The Crossing at Cypress Creek

by Pam Hillman

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Isabella entered, smiling. “You look lovely.” She crossed the room and took the brush from Alanah’s hands, motioning toward one of the stumps. “Sit.”

  Alanah did as she asked, and Isabella moved behind her and continued to brush. “Your hair is beautiful. Such an unusual color. From your mother’s side of the family or your father’s?”

  “Both.” Alanah fingered a tendril of hair. “Papa was Scottish with flaming red hair, and Mama was blonde, so I ended up with this odd coloring that defies description.”

  “Well, it’s lovely.”

  “Thank you.”

  Isabella paused midstroke at the sound of footfalls on the porch. The blanket pushed back and Connor stood there. “Isabella —” He broke off when he spotted Alanah seated on the stump, her unbound hair fanned about her shoulders. He let the blanket fall back into place.

  “Isabella.” His voice floated to them through the barrier. “Where’s the ledger? I have some new hires to add to the payroll.”

  “It’s —oh, never mind. You’ll never find it.” Isabella handed Alanah the brush, her lips tilting into a teasing smile. “Wait until Caleb sees you in this.”

  Suddenly shy, Alanah stood, running her hands down the green skirt.

  “Isabella?” Connor’s voice boomed again. “I canna find it.”

  “Coming.” Isabella ripped the blanket back and hurried across the breezeway, her voice floating back to Alanah. “It’s right there, Husband. Plain as the nose on your face.”

  “Well, they all look the same to me.”

  The sound of boots parading into the cabin across the breezeway tied Alanah’s stomach in knots, and she took her time fixing her hair, building up the courage to step through that blanket-covered doorway. It was one thing to play dress up with the sweet and friendly Isabella. Quite another to be gawked at by Connor O’Shea, the loggers, and even worse, Caleb. Her cheeks grew warm at the thought of the kiss they’d almost shared.

  But there was nothing for it. They were here, right outside, and she’d have to —

  “Thank you, Reverend.” Caleb’s voice floated through the thin barrier. “My brother was beginning t’ despair o’ finding raftsmen t’ run the river.”

  “I’m glad to be of service. Just keep your eye on them.”

  Alanah froze in place.

  Uncle Jude?

  Caleb hung back, allowing the reverend and the new hires to file inside ahead of him. Leaning against the doorway, he studied the half-dozen men lining up to make their mark. They looked hardy enough if a bit rough. Shifty even.

  But that was the way of seagoing men, so he didn’t really expect river raftsmen to be any different. And the reverend didn’t have to tell him to be wary of such men.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Caleb saw a flicker of movement. He turned, saw Alanah slip from behind the blanketed doorway across the breezeway and pad toward the rear of the cabin, the shadows masking her escape.

  Escape?

  Why did she feel the need to escape?

  As soon as she disappeared from sight, he followed, noticing that she’d changed out of her rags and wore a voluminous green skirt instead. Something of Isabella’s, no doubt. She’d gained the safety of the forest before he caught up with her.

  “Alanah —”

  She turned, and he sucked in a breath. Gone was the waif he’d half drowned in the river. In her place stood the woman he’d seen in Natchez. But they were one and the same, and both set his insides aflame.

  “What’s wrong, lass? Why are you sneaking off like a scared rabbit?”

  Her attention shifted toward the cabin. “I should be getting home.”

  “Is it your uncle?” Caleb scowled. “Are you afraid o’ him?”

  “Not afraid, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “He wouldn’t like it if he found me here.” She fingered the dress. “Or if he found me wearing this.”

  Caleb gaped at her. The dress was becoming and, while he wouldn’t embarrass her by saying so, a sight better than what she’d had on before. And her fresh-scrubbed face and golden hair pinned up in an enchanting style reminded him of the way she’d looked the first day he’d seen her on the wharf in Natchez Under-the-Hill.

  “I do no’ understand. Is it the charity that he would disapprove o’?”

  “No, it’s not that.” She ducked her head. “He —he thinks that . . . that I’ll be safer if I wear rags and, um . . . um, act like . . .”

  “Like you’re addled?”

  Her lashes swept up, and her golden gaze caught his, surprise and a hint of shame written on her face. “You —you’ve heard the rumors?”

  “About Addled Alanah and Looney Lydia?”

  “Yes.”

  “Aye. I’ve heard.”

  “I see.” She lowered her head, but not before Caleb saw the tinge of red that crept over her cheeks. “I should be going.”

  She froze when his hand landed on her forearm. He was so close, he could have traced the arch of her brow, the curve of her jaw, the tendril of hair she’d missed when she’d swept it into a knot at the nape of her neck. But she was poised like a gazelle about to bound away, so he simply said, “You look quite fetching in your new frock, Mistress Adams.”

  “And that is why my uncle insists I wear something —less becoming.” They both looked up when Connor, her uncle, and the others filed out of the cabin. She shook her head. “Please, don’t tell him I was here.”

  And with that, she wrenched out of his grasp and fled.

  Puzzled, Caleb watched her go, then walked back toward the cabin. Isabella stood on the porch, her brow furrowed, the blanket pushed back revealing the empty room. “Did you see Alanah?”

  “She’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Isabella toed the pile of sodden clothing. “She forgot her clothes. I’ll send them home with her uncle.”

  Caleb shook his head. “I do no’ think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not? He’ll be going straight home, won’t he?”

  “She did no’ want her uncle t’ know she’d been here.”

  She’d been in such a dither, she’d forgotten her tote.

  Alanah crouched in the shadows, eyeing the dogtrot cabin she’d just fled from. Should she go back for the bag that held the squawroot she’d come for as well as an entire morning’s work? No, she couldn’t. Not after she’d run like a scared rabbit and not as long as Uncle Jude was there.

  He wouldn’t be pleased that she’d disobeyed him and roamed so far from home. But how did he expect them to survive if she didn’t forage? For all his itinerant preaching, he rarely brought coin or provisions home, using the excuse that the small gatherings he attended had little to spare.

  Alanah didn’t doubt his word. Most who lived in the small hamlets in the Natchez District were as impoverished as Alanah’s own family. But she suspected the meager support from the locals had more to do with her uncle’s shortage of compassion than from their lack of coin.

  She loved her uncle, but his dearth of Christian charity confused her. Why couldn’t he be more like her father? Papa had been a big, brawny Scotsman, loud and boisterous, but also loving and kind.

  Papa loved people, and he loved telling them about Jesus. And he even loved his trips to Natchez to preach to those less fortunate.

  In the end, he’d sacrificed his life for them.

  Had Uncle Jude been as harsh and unbending before Papa died as he was now? Memories of happier times surfaced, with Papa, Mama, Aunt Rachel, and the tiny babes she’d birthed.

  No, Uncle Jude hadn’t always been so hard and unforgiving. Unforgiving to the point that he would no longer preach to the river pirates, claiming they didn’t deserve God’s grace.

  The sound of saws brought her back to the present. She spotted more than one draft animal pulling logs along the road to the bluff that overlooked the sandbar.

  Where was her uncle?

  She spotted him sitting o
n a stump at the cookhouse, talking to the cook. Had he hired on to help the cook? She smiled. Uncle Jude couldn’t even boil water as far as she knew.

  Her attention shifted to Caleb as he led the new hires toward the bluff. Her heart slammed against her rib cage as she recognized one of the men who’d been on the flatboat with Elias Jones. Then another. Narrowing her gaze, she looked closely at every one of them. All shifty characters rumored to be more thieving scoundrels than honest, hardworking men.

  And all cohorts of Micaiah and Elias Jones.

  True, they knew the river, and they knew rafting, but if she didn’t miss her guess, every single one of them used their skill for evil and not good. Should she tell Caleb? He needed to know . . .

  She glanced back toward the cookhouse, and her uncle was nowhere to be seen. With a start, she gathered the green skirt and raced toward home.

  Chapter 13

  HEAD DOWN, Jude paced, hands behind his back.

  When he reached the edge of the yard, he turned, shuffled the length again, pivoted, and retraced his steps. The darkness did little to stop the unrest in his soul. If anything, it added to it.

  Cry against them, for their wickedness is great.

  Jude gritted his teeth. No, Lord. I will not. These men do not deserve Your mercy or Your grace. They will not turn from their wicked ways, so why should I preach to them?

  The more he paced, the stronger God’s wooing spoke to him.

  Cry against them.

  I recommended Massey and those cutthroats to the O’Sheas to protect my family. I could go to the O’Sheas, tell them what kind of men they’re dealing with, ask for protection for myself and my nieces. The very thought filled him with dread. Why should the O’Sheas help him after he’d unleashed a den of vipers in their midst?

  With each step, his thoughts ricocheted from heartfelt prayer to desperation. Was he praying for the highwaymen’s salvation or begging God for forgiveness for his own culpability? Shouldn’t he be asking the O’Sheas for forgiveness? Shouldn’t he go straight back to the logging camp and set things to rights?

  He would, but for his nieces. Elias had threatened his nieces. Betsy had run off with Micaiah —or if Alanah could be believed, the fiend had stolen her away. In spite of Jude’s rejection of her, even he could see that she was damaged in ways she hadn’t been before. He wouldn’t have his nieces’ lives —or their deaths —on his head. Didn’t he owe it to their parents to see them back to safety somewhere away from this vile and violent land?

  “Uncle Jude?”

  He stopped pacing, lifted his head, saw Alanah standing on the porch. He covered his worry with a gruff tone. “You should be in bed, girl.”

  “So should you.” She sat on the steps, wrapping her cloak around her shoulders. “Is something bothering you, Uncle Jude?”

  He searched her face, then resumed pacing. One turn, then two. Each step burying him deeper and deeper in his quandary. He would never understand why his brother-in-law had come to this backwoods place, where thieves and robbers stole and killed without compunction. Without remorse.

  It was one thing for the man to come himself, but to bring his family and for Rachel to insist on coming? His Rachel. Where he’d been weak, she’d been strong, determined to face down anything to lead others to Christ.

  This place, these people, had killed his Rachel, had killed their babies.

  Jude paced, wanting to pray, needing to pray, but remorse smote his heart with what he’d done today. What he’d become. Halfway across the yard, he stopped, faced his niece, and rocked back on his heels. “I’m thinking of going back to Philadelphia.”

  “Philadelphia?” Her eyes went wide with surprise. “But, Uncle Jude, you left Philadelphia years ago.”

  “Yes. Fifteen to be exact.”

  “I don’t understand.” Alanah shook her head. “I thought the Lord called you to the Natchez District —”

  “That was your father’s calling, not mine.” He thought back on the life he’d led as a young preacher in Philadelphia, following in his brother-in-law’s footsteps. People had welcomed them into their homes, providing lodging and meals, but more importantly, they listened to the message of God’s love. They’d wanted to serve God. They’d wanted to turn their backs on their wicked ways and spend their days basking in God’s blessings. Not so here in Cypress Creek.

  These men relished their evil ways.

  “Yet you came anyway. You and Aunt Rachel.”

  “Yes, we came.” He looked away, unwilling to let her see the indecision in his face. “But I feel led to go back.”

  Lord, is that the truth? Am I simply following my own will or Yours? I don’t know where You want me, what You want me to do. Stay here and let men like Micaiah Jones violate my nieces? I’ve buried my wife, our four infant sons, and now cutthroats and river pirates are running rampant all over the countryside.

  There was no answer. Jaw clenched, Jude resumed pacing.

  I won’t stay here and preach to men who don’t deserve Your forgiveness. And I won’t subject my nieces to more abuse at their hands.

  Alanah stared at her uncle. Had he gone daft?

  “Uncle Jude, I can’t go back. This is my home, the only home I’ve ever known. There’s nothing for us back there. No family. No land. Nothing.”

  Bushy brows lowered, her uncle glowered at her. “You’ll do as I tell you, you hear me, girl?”

  “Yes, Uncle.” Alanah swallowed, attempting to gather her wits, even though her uncle’s sudden announcement had scattered her thoughts in a million directions. “Have you made up your mind without question?”

  “Yes. We’ll leave in a fortnight.”

  “A fortnight?” How would they make the long journey to Philadelphia with hardly the clothes on their backs? “We —we don’t have any money.”

  “I have the coin O’Shea gave me, and we’ll sell the chickens and the goats.”

  Those meager coins wouldn’t buy food for a week, let alone the months it would take to make the long journey north.

  “What about Betsy? She’s not strong enough to travel that distance on foot. And what will we do when we get there? Please, Uncle Jude, this is our home. Don’t —”

  He whirled to face her. “What would you have me do, lass? Stay here in this hole that’s being taken over by murderous thieves? We should have left when your parents died. If we had, Rachel might still be alive, and Betsy . . .”

  He trailed off. Uncle Jude didn’t have to say more. Alanah knew exactly what was on his mind.

  “We’ll head north. People will take a preacher in. They always do. We’ll find a place, one filled with godly men and women. People unlike the lawless sort who’ve taken over Cypress Creek.”

  She tried one last tactic, the only thing she could think of. “It’s September. Winter will be coming on. Maybe —maybe we should wait until spring.”

  “I dare not wait any longer.” He strode past her, his steps echoing on the porch. “I’m going to Mount Locust in the morning. We’ll need to join up with a party of travelers. As soon as we get our affairs in order, we’ll leave.”

  Long after he’d gone to bed, Alanah sat on the steps, clutching her stomach, afraid if she let herself, she’d deposit her supper in the dirt at the edge of the porch.

  “Thank you for showing me the way, Caleb.” Isabella walked alongside Caleb, Tiberius following a few steps behind.

  When Alanah hadn’t returned for her bag full of herbs or her clothes, Isabella had decided to go to her. She’d approached him first thing this morning asking that he accompany her to Alanah’s at the end of the day.

  Caleb frowned. “Connor will no’ be happy.”

  “Let me worry about my husband.”

  They arrived at Alanah’s, and Caleb paused at the edge of the clearing and let himself see Alanah’s home through Isabella’s eyes.

  It was a sobering sight, even for a poor lad who’d lived in a hovel back in Ireland.

  But Isabella didn’t com
ment on the derelict cabins or the wattle fencing that needed repairs. Which didn’t really surprise him. His sister-in-law didn’t seem to be one fazed by difficult circumstances.

  Alanah stooped over the fire under the arbor, stirring something in a pot. She’d changed out of Isabella’s clothes and once again wore a hodgepodge of mismatched, patched pieces. But Caleb couldn’t blame her. His own work clothes left a lot to be desired. He chuckled. Even his best left a lot to be desired. As soon as she spotted them, she quit stirring, wiped her hands on her apron, and headed toward them.

  “Isabella. Caleb.” Her tawny eyes met his, and her face flushed. Or was the heightened color on her cheeks simply from slaving over a steaming kettle? Her cheeks grew even redder, and she looked away, ignoring him. Caleb held back a grin. Nope. Her blush didn’t have anything to do with the heat of the fire, unless it was the one he’d started when he’d almost kissed her two days ago.

  “Good afternoon, Alanah.” Isabella held out the bundle. “Your clothes, and Caleb has your tote.”

  “Thank you. You shouldn’t have come all this way.”

  “I didn’t mind. I wanted to see Cypress Creek and find out where you lived as well.”

  Caleb dropped the tote on the porch. “Is your uncle here?”

  “He left yesterday for Mount Locust.”

  “He travels alone?” Isabella shook her head. “Doesn’t he fear for his life with the highwaymen plying the roads?”

  Alanah shrugged. “He has no coin, so they let him be.”

  A chopping sound came from the woods, and Alanah jerked her head up. “What’s that?”

  Caleb glanced around, saw that Tiberius had disappeared. “Tiberius. Sounds like he’s chopping wood.”

  Alanah’s gaze shifted to the meager pile of wood beside the cabin. “He shouldn’t —”

  “It’s the least we can do after the care you and Lydia gave Frank.” He backed away. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll give him a hand.”

  As he walked away, he spotted Betsy watching from the shadows of the barn. He smiled and gave her a jaunty wave, but she scurried away as if he’d shouted “boo” at her. The poor girl seemed to be terrified of her own shadow.