention to such things in the past. Micah, again, was helpful in this, though Benjamin felt like a dentist extracting teeth to get any information from the boy. Micah had spent far more time around his mother than Benjamin liked to admit and had thus picked up a few helpful tidbits.