Swept Away (2 page)

“Ruth, stop dawdling back there,” Pa Reinhardt shouted. “I need you to take the reins.”

Dawdling? It was all Ruthy MacNeil could do to keep from snorting with contempt. She’d been working since before sunup at twice the speed of any of the Reinhardts. But she knew better than to ask questions when Pa Reinhardt used that voice. Usually the back of his hand followed quickly if she didn’t move fast enough.

She shoved the last box, containing the food and skillet, into the bed of the covered wagon and hurried around to swing up beside Ma.

“About time.” Ma turned up her nose as if Ruthy smelled bad.

Ruthy didn’t even comment on Ma being there, settled in, while Ruthy cleaned up the campsite. That was the way of things in this family she’d been dragged into.

Ma rested her aching back.

Pa yelled and doled out punishment.

Her dear brother, Virgil, leered.

Ruthy worked.

At the thought of Virgil, a chill drew Ruthy’s eyes forward to the wagon ahead. Virgil was swaggering toward the second family wagon. He stopped before he climbed up on the high seat and looked back at her.

They’d be married when they reached California—Pa and Ma had declared it so. Virgil was willing. How Ruthy felt about it had never come up.

“You look dreadful, Ruthy. Virgil will despair of such a slovenly wife.” Ma scowled, her usual expression. “Get that coat off. It will be blistering hot today.”

Ruthy looked to the northeast, and the dark thunderclouds made her doubt Ma’s forecast. Rain most likely. Ruthy felt a twinge of caution as she wondered if it was already raining upstream. How high was the river they planned to ford?

Virgil turned away and climbed up onto his wagon, so Ruthy didn’t mind shedding the stifling coat that concealed her curves from Virgil’s crude attention. She tossed it through the opening into the wagon box.

“Leave your hat on, for goodness’ sake. Maybe you can keep that awful freckled skin from getting sunburned again.
You’re peeling now from the last time you were so stupid as to leave it off. It covers that flyaway hair, too. Red marks you as Irish trash. You look a fright. You’re lucky my son is willing to involve himself with such as you.”

She didn’t respond to Ma’s comments on her appearance. Her long, loose-fitting coat, flat-brimmed hat pulled low over her eyes, and clunky boots suited her. Everything she owned except her skirt was a hand-me-down, mostly from Pa and Virgil since she’d grown taller than short, stout Ma just after her fourteenth birthday.

Yet it suited Ruthy to dress like this. She wasn’t interested in drawing a man’s attention, and that included most of all Virgil. She could only dream that he found her too ugly to be of interest. But his disgusting behavior, which she worked daily to avoid, indicated he found her red hair and freckles to his liking.

Which was nothing but the worst kind of dirty shame.

Ruthy had the reins in hand and sat waiting for the rest of the wagon drivers to get in place.

“Move out!” Finally the trail master hollered the order to the five wagons that remained in this once-long wagon train.

The lead wagon creaked as it began to roll and within a few paces dropped over the deeply cut riverbank. Another vanished, then another. Virgil was gone next—not forever unfortunately. Pa followed on foot between Virgil’s wagon and the one Ruthy drove. He’d lead Ruthy’s team across. With another glance at those thunderheads, she slapped the reins on her oxen’s backs, feeling the need to get this crossing over with fast.

The Reinhardts’ two wagons brought up the rear. They’d been with a much larger group when they set out from
Missouri, but the majority of the group had stopped to homestead in Kansas.

This group was headed for California along the south path of the Sante Fe Trail. Ruthy had no intention of reaching that destination with them. But the Reinhardts didn’t need to know that.

As she descended the trail, she could see the lead wagon halfway across the wide, fast-moving water. They’d forded countless streams and rivers. Ruthy had lost interest in where they were as the miles plodded along, day after day, on their journey westward.

She heard thunder and an unusual burst of nerves shook loose a warning. “Pa, maybe we shouldn’t cross just yet. Rain could raise this river real fast.”

“Those clouds are miles away, you little half-wit.”

“But it’s raining upriver.”

Pa didn’t even look at the water, though he did take a glance at the sky. “Shut up and do as you’re told.”

Shut up and do as you’re told
. That would be her life forever if she married into this family. She’d been looking for a chance to run away and beg for protection and hadn’t found one. And she feared greatly what tactics Pa, Ma, and Virgil might use to force her to say, “I do.” The only way to stop the marriage was to be gone from the family and never be found.

Her turn came to ford. She had a reaction so strong, Ruthy felt as if God himself had struck her with terror. If she’d had her druthers, she’d have hopped to the ground and run straight back up to the top of the bank. But Pa led the oxen forward, and Ruthy stayed on the seat.

Just as the last wheel left dry ground, her nigh ox took a slight turn downstream, dragging its partner along.

Pa caught at the halter and yelled at the plodding beast, shoving at it to keep it moving forward.

“Mind what you’re doing, Ruth.” Ma gave Ruthy’s arm a stinging slap that almost knocked the reins out of her hands.

Ruthy fumbled but hung on to the leather and drove with a skill that wasn’t proper for a woman. She did as many chores outside as inside for the Reinhardts and was handier than any of them.

Ahead of them, the lead wagon had reached the far bank and begun to climb. It was a long way up to the level prairie.

Her wheels slid and water slapped against the wagon’s underbelly.

Ma caught at the seat with a faint cry of alarm as the wagon lifted until it was floating. “Can’t you control this team?”

A deep-throated shout drew Ruthy’s attention in time to see Virgil’s rig begin to drift. That surprised Ruthy because the lead wagon had rolled across on solid ground. Was the water level rising? Virgil’s oxen veered downstream, pushed by a current moving faster than even a few seconds ago.

A deep rumble turned Ruthy’s attention to the north for a quick glimpse of the clouds, heavy with rain.

At least the rain wasn’t falling here. This river didn’t need another cup of water to make it rush along even faster.

“I’ve got to go help Virgil.” Pa looked back at her. “I’ve got these boys back in line. Try and hold ’em steady this time.” He knew well enough that Virgil wasn’t as good with a team as she was. No one was going to admit that, but Pa still knew where he was most needed. Virgil’s team was swimming now, which gave them no direction except to be pushed along with the current. Ruthy noticed the wagon ahead of Virgil was floating too, its oxen’s backs
underwater as the slow-moving beasts fought to make it across to dry land. She felt her own wheels leave the floor of the riverbed.

“Glad we’re getting the ford done now,” Ma said. Though she was clinging to her seat, she didn’t seem to realize the peril they were in. “The whole train would be across by now if you hadn’t slowed us down.”

Knowing that to be a lie, Ruthy didn’t bother to respond.

Suddenly the rumbling thunder seemed closer, louder. Pa had reached the back end of Virgil’s wagon and was clinging to its side, pulling himself forward with his feet floating. How could he guide the oxen when the water was over his head?

Ruthy’s heart sped up as her team began swimming. She saw Pa look up at the clouds. The man on the lead wagon, now halfway up the riverbank, shouted at his beasts and cracked his bullwhip to speed them along. A second wagon reached the shore. A horse tied to the back of the third wagon pulled frantically against its reins and snapped them. It charged past the other wagons for the shore. The horse was doing better than the rest of them. The train master, the only man riding horseback, kicked his mount trying to reach dry ground. His horse stumbled in the rising current and plunged to its knees. With a shout of fear, the train leader lost his seat and went underwater. The horse swam for the bank.

Her jaw tight as she fought futilely with the reins, Ruthy knew her wagon wasn’t going to make it. None of them still in the water were going to make it.

Turning to study the sky, a noise drew her eyes lower. A slap of rushing water gushed around a curve upriver. Right after the slap, a wall of water blasted around the
bend, reaching the top of the riverbank. It rushed at them with the force of a runaway train.

Ma turned to see what the noise was. Her scream cut through the roar of floodwaters.

Pa froze as he faced the oncoming water. Then he scrabbled at the canvas cover of his wagon and tried to pull himself up the side of it. Virgil cried out in terror.

“Ma! Get in the wagon!” Ruthy tried to catch Ma and shove her inside.

“Let go!” Ma clawed at Ruthy’s grip and leapt off the wagon seat into the river.

Water raged straight for them. Not even the wagons that had reached land were high enough.

There was no time for Ruthy to do anything but twist and dive into the covered wagon. She hit the bed just as the water slammed the wagon onto its side.

Water gushed in through the tightly gathered ends on the front and back and closed over Ruthy’s head. She banged into something hard. Stars exploded in her eyes.

Tumbling, sinking, then flying upward, Ruthy had no time to do anything and no strength to hang on to a world gone mad.

The water lifted her high just as the wagon cover was torn away. She dragged air into her lungs. She tried to see what had happened to everyone else in her moment above water. There was wreckage but no people. Pa was gone, the team too. The wagon. Ma. Everyone.

Another wagon, flipped on its belly, raced ahead of her. Ruthy heard the pathetic bawl of an ox and saw one emerge out of the depths, only to sink again.

A man’s head popped out of the water, but before she could identify him or see if he was alive, she fell, plunging
downward. The water smacked her into the side of the wagon box. Her shoulder caught on something, and each pitch of the water wrenched at her arm until it felt like it was being torn off.

Sucked down beneath the torrent, the world went silent. Dragging at her pinned arm, she fought for freedom, for life as she desperately held her breath. Her lungs blazed hot with pain.

Something crashed into the wagon and smashed it apart, but her arm remained trapped between a pair of wide planks. Everything erupted upward, dragging her along. She choked, sucking air into her lungs between coughing, terrified of how long she’d have before being dragged under again and not allowed another breath. A tree loomed only feet ahead. Crashing into the tree, chunks splintered off the planks she was riding. But the two boards pinning her held. She clung to the slender remains of her makeshift raft.

Before her, the river curved. The floodwaters blasted into a steep, stony bank. She saw Virgil just ahead, his limp body drove hard into the unforgiving rock. He took the terrible blow at full speed, his arms and legs flailing as he struck. She saw no sign of him fighting the water or being aware of the impact. Ruthy knew it would be impossible to survive. And she was racing straight for the same wall of stone.

A scream ripped from Ruthy’s throat just as a fist of water punched her. She hit the granite bank. A hard crack stunned her and left her numb.

The floodwaters pulled her down into darkness.

C
HAPTER 2

Leaned low over his gelding’s neck, pounding out the miles, Luke put space between him and that rotten little cow town.

A posse had come, as he’d predicted, but with a good jump on them, there’d been time to leave a false trail. They followed it. Still, he pushed hard for hours, careful about tracks, keeping off any trails a normal man might use. Luke had learned to be sly in the woods and he used every bit of his skill. The posse would probably go home. But he wasn’t about to get cocky. His horse needed a breather, but he wanted more miles between him and that lynch mob.

Trees ahead told him he was coming up on a river. He’d forded the Arkansas a while back, which made this the Cimarron. He was getting close to home. Slowing to find a way across, he made out a game trail so faint that only hard years surviving in the West told him it was there.

Urging his horse onward, he wended his way down the steep bluffs. If it was shallow, he’d wade for as long as he could, pick a stony spot where he wouldn’t leave tracks and come out a long way from where he’d gone in.

If there was any pursuit left, that ought to end it.

The sides of the river were slick with mud. The game
trail was treacherous. The grass and brush were knocked flat. Floodwaters had recently rushed by, running so high they reached the top of the bluffs.

When he reached the bottom, Luke hesitated to head downstream. To be caught by another flash flood would mean certain death in these depths.