The Crossing at Cypress Creek

by Pam Hillman

Within minutes, the cutthroats would attack. Blood would flow, women would scream, and men would shout obscenities. When it was over, some would be dead, and others would be dying.

  She couldn’t just let them be killed in cold blood.

  When the stalkers melted into the shadows, she rose from her hiding place. Circling around, she eased along the ridge overlooking the trail, hoping to spot the travelers first. Soon, she heard the jingling of harnesses, the creak of wagon wheels, the steady plop, plop, plop of horses’ hooves along the wilderness road less than a hundred paces away.

  It was a small party, which wasn’t surprising. What they were doing on the road to Cypress Creek was anyone’s guess. Rarely did travelers come this way. Maybe they’d taken the wrong road instead of continuing north on the main trail. But for whatever reason, they’d put their lives at risk.

  Heart thudding, she fell to one knee, reached for an arrow, and in one smooth motion, nocked it. She pulled back on the bow, found her target, let her breath out slowly, then released the arrow.

  The missile shot between the trees, its whine swift and true, to embed itself in the side of the foremost wagon with a thwack.

  The driver looked down, remained frozen for a moment; then realization dawned. He sawed back on the reins of the horses. “Fall back! We’re under attack.”

  An unholy screech erupted from the vile highwaymen as they realized their surprise ambush had been foiled. En masse, they erupted from their hiding places along the trail and rushed toward the innocent party of travelers, intent on salvaging what they could of their plot to plunder and kill.

  Fear spread through Alanah’s chest as she crouched in the shadows.

  Dear heavenly Father, let my warning be enough.

  Shouts from ahead galvanized Caleb into action. But instead of reining away from danger, he plunged forward, Tiberius close behind.

  As he raced his mount toward the head of the line, he dodged wagons attempting to turn on the narrow roadbed. Riderless horses milled about, braying in fear. Men dove for cover, and more than one ran in the opposite direction.

  Only a few were armed and able to return fire. Mr. Wainwright urged his mount toward the head of the column, where his driver fought to hold back the horses on the narrow road. But his way was impeded by the chaos.

  “Out of the way, you fools! My wife and daughters! They’re in that carriage.” Mr. Wainwright’s horse reared, unseating him.

  His horse raced away, and the man plunged into the melee, making more progress on foot than mounted. Caleb looked at the carnage around him, hearing the screams as from a distance, the shouts as men scrambled beneath wagons seeking shelter from the shots fired from the bluffs overhead.

  The normally docile draft horses broke free and raced down the trail, while those hitched to the wagons reared and screamed in fright.

  “Enough o’ this.” Growling low in his throat, Caleb kicked his mount toward a swag in the high bank. The animal made it halfway up the incline before losing its footing on the loamy soil. But it was enough. Caleb kicked free, grabbed an exposed root, and scrambled up the bank like a cabin boy heading to the crow’s nest.

  “Caleb.” His name was a whisper on the wind.

  He glanced back, saw Tiberius clambering up behind him, hand outstretched. Clasping the man’s huge paw, he grunted as he pulled his friend to the top of the bank.

  Then the two of them crouched and moved forward. If there was one thing they were both good at, it was taking the fight to the enemy.

  Alanah spotted movement and remained completely still, only allowing her eyes to follow the big black man as he crept along the bluff.

  A head taller than most, a wicked-looking curved blade in his right hand, and a dagger clenched between his teeth, he looked ferocious enough to send the most hardened criminal fleeing.

  Even so, his size didn’t stop him from moving through the wilderness as if he was born to it. His clothes weren’t those of a backwoodsman or those of a slave. They were —

  A glint in his left ear caught her attention, and she was immediately transported back to Natchez Under-the-Hill, to three men, one massive and ebony-skinned, one barely conscious, and one with piercing dark eyes, black brows, and a day-old scruff that did little to disguise a hard, chiseled square jaw. The sailors from Natchez.

  Her heart pounded. If the giant of a man was one of the highwaymen, where were his companions?

  She remained still, aware that the slightest movement might draw his attention.

  As he disappeared over the ridge toward the rest of the highwaymen, she eased out of her hiding place. She needed to leave, to flee, before she was caught. Even the stigma of being known as Addled Alanah wouldn’t save her if she was suspected of alerting the travelers to the danger they were in.

  With one last glance over her shoulder, she pulled her rags over her head and turned away. And that’s when her gaze collided with his.

  She froze, eyes locked. Even with the rest of him hidden by the underbrush, his hat pulled low, there was no question it was the man from the wharf.

  Neither moved, neither blinked, and it seemed as if an ocean separated them, or simply a summer’s breeze. The clash of fighting below —men yelling, horses screaming, highwaymen screeching as they attacked the travelers —faded into the background.

  But those dark eyes never left hers. They narrowed slightly as if he was trying to place her.

  She couldn’t be caught. Not here. Not now.

  A warlike roar unlike any she’d ever heard echoed through the forest, followed by a scream of rage. When the Irishman jerked his attention toward the sound, Alanah ducked out of sight.

  Chapter 4

  SHE WAS GONE.

  Caleb had shifted his attention away for a second, but that was all the time it took for her to disappear.

  How could he even be sure the fleeting image had been a woman? Aye, he was sure. There was no question those eyes belonged to a woman. And they were the same golden-tawny eyes of the woman he’d seen at the wharf. But how could that be? That woman had been dressed in finery, her honeyed hair upswept. This one blended with the forest, all tan and brown and russet . . .

  He blinked. All he’d seen had been wide eyes, the color of gold.

  Perhaps she’d been with the travelers and, in a panic, had run into the woods to hide until the fighting was over. Yes, that had to be it.

  Besides, now wasn’t the time to worry over her.

  More shouts, then a rustling in the brush had him crouching, watching, listening. He spotted shadowy forms flitting through the forest away from the attack. Soon the wilderness swallowed them up as they fled, their surprise attack thwarted by the counterattack launched by Tiberius.

  Silence reigned, broken only by the groans of the wounded on the blood-soaked roadbed.

  He whistled, received an answering warble, and seconds later, Tiberius joined him.

  “They’re gone?” Caleb asked.

  “They are gone.” Tiberius crouched down. “I will keep watch should they decide to return.”

  Nodding, Caleb made his way back toward the roadbed. He joined Mr. Wainwright where one of the drivers attended him. “Are ya all right, sir?”

  Mr. Wainwright waved him away. “I’m fine. Just a scratch. What happened to you? One minute you were here; the next you were gone.”

  Caleb jerked his head toward the bluffs. “We decided t’ take the fight t’ them.”

  “Well, it certainly worked. I’ve never known them to give up so easily.”

  “This happens regularly?” Caleb scowled. “And the people just cower down and wait to be slaughtered?”

  “What else can we do? Most of these men have families, responsibilities, and plantations to watch over.” Without further ado, Wainwright batted the man’s hands away and struggled to his feet. “No more. I must find my wife and daughters.”

  “Mr. Wainwright?”

  The man glared at him, impatient to be on his way.

  “I saw a
woman in the woods. Perhaps one o’ your daughters left the carriage.”

  Hope lit the man’s features. “What did she look like? Fair? Blonde, blue eyes?”

  Caleb shook his head. “The woman I saw did no’ have blue eyes —”

  “Then it was not my daughter. Gather the wounded and keep moving. We must make it to the logging camp before nightfall.” He turned away. “Where’s my horse?”

  “Here, sir.”

  With some effort, Wainwright mounted and reined away, followed by half a dozen others. Caleb watched them go. He wasn’t a praying man, but he prayed they’d find the man’s family safe and sound, none the worse for wear.

  By the time they rounded up the horses and assessed the damage, it was far worse than originally thought. More than half the party had injuries and two men had been killed.

  They made room in the wagons for the injured, loaded the dead onto the backs of the draft animals, and made haste to be on their way. Caleb didn’t see the woman with golden eyes among the travelers. Maybe she was Wainwright’s daughter after all. Maybe the lighting had played a trick on him.

  Caleb and Tiberius rode at the end of the column, keeping a wary eye out. If they were attacked again, it would be a repeat of before, and they’d show the cutthroats who they were dealing with.

  After a couple of miles, a ripple of good cheer came down the line. They’d located the Wainwright carriage. The women were unharmed, but unfortunately the driver had been injured in the melee and had been unable to hold the horses in check.

  As they neared Wainwright’s carriage, a middle-aged woman stepped out. With wispy blonde hair, pale skin, and blue eyes, she looked nothing like the woman he’d seen in the woods.

  Two young girls, spitting images of their mother, leaned out of the carriage.

  The woman he’d seen in the woods was definitely not one of Wainwright’s daughters, and there were no other women in their party.

  Then who was she?

  The day was far gone when the logging camp, nestled in a wide-open meadow, came into view.

  Caleb shifted in the saddle, his unease having little to do with being unused to riding. Any minute now, he’d see his brothers. Brothers he’d abandoned. He hadn’t thought of it as abandonment when he’d left home. He hadn’t thought of much of anything in his rage toward Quinn.

  Later, after he’d cooled off, he’d planned to send money to help with caring for Rory and Patrick. But none of his labors had allowed for extra to send home. And he doubted the coin would have arrived if he had sent it.

  The wagons rolled to a halt in front of a tent. A fair-haired man stepped outside, a smile wreathing his face when he spotted Mr. Wainwright. “Father, Mother, I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “We were headed home from Natchez, so I took this opportunity to come see how things are progressing.” Mr. Wainwright helped his wife and daughters to the ground. “Your mother was not happy about it after we were attacked —”

  “Attacked?” The welcome on the younger Wainwright’s face quickly turned to dismay. “Mother, are you and the girls all right?”

  “Yes, dear, we’re fine. A bit shook up. Your father twisted his knee —”

  “It’s nothing.” The elder Wainwright waved away his wife’s concern and limped toward the wagons. “These men need care immediately.”

  “Of course.” His son motioned toward the tent. “Take them inside.”

  Caleb, Tiberius, and the other able-bodied men helped get the injured settled. Mrs. Wainwright and her daughters took on the task of tending them.

  Mr. Wainwright’s son frowned at the blanket-draped bodies of the dead. “These poor souls. Just off the boat good and proper, looking for a new life in a new land, only to meet an untimely death at the hands of a lawless bunch of cutthroats. It’s a miracle the entire party wasn’t slaughtered.”

  “Indeed. We have Caleb here and his friend Tiberius to thank for that.” Mr. Wainwright motioned toward Caleb. “William, I’d like you to meet Caleb O’Shea. Connor’s brother.”

  A look of surprise brightened the younger man’s countenance. “Well, this is a pleasant development. I can’t wait to see Connor’s face when he realizes that the last of his brothers is here in the Natchez District.” He pointed across the encampment. “As a matter of fact, here he comes now.”

  Caleb turned. On the far side of the camp, he spotted his brother heading toward them. Even after nine years, Caleb had no trouble recognizing his brother’s tall, broad-shouldered stance. Whether Connor would recognize him was a different matter altogether. He’d been little more than a stripling when Connor left Ireland.

  As he drew closer, Caleb found himself looking at the spitting image of his da. Instantly he was transported back to Ireland, back to the hovel he’d shared with Da and Mam and his brothers. Back when times were good, and Da would come home from the mines, grab him up, toss him in the air, and catch him even as Quinn danced around begging for his turn. Back before his father was injured, before Connor had been shipped off to the colonies. Before Mam had died birthing Patrick and then Da had passed on, leaving his sons to eke out a living in the coal mines.

  Connor’s steps faltered when his gaze landed on Caleb, but then he headed toward him. Caleb couldn’t move. His feet were rooted to the ground, and something akin to fear rolled in his stomach.

  Would his big brother accept him back into the fold? He’d abandoned them all. No matter that he’d had a good reason, that he’d planned to make his fortune, to send money back. All his dreams had gone up in smoke on the battlefields of Africa, had drowned in the roiling seas on both sides of the continent. He’d had enough trouble keeping body and soul together, let alone finding time, money, or energy to help his brothers.

  Connor drew close enough that Caleb could see his eyes, green and so like Da’s that tears stung the backs of Caleb’s eyes. He gritted his teeth and blinked them back. He’d fought off cannibals and pirates. He’d stormed Arabian strongholds. He wouldn’t show weakness just because Connor reminded him of his da, with his furrowed brow and jaw clenched tight much like Da’s when he’d been angry.

  Caleb braced for his brother’s fist. He’d stand and take it like a man. He deserved it. He deserved a beating for leaving the others. He deserved —

  Connor reached him, grabbed him by the shoulders, then pulled him close in a tight embrace.

  “Caleb.” His brother’s voice trembled. “After all these years. I feared I’d never see ya again.”

  Caleb was relieved when the task of seeing to the dead and wounded kept Connor from asking too many questions.

  But after they’d buried the dead, he found himself walking back toward camp beside his brother and the Wainwrights.

  Connor glanced at Mr. Wainwright. “How do things fare in Natchez, sir?”

  “They’re going well. I’ve secured property along the river just past Natchez Under-the-Hill for the sawmill, and more than one contractor has expressed interest in purchasing every foot of lumber we can produce. Their appetite for quality building materials is insatiable.”

  “That’s all well and good, but —” Connor scowled at the tent where the injured were —“we’re almost t’ the river and we’re still shorthanded. I do no’ know how we’re going to meet the demand.”

  “I have faith in you, Connor.” Mr. Wainwright slapped him on the shoulder. “I’d better go help Mrs. Wainwright. She’s got her hands full.”

  William glanced at Caleb. “After you and Connor have a chance to catch up, come over and make your mark in the ledger. And bring Tiberius, too. We’re glad to have two strong backs to make the work lighter.”

  “I’m no’ sure —”

  “William, I might need your assistance.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  When they were alone, Connor smiled. “It really is good t’ see you, Brother. It’s been a long time.”

  “Too long.” Caleb glanced around. “Where’s Quinn, Rory, and Patrick?”

  “Rory
’s here somewhere. Patrick’s back at Breeze Hill with me wife, Isabella, and Quinn and his wife, Kiera, are at Magnolia Glen.”

  Caleb shook his head. “Hard t’ believe the two o’ you are married men.”

  “Aye . . .” Connor swung his arm around Caleb’s shoulders again. “You could no’ have come at a better time.”

  “How so?”

  Connor looked surprised. “The logging, o’ course. I can use every man I can get my hands on.”

  “I do no’ know a thing about logging.”

  “No’ to worry. You’re strong, and you’ll learn. And that Tiberius.” Shaking his head, Connor pointed across the camp toward a man who rivaled Tiberius in stature. “That’s Moses. He’s a sawyer, and I have yet t’ find the man who can match him for strength and stamina. Do you know if your man has ever wielded a crosscut saw?”

  “Tiberius is no’ my man.” Caleb crossed his arms. “He’s my friend, and he’s free t’ come and go as he pleases.”

  “Pardon. I meant no offense.”

  “None taken. And as far as I know, Tiberius has never used a crosscut saw, but he’s a fast learner.”

  “We’ll scrounge up an extra tent for the two o’ you and you can go t’ work tomorrow.”

  And just like that, Connor was going to welcome him into the fold, put him to work in the logging camp, without so much as asking where he’d been and what he’d been doing the last three years.

  “In the meantime, let’s hunt up our little brother. He’ll be glad t’ see you.”

  Caleb and Connor strode through the camp, Connor introducing Caleb to the rest of the loggers, looking as proud as punch that his brother who’d been lost was found.

  Which made Caleb feel lower than a snake’s belly, as he had no intention of staying in Natchez indefinitely.

  Unnerved by the events involving the highwaymen, Alanah stayed close to home all the next day. But a heavy overnight rain had her out early, searching for the medicinal herbs that were her livelihood.

  Still, she made sure to stay far away from the roads and trails that crisscrossed the backwoods between the trace and the river. For where there were travelers with coin, there would surely be highwaymen.