ADELAIDE JOHNSON, one read. 1860–1889. BELOVED MOTHER AND WIFE.
And next to that one: KATIE ANNE JOHNSON. 1883–1889. PRECIOUS DAUGHTER AND SISTER.
I fell to my knees before them.
My mama, with her story-telling rivers.
And Katie, with her angel-wing snow and campfires in heaven.
I had no words to say to them, as I had for Papa. My sadness here went too deep for that. A flood of memories swelled through me. All the million kindnesses my mama had shown me. The honest, earthy smell of her. The feel of her fingernails, scratching softly at my back. Putting cool washcloths on my feverish forehead. Singing me to sleep in the dark evenings.
And my sweet sister, my darling Katie. With a smile that was like sunshine. I could still hear her little voice, singing her songs. Could feel the tight, whole-hearted way she hugged. Could still hear her calling my name. And those bright blue eyes that sparkled like nothing else. My little Katie, who was never shy to tell me she loved me. Right up to the end.
The typhoid had taken them quick. We’d stopped here, in Ellensburg, hoping to let them rest and get well. But there was no getting well. There was only getting worse. Papa was in fits. I don’t think he slept for a week, sitting by their side, caring for them. He wanted me to stay out of the wagon, to stay away from them so I didn’t catch it myself. But there was no keeping me away, of course. Not when Katie was calling for me. We’d always shared a bed, and she couldn’t get to sleep without me. So I’d lay there beside her wasted, feverish little body and let her pinch at my neck the way she did, the gentle way she did that helped her drift off.
“I love you, my Joseph,” she’d say, her voice a scratchy whisper.
“I love you, too, sis,” I’d answer, and watch her eyelids flutter as she fell off to sleep. And then one night we said those same words and she drifted off the same way and then she never woke up again. Papa carried her little body out of the wagon in the morning before Mama could see it, carried it out wrapped up in a blanket with tears streaming down his face and I saw her blond ringlet curls tumbling out of the end of the blanket and I was sitting by the fire outside and I screamed and wailed when I saw it was her, my little Katie, still and dead.
My mama died the next night. She was all in a fever that day, sick and senseless, so she never knew her Katie had died. That was a blessing. Sure enough. And then it was just me and Papa. Just me and sad, broken-hearted Papa. And Sarah, of course, the horse we all loved. The horse that Mama had named. The horse that balked at strangers and hated saddles but was gentle as a lamb when Katie was up on her back. The horse she weaved little wildflower garlands for and put around her neck. Just me and Papa and Sarah.
Then it was just me and Sarah.
And then it was just me.
My shoulders shook with sobs, kneeling there with my family.
I heard footsteps behind me and tried to get ahold of myself. I wiped at my eyes and looked back to see Ah-Kee standing there, still as a statue, his lips pursed.
I cleared my throat and sniffled and turned back to the gravestones so he wouldn’t see my tears.
“Ah-Kee,” I said, my voice all husky and shaky. “This here’s my sister, Katie.”
Ah-Kee stepped forward and out of the side of my eye I saw him bow, slow and serious.
“And this here, this here …” My voice broke off, but when something has to be done the thing to do is just to buckle down and do it the best you can. “And this here is my mama.”
“Mama,” Ah-Kee said. I think he knew the word. He must’ve picked it up somewhere. He said it soft, with a kind of understanding, and I think mixed up in it was some of his own sadness, too.
He bowed again, lower this time. “Mama,” he said again, then spoke a long bit of Chinese. His words went up and down and fast and slow in the funny way of his language. Somewhere in the middle of it I heard the word Joseph. But he weren’t talking to me, I knew. He was talking to my mama. I don’t know what he said, but it sounded quiet, and kind, and respectful.
I sure enough loved Ah-Kee right then for whatever it was he was saying so nice to my mama. When he was done, he bowed once more and stepped back. I wiped at my nose and stood up beside him and looked at those two gravestones, standing there together.
When my mama and my sister died, I had stopped being a child. Papa had been in a storm of grief, and there weren’t no one to take care of me like Mama had. So I’d taken care of myself. And I’d taken care of Sarah. Looking at those graves, I could feel the difference between the boy I’d been and what I was now. But I could feel the sameness, too. I was strong from losing them, maybe, but any goodness in me came from having them. And all that goodness was telling me more than ever that I needed to get our horse back. She weren’t just my horse. She was their horse, too. She was the only family I had left. And my family took care of each other.
I bent down and kissed the top of my mama’s stone. The rock was rough but warm from the morning sun.
“Good-bye, Mama,” I whispered. I ran my fingertips over the square letters Papa’d gotten carved there: BELOVED MOTHER.
I stepped to the side and kissed Katie’s stone. It was just as warm as Mama’s. My fingers found the two words: PRECIOUS and SISTER.
“Good-bye, Katie. I love you, sis.”
* * *
Jed Holcomb was waiting for us at the river with a crude old dugout canoe that was longer than the wagon my family had come west in. He’d already dragged its nose into the water and was sitting on it.
I’m sure he saw the redness in my eyes, but he had the decency to not bring it up.
“This here’s your ticket to get your horse back.”
I walked closer and took a look. It was definitely an Indian canoe, cut and hacked and burned out of one big solid log. Two oars rested in its bottom. I looked at him doubtfully.
“These Indian dugouts don’t look like much, but they’re sturdier than river rock,” he assured me. “She’ll get you down the river, no doubt about that.”
“But whose is it?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about that. This has been sitting down here gathering leaves and rat nests for years.”
I reckon he could see the uncertainty in my face, because he stood up and looked me in the eye.
“You’re a good boy. But I give you my word, son. It ain’t stealing.”
I trusted Mr. Holcomb. He seemed to be a good man, the kind of man that Papa would have liked. I pulled the paddles out of the boat and handed one to Ah-Kee.
“So how does this work?” I asked.
“Work? You sit in it and go downstream. You steer with the paddles. Get low and hold on at the rough parts. The river will pretty much take care of the rest. Watch out for logjams, though. Them pile-ups where logs and branches and such all get rammed together. Steer clear of those. If you get tangled up in one, the water pulls you right under and it’s all over for you before you can even holler for help.”
I got myself in the canoe, sitting up on my knees at the front. Ah-Kee clambered in behind me. He looked more scared than I’d ever seen him—and that included with the grizzly and Ezra Bishop.
“Can you swim?” I asked him. Ah-Kee, of course, just blinked back at me.
“Can you?” Jed Holcomb asked me.
“No, sir.”
Mr. Holcomb screwed up his lips.
“Well … then stay in the boat, son. Keep its nose pointing downstream, and you’ll be all right. It’s pretty easy and shallow in most parts, far as I know. You’ll be in Yakima with that horse of yours in a few hours.”
“Thank you, sir. I owe you an awful lot.”
“You don’t owe me nothing. I was a boy, once, you know. Had a horse, too. Named him Grant, for the general. Big, red bay he was. Like a brother to me. I would’ve done anything to get that horse back if he’d been stolen from me. A boy like you needs a good horse. And a good horse needs a boy like you. Go and get her. Good luck.”
He started to push us off,
when it hit me.
“Wait, sir! Ezra Bishop! You need to set him free!”
“Set him free? What are you talking about?”
Quick as I could, I filled Jed Holcomb in on the condition we’d left Ezra Bishop in.
“So could you go and release him? He ain’t got no food or nothing, and he’s sure enough tied up tight.”
Mr. Holcomb stood and looked at me for a moment, a smile playing on his lips under his big black mustache.
“Son, nothing would make me happier than walking over there to see Ezra Bishop gagged and hog-tied. I swear half my job is cleaning up the messes that man makes with the Indians; he deals ’em crooked and bothers their women and gives their young bucks whiskey. It would be my pleasure to release your prisoner.” He scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “But … I am planning on meeting a friend for lunch. And I’ve got that Indian pony to take care of. So I’m afraid I might not make it over there ’til about dinnertime.” He winked at me, eyes just a-sparkling like a child up to no good. “But I guess he ain’t going nowhere, is he?”
And with that, Jed Holcomb pushed us off. The canoe rocked frightfully but stayed upright. I dug with my paddle to get her nose pointed proper downstream.
And then we were going, rocking and bobbing down the river toward my horse.
The leaves on the riverbank trees were changing and were all a-glory in their fall colors. The river was bubbling and chattering, telling a story about hope and adventure. The hills around us had just a frosting of snow on their tops. Just the down of the angels’ wings, maybe.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was finally getting a break.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was getting closer to my sweet Sarah.
That dugout Indian canoe was sure enough sturdy, but it weren’t at all easy to steer. It bounced and jolted down the river any way it pleased—Ah-Kee and I were just along for the ride, holding on tight.
The Yakima Canyon was one of the purtiest darn places I’d ever seen. The hills were piled up on either side and the river shot right through it, rambling from side to side on the valley floor. In some places the hills came right down to the water, pinching the river between. In other places the valley floor spread out, and we saw cabins and homesteads nestled between the mountains and the riverbed. The whole place was dotted with trees, all different sorts: aspens shaking their leaves in the wind, broad-leaf trees all covered in orange and red, and plenty of sturdy pines with their evergreen needles ready for winter. We rounded one bend and came across a herd of big, brown elk, crossing the river. They scooted along quick when they saw our tree-sized boat coming down their way.
“This place seems like some kind of heaven,” I said, turning back to Ah-Kee. He looked at me and cocked his head curiously. So I just spread my arms, taking in the scene, and shot him a big, head-shaking smile. He understood. He nodded and smiled back at me, and said a few words in Chinese.
I couldn’t help wishing that Papa and I had tried to homestead here, instead. There’d a been no trip over the Colockum, no overturned wagon, and Papa’d still be here. We’d be living here in heaven, close enough to visit Mama and Katie’s graves when we wanted. The thought was too sad to hold on to for long; I had to let it go and leave it behind in the water. Maybe that was a story the river could tell to someone else. It wouldn’t seem sad to them if they didn’t know it never happened.
We made good time down the river, through that canyon. My neck almost hurt from looking around at all that pretty, and my heart surged with a hopeful beat as I felt the miles between me and Sarah falling away.
The first rough patch we hit gave us both a scare. We heard the roar coming before we got there. Then the river tightened down to an angry channel of white water and black rocks. The boat struck a big rock, then another, jolting from side to side and darn near throwing me out. Water—ice cold and shocking—splashed up, blurring my eyes and drenching my clothes. We started drifting sideways in the river, and I remembered Jed Holcomb’s warning to keep the nose pointed downstream. As the canoe swung slowly to the side, I could tell why: If we hit a rock or got jammed up like that, the boat would flip Ah-Kee and me right into the water for sure.
“Straight!” I shouted back to Ah-Kee. “We gotta keep her straight!” I made a straight up-and-down motion with my arm, showing how we had to point downriver. Ah-Kee nodded and shouted something back and we both worked with our paddles, straining together to keep the boat true through the rapids. The canoe was like a bucking horse, dropping hard and then jumping up, skipping to the side. I fought to stay on my knees, and had to switch quick between paddling and just plain holding on, then back again when we started going crooked.
Then we were through, back to calm waters and sunshine scenery. I shivered and tried to catch my breath, then looked back at Ah-Kee to make sure he was still in the boat.
His face looked a lot like what I felt: scared and relieved and thrilled and cold to my bones.
Then a big, toothy grin cracked across his face, so big it almost closed his eyes. He lifted his paddle triumphantly and shouted something high and excited.
“Yeah,” I laughed back at him, wiping the water out of my eyes. “I guess that was kinda fun, Ah-Kee. But truth be told, I could go for a little less fun, if it’s all right with you.”
We shot through a few more rapids, doing a little better every time. I felt like we were sure enough getting the hang of it. There were a few times where the water was so low the bottom of the canoe scraped on the river-bottom stones, and we had to hop out and push it free. Between that and the splashing rapids, we were pretty well drenched from head to toe and feeling the October breeze that was blowing off the mountains.
Then, from up ahead, I heard it. The roar of rapids coming up … but bigger, deeper, and louder than any we’d come through before. I stretched up tall to try and get a look. I could see where it started—a mess of rocks, a flashing froth of white water spitting up and splashing—but then the river dropped down and I couldn’t see the end of it. But I could feel the roaring rumble of those rapids in my chest.
Paddling would be useless. We were at the river’s mercy, and it sure weren’t looking all that merciful. I threw my paddle down in the bottom of the boat, grabbed on to the sides with both hands, and prayed that Ah-Kee was doing the same behind me.
“Ah-Kee!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Get ready! Get ready!”
And then we were in it, flying faster than my thoughts or senses could keep up with.
We shot this way and that, bumping and jarring and flying and dropping. All I could hear or feel or see was water roaring and water splashing. Then the boat hit a boulder; it tipped dangerously, almost all the way over. My fingers burned gripping that wet canoe, and my face went down low to the water, black and hungry and waiting for me. I screamed a scream of sure enough terror, and heard Ah-Kee screaming behind me, too. But then the boat righted and we swung wildly back on course. I risked a quick look back and saw Ah-Kee still on board with me, dripping wet and wide-eyed, knuckles white on the boat’s sides.
We careened crazily from one heart attack to the next, without a moment to catch our breath between. Our boat was held tight in the river’s fist, and it squeezed and shook us like dice.
We were almost to the end, though; the nose of the boat flew up high and I could see the easy water ahead, running polite and calm as you please through the canyon. There was only one twisting drop left, but I didn’t like the look of it. There was a furious flurry of white water before us, then that vicious turning drop between two boulders taller than me, and a graveyard of sharp rocks waiting at the bottom. Just beyond the rocks, right before that smooth water I was eager to get to, was a big mess of a logjam, spanning almost the whole river. Just the thing Jed Holcomb had warned us about.
“All right, Ah-Kee,” I hollered. “Hold on now, by Go—”
But then we were in it, and my words got swept away by the wild river.
&nb
sp; If the earlier rapids had been like riding a runaway horse, the last stretch was sure enough a stampeding herd of buffalo.
Ah-Kee and I never stood a chance.
We flew one way, then the other, then hit the big plunge between the boulders. The nose of the boat went over and we hung there a second, floating amidst all that chaos; then we dropped. It was too steep, almost straight down. The nose stabbed down into the water and stuck like an arrow and me and Ah-Kee went flying head over heels into the frigid water, right atop each other.
Before we could get our bearings, we were being carried downstream, heads coming up and then going back under, legs and arms all a-tangle. I got spun backward and smashed into a rock, sending jolts of pain up my back. Ah-Kee started to scream and then went under, his shout cutting off in a wet choke.
My satchel hung heavy around my neck, weighing me down, but I wouldn’t cut it loose. It held all the money I had left; the money I needed to get Sarah back. I tried to kick my arms and legs as best as I could but the water was too fast and I was already half-numb from the cold. I spit out a mouthful of water and gasped a full lungs-worth of air before being pulled back under and swept farther downstream.
Somewhere down there, in the swirling icy blackness, I felt Ah-Kee bump up against me. He was floating still and motionless and my whole sorry self shivered and cried out.
Then I felt his arms move and grab hold of me, felt his fingers tighten around my coat, and I did the same, holding tight onto him down there in the murderous water.
We came up together, coughing and gasping, facing downstream. I was surprised when my feet hit the solid bottom of the river and I got my footing beneath me, still clutching Ah-Kee. I was almost steady, almost standing firm in all that moving water, when a train locomotive smashed into me from behind. My body exploded in pain, and I was pushed down and under, and I felt rough wood scraping down my back, holding me beneath the water. That heavy Indian dugout canoe had caught up and crashed into me.
I popped up to the side of it and threw one arm up inside, grateful to finally have something to hold on to. I sucked great gasping breaths of air and looked for Ah-Kee. My eyes found his head bobbing up and down a little ahead and off to the side. He was keeping easily afloat; it looked like he knew how to swim after all. My breath slowed down and my heart started to calm, figuring the worst was behind us.
Some Kind of Courage Page 9