The Widow's Ferry

by Dorothy A. Bell

  Bringing Anora’s hand up and tucking it under his wing, he asked her, “You ready to go?”

  “I’m ready when you are. Good evening, Paxton,” Anora said, giving Paxton her free hand to shake.

  »»•««

  After a supper of venison stew, crusty bread, and a slice of rhubarb pie, Anora fussed around clearing the table. Suspecting her of creating busywork, Hank, tapping his fingers on the table, watched her move from one chore to the next. Making a production of it, she refilled Isabell’s cup with milk. “Will you sit down, spit it out. Tell me what’s giving you the fidgets?”

  Setting the pot of tea on the table, she settled in her chair, folded her hands in her lap and, with her head down, muttered something. He thought she said, “I’ve decided to come live with you two, if you still want me,” but couldn’t believe his ears.

  Choking on a mouthful of tea, he sputtered, and asked, “I’m… sorry, what was that again?”

  Giddy, Isabell popped up out her chair and started skipping around the room. “She said yes, Papa. Anora said yes. Hooray. Hooray. Anora’s coming to live with us today.”

  Lurching forward in her chair, Anora grabbed Hank’s hand. “Well, no, not this very day.”

  The little girl, twirling around the room, kept up her chant. Voice raised, Anora qualified her statement, saying, “Isabell, not this minute, but soon.”

  Placing his hand over hers to keep himself from bouncing off his chair, Hank shook his head at his daughter. “Never mind her, tell me what brought this on. I…I mean, when did you decide? What are you going to do? When…how soon can you be with us?”

  “You still want me to live with you, then?”

  “We hate the idea, don’t we, squirt?” he said, a grin on his face, having to shout over Isabell’s chant. She’d moved out to the porch, announcing to the whole world Anora had said she’d come live with them.

  “Well, poke fun at me if you will, but I’m not at all certain you two understand what you’re getting. I’m no bargain. But now I’ll come to you with a dowry. I spoke to Paxton today, and he’s going to buy me out for two hundred dollars. And I’ve made a deal to keep the twenty acres above the barn along the road for more of your orchard.”

  Her smile faded when he asked, “You’re not going to keep the ferry?”

  “No. Is that bad?”

  Shaking his head, he explained himself. “It’s yours. I want to be sure this is what you want.”

  She nodded. “I’m sure, Hank. I want to be your wife. I want to be home for you and Isabell. Did I do the wrong thing? That’s all right, isn’t it? Did you want me to keep the ferry…the land? I shook hands on the deal with Paxton. Maybe he’d let me out of it.”

  He couldn’t stand it another second, he had to move. The prospect of having Anora with him, getting her away from the ferry, her self-imposed punishment for choosing life over death, had him soaring up to the clouds. Gathering her into his arms, he planted a solid kiss on her lips. Pulling back, gazing into her wonderful gray eyes, he said, “You did exactly right. Isabell and I, we want you home with us, not down here working like a drudge.”

  One more kiss for assurance, then he demanded to know, “Now, when? How soon?”

  “A week…maybe.”

  “A week?”

  Hank groaned his disappointment, and in the doorway, Isabell, who had stopped her twirling and chanting, stomped her foot.

  With her arms around his neck, Anora giggled. “Yes, a week, maybe less, we’ll have to see.”

  Squirming in his embrace, feet dangling, she said, “Paxton needs a few days, I should imagine, to get the papers ready. I wanted time to decide what we’re going to do with the animals. You don’t have much of a barn up there.”

  He lowered her, allowing her feet to touch the floor, but he didn’t let go of her. Yes, they needed to talk practicalities. “I’ll get a shed up for the goats.” Picking her up again, he swung her around, thinking. “The chickens…the chickens…I’ll build a coop. Roscoe and Pete can retire and eat grass.”

  Breathless, he stopped spinning to gaze into her sparkling eyes. “A week is a long time. I don’t want to wait a week. Come home with us now.”

  She lowered her head, her fingers playing with the second button on his shirt. “I’m going to finish out the week, if I can. Work the ferry.”

  Isabell had tucked herself into her papa’s side. Gazing up at her, Anora put her hand on Isabell’s cheek. “You two…you’ll see, time will fly by.”

  »»•««

  Outside, the hour late, it had grown dark; reluctantly, Hank said goodnight. Leaving Anora behind, knowing she’d soon be living with them, didn’t make parting any easier; as a matter of fact, it made it harder. He didn’t want to wait, he wanted her now.

  Reaching the cabin, he urged Isabell to go inside, get ready for bed while he bedded down the horse. On the way back from the coral, he noticed a small orange light flickering in the gloaming at the river’s edge on the Takenah side. From his vantage point up there on the hill, he could see it. He hadn’t noticed it down at Anora’s. He’d bet a monkey you couldn’t see it from down there; a campsite across from the gravel bar would be hidden from view of the ferry landings, on the landing side and from the ferry side. He didn’t like that. Whoever had placed their camp right at that spot, out of sight, had done so on purpose.

  After a night of bad dreams, Hank and Isabell had their morning coffee with Anora, as usual. The sky looked a little uncertain, dark clouds moving in from the northwest. Although sleepy, Isabell cheerfully volunteered to spend the day with Anora, cleaning up the garden patch, and they were going to bake bread, something Isabell loved to do.

  “Maybe a short day, today,” Hank said to Anora on the way down to the ferry. “I want to come home early and get started on the shed for the goats.” Anora helped him get the team and wagon on the ferry. Isabell went to the rail, she liked to watch the water slide beneath the raft.

  Reaching the other side, Hank drove the wagon onto shore and then stopped to call back to them, “I’m gonna be thinking about you two all day.”

  Putting her arm around Isabell’s shoulders, Anora said, “We’ll be looking for you. Do you have the sandwiches, your jug of coffee?”

  “Right here under my seat,” he said.

  »»•««

  Isabel fell asleep on Anora’s bed right after lunch. They’d worked all morning pulling up vines and stalks out of the garden. A thunderstorm rolled in, sneaking up from the southeast. Anora, standing in the doorway, watched the rain, coming down in torrents, turning the yard into a shallow, muddy lake. Then it started to hail.

  With one hand across her chest to keep her rain slicker closed, and one hand on her head to keep her hat in place, she ran out to check on Roscoe and Pete. She’d had a few customers today but didn’t expect anyone this afternoon.

  Across the river, the work on the stage-stop stood abandoned. The air smelled of the earth and newly fallen leaves. A large tree limb had fallen near the style. She dragged it off to the side, heard a creak and looked up, noticing the cable going to the ferry. It looked stretched, starting to fray where it spliced into the line. If it could last a few more days, it would be someone else’s problem. She’d let Paxton know, but after she had her money in hand.

  “A few more days,” she said to Pete, who’d stopped and lowered his big head to make it easy for her to scratch between his big horns. “A few more days and we’ll be with Hank and Isabell. You won’t have to go around and around, getting nowhere. You can stand around under the apple trees and eat grass and munch on rotten apples. I’ll have a home at last.”

  Her face turned up to the leaden sky, small pellets of hail pounding her cheeks, she said, “I’ve found someone good, someone kind, who loves me, wants me…it’s a miracle. Thank you, Mama and Papa, for looking out for me. I know you’re watching.”

  The hail changed to rain, the rumble of thunder moved northeast, and Anora made a dash for the cabin. Standin
g over the sleeping little girl, she wondered if she would be able to have children. She hadn’t gotten pregnant by Ruben, thank goodness. Maybe there would be no children between her and Hank. If that were so, she would be sorry. To give Hank a son, a son they could name Michael Boyd Reason, would that be too much to ask?

  She shook her head. She had to be very careful, humble—she must not push her luck. She would have a beautiful life with or without children of her own. Near tears, she realized the dream was within reach, just a few more days.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Setting the bowl of boiled greens on the table, Anora spotted something familiar. Isabell, with her dolly in her lap, sat brushing the dolly’s hair. It couldn’t be, but she knew, Anora knew. She recognized her mother’s hairbrush, the brush Ruben had confiscated, presented to his bitch.

  But how had Isabell come to have it in her possession? The obvious answer to that question sent a lightning rush of terror through her body.

  Without thinking, she snatched the tortoiseshell hairbrush out of Isabell’s hands and shook it in the child’s face. “Where did you get this?”

  Startled by her sharp tone, in the process of buttering a biscuit, Hank dropped his knife.

  “Let go, Isabell. Give it to me, give me the brush.”

  Isabell, eyes big and round, lips trembling, obeyed.

  Knees buckling, Anora fell back into her chair at the table. Tears washing down her cheeks, her trembling fingers fondled the hairbrush, feeling the familiar, cool, smooth tortious shell, the soft bristles.

  Isabell, hugging her dolly to her chest, brown eyes swimming in tears, said to her papa, “It’s mine. He gave it to me, Papa. The prospector man. I told you about the prospector man.”

  “You told me, squirt,” Hank said, and brought her to his lap. “Tell me again. Tell Anora. What did he look like again? I know you told me, but I don’t remember what you said.”

  Turning to face Anora, Isabell said, “Molly and me went over to the churchyard to play tag with some other kids, then she had to go to the liberry to meet her papa. I know I’m not supposed to leave Uncle Paston’s yard, but I went with her. Am I in trouble? I’m sorry. Aunt Melinda won’t let me go anywhere. She and some other ladies were busy praying. I’m tired of praying.”

  Anora, her hand over her mouth, listening, horrible scenarios playing in head, swallowed down a scream.

  Gathering her wild thoughts, stuffing them under a very heavy calm, she said, “I’m the one who’s sorry, Isabell, go ahead. I’m not angry with you. I yelled at you and I’m sorry. Tell me what the man looked like. Try to remember everything about him. It’s important.”

  Isabell nodded. “We saw the prospector man at the liberry sitting on the steps, like yesterday. He had a peppermint stick. He gave us a piece.”

  “But what did he look like, Isabell?” Anora asked, bracing herself, seeing in her mind’s eye Ruben’s maniacal, evil face.

  Cocking her curly head to one side, her finger to her mouth, Isabell squinted her eyes. “He had a big, dusty beard and mustache. Kind of stringy and dirty like the moss that hangs from the trees, you know. I bet he sleeps outside, he smells like smoke. His leg hurts, he told me it hurted a lot. He broke it.

  “He wanted Molly to stay and talk to him. But she had to meet her papa. He wanted me to stay too, but I had to scoot back to Uncle Paston’s before Aunt Melinda found out I’d left. He called me a bright little penny. He said a bright little penny like me should have a pretty brush for my pretty hair. He said it belonged to his mama, but she dieded. I told him my mama dieded too.”

  Hand shaking, Anora returned the hairbrush to Isabell. Ill, sick with fear, bile bubbled up in her throat, perspiration blossomed on her upper lip and between her breasts. A heavy weight slammed into her chest, she couldn’t stand, couldn’t move.

  Hank gave Isabell a loving squeeze. “Would you like a biscuit? Maybe some honey? The honey’s on the counter, would you get it for me and bring it to the table, please.”

  Isabell jumped down. “Sure, Papa. I like Anora’s peach preserves the bestest.”

  Feeling a desperate need to run, run away, Anora pushed her chair back and started for the door, but didn’t open it. “He’s out there, Hank. He’s out there. He just told me he’s come to finish me off. He wants to be sure I don’t sleep.”

  He followed her to the door. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, drawing her back into his body. “That’s right, he wants us to be frightened, so frightened we’ll be too paralyzed to do anything about him, and his big plan.” Turning her to face him, he told her, challenging her to look deep into his eyes. “You won’t stay here tonight, you’re coming home with us.”

  “No…oh, no…Hank, don’t you see, he knows about you and me. He knows where to find both of us. Isabell…Hank, I can’t put her in that kind of danger. And Molly, oh, my God, she’s exactly what he likes, she’s young and…and…becoming a woman.”

  “Isabell is already in danger. Tomorrow, we’ll warn Maybel to keep a close eye on Molly for the next few days. And tell her to warn Molly not to talk to strangers—especially this prospector man.

  “I spoke with Paxton today, he wants to meet you at the stage stop tomorrow right after church to sign papers. Once that’s over, you won’t be out of my sight. Isabell…well, we won’t let her out of our sight, either. After tomorrow this place will no longer be yours to worry about, and you’ll have no reason to stay on.”

  “But I told Paxton a week.”

  “I know what you told him and to hell with it, we stay together.”

  »»•««

  The days had grown short, night falling early. Under the cover of darkness, Hank, with Isabell and Anora beside him on the buckboard, went up the hill past the orchard. Anora’s contagious case of paranoia had him imagining Ruben’s hungry eyes watching their every move.

  His cabin, dark, uninhabited, wouldn’t have given him a second thought any other night, but tonight he ordered Isabell to stay with Anora. Going inside alone, he lit two lanterns and made a quick, but thorough, check before giving the all clear for them to enter.

  “I’ll go bed down the mules,” he said. Stopping on the threshold, he scooped Isabell up into his arms. “You get to bed, squirt. Anora will tuck you in, all right? I’ll come say good night.”

  “Oh yes, I’d love to,” Anora said, dropping her small bag of clothing in the chair beneath the window.

  Hank set Isabell down on her feet, and she took hold of Anora’s hand. “Sing me a lullaby, Anora? I miss Mama. She sang to me all the time.”

  Bending down to speak into the little girl’s eyes, Anora said, “I doubt I can I can sing as beautifully as your mama, but I’d love to try.”

  Hank nodded to them both. “Close the door behind me and drop the bar.”

  Leading the team and wagon around the far side of his home, Hank cursed the day Ruben Tillery, Ben Talbot, whatever his name, was born. He asked himself, What would a man like that come back for? He should be in California, fleecing rubes.

  Answering his own question, the voice in his head replied, For the pleasure of torturing Anora?

  No, it had to be more than that. The fire in Marysville? Hank wondered if there could be a connection, if so, what? And why did the devil have to show up now when things were going to finally turn out right?

  Ben couldn’t know about Anora selling out, could he? She hadn’t told anyone. He’d found out just two days ago. And Paxton said he didn’t want anyone to know until he had the signed papers in his hand. Ruben couldn’t know. Which brought Hank full circle to conclude, Ben had returned on a mission to destroy Anora.

  »»•««

  Anora sang Isabell her lullaby and then tucked her into her narrow cot up in the loft. “Will you sleep with Papa?”

  Taken aback, the question coming out of nowhere, Anora didn’t know what to say. “I…I don’t know. Where would you like me to sleep?” she asked.

  “I think you should sleep with Papa. He�
��s been alone since Mama dieded. I’m used to sleeping alone, but he isn’t. I hear him sometimes. He gets up and walks around.”

  “Yes, but your papa and mama were married. I’m not married to your papa.”

  “He wants to marry you.”

  “Yes, and I want to marry him. I think we’ll have to talk it over. You go to sleep now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “But…”

  “No more buts, sleep, go to sleep,” Anora said, kissed Isabell on the forehead, and started back down the ladder to the big room below.

  “Anora,” Isabell said to the dark, “you can have the hairbrush. I’m sorry it made you cry.”

  Anora, suspended between floors, up on the ladder, pressed her forehead to the rail and closed her eyes. “The hairbrush reminded me of my mama, that’s all. She had one just like it,” she said, sending her voice up to the little girl, her throat dry, cutting off her last syllable. “It’s yours now. Take good care of it. I lost Mama’s, It would make me happy to think someone like you had found it. Now go to sleep. I’m not sad anymore.”

  “Night, Anora, I love you,” Isabell said.

  “Goodnight, I love you too,” said Anora, moving down off the ladder.

  Hugging herself, feeling the chill of the damp night, she stoked the fire in the hearth and decided she had to use the outhouse.

  »»•««

  Hank returned to the cabin to find the door wide open, a fire blazing in the grate and Isabell blissfully asleep, but no Anora. Fear struck panic in his heart. He went outside, going from one end of his porch to the other, not knowing where to look. It would be just like Ruben to pick them off one at a time.

  Startling him, Anora stepped up onto the porch, candle in hand, face and form in the shadows. “Lose something?” she asked. And he heard the giggle in her voice.

  “Jesus Christ, Anora, don’t ever do that to me again.” Holding up the lantern to see more of her, he said, “Yes, I thought I’d lost something, or rather someone.”

  “You probably took care of your business down at the barn,” she said, sweeping past him, going ahead of him into the cabin.