The Widow's Ferry

by Dorothy A. Bell

  Between the two, they steered her over to stand beside Paxton and Melinda. Melinda turned to them, a forced but gracious smile on her doll face. With a lace-gloved hand, she reached out and gathered Anora into the crowd lined up to watch the log chopping competition.

  The Reverend John Archer stood beside his daughter. During the introduction, Anora sized up the new reverend. He had sharp blue eyes that looked upon the gathering through shiny little spectacles. The pursed expression he wore on his lips, even when he spoke, gave Anora the impression he didn’t approve of any of this. With his hands locked together at his waist, lips moving, first pressing together, then puckering up, he looked to be praying for them all.

  He had to be sweating like a hog in the getup he had on—black wool swallowtail coat and black trousers, a white shirt and black tie, a black hat on his head. He looked hot and miserable, constantly mopping the perspiration from his face and neck with his white linen handkerchief. Hank and Paxton, and all the other men, had shed their coats, shirt sleeves rolled up and top buttons open—some had tossed away their shirts altogether—suspenders going over bare chests.

  Melinda, cheeks flushed, declared her shock, saying, “They will put on their clothes to eat, I do pray. I’ll not be able to swallow a bite if they do not. They look so…so naked and…and sweaty, beastial.”

  “My dear,” her papa said, cocking his head toward her, he lowered his voice to say, “you must accustom yourself to the ways of the laboring class, my dear. This is not Oregon City.”

  His daughter put her hand to her mouth. Anora stifled a snicker. Muscles rippled everywhere she looked. Men grunting and groaning, straining to out-do one another in friendly competition had a stimulating effect on her. She could almost forget the snubs.

  Grinning, cheering on the participants, Paxton threw his arm around his bride’s waist and pulled her into his side. She slapped at him, lips pursed in disapproval. “Stop that, Mr. Hayes. One would think you intoxicated. I’ve seen the jug being passed around. I know it contains spirits.”

  “Oh, come now, Melinda, admit it, this is exciting. Next time the jug passes your way, take a swig. Loosen the stays on your corset.”

  Melinda turned bright pink; on fire, she glowed.

  Anora caught Hank’s eye. He shook his head at her, and she pressed her lips together, having come to the startling conclusion that all was not honey and roses with the newlyweds.

  “Look around you, Melinda, the other ladies don’t seem to mind a few bare chests. Look at ’em,” he said, giving her a shake.

  Looking over his wife’s head, he asked, “You don’t mind, do you, Anora?”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but Paxton put words in her mouth. “Of course you don’t. I can see you don’t. You’re all lit up from within today. Your eyes are full of stars. You look like a child today, with your hair down like that.”

  Now Anora began to feel sorry for Melinda, and before she could stop herself she said, “I have to agree with Melinda, the sight of so much flesh does leave a lady with nowhere to look. But it’s all in good fun. And I too would prefer they put their shirts on before we eat.”

  Whether to spite her husband or feeling it her Christian duty, Melinda took Anora under her sails, including her in every conversation and cluck-fest from that moment on.

  Mrs. Gregson came over during the ax throwing. With her hands tightly held to her waist, she looked Anora up and down before saying, “I’m pleasantly surprised to see you’ve at least made an effort to look like a lady today. We have some pretty cotton dresses on sale just now. You might find one that pleases you. It’s good to see you out enjoying yourself. You should do so more often. It’s not good for a young woman, as yourself, to be alone so much in the company of men. You work far too hard, such long days. My customers often remark you’re working very hard. You’re doing a man’s job, my dear. Winter’s coming. You must not isolate yourself. It’s not good, not good at all.”

  The woman finally ran out of air, and Anora said, “Thank you for your concern.” She didn’t know if she could take the woman’s invitation seriously. It came as no surprise, however, to be told she was discussed over the counter at the mercantile.

  »»•««

  Mr. Gregson struck up his fiddle, Bill Bowdin joined in on the mouth organ, and the dancing began in the twilight of the setting sun.

  Anora, with Hank to keep her company, stood back in the shadows beneath the maples. Tapping her foot, she clapped to the rhythm.

  Skipping about like a little sprite, Isabell danced among the couples. For the first hour, the music set a fast and frenzied pace, but as the night filled in around the torch-lit gathering, the mood changed, and waltzes replaced the lively schottisches. Hank guided Anora out to where the dirt had been laid bare by trampling feet.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve danced,” she said, placing her hand in his. It was hard to think…breathe, and dance at the same time. She felt clumsy, her old work shoes clomping, she tried to keep up with the swing and sway of the waltz tune, “Midnight on The Water.”

  “Now this is why I wanted you to come,” he said, his hand pressing on the small of her back.

  Looking anywhere but up and into his penetrating gaze, she said, “Yes, I agree. Mr. Bowdin and Mr. Gregson are very proficient musicians. It’s a shame they don’t have more opportunities to perform.”

  Her heart would not settle down to a steady beat, jumping all around, bouncing off her ribcage. The hard muscles of his shoulder flexed beneath her fingertips, and he gathered her closer. How she wanted to put her lips to his neck. Feeling giddy and lightheaded, it occurred to her she might swoon.

  Sweeping the notion out of her mind, she assured herself she certainly would not allow that, that would be more Melinda’s style.

  “I wasn’t talking about the music,” Hank said, his lips moving against her ear, his breath playing with her hair.

  Pulling back, she looked into his eyes, and her heart skipped several beats, as did her feet.

  They stumbled. He laughed and caught her.

  She heard her laughter but couldn’t believe it. Yes, there, she giggled again. “Sorry,” she said, both hands on his shoulders.

  Swaying to the music, he had her pressed against his chest. “I don’t want to frighten you, but I want you to understand the reason I couldn’t allow you to refuse to come tonight. This is what I wanted, I want to hold you, dance with you. It wouldn’t matter to me if Mr. Gregson played a kazoo.”

  ∙•∙

  With Anora in his arms, they went around the circumference of the dirt dancing ring, gliding past Paxton and Melinda, weaving in and out between Maybel and Lawrence Pooley, and Dan and Ellen Ambrose and a dozen other couples.

  In the soft, mellow shadows of the torches, Hank studied every freckle and dimple on her face as they danced, becoming particularly fascinated by Anora’s luscious lips. Concentrating on her steps, her mouth slightly open, he noticed her tongue when she smiled encouragingly to Barney and Molly. She nodded politely to the Gregsons, and he noticed she had two dimples in her left cheek. Approaching Paxton and Melinda, he watched closely Anora’s polite smile of indifference, and felt reassured she had no regrets there.

  He couldn’t say the same for Paxton, poor devil, he’d tied himself to a man-eating tiger.

  One waltz lead to another. In heaven, Hank held Anora fast within his embrace, savoring the feel of her firm body, the smell of her hair, the sound of her laughter. “Do you know, I hope this dance lasts forever?” he said, being sure she’d heard him, purposefully locking his gaze with hers.

  Dipping her head, her focus pinned to his shoulder, he said, “Don’t look away, look at me, Anora.” She obediently lifted her head to meet his gaze. “I said, I want to hold you in my arms forever. If I have to dance with you to accomplish that, then so be it.”

  She shook her head at him. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

  Going around the circle, they passed by the go
od reverend, who had acquired an audience. Hank heard him say, as they glided by, and he figured Anora heard him too. “All of these…these people need guidance. Tonight, is a prime example of why a community should not be without spiritual guidance for a prolonged period of time.”

  A woman’s voice reached his ears. Hank couldn’t have said which woman, it didn’t matter. “Look at her. The Talbot woman with Mr. Reason, behaving like a common trollop, tossing her hair around like that and laughing.”

  He felt Anora stiffen within his embrace, the smile in her eyes dimming.

  “Pay her no attention, the spiteful cat,” he whispered.

  “No,” she shook her head, and drew away from him. “I should go back where I belong, on the other side of the river. I’d almost forgotten my place. Isabell, I think, is over there on the blanket. She’s probably fallen asleep. Please, Hank, I want to go home now.”

  Heaving a heavy sigh, he reluctantly nodded his agreement. “I’ll have to borrow Paxton’s buggy to get all three of us home.”

  She nodded. “I’ll go sit with Isabell and wait.”

  Hank crossed the churchyard. He heard loud voices coming from the direction of the rose hedge on the other side of the road. “I’m fed up with your redecorating and gossiping. I’m sick to death hearing you spout the good book every time you open your mealy little mouth, while in private you indulge yourself in the crassest of vanities imaginable. You’re expensive, vapid beyond endurance, and totally without passion or compassion. Your blood runs cold as well water. I know, I know, I’m calloused, and vain, but I hope to hell I’m not so far gone I’m without charity of soul.”

  Hank stopped and pulled back into the shadows of the trees, holding his breath, he started to retreat, but hearing Anora’s name, he stopped.

  “I heard you and Tamara Gregson discussing Anora. A Godless creature, you called her. She lacked good judgment. She’s damned, you said.

  “I thought I’d puke when I heard you say you thought Anora should forsake all worldly possessions, give herself to God, and beg his forgiveness.

  “For God’s sake, Melinda, can’t you see, Anora doesn’t have any worldly possessions. She lives in a hovel. She has two, maybe three dresses. You have two wardrobes full of dresses you never wear, and boxes and boxes of hats, and you have a big house full of modern conveniences and comforts.”

  His voice going up an octave, Paxton mimicked his wife’s sanctimonious tone. “If Mrs. Talbot could make of herself an instrument for good works, forget she’s flesh and blood, perhaps she’d find salvation. She’s an adulteress. She drove her man away.

  “I heard you, Melinda. You actually called her an atheist.

  “It’s what came out of your mouth next that really sickened me. You said you feared for Isabell, so sweet and innocent, but with your influence you were certain Isabell could be saved. To shun Mrs. Talbot in any way, you said, might result in Isabell taking sides.

  “You really went too far when you attacked Hank, Melinda. You underestimate him. I made that mistake once, I’ll never do it again. Never.

  “Mr. Reason will tire of her, you said. She’s so very different from the late Mrs. Reason. I’ve seen Mrs. Reason’s likeness. No, Mrs. Talbot won’t hold Mr. Reason’s interest for long. Anora Talbot is to be pitied. I shall pray for her.

  “Well, pray for yourself, Melinda. I hope God can forgive you your vanity and spite, I sure as hell can’t.”

  A flash of yellow streaked down the drive, going toward the house. Hank could hear Melinda sobbing as she ran.

  He didn’t have time to hide. Paxton thrashed his way out of the hedge and headed right for him.

  They came face-to-face at the edge of the road in the light of the moon. The murderous scowl entrenched upon Paxton’s face scared the hell out of him. “Sorry,” Hank said to him from the shadows. “I need to borrow your buggy to get Anora and Isabell home.”

  Paxton closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “How long have you been standing here?”

  “Long enough,” Hank said.

  “Well, shit, I’m sorry you heard all that. I’ve had a few belts. I should’ve held my peace, but damn it, Hank, she went too far. Too far. I couldn’t take anymore when she started preaching at me again. Accusing me of getting drunk and flirting with Anora. I’m not flirting with Anora. I’m envious. You and Anora, you’ve grown close. I could’ve had that, but like a fool, I pushed too hard. Then I got angry and look what I’ve done.”

  “It’s all right, Paxton. Melinda’s young. Give your marriage time.”

  “Hah, no, time won’t cure this marriage. Melinda’s going to have a baby. She’s already holding that over my head.

  “I miss Lydia. If she’d been here, maybe I wouldn’t have married Melinda. Maybe I would’ve given myself more time. But I wanted what you and Lydia had, Hank. I want a home, a wife, a family. I don’t know. I don’t think I understand love. I don’t know how to give it and I sure as hell don’t know it when I find it.”

  Going around Hank, Paxton walked away.

  “Where are you going now?” Hank asked.

  “I’m gonna go get drunk.”

  “Oh yeah, that’ll help,” Hank said under his breath, heading for the barn to hitch up the horse and buggy.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The moon, directly overhead, big and orange, cast the meadow in a milky-blue light. The grass, cooling in the night air, created a heady, sweet fragrance. The sound of the crickets’ chorus followed them down the empty street. Nearing the river, four deer bounded across the open field, moonlight glancing off their white-tailed rumps.

  Hank urged the horse down the track to the landing. At his side, Anora, with Isabell cradled on her lap, remained quiet and withdrawn.

  Sitting up very straight, her body leaning into him, sounding shaky, her voice hoarse, Anora said, “The water’s very black. I’ve never crossed the river in the dark.”

  He handed her the reins. “You can stay in the buggy with Isabell. I’ll get us across.”

  She shook her head. “I’d rather get down. I’ll hold the horse.”

  “Sure, lay Isabell on the seat. I don’t think she’ll mind. The kid sleeps like a rock. We couldn’t wake her if we tried.”

  Hank held on to the horse, and Anora positioned Isabell on the seat. Relieving Hank of the horse’s bridle, she led him and the buggy onto the ferry. Hank cranked up the tongue and then pulled the bell. But nothing happened. “Pete and Roscoe are asleep, I guess.”

  Teeth chattering, she said, “Poor things, it’s been a long day for them. I gave them extra feed. Ring the bell again.”

  The ferry had started to drift from shore on its own. They felt the tug as the oxen worked to pull the cable. Dividing his attention between the river and Anora, Hank watched her face. She had a tight hold on the horse’s bridle, the beast kept trying to throw his head. Focusing on the river; she looked to be willing the ferry to reach the other side.

  “I think the river’s pretty in the moonlight, don’t you?” he asked. “Look how the moonlight ripples across the water—reminds me of spilt milk. Oh, hear that, an owl.”

  Something swooped across their bow. Anora ducked, and Hank chuckled. “Bats,” he said.

  Her hair, catching the moonlight, had turned to silver. He would always remember how she looked at this moment in time, her face, perfectly profiled against the reflection of the moon on the water. “I like drifting in the moonlight. It’s peaceful, not like back there, with all those people.”

  “The river never gives me any peace,” he heard her say.

  Reaching the landing, he lowered the tongue. “I’ll get the oxen to the barn if you want to lead the buggy to the cabin.”

  ∙•∙

  Her feet on firm ground, Anora allowed herself to take a deep breath—they’d survived the eerie ride. All the way across, the ferry slicing across the river’s natural current, the water taunted, whispered, and snickered at her.

  Searching the dark shadows be
neath the trees, she crossed the yard, her sense of unease staying with her. Maneuvering the horse and buggy up to the porch, she tied the reins off. Knees shaking, she sat on the steps for a moment. Worried about Isabell, hesitating to leave her, she had to go inside the cabin alone to be sure Ruben wasn’t lurking in the shadows.

  The cabin door clicked when she opened it. A beam of moonlight spread out in a fan across the floor. She had no reason to think anything had been tampered with. Nervous, hands shaking, she found the candle in the middle of the table and the flint box. Holding the light up, peering into the dark corners of the room, she found nothing but bare walls, barren counters, and the flat, wrinkle-free surface of her bed. With her hand cupped to protect the flame, she went back out to the porch to stand guard over Isabell. At the barn, she saw the light from the lantern emerge, and watched it swing forward and back as Hank made his way down the track.

  Standing in the doorway, and looking inside, she told herself she didn’t have anything to fear, not really. Drawn to the wardrobe in the far corner, she cautiously opened it, expecting, she didn’t know what, it wouldn’t hold a man. Shedding light to shine between the wall and bed, she saw nothing. Holding her candle up higher so the light reached across the room, going into the dark corners by the door, nothing; everything looked the way she’d left it. Her work clothes still hung on the peg by the door alongside her hat. The cup on the table, half full of water, waited for her untouched. Although feeling ridiculous, she got down on her hands and knees to look under the bed, setting the candle on the floor the better to cast the light beneath the bed frame.

  “Lose something?” Hank asked from the opened door behind her.

  Startled, she jerked and bumped her head on the bureau behind her. Shaking, , she rose up and sat on the edge of the bed.

  Hank set the lantern down in the middle of the table and then came to her, sitting beside her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Are we looking for something?” he asked, his eyes scanning the room.