“It’s clear that living with you has changed her.”
“I’m glad to hear that, because she’s changed me in so many ways, Mrs. Sawyer.”
“Please call me Emma.”
“If you’ll call me Rachel.”
Emma pointed to the dry sink. “You can put your wet clothes there, and we’ll tend to Kitty Cat next. She and Sean were running up and down the stairs last time I saw them. At the rate they were going, they might already be dry.”
Rachel gathered up her soaked clothes and dropped them in the dry sink. She followed Emma out into the foyer. No child was in sight.
“Sean!” called Emma.
“Here.” He poked his head out of a parlor.
“Where’s Kitty Cat?”
He shrugged. “I thought she was out in the kitchen with you.”
“Sean, will you check if she’s upstairs with the girls?”
He ran up the steps, calling Kitty Cat’s name. Two excited little girl voices answered him, but Rachel did not recognize either of them. He rushed back almost throwing himself down the stairs. “She’s not up there.”
“Sean—”
He interrupted Emma by shouting over his shoulder, “I’ll look for her outside.”
“No, wait,” Rachel said. When Sean paused, she added, “She wouldn’t go out in her wet clothes unless she had a reason.”
“Would she go without you to see if the boat was all right?” asked Emma.
“Not without me.”
“Did she drop something on the way here that she’d want to make sure didn’t get burned?”
“Oh! Her doll!” Rachel clenched her hands. “She didn’t have her doll when we left The Ohio Star. She must be going back to get it.”
“She won’t get back aboard,” Emma said. “There are too many men down on the pier.”
Sean rubbed his hands together. “Don’t be so certain of that, Emma. Kitty Cat got her name because she could sneak in and out of any place like a cat.”
“I’m going to go look for her.” Rachel opened the door. “If she comes back here, please send for me down at the river.”
“Of course.” Emma put her arm around Sean’s shoulders. “We’ll keep looking for her around the village.”
Nodding, Rachel hurried down the steps and along the street. The odd fall of her skirt seemed more determined to tangle in her legs than either of the lengths she was accustomed to. She ran past the railroad station and fought not to tumble down the hill as she had before.
Hot smoke tried to choke her, and she waved it away. To no avail, for more wove in front of her. Reaching the bottom of the hill, she looked along the shore barely lit by the rising sun. No sign of the little girl.
More than a score of men stood on the pier. She looked for Wyatt. She did not see him, but Horace was walking toward the riverbank.
“Have you seen Kitty Cat?” Rachel cried as she rushed up to him.
Horace shook his head as he wiped smoke stains from his face. “I thought Sawyer told us that she went with you up to the village.”
“She did, but she’s vanished. She may be looking for her doll.”
“Doll?”
“She left it on The Ohio Star.”
“Wyatt!” he shouted.
Rachel pressed her hands over her heart as Wyatt pushed through the crowd. Like Horace, his face and clothes were covered with soot. Holes in his coat must have come from embers. Only now, when she saw him standing undaunted on the pier, did she realize how desperately she had feared for him.
Her feet were carrying her toward him before she could form another thought. Throwing her arms around his shoulders, she pressed her face to his chest. She closed her eyes, thankful for his steady heartbeat beneath her ear.
“You’re safe,” she whispered.
“What are you doing back here?” he asked as quietly. “I thought you and K. C. would have hightailed it back to River’s Haven by now.”
She stepped back, although she wanted to remain in his arms. “Kitty Cat has disappeared. I think she may have come back here to get her rag doll.”
Wyatt swore before saying, “Stay here. Don’t follow us and try to do something stupid.”
“But—”
He silenced her with his mouth on hers. Just now, he did not care who saw her with him. Although Sawyer had told him that he had fished Rachel and K. C. out of the river and seen them to his house behind the store, Wyatt had feared that one of them had been hurt.
He released her, not letting the fleeting glow in her eyes beguile him into pulling her to him again. Waving for Horace to follow him, he ran along the pier toward the boat. He wobbled on each step. Smoke and soot filled his lungs, and he was burned in more than a score of places. He ignored it all. They had to find K. C. before she found a hot spot and was hurt worse than he and Horace were.
The lower deck was intact except for where fire had dripped off the upper decks. It was still too hot above to check the extent of damage there. Water dripped down, and sizzles warned that the charred decks remained dangerously hot.
“Where did K. C. sleep?” he shouted to Horace as they pushed through the crowd that had come to help fight the fire. A volley of coughs burst from him. Shouting was not a good idea.
“In a rocking chair in the saloon.”
“That’s where she’s headed then.” He leaped aboard The Ohio Star, calling back, “Watch your step.”
Wyatt was immediately sucked again into the blistering maw of the smoke. Pulling the sleeve of his coat up over his mouth, he tried to run across the deck. The best he could manage was an awkward lope. He heard shouts as he emerged from the smoke. He did not need to listen to the others calling him to come back to the pier. He knew he was being a fool. He did not have a chance of escaping if the fire burst forth again, but he refused to admit that they could not find Kitty Cat.
Where was Horace? He could not see his partner in the smoke. He could not shout again. Not in the midst of this smoke that was already strangling him. Wiping his watering eyes, he hurried at the best pace he could along the deck. Something cracked above, and he threw himself toward the stern. Embers and charred debris fell behind him, smashing into ashes.
He cursed again when his foot slipped on something. He fell to the deck. The indisputable scent of grease came from a cloth that was lying on the boards. Picking it up, he stuffed it in his pocket as he took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he had to stop to catch his breath. More coughs tore out of him until he feared he would vomit up everything inside him.
The upper deck at this end was blackened with smoke and soaked, but the boards had not been scorched. He tested one, then another. They were secure.
He lurched along the deck to the saloon. Peering inside, he saw a shadow.
“K. C.!”
The little girl whirled. “Wyatt! Where’s Shirley?”
It took him a moment to realize that she meant her rag doll. Wiping his eyes again, he looked across the room. He saw something under the table. He knelt, grimacing at the burned skin on his knee, and pulled out the doll. Its dress had been singed in several places, but the doll’s face and hair were intact. He had been burned worse.
K. C. took the doll and hugged it tightly. “Thank you, Wyatt. This is my only baby until Rachel and I have a real baby.”
Wyatt grinned. A real baby? He tried to imagine Rachel growing round with his child, and he chuckled quietly. The thought pleased him more than he had guessed it would. Thinking of how proud Horace was of his scattered progeny, Wyatt knew he would be boastful of his own child. He had to talk to Rachel straightaway and get her to agree to the arrangement he wanted to offer her. Then he could come to visit her and their children whenever The Ohio Star passed this way.
“What’s so funny, Wyatt?” K. C. asked.
“You!” He tapped her nose, then scooped her up in his arms. He fought not to cough more. If he did, he might drop her. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Where’s Rachel?
”
“Worrying about you. You aren’t supposed to take off without letting her know where you’re going.” He walked out of the saloon.
The smoke was beginning to dissipate, and he could see more of the damage. The front railing on both upper decks was gone, and half the boards on this deck were missing or so scorched he guessed they would have to be replaced before he and Horace could walk across them. It was not as bad as he had feared.
“Oh, dear!” K. C. whispered.
“I agree.” He turned toward the stairs at the stern. Taking them far more slowly than he had come up, he watched for any debris that might trip him or fall on them.
When he reached the lowest deck, he looked for Horace. He saw his partner on the other side of the boat, gazing up at the bow.
“Got her!” Wyatt called. He began to cough and feared he would never stop. K. C. asked what was wrong, but he could not answer her.
Raising his head as far as he was able, he saw Horace gripping the railing and raising his clenched fist. Cheers came from shore, so Wyatt guessed Horace had devised some signal to let Rachel and everyone else know when K. C. had been found. Those cheers became warning shouts.
A sudden crack was as sharp as a gun firing. Horace swayed before falling with a section of railing into the river.
Wyatt put K. C. on the deck. “Run to the pier and find Rachel.” Not waiting to see if she did, he sped to where his partner had fallen overboard. He pressed his hand to his chest as if he could hold back the retching coughs. As he searched the water, he knew he could not be weak now.
Where was his partner?
Sixteen
Wyatt scanned the water, seeing nothing for an endless moment. He would not allow calls from the pier and pointing fingers to distract him.
His partner’s head bobbed to the surface. Horace was splashing his arms wildly.
“Keep kicking your feet!” Wyatt shouted before diving into the water.
On the pier, Rachel lifted Kitty Cat off the boat. She silenced the little girl’s cries that Horace had fallen into the water. She crossed her arms in front of Kitty Cat and the doll, holding them close. Men surged past them to get to the end of the pier where they could help Wyatt get Horace out of the water. She and Kitty Cat must stay out of the way and let them rescue Horace.
Her plan fell apart when she heard the men shouting to each other to help Horace and Wyatt. Holding Kitty Cat by the hand, she squeezed past the men, saying “Excuse me” each time she stepped on someone’s toes, until she could see where Mr. Sawyer and a very slight man were bent over the end of the pier, their arms outstretched. Someone caught her before she could rush up to them.
“Wait here, Miss Browning,” she heard.
Looking back, she saw Reverend Faulkner’s somber face. She nodded. The minister was right, but she wanted to help. Before she could say anything, the two men were dragged up onto the pier. Both were gasping like fish pulled from the river.
“They’re alive!” shouted the slender man.
More cheers sounded along the pier before the men began to drift back toward the village. The pumper was shoved ahead of them up the hill.
“Thank you,” Rachel said over and over as she went to where Horace had risen as far as his knees. Wyatt was still lying on the pier. “Thank you again, Mr. Sawyer.”
He tipped his hat to her. “I hope this is the last time you or the crew here will need our help.”
“I do, too.” She smiled at the thin man beside him before kneeling next to Wyatt and Horace. “How are you?”
“Alive,” Horace said, then coughed. He turned and threw up into the water.
“Barely,” added Wyatt. He lifted his head off the pier and looked at her, pain vivid on his face. He began to cough, deep, racking coughs that hurt just to listen to.
“Help him,” Horace ordered weakly. “I’ll be right as rain once I get all this river water out of my gut.”
Rachel slipped her arm around Wyatt’s waist. She struggled to get to her feet but she fell back to her knees. His uneven breath struck her cheek.
“Kitty Cat?” he struggled to say as they managed to stand.
“Safe.” She glanced back to see a wagon coming down the hill. “You will be, too, as soon as you’re tended to.”
“I’m fine now,” he argued weakly.
“Listen to her, Wyatt,” Horace snapped. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”
With Horace’s help, she aided Wyatt along the pier. She ignored his protests that he needed to check the boat. When Horace and Wyatt were in the back of the wagon, covered with blankets, she took the reins from a man she recognized as Mr. Anderson, who ran the livery. Mr. Sawyer and Sean were with him.
“I’ll bring the wagon and horse back as soon as I can,” Rachel said quietly. She did not want either Wyatt or Horace to hear and argue with her more.
“Doc Bamburger—”
“I’ll watch over them.”
“Out at River’s Haven?”
She nodded.
Mr. Sawyer said, “I figured you might say that.” He held out a small jar. “Doc Bamburger sent this. He wasn’t sure if you’d take it from him directly.”
“Thank him, please.” She lowered her eyes, embarrassed that River’s Haven’s ways had stood in the way of a kindness. “Thank everyone for us, please.”
He handed her the jar and slapped the side of the wagon. “Sean can go with you and drive the wagon back. He’s had plenty of practice with the store’s deliveries.”
“All right,” she replied. “Do you know the way back from River’s Haven, Sean?”
“Sure do.” The boy raised his chin with pride.
“We have room,” Mr. Sawyer said. “You don’t need to go all the way out there.”
Rachel kept her voice low. “Yes, I do, for many reasons. The most important is that Wyatt will be determined to get back to work right away if he’s within view of the boat.”
Mr. Anderson’s grizzled brows rose. “I guess you know what you’re doing.”
She gave him no answer as she lifted Kitty Cat up onto the seat, then climbed beside her while Sean scrambled up on the other side of Kitty Cat. It had been a long time since she had driven a wagon, but she doubted if she had forgotten how. With a quick command to the horse, she turned it to follow the river in the direction of River’s Haven.
Mr. Anderson’s words resonated through her head. I guess you know what you’re doing. She hoped she did.
Wyatt woke to pain. Every breath he took ached through his whole body. Fire flickered along his arms and across his chest and down his left leg. His left cheek felt as if every bit of skin had been scoured from it. When he began to cough, he wondered if he was dying. If so, he wished he would do so quickly and be rid of this pain.
Then the coughing eased.
He opened his eyes and frowned. Where in perdition’s name was he? The bed did not rock with the motion of The Rampart. No, he had left that boat and its useless crew who preferred drinking to making deals for cargo. He could remember him and Horace collecting their final pay—a paltry amount—and leaving to look for other work. There always was plenty for rivermen along the Ohio. It had been less than two hours later that they signed onto The Ohio Star. Captain Hancock had appeared to be an astute businessman … and he was, but he was no good piloting the boat or overseeing a crew, especially when drunk as he had been when he drove The Ohio Star up onto a sandbank.
Wyatt smiled. The captain’s bungling had been his and Horace’s opportunity to get a boat and find a crew who shared their like for hard work and big profits. They had brought the boat down the river to the first town with a railroad station.
Haven … and Rachel.
He looked around and, this time, recognized where he was when he saw the guitar against the wall. Rachel’s bedroom in her cottage at River’s Haven. He frowned. What was he doing here? Not that he minded being in her bedroom and apparently in her bed, but he did not want to be here without her.
Pushing himself up to a seated position, he hung his head as he fought to breathe. Every bit of air teased his throat to explode with more coughs. What had happened? He needed some answers. Now.
It took every bit of his flagging strength to swing his legs out from beneath the covers and put his feet on the floor. He breathed shallowly, concentrating on gaining enough stamina to stand. He could never remember being this weak, not even after joining Horace in a riverside tavern to toast—again and again—the birth of Horace’s most recent child.
He pressed his feet to the floor, gripping the headboard to stand. He shuffled toward the door, his hand on the wall to keep himself from tipping over. His knees refused to lock, so he could manage no more than this shuffling toward the door. He wondered where Rachel was.
As if he had spoken her name, he heard Rachel ask in a near whisper, “Are you awake?”
“Yes. Otherwise I’m walking in my sleep.” His voice sounded scratchy and crotchety. He dropped to a bench.
“No!” she cried as she rushed forward to put the cup she was carrying on the dresser beside him.
He scowled, and pain swept across his face. “You don’t want me sitting here? Rachel, I—”
Settling his arm over her shoulder, she guided him to his feet as she ordered, “You need to be in bed.”
When Wyatt did not respond to her provocative comment, Rachel knew he was hurting more than he wanted her to see. He leaned heavily on her as she steered him back to her bed. She stared at the mussed covers. How was she going to help him lie down?
“Just let me go,” he murmured close to her ear.
She did, and he sat heavily on the bed.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she handed him the cup she had brought in.
“It’s not your fault.” He downed the water in the cup. “What happened?”
Rachel took the cup and quickly began to explain about the fire. He waved her to silence as a grim expression settled on his face.
“You need to rest now,” she added.
“Where’s Horace?”
Moonlight on Water Page 19
