That’s when I remembered the logjam. I craned my head around and saw it coming up fast, an ugly snarl of limbs and trees and logs growing out from either bank and cutting right across the river. The logs were like vicious crooked teeth, with the water pouring through; if a body got pressed up against those teeth, there’d be no getting out alive. There was only one narrow path in the middle of the logjam, where the two sides didn’t quite meet up; me and the boat were floating straight for it. But Ah-Kee was bound right for the deadly mass of logs. He was facing me, his back to the doom he was coming up on.
“Ah-Kee!” I shouted. “Ah-Kee!”
He smiled and waved, no doubt as happy to be out of the rapids as I had been a moment before.
“No!” I screamed, pointing frantically past him. “Swim, Ah-Kee! Swim!”
His head turned and he saw the trouble he was in and started to paddle furiously, clumsily, toward the bank. But it was clear he’d never make it that far before the river pinned him to the logjam and swallowed him whole.
“No! To the middle, Ah-Kee!” I waved him in with my free arm. “To the middle! Swim to me!”
He looked desperately toward me and then changed direction, beating his arms in the water to try and reach me before it was too late.
But I saw with a terrible certainty that it was impossible. Ah-Kee was going to be crushed into the logjam; Ah-Kee was going to be lost.
Then I remembered something terrible, and wonderful: Ezra Bishop’s whip.
I still wore it wrapped around my shoulder. I slipped it off over my neck, holding as best as I could to the thick handle with my cold-deadened hand.
“Grab hold!” I shouted, and whipped that black leather monster out across the water toward him. It was sure enough long, a good fifteen feet from handle to tip.
The end slapped the water a few feet from where he struggled, and with one frantic kick he reached it and grabbed tight with both hands. I pulled with all the strength I had left in my shoulders, then slid my hand forward on the whip and hauled it in again.
On the other end Ah-Kee was doing the same, pulling himself up that whip hand over hand.
I saw those logs sure enough reaching for him, saw his face, terrified and straining with all he had in him, heard the thirsty slurp of the water trying to suck us both down, and then I yanked right down to the very bottom of myself and he surged through the water closer toward me.
I thought he was gonna make it. I truly did.
I truly thought that I’d pulled him far enough with that cursed whip for him to float clear of the logs and safe through the gap.
But we were just short.
Ah-Kee was bobbing closer then he stopped fast, snagged by a nasty broken-off stump jutting out from a fallen tree. In half a breath, before I could do any darned thing, I shot right past him, through the gap of clear water in the middle of the jam.
He cried out, stuck there on that weathered white stump, as I went past. Then I was gone.
“No!” I screamed.
I looked back just in time to see the whip go taut and snap out of the water, tight as wire between us. It almost yanked me right off the boat but I kept my grip tight, on the boat and the whip both. At the same moment, Ah-Kee let out one last desperate shout and he went down, under the log. Under the water.
I hung stuck for a second, almost pulled in two by the boat pulling me downriver and the whip holding me upstream.
Then the whip went slack.
Me and the boat took to floating downstream again, through the peaceful waters past the rapids. I hung off the side, breathless. I forgot all about the cold, all about the wet. All about anything but the empty river behind me and the loose whip in my hand, binding me to nothing but black water.
I heard the honking of geese, flying south above me in a sloppy V in the sky.
All around me was the blaze of changing leaves, shouting their colors as they died.
Tears, burning hot in all the coldness, sprang to my eyes.
“Oh, God,” I said as a chill shook me to my bones. “Oh, God, I—”
And then Ah-Kee’s head popped up and his wild gulping breath shattered all the stillness that had gathered around me.
“Ah-Kee!” I hollered. “Ah-Kee!” And then I whooped a wild whoop, a joyous whoop like had never rung out of my lungs before.
Ah-Kee sputtered and coughed and gasped. I kicked to slow the boat and he churned his way toward me and then he grabbed hold of the canoe and threw his head back, eyes closed and mouth still gasping all that sweet, living air. I hugged him good and hard, as tight as I could without drowning him again or letting go of the boat. I had sure enough thought he was dead, and it had been just about more than I could take.
I threw the whip up in the boat—eternally grateful that Ezra Bishop was a brutal man and that I was a thief—and together Ah-Kee and I kicked the boat toward the shore. When we were in water shallow enough for walking, we dragged it up until its nose sat on dry land and it was clear it wasn’t going anywhere. I saw one paddle floating past and I splashed out and grabbed it and threw it in the boat. The other was lost for good, but I was certainly thankful that a paddle was all we’d lost that day.
Ah-Kee and I stood on the shore, shivering. The river ran before us, unbothered by the near tragedy that had just occurred. I opened my satchel, still hanging soggily against my side. Papa’s pistol would need cleaning, but the money was all still there. So was the knife, and some strips of elk jerky that Jed Holcomb had given us. I pulled my matches out. They were dripping wet, and I knew they were useless.
“We need to get dry,” I told Ah-Kee, my teeth chattering. “These wet clothes will be the death of us.”
I turned away from the river, scanning the forest for help. The woods around us looked wild and unsettled, but then I saw it: a steady wisp of smoke, rising in a column above the trees not too far from where we were.
“Come on, Ah-Kee,” I said, and took off at a jog.
We found a rugged dirt road winding through the trees and followed it parallel to the river for a ways, then turned off on a smaller, even rougher path that climbed up toward where I’d seen the smoke.
We came out of the trees into a clearing and there sat a log cabin, sturdy and tidy, with a neat little front porch and firewood stacked tightly up against the side. A small creek ran down past it toward the river. In the back I could see a stable, and a corral where a cow was grazing. It looked at us as we walked up, chewing calmly at the cud in its mouth. It was a fine little scene, that cabin sitting there with the meadow and mountains behind it. The kinda scene that a fella could almost feel homesick for, even if he’d never been there before. Me and Ah-Kee were both shivering something fierce, and I hoped the folks inside were as friendly as their cabin looked.
I did my best to wring the worst of the water out of my shirt, then knocked on the door.
It swung open so fast and so sudden I jumped back.
A boy was standing there, fear all over his face. He weren’t no more than five years old. His eyes looked ready to cry.
“You the doctor?” he cried, looking back and forth between me and Ah-Kee.
“Doctor?” I said back. I looked at Ah-Kee, standing slack-jawed beside me. Then my own twelve-year-old self, dripping wet and shivering. “No, kid. Not even close.”
“Oh, Lord!” the boy wailed. His face crumpled and tears streamed from his eyes and down his face. His shoulders shook with sobs.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, stepping forward. Then again, “What’s the matter?”
He sniffed and looked up at me, his face a picture of heartbreak and misery.
“My mama,” he gasped. “She’s hurt! My mama’s gonna die!”
Well, me? I’d seen enough of mamas dying. I didn’t waste no time.
“Where is she at?” I asked him.
He stepped to the side. I waited only long enough to take off my mud-caked boots, then walked into the cabin.
“Mama! Mama!” he whispe
red loudly. “Look what I brought!”
I took a few steps into the cabin, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. Ah-Kee followed behind.
The inside of the cabin was cozy, with a stone fireplace and a table and stove and some plain pieces of furniture here and there. It had a real plank floor, level and swept clean. In the corner was a big pine bed, and in the bed was a woman. Her face was pale, her eyes dark and exhausted, and her straight brown hair was wet with sweat, but I could tell even then that she was a pretty woman.
Her eyes were swimming in pain but she squinted and saw us and I saw confusion wrinkle her brow. But she smiled, a tired and hurting smile.
“Oh,” she said. Her voice was weak, but I could tell she was trying her best to be warm. “Hello. Who … are you?”
Standing there breathless in dripping wet clothes, I wasn’t sure how to answer.
“My name’s Joseph, ma’am. This here’s Ah-Kee. Your boy here says you’re hurt?”
“Hurt?” The woman grimaced in pain and waited a moment. “Hurt’s not the right word.” She gritted her teeth and paused again. “I’m having a baby, you see. Any minute, I believe.”
You’re having a baby?” My voice came out high and nervous-sounding. If I was to make a list of all the things I wasn’t likely to be much help in doing, delivering a baby would be right up near the top.
“Yes. It’s been working on coming for two days now. My husband left to fetch the doctor this morning, and—” Her voice cut off in a gasp and she arched her back and ground her teeth and closed her eyes against the pain.
“Mama!” the little boy cried out, and he ran to her side and took her hand. I stood there dripping in the doorway, not sure what to do. I turned to Ah-Kee, thinking maybe we ought to step outside for privacy’s sake, when he brushed right past me and walked over to the bed.
I stood there staring, open-mouthed.
Ah-Kee walked straight up to that woman and started talking, just like he had to that grizzly, his voice calm and easy and reassuring. The woman and the boy looked up at him, no doubt stupefied. When he’d said his piece he did a quick bow to her.
“What did he say?” the woman asked.
“I don’t have the slightest idea, ma’am,” I answered honestly.
Ah-Kee looked around and walked over to the table and fetched a pitcher of water and a cloth, then returned to the bed. He soaked the cloth in the water, squeezed it out, then pressed it up against the woman’s forehead.
I saw her body relax, and she closed her eyes and smiled.
“Thank you,” she said. But just as quick her whole body tightened again and she bucked and moaned through clenched teeth. The boy started crying again, quiet, just breathing loud through his nose with tears tumbling out of his eyes.
Ah-Kee looked back at me and barked some sort of order in Chinese.
I shook my head and shrugged.
He did some more talking and pointed at a pot by the fire, then at a bucket sitting by me near the door, and I got the message. Soon I had a pot of water set to boil over the fire. Ah-Kee had gone around the cabin and gathered any cloths or towels or blankets he could find, and had propped the woman up into more of a sitting position in the bed.
“Joseph?” she whispered to me while Ah-Kee was busy over by the fire. “Does he know what he’s doing?”
I gave her the most confident look I could muster.
“Ma’am,” I said, “I’ve been traveling with that boy for a few days and lots of miles now. And about the only thing I haven’t seen him be able to do is hold on to a horse. I’d reckon that, somehow or other, he knows exactly what he’s doing.”
She nodded, then screwed her eyes shut against another rush of pain. Beads of sweat popped out on her forehead. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it sure enough hard, so hard I was reasonably certain the next sound I was gonna hear would be my bones snapping. Then the pain passed, and she looked at me and gave me an apologetic smile.
“My name’s Anna, by the way,” she said, still breathing shallow though her pale lips. “Anna Davidson. This is my son, Justin.” Justin nodded at me solemnly and stuck out his hand and I shook it.
“I suppose … I should ask you …” Mrs. Davidson’s words came in bits and pieces, between the moments of pain. “What it is … you two boys … are doing here.”
I thought of our whole wild story, of Sarah and Mr. Grissom and Ezra Bishop and Colockum Pass and running the river and Mr. Campbell heading into Yakima. But then Mrs. Davidson squeezed my hand and cried out a real honest-to-goodness scream, and I knew that it all could wait. All of it. It would have to wait. Even me and Sarah.
I waited ’til she calmed, then I said, “Ma’am, we are trying to catch up to my Sarah. But that ain’t important right now. All you gotta know is that us two boys are doing nothing here but our best to help you and yours. We can sort out all the rest later.”
“Aren’t your ma and pa waiting on you somewhere?”
I bit my lip.
“No, ma’am. They are not. And Ah-Kee and I ain’t going nowhere ’til you’re all right.” And I didn’t have to listen in my heart for Mama and Papa’s words to know I was doing the right thing.
She squeezed my hand but this time it weren’t out of pain, but gratitude.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Then the pain came. And it came again. And it didn’t let up.
That baby was a hard time coming. I hadn’t never seen a soul in as much struggle as Mrs. Davidson, and right then I hoped I never would again.
After an especially bad bout of pain, she looked into my eyes and whispered, “This baby ain’t comin’ easy, Joseph. Please talk to me. Give me something to listen to.”
I cleared my throat, licked my lips, and cast about in my mind for words to say to her.
“My … my mama told me that I was quite a trial when I was born,” I began. “I laid her flat for three days. She said she thought I’d be the death of her. It used to make me feel all kinds of terrible guilty. But then she said that babies that come into the world difficult are the ones you’re most grateful for, and that they are bound for great things.” I paused, looking at the sweat dripping down the sides of her face. “If that’s the case, ma’am, then, well, I reckon this little baby is sure enough gonna be president of these United States someday.”
Mrs. Davidson smiled at me, just for a second.
“Thank you,” she breathed. “Keep talking?”
The morning turned to afternoon out the cabin’s one framed window, then to the golden colors of evening, then right on into darkness. Justin and I sat up by Mrs. Davidson’s head the whole time, holding her hands and pressing cold cloths to her forehead and doing anything else Ah-Kee had us do. And I talked. I talked myself hoarse. I told her about our life before we came out west. I told her about my little Katie being born, how it had snowed up to the middle of the wagon wheels and the doctor couldn’t come and Mama had birthed her all on her own. I told her about the time Katie and I snuck into Mama’s sugar sack and ate ourselves sick and got a whipping for it to boot. I told her about the time Papa had tried to surprise Mama by making her cornbread for her birthday, but he’d burned it so bad we’d had to eat outside on account of the smoke in the house. I told her about learning to ride Sarah, and teaching Katie to ride her, too. I told Mrs. Davidson all the stories of my life and my family.
Well, almost all. I didn’t tell her the sad ones. A birth ain’t no place to bring sadness to. So I didn’t tell her how Katie’s story ended, or my papa’s, or my mama’s. I kept those to myself, where they belonged.
And all the while, Ah-Kee worked like a sure enough real-life angel. He never stopped moving all those dark and trying hours. And his voice was always steady. And his eyes were always calm. And he always gave Anna Davidson a little smile, just when she needed it most.
I don’t know where Ah-Kee learned how to birth a baby. Maybe his mama back in China was a midwife, and he went along. Maybe in Chinese camps there’s no doctor and ever
yone pitches in. I don’t know. I s’pose I’ll never know. But Ah-Kee knew every minute exactly what to do, right down to the end. And he did it.
That boy was a wonder.
When finally the moment came, it was like all the miracles in the world happened at once. Mrs. Davidson was gripping my hand, the veins in her neck popping out as she pushed and hollered. Justin was holding her other hand, his eyes wide and wet and desperate.
The world out the window was dark but inside we had the flickering light of the fire. And the steady flame of an oil lamp. And Ah-Kee’s quiet, strong voice holding us together. And then we had the first, pure cry of a newborn baby.
And then, just right then, from out of nowhere, big hot tears sprung into my eyes and then came pouring out down my cheeks. Wet, flowing, unstoppable tears from some deep place in my heart.
It could’ve been that I was remembering my dear little Katie being born, the sound of her first cries and seeing her little red body and knowing I was a big brother. It could have been just the exhaustion, the hours of effort and fear finally coming to a happy ending. Or it could have been Anna Davidson’s smile, after hours of pain and sweat and struggle, a smile that was so tired but so complete and so shot-through with triumph and joy and a tender, fierce kind of love. The love of a mama. A love unlike any other. A love I so sorely missed. And always will. But standing there in that cabin, I ain’t one bit ashamed to say I cried good, wet tears that were all happy. I cried them for that baby, and that mama, and maybe for all babies and all mamas. Me and mine included.
Ah-Kee handed the child to Mrs. Davidson, wrapped in a towel.
“Oh, my baby,” she said softly, stroking its little cheek with a gentle finger. “My baby.” And that baby stopped crying and just lay there with its mama, eyes closed.
“What is it, Mama?” Justin asked, his voice hushed and breathless, his wide eyes on the baby’s tiny face.
Some Kind of Courage Page 10