The Crossing at Cypress Creek

by Pam Hillman

  One of the raccoons started climbing up Alanah’s skirt. Laughing, she reached down and plucked the little animal off. Cuddling it close, she nuzzled it. “You are spoiled.”

  Betsy picked up another of the babies, then stiffened as she spotted Caleb standing a few feet away. Alanah patted her arm. “It’s all right, Betsy. Don’t be afraid. Caleb is a friend.”

  “Tiberius is my friend.” Betsy shrank against her side, her whisper barely audible.

  “Yes. And Caleb is Tiberius’s friend as well.”

  Caleb’s compassionate gaze caught and held hers before he hunkered down, held out his hand, and made a clucking sound by pulling air through his teeth. One of the raccoons ambled over, sniffed his fingers, and Caleb ruffled a hand across the animal’s fur before flipping the baby raccoon on its back. The kit kneaded its paws against his palm and nibbled on the tips of his fingers with his tiny teeth. Caleb laughed, then palmed the baby raccoon and picked it up.

  Nestling the tiny masked animal against his chest, he scratched the soft spot behind the raccoon’s ear. The kit let out a contented chatter-purr.

  And in that moment, Alanah knew she was falling in love.

  Caleb looked over their progress. He and Quinn had managed to work together without an argument for three whole days.

  It had to be a record.

  They’d made the trip to Magnolia Glen and back without arguing, but Alanah had been along, as well as Mr. Horne and Rory and Patrick. And they’d been in separate wagons, so that could have accounted for the amicable trip. But the close proximity on the sandbar —

  “I do no’ think this is going to work.” Quinn scowled as he drilled a hole in a log.

  So much for burying the hatchet. Caleb stabbed the tip of the curved roller into the log at his feet and pulled it toward him. “Why no’? We’ve already made one successful run. No need t’ think we canna make another.”

  Quinn walked out onto the log raft, his unsteady gait showing he was not used to the rolling deck of a ship. He paused, bent his knees, and bounced on the balls of his feet. The raft rocked, barely. Quinn scowled. “We could lose thousands o’ dollars of cotton if this thing capsizes. The whole venture is too risky.”

  “Why don’t you let William and Connor be the judge o’ what’s risky or no’?” Caleb squinted at his brother. “It’s not like you have any cotton o’ your own.”

  “That’s no’ exactly true.” Quinn jerked a thumb toward the cotton stored under a tarpaulin. “I’ve got one bale t’ claim as me own.”

  “A whole bale o’ cotton? Why, that’s —” Caleb bit off his sarcastic retort about the small amount of proceeds from one measly bale of cotton when he saw the look of pride on his brother’s face. “That’s mighty fine.”

  “’Tis no’ much, but ’tis a start. Next year will be much better. Connor gave me a tenant’s share on every bale produced at Magnolia Glen. We’ve harvested ten bales this year. With hard work, we can double that next year. And then . . .”

  “And then what?”

  “And then I’m going t’ build me wife a house.” A flush rolled up his brother’s cheeks. “Connor says that Magnolia Glen belongs t’ me as much as it does t’ him. ’Tis me job t’ make sure it prospers.”

  Caleb took a deep breath, hooked the other end of the log, and together they rolled it across the sand toward the timber raft.

  Had he heard right? Connor had given part of Magnolia Glen to Quinn?

  And why shouldn’t he? While Caleb had taken off for parts unknown and wasted his youth, Quinn had sacrificed his to stay in Ireland. He’d made sure Rory and Patrick had food to eat, peat for the fire, and clothes on their backs. Quinn deserved to reap the rewards that came from being loyal to the family.

  And what did Caleb deserve? Nothing. Not even the food he ate at the cookhouse up on the bluff. He should leave, catch the next boat out of Natchez —

  “Quinn.” Patrick raced down the incline toward them, his voice strident with fear. “Something’s wrong with Isabella.”

  Chapter 21

  “BETSY AND I are going to gather pacanes.” Lydia stepped off the porch, a large basket under her arm. “Will you go?”

  “Not today. I need to finish this tincture.” Alanah waved them away. “I have a lot to do if I’m going to have everything Mr. Weaver needs before Caleb heads back to Natchez.”

  “Do you need my help?”

  “No. I can do it. And the pecans won’t wait. It will be nice to have roasted pecans this winter.”

  “Good, then. We will not be long.” Lydia turned toward the barn. “Betsy, are you ready?”

  “Coming.” Betsy came running, the baby raccoons chasing after her. Alanah watched her, her heart full. Her sister was slowly returning to normal. Would she ever be her old self? Alanah didn’t know, but she’d take every laugh, every smile, and every day with gratitude and a thankful heart.

  “Put those animals in the barn.”

  “Can I put them in the house?”

  “No. They will destroy everything.” Lydia pointed to the barn. “Put them in the crate Tiberius made for them.”

  Betsy led the way back toward the barn, the raccoons following like puppies.

  Lydia frowned. “You know we’re never going to be able to eat those raccoons.”

  “Probably not. But the joy they bring her is worth having them around.”

  “That man.” Lydia scowled. “He should have left them in the woods, where they belonged.”

  “They wouldn’t have survived.”

  “They’re not going to survive here if they get in my pantry again.”

  Alanah chuckled, then turned serious. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. Uncle Jude wants to go north. Back to Pennsylvania.”

  “I see.” Lydia stared at her. “How soon will you leave?”

  As was Lydia’s way, she didn’t ask questions, just accepted the inevitable.

  “I don’t know. I told him I didn’t want to go, but when he insisted, I asked him to wait until spring.” Alanah shrugged. “But now . . .”

  “You are worried about Betsy. Micaiah.”

  “Yes.” She lifted her gaze. “Maybe Micaiah won’t come here at all.”

  “Are you willing to take that risk?”

  “No,” Alanah whispered. “If moving to Pennsylvania would keep Betsy safe, I’ll do it gladly. But —” tears burned her eyes —“I’d never see you again.”

  “It’s one thing to never see someone again because they are no more, but another to know they are alive and well. So do not feel sorrow if leaving keeps you and Betsy safe.” Lydia searched her face. “Is there another reason you do not want to go?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You would never see Caleb O’Shea again either.”

  Alanah stared at Lydia. “I —”

  “I’m ready.” Betsy tugged the barn door shut. With a meaningful glance in Alanah’s direction, Lydia allowed Betsy to lead her away.

  As soon as they were out of sight, Alanah ducked into the arbor and stirred the mushroom tincture, thinking on the question Lydia had left hanging.

  Did it have to be one or the other? She picked up a knife, tossed a handful of squawroot on the scarred table, and chopped, the knife flashing as rapidly as the thoughts churning in her head. She didn’t even know if Caleb cared for her. As far as she knew, he might kiss every girl he saw —even those dressed in rags with a rat’s nest for hair. There was no reason to think she meant anything at all to him.

  Her sister or Caleb? Her sister or Caleb? Her sister —?

  As much as it pained her, there was no question what she needed to do. As soon as Uncle Jude returned, she’d tell him she was ready to leave. The sooner the better. If he hesitated, she’d tell him about Micaiah —

  A rustling in the woods wiped every thought from her head, except for focusing on the noise she’d heard. Without looking around, she picked up the kettle, walked to the porch, and set it down. With one practiced
movement, she snatched up her bow, nocked an arrow, and turned.

  And saw Caleb break into the clearing, hatless and disheveled. She lowered her bow. From the look on his face, something was horribly wrong.

  “Where’s Lydia?”

  “She’s not here. What’s happened?”

  “It’s Isabella. She’s sick. She wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. Just said to get Lydia.”

  The babe.

  “I’ll do what I can. Let me get my pack.”

  “Let me pass.”

  Sweat-stained and wild-eyed with worry, Connor had a growl that would strike fear into any man, but Caleb blocked the entrance, thankful for the heavy door Connor had finally managed to hang just last week. “Alanah said to no’ let anyone in.”

  “I do no’ care what she said.” Connor raked a hand through his hair. “I want t’ see me wife. They’ve been in there for hours.”

  That was stretching it. As soon as Caleb had returned with Alanah, Isabella had sent Quinn into the woods to bring her husband back. If she’d told Quinn what was wrong, he hadn’t breathed a word to Connor.

  “No’ until Alanah says —”

  The door behind him opened, and Alanah stood there. “It’s all right. He can come in now.”

  At her words, Connor stopped pacing. He didn’t move even when Caleb stepped aside. It was as if Alanah’s quiet words had rooted him to the spot. Finally he glanced at Caleb, the terror on his face hollowing Caleb’s own stomach. Connor took one step forward, then another, and disappeared inside. Alanah slipped out and quietly pulled the door shut.

  Caleb searched her gaze. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s not for me to say. But she’s all right. For now.”

  “For now? What’s that supposed t’ mean? Either she’s sick, or she isn’t —”

  “With child?” Connor’s roar drowned out what he’d been about to say. “Dear saints above, woman, ya are with child and ya let me drag ya out here t’ a logging camp, with no modern conveniences, no midwife —”

  “Connor, darling, you didn’t drag me.”

  “But the babe.” The anguish in Connor’s voice leaked through the closed door. “I do no’ want t’ lose ya, lass.”

  “Shh, darling. Do not worry so. I’m fine. The babe is fine . . .”

  Alanah moved away from the room, and Caleb followed, glancing over his shoulder at the door. “Is she really going t’ be all right?”

  “Time will tell.”

  Caleb frowned at the closed door, hoping she was right.

  Alanah jumped when Connor jerked open the door and barked out her name. “Isabella is asking for you.”

  He stepped aside and let her enter the cabin. Then he stood waiting, arms crossed.

  Alanah rested a hand on Isabella’s stomach, waiting to see if her muscles contracted. “How are you feeling?”

  Isabella gave her an encouraging smile. “Much better.”

  “Did you finish your tea?”

  “Every drop.”

  “I think you’ll be fine if you take it easy for a few days.”

  “I promise to stay abed until you tell me otherwise.”

  “I’ll leave some squawroot, and if you start cramping, Connor or Gimpy can brew you some more tea. Lydia and I will come back and check on you tomorrow.”

  Connor straightened from his slouched position against the doorframe. “Ya —you canna go. What if I do no’ make the tea strong enough? Or —or too strong?”

  “I cannot stay.” Alanah shook her head. “Lydia and my sister will be worried.”

  Connor looked like a caged lion. “I can send someone to tell her where you are.”

  “Tiberius will go.” Caleb stood in the doorway. “And he’ll keep watch over them until you return.”

  “See there. Your family will be safe, and they shan’t worry over you.” Connor’s gaze flickered to his wife, then back to her. “Please, miss.”

  The three of them stared at her as if she had the power to keep Isabella alive and save her babe. Only God could do that, but she’d do what she could to help. Knowing they’d already lost one child in the early stages of pregnancy sealed her own fate for the night.

  She nodded. “I’ll stay if that is your wish.”

  “Thank you, miss.” Looking like the weight of the world had lifted off his shoulders, Connor started issuing orders. He motioned to the room across the dogtrot. “You’ll need supper and some bedding. The office is close by if Isabella needs you.”

  “Connor, she can’t sleep on the floor —”

  “It’ll be fine, mistress, thank you.”

  “I’ll see that she’s comfortable.” Caleb held out a hand. “Let’s get you something to eat, and I’ll have Rory and Patrick gather some bedding for you.”

  Caleb led the way toward the cookhouse, where the loggers were eating their evening meal. When several of the men glanced their way, Alanah paused.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m really not that hungry.”

  Caleb’s attention shifted toward the gawking men, and changing course, he propelled her away from the cookhouse. “Is it the men?”

  “Yes. Could I just eat back at the cabin?”

  He led her to a stump at the edge of the bluff, where the evening breeze blew in from the river. “Wait here.”

  “Caleb —”

  But he was already gone. Instead of sitting, she walked to the edge of the bluff that looked over the river. The sloping hill was bare of scrub brushes and grass where the logs had rolled down to land in piles at the bottom.

  She shaded her eyes against the sun as it sank in the west and looked toward the side channel where a second timber raft was taking shape. She’d thought the first raft had been huge, but this one was three times as big. And not only that, but true to their word, Caleb and the others had loaded it with bale after bale of cotton.

  “What do you think?” Caleb stood beside her, two bowls of stew in hand.

  “It’s impressive.” Accepting one of the bowls from him, she sat down on the stump. “When do you plan to leave?”

  “Tomorrow or the next day at the latest.” He hunkered down next to her. “I’ll take your herbs to Weaver if you like.”

  Alanah bit her lip. She needed to go back home and pack everything that she planned to send to Natchez. But tomorrow would be soon enough, if Isabella didn’t develop any complications during the night. “Thank you. I was preparing a batch of mushroom tincture when you came this afternoon.”

  “Will it be all right overnight?”

  “It’s covered and should be fine.”

  They ate in silence, until she motioned to the sandbar. “I wonder if the recent rains exposed more squawroot?”

  “You need more?” Caleb arched a brow.

  Alanah pointed to the pile of logs at the base of the cliff. “It’s much like your logs there. One can never have too much of what provides their living.”

  “You have a point. I’ll be right back.” He took both bowls to the cookhouse, then returned with a bag. “Let’s go before it gets dark.”

  They walked to the road that sloped down the bluff to the sandbar and skirted around the pile of logs waiting to be lashed together. The timber raft bobbing in the water was even bigger than it had looked from above.

  They reached the jagged edge of the bluff where rains had washed away more dirt. Alanah was pleased to see more pods of squawroot clinging to the roots.

  She moved toward the cleft, but Caleb waved her away. “I’ll do the climbing this time, lass.”

  He handed her the bag and climbed up, then cut the pinecone-shaped roots away from the root system they’d attached themselves to. One by one, he tossed the roots down, and Alanah stuffed them in the bag. Finally, the bag overflowing, she called out, “That’s enough.”

  “What, ya canna keep up?”

  “The bag’s full, and it’s almost dark.”

  “Just one more.” He leaned farther out, stretching for a cluster of roo
ts almost out of his reach. Suddenly the root he clung to broke and he came crashing down.

  Alanah dropped the bag and rushed to him, falling to her knees. “Caleb? Are you all right?”

  He opened one eye, squinted up at her, then held out a piece of squawroot. “I think I broke your herb, lass.”

  Alanah laughed. “It has to be chopped or pulverized into a powder anyway. So I don’t think breaking it is going to hurt it any.”

  She started to stand.

  “Alanah —”

  She froze. The teasing tone of his voice was gone. He lifted his hand, ran the tips of his fingers along her jaw. Alanah shivered at his touch; then, panic winding through her, she inched back.

  He dropped his hand. “I would never hurt you, lass.”

  “Would you —?” Alanah broke off as heat rushed to her face.

  “Would I what?”

  “Would you kiss me if you thought I was willing?” she whispered.

  “If you have t’ ask that, then —” He chuckled, sounding a bit strangled. He stood, reached for her hand. “We’d better head back before one o’ us does something we regret.”

  As his hand closed over hers and he pulled her to her feet, Alanah reached up and pressed her lips against his.

  Immobile for the space of a heartbeat, he didn’t respond. Feeling foolish, Alanah broke contact, but before she could move away, he swept an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, deepening the kiss. Heart soaring, Alanah savored the touch of his lips on hers. It was just as magical as the first time.

  Slowly he lifted his head, giving her the opportunity to stay —or flee.

  Time stood still, save for the gentle flow of the river and the sun sinking below the horizon in the west. Caleb’s breath feathered across her cheek, and the longing that spiraled through her stomach reminded Alanah that she shouldn’t linger, no matter how much she trusted Caleb to honor his promise.

  She touched the tips of her fingers to his lips, then turned and fled.

  Chapter 22

  WHEN WORD CAME that the loggers were almost done with the timber raft, Micaiah decided it was time to act.