by Linda Ford
“What’s wrong?”
“The Jensen twins are missing and so is Abby.”
He clambered from the water, alarm burning through his veins at the tone of her voice. “What do you mean? How can anyone be missing? Surely they’re just off exploring.” Maybe away from the noise and confusion of this place. Perhaps they’d stopped to pick flowers.
In hurried tones she explained how the Jensen wagon had ended up in the river.
His whipped about to look at the turbulent waters. “Then what happened?”
“I didn’t see it but I did notice Abby dash along the riverbank. I wondered where she was going in such a hurry.” She grabbed Ben’s elbow. “Then we noticed the twins were missing. Annie said Abby saw them fall into the river. If she thought they were in danger—”
Her concern echoed his own. He raced along the riverbank. “Abby,” he called. The current was swift. The water cold. How long since she’d hurried after the twins? Had she jumped in to rescue them?
Without a doubt, he knew she would. How well could she swim? Why didn’t he know? After all, they’d had a couple of outings to a lake when they were spending time together. Only their interest had not been in the water. Or swimming.
“There.” He didn’t know if Rachel had followed or kept up but ahead he made out two blond heads in the river. One an adult, the other a child. Abby and Cathy. Where was Donny?
The pair disappeared under water. He waited for them to resurface, his heartbeat thundering inside his head, his lungs drawing in so fiercely it was impossible to pull in strengthening air.
They didn’t come up. They were drowning. His heart exploded with a rush of hot blood. Not if he could do anything about it.
He dove into the river and swam to where he’d last seen them. Filling his lungs, he pushed under water. Where were they? He swam underwater until he had to surface for air.
“Abby,” he roared. Not that he expected an answer. He simply had to express the fear that threatened to overwhelm him. “God, help me.”
He dove back under the water twisting and turning like an overwrought fish, hoping...praying he’d find her. Did he see something? Was that—? Yes. Fabric. He swam that direction. Abby. Oh, Abby. Don’t die. Her arm clutched Cathy to her.
Don’t either of you die. Not now. Please not now. Help me, God. Help me.
He grabbed her. His lungs cried out for air. He surfaced and swam toward shore with his heavy load.
Hands reached out and drew Abby and Cathy to the bank. More hands pulled him safely to dry ground. He lay on his back, exhausted and out of breath. But in ten seconds he forced his trembling limbs to act and staggered to where Rachel pressed on Cathy’s back.
She shook her head.
No, God. Don’t let her die.
Where was Abby? There. Mr. Henshaw pumped on her back, expelling water from her lungs.
Ben fell on his knees at her side. “Abby, don’t you die.” He wanted to say so much more but he didn’t have the right. “Don’t you die.” He could not think beyond those words, the alternative too overwhelming to contemplate. Don’t die. Don’t die. God, don’t let her die. The words wailed through him in an endless litany.
She coughed and water spewed from her mouth.
Ben helped Mr. Henshaw sit her up. She coughed again and again. And sucked in air. Her color slowly returned.
She saw Ben and grabbed his hand. “Cathy and Donny?”
He looked toward Cathy where Rachel still pumped on her back.
Abby sobbed into her hand. “Is she...?”
Mr. Henshaw left Abby and shifted to Cathy’s side. “I have an idea. Let’s sit her up.” He rolled her over and he and Rachel sat her upright.
Ben shuddered. She already had the waxen look he associated with death.
Mr. Henshaw lifted Cathy’s arms over her head and lowered them again. Over and over.
Ben had forgotten to breathe until his lungs ached and he released the tension locking them. Someone had brought blankets and draped one over his shoulders and another over Abby’s. He tightened the blanket under her chin and pulled her into his arms. It would have taken an ox pulling on each arm to release his hold. Everyone would credit him with trying to get her warm.
Cathy coughed, the sound shattering the sorrowful silence.
Rachel laughed. “She’s breathing. She’s okay.”
Abby burst into tears. She leaned her head on Ben’s shoulder and sobbed as if her heart had split in two.
He held her tight. “She’s okay,” he murmured over and over.
She sniffed. “Where’s Donny?” Her voice shivered past her teeth.
“They’re looking for him now.”
She pushed away and attempted to get to her feet but her legs refused to hold her. “I must find him.” She tried standing again without success.
“Abby, you’re too weak. Let the others look.” He caught the edges of the blanket to pull her back to his arms.
She waved him aside. “He can’t die. He can’t. I won’t let him.”
She got her feet under her and staggered along the bank.
It would take only one misstep for her to fall into the river again. Ben rushed after her. He had no intention of letting her drown.
“Abby, stop. There’s nothing you can do.”
But she hurried on as fast as her weak legs would take her.
He followed after, his arms out to catch her if she fell.
Chapter Eleven
Abby’s insides had turned to ice and not solely from being in the river. Far worse was the fear that Donny had drowned. Was she to be responsible for the death of two twin brothers?
Over and over she shrieked a single word. No. No. No. If she could go back in time and stop Andy, she would. She’d trade her life for his if she could.
This time she had at least tried to save both twins, but she should never have left Donny. Should have dragged both children to shore. Never mind that she couldn’t manage to save one on her own.
Did she dream it or had Ben pulled her from the icy water?
Never mind. No time to think about that now. Must find Donny. He couldn’t die.
She staggered along the bank. The searchers were ahead of her now, milling around. Why weren’t they looking in the water instead of standing there?
The only reason for it shuddered through her. Her legs threatened to unravel beneath her.
Ben grabbed her hand and stopped her ragged flight. “Abby, look.”
An Indian on horseback. The first one she’d seen. Any other time she would have been curious and fascinated. Not now. “I have to find Donny. He can’t die.”
Ben wouldn’t let her pull away. “Look closer.”
He caught her chin and turned her attention to the stranger in their midst.
She blinked. The Indian held something in his arms. A body with blond hair. Donny? Had he—? Was he—? She tore from Ben and raced toward the mounted native.
Donny turned his head, saw her and flashed a bright smile.
He was alive. She laughed. Thank You, God. Thank You.
“Boy brave.” The mounted man handed Donny to her. Her legs melted beneath her and she sank to the ground holding him. Ben knelt beside her, his arms encircling them both.
“You’re safe. You’re safe. Thank God.” She murmured the words over and over, each one choking past her tear-clogged throat.
“And the Indian,” Donny said. “He was nice to me.”
Of course. She looked up at the man. “Thank you. Thank you.”
Mr. Weston rode up and spoke to the rescuer. He chuckled. “Our friend says Donny was hanging on to a piece of wood. Wasn’t about to let it go.”
Mr. and Mrs. Jensen raced up to them, Mrs. Jensen crying out her childr
en’s names. She scooped Cathy into her arms and her husband took Donny. They huddled together, sheltering the children between them and kissed and hugged them.
“Thank you. Thank you.” Mrs. Jensen sobbed.
Mr. Jensen held a hand out to the Indian and they shook then the mounted man reined about and rode away.
Amid much chatter, the crowd made its way upstream.
But Abby didn’t move. Her limbs were rubbery. More than that, she couldn’t think why she should leave the warming shelter of Ben’s arms. If only she could stay here. Belong here.
She shuddered.
“You’re cold.”
“No more so than you.” But their bodies created warmth in their shared coverings.
“We should return.” But he didn’t release her. Nor did she make any effort to get to her feet.
Just a little longer until her insides stopped quaking.
“I’m so glad Donny and Cathy are both safe.” Her voice broke at how close it had been.
“Thanks to you. From what Rachel said, it seems you were the only one who realized they needed help. I suppose everyone else thought the next person had reached out and grabbed them.”
“I’m so glad I could do something.”
“Abigail. Abigail.” Father rushed toward them.
Ben let her blanket fall to her shoulders and pushed to his feet. He held out a hand to pull her up.
She didn’t want to leave this moment. This connection with Ben. She wanted to pretend they belonged together. She closed her eyes as if she could shut out the truth. This moment had only been about saving the twins. It had to be enough to satisfy her.
If only she could silence the lonely wail of her heart she might believe it.
Father reached her side. “Are you okay? I heard you about drowned.” He pulled the blanket tighter under her chin and put an arm around her shoulders. “You’re freezing. We need to get you back so you can get into dry clothes.”
He held her close as he hurried her back to the camp. “Our wagon is already across.”
Emma and Rachel waved from the other side.
Ben grunted. “Ours is over safely, too.”
A wagon perched on the ferry. Clarence sat on the bench ready to take the Morrison wagon over.
“We’ll ride across, too,” Ben said, and jumped to the ferry.
Clarence spared them a defensive look as if to inform them he could handle this on his own.
Ben ignored him and held out his hand to assist Abby.
She clung to Father. The ferry looked small and insignificant. It hardly seemed enough to keep them afloat. She glanced over her shoulder. For the first time since they’d departed she considered going back.
Father must have understood her confusion. “Abigail, there is nothing for us back there. Our best hope is to get to Oregon. A new beginning, remember?” He gently urged her forward.
“‘The Lord is my shepherd. He leadeth me beside the still waters.’” The verse ran through Abby’s mind. But the waters were not still. They rushed and roared and sucked one downward. Oh, for some still, calm waters.
She faced the ferry but could not force her feet to step forward and commit herself to the insignificant bit of wood.
Ben leaned forward and took her hand. “I’ve got you.”
His hand steadied her. His words comforted and she took a step and then another until she stood at his side.
Father jumped aboard and again wrapped his arm about her shoulders.
The ferry moved away from the shore. It floated free, shifting with the current.
She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip until she tasted blood.
“You’re safe,” Ben murmured, his voice close to her ear.
That’s when she realized he pressed to her side and she gripped his hand hard enough to numb the fingers of a smaller hand.
The ferry bumped. She squealed.
“We’re safe on the other side.”
They had to wait for the wagon to offload before she scrambled to solid ground.
Emma and Rachel rushed to her holding blankets. Emma rubbed her wet hair. “You need to get into dry clothes,” she murmured, and led her to the Bingham wagon.
“I can manage,” she said when it appeared they would climb inside with her.
Mother perched on her high-backed chair. “What were you thinking?” Her harsh whispered words were like wooden bullets piercing Abby’s brain.
“I was thinking I didn’t want the twins to drown.” She pulled her dry clothes from her bag and turned her back to her mother to work her way out of the waterlogged outfit.
“Have you forgotten your duty to us? Your promise?”
If she ever did, her mother would certainly remind her. She had made a promise. Yes, she hoped she would be freed of it but until that happened...
In the meantime, she was more than aware of the command to honor her parents. “I’ve not forgotten, nor have I forgotten how it feels to lose a twin brother.”
“Drowning yourself in the river won’t bring Andy back.”
“I know that, Mother.”
“If only you had been as concerned about saving your brother as you were about saving strangers Andrew would still be with us.”
If only. If only. The words battered the inside of her heart.
Mother talked as Abby changed her clothes, pointing out the risks and dangers of the journey they’d undertaken. “A journey of death.”
Abby couldn’t listen to another word about dying and hurriedly buttoned the bodice of her dress. Despite Mother’s objections, she’d left her fine silks and satins behind and brought only practical, simple cotton frocks.
Mother had been quite dismissive of Abby’s choice. “Next you’ll be making your own gowns from sacks.”
Abby climbed from the wagon with Mother’s warnings following her.
Rachel pulled her toward the fire and urged her to sit down on a quilt she’d spread on the ground. She and Emma took the few remaining pins from her hair and brushed it before the warm flames. They talked softly and soothingly as they worked.
Abby had never had sisters to fuss over her. Her nurses hadn’t been unkind but their attention had never felt this way—warm, embracing. Again if onlys filled her thoughts. If only her mother had shown this kind of love. If only Abby had been able to prevent Andy’s death.
A silent moan ripped through her body. She hadn’t even tried to stop Andy. Rather, she’d encouraged him. She’d always been so proud of his boldness and quick wits.
She’d never be free of the past. Even if she could be free of the promise she’d given, she could not follow her heart.
At this fragile moment she wanted to have Ben hold her and protect her. But that wasn’t what she really wanted. She wanted independence, not belonging to another man.
Maybe he’s different, a tiny voice whispered inside her head.
Maybe he was, she argued back. And maybe he wasn’t. She could be friends with him but nothing more. Never again would she risk being owned by a man, subject to his moods and meanness.
Not that she’d been offered anything but his concern. The same concern he’d have shown to anyone else.
That, she assured herself, suited her just fine.
And if she shivered it was only because of the cold dunking she’d taken. Certainly not because her heart had turned to ice.
* * *
Ben had changed his clothes. He needed to return to the river and help ferry wagons over, but not until he made certain Abby was okay. Of course, Emma and Rachel could look after her, but until his mind was at ease he posed a distracted risk at the crossing.
Abby sat with her head bowed as his sisters tended her hair.
He’d never before seen her blond m
ane loose and falling down her back. Thick and luxuriant, it mirrored the sun’s rays. He curled his fingers against an urge to edge closer and run them through it.
Instead, he studied her posture. He’d like to believe she looked relaxed, but couldn’t convince himself it was so. Her shoulders slumped so much he wanted to hug her and comfort her. Everyone had overheard Mrs. Bingham’s comments. Like Abby had jokingly pointed out, there was little hope for privacy with only a canvas barrier. He wondered if Mrs. Bingham cared whether others heard her. In her opinion, they were of little note.
Why did she seem to blame Abby for her brother’s death? How unfair. Near as he could recall, Abby would have been about fourteen at the time. How could she possibly be held responsible even if she’d been the cause of an accident? Accidents happened no matter how careful a person was.
He took a step closer and halted. What could he do? He didn’t have the right to hold her. Nor to say the words he longed to say.
His sisters continued to fuss over her hair and talk to her.
Her head came up. The strain around her eyes eased, but the sunshine of her smile was absent.
He took another step. The least he could do was say something. Perhaps not the words welling up inside him, yet other words of comfort and encouragement might help.
At that moment, the entire Jensen family made their noisy way over.
The twins, now dry and back to normal, rushed to Abby. She opened her arms and welcomed them, kissing each on the top of the head.
“I’m so glad to see you’re okay.”
Mrs. Jensen handed the littlest baby to one of the bigger girls and knelt before Abby. She reached around the twins and enfolded all three into a hug.
“You saved my children. I will never forget it.” She drew back and wiped her eyes.
“It wasn’t me.”
“Mostly, it was,” Mrs. Jensen said.
Abby squeezed her hand. “I’m glad everyone is safe.”
Mr. Jensen reached for Abby’s other hand and pumped it up and down. “We’re so grateful.”
The older girls murmured their thanks, as well.
“Sit down and visit a spell,” Emma said as Rachel prepared tea. “Mr. Jensen?” she offered him a cupful.
