Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 01] (11 page)

Rachel finished counting before she answered. “Not more than twenty.” Disappointed, she put the coins back in the bag.

“That’s not very many for all the supplies we’ll need. Maybe we can barter the mare,” Berry said hopefully. Then, “How’re we goin’ to find this place?” She unfolded the map and turned it sideways. “This must be the river.” Her finger traced a line. “This says Saint Louis and the marked-off spot is west and north of that. It’s not on a river and it don’t look like it’s on a creek. How’ll we find it?” she said again.

“We’ll have to ask someone. We should’ve looked for the map before Mr. Benson left.”

“I’m glad we didn’t. He’d’ve not wanted us to homestead. He said women couldn’t take up land.”

“It’ll be hard,” Rachel said with a sigh.

“Not any harder than what we’ve been used to,” Berry answered stubbornly. “Do you think Fain, or . . . Simon would take us there?”

“They might . . . if we ever see them again.”

As evening approached, Berry cast anxious eyes around the clearing. Israel had carried in enough dead wood to keep a fire going all night. The mules, the ox, and the sorrel mare were tethered behind the wagons. She and Rachel each carried one of the muskets. The other musket, the rifle, the powder, and shot were under a cloth near the cookfire.

Berry unwrapped the sweet Simon had given her and took a small bite. She wrapped the rest and put it back in her pocket. Her hand caressed the paper lovingly. She had been careful to take only a small nibble now and then, and to hold it in her mouth so the treat would last longer. All day she had tried to keep him out of her mind. Now, the sweet in her mouth reminded her of his.

“We’ll hitch up the team and go into town tomorrow,” Rachel said, breaking into her thoughts. “We’ll ask at one of the stores where we can find Fain or Mr. Witcher.”

They ate a hasty meal and put away the cook things. As darkness approached, both women began to doubt the wisdom of their actions, but neither voiced her anxiety to the other. Rachel’s face was drawn with worry. The ache in her back had intensified as the day wore on. She sank down on the box and leaned back against the wagon wheel. There was very little possibility of help coming from the half-breed scout or from Fain or Simon. If the men had heard of their plight and were concerned for them, they would have been here by now.

This place seems a million miles from the farm in Ohio, Rachel thought. There’s no law in this land. The decent people in the town have no reason to think about the happenings at the wagon grounds where settlers come and go with regularity.

Rachel was as sure as sin that before the night was over, Asa’s friends would pay them a visit. She’d seen the lust in Linc’s eyes when he looked at Berry. She tried to reason out the best thing to do. They had to separate, she decided. The more she thought about it, the more sure she was that it was the right thing to do. She told Berry her plan and Berry agreed.

“You get in the wagon and rest, Rachel. I’ll take that old, dark quilt ’n’ get out there in the dark so I can watch.”

“I thought you could get in the other wagon.”

“No. It’s best if they think we’re both in the same wagon like the other night. You take the rifle and one of the muskets. I’ll take the other two.” She helped Rachel into the wagon and then brought the guns to her. “Doesn’t it seem strange that Pa would have three muskets?”

“He won ’em at cards, more’n likely.”

Berry selected a spot among some leafy brush that grew around a giant oak. She spread the quilt, sat down on the edge of it, and pulled the rest over her lap. From this point she could see both the front and the back of Rachel’s wagon and the stock tethered behind and to the side of it. She rested her back against the tree and took the sweet from her pocket. The treat was almost gone. She wanted to hold on to it a little longer, so she returned it to her pocket without taking a nibble.

Berry was tense and nervous and suddenly very tired. Her eyes searched the darkness for a sight of Israel. After he had brought the stock in and carried in a supply of fuel for the fire he had disappeared. As far as she knew, he hadn’t returned to get his supper. She was acutely disappointed in him. Somehow she had been sure he wouldn’t run off and leave them alone. She hoped Rachel hadn’t noticed his absence. There was no need for her to worry until they were sure he wasn’t coming back.

*    *    *

In all his life Israel had never felt important or needed until now. Suddenly he had been pushed into a new role—that of protector to the white women who had been kind to him, who had made his life bearable. He was ready to lay his life down for them, but what good would that do? His worthless life was nothing. He had to find someone to help them. His mind had worked at the problem all day. Who would listen to a slave? The thought came to him that another slave would listen. He had seen a black man standing beside a stone building when they had come through town. He would find him and ask him what to do.

When darkness settled, Israel slipped out of camp and ran through the woods toward the town. The thought of what the white men would do to the missy overcame the terror of being alone in the wilderness and the uncertainty of what he would do when he reached town. On the outskirts of the town he hunkered down to get his breath and try to figure out the best way to reach the building at the end of the street. There was no doubt in his mind that if he was caught out alone he’d be stolen away and resold in one of the towns down the river.

At this hour the street was dark and deserted. All the activity was around the saloons on the river-front. Israel had no idea of how to find the man he’d seen the day before. He decided to make his way to the rear of the building, hide, and wait. His heart pounding with fear and excitement, he darted across the rutted road and slid behind the long row of buildings. He ran their length in short spurts, pausing to listen and to pick out his next stop. Finally he came to the stone building and squatted down between two barrels to rest.

“Oh, lawsey, lawsey . . .” he groaned. He picked a few cockleburrs out of his feet and wished with all his heart that he were back at the wagon grounds with the missy.

When a huge hand grabbed the back of his neck and he felt the prick of a knife in his back, Israel’s legs straightened out of their own accord and he shot up from his squatting position beside the barrels. Fear ran tingling down his spine and chilled his heart.

“What yo’ sneakin’ ’round here fo’?”

“Ah . . . ah . . .” A heavy hand spun him around. Terror clogged his throat.

“Talk, boy. You a runaway?”

“Naw . . . naw . . .”

“Ain’t you that slave come a-drivin’ them mules up ta the grounds yesterday?”

“Yassuh.” Some of the fright left Israel when he saw the big black man was the man he was looking for. “Mistah Asa’s dead. All them folk gone, ’n’ a riverman’s comin’ ta get little missy.” The words poured out of him in a rush.

“What you talkin’ ’bout, boy?”

Israel tried to calm himself and explain the situation. He talked in short gasps. When he had finished, he asked about the white man with the pipe and the white man who wore the broad-brimmed hat.

“Mistah Simon done gone upriver, ’n’ Mistah Fain gone home.”

“Oh, lawsey . . . oh, po’ missy . . .” Israel groaned.

“Hush up yo’ moanin’,” Lardy said sharply. “Moanin’ don’ help your missy. You go ’n’ catch up to Mistah Fain. You go back, hide yo’self ’n’ watch. If’n the riverman come, sneak up behind ’im ’n’ bash his head. Don’ get yo’self caught. White man’ll split your gullet.” He put the edge of his hand to his throat. “Go on. Git outta this town now.”

The run back through the woods to the camp was not as frightening to Israel. He was buoyant with self-worth. He had done what he had set out to do. He’d gotten help for missy. When he reached the wagon grounds he hunkered down to watch before showing himself. The campfire had burned low. There was almost no light. He waited until he was sure there was no one around, then he slipped between the wagons and heaped some dead branches on the fire, waited until it blazed brightly, then slipped into the darkness again.

*    *    *

Berry became alert when she saw the figure at the campfire. She lifted the musket, then almost sobbed with relief when she recognized Israel’s lanky figure. He hadn’t run off after all! She leaned her head back against the tree trunk and watched him fade into the darkness. It was a comfort to know he was there.

Her bottom began to ache. She shifted her position. She was sitting on the knurled roots of the tree. The quilt was hot and scratchy, but it concealed her so well she didn’t dare throw it off. She sat motionless, her body aching, and wondered why she’d ever thought the forest was a silent place.

The wind came up and stirred the top of the tree. It crackled and popped as if protesting the disturbance. An owl hooted and was answered by another a long way away. A pack rat scurried in the leaves, then hurried off on some nocturnal hunt. A nightbird whistled and Berry lifted her head to listen. Didn’t Indians signal each other by using such sounds? She tensed, waiting for an answering whistle or the sound of a footfall. None came and she settled back with relief.

She relaxed and let her mind wander to Simon. She went over in her mind each and every word they had exchanged. She wished, now, that she hadn’t gotten so angry when he’d said he would court her. But . . . dammit! Why’d he have to say it like that? she thought. He’d said she was pretty. That was the reason why he wanted to kiss her. Her face began to burn over the thoughts that danced in her mind; thoughts of how he had felt against the front of her when his hand went down to her hips, cupped them, and pulled her against him. When he finished kissing her he had been breathing hard, too. Breathing as hard as if he’d been running a long way. Come to think about it,
she’d
never been so out of air in her whole life!

The hours passed slowly. When the birds left the treetops Berry was sure it was close to dawn. She was also certain that between the hardness of the ground, the ache in her back, and listening to the sounds of the forest, she would never go to sleep. But she was more tired than she knew. Her head began to nod . . . she jerked awake . . . nodded . . . came awake, and finally she closed her eyes to rest them for a moment, and fell asleep.

W
hatever it was that woke Berry, she thanked God for it later. Her eyes flew open to see a motionless figure crouched before her. Suddenly it moved and a hand clamped hard over her mouth. She was caught by surprise and got only a glimpse of hard, bright eyes staring out of a bushy face. She could not cry out because of the hand. Fear rushed into her heart. Her reaction was purely instinctive and she was only barely conscious of what she was doing until she heard the deafening roar of the musket. Somehow she had managed to tilt the gun, where it lay in her lap beneath the quilt, and pull the trigger.

The hand left her mouth as the man was flung back. She heard the shot, smelled the smoke, and stared in mute fascination at the blossom of blood that spouted on her assailant’s chest. He was jerked upright, then twisted crazily, reeled, and fell over backward, still twitching.

Berry’s fingers dug into the rough bark of the tree and she pulled herself to her feet. She was dazed, realizing only that dawn had come. The quilt lay in a heap around her feet. She dropped the still-smoking musket and reached frantically for the second gun. As she straightened, a second shot blasted the stillness. She screamed inwardly; in her shocked terror she was unable to make a sound. Then, as if out of a nightmare, an odd-looking figure in buck-skin pants and a dirty, white cloth shirt raced toward her. Linc Smith! He was bareheaded, his hair stood out around his head like porcupine quills, and his teeth were bared like those of an attacking animal.

“George?” Then: “Ya bitch! Ya killed ’im!”

Everything beyond the powerful body hurtling toward her became blurred and indistinct. Berry could scarcely draw a breath into her lungs. Then she remembered that she was holding the second pistol. As if in a dream, she felt her arms lift the gun and her fingers tighten and pull. The sound roared in her ears; she closed her eyes against it as she was pushed back against the tree trunk by the force of the explosion.

Linc screamed. Berry looked with horror as he grabbed the side of his face. Blood seeped between his fingers and spilled down onto his cloth shirt in a crimson flood. He reeled and turned into the woods without another sound.

“Rachel!” The frantic cry came hoarsely from her throat. Her feet felt as if they weighed a hundred pounds each as she ran toward the wagon. “Rachel!” She stumbled against the body of a man lying crumbled, face down in the dirt. The frightened mules were straining against the ropes that held them, and the mare nickered and danced at the end of her tether.

Berry jumped up on the box and crawled into the open end of the wagon. Rachel was on the floor, trying to pull herself up into a sitting position. Smoke from the fired gun stung Berry’s nostrils. She fell to her knees beside the other woman and threw her arms around her. “Are ya hurt? Are ya hurt?” She helped her to sit up and lean against the side of the wagon. “Did . . .they get in the . . .”

“Did I kill him?” Rachel looked at her with dazed, wide eyes. “Is he dead?”

“He’s dead! Oh . . . Rachel . . . !”

“The rifle knocked me down. Get the musket. . . .”

Berry grabbed the musket, crawled to the end of the wagon, and looked out. Her mind still hadn’t accepted what had happened. Israel was trying to calm the mare. Her eyes swept the camp and then she gazed into the woods as far as she could see.

She called out to Israel, “Are they gone?”

“Yass’m.” He had no time to say more; the dancing mare claimed all his attention. Finally he untied the rope and led her to the front of the wagon.

Berry returned to Rachel. “I killed George ’n’ I shot Linc in the face! Oh, Rachel! It was awful!”

“Who is it . . . out there?” Rachel sat on the floor, her legs sprattled and her hands cupped beneath her abdomen.