Hannah Howell (15 page)

“A day or two? But the doctor said—”

“To take it easy. ‘Twill be an easy ride down the river and my kin can manage the wagons if need be. The boat will leave soon and there willnae be another for a few days, not one that can carry all of us and our baggage. Do ye have any reason to linger here?”

“None.”

Clover was a little surprised at how quickly and firmly she answered him. Although she was somewhat apprehensive about going to Kentucky, she had no qualms about leaving Langleyville. It was no longer home to her. Friends and family had deserted her. It was a little frightening to move to a place most people still considered a wilderness, but there was nothing left for her here.

“No.” Clover gave a short, mildly bitter laugh. “It was not easy to get Papa’s ‘oldest and dearest friend’ to let us stay in this house for as long as we have. He will be pleased if we leave early.”

Ballard reached out to pat her hand. “Money can turn many folk mean-spirited.”

“True enough.”

Ballard finished off his drink and stood up. “I dinnae have to meet the barge captain until this
afternoon, so I think I will take myself to bed for a wee rest.”

“How wise,” Clover murmured and met the look he slanted her with a sweet smile.

“Ye could come to tuck me in.”

“I think you are quite old enough to do that yourself.”

“Weel, ye could check my bandages.”

“If they are good enough to fight in, they are good enough to rest in.”

“Aye, ye are probably right.”

After Ballard left, Clover lingered over her tea. It was a minute or two before she realized that Molly’s gaze was fixed on her.

“Is something wrong, Molly? Are we to start lunch already?”

“No. Lunch is cold meat, cheese, and bread. I was thinking that you ought to be looking in on your man.”

“Why? He has gone to take a rest. I am sure he does not want me pestering him.”

“Miss, I was wed for six years. Injuries or not, if a man like your Mr. MacGregor goes up to bed in the middle of the morning, ‘tis because he wants his wife to come up and give him a bit of
attention.”

Clover blushed. “But he is hurt.”

Molly shrugged as she collected the teacups and moved to the sink. “I was certain I heard a hint or two. And no man is ever too hurt, not unless he be near death. It won’t do any harm to have a peek, will it?”

“No.” Clover stood up. “I am sure he will let me know if he wants to be alone.”

“He will. That be a plain-speaking man and you will be fair glad of that someday.”

A nod was all Clover gave for an answer. Although it made her blush, she was glad of his plain speaking. It would help her grow to trust him.

As she entered her bedroom she found it hard to repress a smile. Ballard was half undressed and sprawled on top of the bed. The slow grin he gave her told her that Molly had been right—the last thing Ballard wanted was a rest. She strolled over to the bed.

“You look very comfortable, sir,” she said, and laughed when he tugged her into his arms. “I thought you wanted to rest.” She kicked off her shoes and settled more comfortably in his arms.

“Weel, I seem to be having a wee bit of trouble feeling sleepy.” He slid his hands beneath her skirts and untied her garters.

“You need tiring out, do you?”

“Before I can have me a lazy sleep in the middle of the morning? Aye.” He began to undo the buttons that ran down the back of her mint-green dress. “Now that ye are here, I have an idea or two.”

“I just bet you do. What if someone comes looking for us?”

“Now, who would be so all-fired cruel as to disturb a pair of newlyweds?”

“I have no idea, but I locked the door just in case.” She laughed along with him.

“Now, lass, I think ye may have to give me some help here, seeing as I am a poor injured soul.”

“Since you are injured mayhap you should not be contemplating such a strenuous activity.”

“I said I was injured, lass, not dead.”

She laughed but then grew serious, placing a light
kiss on his mouth. “I am sorry for all the trouble I have brought you.”

“Ye mean Thomas?” When she nodded, he cupped her face in his hands and gave her a slow, gentle kiss. “Ye didnae cause that trouble, lass. ‘Tis all that fool Dillingsworth’s doing. Now, I can take care of me and mine, so dinnae fret. We have seen the last of that fancy-dressed skunk.”

Clover appreciated his effort to comfort her, but she could not share his confidence in their safety. Deep down, she suspected they had not heard the last of Thomas Dillingsworth.

Clover grimaced as she leaned on a rope-encircled post on the barge and stared into the muddy waters of the Ohio River. The water smelled as murky as it looked.

Ballard had hired one of the better barges, with cramped but clean quarters for them and their families. The wooden cabin set in the middle of the barge made it look a little more like a proper ship. Nevertheless, this was not the romantic river trip she had envisioned.

Clover watched the crew of a keelboat skillfully navigate the shallow draft freight boat past theirs. She inwardly acknowledged that the rivermen were not, as a whole, the dashing romantic rogues that were often described in local stories. Most of the ones she had seen were weather-hardened and none too clean, men who were struggling to make a living—either honestly or dishonestly. The boats were often precariously crammed with solemn-faced people headed west, many of them desperately poor. What she glimpsed of the houses and towns
along the river did not look much better.
New
clearly did not mean
better.
They had been on the river for two days and she had yet to see any real sign of prosperity.

“Dinnae look so sad, lass,” Ballard murmured as he stepped up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. “Kentucky is much prettier.”

She leaned back against him. “I am sure it is. I was just thinking of all the grand promises made to people who move west, promises of wealth and the easy life. There are few signs of that here.”

“‘Twill come. A lot of this land is still rough and new. And many of these folk have come from nothing. To have their own piece of land, to break their backs just for themselves and not for some other men, is prosperity to them. I ken that there are exceptions, but, truth to tell, most folk who have an easy life get their money from the sweat of others. Aye, some of them worked bloody hard to get to where they could work less yet still make an enviable amount of money. But ‘tis still the work of others that fills their fancy homes and puts rich food on their tables.”

He looked out at the collection of rough cabins they were passing. “This is just the beginning, lass. Just the beginning.”

“I know. I am sure that parts of Pennsylvania once looked as rough as this. It just takes some getting used to.”

“Where I live it is half settled and half rough. We have passed the raw beginning and started to reach for prosperity. Ye willnae find it as hard a life as some of these folk are living.”

“Oh, I am not worried about the life being hard,
Ballard. If I had stayed in Langleyville, my life would have been very hard indeed. But I do worry whether I will be able to handle the difficult labor. Molly will not be with us forever. I have lived a rather spoiled life.”

“Aye, but ye are nae spoiled. Ye will do just fine, lass.”

Clover did not share his confidence, but she did not argue. “Do you live near Daniel Boone?”

“Daniel Boone? Nay, lass. He doesnae live in Kentucky any longer.”

“Has he set out to explore someplace else?”

“Nay. I heard that he and his wife are running an inn somewhere—in Virginia, I think.”

“You jest. Why would he leave Kentucky? He opened the land to settlers. Surely he would have settled there himself.”

“He did. Our government decided Boone’s claim to his land wasnae a proper one and they wouldnae let him keep it.”

“That is appalling. He is fighting them in court, is he not? He deserves what he claims. After all, he opened up the route to that land.”

“‘Tis exactly how a lot of folk feel. I suspect old Boone will be back in Kentucky someday.”

Clover turned and caught sight of Damien playing tag with Clayton. Both boys were too close to the edge of the barge and their mother was occupied helping Molly mend some clothes. Damien stumbled and Clover caught her breath, but then he regained his balance and resumed his reckless course around the deck.

Clover slipped free of Ballard’s light hold. “I had better go and speak to the boys,” she said. “They are not taking care.”

“Do ye want me to speak to them?”

“No, but thank you for offering. You kept them occupied most of the morning.”

“They are good lads and no bother, lass.”

“Humph. At times. This is not one of them.”

She heard him laugh as he left her side and headed toward the captain.

Clover turned her attention back to her brothers, who were still racing heedlessly in all directions. She cursed when she saw Damien running straight for the side of the boat. The boy was so busy looking to see if Clayton was about to tag him, he did not see how near to the edge he was.

“Damien,” she yelled, but he just laughed and kept running.

In mere moments he would fly right off the boat. She ran to cut him off, to catch him before he tumbled into the water.

Just as she stepped between him and the edge, he looked around and realized his danger. He yelled and tried to stop, but it was too late. The deck was still slick from an early morning rain and he skidded toward her. Clover grunted as he slammed into her, knocking her backward and sending her out over the side, then down, down. Damien echoed her screech as they hit the water and were swept along by the frigid, swirling current.

Clover tried to grab hold of Damien, but the current quickly dragged him out of her reach. She was being pulled down by the weight of her clothes and could not immediately go after him. Fighting panic, she pulled off her petticoats and skirt. The release of her legs from the tangled wet cloth enabled her to speed back to the surface. She looked for Damien
and saw the boy being swept away by the same current that was buffeting her body.

The river was cold and dangerously swift. Clover knew she would never be able to fight against the current and take Damien back to the barge. Her only hope was to get him to shore or to grab hold of some of the rocks or low-hanging branches along the banks.

She spotted a dying tree tipped toward the river on an eroding bank, its branches lapped by the water but apparently sturdy. Clover started to swim with the current, gaining speed as she swiftly approached Damien. She heard Ballard’s deep voice as he cursed her and ordered the crew to launch the small rowboat into the water, promising gruesome punishments if the men failed to reach them in time. Confident that Ballard would be setting out after her, she concentrated on getting to Damien.

As she closed in on the boy, she tried to slow down. When he saw her, his movements grew more frantic. She knew he thought she would save him and prayed she proved worthy of his faith in her.

Once she was near enough to be heard, she yelled, “Head toward that tree branch near the bank.”

“I cannot.”

“Yes, you can, Damien. I will be there to grab you.”

“The water’s taking me!”

“You do not have to fight it much, just enough to get nearer the shore. Keep your head above the water and try to swim toward the bank.”

He began to struggle in the direction she indicated. He would never reach it on his own, she knew, but she hoped he could gain a few feet. Again using the current to give her speed, she swam toward the
drooping branch. As she neared it, she began to fear that she would not get close enough to grab it. The fight against the current was swiftly sapping her strength. But suddenly the branch loomed up in front of her, and she grasped it with a sigh of relief.

The branch gave an ominous crack under her weight, but she had no time to worry about that. She edged along the branch until she could go no farther, looped her arm around the rough bark, and watched for Damien. He was weakening fast and it did not look as if he was close enough for her to reach him.

“Just a little more, Damien,” she called to him. “Just a little more.”

“I am too tired.”

“I know, darling, but just a little closer and you will be safe.”

She could still hear Ballard shouting, but could not understand what he was saying. All she could do was pray that she could get hold of Damien and keep hold of him until someone could pull them both from the water. As her young brother thrashed past her, she grabbed his outstretched hand. He had the wit to grab her arm immediately with his other hand as well. The force of his current-pulled weight on her arm nearly made her lose her grip on the branch.

“Pull yourself up my arm, Damien,” she said as she tried to get a firmer grip on the branch.

Her brother did as he was told and soon had a hold on the branch as well. She steadied her own grasp and wrapped her arm around his waist. Her legs ached from the cold and the strain of keeping them both above water.

“What do we do now, Clover?” Damien asked, his teeth chattering, his body trembling.

“We have two choices. We can try to make our way back along this branch until we can climb onto the bank, or we can wait right here until the barge comes by and rescues us.”

“Maybe we should try to get on land.”

“It would certainly be easier than hanging here, but I see no place for the barge to dock.”

“They can send the little boat for us.”

Clover nodded and edged her arm along the branch, tugging Damien with her. The branch gave another ominous crack, and she moved more cautiously. Then her feet touched bottom. To her horror, her feet sank into the mud. It was as if the mud were alive and sucking her down into it. She yanked her foot free and edged back toward the river, nudging a reluctant Damien to do the same.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

“Between us and the bank is mud that seems inclined to have me for dinner. I think it would be as dangerous for us to try and get around it as to just hang here until we are rescued.”