Wildwood Creek (30 page)

“Kim, what happened? How did you get here?”

She didn’t answer but seemed to sink farther away, suddenly quiet.

What now? Did I keep trying to wake her? Search for a way to safety and bring back help? I couldn’t possibly carry her out of here. How far underground were we? Were we alone?

My mind circled around again like a roulette wheel slipping past the same numbers over and over on every rotation. Who would do something like this? Why? This couldn’t be random. There were over seventy cast members in Wildwood, as well as an entire crew. It couldn’t be a coincidence that someone had brought both Kim and me here.

I stood, raised the lamp, and let it burn away the darkness, illuminating the debris along the walls. The shapes were covered in dusty sediment, some sealed partially into limestone formations created over countless years as water dripped through stone, leaching minerals slowly downward, building conical stalagmites and perfect domes over protruding bits of bone.

The evidence was unmistakable. Those were human beings, or they had been once. Their remains lay scattered like random debris, the surfaces dotted with a ragged scrap of faded calico, the brim of a disintegrating bonnet, a bit of leather, a length of rope, the wire frame of a pair of spectacles.

Who were they? How many? How had they ended up here?

Were these the citizens of Wildwood? Had they been here, hidden beneath the earth all this time?

A breath of must and silt shivered through my lungs, pressed a cough into my throat. I swallowed hard to silence it.

Behind me, Kim groaned, a sound of wrenching pain. Squatting down again, I leaned close and touched her forehead, then whispered against the chill of her skin, “I’ll be back. Don’t worry. I have to find a way out.”

The lantern hissed and threatened to die. I held it up, for the first time noticing how light it felt. The fuel canister was probably almost empty. If I didn’t go now, while the flame was still burning, we might never get out.

Holding the lamp low to quell the arc of light, I crept back through the passage to my original chamber, passed by the mark my body had left on the silty floor. That could have been my final resting place. It might be, still.

The darkness seemed to close around me as I entered the boulder-strewn passageway on the other side. My heart thudded painfully, trying to break free of the trembling cage of my body, crowding my ears as they strained toward every sound. Was someone out there? Did I hear breathing, or was it just the air panting from my own lungs?

The bone. The weapon I’d found earlier, I should have brought it with me. But it was too late now.

The passage continued, the tunnel seeming as endless as the catacombs of the Berman Theater in my dream. Kim’s sounds faded and disappeared, and a sense of aloneness overwhelmed me. The lantern spit sparks, burning low. The darkness beyond was impenetrable, terrifying.

Please, please help me.
The plea whispered through me, and I thought of Blake’s words.
You end up in a situation where you might meet your Maker anytime, you think a whole lot about what you believe.
I understood it now—that kind of faith that’s born on the battlefield, the reason Blake went outside alone at night when he was haunted, the reason the original citizens of Wildwood gathered to worship when they could have been focused on all the hard work of surviving in the wilderness.

It was also the reason it had always been so easy for me to slide away when I left Grandma Rita’s each year. My life hadn’t been nearly as tough as I’d thought it was. Life had
never brought me to the breaking point, to the point of either giving up or reaching outside myself.

Now here I was, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I couldn’t find the way on my own.

Moving downward in the tunnel, I quickened my pace, ducking under formations in the ceiling, squeezing past outcroppings of rock, my feet leaden and numb, save for the stab of a thousand tiny needles brought by each step.

The sound of water grew louder, from drips and trickles to a stream, the echo telling me of a chamber ahead even before the tunnel opened into a boulder-strewn slope. Inching forward, I held up the light, looked into the widening cavity. In front of me, the slope led at least twenty feet downward into a pit. A stream of water flowed along one side, moistening the coating of dried moss and lime that painted everything but the chamber’s ceiling. Clearly, the area had been underwater fairly recently. The bones of some sort of enormous fish lay along one edge. Bits of driftwood dotted the rocks leading into the pit, and up the slope on the other side, a long snakeskin lay diaphanous as a bridal veil.

The passageway on the far end seemed to hold the faintest light of its own. Sunlight, or another lantern? I had to be close to the surface now. The only way out was through the pit . . . and through whatever lay beyond.

Below me, the surface of the water sat black and ominous. How deep was it? What if I stepped in and there was no bottom? What if I lost the lantern while trying to cross?

Just go slow. Just go slow.
The voice of survival was in my head as I started down the slope, crab-crawling on the loose rocks but trying to hold the lantern level to keep it burning.

A strange sort of calm eclipsed all else. I could do this. I
would
do this.

The water was warmer than I’d expected. The stream
running down the rocks had to be coming from outside, from the lake, rather than leaching in from an underground spring.

A faint rumble rattled the chamber around me. Thunder. The water seemed to tremble, circling my knees, then my thighs, slowly growing deeper as I felt my way across the pit. It was raining outside. If the lake rose, Kim could end up trapped back there. The front end of this cave had been below the surface before, probably for years. Only the recent drought had exposed it.

The thunder died, and the sound of movement somewhere above caused me to freeze and hold the lantern close to the pool, shielding the light with my body. A ripple circled my leg as if something had passed by below the water. The urge to scream welled up, and I covered my mouth. What might be living in here?

Everything in me wanted to run for the opposite shore, but I couldn’t. There was no choice, other than to move as silently as my stiffened body would allow. My legs were softening slightly now, growing more cooperative, warmed by the water, but I was still too off-balance, too weak to run. If someone or something waited up there, I’d never get past.

The slope on the opposite shore was moist, slippery, hard to navigate. The cold air of the cave teased my skin as I left the pool, climbing carefully, bracing the lantern ahead of myself, pausing and holding my breath as loose rocks slipped and bounced downward into the water.

Each time, no sound from above. No evidence that anyone was up there waiting.

The muscles in my arms and legs burned, and my breath came in short, ragged gasps, my head swimming before I finally reached the top of the slope. Pausing momentarily, I lay against the rocks, pulling in air, trying to clear my thoughts.

I was so tired. So cold. The wet clothes clinging to my
body felt like a layer of frost. My brain wanted to surrender, to sink into sleep. . . .

Outside, the rain fell in earnest now, and along the sidewall, the flow of water had swelled, weaving its way over the rocks and down to the pool. There wasn’t time to waste. I had to keep moving.

Please, please make me strong enough. Please help me. . . .

Pushing upward, I peered over the tumble of debris lining the pit. There was definitely light somewhere beyond the chamber ahead. Not much, but enough to see by, to find my way. Abandoning the lantern, I crawled upward, finding my footing on the cave floor again. The rocks were slick, a cold mist of condensation seeming to cling to everything. The air smelled fresher. I couldn’t be far from the entrance now.

Curling my arms around my waist, I moved toward the next chamber, doubled over, shivering, fighting to keep my teeth quiet as I worked my way closer to what looked like an old rockslide that might have sealed off the rear of the cave in the past.

A sound caught my ear. Feet splashing in water?

Then it was gone.

B
ONNIE
R
OSE
J
ULY
1861

E
ssie Jane’s eyes shift toward the schoolhouse door, then return to me as we stand together in my tiny room. “Asmae say we gots to do it. Now, while the missus gone out to see what Massah done in the wood. Fo’ she go, she say to Miss Peasie,
‘
If
the
dog
’
s
gone
,
gots
to
be
somt
’
in
done
’
bout
gettin
’
rid
of
the
whelps
.’
Miss Peasie, she beside herself up to the big house. She a gentle soul, miss. She don’t never want to hurt dem chil’ens.”

Essie Jane reaches for me then, touchin’ my arm, her skin cold against mine as I clutch the babe who has finally cried himself out. The chill wakes me from the feeling that I’ve fallen into a nightmare dream and none of it is real. “We gots to go get ’cross the river now. Big Neb say he know how to find Missah Hardwick. Big Neb say we get pass the river ford wit’ dat mule wagon fo’ it fill up too high, den we keep on and pray dat rain keep comin’ and wash out the crossin’ fo’ Massah figure where we gone and come afta us.”

Fear arises and covers me. I know Essie Jane is speaking true, but it’s a truth too horrible for imaginin’. How can such a thing be? They’re coming for the children? Can it really be so?

But I know it in my heart. I know it from all that’s happened today. From the man’s words to me, himself. This is a nightmare come to life. I cannot let these children be taken by him, but the moment I resist, my death is certain as well as theirs. And Maggie May’s. We must run. But with ten children and a babe? And in the storm? How can we do it? How much chance do we have of success?

I close my eyes, hug the babe close, and whisper the most desperate prayers of my life against its downy head.
Heavenly Father, if you’d hear one such as myself, hear me now. We need nothin’ short of a miracle. Save this babe and save the rest of us. Deliver us from evil, for thou art the kingdom and power . . .

Then there’s no more time, so I turn to Essie Jane. “Help me gather the little ones. Don’t speak a word to them of what’s happened to their folk. They must have their wits about them, or we’ve no chance at all.”

“Yes’m,” she says, and together we hurry to the schoolroom.

“Quickly, children.” I rouse them from their hiding places. “We’ll be leaving now, and I want no questions about it, do you hear me? Put on your coats and shoes if you have them. You older ones help the little ones.” I point to Aiden and Tomas, who’ve talked for hours now of seeking rifles and heading out. They’re like two half-grown strays, working up the courage to challenge the butcher for a pound of sausage. At thirteen and eleven, they haven’t a chance of survivin’ but to flee with us, whether they care to admit it or not. “No arguin’, you two. You must think of the others now.”

What else?
I wonder.
What more?
But my mind races as fast and wild as the lightning streaks outside the window. “Maggie May, take everythin’ from our room. All that can be used for keeping warm and for travelin’, and from the pastor’s room as well. Hurry now, as fast as a wink.”

I give the babe over to his ten-year-old sister. He’s gone soundly himself to sleep again, thankfully. Maggie returns with the preacher’s frock, and I wrap it over the both of them. “Keep the babe dry as best you can. You must be a little woman now, Corrie. It’s what your ma and da would need from you, do you understand?”

She sniffles and nods, poor thing, her chin quivering, her eyes round and wet. It’s too much burden for a child of just ten, but the babe knows her scent the best. I pray he’ll remain settled, but should he cry, there won’t be anyone hearing him over the storm. The devil has unleashed his horses in the sky now, and he’s cracking the whip over them. They thunder like madness as Maggie and the older boys garb the other children. Essie Jane flits to the window to seek after any sign of Mr. Delevan’s men coming for us.

In the corner Klara Baum still whimpers like a kitten. She presses closer to the wall as if she’ll melt herself into it. I go to her last, crouch close, look into her eyes. “Listen to me.” Her hands are bleedin’. She’s torn the fingernails bare in her grief and terror. “Hear me now, Klara Baum. Staying here is as sure as dyin’. You must get your wits and rise now. You must follow on, help with the younger ones. Those men are coming for you again, and this time they’ll be taking more than they have already. Do you understand me, child?”

She nods and climbs slowly to her feet, her head bowed, her arms wrapped tight over the blanket I’d used to cover her torn dress. She limps as she moves. “My cloak for her. Give her my cloak, Maggie May.”

We wrap her in the last of the clothing we have, and I look around. What else must we take? We haven’t any food nor a weapon, save for kitchen knives.

“We bes’ be gone, Miss Bonnie.” Essie Jane’s eyes are dark bits in circles of white. “He comin’. I feels him comin’.”

“Get the lantern.” I gather the children near the back door to go out. I count down each one, making certain we’ve left none behind before I lift the latch. Behind it, the door rattles in the wind, and soon as the latch is gone, the door blows inward, bringing the storm with it. The children scream and some plead to stay where we are, and I tell them we mustn’t.

The storm rages, and we’ve no choice but to run into it. It’s the lesser of the two opponents.

Overhead, the trees bow and sway as we file out. The rain drives in, cold and blowing sideward, soaking us before we’ve even descended the steps. There’s water over the path already, but not so much that we can’t walk it.

“Take a hand! Take a hand!” I scream to the children, but the storm steals my voice away, so I turn my back to the wind and rain, stand against it, and link the children together, big, then little, big, little. Essie Jane goes in front with the lantern and the oldest boys. Maggie and I take the rear.

We move slower than we’d like, our heads against the wind, Essie Jane finding her way only because she knows it so well. The lantern is no match for the storm, and before long, we can only grope through the darkness, Essie Jane finding the path in each flash of light.

The creek swells by the minute, it seems, and I wonder if we’ve any chance of making the river ford, even now. Beneath our feet, the caliche mud turns wet and slick, and the children slide and fall and pull one another up. Thank goodness for Aiden and Tomas. They’re strong young men, and many a time they straddle a watershed in the path with the angry creek at their backs, so as to help the rest of us through.

Big Neb finds us on the path, and he grabs up Essie Jane’s hand and leads us the rest of the way. We tumble onto the Delevans’ porch, wet to the bone already and near drowned, each of us.

Miss Peasie herself runs out, meeting us there. She’s gathered food in a basket, and she thrusts it into my hands, cryin’ fitfully, “Oh, the children! Oh, the children!” She moves from one to the next, pulling them to her, soakin’ the front of her dress, trying to ease their pain or her own, or both. “I can bring them something dry. Something pretty for the little ones.”

“There isn’t time for it,” I tell her. “We must go now, ma’am. We’ve no time.”

“Oh, but to the babies in the storm . . .” She paces toward the door, then back. “Oh . . . oh . . .” Raking her fingers through her hair, she tears the ribbon loose, and a patch of long gray hair comes with it.

Big Neb takes her hands and stoops eye-to-eye. “Miss Peasie, we done talk about dis. We done talk, you ’member? Massah, he gone done dat ter’ble thing, and it gone go bad for dese chil’ens, he come back. You ’member now? We gots to get down the wagon road. Gone lock you and Asmae and the other womens up in the attic, so can’t be said you had none to do wit’ it. Massah track down anybody, it gone be me and Essie Jane. We only ones takin’ the risk. You ’member, dat’s how we decide it?”

Peasie looks long at him then, her mind coming and going from it. I feel the moment ticking by as we wait, frozen. Asmae slips her arm around her mistress’s shoulders. “Come ’long, now, missus. We gone back inside. We gone up top, and I give you yo’ medicine, so you be sound ’sleep soon. We gone wait out the storm, and we ain’t tell nobody what happen here dis night. Jus’ we all pow’ful feared by the storm. We don’ know nothin’ mo’. You come wit’ old Asmae now.”

They disappear into the house then, and Big Neb sends Essie Jane after them to see to the locking of the upper door. He dashes away through the rain to the wagon shed and soon enough we can’t see a thing of him. Again I feel the time pass
ing. It seems forever before the wagon rushes ’round, a team of Mr. Delevan’s mules sliding in the mud ankle deep. Their tracks are gone in the water as quick as they come, which will be God’s blessin’ to us if we’re able to get off. It’ll take Mr. Delevan’s men a bit before they find the wagon missing and discern where we’ve gone.

We load the children as the rain ebbs a bit. Aiden and Tomas aren’t willing to climb in.

“I’m not leavin’ my ma and da and my sister,” says Aiden. “Tomas and me are goin’ back after our folk.”

“Your folk are gone,” Big Neb yells above the rain. “Ain’t nothin’ you can do fo’ dem now. But we get dis here wagon bog down in the mud, I’m gone to need you boys on the pry bar.”

“If you stay here, you’re given up for dead, and perhaps all these little ones as well,” I plead with them as the rain pours over us. “You listen to me. You must help with the wee ones. There’ll be no one going back. Not any of us.” And I know it is so. There is only one way out of here for the lot of us. One way that doesn’t include the shedding of more blood today.

Overhead, the attic window opens and the frantic voices of the kitchen women challenge the storm as it rises up again. “Lights on the hill! Lights on the hill!” they cry out.

“Up with you now,” I tell the boys, and the three of us climb in together. Big Neb takes Aiden out again. “You come hol’ the brake fo’ me. Keep dis wagon off the mules when we gone down the hill.” Aiden scrambles out, then, and Big Neb closes the wagon gate, pulling the tarp down behind us.

Moments later the brake releases, and the wheels lurch forward, sucking out from the mud and sliding down the hill too fast as big Neb wrestles and calls to the mules. I hold the children close and whisper prayers over all of us, and the rain breaks free again. We’ve no way of knowing yet whether it’ll
be a blessing or a curse. A crash deafens the air, and I wonder if it may be thunder or a rifle shot.

Is it salvation or the devil on our heels? There’s nothin’ more we can do but hope the angels carry us as we skid ’round the corner and run breakneck away from Wildwood, praying we make the river ford in time.