American Challenge

by Susan Martins Miller

  “There aren’t any footholds. Come on, give me a hand.”

  “Say ‘please,’” she said.

  “Betsy. Are you going to help me out or not?”

  She had to help him out, or Marley would climb that hill and get him out. “Say ‘please,’” she said again. “Please,” George said finally.

  Betsy knelt on the ground and reached for him with one arm while circling a tree as a brace with the other arm. George grabbed her hand and walked up the sinkhole wall.

  “Thanks,” he said grudgingly.

  “You’re welcome,” she said with a tilt of her head. “Are you ready to go down? Marley’s waiting.”

  The descent was as difficult as the climb because of the steep slope. Betsy inched her way, but George scampered down. When she was on level ground, Betsy discovered Marley had spent his waiting time gathering rocks and was placing them in the form of a cross at the foot of the mound.

  Betsy began picking up some stones and put them in the formation. George helped. “Marley,” Betsy said, “do you think the Indians buried here went to heaven? I mean, if they didn’t know about the Lord, how could they be saved?”

  That question had first crossed her mind when she read about the mounds.

  “Well, missy, I don’t rightly have an answer. I just don’t know. That’s one of the mysteries of God. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  “I guess we will,” Betsy said.

  They finished the cross in silence.

  CHAPTER 10

  The Deserted House

  On the fourth morning of the river journey, Betsy faced the stern of the flatboat and watched the Indian mound disappear from view. When she could no longer see it, she turned around and settled onto her usual crate seat. She consulted the maps to guess how far they would get that day.

  The river curved past Big Grave Creek and churned in a narrows. The men hugged the right shore and got the flatboat through the ripples.

  “I like the faster water,” George said.

  It was more adventurous, and Betsy was surprised to find that she also liked the ripples. “We’re headed for Captina Island,” she said. “Big curves coming up.”

  The river switched back on itself before it turned again to the southwest.

  “Hey, look. Other travelers,” George said.

  Not only was there another flatboat ahead, it appeared to be stuck.

  Betsy consulted the guide. “There’s a sandbar at the lower end of the island and then two narrow channels with swift water. They must have snagged.”

  “Ahoy,” Marley called to the stranded travelers.

  Betsy could see two men and two women working on a portion of their boat. A couple of children sat on the roof.

  “We’ve got a hole,” one man called. “Hit a log.”

  “Have you got oakum?” Marley asked.

  “No, we’ve used it all.”

  Marley looked at Father as if asking a question.

  “Where can we tie up?” Father asked.

  After some maneuvering, the men managed to get the boat in a position so it wouldn’t float down the river or hang up on the close sandbar. The three men loaded mending supplies in the skiff and rowed upstream about fifty yards to the stranded flatboat.

  Betsy watched them caulk the joints. George wandered into the covered area, then returned to where Betsy was sitting, carrying his family’s shelf clock.

  “What are you doing?” Betsy asked as he placed it on a high crate so the weights hung in the air.

  “This wasn’t keeping good time before we left Boston. I’m going to fix it.”

  “What do you know about clocks?”

  “I can learn,” he said. He took the back off the clock and pulled on the weight, then pushed the pendulum so it would start. “This gear makes this gear turn, which makes this one turn the hands,” he mumbled as if to himself. “If I turn this one, then this—”

  “George, what are you doing with that clock?” his mother asked. She stood outside the flatboat house, looking as if this wasn’t the first time she had caught George operating on something.

  “I’m fixing it,” he said. “It’s been losing time.”

  “Do you know how?”

  “I’m figuring it out,” George said.

  “Perhaps you’d better wait until your father can help you with it,” Aunt Eleanor said. She has the patience of Job, Betsy decided. If George were my child … Well, that wouldn’t bear thinking about.

  George reluctantly carried the clock back into the covered area and returned with a lost look on his face.

  “I wish we could go ashore again,” he said.

  “Well, we can’t.”

  “I wish we could do something exciting.”

  “We are. We’re floating down the Ohio River. Some people back home would think that was pretty exciting,” Betsy said.

  “Maybe. But being stuck on a boat all day and all night is downright confining.”

  It was a thought she’d had before. It was scary how she and George thought so much alike at times.

  “I wish I could help those people. I could fix that boat. I helped put oakum on this boat.”

  “Quit wishing and do something,” Betsy said.

  “There’s nothing to do.”

  “Then invent something,” she said.

  George mumbled something and wandered away from what Betsy considered her area.

  Betsy read her maps and saw no place of great interest coming up that day. There were several places they could stop and exercise Silverstreak, but Father might not want another delay.

  With that in mind, Betsy walked along the narrow passage beside the covered area to the stern and untied Silverstreak.

  “You only get to walk a few feet then turn around,” she said, “but it’s better than nothing.” Betsy quickly tired of the routine but counted fifty turns before she tethered the horse.

  Traveling down the river gave her different landscapes to view, but being tied up in one spot during the day was downright boring.

  Betsy walked along the narrow passageway toward the front of the boat and glanced toward the stalled travelers. They were still working on the hole, but it looked like they were making progress.

  Her foot stumbled on something, and she tried to regain her balance.

  “No!” she screamed, and the next thing she knew, she was in the frigid water. She came up sputtering and grabbed for the boat but missed before her heavy skirts took her down again. She bobbed back to the surface.

  “Man overboard!” George called.

  The children on the roof of the flatboat house were screaming. Everyone on both boats was yelling at her, Marley louder than anyone.

  “Splash with your hands. Kick your feet,” he shouted. Betsy did her best, but back under the water she went.

  She coughed when she resurfaced and beat the water with her hands, but down she went again. Each time she submerged, she seemed to go deeper and take longer to come up to the top.

  “Betsy, give me your hand,” Mother cried when Betsy came up yet again and gasped for air.

  She quit splashing the water and reached for Mother, who was lying on the boat with her hand outstretched. But Betsy couldn’t reach her.

  “Grab this,” George called and threw a rope that hit her in the head. Down she went once more, and this time she thought she would never breathe air again.

  But she resurfaced, and this time she grabbed the rope—her lifeline. Mother and Aunt Eleanor and George pulled her toward the boat. With shaking hands Betsy gripped the wood, then climbed onto the boat, with her mother pulling on her arms.

  “Build up the fire,” Mother ordered Aunt Eleanor. “Let’s get these wet things off you, Betsy. Are you okay now? How did this happen? Did you lose your footing?”

  Through chattering teeth Betsy muttered, “I tripped on something.” She pointed at the narrow passageway beside the covered house and saw string stretched across the walkway. She glared at George.
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  “You said invent something, so I invented a way I could catch three fish at once. See, I put hooks on three—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Betsy interrupted as she lumbered in her soaking wet dress toward the covered area. She left a trail of water behind her.

  Mother helped her peel her wet things off, and Betsy wrapped up in a blanket in front of the fire to get warm before donning dry clothes. She could hear Aunt Eleanor lecturing George on making sure his inventions didn’t involve other people.

  Betsy sat in front of the fire, finger-combing her hair, when the men rowed back to the boat.

  “Are you all right, Betsy?” Father asked and hugged her tight.

  “I’m cold,” she said. “But it happened so fast. I’m okay now.”

  “That’s my girl.” He kissed her forehead. “Losing your brothers was bad enough, but I couldn’t have stood to lose you,” he said as if to himself.

  “But you still wish I were a boy,” Betsy said.

  “Betsy, that’s not true. Why would you think that?” Father tilted her chin up so she was looking at him.

  “You’re always talking to George, saying he’s a curious boy.”

  “He is, and I like to encourage his questions, because I want him to learn; but that doesn’t mean I want you to be a boy. You’re a wonderful girl, and you’re going to be a magnificent woman. Did you hit your head when you fell into the water?” he asked with a smile. He kissed her forehead again. “You’re precious to me. Never forget that.”

  Betsy felt a lurch as the boat was untied and the journey was underway again.

  “I’d better take my position with the sweep. We fixed those folks up and got them off the sandbar. They’re going to wait for the oakum to cure a bit, then they’ll move along. Want to go sit in the sun?”

  “Not yet,” Betsy said. “I’ll stay here by the fire a little longer.” Physically, she felt chilled to the bone and couldn’t bring herself to leave the heat of the fire. But her heart felt warmer and lighter.

  Before noon Betsy took up her normal post with the guidebook. George stayed out of her way once he had mumbled sorry and something about making sure he didn’t endanger anyone again.

  Betsy just nodded and didn’t look up from her book. She tried to search for landmarks the book mentioned, but she couldn’t concentrate on the words or the shoreline. She trembled as she stared into the Ohio River that churned along beside her. That last time she had gone under, the river had swallowed her. She’d opened her eyes and seen nothing but water, still muddied from the spring flood. Panic set in.

  “How are you doing?” Marley stepped toward her from his post with the long oar. He still watched ahead but withdrew his sweep from the water.

  “I’m all right,” Betsy said.

  “A bit scared?” he asked and nodded, answering his own question. “And rightly so.”

  “It was dark under the water,” she said. “And I was so helpless.”

  “I know. I was in there once,” he said. His eyes looked misty, and he moved back to his post.

  Betsy closed her eyes. “Dear God,” she whispered. “Thank You for getting me out of the river. Please help me not be scared anymore. Amen.” A tear trickled down her cheek, and she wiped it off and took a deep breath.

  The rest of the day Betsy sat on her crate. When they docked she felt much better, but she didn’t leave the boat with George and Marley when they took the skiff to shore.

  There wasn’t much to see anyway. That night she dreamed she was under the water again and woke up, gasping for air. Two more days of travel brought them to Marietta, where they tied up at a wharf.

  “Tonight we sleep in real beds,” Father said. “Tomorrow is Sunday, and we’re taking a day of rest.”

  The tired travelers unloaded a few bags and found rooms at an inn. Silverstreak was boarded at a stable. On Sunday morning after a breakfast where they sat at a real table, they attended church. Father and Mother visited easily with the townspeople. Betsy smiled at a couple of girls and said hello when they greeted her as they walked by. Odd. In the past she would have been too shy to speak to strangers.

  In the afternoon they walked around the town and were glad to get the exercise. Betsy rode Silverstreak, and George threw sticks on the town square for Jefferson to fetch.

  “There’s a shipbuilding yard here,” Uncle Paul said at dinner.

  Betsy looked up from her plate of ham and potatoes. Did that mean Uncle Paul might want to stay in Marietta? She liked the town and wouldn’t mind it if they stayed here.

  “I noticed that, too,” Father said. “But there are several shipyards in Cincinnati.”

  “Yes, and someday a yard will have my name on it,” Uncle Paul said.

  “We’ll shove off tomorrow morning after the women have time to visit the market and lay in some fresh supplies,” Father said.

  It was midmorning before they boarded the flatboat again. Betsy felt better after spending time ashore. She could face the Ohio again without the trepidation that had haunted her.

  She took up her old post with her maps and the Navigator and read the pages about the next few miles.

  “Marley,” she said excitedly, “will we get to the Blennerhassett mansion before nightfall?”

  “Yes, missy. With our late start this morning, I suspect that’s where we’ll spend the night. There’s a stone boat landing where we can tie up real easy.”

  “Oh, can we go ashore? Can we see the house?”

  “It was once a grand place,” Marley said. “But last spring a crest of floodwater drowned the gardens and filled the house.”

  “Have you seen it since?”

  “Yes. It’s but a ghost of its former self.”

  “Ghost?” George had edged over by Marley. “What ghost?”

  Betsy ignored him. “Where are the owners?” she asked Marley.

  “I don’t know. All I know are rumors. Aaron Burr was involved with Mr. Blennerhassett in some movement to take New Orleans by force and form a new government there. Both were arrested, and I don’t know the outcome of it. Meanwhile the house has been ransacked and left deserted.”

  “Vice President Aaron Burr?” Betsy asked.

  “He was the vice president. Now we have a different one.”

  “I know. Clinton,” Betsy said, remembering that Thomas Jefferson had changed vice presidents for his second term.

  “Where is this place?” George asked.

  Betsy looked at her map. “About eight more miles. We’ll get there before dark.”

  “I’ll ask if we can explore it,” George said and disappeared inside the covered area.

  “Do you know anything else about the place?” Betsy asked Marley.

  “Blennerhassett was quite a curious fellow,” the man said. “I never met him, but I heard that he played the cello and did all sorts of experiments trying to invent things.”

  “Like George,” Betsy said.

  “Much like George,” Marley agreed. “But I think the lad means well.”

  “What about Mrs. Blennerhassett?”

  “I understand she was quite pretty. They had a couple sons.”

  “Did she play a musical instrument?” Betsy asked, thinking that perhaps the woman had played the violin.

  “I never heard anything like that,” Marley said. “Although I heard they had some big parties. Half of what’s said about them is probably untrue. When people are so wealthy and fall on hard times, there’s usually a lot of tales spread about them.”

  “How much farther?” George asked. “We can go ashore, but we have to be careful, and Marley has to go, too.”

  “I’d like to see the place again,” Marley said.

  It was nearing sundown when the travelers approached the east end of the biggest island in the Ohio.

  “The other end is owned by someone else,” Betsy explained to George. “We must be careful to stay on the deserted side.”

  Tying up at the stone wharf was as easy as Marley had
said, and the threesome jumped off the boat onto the dock.

  They walked up a path that was still silt covered from the flood and ambled toward the two-story house. From the back Betsy could see honeysuckle vines on a trellis next to the house. At least the vines had survived the dunking by the Ohio River.

  One-story curving wings flanked both sides of the two-story main part of the house. Even in its deserted state, the mansion remained graceful.

  “I’m going to walk down where the orchards were and see if any of the trees have greened up,” Marley said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Betsy and George stared at the house. In the fading sunlight, it took on a ghostly air, and that thought gave Betsy an idea.

  “I wonder if the old place is haunted. I’ve heard there are lots of rumors about it. Are you afraid to go in there?” Betsy asked.

  “Of course not,” George scoffed.

  “Go on in. I dare you to climb upstairs and wave from the window.”

  George glanced around. “Where did Marley go?”

  “Down the path. He’ll be right back. Afraid?”

  George didn’t answer but strode toward the front door that stood ajar. When he reached the verandah, his pace slowed. He glanced over his shoulder at Betsy then stepped on the porch. He glanced back one more time before he disappeared.

  CHAPTER 11

  Marley’s Secret

  Her plan was simply to scare George as much as her fall into the Ohio River had scared her because of his fishing invention. He needs to know how his actions affect other people, she decided.

  With lightning speed, she raced to the house and tiptoed up the steps to the verandah. Cautiously, she peered inside the doorway. There was no sign of George. Maybe he was already on the staircase.

  She sneaked into the house. Once her eyes were accustomed to the dimness within, she could make out heaps of broken furniture in the large room to her left. Above her the chandelier in the entry hung without one glass globe left intact. A lone candle sat in its holder.

  The floor was covered with silt and sand. As she stepped carefully into the next room, she noticed many footprints, as if other travelers had stopped to see the former splendor of the mansion. So this was where Mr. Blennerhassett had played the cello. She could imagine herself standing over by the ornate mantel of the fireplace, playing Richard’s violin. Dozens of friends would dance to the sweet music in the large room. What a party they would have, and what an odd thought. She didn’t play the violin in front of others. Until this trip she’d only played for Richard and for Mother and Father. Now George’s family and Marley had heard her, too.