Betsy stared at him. He was embarrassed. She’d tried so many ways to embarrass him that hadn’t worked, and then out of the blue, she’d done it. It didn’t feel as good as she had thought it would. An eye for an eye—that was her purpose: to humiliate him the way he’d humiliated her. But this vengeance didn’t sit well with her. Turning the other cheek was much more her philosophy. Why hadn’t she seen that before?
She turned and walked purposefully into the stable, leading the mare.
“I have a horse to board,” she said to the man, who was walking toward her. “Dr. Thomas Miller is the owner, and her name is Silverstreak. I’ll be exercising her most days. What’s the charge?”
He named an amount, and she paid him a week’s board.
She led Silverstreak into the stall the man pointed out and promised the horse she’d return later that day to ride her.
“When you come back, I’ll tell you the best roads to take,” the man offered.
“Thank you,” she said. He had been quite nice. Maybe Marley was right, and she needed to give others a chance instead of being too shy to speak.
By the time Betsy and George arrived at the river, Father, Uncle Paul, and Marley were unloading the boat and putting the crates on a flatbed wagon.
“We’re headed to the river warehouse,” Father said and motioned to a nearby building. “Not far to move our things, and from the looks of the clouds, we’d better hurry.”
Betsy glanced up and watched dark clouds soar across the sky. There was strong wind up high, but on the ground the wind wasn’t nearly as fierce.
The rain held off until nightfall, and by that time all the Millers’ and Lankfords’ belongings were safe and dry in the warehouse. Father, Uncle Paul, and Marley had found a place to anchor the flatboat so that it could be torn apart for the lumber to start on the houses.
“First we’ll build ours,” Father said when the two families gathered around the dinner table at the inn. “Then we’ll all live there until we can get Paul’s up. We’ll find a suitable place tomorrow.”
“And I’ll be finding a keelboat that wants another hand,” Marley said.
Betsy gasped, surprised that he was leaving. Yet she’d known that he was hired to take them downstream. Now his job was over, and he’d want to get back to his home base. But he’d become part of her family.
“When will you be going?” she asked.
“Not for a few days anyway,” he said. “I need to get some land legs, and I’ll help take the boat apart.”
CHAPTER 14
Rising Waters
In steady rain the next morning, the men walked the streets of Cincinnati to find a good location for the Millers’ house, then they checked at the land office.
“We’ve found the right place,” Father reported at noon. “We’ll be living on Sycamore Street. There’s a vacant area right on the corner. We can have the entry to our house on one street and the entry to my surgery on the other.”
“What about our house?” George asked. “We’ll get to that after we build the first one,” Uncle Paul said.
The rain continued in the afternoon. Betsy’s hat and cloak didn’t keep her dry as she hurried up the street toward Potter’s stable. She wasn’t going to ride Silverstreak in this downpour, but she could groom the mare and let her know that she hadn’t been deserted. For once George hadn’t tagged along. He’d stayed to play with Jefferson on the covered back porch on the inn.
Betsy darted under the porch roofs of the mercantiles as she made her way down the street. The rain pounded down and seemed to gain in intensity. When would it stop?
She didn’t stay long at the stable but talked with Mr. Potter and learned more about the town. She asked about the library, and he told her where it was located. He didn’t know the times it was open, but she vowed to find out. She had allowed her books to be stored in the warehouse in the trunk, so there would be one less thing to step around in their small room at the inn, and anyway she’d be able to read other books at the library soon. She’d only retrieved her Bible and writing materials out of the trunk before it was taken to the warehouse.
The rain seemed to have let up when Betsy left the stable and ran from covered porch to covered porch through the shower back to the inn, but soon another storm moved through, dropping buckets of water on the soggy town.
By the next day, Betsy was sick of rain. Was this typical of Cincinnati’s weather? Would her new home mean living in constant rain? She sat downstairs in the parlor of the inn and stared out the window. For the moment the rain had turned to drizzle, and ten minutes later she saw sunshine for the first time in days. The street was one continuous mud puddle. The only solid ground—and it was mushy—was in the yards beside the houses where spring grass grew. Even with the rain over, it would take some time for the ground to dry out.
Just then Marley clomped up the side steps to the inn and barged inside. “River’s rising,” he announced. “We’re watching it, but it could come out of its banks before evening.”
“But it stopped raining,” Betsy said. “Surely it won’t go any higher.”
“It’s still raining upstream,” Marley said, “and that water will flow this way. According to the rain barrel next to the warehouse, we’ve had over fifteen inches of rain. That’s a lot of water. Where’s your father?”
“Upstairs. I’ll fetch him.”
Betsy returned with her father and Uncle Paul and listened to the men talk.
“That warehouse is too close to the river. It could go under. Anything in there that needs moving?” Marley asked.
“My books,” Betsy said. “Oh, Father, I left my books in the trunk.”
“We’d better move things to higher ground,” Father said, “just in case. Let’s check around.”
Father, Uncle Paul, and Marley left the inn, and Betsy watched until they disappeared from sight. They didn’t walk down the muddy street but stepped gingerly from yard to yard.
An hour later by the grandfather clock in the parlor, they returned and stood on the front porch.
“Betsy, we’re going to need everyone’s help to get our movings out of the warehouse. Mr. Potter says we can store things in the stable for the time being. He has a couple of empty stalls. But we can’t get a wagon down this muddy street. Get the others.” He motioned to his mud-covered feet. “I shouldn’t go inside. And tell your mother to wear my old pair of boots.”
Betsy quickly climbed the stairs and called to the women. George and Jefferson ran to the front porch from the back porch of the inn. Soon they all traipsed to the river warehouse, single file, finding the most solid footing they could.
“Oh, my,” Mother exclaimed as they looked at the Ohio River.
“It’s coming up a foot an hour,” Marley said, after conferring with some bargemen who had tied up at the public landing.
Jefferson barked, and George trudged into the muddy street to pick up his dog. Jefferson had sunk to his stomach in the mire.
George placed the dog on the flatbed wagon that was stored beside the river warehouse.
“Stay,” he said. “I’ll get you on the next trip.”
It was eight long blocks that sloped upward to Potter’s stable, and Betsy made sure she and Mother carried the trunk that held her books. In some places they couldn’t avoid the mud. Her shoes were caked with it, making each step harder. For once she was glad she was wearing her too-short traveling dress that Jefferson had chewed on. It kept the hem from getting so muddy and weighing her down.
They formed an odd parade walking to the stable. Father and Uncle Paul carried two crates between them, balancing one on top of the other. Aunt Eleanor and George carried a trunk, and Marley carried one by himself.
Mr. Potter directed Betsy and Mother to the stall where they deposited the trunk with the books.
“Let’s hope the next trunk isn’t as heavy,” Mother said.
“Silverstreak can help,” Betsy said. “That way I can carry the smaller crates on hor
seback.” She saddled the mare and guided her the long, but less muddy, way to the warehouse. Still the horse’s hooves were plastered with mud.
Marley handed Betsy two valises. She hooked one over the saddle horn and propped the other in front of her. From his perch on the flatbed wagon, Jefferson barked at the horse as Betsy maneuvered her toward more solid ground.
“Stay.” Betsy repeated the order George had given earlier and was amazed that the dog obeyed. Getting stuck in the mud must have made a great impression on him. She glanced at the river. It had taken much less than an hour to get the first load to the stable, yet the water was more than a foot higher than the last time she’d she seen it.
Betsy took her load to the stable and returned again.
Other men were at the river warehouse now, carrying stored goods to higher ground. They worked quickly and with little talk.
This time Father helped Betsy load a heavier crate. She secured it with a rope around the saddle horn and balanced it in front of her.
“Just take it as far as the porch at the inn, then return,” Father said, an urgency in his voice.
Betsy urged Silverstreak forward. She passed Mother and Aunt Eleanor carrying the headboard of Grandmother’s bed between them. George struggled up the porch steps with a large basket, and then he headed back while Betsy deposited her load.
By her fifth load to the porch, the river roared only inches below its banks. As George helped Betsy stack her crate on the porch, someone on the street cried, “She’s out of her banks!”
That was impossible. How could it rise so fast?
George dropped his end of the crate and yelled, “Jefferson!” He turned and ran toward the river, his shoes throwing mud behind him.
Betsy climbed on the mare and followed him. She pulled up Silverstreak when she saw the river. How had this happened so fast?
Water gushed around the wheels of the flatbed wagon where Jefferson sat howling. George dashed into the waist-high water, which knocked him off his feet and carried him downstream a good ten yards before he regained his footing and waded out of the floodwater. Looking like a drowned rat, he ran to Betsy.
“Help me get Jefferson!” he pleaded. “You’re tall, so the water won’t be so high on you.”
Betsy glanced around. Where were her parents? Too far down the street to help now. She urged Silverstreak through the water, but the mare shied and reared. Quickly she dismounted and tied one end of the rope that she’d used to secure the crates around her waist and the other to the saddle horn.
“You’re going to have to mount Silverstreak,” she told George.
“I can’t,” he said.
“You have to. Jefferson’s depending on you.”
George took a deep breath, put his foot high in the stirrup, and swung into the saddle.
“Now pull on the reins if I need you to back her up and pull me out of the water,” Betsy ordered. She stepped into the raging floodwaters and felt the rush of the water against her legs. With great determination she took one step after another until she reached the wagon.
She climbed up on the wheel and reached for Jefferson. The dog backed away from her.
“Tell your dog to come here,” she called to George.
“Betsy!” Father yelled from a block away.
“Jefferson, go to Betsy,” George shouted.
The dog inched toward her. When he was in reach, she grabbed for the muddy creature and cradled him in her arms. Now to get down from her precarious perch on the wagon wheel. She felt the wagon lurch under her feet, and with a quick prayer for courage, she plunged into the water.
This time she went under, and in the brief moment that she was submerged, she relived her earlier nightmare of being in the murky Ohio. She fought her way to a standing position and made sure Jefferson’s head was out of the water. A glance at the edge of the floodwater assured her that George still sat in the saddle. Father stood behind Silverstreak. Mother and Aunt Eleanor stood at a distance, their eyes opened in horror.
“Hurry, Betsy,” Mother called. Betsy stepped staunchly away from the wagon and into the torrent. She immediately lost her footing and went under again. The rope pulled at her waist, and quickly she was back on top of the churning water. She moved toward the edge of the water, half swimming, half walking.
Step by step Silverstreak moved back, keeping the rope taut between them. Jefferson didn’t move in her arms. She glanced down and saw his eyes frozen in fear. They probably matched her own. Six more steps, five, four. Each step became easier as the water became shallower. Three, two, one. She stepped out of the water and into mud.
She shivered as George climbed down from Silverstreak and grabbed Jefferson. Father hugged Betsy and led her away from the rushing water that was now encroaching on the area where they stood. The dog barked and licked George’s face. Silverstreak whinnied, and Betsy leaned on her as they moved farther up the street, out of the water’s reach.
“Let’s get you to the inn,” Mother said. “Whatever possessed you to go out into that torrent?”
“I had to. Jefferson was trapped,” Betsy said through chattering teeth.
“Look!” George cried. She turned and watched as the floodwaters washed over the wagon and carried it downstream. She shook, not from the wet and cold, but from fear.
Father supported her on one side and Mother on the other as they made their way to the inn.
“Silverstreak?” Betsy asked.
“Your uncle Paul’s taking her to the stable,” Father said. “Our movings?” she asked.
“All safely out of the warehouse,” Mother said. Aunt Eleanor hustled George and Jefferson along the street beside them.
Two hours later Betsy was warm and dry again. She sat with George and Jefferson on the front porch of the inn. Their parents and Marley had moved the rest of their belongings from the porch to Potter’s stable. The sun was still shining, the rain was over, but floodwaters continued to rise. The adults were helping other townspeople move their belongings to higher ground.
“Marley said the river should crest sometime in the night,” George told her. “But it won’t get up here.”
“That’s good.”
“Betsy, thanks for saving Jefferson. I don’t know what I’d do without my dog. It’s a good thing you’re so tall, so you could go in after him.”
Betsy stared at the house across the street for a full minute then turned to George. “If you think it’s a good thing I’m tall, why do you always tease me about my height? ‘How’s the weather up there?’” she mimicked.
“No reason. Something to say, I guess. Get a rise out of you.”
“Don’t do it anymore.”
“All right, if it bothers you,” he said.
“That’s it? You won’t do it anymore?”
“No. You’re so quiet, Betsy. You should have told me before that it bothered you. It bothered me that you asked if I was afraid of horses in front of those boys at the stable.”
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, and I felt terrible afterward. I think we should treat each other the way we want to be treated.”
“You mean like the Golden Rule says?” George asked.
“Exactly. George, why are you afraid of horses?”
“They’re so big.” He looked at the floor of the porch instead of at her. “I rode Jacob Baker’s horse back in Boston, and it threw me off. I’ve never been back on one until today.”
“Silverstreak’s big, but she didn’t throw you,” Betsy said. “Sometimes you have to face your fears. If you want, I’ll teach you to ride. Then you won’t be afraid anymore.”
“Thanks, Betsy. I’d like that,” George said.
“I’m going inside,” Betsy said. She left Jefferson and George and climbed the stairs to the Millers’ room. With quill pen in hand, she sat at a small table and reflected on her conversation with George. Then she began her letter to her friend in Boston:
Dear Mary,
We are home. Our eventful journ
ey has left its mark on me. I’m not as shy as I was. And George and I have declared a truce. We may even befriends.
Grace and the
Bully
Norma Jean Lutz
A NOTE TO READERS
While the Ramsey and Morgan families are fictional, the troubles faced by people living in Cincinnati during 1819 are all too true. Now known as a Midwestern city, Cincinnati in the early nineteenth century was part of America’s western frontier. During the time of this story, Cincinnati’s lifeblood, the Ohio River, was so low that boats couldn’t travel on it. Many people lost their jobs, and many families went hungry.
At that time, states printed their own money. The value of the money varied from day to day, and when there were financial problems, the money often became worthless. This confusing situation caused many problems that took more than a hundred years to straighten out.
Because there weren’t radios or televisions, musical instruments were very important forms of entertainment for families in the 1800s. Having a piano or parlor organ in the home became common, and by the end of the century, most girls were expected to know how to play the piano at least a little.
To Gene and Barbara Yeager
The two of you are the epitome of the fruit of the Spirit gentleness.
I cherish your friendship.
CONTENTS
1. Trouble at School
2. The Fight
3. The Piano Order
4. News from the Landing
5. Yost’s Mercantile
6. Last Day of School
7. Drew’s Challenge
8. Surprise in the Country
9. Drew’s Gifts
10. Annabelle’s Accident
11. The Storm
12. Sadie Rose
13. A Visit with Amy
14. A Summer Feast
15. Piano Lessons
16. Helping with the Rent
17. Grace Takes Action
18. “Steamboat’s A-Comin’!”
CHAPTER 1
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