Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (6 page)

“No,” Amy said bluntly. “Daniel can bring her.” She turned her back, and from the set of her shoulders Maude knew there would be no reasoning with her that day.

“All right, dear. Come along, Elija, and help me with the baskets.”

As soon as they went out the door, Amy slid her feet into heavy, fur-lined moccasins and put on Juicy’s old fur coat. She pushed her hair up into a wool cap and slipped out the back way. She had been cooped up too long in the house with too many people. She needed solitude, the scent of the woods, freedom.

The setting sun transmitted rays of red and orange colors across the white snow that crunched beneath her feet. She cut through the woods, walking with her head up, as Juicy had taught her to do. The sights and sounds and smells of the woods made her realize how precious her freedom was; how much better this was than the prison walls of a cabin, and how much better than being tied to a dull man like Tally Perkins for the rest of her life.

Her eyes grew misty, filled and spilled over.

Amy came out of the woods and started down the road leading to Mr. Washington’s ferry. It wasn’t Mr. Washington’s now, but she still thought of it as his. The giant black man who built it had been killed during an Indian attack, and the ferry was now run by the Harmonists, members of a strict religious group under George Rapp who had moved in from Pennsylvania a year or two ago and established a colony just across the river on the Indiana side.

She rounded a bend in the road and saw two riders coming toward her; the sound of their horses’ hooves were muffled by the soft snow. A man in a heavy wool coat and fur hat was riding a dun and leading a buckskin carrying a blanket-wrapped figure leaning on the horse’s neck. Probably a drunk, Amy thought with distaste. Down-and-outers moved through there all the time on their way to Vincennes. In the summer they came by boat; in the winter by horseback or on foot. If they didn’t have money to stay at the inn they would bed down in the barn. She moved off the road toward the timber and slipped her hand inside her coat where her knife was tucked in her belt.

Amy had intended to turn into the woods again, but the men had seen her. She had no fear of them; but if they meant her harm, she could lose them in the deep thicket. She continued on along the edge of the woods a good two dozen feet back from the road.

The man on the dun horse pulled up. He was big and had a black stubble of beard on his face. The horse moved restlessly as if wanting to go on. The man held him with a light hand on the rein.

“Boy,” he called. “Is this Quill’s Station?”

Amy nodded. There was something about his voice and the way he sat the saddle that kindled a spark in her memory. A deep frown wrinkled her brow.

“It’s changed,” he said as if to himself. “Ruined. Hell! It’s a regular town.” He dipped his head at Amy, kicked the dun, and the horse moved on down the road.

Amy stood for a full minute looking after him. A tingling started in her legs and moved upward as the knowledge of who he was slowly seeped into her senses. She froze, then her muscles tensed and she began to shake. Her heart stopped and then began again, thundering in her ears.

“My God . . . it’s him!” She lost her breath. “Rain! Rain has come back!” She pressed a clenched fist tightly against her mouth to keep from calling out, and her eyes blurred so that she could scarcely see him as he rode on down the trail.

Boy! He had called her boy! He hadn’t recognized her.

Jubilation, fear and anxiety vied for possession of her mind. She had to get back to the house and out of her britches before she saw him again. She darted into the woods and ran as if she were being chased by a pack of wolves.

Her heart sang, He’s back! He’s back! It’s Christmastime and Rain has come home!

Three

Rain tugged on the lead rope, glanced at the boy who rode behind him, and moved the dun on down the road toward the settlement.

Everything but the slow smoke that rose from a dozen chimneys was still in the cold evening. Quill’s Station was a convenient stop, he had heard, for those traveling between the Ohio River and Vincennes. A town had sprung up where seven years earlier there had been only the log cabin, the shed and sawyer camp. Nothing was familiar to Rain except the bend in the road. He rounded it and recognized Farr’s place by the big oak tree in front and the barn and stone well house behind. The light of a lamp shone through a glass windowpane. During the years he had lived here, the window had been covered with deerhide scraped paper-thin to admit the light. Civilization, he mused, had come to Quill’s Station.

Rain was a man who never rode without caution, never approached even a friendly place without care. Now his eyes roamed and caught movement as he stopped the horse a few yards from the front door. He saw the boy in the fur coat running from behind the barn, heading for the back of the house. At that moment the front door swung open and Farrway Quill, a broad smile of welcome on his face, came to meet him.

“Rain!” An older and slightly heavier Farr wrung Rain’s hand in a hearty handshake when he stepped from the saddle. “It sure is good to see you.” There was genuine gladness in his voice.

“It’s good to see you.” A smile creased Rain’s tired face, and his dark eyes shone with pleasure.

Farr took a step back to look him up and down. “My God! I can’t believe it. What happened to that skinny kid who left here?”

“Either I’ve grown some or you’ve shrunk. How in the world are you?” The two men stood grinning at each other, hands clasped to each other’s shoulders.

“Fine, Rain. Just fine.”

“And Libby?’

“She’s fine too.” Farr shook his head in amazement. “You’re taller than I am.” He looked past Rain to the second horse and the figure lying against the horse’s neck. “What’ve you got here?”

“A boy who needs a bed and some attention to a knife wound. I saw a sign that says there’s bed and board up ahead. I can take him there.”

“You’ll do no such thing. You move one foot from here and Libby will have my head on a platter. She’ll take care of him.”

Rain untied the wounded boy from the saddle and helped him to the ground. “Can you walk?”

The boy groaned and held on to the saddle horn. “Hell yes, I can . . . walk!” he gritted. “If . . . ya give me a minute.”

Rain scooped him up in his arms. “You ornery, stubborn little cuss. You don’t know quit.”

“Take him on in the house, Rain. Daniel and I will take care of the horses.”

Liberty was at the door when they reached it. She was even more beautiful than Rain remembered. She smiled at him. Huge tears glistened in her eyes.

“I’m . . . going to hug you and kiss you . . . later, Rain Tallman. Then I’m going to hit you for staying away so long.”

“I’m going to hold you to that first part, Libby.” Rain’s dark eyes smiled into hers.

“What’s the matter with your friend?”

“He’s got a knife wound in his shoulder and he’s half starved.”

“My goodness! Bring him in here. Get a lamp, Mercy.” Liberty led the way through the main room and into another room that held three bunks, one attached to each of three walls, and a fireplace on the other. She turned back the covers on one of the bunks and Rain eased the boy down.

Mercy came with the lamp and set it on the table in the middle of the room, then stood back and gazed wide-eyed at the giant of a man in the heavy wool coat.

“Let’s get his coat and boots off and get him in bed.” Liberty gently eased the boy’s arms out of his coat, opened his shirt and removed the blood-soaked bandage Rain had wrapped around his shoulder. “The bleeding has stopped. But he’s shaking like a leaf.” She pressed a clean cloth to the wound and tucked covers around him.

Rain removed his own coat and fur cap and looked down to see a towhaired boy with big green eyes gazing up at him. He was about the size Daniel had been when Rain saw him last.

“Howdy,” Rain said and held out his hand. A small hand went into it.

“Howdy. Are you Rain Tallman?”

“That’s my name. What’s yours?”

“Zachary Taylor Quill. I’m five years old. Papa told me about you. He says you can whip every bear that growls in the bushes.”

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

“Papa says you can show me how to Indian wrestle.”

“Zack, there will be plenty of time for you to talk to Rain. Go rock the cradle so Mary Elizabeth will go back to sleep. But gently,” Liberty cautioned.

“Ah, shoot! That old . . . poot spoils ever’thing.”

“Zack Quill! I’ll see to you later. Go tend to your sister. Rain, we’ve got to get this boy warm.” Libby went to the door and called, “Amy.” When there was no answer Libby prodded Mercy in the back. “Honey, run and tell Amy I’ve got to have help. Oh, there’s Farr. Fill the warming pan with coals, Farr. We’ll wrap it and put it at his feet. Put some whiskey in a mug, Daniel, and pour in some hot water from the teakettle.”

Rain stood back and watched as the family all worked to help the stranger he had brought into their home. When Daniel brought the mug, Liberty held the boy’s head and forced him to drink the whiskey. He coughed and sputtered and tried to avoid the mug being put to his mouth.

“Drink it all,” she commanded sternly. “You’ll be warm in a minute.”

Rain held out his hand to Daniel. “You’ve shot up like a weed, Daniel.”

“I guess I have. But I’ve got a ways to go to catch you.”

Liberty spoke over her shoulder. “What’s this boy’s name, Rain?”

“I don’t know. I just met up with him this morning.”

Rain was looking over her head as he spoke. His eyes were on the girl who stood in the doorway and her eyes were on him. She was tall and slender, with high, firm breasts and a small waist. She wore a blue dress and her hair hung down her back in shimmering reddish brown waves. When Amy was young she had reminded Rain of an unsure, long-legged colt. Now she was more like a poised, high-spirited filly. The thought crossed his mind that he had seen prettier women, but this one would draw attention in any crowd, not only because of her height but because of the light way she moved: chin up, shoulders back, and a proud lift of her head on that slender neck. Her eyelashes were long and her lids drooped a bit, hiding her eyes. She came into the room, walked briskly past him as if he weren’t there, and set a basin of water on the floor beside the bunk.

“What’s the matter with him?”

Her voice is different too, Rain thought. It was no longer shrill, but soft and musical.

“He’s got a knife wound in his shoulder.” Liberty dipped the cloth into the warm water and pressed it to the wound.

“Who knifed him?” Amy whispered to Liberty, but her voice carried across the room to Rain.

“I did,” he said and moved forward to lift the end covers so Farr could put the warming pan to the boy’s feet. “He was laying for me.”

“Thunderation!” Liberty exclaimed. “He’s a boy not much older than Daniel.” She brushed the hair back from his flushed face and clucked her tongue sorrowfully.

“He’s old enough to pull a trigger,” Rain said dryly.

“He’s right, honey.” Farr placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Can you and Amy take it from here? I’ll fix Rain something to eat.”

Amy, kneeling beside the bunk, looked up and met Rain’s dark eyes. The light from the lamp on the table touched his face, turning his cheeks into dark hollows and his eyes into shadows beneath black, level brows. His mouth as much as his eyes set the tone of him. It was firm and unsmiling. He looked big, hard and tough. He was a man who needed no one, she thought with a sudden pang. The mark of the loner was on him.

“Hello, Amy.”

“Hello, Rain,” she murmured softly and turned away.

Rain followed Farr into the other room. Zack stopped rocking the cradle. Mary Elizabeth let out a shrill cry of protest.

“Old bawl-baby!” Zack said with disgust. “All she’s good for is to bawl and mess her
pants.
”

Farr picked up his daughter and the screeches stopped instantly. “You’re spoiled, young lady,” he said with a chuckle. “This is Mary Elizabeth, Rain. We lost one between her and Zack.”

Rain looked at the small face and a slow grin shifted the tired lines of his face. “She’s not much bigger than a skinned jackrabbit.”

Farr chuckled again. “No, but she can make a hell of a lot more racket. Do you want to get Rain something to eat, Mercy, or hold Mary Elizabeth while I do it?”

“I’ll get Rain something to eat.” Mercy flashed Rain a smile. Papa didn’t know it, she thought gleefully, but Mary Elizabeth
had
messed her diaper.

Because of Rain’s homecoming, Zack and Mercy were allowed to stay up far later than their usual bedtime. They both protested vigorously when Liberty finally insisted that they say good night and climb the stairs to the loft.

“Why doesn’t Daniel have to go to bed? He’s just a
boy!
” Mercy said scathingly.

“What Daniel does or does not do has nothing to do with you, young lady,” Liberty said sternly. “Run along.”

“Papa, can’t I stay?” Zack looked beseechingly up at his father.

“Mind your mother, son. You can talk to Rain tomorrow.”

“Oh, all right.”

Liberty took the baby into the other room to nurse her, and Farr took his pipe and tobacco from the mantel shelf.

“Smoke, Rain?”

Rain went to the saddlebags that Daniel had placed just inside the door and took out his pipe. “You’ve got quite a family, Farr.”

“Yes, but I still miss Juicy. He was a part of my life for a long time.”

“I was sorry to hear he was gone. He taught me a lot.”

“Me too. I’ve wondered where I would be and what I would be doing if not for Juicy. I was mighty lucky to have had him when my grandfather died.”

“He lived longer than most men.” Rain drew on the pipe, leaned back and stretched his feet to the fire. “I hardly recognized the place, Farr. You’ve got a regular town here.”

“Every week or two someone moves in. It’s good . . . in a way. But—” He hesitated and looked into the fire for a moment before he spoke again. “I’d gladly change it back to the way it was before people started moving in if I could.”