The Widow's Ferry

by Dorothy A. Bell

  About to give up trying to eat, she started to clear away her plate, and Whit finally broke the silence between them. “Did I tell you Grandpa Joe has taken up with a squaw from the Calapooya Siletz tribe? Mary Two Hats, that’s her name.”

  Anora set her dishes down in the wash pan. “What an odd name,” she said, then caught herself. She hadn’t meant to respond to anything he had to say. She cautioned herself to remember she wanted him to go, and scraped off her plate in the slop-pail.

  “Yeah,” he said. She heard him chuckle and gave him a sideways glance. His face split into a grin, revealing the dimples in his high, tanned cheeks and lighting up his dark brown eyes.

  Biting down hard on her lower lip, she averted her gaze.

  “From what Grandpa told me, she earned that name as a little girl when she found two top hats in the surf. The story, the way she tells it, is those hats were full of crab. She and her family had feast after feast out of all the crab Mary can catch in those hats.”

  Whit bit into his cornbread, butter and honey getting on his fingers, and smacked his lips before saying, “He’s taken a real shine to her. She’s got him doing a jig, feeling real frisky, grinning from ear to ear all the live long day. Gave up the notion of dying altogether.”

  Anora poured warm water from her kettle over the dirty dishes in the pan. “I am happy to hear he’s doing well. And relieved he didn’t get his wish,” she said, scrubbing a plate.

  Coming up behind her, Whit passed her his dirty dishes. Her gaze met his playful wink and she immediately felt the blush infuse her cheeks and earlobes with heat.

  “Oh, he may get his wish, just not as soon as he thought. I have no doubt he’ll go straight to hell with a big grin on his face.”

  Taking her by the hand, he turned her around to face him. “You married or something, Anora?” he asked, all traces of his smile gone, the light in his eyes dimmed with concern. She followed the direction of his gaze and quickly withdrew her left hand, immersing it in the pan of water.

  The ring, she kept forgetting the ring. She chastised herself for not remembering. She never, or hardly ever, looked at it. She couldn’t bear to look at it. She never touched it or moved it. If the gold caught the firelight, or a beam of sunlight, she always hid her hand from her own eyes. She wanted to remove it, but couldn’t, becoming physically ill with the attempt.

  “Yes,” she heard herself admit, her tongue getting stuck in the roof of her mouth.

  “Where is he?” he asked. She couldn’t answer. The room began to slide from side to side, sloshing like a dingy on a rolling sea.

  “Dead?” he asked and answered. She didn’t refute his surmise. How could she explain what she feared?

  “Ruben, when I came through a while back, I saw a woman limping up the track to the barn. He said she was his misses. She still around? Was that her with him yesterday? That tart looked pretty spry to me.”

  Sick, she felt sick to her stomach, her eyes closed.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he said, sympathy oozing from the tenderness of his tone. “Maybe we could go to Takenah this morning. I got a good price for a pair of mules and some gear a couple of weeks back. I ain’t spent all the money yet. I still got some of my winter pay burning a hole in my pocket. Let’s you and me go over to town?

  “Hey. I just happen to think…you must’ve been here when I come through before. Funny you didn’t see me. If you had, you would’ve recognized Tansy? She’s still the sweetest little gal I know, after you, of course,” he said, his words accompanied with his famous smile and wink.

  Anora started to tremble, teeth chattering.

  Whit tweaked her nose with his finger and gave her a little shake. “I’ll get Tansy saddled up. You can ride up in back like you used to.”

  He pulled her into his body, holding her close. She caved in, resting her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

  With his hand moving in a gentle circle on her back, he said, “Remember the ride up to Independence Rock? We signed our names up there. Just think, Anora, other folks will be crossing again this spring and they’ll see our names up there side by side. I think I’ll have to go back there someday and try to find us.”

  Yes, she thought, it would be lovely to go back and find that girl who had clung trustingly to the waist of that handsome boy, all smiles and starry eyed. How wonderful it would be to start from there fresh, untouched.

  He kissed her on the forehead. “Okay, let’s go to town.”

  Anora stood staring at the closed cabin door. As wonderful as it had been to see Whit, she didn’t want him to stay. Making up her mind, she went to the porch. A cool, drizzling rain hit her in the face, sobering her for what had to be done.

  “Better get a coat and bonnet,” he called out, leading Tansy by her reins to the hitching rail. “It don’t feel as cold this morning. Come on, I’ll swing her ‘round and help you jump on.” Half serious, half laughing, he ordered her, “Go, go get your coat. We’re goin’ to town,” he said, maneuvering the buckskin parallel with the porch.

  “No,” she said, forcing herself to make eye contact with him.

  “Well, I guess you could ride side-saddle in front of me. But I don’t recommend it. I don’t think you’d be very comfortable. We don’t have far to go, I guess.”

  “No. No, I can’t cross the river,” she told him.

  At last, he lost his grin. “I don’t like the stubborn set of your jaw. I’m not sure what’s the problem, woman.” Muttering to himself aloud, he removed his hat to scratch his head. “If you mean you’re afraid to go down to river…well, I know better than that. I seen you paddling around in a river or two and you’re no great swimmer, but you seemed to take to the water well enough. If you mean you can’t go over to town, well, I don’t know why not. I won’t let nobody tell you, you can’t. So come on, let’s go. We got a good ferry; not just some logs tied to the wagon wheels. You ain’t gonna have to swim.”

  “Come back inside?” she asked.

  “Nah, come on, you need to get out and have some fun, Anora. I can see that.”

  “Please, Whit, I have something I need to tell you.”

  “All right, but you’re going over to town. Never knew a woman that didn’t feel better with a new bonnet on her head.”

  Dropping Tansy’s reins, Whit followed her into the cabin and sat at the table, his gaze on her. She paced back and forth from the bed to the door. She stopped before the bureau drawers, drew a deep breath, locking her fingers together very tightly. “You have to go. I…I’ll be fine here. It…it’s a wonder you found me. You can’t stay. I am happy to know you and your grandfather are well. When you see him, give him my regards.”

  Her voice cracking, her throat thick with unshed tears, she said, “You can’t stay, you see. You can’t…because I…I’m…I’m not the same. I never will be again. Too much has happened. You…you remind me of all that I’ve lost.”

  He interrupted her. “You’re worried about your husband, what he would think…what folks in town will say?” He smiled, obviously pleased with himself. “I’ll sleep out in the barn. I got no problem with that. Might need another blanket, though. I’ll make myself right to home out there. Don’t send me away, Anora.”

  He got up to take her into his arms, and she pulled away. “Why are you trembling? Are you scared? You got to tell me what’s goin’ on, Anora. Tell me how you got them scars. Talk to me?”

  Setting her shoulders, Anora met his worried gaze. “Whit, listen to me, listen carefully. People in town call me crazy. Ruben has convinced them I’m not right in the head. And…sometimes I have to agree. I think I’m insane too. But I’m getting better. For a very long time, I didn’t know, or rather I didn’t care, who I was or where I came from. Ruben… Ruben, he said I was his wife. I accepted that. It just didn’t matter one way or the other. But I don’t want to believe it. It can’t be. I can’t be….”

  She felt herself losing control, knees shaking,
heart thudding against her ribcage, stomach cramping and sweat beading up on her lip and brow. Just a little longer, she promised herself. Hold yourself together for just a little longer. You have to get this out.

  Finding it hard to talk, short of breath, she said, “I don’t …I don’t remember being married. Surely I would remember—all I have is this ring on my finger. Ruben says I’m his wife. But I don’t remember, but there’s this ring. I look at it and feel sick.” Eyes shut, she shook her head. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

  Shaking, tears streaming down her cheeks she cried, “Whit…he…hurts me. Chains me. He’ll come back and kill me. He said he would. You can’t be here.”

  The sobs, coming up and out; she felt herself going over the edge. “Do you understand, he hurts me…over and over so many times, so many ways… I’m not fit to be near. I’m empty and used up. You have to go. Please go. I can’t stand to see the way you look at me. Go away.” Screaming, hysterical, she escaped, running for the barn.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In his stocking feet, Hank came in through the back door. Lydia wiped her hands on the white apron she wore over her plum-colored dress. Speaking down to the ball of bread dough on her floured board, roughly kneading it with her balled hand, she said, “I think he’s alive. I heard him moving around up there.”

  Hank hid a smirk in his coat collar. “Slugabed. About time. Never was a good loser. I doubt he’ll quit the field, though. Your brother loves a challenge.” He removed his coat, draped it over the back of the chair, and sat. “Never mind your brother and his sore head. How are you? You said you felt better today.”

  “I’m much better now the baby has dropped. Mrs. Gregson says I could deliver any time this month. I like her. Although, I still think you and Paxton should’ve talked to me first…but I’m glad you found her.”

  “Well, yeah. It was Paxton’s idea, and I’m damned grateful he thought of her. My only regret is we didn’t ask her sooner.”

  “What did I do? Ask who to do what?” Paxton asked, bleary eyed, a big bruise beneath his right eye. He stopped in the doorway, holding on to the threshold. He cautiously moved forward, reaching out for a kitchen chair. He pulled it out, and it scraped the floor. He cringed, groaned, and sat, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

  Lydia poured him a cup of hot coffee. She slid it over to him without making a sound. “You need something to eat, maybe some toast?”

  “In a while,” he said, bringing the cup to his nose, inhaling the steam. “Let’s see if I can keep this down first.”

  Hank watched him sip the coffee and tried to remember the last time he’d seen Paxton hung-over. It had been a very, very long time, back when Paxton, tomcatting around, favored home-brew. In a strange way, Hank envied Paxton the luxury of getting drunk. Memories of his father, the smell of stale booze and sour breath, always came up to the fore at the slightest whiff of whiskey or beer, so he remained painfully sober.

  A hangover would give him something else to think about, other than Anora lying in the cowboy’s arms. It pained him to think of that tall, good-looking bastard’s hands on her. But worse than that, it pained Hank to think of Anora welcoming, participating, in the act. All night long he’d fought to erase lascivious scenes from his mind, with little success. She didn’t like to be touched. He hung on to that thought, hoping it applied to old loves as well as new acquaintances.

  He took a big gulp of his hot coffee. The liquid satisfactorily scalded the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat.

  Isabell skipped into the room. “Uncle Paston,” she said, “you comed out of your room. Now can we go to your store and buy me some licorice?”

  “Isabell Irene Reason,” Lydia said, voice raised. Paxton winced and grabbed on to his ears.

  Lowering her voice to barely above a whisper, she said, “Uncle Paxton isn’t feeling well. He doesn’t have to take you to the store to buy you anything, most especially licorice.”

  Paxton continued to hang on to his head, eyes tightly closed. He held up one hand. “No, no, that’s all right, Lydy.” He cleared his throat, squinted, managing to offer his niece a weak smile. “Some fresh air, and maybe even licorice, might do me some good.”

  Warning Isabell, Hank said, “I’ll come with you to make sure you don’t badger your uncle into buying you too much candy. Your mother is baking fresh bread. We can’t have you spoiling your lunch, little girl.”

  To Paxton, Hank said, “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Well, I can’t lay-about here all day, I’ll go crazy.” He slowly rose to his feet. “I can’t think of anything else I’m supposed to do. I’m not fit company. I’m afraid to do anything too strenuous. I swear to God, my head almost fell off my shoulders when I bent down to tie my shoes.”

  Hank thought it the mark of a true Spartan that Paxton tossed his head back and downed his coffee. Swiping his hand across his mouth, he waved Isabell into action. “So, go get your hat and coat, Izzy.” Listing sideways, thrown off balance, he leaned over the table. “Might be too early for licorice. Before we go to the store,” he said, drawing himself up and pulling his shoulders back, “I have to go out to the barn and see if there are any new lambs this morning.”

  Holding his mouth, Paxton escaped to the back porch. Lydia wiped her hands on her apron, her gaze following her brother’s retreat. “Get your boots, Isabell. Find your coat and hat?”

  “He’ll be fine after some air,” Hank assured her.

  “I don’t know. Our father drank too much. I don’t like to see Paxton going down the same road.”

  Isabell came running back into the kitchen with her boots, coat, and hat. “I found my gloves too, Mama.”

  “Good girl,” Hank said. “Hop up here on my lap. I’ll help you with your boots.”

  Dressed for the out-of-doors, Isabell squirmed as Lydia adjusted the bow on her bonnet of red wool. Giving the child a little shake, Lydia said, “You mind your daddy and your uncle. Don’t be a pest. Uncle Paxton doesn’t feel well today, and you mustn’t nag or whine.”

  “Does he gotched the headache?”

  “Yes, he has a headache, and I think his tummy’s upset.”

  “Sometimes when I cry too hard I gets a headache too.”

  Lydia stopped while re-buttoning Isabell’s coat to give her a smile and a hug. “That’s exactly right.”

  Isabell trained her wide-eyed, puppy-dog look on him, the one Hank couldn’t resist. “I think Uncle Paston was crying ‘cause he doesn’t have a dog? I think he wouldn’t cry so much if he had a dog. I think he wouldn’t cry…ever…never, if he had a dog. And I could feed it and play whiff it. I think a doggie would make him happy again.”

  Hank couldn’t help himself, he tried to suppress his chuckle behind tightly closed lips but failed.

  Lydia’s smile faded to a scowl. Gripping Isbell by the shoulders, she gave the child a shake. “Now, Isabell, we had this talk yesterday. I told you, we have to wait until we’re moved into our new house before we can think about getting a puppy. You may not nag your uncle about getting a dog. We are guests in his house. Do you understand me?”

  Relenting, a smidgen, Lydia said, “At least, don’t nag him about a dog today. Today is not the day to make requests. Uncle Paxton doesn’t feel well.”

  Isabell scrunched up her mouth, huffed, then said, “Yes, Mommy, not today.”

  “Thank you,” Lydia said, and gave the child a peck on the cheek. “Your uncle has gone out to the barn to see if there are any new lambs.”

  Isabell took off like a shot, the back door slamming in her wake.

  Lydia poured herself a cup of tea and sat at the table. She took a deep breath, her gaze down to the contents of her cup. “I said this last night, and I have to say it again this morning, as hard as this is on Paxton, I am not sorry it happened.”

  She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “God bless that cowboy for coming out of nowhere to rescue Anora. Paxton was getting too involved with her. She’s very sweet, and
pretty enough in her own way, but she’s not right for my brother. He needs someone…innocent and gay. Someone he can wrap in cotton wool and decorate.”

  Hank huffed. He didn’t like the direction the conversation had taken.

  “I am sorry for Anora, certainly, who could not be,” Lydia said. She tipped her head to the side, her fingers encompassing her cup of tea. “Poor thing, it’s unlikely she’ll ever have a family, or a husband. Most men want an inexperienced woman to wed. Anora can never go back to being innocent. She’s endured far too much depravity.”

  Hank had to challenge her words; he did it without considering where it would lead. “So you’re saying, Anora doesn’t deserve the chance to be happy? With the cowboy or with anyone else because she’s been ridden hard by a filthy animal like Ben Talbot for far too long?”

  “Yes. I suppose that’s the long and the short of it. Although I wouldn’t put it as crudely as you. But no, not with the cowboy, or any man who thinks he can help her, or erase what’s happened to her. She has knowledge now, more knowledge than a lot of men. It may be unfair, but that makes her discounted goods, I should think, in most men’s eyes.”

  Lydia said in defense of her reasoning, “She’s been hurt…damaged, damaged beyond repair both physically and mentally. I don’t deny her happiness. I’m relieved Ben Talbot is gone, and let’s hope for good. My wish for her is peace, and a life without suffering. But Paxton isn’t the answer. He would not bring her peace or happiness. Anora will bear the scars, outwardly and inwardly, of her torment and misery with her for the rest of her life. How could she not? She will never get shed of it. I don’t want Paxton to get obsessed with her, not at the cost of his future, or his happiness.”

  “You don’t think a man like Paxton could find happiness making a woman like Anora happy? Giving her all that has been taken away from her? Seeing to it the life she had every right to hope for, dream of, came into being?”

  With her eyebrows puckered above her pretty blue eyes, Lydia pulled back, her expression one of astonishment. “Hank. What’s the matter with you? I don’t understand. Why are we arguing about this?”