by Cameron Judd
“I’m sorry, Thias, but he says I have to. I don’t want to do it. You’re my friend. You were always good to me.”
Thias drew back. His horse shifted behind him as he backed up against its flank. Billy drew cut his belt axe. Thias gaped in amazement, then turned to remount. He was too slow. The back of his head seemed to explode in a burst of pain, and light flashed before his eyes. He heard himself grunt, felt the warm, bristly bulk of his horse as his face slid down its side. He crumpled to the ground. A terrible ringing filled his ears, so loud that French’s sobs sounded distant and muffled. He felt more than heard the pounding of Waller’s approaching feet.
He seemed to be falling into blackness. It engulfed him, and his last half-conscious thought was that he would almost surely never emerge from it again, never again see the light, never again hear another sound.
But within moments he did hear more, and did see light, though what he heard was a flux of noise and words, and the light was muted and sporadic, spilling in between eyelids that he couldn’t manage to completely open.
“… made me do it, Jack! You made me … didn’t want to hurt him …” French’s voice, shaking with sobs.
“… that saddlebag, that’s right … look at it, Billy! I knowed he had the money with him … all of it, take out all of it …”
Thias vainly tried to push himself into sensibility again. He was being robbed! Even in his stunned, pain-wracked condition the thought infuriated him. Robbed—of the money from the sale of the farm, money that represented everything the Tyler family had in the world. His money, Clardy’s money …
Thias tried to move. All he could achieve was a shudder and groan.
He heard more clearly now.
Waller: “He’s still alive, Billy. You didn’t hit him hard enough.”
French: “I didn’t want to do it, Jack. You shouldn’t have told me to.”
Waller: “Drag him into the woods there and kill him. Cover him over.”
French: “I won’t do it.”
Waller: “You don’t, then I will.”
God, please God, help me, don’t let them murder me! Thias tried again to regain full consciousness, but instead he only sank deeper into stupor. He heard more words exchanged, but could no longer make them out.
Hands grabbed him beneath the arms and pulled him up. He groaned as he felt himself being dragged along. God, help me open my eyes! Got to see … He felt something liquid and warm drop on his face. Blood?
He managed to open his eyes. Above him he saw the face of the weeping Billy French. It was French who had him, and tears, not blood, that dripped onto his face. He was being dragged into the woods, just as Waller had directed. Billy was again being obedient.
Thias’s body fell back heavily. He felt an icy wet cold against his neck and the back of his head. Billy had dragged him into the brush and dropped him in snow.
“I’m sorry, Thias. I’m mighty sorry. But he’s told me I got to do it.”
Thias tried to speak but only groaned.
“No, Thias, don’t wake up. I don’t want you to see me do it.”
“Billy …” Thias heard his own voice, a whisper. The snow he lay in was reviving him. He opened his eyes again. Billy was standing over him, belt axe in hand. “Billy … no.”
“He told me to, Thias. I got to do it.”
“You don’t have to … no, Billy. Please … don’t murder me.”
“Don’t call it murder, Thias. Don’t call it that. I’m just doing what he says, that’s all.”
Thias tried to sit up, but the pain in his head was too much for him. He sank back down. “It is murder, Billy. Don’t let that man … control you. Can … he see us here?”
“No.”
“Then … he won’t know … if you let me live.”
“I can’t let you live … he told me.… But I don’t want to kill you, Thias. I don’t.”
“Then … don’t. Help me, Billy. Help me, like you did … all those years back.”
“But if I don’t kill you, he’ll kill me. He said he would. I always got to do what he says, or he’ll kill me.”
“Leave him, Billy. Run … away.” Thias reached up and back and touched the painful place where French’s axe had struck him. He pulled his hand away and found blood thick on his fingers.
“He’ll kill me. He says so. And he’ll do it, Thias.”
Thias felt a mounting despair. He wasn’t going to be able to talk French out of murder. Whatever hold Jack Waller held over French, it was too strong for him to break. He pushed up again, fully intending to rise and run. It seemed impossible, but he had no choice; to remain where he was would be to die.
“Thias, don’t get up, don’t make me knock you down. I don’t want to do this, Thias, but if I don’t go ahead with it, he’ll come here, wondering why I ain’t come back yet.”
Thias’s head throbbed and his vision became a wavering field of dull colors. He reeled sideways and collapsed. His right cheek lay in the snow that had grown bloodied from his broken head. “Don’t kill me, Billy. Don’t kill me.” He passed out.
He opened his eyes again sometime later. He was still on the ground, lying in the snow. The blood on it had crusted and browned. He didn’t know how long he had been lying unconscious, but the light was different now and he was chilled clean through. His impression was that hours had gone by.
Billy French was gone. And he had left him alive.
Thias closed his eyes and wept silently.
Maybe an hour later he managed to rise. Only by clinging to a tree could he keep upright. His legs were numb and shaking, so weak beneath him that he wondered if his bones had turned to water. He was so disoriented that he could not remember in which direction he could find the road he had been dragged away from. He didn’t know how far French had dragged him. It couldn’t have been terribly far; he had worried aloud about Waller coming in from the road and finding Billy balking at his assigned task.
Waller … the thought of the man roused an intense fury and hatred. Had Thias been offered the opportunity and ability at that moment, he would have killed the man without hesitation. Waller was evil, a man who returned betrayal for help, a strong-minded dominator who had managed to gain control of a pitiful man with a weaker mind and soul and to manipulate him as a human tool of wickedness.
But the tool had rebelled, and now Thias had a chance to live.
An inn … there was an inn nearby! Thias had forgotten that. He had been riding toward that inn when Billy French called him down. If he could only reach the road, he could find that inn, find help.
Thias staggered over to another tree and leaned against it. He was terribly dizzy, and weak from loss of blood. He touched his head and felt a thick, scabby crust all down his neck. He was glad he couldn’t see himself right now. If he looked as bad as he felt, he would be a terrible sight indeed.
He advanced farther, rested again, then went on. Soon I’ll reach the road. I’ll make it to that inn, and live. The road will be close now, has to be.
It wasn’t. He went farther and farther, and did not reach it. He began to cry in frustration and fear. He must be going entirely in the wrong direction. What if he became lost? Night would fall, cold would descend, and maybe there would be more snow. He might die.
He stopped and rested a full five minutes, then turned in a new direction and advanced, praying that this time he would find the road. If only he could move more quickly! It was all he could do just to keep on his feet. There was no way to hurry.
Long minutes later he sensed he was making better progress. He was learning to work around his disorientation and weakness. Still, he didn’t know where the road was. He might even yet be going the wrong way.
He stopped, holding himself up against a tree, listening.
A voice, rather distant …
Thank you, God. Thank you. He moved forward again, seeking the place from where the voice came. Not only the road, but travelers! He had found help. He would live.
The voice was closer and louder now. It was a man, talking boisterously and laughing. Thias smiled, his heart racing. He knew now that everything was going to be well. He pushed forward, chuckling to himself in pure joy.
Other voices now … of course there would be others. No one would be traveling alone, talking and laughing that way. They were very close now, just beyond the hedge of laurel he was even now trying to break through. He heard hooves against the soft, snow-sodden roadway. He opened his mouth to shout … but he kept his silence and his smile faded.
One of those voices sounded familiar.
He sank to the ground, eyes widening, mouth clamping shut. Peering through the laurel, he saw the road just beyond, and the travelers advancing down it.
The laughing man was young, handsome, and a stranger. The two male riders on either side of him were not handsome, nor were they strangers.
It was the Harpe brothers. On the side closest to Thias was Wiley Harpe himself, and on the far side of the young stranger was a hulking, ugly man who could only be the other Harpe brother.
The three riders passed, followed by the women, also riding, their faces turned straight ahead and their pregnant bodies bulky and heavy in their saddles. Thias dared not even breathe until the entire entourage was past.
He remained where he was, amazed. He remembered that face in the forest and knew now it had not been imagined at all. The Harpes really were here.
At last Thias stood and walked out onto the road. He found a heavy branch, a bit on the crooked side, but strong enough to serve as a stabilizing walking stick. Keeping careful watch, he advanced in the fresh tracks of the Harpe horses, wondering what to do. He remembered that terrible encounter with Wiley Harpe in Knoxville. To encounter the Harpes here in the woods, unarmed, weakened, helpless, would be a bad thing.
At length he came into view of the same inn he had made for earlier in the day. He stopped, leaning on his stick. It was growing late and the sun was setting. He was beginning to grow very dizzy and weak. He needed help and shelter, and the inn ahead offered it.…
But at this moment the Harpes’ horses were being led around toward a stable in the rear. The Harpes themselves certainly were already inside.
He didn’t know whether to go on to the inn and risk being recognized by the Harpes, or to seek shelter in the forest for the night and go on to the inn the next morning, after the Harpes left—and if they left. He could not know how long they would remain there.
There was nothing to do but go on and take the risk. He might not survive a freezing night in the woods, as weak as he was. In the awful condition he was in, maybe Wiley Harpe wouldn’t recognize him.
He went forward, but his dizzyness made him stagger to the side. He tripped over his own feet and fell at the edge of the road. Pushing back up again, he tried to go forward, but fell again, this time more heavily, and backward. His already broken head struck hard against a boulder. Groaning, he rolled down a small slope into a bank of dead leaves and passed out.
CHAPTER 19
On the Mississippi River
She sat up, tensing as Jim Horton rose and came toward her. He seemed surprised to find her awake. It was night, and except for the firelight spilling over the flatboat’s hearth, dark inside the low, wide shelter that covered nearly the full deck. All the others were asleep; he had waited until they were.
“Don’t talk, Celinda,” he whispered when he was at her side. “Just listen. I know you think you’ve been right clever, think you’ve give the slip to old Junebug Horton. You ain’t, you ain’t. And you don’t want to, girl, not really. You don’t want to keep company with old Queen. Hear her snoring yonder? Sounds like a waterfall roar. You don’t want to hang about a smelly old harlot woman who’s never had a shilling to her name. I can give you more, Celinda. I don’t want to hurt you. I want only your good. You understand?”
She opened her mouth to answer. He instantly covered it with the rough palm of his hand. “Shhhh! You’re still a mute, remember? Still George Ames the mute. And a good thing, eh? You think you’d be left untouched an hour if the men on this boat knew the truth about you? You’ve hid it well so far, girl, but you won’t be able to do it forever. They’ll find you out, and after that you’ll be as used as old Queen before you know it. You don’t want that, Celinda. But that’s what will happen to you if you stay on this boat with that old cyprian. She can’t protect you, no matter what she says.”
She lay there, hating him, wishing she could spit in his face.
“I’m going to take you off this boat,” he whispered. “Me and you, we’ll leave this boat. Find ourselves another way to Natchez.”
She shook her head. He clamped his hand down harder on her mouth to make her stop. His next words, harshly whispered, had an edge sharper than a blade. “Don’t you refuse me, Celinda! You do, and it may be that your little secret comes out quicker than you think. That’s right, girl. You resist me, and I’ll reveal you, right before them all. Then I’ll turn you over to them to use as they want. They’d love to get their hands on a pert young wench like you! Don’t think I’m lying, Celinda. I’ll do it. I will. I’ll … uuunnghh!”
Celinda was as surprised as Horton to see a blade come flashing around from behind him to settle in tight against his throat. Queen’s broad face lowered to the level of Horton’s. She whispered through gritted teeth right into his ear. Celinda could have laughed in joy at the expression on Horton’s face.
“Touch dear Celinda again, and I’ll carve your head from your shoulders, Junebug,” Queen said with a deliberate feminine softness that only made the words more ominous.
“I’ll not touch her … please, Queen. Please.”
Queen held her place for another moment, just to drive in the point of her advantage, then backed off. Horton let go of Celinda and stood. He turned and faced Queen with an expression of hatred. “So you do know the truth about ‘George’ here!” he whispered. “I had guessed you would have figured it out if anybody would.”
“You figured right for once, Junebug. Now get away from here, and don’t you come near my girl again.”
“Why are you protecting her, Queen? What is she to you?”
“She’s what I was once and can’t be no more. Young and pure. Not yet fouled by such filth as you.”
Horton chucked low. “So old Queen’s found herself a purpose! Got her a scrawny little girl to keep pure and untouched! Well, I’ll tell you, you foul old harlot, it ain’t going to be. She’s mine. Mine! And I’ll have her for myself, whatever you say about it.”
“I don’t ‘say’ naught. My blade does. I cut throats. I’ll cut yourn.”
Horton stood there, gnawing his lip. His expression of anger slowly evolved into one of sad pleading. “Queen, it ain’t right to keep me from her. I … I love her. I truly do.”
“You don’t love her, Junebug. You ain’t never loved nobody but yourself.”
“I do!”
“Hush! You wake up the others and I’ll tell them I caught you stealing from their packs. Get back to your blankets, Junebug. Leave my little girl be.”
Horton moved off across the shelter and lay down on his blankets. Celinda sat up and looked around. It appeared that no one else on the boat had awakened—no real surprise, considering that a supply of whiskey had been purchased from another flatboat’s crew earlier in the day. The crew had fallen asleep drunk, with the boat moored against a tiny island in mid-river.
“I heard some of what he was saying to you. He’s right ’bout one thing,” Queen whispered to Celinda, so softly that Celinda could barely hear her. She figured Queen didn’t want Jim. Horton overhearing. “You’ll not make it all the way to Natchez without the truth about you being found out. It’s right astonishing it ain’t been found out yet.”
Celinda nodded. Worry about what would happen when her secret was out had been an eternal cloud over her head.
Queen scratched her double chin thoughtfully. “If Junebug is holding the truth ’bo
ut you as a threat, the thing to be done is cut his legs from under him. Tomorrow we’ll tell the truth ’bout you to everyone, and dare them to come through old Queen if they want to get at you.”
Celinda dared the faintest of whispers. “But what if you can’t stop them? Jim Horton said you couldn’t really protect me.”
“I can. Trust in me, girl. I’ll see that you’re safe. Better to reveal you right out than to have the truth come out by accident, and it’s bound to do that sooner or later. I’ll take care of you. And I’ll see, too, if I can’t get Junebug away from us once and for all.”
“How?”
“Lex Dunworth. He’s always hated Junebug. I believe if I ask him, he’ll put him off the boat.”
Celinda felt a thrill of excitement. “You truly believe he would?”
“We’ll see,” Queen replied. “Trust in me, girl. Whatever happens, no harm will come to you long as old Queen is at your side.”
Celinda did not sleep much for the rest of the night. She lay there thinking how fine it would be if she could simply flee the boat and make it to shore while the others slept. She had thought about it nightly since the voyage began.
The problem was, Jim Horton obviously had thought about it too, and kept himself awake at night to make sure she had no chance to flee. It was frustrating, downright infuriating. Horton napped during the day to compensate for his missed sleep at night. Today he had even foregone the whiskey while all the others were drinking, and Celinda knew it was because he didn’t want to grow drunk and inattentive when night came.
She had to admit, though, that even if Horton wasn’t such a determined sentinel, she might not have the courage to make her escape alone. To do so would be to lose the protection of Queen and her passage to Natchez. She didn’t know how far away Natchez was. All she knew was that she was somewhere on the Mississippi River. If she left the boat, she would be on her own, without means, without friends, guidance … protection. If only Queen would come with her! Celinda had asked her once, but she had refused. Queen was fat, slow-walking, and subject to pain in her joints. She had declared she couldn’t make a land journey as far as Natchez, which would probably be the only alternative if they left the flatboat. Further, by the code of river pirates, the only code Queen and her companions held sacred, for anyone to abandon the boat meant sacrifice of his or her portion of the money that would come when the stolen wares and boat were sold down the river. Queen could not afford to leave. Further, Queen counseled, Celinda should not make any attempt at a solo flight, even if she could find the chance for one. Queen seemed to truly believe that Celinda was safer with her, even among river pirates, than she would be in the wild river country alone.
