Legacy (32 page)

'What about the pole?' I called to him as loudly as I could.

His voice came from only a few feet away, half-laughing. 'Hey, I'm just here.' And I realized that the board walls of the shed were hardly thick enough to shut out any sounds. 'Don't worry. I can see good from here. If I need you back at the rudder, I'll let ya know.'

So I waited there in the little shed, smelling the fumes from the kerosene mingle with the cool river air at dusk, and gradually I got warm and dry. I must have dozed off for a moment or two, because it hardly seemed more than ten minutes until I felt the prow of the raft scrape against the rocky bottom of the river bank and heard Billy Joe sing out, 'All right, this is it! Maynard Street landin'!'

We came to a stop and Billy Joe put his head in the doorway of the shed. 'We're here. Figgered this is closer to your place than downtown, even if there's nobody to send for your carriage. You just stay right there while I pull us in, and then I'll see that you get home safe.'

We were home! I shook my head and tried to blink the sleepiness away from my eyes. Now was the time I would have to really get moving and be at my best. I could not afford to be tired. Maybe it was the fumes from the stove ...

I heard a noise from the front of end of the raft, where out in the dusk Billy Joe was making us secure with the rope. I got to my feet and was heading for the doorway of the shed when my heart froze.

Stepping on to the raft, his bearded face twisted in an evil smirk, was Red Campbell.

I tried to bolt from the shed, but he grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me so hard that I could scarcely see. 'Thought ya had it made, hey, bitch? Didn't even think I'd be smart enough to notice ya up there by the train? Didn't think I'd be able to get myself a horse and follow ya down here?'

Shaking inside, I forced myself to look him straight in the eye and speak in a level voice. 'What have you done to Billy Joe? You're not going to get any money from me, I can tell you that right. . .'

'Shuddup!' He pushed me back into the shed roughly, making me stumble and fall on to the rough planks of the raft. 'Your boyfriend up there on the bank'll wake up in an hour or two if he's lucky. By then we'll be gone downriver on this pile o' logs, and I'll think o' some way to make ya earn your keep.'

With a nasty laugh that made my stomach crawl, he slammed the door to the shed, and I could hear the sound of the wooden crossbar sliding into place. Even as I stood up and pushed against the door, I realized that I could never get it open by myself. I needed a crowbar, a lever, something to pry loose some of the boards. I looked around the shed, but there was almost nothing, only the chair and the little kerosene stove. There was no way I could begin to pry loose the . . .

And then I thought of it - the stove! It was a gamble, but I knew it was all I had, and even if I failed, I thought anything would be better than the prospect that awaited me now.

Quickly I bent over the stove and opened the grate. Using the folds of my heavy cotton skirt as I would have used hot-mats to lift out a pot from the kitchen stove, I lifted out the metal canister of kerosene, burning wick and all, from the inside of that little stove. Then, praying that my hands would remain steady and that I would not get any of the kerosene on the folds of my dress, I slowly unscrewed the cap that held the wick at the top of the canister. It came loose with agonizing difficulty, but finally it was off. The top of the wick still burned over the cap, a bluish-yellow flame, but beneath the cap the wick was dark and wet.

I bent over the floor close to the front of the shed, and ever so gingerly I sloshed a little of the kerosene on to the boards of the wall. Outside, I could hear the front end of the raft begin to scrape over the rocks; Campbell would be pushing us away from the bank and out into the river. There was no time to lose. I sloshed more of the kerosene on the wall, somehow managing to keep my hand steady so that none of it spilled on me or ignited. Then I quickly touched the burning tip of the wick to the kerosene-soaked boards.

Instantly there was a loud rush of hot wind and a wall of yellow flame in front of me. I backed away quickly, still holding the canister, and I began to scream. Suddenly I was afraid that my plan would not work. What if Campbell saw the flames and decided to run away before they attracted a crowd? Would I be trapped here inside this burning box of wood? The heat was stifling now, oppressive. I clutched the chair with one hand and tried to imagine myself knocking away the burning wall to give myself a path to escape, but the flames were growing more treacherous and I doubted I would be able to get near enough.

I had backed as far away from the flames as I could and was trying to decide what to do next when the door was flung open. I could see Campbell's outline through the smoke and flames, and I heard his voice, snarling. 'You goddamned stupid bitch! What the hell did ya do? I'm gonna beat your . ..'

I did not wait to hear more. With all my strength I pitched the contents of the kerosene canister full in his face. There must have been at least a quart left in the can, and I had the satisfaction of seeing most of it splash squarely onto his eyes and his mouth. He staggered back, choking, clutching at his eyes, and I hurled the burning canister after him.

It struck his chest and clattered to the deck outside the shed, but its fire had done its work. Again there was the sudden roar of hot wind as the new flames took hold, lighting Campbell's shirt and his beard with a horrid yellow glare. I was partly terrified, but at the same time I felt the fierce, wild joy of revenge as he screamed, loud and harsh, as though the fire had penetrated into his very lungs.

He stood stock-still for a moment and the flames spread over his face and hair and down his legs. Why didn't he run for it? I thought. Why wouldn't he jump into the water and get out of my way? The wall of the shed on my right was completely ablaze, and the wall behind me had started burning. The flames were only a yard away from me. I had to get out!

His scream suddenly turned to a momentary, mocking laugh and to my horror I saw him begin to come towards me, into the shed, burning arms raised . . .

Without thinking, I grabbed the chair beside me and held it up, feet first, to fend him off! Gathering all my strength, I rushed at him, lowering my head and jamming one of the chair legs squarely into his groin as hard as I could. He cried out in pain as I drew back the chair and then rushed forward once more, this time striking him in the chest. He staggered back. With a final rush I hit him again in the chest. Then, as he stumbled away from the door, I gave a last shove and pushed past him, out onto the deck of the raft. In another moment I was in the water, fighting the current that swirled around my thighs, praying that Campbell would not have the strength to leap in after me. Finally I stumbled up the rocky slope of the landing.

Only then did I look back. There behind me, the twilight and the dark, wide river were lit up by the strangely beautiful fire that now consumed the entire raft. Shed, deck, and all were brightly illuminated as the raft, rudderless, turned slowly in the current and drifted further away from the shore out towards the middle of the dark water. I could see the raft clearly, every burning inch of it, as it turned round. And I could see most of the river, too, in the light of the fire.

But I could not see Red Campbell.

PART THREE

Legacy

Chapter Thirteen

By nine the next morning I was waiting for Judge Hawthorne in his downtown office, looking out his window at the market square below. The morning was cloudy. The carts and wagons I could see from here on the third floor of the courthouse seemed to crawl at a snail's pace as one farmer after the other tried to find an advantageous spot along the edge of the square, either to load up from one of the stores or to stop and set out his goods for sale to the shoppers who would soon be coming by. It was early in the season, so there was not much in the way of fresh vegetables and fruits; there were only some asparagus and strawberries, and occasionally a basket or two of wild mushrooms or cherries. Most of the carts that were setting up to sell had brought in eggs, poultry, or jars of preserved vegetables. Others carried loaves of bread and cakes, or quilts and knitting done by the women of the family, a number of whom had come along for the day's shopping and selling.

As I watched the crowd beginning to assemble, it crossed my mind what Mother had said last night when I had told her of my plans. She had been loving and tender, of course, and very glad to have me home safe, even while she was still deeply grieved over the loss of Father. But she could not seem to feel the same determination I had for keeping Father's empire together. 'I guess it's the woman in me,' she said, folding her hands tightly in her lap, even as her gaze seemed to wander away from me to the portrait of Father that still hung over the mantel in the large parlor, where we were sitting. 'I think it would be grand for you to do it, but I just can't picture anyone but your father being able to keep all those enterprises going at one time. Sometimes I couldn't see how even he did it! And how you'd be able to at a time like this. . .'

Her voice trailed off, and I could see her wet, glistening eyes as the glow of the table lamp beside her illuminated her face. I held my breath, feeling my own tears begin to come, but I knew at the same time that they would be of no help for the sorrow Mother would have to endure for ... I did not want to think about how long.

Mother bowed her head for a moment and touched her small pocket kerchief to the corners of her eyes. When she looked up again her face was set in a smile. 'Oh, Catherine, don't listen to me. Forget what I said. I'm just a simple girl at heart, and I never really did understand your father and all his business doings. Sometimes I think I'd have been almost as happy if Sam had stayed with the farming and I'd have just spent my time baking pies and knitting and mending his overalls the way I . . .'

Her brave smile broke, and so did mine. Moving to her side, I had wept with her there, quietly, until the tears subsided.

Now, in the judge's office, I wondered if I, too, might be just as happy taking a simpler path than the one I had chosen. Was there really a need to pick up where Father had left off? No one could possibly blame me for simply accepting whatever settlements the banks or the court gave Mother and me after Father's creditors had been satisfied. Judge Hawthorne would see to it that Mother and I were treated fairly and left with enough money to live comfortably. Then I would be free to try my hand at a position in the city or to visit friends. If I wanted money, there were plenty of wealthy men, and I was just as eligible and charming as any of the young women they sought out and married. I could visit friends in the city, enter society during the winter season after a decent period of mourning for Father, and by the next spring I was certain I could have my pick of the eligible men at the society balls - at least those who could appreciate a woman of intelligence, as well as beauty.

Or if I wanted to stay in Grampian, I knew that Steven Graybar would still want me. And, of course, there was Justin McKay, unless his wife had somehow managed to win him back. As I thought of these two men, so different in all but their fierce independence, I found myself wondering what it would be like to be the wife of either Steven or Justin. Both of them had tried to dominate me when Father's fortune was still a reality. What would they do, how would they treat me, if they knew I had no fortune left? And what would either of them do once he possessed the powers of a husband over me? It would be a comfortable and easy life, of course, and I would never want for anything in the way of clothes or jewels or entertainment. But would I be able to find happiness in that kind of marriage?

I was surprised and even a little worried at how dispassionately I was able to consider these two men and the kind of future each of them would offer. Part of me said, quite sensibly, 'Of course you'd be happy. You could soon win either of them over, fortune or no fortune. You could do as you pleased.' Another part of me seemed to cry out, 'Where is your love? What happened to the feelings you had? How can you think so coldly about picking and choosing?'

Oh, if only I really did feel differently!

But I knew, even as I berated myself for seeming to have become cold and calculating, that the feelings still smoldered as strongly and as deeply as ever. The shock of Father's death and the way both Steven and Justin had disappointed me - these pains had numbed me on the surface, but only there. Beneath my calm, rational self, I still longed for the glowing warmth Justin had aroused. And though I was ashamed to admit it, I knew I would also have to face up to the truth. I still longed for that painful ecstasy I had shared with Steven. Whether it was right or wrong for me to feel that way, the feeling for Steven was still there. Sooner or later I would have to come to terms with it and make my choice. Where was my real love? Or was it possible to really love two men at the same time?