Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (37 page)

Rain repeated the words, and Tecumapese, lifting the child from the cradle board, put him in Liberty’s arms.

“The Shawnee are very fond of their children,” Rain said. “They seldom allow a white to touch them. This is another way she is expressing her thanks.”

“He is beautiful,” Liberty said softly, smiling down at the child she cradled in her arms. She pushed the dark hair back from his face with gentle fingers and smiled up at the watching mother. “You must be very proud of him.”

Amy, who until now had eyes only for Rain, gazed at the baby with shiny eyes. “I didn’t remember that he was so little. Oh, Libby, he could have drowned so easily.”

“Yes. God must have a greater plan for him.” She handed him up to his mother.

Rain had dismounted. He stood holding the reins of the horse that had come from New York with them. Amy rubbed the nose of the brown mare.

“Take care of Rain,” she whispered, not knowing that her voice carried to the young boy and that her words touched him deeply.

“We’ll miss you, Rain. Farr explained why you feel you must go and I understand. Take care of yourself and know that we’re here thinking of you.” Liberty wanted to put her arms around him, but she was sure he’d not appreciate a show of affection in front of Tecumapese, so she held out her hand. Rain gripped it tightly.

“I’ll make out,” he said gruffly and turned to swing into the saddle. Amy was there. “Bye, Amy.”

“Bye.”

Amy waited, and when he didn’t look at her, she ran to the cabin.

Liberty stood in the yard and watched until the horses were in the trees and out of sight. Rain had not stopped at the sawyer camp on the way to the cabin, and now he avoided the road that would take him past the homesteaders. It suddenly occurred to her that it could be months or years before she saw the quiet young boy again.

*  *  *

Willa had never been happier in her young life. She had not been part of a family since her first mistress died six years before. At times she feared she was dreaming, the feel of Mrs. Thompson’s switch would wake her and she would once again be under the control of that cruel woman. She and Liberty worked from dawn until dusk. Their hands and their mouths were never idle.

Amy and Liberty became the sisters she never had, Juicy the grandfather. She was still in awe of Farr. The big, quiet man moved so silently, spoke so little, and all the while his great knowing eyes were seeing everything. She had three dresses now and soft comfortable moccasins. Juicy, and Rain before he left, had spent evenings making moccasins. It surprised her how fast they made the footwear. The women and the children each had a pair.

Willa talked freely to Liberty about her life with Mrs. Coulter, but said little about Norman Cooley and his wife Bella, Mrs. Coulter’s relatives who sold her indenture to the Thompsons. There were two things she kept carefully to herself. One was the fact that she was in love with Colby Carroll. The other was a secret told to her by Mrs. Coulter before she died, a secret that caused her to burn with shame when she thought about it now; but, at the time, it had been of little significance to an eleven-year-old girl. That dear lady had not realized she was dying until it was too late for her to make arrangements to free Willa from her debt. The Cooleys had been pleased to inherit a servant, quite put out when they discovered she was so young but delighted when they realized how capable she was.

Evening was the time of day Willa liked the best. Liberty had told her that she liked the morning because it was the beginning of the day and evening was the ending. Willa had argued that evening was quiet and golden. Liberty had laughed and said that morning was new and fresh.

Willa sat on the bench outside the door, worked the dasher up and down in the oak churn, and enjoyed the last moments of the day. Stars twinkled in the still-light sky. Before the milk yielded the butter there would be total darkness. The children had gone to bed, and Amy was reading to Juicy by the light of the candle. Each night she read a chapter to him from one of Daniel Defoe’s novels. Farr had read them to him once before, but the old man was enjoying them just as much this second time. It seemed to Willa that Amy had reverted to being a little girl again after Rain left.

“Boo!”

Willa made a pretence of being scared. She couldn’t disappoint Colby. She had known he was coming up behind her. In fact, she knew where he was every minute he was at the homestead.

“Colby! Stop that. One of these days I’m going to jump right out of my skin.” She worked the dasher up and down in the churn vigorously because being close to him made her nervous.

“Don’t do that. It’s such pretty skin. Haven’t you finished with that yet?”

“It’s beginning to feel like it.”

“How can you tell?”

“By the way the dasher feels as it goes up and down. It feels . . . heavier.”

“Take a peek. If it’s done, I’ll carry it down to the spring. Then I’ll have you all to myself. Tomorrow night it’ll be my turn to be on guard down at the sawyer camp.”

“I should dip out the butter first.”

“Can’t that wait until morning?”

“I suppose. We have enough butter for tomorrow.”

She wondered if she sounded breathless. Being alone with Colby was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her, and somehow she was always short of air for the first few minutes. She stood and smoothed down her skirt. Colby lifted the churn and cradled it in his arms.

“Be careful. You’ll slop it down the front of your shirt.”

“And you’d have to wash it again.”

“Nothing smells worse than sour milk. Phew! It’s a blimey smell.”

Colby laughed. “Every once in a while you come out with one of those English expressions. When Farr and I were in school we knew a fellow from Dover, England. It was
bloody
this and
bloody
that. I’ve never heard you say it. Didn’t they say bloody in London?”

“Of course they did. But I was taught not to say bad words.”

“Bloody is a bad word?”

“Said only by men, and not in front of ladies.”

“Well, what do you know!” he exclaimed.

Willa waited while Colby set the churn in the cool springhouse. When he came out, he took her hand and they walked along the little creek made by the flow of water from the spring. It was dark now, and it was as if the two of them were the only people in the world. The peeper frogs were singing and overhead an owl swished by on a nocturnal journey of its own.

“Tell me again about how your father found your mother down on the Kentucky River, saved her from the men who were tracking her and carried her to his cabin on the Ohio.”

“You’ve heard that story,” he teased. “I told you and I heard Juicy telling you and Libby. Juicy was the one who went out into the blizzard and led Pa to the house. Pa told me that Juicy taught him how to stay alive in the wilderness when he first came out from Virginia.”

“And Juicy taught you and Farr.”

“Yes. He brought Farr out first. Then he and Farr taught me. There’s still a lot I don’t know. Someday I hope to be the man Farr is.”

“You are now!” Willa said emphatically.

Colby’s laugh rang out and he squeezed her hand tightly. “I’ve only shown you my good side. It could be that you’re prejudiced. I hope you are.” They walked on in silence. They came to the edge of the woods and stopped. “You would like my mother, Willa. She’s small like you. When she was young she had red hair. It’s got some gray in it now. Juicy said she was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. Pa loves her to distraction.”

Willa sighed. “It’s wonderful.”

“What is?”

“That they love each other still.”

“Is that so strange?” He pulled her around to face him.

“I don’t know of any men who love their wives to distraction after they’ve been married a long time. They usually want someone . . . younger.”

“You haven’t met my father. Farr will be that way too. He’s tail over teakettle in love with Libby. He can’t take his eyes off her when she’s near. Haven’t you noticed how he’s always touching her and listening to every word she says?”

“You’ve noticed all of that?”

“And more. My eyes can’t leave
you.
I’m tail over teakettle in love with
you
and listen to every word
you
say.” His other hand clasped hers and drew her to him. “You like me, I know. But . . . do you love me, Willa?” His words and the softness of his voice turned her to butter.

Willa thought her heart would leap up through her throat. She couldn’t answer. She didn’t dare tell him that she loved him with all her heart and soul and that as long as she lived she’d cherish these moments alone with him. She couldn’t tell him that she loved him too much to try to share his life with him, that someday he would despise her, and she couldn’t endure that.

“Willa?” he urged.

“I like you,” she whispered. “I’m not sure what love is.”

“I’m going to kiss you.”

“No! Please don’t.”

“You always pull away when I try to get close to you. Are you afraid of me? I’ll not force you.”

“I know you won’t.”

“Then let me kiss you. You can move away anytime you want to.” He lifted her face with a finger beneath her chin. “Willa, you’re so pretty and sweet. My heart gallops like a runaway horse everytime I look at you.”

His voice was low and persuasive. She couldn’t resist him and stood perfectly still when he moved closer to her and put his arms around her. She had thought she would never be able to bear a man’s body close to hers again after what happened in Vincennes. It had been so degrading, so humiliating to lie helplessly beneath the rutting boar who took her. All of that was out of her mind now.

Colby’s lips gently touched hers. He held her loosely, giving her the choice of staying close or pulling away. His mouth was soft against hers, and such a lovely feeling unfolded in her midsection and traveled slowly throughout her body. Warm, moist lips left hers and traced the line of her brow and delicately touched her closed eyelids. His lips worked downward, touched her cheek and the tip of her nose, then settled gently on her mouth again where they moved sweetly, gently.

Colby trembled with the effort it took not to hold her tightly to him. Every nerve in his body cried out for her. He yearned to unlock the mystery of why she enchanted him. He had known girls more beautiful, better schooled, knowledgeable in the arts of pleasing a man, but this little waif had captured his heart.

“Colby—”

“Don’t talk, my love. This is all so new to you. Just let me hold you.” He gathered her closer and her arms went about his waist.

She pressed her face against his shirt, not wanting him to see the tears that sprang to her eyes at his tender words. She listened to the heavy beat of his heart and moved her cheek against it. His lips were in her hair, and she moved her face until her lips found the pulse that beat at the base of his throat. A feeling of faintness swept over her. She wanted to cling to him, to give him love. More than anything she wanted to believe that there was someone in all the vast world who truly loved her.

His arms tightened around her and he cuddled her against him. They stood like that for a long while, and he stroked her hair. Finally Willa stirred and moved away from him. He let his arms drop away from her.

“We’d better go back.”

Colby took a deep shuddering breath, held her hand to his lips and kissed her palm, her slender fingers, her wrist. His gentleness brought immeasurable tenderness to her breast and tears to her eyes.

“You’ll be mine, my beloved,” he whispered. “Someday I’ll take you home to Carrolltown as my bride.”

The import of his words reached into her mind, and she held herself away from him.

“Oh, no. . . .”

“Oh, yes! I’m sure of it.”

There was a deep silence between them. Presently, with his arm encircling her waist, they began to walk back along the creek bed toward the darkened cabin.

D
ays rolled into weeks and weeks into a month without any word from or news of Elija or Stith Lenning. Summer laid its hot hand along the Wabash. Wild bees buzzed around flowers to swab out precious pollen. Young birds left the nest for the first time to explore the world. Blossoms that had been so beautiful in the spring had turned into succulent fruit an army of birds were feeding upon. Within the bounds of the limit Farr had set for them, Liberty, Willa and Amy had stripped the area of chokecherry, wild plum and grape. They fought with the birds for the bounty in the garden as well as the fruits they spread in the sun to dry.

Liberty asked Mr. Washington if he would bring Sugar Tree to the station for a visit, because with the children to look after and cooking for the men, even with the help of Mr. Thompson’s man, it was impossible for her to take the time to travel down to the ferry.

One morning he came striding up the lane shortly after dawn. A tall full-bodied Indian woman kept stride with him. Her loose dress of brightly woven material fell to mid-calf. On her feet were brightly beaded moccasins that came up to cover her stout legs. Her face was strong and plain. She wore silver loops in her ears, but not as large as those of her husband.

“Mrs. Quill, I’m pleased to present my wife, Mrs. Washington.” Mr. Washington made a formal bow by crossing one arm behind him, one in front and bending from the waist.

“How do you do? How are you? I am fine.” Sugar Tree grasped the sides of her skirt and curtsied. Liberty did the same.

“How do you do, Mrs. Washington? I’m so glad you came to call and so pleased you speak such good English. Won’t you come in?”

“Sugar Tree, you go on home when the sun is—” Mr. Washington pointed his forefinger straight up.

“Oh, Mr. Washington, can’t she spend the day?”

Sugar Tree gave her husband a cool stare. “I stay the day,” she said flatly, turned her back, and walked into the cabin.

Liberty smiled sweetly at Mr. Washington, waved, and followed Sugar Tree into the house.

The Indian woman went directly to the clock on the mantel. She was fascinated by the swinging pendulum and the constant ticking sound. She smiled broadly when the clock chimed.