At this hour the street was dark and deserted. All the activity was around the saloons on the river-front. Israel had no idea of how to find the man he’d seen the day before. He decided to make his way to the rear of the building, hide, and wait. His heart pounding with fear and excitement, he darted across the rutted road and slid behind the long row of buildings. He ran their length in short spurts, pausing to listen and to pick out his next stop. Finally he came to the stone building and squatted down between two barrels to rest.
“Oh, lawsey, lawsey . . .” he groaned. He picked a few cockleburrs out of his feet and wished with all his heart that he were back at the wagon grounds with the missy.
When a huge hand grabbed the back of his neck and he felt the prick of a knife in his back, Israel’s legs straightened out of their own accord and he shot up from his squatting position beside the barrels. Fear ran tingling down his spine and chilled his heart.
“What yo’ sneakin’ ’round here fo’?”
“Ah . . . ah . . .” A heavy hand spun him around. Terror clogged his throat.
“Talk, boy. You a runaway?”
“Naw . . . naw . . .”
“Ain’t you that slave come a-drivin’ them mules up ta the grounds yesterday?”
“Yassuh.” Some of the fright left Israel when he saw the big black man was the man he was looking for. “Mistah Asa’s dead. All them folk gone, ’n’ a riverman’s comin’ ta get little missy.” The words poured out of him in a rush.
“What you talkin’ ’bout, boy?”
Israel tried to calm himself and explain the situation. He talked in short gasps. When he had finished, he asked about the white man with the pipe and the white man who wore the broad-brimmed hat.
“Mistah Simon done gone upriver, ’n’ Mistah Fain gone home.”
“Oh, lawsey . . . oh, po’ missy . . .” Israel groaned.
“Hush up yo’ moanin’,” Lardy said sharply. “Moanin’ don’ help your missy. You go ’n’ catch up to Mistah Fain. You go back, hide yo’self ’n’ watch. If’n the riverman come, sneak up behind ’im ’n’ bash his head. Don’ get yo’self caught. White man’ll split your gullet.” He put the edge of his hand to his throat. “Go on. Git outta this town now.”
The run back through the woods to the camp was not as frightening to Israel. He was buoyant with self-worth. He had done what he had set out to do. He’d gotten help for missy. When he reached the wagon grounds he hunkered down to watch before showing himself. The campfire had burned low. There was almost no light. He waited until he was sure there was no one around, then he slipped between the wagons and heaped some dead branches on the fire, waited until it blazed brightly, then slipped into the darkness again.
* * *
Berry became alert when she saw the figure at the campfire. She lifted the musket, then almost sobbed with relief when she recognized Israel’s lanky figure. He hadn’t run off after all! She leaned her head back against the tree trunk and watched him fade into the darkness. It was a comfort to know he was there.
Her bottom began to ache. She shifted her position. She was sitting on the knurled roots of the tree. The quilt was hot and scratchy, but it concealed her so well she didn’t dare throw it off. She sat motionless, her body aching, and wondered why she’d ever thought the forest was a silent place.
The wind came up and stirred the top of the tree. It crackled and popped as if protesting the disturbance. An owl hooted and was answered by another a long way away. A pack rat scurried in the leaves, then hurried off on some nocturnal hunt. A nightbird whistled and Berry lifted her head to listen. Didn’t Indians signal each other by using such sounds? She tensed, waiting for an answering whistle or the sound of a footfall. None came and she settled back with relief.
She relaxed and let her mind wander to Simon. She went over in her mind each and every word they had exchanged. She wished, now, that she hadn’t gotten so angry when he’d said he would court her. But . . . dammit! Why’d he have to say it like that? she thought. He’d said she was pretty. That was the reason why he wanted to kiss her. Her face began to burn over the thoughts that danced in her mind; thoughts of how he had felt against the front of her when his hand went down to her hips, cupped them, and pulled her against him. When he finished kissing her he had been breathing hard, too. Breathing as hard as if he’d been running a long way. Come to think about it, she’d never been so out of air in her whole life!
The hours passed slowly. When the birds left the treetops Berry was sure it was close to dawn. She was also certain that between the hardness of the ground, the ache in her back, and listening to the sounds of the forest, she would never go to sleep. But she was more tired than she knew. Her head began to nod . . . she jerked awake . . . nodded . . . came awake, and finally she closed her eyes to rest them for a moment, and fell asleep.
Chapter Six
Whatever it was that woke Berry, she thanked God for it later. Her eyes flew open to see a motionless figure crouched before her. Suddenly it moved and a hand clamped hard over her mouth. She was caught by surprise and got only a glimpse of hard, bright eyes staring out of a bushy face. She could not cry out because of the hand. Fear rushed into her heart. Her reaction was purely instinctive and she was only barely conscious of what she was doing until she heard the deafening roar of the musket. Somehow she had managed to tilt the gun, where it lay in her lap beneath the quilt, and pull the trigger.
The hand left her mouth as the man was flung back. She heard the shot, smelled the smoke, and stared in mute fascination at the blossom of blood that spouted on her assailant’s chest. He was jerked upright, then twisted crazily, reeled, and fell over backward, still twitching.
Berry’s fingers dug into the rough bark of the tree and she pulled herself to her feet. She was dazed, realizing only that dawn had come. The quilt lay in a heap around her feet. She dropped the still-smoking musket and reached frantically for the second gun. As she straightened, a second shot blasted the stillness. She screamed inwardly; in her shocked terror she was unable to make a sound. Then, as if out of a nightmare, an odd-looking figure in buck-skin pants and a dirty, white cloth shirt raced toward her. Linc Smith! He was bareheaded, his hair stood out around his head like porcupine quills, and his teeth were bared like those of an attacking animal.
“George?” Then: “Ya bitch! Ya killed ’im!”
Everything beyond the powerful body hurtling toward her became blurred and indistinct. Berry could scarcely draw a breath into her lungs. Then she remembered that she was holding the second pistol. As if in a dream, she felt her arms lift the gun and her fingers tighten and pull. The sound roared in her ears; she closed her eyes against it as she was pushed back against the tree trunk by the force of the explosion.
Linc screamed. Berry looked with horror as he grabbed the side of his face. Blood seeped between his fingers and spilled down onto his cloth shirt in a crimson flood. He reeled and turned into the woods without another sound.
“Rachel!” The frantic cry came hoarsely from her throat. Her feet felt as if they weighed a hundred pounds each as she ran toward the wagon. “Rachel!” She stumbled against the body of a man lying crumbled, face down in the dirt. The frightened mules were straining against the ropes that held them, and the mare nickered and danced at the end of her tether.
Berry jumped up on the box and crawled into the open end of the wagon. Rachel was on the floor, trying to pull herself up into a sitting position. Smoke from the fired gun stung Berry’s nostrils. She fell to her knees beside the other woman and threw her arms around her. “Are ya hurt? Are ya hurt?” She helped her to sit up and lean against the side of the wagon. “Did . . .they get in the . . .”
“Did I kill him?” Rachel looked at her with dazed, wide eyes. “Is he dead?”
“He’s dead! Oh . . . Rachel . . . !”
“The rifle knocked me down. Get the musket. . . .”
Berry grabbed the musket, crawled to the end of the wagon, and looked out. Her mind sti
ll hadn’t accepted what had happened. Israel was trying to calm the mare. Her eyes swept the camp and then she gazed into the woods as far as she could see.
She called out to Israel, “Are they gone?”
“Yass’m.” He had no time to say more; the dancing mare claimed all his attention. Finally he untied the rope and led her to the front of the wagon.
Berry returned to Rachel. “I killed George ’n’ I shot Linc in the face! Oh, Rachel! It was awful!”
“Who is it . . . out there?” Rachel sat on the floor, her legs sprattled and her hands cupped beneath her abdomen.
“I don’t know. I’ll go see, and I’ve got to get the guns I left by the tree. Are you sure you’re all right?” “I’m fit for the shape of me. Let’s leave this place! Tell Israel to hitch up. We can go down to the town.” Moving carefully and awkwardly, Rachel eased her bloated body over onto the feather tick. Her face completely drained of color, she looked at Berry pleadingly.
Berry crawled to her, her heart hammering with fear. “Is it the baby? Is it coming?”
“I don’t think so. I’ll be all right if I can rest here for a minute. Load the guns. We can talk later.”
Berry put the musket beside Rachel and loaded the rifle. The look of pain on Rachel’s face filled her heart with dread. Carrying the rifle by the barrel, she climbed out of the wagon, looked around cautiously, then walked over and peered down at the man Rachel had shot. He wasn’t anyone she had ever seen before, but from his dress he looked to be a riverman.
Morning light was flickering through the forest. With the rifle pointed in front of her, her finger on the trigger, Berry carefully skirted George’s body and grabbed up the two muskets and the quilt. Afraid to turn her back on the woods, she backed away, while her eyes searched for movement among the trees. Back at the wagon, she threw the quilt inside and quickly loaded the guns. She thrust one into the waistband of her apron and placed the other and the rifle within easy reach in the back of the wagon. Rachel lay with her eyes closed and Berry thought she was asleep, until she spoke.
“I can’t help you, honey. I wish . . . I could. . . .”
“Don’t worry! There’s nothin’ you can do. We’re goin’ to hitch up and get out of here. Israel!”
“Missy . . .” Israel had untied the mules and moved them into position to be harnessed. He had the gear slung over his shoulder. His long arm and pointing finger directed her gaze to a humped bundle in the grass. “Him was gonna take the mules, but ah bash ’is head. The mules kick ’im.”
“Is he dead?”
“Yass’m.”
“There was four of them? Oh, Israel, you done good! If he’s dead it’s his own doin’! Hitch up as fast as you can so we can get away from here. There was one of ’em I didn’t kill. He ran off in the woods ’n’ he might be comin’ back.” A chill rippled along her spine as she realized what would have happened to her and Rachel if they hadn’t armed themselves.
They were ready to leave in record time. Berry tied the mare on behind the big wagon, then moved up beside the ox and switched it lightly on the rump. As the ox pulled the wagon out of the meadow, past the bodies of the men they had killed during the early dawn, a hatred of men, of the river, and of the town began to burn in Berry. Since they had crossed the river, life had been an ugly dream. A small part of her mind argued against this. The few intimate moments she had shared with Simon were the exception. But, she realized now, she had blown the importance of all that out of proportion. He would have come to them if he had been as interested in her as she had hoped he was.
Berry strode along beside the ox, one hand on its halter, the other on the musket tucked in her belt. It was heavy and uncomfortable to carry, but it was a comfort to know it was there. She let her hand wander down into her pocket where the paper-wrapped bit of sweet Simon had given her remained. She brought it out and, without looking at it, crushed it in her fist and threw it into the grass alongside the trail. She would not be won over with a few treats and a kiss or two. He was more like Linc than he appeared to be, she thought angrily. He wanted the same thing, but he went about getting it differently.
Somewhere off in the trees behind the dense foliage, a blue jay squawked, a wren in the trees overhead scolded, and a squirrel scrambled away as the creaking wagons approached. The sun came up over the trees beyond the river and struck Berry in the face. She could see nothing of the town. She squinted against the glare and listened to the sound of hooves striking the hard-packed trail and to the jingle of the harnesses.
Berry debated what to do as they neared the crossroads in the trail. They could turn south and go down through the town’s main thoroughfare and endure the stares of the locals as they poked one another with their elbows and snickered at the poor eastern deadbeats, or they could take the trail north in the direction of the land her pa had filed on. Except that Rachel’s baby was due. . . . In Saint Louis there was no place for them to stay but at the wagon grounds, and they couldn’t settle down there. More than likely they would have to handle the birthing alone anyway. But, Law! If anything happened to Rachel . . .
She knew she had no right to make the decision alone, so she pulled the ox to a halt and climbed up into the wagon.
Rachel raised her head. “Is something wrong? Why’re we stopping?”
“How are ya feelin’?”
“Better,” she said and smiled.
Berry was to remember, later, that Rachel always said “better” when she was asked the question.
“We’ve got to decide if we want to go into town or turn north ’n’ try ’n’ find the land Pa filed on. If we go on we may run into some settlers who’ll show us the way.”
“We can’t go back,” Rachel said with her calm reasoning. “It’s best if we get as far from here as we can. We can’t be sure the people in town will help us after they find out what we did.”
“But what about you? We’ll need help when you . . .?”
“We’ll manage like we did before. Let’s go on.”
“Linc’ll look for us. I shot him, ’n’ he’ll come for me.”
“He won’t be in any shape to look for us for a day or two. We can be far away by then.”
Berry leaned over and kissed Rachel’s cheek. “You sure you feel like goin’ on?”
“Stop worryin’ about me. Just keep on movin’ north.” Rachel carefully controlled her face to show none of the pain she was feeling.
“I’ll try to keep the wagon out of the ruts so it won’t jar you,” Berry promised.
As soon as Berry left her, Rachel groaned and wondered how she could get through the day.
“We’re goin’ on, Israel,” Berry called. “We’ll stop for a early nooning ’n’ I’ll fix us a meal.”
“Yass’m, missy.”
By the middle of the morning Berry’s feet hurt and she was so tired she wished she were able to handle the mules so she could ride part of the time. Sometimes she rode in the wagon pulled by the ox, but to keep the beast to the side of the trail and away from the deep ruts she had to walk beside it. As she stumbled along, there was a trembling in her bones and her head echoed with long, dull throbs. She tried to estimate how many hours had passed since she’d had a peaceful night’s sleep, then put it out of her mind as other thoughts crowded in.
How glad she was now that she’d not taken Simon’s offer to court her seriously. Damn, damn him! Damn Fain, too. Surely in a place the size of Saint Louis word had spread that her pa had been killed. If those men had cared what happened to them they would have come, or at least sent the half-breed scout. Berry straightened her back and stuck out her jaw stubbornly. She would find the land Asa had filed on. It was theirs now. They’d build a cabin with Israel’s help, and raise a garden. She’d teach Israel to shoot so that he could hunt meat. They’d make a place for themselves without help from anyone.
Shortly before noon she spotted a rabbit huddled beneath the brush that lined the trail. She took the musket from her belt and held it wit
h both hands while she sighted down the barrel and pulled the trigger. The rabbit jumped and fell. She had hit it, but it wasn’t dead. She ran back and held the mules while Israel ran it down and killed and skinned it.
At noon they pulled to the side of the trail and Berry quickly built a cookfire and started the rabbit roasting on a spit. Israel watered the stock and loosened the harnesses so they could lower their heads and nip at the grass beside the trail. Berry reloaded her pistol, all the time watching behind and ahead of them. Her eyes burned and she had to hold them wide to keep them open.
Rachel was sitting with her back against the trunk when Berry went to the end of the wagon. “Do you want to get out for a while?”
“I think I’ll stay here if you don’t need me. I could use a spot of tea.”
Berry turned away. She couldn’t help thinking she’d never seen Rachel’s face so drawn or her lips so bloodless. She forgot her own discomfort. She poured tea for herself and Israel, then took the teakettle and a cup and set them in the wagon near Rachel. As soon as the meat was done they would move on. They could eat it while they were moving.
The air was warm and scented with the blossoms of flowering trees and vines. Berry was unconcerned with the fact that it was a glorious summer day and the breeze lifted her hair and cooled her neck. She was so tired that she had let down her guard and seldom glanced behind them. She had to concentrate on putting one foot before the other so that they could reach a spot where they could camp for the night. It had to be a place where they could defend themselves again if necessary. They were out here alone and had not seen another human being, not even on the river the few times the trail curved and they had seen it.
An hour had passed since they had stopped for nooning. More than anything Berry yearned for a cool drink of water. She decided to put it off until they reached the next hilltop. Israel’s shout jerked her out of her lethargy.
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