The Widow's Ferry

by Dorothy A. Bell

  Once the cabin door had been shut and secured behind them, Hank became self-conscious, uncertain what or how he should approach the subject of their sleeping arrangements. He wanted her in his bed, but he didn’t want to frighten her—he had to go slow. Rubbing his fingers, looking everywhere but directly at her, he asked, “Would you like some coffee?”

  They both headed for the pump and the coffee pot on the stove and collided. “Sorry,” he said.

  “No, I’m sorry. I’ll fix it for you. You must be cold coming from the barn.”

  “No, no thanks, I’m fine,” he said. “It’s cold out there, don’t want to have to go outside in the middle of the night.”

  ∙•∙

  This wasn’t the first time Anora had been inside Hank and Isabell’s new home, but tonight, being there had her feeling guilty…naughty. She didn’t belong there. She belonged down at her cabin. There’d be talk, a lot of talk, if folks in town found out she’d spent the night with Hank Reason.

  Rubbing her cold hands together, she wandered across the room to the big hearth. Standing in front of the grate to warm herself, she looked around, gathering her composure.

  A rocking chair and a large wooden settee, with a hooked rag rug on the floor between the two pieces of furniture, gave the space a welcoming, cozy feel. Next to the settee she smiled to see Isabell’s rag doll sitting in the smaller rocking chair. Down the length of the room, in the kitchen, at the back of the open space, she took note of the long, plank board table and four Quaker-style chairs. By the front door, there sat a chair and table beneath a big window that looked out to the orchard—a place where a person could sit and sew or read, do accounting and planning. A tall bookshelf full of books on propagating, grafting, furniture making, novels, and histories of other countries stood to the side of the window. On the other side of the room, toward the far end, below the loft, a curtain had been drawn back to expose the big pole bed where a plump down mattress beckoned.

  Hank, reading her mind, went over to the bed and took up a fluffy, goose down pillow. He pulled aside a curtain in the corner that concealed a closet and retrieved a couple of wool blankets. “You take the bed, I get the fire.” Going around her, he grinned and then laid out the blankets before the hearth.

  She groaned. “I can take the floor. I’m so scared, I’m not going to sleep anyway. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t want to come to you out of fear. I want to come to you happy and content. Can you understand what I’m trying to say?”

  Holding a pillow to his chest, he nodded. “I think I do. And no, I don’t want you to come to my bed with doubts, and I don’t want you to wake up with regrets. I’m fine with this arrangement for now.”

  Expelling her breath, she said, “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me,” he said, coming back across the room, a hungry gleam in his eyes, backing her into the shadows. Stopping an arm’s length from her, he said in a low voice, husky with desire, “I want you, God, how I want you. But tonight is not the time. Soon you’ll come to me, and you and I will be in that bed together and we are going to make love as no two people have ever made love before. But tonight I’ll sleep on the cold, hard floor, gladly, knowing you’re near. Can you sleep, Anora? Will you rest your eyes, let go of your fears and sleep in that big bed; don’t think about tomorrow, just be here with us tonight, warm, safe, with us?”

  She fell into his arms, holding him close. “How do you always know what to say? God wouldn’t…couldn’t, be so cruel as to bring us this close to having what we both want—allow Ruben, through his crazed machinations, to crush us both. Surely he couldn’t be so cruel.”

  “We won’t let him. God’s busy. We’ll take care of this one on our own, don’t you worry.”

  Standing on tiptoe, Anora pressed her lips to his in a long and heartfelt kiss. When they drew apart, she said, “I can sleep now. I can sleep, and I’ll dream of loving you the rest of my life.”

  “It’s going to be a long life, Anora. I know it. You and I were meant to be.”

  She nodded in agreement, even though she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. He let her go then, blew out the lantern, and snuffed out the candle.

  ∙•∙

  Hank shed his trousers, peeled off his shirt, keeping his gaze to the fireplace. In his long johns, he lay himself on the floor and pulled the blankets up under his chin, the voice in his head mocking him. Mighty big talk, Mr. Reason. It’s going to be a long, hard, cold night. Closing his eyes, he prayed for sleep.

  He could hear her moving around over there, in the dark alcove. He closed his eyes imagining what she’d look like, her hair falling over her shoulders and down her back.

  In the darkness, her whisper came to him like a siren’s call. “Ohhh, Hank, your bed…it’s like lying on a cloud. A warm cloud.”

  Throwing his arm over his eyes, hands balled up, he willed himself to stay right where he lay.

  “Hank?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I love you. I’ve never loved anyone before. I wish…I wish…I wish I was…I was untouched for you.”

  Feeling her shame, he groaned. “As far as I’m concerned, I know I am the first man you’ve ever known, or will be, once we get all of this behind us. You’re mine, Anora. You’ve never been anyone else’s, and I am yours, all yours. Goodnight.”

  “Good night, Hank.”

  »»•««

  “You made eggy toast like Mama,” Isabell said, and hopped into her chair at the table. “Papa trieded to fix eggy toast, but it fell apart. We had eggy clobs instead. I like eggy toast.”

  Eyes a little bloodshot, Hank sat across from his daughter. “You ate all of my eggy clobs.”

  “I put lots of butter and sugar on ’em,” Isabell said as an aside to Anora.

  Anora handed Hank his breakfast, then sat and poured out the coffee. “I need to get down to the ferry. Sometimes folks come in to go to church.”

  “We’ll all go,” Hank said. “We’ve got a little rain this morning. I doubt anyone will try to travel, but we’ll all go. And we’ll get you loaded up and move your things up here today.”

  Anora put her hand out for him to hold. “I don’t know, what will people think if they see me moving out of the cabin? Besides, I don’t have anything to pack up.”

  He shook his head at her and slathered butter on his eggy toast. “We could use the wardrobe. Always need a place to hide things. We can use your pots and pans…even the plates and bowls. You’ll be surprised what you have. Even the table and chairs, we can put them out on the porch or under the trees. We could have picnics out there.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not bringing anything that reminds me of Ruben.”

  She paused, tipped her head to the side, mentally taking inventory of the cabin. “My quilt, I want Mama’s quilt and Papa’s mackinaw. The table and chairs would look nice on the porch or out in the yard. I could paint them. All right, all right, today we move,” Anora said, palms flat on the table.

  »»•««

  Hank and Isabell walked Anora down to the ferry. “I still think we should come with you,” Hank said, casting off the moor line. He reluctantly gave her the rope.

  “I’m only going up the bank, not even out of sight. I’ll be with Paxton,” she said.

  He nodded. “I know. You’re right. Paxton will see you stay safe. But I don’t like it. We’ll make ourselves useful, do up the dishes while we wait for you to get back.”

  “This won’t take long,” Anora said. Ringing the bell once, Roscoe and Pete held the ferry steady, letting the cable out nice and easy. Anora waved to Hank and Isabell, who watched until the ferry came to ground on the Takenah side.

  Paxton arrived on his big red horse, dismounted, and waved to Hank. Anora tied off the ferry, glancing across the river to see Hank and Isabell heading up to the cabin.

  Near the construction site, Paxton wiped the rainwater off a board and then laid it across the saw horses. From the inside of his coat, he produc
ed a scrap of oilcloth and laid it out on the board. Anora smiled to herself; Paxton, he would forever be the efficient businessman.

  “Before I sign anything, you need to know the ferry needs some work,” she said, coming within a few steps of his makeshift table. “New cable for one thing, and side rails, and the bottom probably needs fresh tar before winter.”

  Paxton nodded. “Yes, I thought about all of that and decided to get all new rigging, and a bigger ferry. I’ve got the boys working on it. Probably be ready to put into the water in a couple of days. We’ll get ’em up the tree and get new cable, and I thought a leather guard for the trees.”

  She liked the sound of that. “Good, that’s very good. More than time for a bigger ferry. One more thing, Roscoe and Pete, I don’t want to leave them to work the ferry. They’re getting old. I want to retire them, take them with me.”

  He nodded. “Won’t need ’em. The way I have it worked out,” Paxton said, “I won’t be needing the oxen, so I have no problem with you taking them.”

  Handing her a freshly inked pen, she read the sad look in his eyes, the look that didn’t match his friendly smile. “I wish you the best,” he said, his hand on her shoulder. “And Hank is the best.”

  Taking the pen, Anora signed her name—Anora Claire Sennett, not Tillery, or Talbot. She hadn’t written her given name in a very long time and thought it strange and a miracle she remembered how.

  Paxton handed her the pouch of gold coins, and they shook hands. “I know it’s not standard, but would you mind if I gave you a kiss?” he asked.

  She didn’t pull back, instead braced herself for one of his insults.

  “I’ve had a long talk with myself. I’d like to keep you, love you, as a sister, part of the family.” That brought a smile to her lips. “I think Lydia would like that. She thought very highly of you, Anora. You’re good for Isabell, and good for Hank.”

  Anora accepted his kiss. It proved as innocent as he had promised. The exchange brought a tear to her eye and a lump to her throat. She had doubted her decision to sell the ferry and land, now those doubts evaporated.

  Paxton mounted and started up the track. With her pouch of coins tucked into the breast pocket of her rain slicker, Anora found herself stalled, bent over the mooring pylon, working to unsnarl the tangled rope. Muttering curses, she knew she hadn’t tied it off like that. At least she didn’t think she had. One more loop and she’d have it free.

  Anxious to get across river, the second the rope gave way, she jumped onto the ferry deck, not bothering to look back, only forward, across the river to the life that waited for her there.

  Cranking up the tongue of the ferry, she heard a splash of water off to her right. She dismissed it, assigning the sound to a fish jumping, or a duck making a landing.

  Bent over, eyes down to the ferry deck, a pair of muddy, wet black boots attached to a set of wet trousers planted themselves on the other side of the rudder, inches from her head.

  Ruben.

  Instinctively, she cowered, pulling her head into the collar of her coat ready to tuck up into a tight ball. Denying herself the option, she sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. Her hand going to the rudder, she straightened. Throwing her shoulders back, she came face-to-face with a Ruben she’d never seen before.

  The man, thin, gaunt, and pale, glared at her through Ruben’s eyes, eyes black and dead as coal. His purple lips parted, revealing crusted yellow teeth, his breath reeked of the familiar putrid mix of whiskey and vomit.

  Chapter Forty

  “So, Norie girl, you sold me out,” he said, his thick hands going for her throat, the rudder digging into her hipbones. “Oh yeah, I been watchin’ and listenin’ to you wheelin’ and dealin’. Thought you’d get away with it, didn’t yah? You thought to keep them pretty coins to yourself. Now, you know women is too stupid to handle money, that’s man’s doing. Hand ’em over, Nori. That money’s mine.”

  Blood in his eye, mean rotten to the core, she remembered that snarl, the curl to his sneering lips, the way his cheek twitched, a warning to his victims he meant business.

  “What coins?” she heard herself say, her voice strong, full of bravado.

  He howled, his laughter echoing into the treetops. “Oh, that’s a good one, Norie. You regrowed your spunk. This is even better than I thought it would be. Not only do I get some coin, you’re gonna put up a struggle. I do love a woman to struggle a bit. But you know I’m gonna win, Norie. You’re gonna lose, ain’t no other way about it. You got your sass back, but you’re stupid. I’ll have to set you straight. You know what that means.”

  Before Anora could brace herself for the blow, he slapped her hard across the face with the back of his hand.

  The ferry had started to drift into the swifter current. Roscoe and Pete hadn’t received their signal. Anora, eyes open, face turned toward the ferry landing across river, could make out the shoreline through the blur of fog and stars that filled her head.

  “You lookin’ for that big fella? He ain’t there. Seen him go inside the cabin with his bright little penny. He can’t see you. And the Hayes fella, he’s gone home. He don’t give a shit about you. He’s got what he wants, or he thinks he’s got what he wants.”

  His hot, putrid breath washed across her face. “It’s just you and me. Just you, and me. Where you got the pouch of money hid? I seen him give it to you. I know you got it on you. I guess I’ll have to strip you down.” He started to claw at her legs, his hands digging into the flesh between her thighs.

  Screaming and kicking, Anora threw the pouch in his face. “Take the money. Go.”

  Ruben laughed, his lips inches from her nose. The smell of him, familiar and horrifying, petrified her. She couldn’t move or scream—she simply froze.

  “I come for more than money,” he said, his voice a purr, taking the pouch from her and stuffing it into a front trouser pocket. “You know I got to have more, Nori,” he said.

  “You’ve rounded out some,” he said, his hand underneath her rain slicker, crawling up her belly, headed for her breasts.

  In her rush to get back to Hank and Isabell, she hadn’t put her gloves on after signing the papers. Coming alive, her instinct for survival kicking in, Anora clawed at his face. He caught her hand.

  Yanking on her arm, spotting the gold ring on her finger, he gave it a twist. “I’ll have this trinket…won’t need it no more where you’re goin’. Gold is gold.”

  He stuffed her finger in his warm, slippery, stinky mouth, his filthy teeth working the ring over her knuckle, but it wouldn’t budge, and his teeth dug into her flesh.

  Raising her knee, she gave him a good kick to the gut. He opened his mouth freeing her finger.

  Woof! “You little bitch, just like your mama, ain’t you. She didn’t want to let go of that ring either, even a layin’ there so poorly, so sick, she fought like a wildcat. But I got that ring offin’ her finger. And I had a bit of fun with her afore she went. Dead, that there ring just slid right off.” He laughed in her face.

  Anora closed her eyes. The vision of her mother, lying on the narrow wooden bench inside the wagon, pale and weak, and Ruben doing the unspeakable.

  “Mama,” she screamed, afraid of passing out, she rolled her head from side to side to dislodge the image. Clinging to sanity by a thread, the truth held her back from going over the edge. “The ring is my mother’s. The ring is Mother’s.”

  Ruben barked another wicked laugh, grabbing her by the ears. “You’re dumb…dumb as chicken shit. Bet you thought we was married all this time, didn’t ‘cha?” Head shaking, laughing he said, “Never married you. Never married your Aunt Carrie, never Minna. Never married no woman.

  “You never took that ring off, not once? Had you scared to take it off, didn’t I? I used it like I’d use a chain to tame a mare. Women is easy to train when they think they’s married. I could do it again, break you in half.

  “Nah! Got no use for women. Not Minna, not you. Not now, anyways. You was good onc
e, but you’re gettin’ old and ugly. Minna turned out to be a stingy nag. I set her on fire. I like’s ’em young and pliable. I’m gonna drown you like I did you’re precious, prissy Aunt Carrie.”

  Grabbing her tit, pinching her hard, he said, “You know, you’re gettin’ fat. I hates fat women.”

  She imagined the rudder fishtailing back and forth beneath the raft, being used by the whim of the river.

  The black water all around, over the rail, the river waited for her imminent arrival.

  Above her head, to the left, the signal bell hung still and quiet. She had to reach that cord. With all the fight left in her, the self that stood aside of the terror, Anora summoned the courage, the power to reach up, pull on the cord and ring, ring and ring the bell until the end.

  Ruben, drooling, exhilarated, the struggle of inflicting pain working as an aphrodisiac, paid no attention to the clang, clang of the bell, until the ferry lurched sideways. Startled, his fingers loosened from around her neck for a split second. A second was all she needed.

  Roscoe and Pete, confused by the signal call, uncertain if they should stay or stop, jerked and pulled against each other, and the cable lines. The ferry, bobbing out in the current, went forward, and back, then whipped side to side. The unmanned rudder slammed into Ruben’s middle, pushing the air out of his lungs.

  »»•««

  Hank, upon hearing the frantic clanging of the ferry bell, dropped the tin plate he’d been washing and yelled at Isabell, “You stay here,” and dashed out the door.

  He heard Isabell running after him. “Papa.”

  On the run, he shouted, “Stay, Isabell.”

  He arrived at the top of the rise in time to see Anora snake out of her rain slicker and fall into the water. And, to see the man get hit in the gut with the force of the rudder.

  Above his head and to the left, the cable line, at the splice, twanged and snapped. Hitting the ground, lying flat on his stomach, Hank covered his head, as the cable whipped across the track, lashing the ground, flying out into the river and disappearing.