Chapter Sixteen
Blackening storm clouds clustered on the horizon after Belle left the Campbell’s place. Johnathan, snug in his Comanche cradleboard made by Laughing Maiden, jabbered a playful language all his own. He swung gently from the saddle horn of his mother’s mare.
Certain they could make it to the dugout before the storm hit, Belle felt a sense of foreboding. She looked again at the menacing sky, continuing to gauge the speed of the storm.
“Yes, we can make it home with time to spare, Johnathan,” she said, trying to convince herself that everything would be all right. Sensible and cautious enough to respect changing weather and the havoc and destruction Texas storms could produce, she couldn’t explain why she dreaded the ride. Perhaps woman’s intuition, something clutched at her heartstrings.
She stopped and turned in the saddle to wave goodbye to Margaret, who looked like a stick figure from so far away. Wanting to turn the mare around and start out again after the storm passed, Belle couldn’t because something stronger seduced her toward the dugout, pulling her as if she were an iron spike being drawn into the jaws of a powerful magnet.
Forcing a tremulous smile, she waved, turned around, and straightened in the saddle, giving the mare a nudge with her knees. She urged the mare from a slow walk to a gentle lope, offering plenty of time to beat the storm without wearing out the horse or making the ride too uncomfortable for her child.
The scene that greeted Belle when she topped the last ridge near the dugout took her breath away. Her premonition was indeed founded. Dread and impending doom had felt very real within her being, and now, they were exemplified before her naked eyes.
Her voice, lost somewhere in her straining windpipe, refused to utter a sound as she brought her sweating horse to a halt. Had she shrieked as she wished to, she would have startled her babe, now sleeping from his rhythmic journey.
She slid down from the mare, silent except for the creak of leather, thankful her breathing returned to normal and Johnathan remained asleep in his cradleboard. Walking forward while leading the mare, she surveyed the damage. Her home for the last year was in shambles.
Her few possessions had been broken and trampled, her hand-hewn furniture and quilting frame now nothing more than kindling. The heavy, wooden door to the dugout was nowhere in sight, though deep ruts in the soil looked as though the door had been dragged away. The dugout no longer existed. The walls of sod and red earth had been crushed in, then mixed in with the pathway in front of the dugout. Nothing remained except big clumps of dirt scattered everywhere.
Her heart missed a beat when she noticed that even the stone fireplace had been demolished. She couldn’t count how many times she had stood at that fireplace, cooking meals and warming herself in front of a blazing fire to ward off below-freezing temperatures in the raw Texas winter, more raw without a husband.
Michael built that fireplace with his bare hands.
She gave in to her emotions, letting the first tears slide down her wind-chapped cheeks. They left a salty taste as they trailed across her mouth, but she made no attempt to stem the flow or wipe the tears from her face.
After tethering the mare to a tree, she tried to sort through her few strewn belongings. There weren’t many. Quilts she made this winter and the bright packets of fabric were gone, the very things that had cheered her. Black dresses remained, ripped to shreds and ground into the red earth by hooves of unshod ponies. All other clothing, linens, and baby items were missing.
Iron cooking pans she worked so hard to accumulate and the iron kettle, in which she had made everything from soup and jam to lye soap chips, were all gone. The kettle had belonged to Michael. What couldn’t be carried away on horseback had been trampled.
The dugout, her home, had been utterly and completely destroyed, but not by a storm. It had been pilfered and crushed by persons unknown. She sat on the ground where her makeshift porch had once been, placed her tear-streaked face in trembling hands, and cried.
After a while, she knew not how long, she wailed, “Why, why? Why me? What did I do to deserve this?”
Johnathan’s cries finally overrode her own. At the same time, a light rain began to fall.
“Oh, my land.” She hurried to retrieve Johnathan, still snug in his cradleboard. She wiped cold raindrops from his head and kissed him several times to reassure him.
“I’m sorry, little one. I was so involved in my own pity, I neglected you.” She leaned over him, shielding his body with hers to protect him from the rain, now coming down in huge droplets.
She looked around for shelter. The dugout was such a disaster there wasn’t even a crevice they could crawl into.
Chapter Seventeen
Cold rain beat down on Belle’s back. Bending over to protect her child, she led her skittish mare away from the tree line. A vivid bolt of lightning flashed nearby, the dismal scene illuminated further in the blackened day. Thunder cracked a deafening roar, and she stooped lower while searching for cover. Strapped to a Comanche cradleboard, Johnathan faced his mother and clung to her chest. He screamed, frightened by the sudden noise. The mare bolted and ran, ripping the long reins from Belle’s hand.
“Damnation.” Belle ran after the mare, and in a few seconds, realized the absurdity of recapture. Her struggle for survival, escalated with the destruction of her home, laid waste her resolve to live in Texas. 1830 Hell she had named it, and she teetered on the verge of giving up on life itself. But with the responsibility for a child, that was no option.
Rain poured, like the sky had gashed open and pumped icy water out by the bucketful. Belle wanted a good cry but had to find shelter first. She hummed a lullaby to Johnathan because she didn’t trust herself to speak.
She ran to the wild berry thicket for temporary shelter, but its mass of water-drenched vines offered no relief. A monstrous tangle, the rain-slick tendrils snaked out like bony fingertips to snag her soggy skirt. She backed away from the spiny monster and raced toward the river. She and Johnathan almost lurched forward into the churning, muddy Red River when her feet sank into soft sand. Water reached half-way to her knees.
Unable to see high water through the downpour, she cursed herself but calmed enough not to struggle. She pulled one leg at a time from the red ooze and backed out of the undulating riverbed, her footwear lost forever in the quicksand.
Another flash of lightning defined the eerie, ruddy-colored world of swirling water, accompanied by driven rain from an angry sky. Out of the corner of her eye, Belle spied a rocky ledge. With one hand, she gripped the rain-slickened boulders along the riverbank, her other hand reserved to hold Johnathan to her chest.
Belle saw a narrow cave beyond her fingertips when they reached the ledge, the most welcome dark hole she had ever seen. She laid Johnathan back from the edge and heaved her drenched body up beside him while sandstone boulders scraped her knees. She peered inside in hopes no wild animals lived in the cave.
“I’m too tired to run. I’d just have to fight.”
Stooped in the waist-high cave, she tugged at the saturated dress that plastered her chilled torso. She stripped off her sodden chemise and wrung out puddles of water. On her knees, she crawled to the back of the cave and spread her garments to dry.
The baby cried as she liberated him from his cradleboard. She held him close even though he squealed in protest when his face came in contact with her frigid skin. He nuzzled her breast and found the cold nipple.
Sitting cross-legged in her damp haven, Belle nursed her firstborn child. Pain subsided as her body warmed. The storm intensified outside the cave with a display of brilliant explosions. She wondered how long it would last. It rained for a week once.
“No.” She shook her head. Immediate regret registered when wet ringlets of hair made icy contact with her bare skin. Her locks had grown to waist-length since her husband had died, murdered before he could build a real cabin in this isolated place.
“Too tired to worry about the storm,” she mumble
d and stretched out on the stone floor where she snuggled Johnathan, warm in the plush rabbit hides that lined his cradleboard. “Too tired to care.” She yielded to the welcome blackness of sleep.
When the gurgle of the river woke her the next morning, she squinted through a haze of dust particles that played behind nature’s gossamer curtain.
“No storm, no rain,” she said, hopeful they could find their way back to their devastated home. She put on her still damp, and oh so cold, chemise and dress, trembling when they touched her bare skin. Her teeth chattered. “They’ll dry on me when I get out in the sun.”
Careful not to disturb the baby, Belle crawled on all fours to sit outside on the sunbaked sandstone and let the sun warm her. She dangled her feet over the ledge but heard a tell-tale splash at the same moment her feet plunged into cold water. She sat there in stunned silence before she forced herself to look down at the water, swirling maliciously around her feet. Big pieces of foam floated by.
“We can’t stay here. The river will rise more.” She crawled to both edges of the rocky seat to search for a path back toward the riverbank, but her ledge had now become the bank. As the river flooded, it covered the entire bottomland, the berry thicket now totally immersed in murky red.
She stood on the ledge, faced the cave, and peered upward for a way to climb to the top. The sandstone bluff rose straight up, without handholds, and might as well have reached to eternity.
“The only way out is this damnable river.”
As the water crept up more inches, Belle finished her latest prayer for survival and grimaced when her stomach growled and twisted into a tight knot. She woke Johnathan.
“Sorry I can’t change your clothes to make you more comfortable, little one,” she cooed, “but I can make sure you don’t go hungry.” She opened her tattered dress when the baby turned his head to her full breast, his eyes still closed. As he nursed, gentle sucking movements scrunched up his face, and Belle thought how dependent he was on her to get them out of this mess.
“I don’t know what to do, little one,” she cried, her voice soft. Tears coursed down her cheeks. “Oh, Johnathan, my sweet babe, we have to believe my prayers will be answered. That’s all we’ve got.”
For several hours, they played on the sunny ledge as if at a picnic but, all the while, Belle scanned the river for a partially-submerged tree she could hang onto to keep the two of them afloat. She counted on a log jam or a sharp bend in the river further downstream to stop any makeshift raft and allow them to return to dry land.
Suddenly, she pointed upstream and squealed, “That’s it, Johnathan.” She didn’t know what she saw, but it was the biggest piece she had seen all day.
Water lapped the sides of their rocky ledge. They were almost out of time, so it didn’t matter what object floated downstream. Determined to go for it, Belle looked toward the heavens and yelled, “God, help me save my child.”
She adjusted Johnathan’s straps on his cradleboard and looped them over her neck and left arm so she wouldn’t choke when she swam with her precious cargo. “You should ride high and almost dry now. Not the way Comanche normally tote little ones, but all right for this special event.” She laughed, even in the midst of her inner turmoil.
But then, fright gained a foothold. Am I going to drown us both? Can I swim fast enough if I fail to hold on? When she shook her head to clear away the negative thoughts, her long tresses tickled the child. His carefree laughter gave her strength, and she needed every ounce of it. She could not turn back.
Crouched on flexed knees and ready to spring, she squinted at objects as they hurtled toward her. Two wooden barrels zipped by in the middle of the river, too far away to help.
Outside the fast current, a strange wooden form floated toward the cave’s ledge. The closer it came, it looked more like a part of a raft or ferry. Only a jagged corner remained, a portion of several wooden planks joined together with a piece of railing.
“It’s such a small chunk. Hope there’s more wood concealed underwater.” She jumped into the cold river. Frantic, she grabbed at the wooden planks but failed to make contact. She swam with rapid strokes alongside them and tried not to swamp poor Johnathan. When she felt she couldn’t swim another stroke, she reached for her prize.
Her breath ragged, she hooked two fingers and her right thumb around the piece of railing. Her fingernails dug into the sodden wood. She scrambled for a better hold with her left hand and hauled her spent body onto the tilted planks. Her hands trembled, but she hung on. With knees to chest, she used up every inch of the slippery planks.
Johnathan babbled, and Belle had to marvel at the infant’s spunk. When their added weight swept the unwieldy craft into the turbulent midstream of the glutted river, Belle hung on for a wild ride. They traveled on a corner piece of a ferry which dipped and rolled at an odd angle.
“But, thank God, it floats,” she screeched. That startled Johnathan who squirmed and wailed. She couldn’t turn loose of either handhold, or they would slip off. In desperation, she sang to him. It amazed her that he could hear her over the roar. He babbled again, content with his swift ride.
Uprooted trees and other debris collided with Belle’s makeshift raft and knocked her crouched legs out from under her to violently scrape her body off the slippery planks. She hung on by hands with severe cramps and tried not to panic when swept into the swiftest part of the current where cold, murky waters raged down the swollen watercourse. Uncontrollable forces pulled her to the very core of the powerful river. With fatigued legs, she swam fast enough to keep her hands on the railing. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold on.
Although her hands were numb, she maintained her grip. Her legs no longer aided her in the fight for survival so grim determination to save Johnathan and her own will to live would have to suffice. She had no other forces to muster.
Whirlpools of frothy sienna liquid dragged her deeper into the river’s core. She could no longer hear Johnathan over the roar. Before muddy water swamped her face, she looked downstream where mangled timber and other debris partially blocked the river’s bend.
Oh, no! We’re going to crash into it.
Chapter Eighteen
Samuel and his trapping partner had worked since dawn, walking out on the log jam and freeing animals from the russet-colored waters of Red River. Lunging into the flood, Samuel rescued three frightened deer, six white-faced calves, and two cows. He carried the calves to higher ground and taxed his massive muscles to the limit. He began to tire, and his partner looked weary after freeing smaller animals that swam or floated within his reach.
“Looks like we got all the calves that made it this far, Benjamin,” Samuel shouted at his companion over the roar of rushing water.
“Must have been on that ferryboat we seen planks of,” Benjamin shouted back, cupping his hands around his mouth to direct his voice toward Samuel. “I never seen this breed of cattle before.”
The wind whipped cold, sienna spray against the men’s clothing, now clinging to them like a wrinkled, second skin. Large pieces of frothy foam continued to rush down the river, a sure sign that boded more flooding. The swollen river, now spilling out of its banks and flooding fertile bottomlands, continued to rise. It reached out on both sides like chubby fingers, pulling more earth under its wet palm before extending its fingers again to devour more feet of sand. Dry land disappeared in a swirling mass of red liquid.
The trappers looked at one another and shook their heads in dismay.
Benjamin cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Let’s go to higher ground.”
Samuel nodded and began threading his way over a pile of uprooted trees and debris, searching for strong logs firmly locked into the jam to support his bulky frame. He paused long enough to take one last look upstream and frowned.
“Hey, Benjamin, here comes another piece of that ferry!” He pointed upstream.
Benjamin looked, then nodded and walked away.
Samuel st
ood motionless, watching broken pieces of lumber approach. Thick plank flooring had been ripped apart by the force of the wild river which tossed things about like feathers, breaking everything up again and again into small, ragged pieces.
When the broken structure came closer, Samuel spotted a cradle board, the top of it sticking high above the raging water. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted at Benjamin, “Come help me! Somebody’s hangin’ on to that scrap. I see a papoose.”
Benjamin scurried to where Samuel stood. They gathered up their long poles again to push debris away to maneuver the remnants of the ferryboat to their portion of the log jam. After a few minutes, they captured their quarry and pulled it to the river’s edge, wedging it into the outer corner of the jam.
“Well, I’ll be,” Samuel said and chuckled. “I thought sure it’d be a squaw when I saw the papoose board.”
Benjamin whistled through his few teeth when he saw long, reddish hair matted around a woman’s light-skinned face.
Samuel spoke, his tone soft. “Ma’am, you can let go now. We’ve got you.”
But Belle’s hands remained locked around the railing in a death-like vise.
“She can’t hear me, Benjamin.” They pried the young woman’s hands loose from the railing and released her arm and neck from the strap of the cradle board. Rope-like burns marred her skin.
Samuel talked to the babe, comforting him with his deep, resonant voice. With a gentle hand, he pinched the babe’s pudgy cheeks until Johnathan smiled and babbled back at the big man. Samuel handed him to Benjamin.
When Samuel couldn’t get a response from Belle, he leaned down, placing his ear on her chest. Plugging his other ear, he strained to hear a heartbeat and breathed a sigh of relief when he heard hers, faint but beating. He lifted her up and bent her body forward over his arm for her to expel water. She didn’t seem to have swallowed much of the swirling liquid and hung over his huge arm like a child’s favorite rag doll. He shifted Belle’s listless form to clasp her in his arms, her head resting on his heavily-muscled shoulder, and carried her to higher ground. Saturated clothes left little to the men’s imaginations. Belle’s shapely legs, completely exposed, glistened with river droplets.
River Bend Page 10
