During the height of the storm the rain cascaded into the gulley as water over a waterfall. The gully quickly filled. It often did when rain was heavy. Usually it rose to a gap near the bottom and was channeled out and over the adjacent ground before the bottom was covered. This time the rain came down so hard and so fast that the level rose more swiftly than it ever had, and the gap wasn’t wide enough for the water to drain out before it covered the gully from end to end.
The rain kept on falling and the level kept on rising and the water reached the cleft and flowed in and down. It poured into the underground chamber like water down a funnel. It drenched the enormous mass of serpents and the mass writhed to life, annoyed. Like strands of unraveling thread, the multitude uncoiled and unwound and swarmed up the cleft. Not by scores or by hundreds but by the thousands. So many filled the cleft that they temporarily stopped the water. In a living torrent of their own they flowed out of the cleft and up and out of the gully onto the ground above. They didn’t stop there. The battering rain, the wet and the cold, were not to their liking. In sinuous clusters they fanned out, crawling every which way, anxious in their instinct to escape the wet.
But there was no escape. The rain was so heavy that the ground couldn’t absorb it all. The snakes crawled
in water inches deep, and they didn’t like that. Some crawled faster and farther than they had ever gone, to all points of the compass. Those that fled to the west vanished into the trees. The rest spread out along the lakeshore, living currents of reptilian flesh.
The rain went on and on and the snakes crawled and crawled until finally the black clouds drifted east, the lightning and thunder dwindled and the rain became a mist that soon ended.
In many places the water was still inches deep, with scattered pools and countless puddles.
Nearly everywhere, the water moved as if alive.
Evelyn King couldn’t saddle her horse fast enough. She was eager to be on her errand. She would give her father’s message to the Worths and her brother and his wife and then ride on to the Nansusequa lodge and give the message to them, and get to see Dega.
As Evelyn smoothed the saddle blanket she thought of the night before when she snuck out to see him. A warm tingle spread through her tummy. His kisses were like sweet honey. Strange that a girl would think that of a boy, but there it was.
Evelyn swung her saddle on and bent to the cinch. She had chosen a sorrel she was fond of. It had a gentle disposition and never gave her a lick of trouble. The bridle was already on so when she lowered the stirrup all she had to do was swing up and jab her heels and she was away. She was wearing a light blue dress she had made herself and shoes she bought in St. Louis. The shoes were a bit too tight, but they were the fanciest she owned and she wanted to look especially pretty for the get-together, and for Dega.
The thought of him made her warm again. She stayed close to the water’s edge where there were fewer rocks and she could go faster. The Worth cabin was off to the northwest a ways and she would have to cross the shore to reach it. Then on to Zach’s.
“Why go to them first?” Evelyn asked out loud. She had a better idea. Why not go see Dega first and give the others the news on her way back? The sooner she saw him, the sooner they could sneak off into the woods to hug and kiss. Laughing at her brainstorm, she brought the sorrel to a trot. Its heavy hooves dug deep into the rain-softened earth, leaving broad pockmarks.
To her right was the lake, to her left puddles and pools and areas where the water appeared to be ankle high. She thought she saw something move in one of the puddles.
Evelyn passed the Worths’ cabin and her brother’s place. Smoke curled from his chimney. The door was closed and the curtains were over the window. She almost hollered a greeting but didn’t. If they came out, she would be obligated to stop and she didn’t want to stop until she reached the east end of the lake, and Dega.
“You handsome devil,” Evelyn said softly. She had never felt about anyone as she did about him.
The sorrel had not been ridden in a while and was eager for the exercise. Head straight, mane flying, it raced along the open belt that edged the lake.
Evelyn glanced at a tract of water-covered ground and noticed dozens of ripples. Odd, she thought, since the wind had nearly died. Almost as if fish were in the water, swimming about. They must be small fish, she reasoned, since the water wasn’t very deep. She couldn’t account for how they got there since the
lake hadn’t risen much during the storm. Not like the time a while back when it poured rain for half a day and the lake rose midway to the trees.
Ahead, the belt of clear space narrowed; a strip of rocks and small boulders came down nearly to the water. She slowed and saw that a shallow pool had formed on the near side of the strip. She must cross a swatch of water maybe ten feet wide.
Suddenly the sorrel stopped.
“What on earth?” Evelyn was perplexed. She hadn’t pulled on the reins. The horse had halted on its own and now it was staring at the pool.
“What’s gotten into you?” Evelyn poked with her heels, but the sorrel just stood there. She didn’t know what to make of it. The sorrel had never acted this way. She jabbed her heels harder, but all the sorrel did was bob its head. Annoyed at the delay, she slapped her legs and lashed the reins. The sorrel took a few steps—and stopped.
“You’re being contrary,” Evelyn complained. She lashed the reins again, but the sorrel wouldn’t move. She stared at the water and noticed the same eddies as elsewhere. Could they be minnows? she wondered. Or maybe frogs? She remembered once after a heavy spring rain seeing a lot of frogs.
Evelyn tried yet again to coax the sorrel forward. “Come on, boy. I want to see Dega.”
The sorrel bobbed its head and nickered.
Evelyn was losing her patience. There was only one explanation. Some horses didn’t like water. She’d never had cause to think the sorrel was one, but that must be the case. She smacked him and whipped him with the reins and he walked into the pool and once again stopped.
Evelyn felt a shaking sensation. With a start, she
realized the sorrel was trembling as if cold or afraid. When it turned its head toward the forest, she turned hers. She figured it must have caught the scent of a bear or a mountain lion. But when she followed the direction of its gaze it hit her that the sorrel wasn’t interested in the woodland; it was staring at the pool.
“You’re not afraid of a few fish, are you?” Since force hadn’t worked, Evelyn resorted to kindness. Bending, she patted the sorrel’s neck and spoke soothingly. “There, there. Come on, big fella. You’re a good horse. Move those legs of yours. You’re keeping me from my man.”
The sorrel trembled.
“This is plain stupid,” Evelyn declared. She slapped her legs once, twice, three times, and the sorrel edged ahead as if it were walking through brambles. She was pleased, but she was also mad that it was moving so slowly. “I don’t have all day.”
To her dismay the sorrel once again stopped.
Evelyn glanced down. The water was above the sorrel’s hooves. Everywhere there were the strange eddies. Again she tried to get the sorrel to move, but it refused. She was mad and confused. She went to slap her legs as hard as she could and happened to glance down just as the head of a snake rose out of the water near the sorrel’s front leg and swam past.
Evelyn gasped. She recognized what kind it was; a rattlesnake. Scarcely breathing, she leaned down as far as she dared while clinging to the saddle and peered intently at the movement in the water. Her eyes were slow to adjust to the blend of light and shadow but when they did, fear spiked through her. Those weren’t fish. Those weren’t frogs. They were snakes. Lots and lots of snakes. And God help
her—as near as Evelyn could tell, they were all rattlesnakes.
Evelyn straightened and sat perfectly still. No wonder the sorrel didn’t want to move. The horse somehow knew. She looked down, wondering what she should do. The sorrel was only a little way into the water. If she could reach the clear strip that fringed the lake, they would be all right. But which way should she go? Forward or back?
Evelyn’s mouth was dry. So many rattlesnakes, so many fangs, so much venom. Should the sorrel and she go down, they would be bitten to death within moments.
“Oh God.”
Shifting, Evelyn stared at her brother’s cabin. Maybe if she yelled he would hear and come to her aid. She opened her mouth but closed it again. Knowing Zach, he would come charging across the shore, through a dozen pools left by the rain, pools teeming with eddies and the serpents that made them.
“God,” Evelyn said again. “What do I do?” She gazed longingly to the east where the Nansusequa lodge was partly visible in the shadow of the big trees. “Dega,” she said.
The sorrel gave a hard shake.
Evelyn looked down and her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. A large rattler was coiled around the sorrel’s front leg and was slowly winding up it. She gripped the reins with both hands. She had forgotten her rifle and was glad she had. She could predict what would happen next, and it did.
The sorrel whinnied and exploded into motion. It reared, kicking out with its front legs, seeking to kick off the rattler. The snake slid partway down. Uttering another whinny, the sorrel burst into motion.
It was clear of the water in a few bounds and on the clear strip, but it didn’t stay there. It veered away from the lake toward the woods—and toward another, larger, pool.
Evelyn clung on for dear life. She tried to turn but the horse was in a panic. The rattler had fallen off its leg. She wondered if the sorrel had been bitten and prayed not. In front of them loomed the pool. She hauled on the reins with all her might but it had no effect. The sorrel galloped headlong into the pool. Water—and snakes—went flying. The water rose fully a foot, hardly enough to deter a full-grown horse. Beyond the pool was a short stretch of open ground. Evelyn had hopes the sorrel would make it if it kept moving fast enough.
Without any warning, the sorrel stopped in the middle of the pool.
“What are you doing?” Evelyn slapped her legs. The water around them was alive.
The sorrel snorted and wouldn’t budge.
“Please,” Evelyn said, and slapped again. She might as well be trying to get a log to move.
All the sorrel did was shake.
Evelyn didn’t blame it. Her skin was crawling. She saw a triangular head break the surface and swim toward them and dip from sight. She couldn’t begin to imagine how many snakes there must be.
A pebble’s toss away the biggest head yet broke the surface. It rose a good foot and the forked tongue flicked at them and went on flicking as the rattlesnake approached.
The sorrel saw the snake. Its eyes were mirrors of fear. It shook so violently that Evelyn gripped its mane.
The rattlesnake glided closer. It made no sound other than the soft, wet swish of its body cleaving the water.
Evelyn drew one of her pistols. She pointed the heavy flintlock with both hands and thumbed back the hammer. She was nowhere near as good a shot as her brother or her pa or even her ma, but the snake was near enough that she was confident she could hit it. She took a deep breath and held the air in as her father had taught her and aimed at the blunt head and held the pistol as steady as she could. The snake wasn’t more than an arm’s length from the sorrel. “Please let me hit it,” Evelyn said, and fired.
The flintlock belched smoke and lead. To her delight her aim was true. The ball struck the rattler in the head and the head blew apart like a small melon, spattering skin and flesh. The body went into a paroxysm of convulsions.
And the sorrel bolted.
Evelyn had no inkling of what it was about to do. One instant it was motionless, the next it was hurtling pell-mell toward the trees. Instinctively, she grabbed at the reins and the mane. To grip them she had to let go of the flintlock and it fell with a splash.
The sorrel broke out of the pool onto the wet ground.
Holding fast, Evelyn looked down—and almost swooned. Rattlesnakes were wrapped around both front legs and one of the back legs. She saw heads whip and fangs sink in. A terrible certainty gripped her.
The horse veered and another pool barred their way. Without slowing, the sorrel barreled into it. It proved to be the deepest pool yet; the water rose as
high as the sorrel’s belly. It roiled, and not from the sorrel. Rattlesnakes were everywhere, writhing and twisting. Many attacked the intruder.
Evelyn couldn’t help herself. She screamed.
The sorrel slowed. It staggered. Head low, it lurched toward solid ground.
“You can do it,” Evelyn coaxed. “Just a little farther.” She glanced at the Nansusequa lodge, so distant it might as well be on the moon. “Oh, Dega,” she said.
The sorrel stumbled.
A rattlesnake arced at Evelyn’s left leg, and she jerked her leg clear. The snake missed and fell back. All she could do was hold on and pray as the sorrel grew weaker and weaker.
The last few feet, the horse could barely stand. Evelyn exhaled in relief when it was clear of the water and kicked to get it to trot. Instead, the sorrel gave a last whinny and pitched onto its side.
Evelyn tried to push clear, but she wasn’t fast enough. She uttered a cry of her own as the sorrel crashed down. For a few seconds she lay paralyzed with pain and fright. Then she turned her head toward the pool.
A rattler was slithering toward her.
Emala Worth felt as snug as a bedbug in a blanket. Although she abhorred bed bugs, just like she did most every other bug. To her way of thinking bugs made no sense. They bit people and crawled on people and got into food. She couldn’t for the life of her understand how they fit into the Almighty’s scheme of things, but since he had made them, they must have a purpose.
Surprised at her near-blasphemous thought, Emala rolled onto her side to stare at the window.
The rain had finally stopped, the storm finally ended. For a while there, when the elements were fiercely battering their cabin, Emala had been half afraid it would buckle from the ferocity of the storm. But the walls and ceiling held, and with the door shut and a blanket over the window, not much rain got in. It had puddled some under the window, but that was all.
Everyone was resting. Samuel was on the blanket beside her. Randa was on another over by the wall and Chickory was stretched out near the door. Emala looked at each of her children and her heart was filled to overflowing with her love for them. They were everything to her.
Her new home counted for a lot, too. Emala loved the cabin. It was much more spacious than their shack on the plantation. A lot sturdier, too. She couldn’t wait for Samuel to build some furniture; a
table and chairs for the family to sit and eat, and a rocking chair for her, and a bed. Three beds, actually, since Randa and Chickory were too old to sleep together.
A good wide bed for Samuel and her. She tingled at the prospect. Next to singing and eating, one of the things she liked most was nighttime. Nothing beat that wonderful feeling of being snuggled, warm and cozy.
Emala closed her eyes. She wanted to rest a bit more. But everyone would be there soon to eat and have fun and she had to get up and see that the dirt floor was smooth and tidy.
That was another thing. They needed a wood floor. She would speak to Samuel about it just as soon as he stopped snoring. She marveled that he had slept through the storm. That man could sleep through anything.
Over by the door, Chickory Worth was feeling restless. He’d wanted to stand at the window and watch the rain and the lightning, but his ma made him lie down and try to get some sleep like they were doing. He heard his mother moving, and then a sound pierced the stillness. He sat up. “Did you hear that?”
“The thunder far off?” Emala said.
“No. It was a shot.” Chickory stood. “I’m sure it was a shot.”
“Maybe Mr. King or Mr. McNair shot somethin’ to eat,” Emala said. “I hope it was one of them elks. I am growin’ powerful fond of elk meat.”
Chickory stepped to the window and moved the blanket. The sky was clearing, the gray giving way to blue. The air smelled fresh, and was on the chill side. He shivered slightly.
Water covered much of the ground up to several inches deep and appeared to be deeper off toward the gully. Chickory reckoned it would all soon drain away. As he stared, the water rippled as if moved by the wind but he couldn’t feel a breeze. “I want to go out and look around, Ma.”
“Whatever for? You’ll track mud into our new house.”
“I’ll wipe my feet before I come in.”
Emala sighed. The boy always had an answer. “You don’t go far, you hear? The Kings and everybody will be here soon and I want you inside when they come.”
“Thanks, Ma,” Chickory said. He went to the door and opened it and took several steps, the water rising around his bare feet and his ankles. Something rubbed over his toes and he looked down.
The water was filled with snakes.
Louisa lay in bed with her hands on her belly. Zach had insisted she rest before the social and gave her what she liked to call his manly stare. He always got this intense look about him whenever he wanted her to do something for her own good. If she objected, he would argue and today she didn’t want to argue.
The patter of the rain on their roof had ceased and the howl of the wind had faded. Silence reigned, save for the ticking of their clock on the mantle above the fireplace. She liked to listen to the soft, regular
tick-tick-tick.
It was so soothing it often put her to sleep.
Lou eased onto her back. Zach wasn’t beside her; he had been when she’d lain down. She swung her legs over the side and went out into the main room and there he was, at their table, his legs over it, reading. It
startled her. Zach rarely read. He wasn’t like his pa. He’d never taken to books although he could read as well as anyone when he put his mind to it.
“There you are. What are you reading?”
“How are you feeling?” Zach asked without looking up.
“Fine. If I have a problem, I will tell you. What are you reading?”
“A book.” Zach turned a page.
“My, is that what they call those?” Lou said in mild exasperation. “Where did you get it and what is it about?”
“My pa gave it to me.” Zach held the front of it toward her, keeping his place with his finger. “He said we’d find it useful.”
Lou looked but there was no title on the cover. “I still don’t know what it’s about.”
Zach turned it so she could read the title page.
Lou expected it to be one of the James Fenimore Cooper books Nate liked so much but it was
The American Almanac and Repository of Useful Knowledge.
“My word. Why are you reading a thing like that?”
“There’s a part in here that has to do with babies. About how to be a good father and mother.”
Lou wanted to hug him. He could be such a trial; hardheaded, stubborn, temperamental. Then he’d go and do something sweet, like this. “What does it say?”
“It says here that a newborn should sleep next to the mother for the first eight weeks. It says that the baby sleeps better and puts on more weight than if it sleeps in a crib.” Zach looked at her. “I’ll rig a cot here in the living room for the other.”
“What other?” Lou asked, confused.
“Well, you won’t want to do it in bed with the
baby right there, so we can sneak out when it’s sleeping and use the cot.”
“It?” Lou said, and then realized what he was referring to. “My God. The baby’s not even born yet. It won’t be born for pretty near eight months. And you’re thinking of
that?
”
“One of us has to plan ahead.”
Lou went from wanting to hug him to wanting to slug him. “Why you…you…” She couldn’t think of a word fitting enough. “…you
male,
you.”
Zach lowered his legs and sat up. “What are you getting so hot about? Here I am trying to make things easier for us. I offered to build a cot, didn’t I?”
“Easier for
you,
” Lou said. In a huff she marched to the front door. “I need some air.”
Zach didn’t help matters by sighing and saying, “Women sure are prickly when they’re pregnant.”
Lou balled her fists. If there was anything in this world more aggravating than men, she had yet to meet it. She flung the door wide. Here and there were scattered puddles, but for the most part the ground around their cabin was clear. It sat on a slight elevation, no more than a few inches above the rest of the shore, but that was enough. Rainwater invariably drained toward the lake.
Without paying much attention, Lou stalked out and went a few yards and stopped to take deep breaths.
Something hissed near her leg.
Lou glanced down and couldn’t credit her eyes.
Rattlesnakes were on all sides of her.
Winona King was wrapping a pie in a cloth to keep it warm. Her husband was fond of pies. Early in their marriage she had learned of his fondness and
practiced until she could bake them exactly as he liked them. Her own people didn’t have anything like them, and she had to admit, they were delicious. She carefully placed the pie in the basket and was closing the lid when she snapped her head up and said, “A shot.”
Nate had heard it, too. He was at the table, honing his Bowie. He put the whetstone down and went out, leaving the door open for her to follow, as he knew she would.
“Which direction, do you think?” Winona asked. His ears were much better than hers.
Nate pointed to the northeast at a point along the shore. “Somewhere over yonder.”
“From Zach’s?”
“No. Farther along.” Nate rose onto the tips of his toes, but other than his son’s cabin the opposite shore was a vague line of rock and earth, and beyond, the green of the trees.
“Rifle or pistol?”
“Pistol.”
“Did Evelyn take her rifle?”
“She forgot again. I noticed too late, after she was gone.”
“But she had her pistols?”
“I know what you’re thinking.” Nate went inside, snatched his Hawken from where he had propped it, and came back out. “I’ll have a look.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No need,” Nate said. “I won’t be long. You can finish getting ready.”
“But if it’s Evelyn…”
“If she was in real trouble, we’d hear more shots or shouts or screams,” Nate said. His secret dread
was that one day one of his family would be harmed. It didn’t help that had hardly a month went by that some danger or other didn’t rear its unwanted head.
Winona was torn between going and staying. She gazed across the lake, its surface serene now that the thunderhead had moved on. She looked to the northwest, at the Worths’ far-off cabin, and then to the north at her son’s, and at the stretch of shore that curled away from their own toward the others—and her breath caught in her throat. “Husband?”
Nate was almost to the corner. He stopped and turned. It took a few seconds for what he was seeing to sink in. Water covered much of the ground, inches of it, to within five or six yards of their front door. At first it appeared as if the water was moving, but it wasn’t the water, it was something
in
the water. He took a few steps and the shapes acquired form. “It can’t be,” he blurted.
“You see them, then?”
Nate nodded. Snakes. Rattlesnakes. Hundreds of the things, swimming, crawling, moving aimlessly about as if they had no sense of where they should go. “God in heaven.”
Winona was aghast. She had never seen so many at one time. The whole shore was covered. Washed from somewhere by the rain, she suspected. “You were right about the hunt,” she said. “There must have been a den close by. If only we had found it.”
Small consolation for Nate. He was thinking of the shot they heard. One shot, and nothing else. “Stay here. Close the door and keep it closed.” He ran around the cabin to the corral. A large rattler was coiled almost at his feet. Drawing his Bowie, he hefted it, cocked his arm, and threw. The razor tip
sliced into the serpent’s blunt head between its alien eyes and cleaved the skull nearly in half. The body whipped wildly back and forth.
Winona came running up. She had gone in for her own rifle and rushed back out. Bending, she yanked the Bowie loose and held the hilt toward him. “We must get to her right away.”
“Me,” Nate said. “Not we.”
“She is my daughter, too.” Winona turned to the gate.
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Give me one good reason.”
Nate recited several. “It’s dangerous enough for one person. We can’t afford to lose two horses. And if McNair or Waku and his family show up, someone should be here to warn them about the snakes.”
“I am going,” Winona insisted.
“I can’t watch out for you and me, both.”
“Who asked you to? I can take care of myself, as you well know.”
“What about Shakespeare and the Nansusequas?”
“They are not stupid. They will see the snakes and avoid them just as we will.”
Nate knew better, but he asked, “There’s nothing I can say or do, is there, to change your mind?”
“Not a thing. Nothing will keep me from my daughter. Not the Great Mystery. Not the snakes. Not you, husband, as much as I love you.” Winona gestured. “We are wasting precious time. Our daughter might need us.”
“Saddles?” Nate said.
“More wasted time. We can ride bareback.”
Nate slid bridles on his bay and her mare. He led the pair out and climbed on the bay. Winona swung
onto her mare and together they went around the cabin and promptly drew rein.
“How will we get past all those snakes?” Winona wondered.
Nate had been thinking about that. The rattlers were virtually everywhere except for a narrow strip along the lake—and
in
the lake itself. “Stay behind me.” He reined toward the water and rode at a slow walk. Between the cabin and the lake the snakes weren’t as thick, but there were enough to make him nervous. The thud of the bay’s heavy hooves sent most of them gliding away. A few hissed but didn’t stand their ground.
“Look out!” Winona cried.
One of the snakes had coiled and raised its head to strike.