Hank screamed out again, trying to grab her arms. She wiggled free, falling off the cot and scrambling for the door, but she had not done quite enough damage to stop him, and he leaped off the bed and grabbed her away from the door, all the while cursing at her.
The Jasmine lurched again and they fell, Emma hitting her head on the dresser. She struggled against the awful dizziness, her head already screaming with pain from Luke’s blows. She felt Hank turning her over, felt her dress being pulled up and her bloomers ripped.
Suddenly the cabin door burst open. She felt wind and rain, felt another presence. Hank got up off her legs then. “Jesus Christ!” she heard him gasp. “River Joe!”
Chapter Seven
“You stay away from me, River Joe!”
Hank backed away, and Emma rolled to a sitting position, regaining her senses in time to see River Joe grab Hank Toole’s head with his bare hands and shove the man hard against a wall several times.
“Wait! Wait!” Hank was screaming, grasping at River Joe’s powerful arms fruitlessly. “River Joe, use your head! You’ll hang! You’ll hang!”
Emma watched in wide-eyed shock, her head swimming with pain and confusion; her heart swelled with joy that River had come, but at the same time she was horrified at his powerful violence. At the moment he seemed hardly aware of her presence, his eyes wild, his whole attention directed at Hank Toole.
“God damn you!” Hank screamed. “You’re killin’ me…you stupid bastard!”
Emma backed up against the dresser as River Joe jerked Hank around by the head and threw him toward the door. He had not said a word, but Hank was still screaming obscenities and warnings, gasping for breath then as River Joe stood watching him, fists still clenched.
“Look, I…paid good…money for her, River Joe!” Hank panted. “She belongs to Sam Gates! You’ll…be sorry for this!” He crawled toward the foot of the bed, where a pistol hung in a belt over the rail. Blood ran from his ear and face, where Emma had bitten and scratched him.
“She belongs to me!” River Joe answered in his low, commanding voice. “You had no right taking her against her will!”
“All right! All right! Take her!” Hank said. “Take her, and I won’t say nothin’. Just…take her…and get off my boat! Just don’t…kill me!”
“River, don’t kill him,” Emma pleaded. “They’ll…hang you!”
His eyes moved to Emma then, as though he was seeing her for the first time. She pulled self-consciously at the front of her dress, and her face was still bruised from Luke’s earlier blows. Her dress was torn in places, and one lip was swollen. Her nose bled slightly, and she could not control her tears of horror and pain.
“Don’t kill him.” She began to weep. “I…don’t want you to die, River.”
“You…you listen to her, River Joe,” Hank said, moving closer to the pistol. “She’s right, you know. They’ll hunt you down.”
There was a moment of indecision, while the Jasmine heaved and groaned in the wind, straining against its mooring ropes while the river raged at an all-time high, seemingly intent on sweeping the Jasmine away along with settlements, animals, and people.
River Joe was drawn to Emma, his heart torn at her condition and her tears. He had failed her. He had promised to come sooner. He looked over at Hank. “This is your lucky day,” he growled. “I will not kill you. But you deserve to die, Hank Toole! You cheated me, and you took this innocent girl against her will! A man who would buy a young girl like a hog is a coward! You are worth less than the lizards who crawl in the swamps!”
He turned and leaned over Emma. “Let’s get out of here.” He helped her up, and it was then she saw Hank go for the pistol.
“River!” she screamed.
Everything seemed to happen at the same time. River Joe pushed her, and she heard the pistol fire. Emma landed against the doorjamb, at the same time seeing River Joe whirl and stumble. His big knife came out of its sheath; and the thudding sound of the knife landing in Hank Toole’s chest seemed to come within a fraction of a second of the flash of Hank’s pistol.
Emma stared in horror as blood spurted from Hank’s chest for a brief second, then stopped flowing. Hank, his eyes bulging as he stared at River Joe, looked down at the knife, then fell backward in death, his eyes still staring.
River Joe stumbled over to the man, yanking out his knife and wiping it off on the man’s long underwear. He shoved it back into its sheath. It was only then that he and Emma both realized someone else stood in the doorway. River Joe’s eyes widened and he stood hesitant, looking toward the door.
Emma turned to see Hank’s slave watching. He wore an old soiled blue shirt and drooping cotton pants. His eyes were wide with terror, their whites standing out bright, lit by the lantern.
“I…I won’t say nothin’!” the man squeaked then, apparently thinking River Joe might use the knife on him, too.
River Joe moved toward him to explain, but the man turned and ran. River Joe ran out after him, and Emma heard a scream, then only the sound of the Jasmine groaning and shifting, its cargo beginning to crash to the deck, more supplies falling around in the hold below.
Rain and wind blew through the door, which banged back and forth against the wall. Emma stared at Hank’s dead body, feeling sick to her stomach. A moment later River Joe appeared in the doorway, then she felt him lifting her, drawing her into his arms.
“Agiya,” he whispered.
“River!” she wept, putting her arms around his neck. “Hank said…you were hanged…back at MacBain’s.”
“I got away. What did he do to you? Tell me he did not rape you!”
“No. You came…” She felt the warm wetness against her arm and leaned back, gasping at the sight of blood along the top of his left shoulder. “River, he shot you!”
“It is all right. It is just the flesh.”
She couldn’t stop the tears, hugging him tightly then, relishing the glorious comfort of being held in River Joe’s arms. He had come! He had come for her! Nothing else in the whole world mattered at the moment!
“Are you hurt bad?” he asked her.
“I…don’t even know. Luke…hit me…and then Hank knocked me down and…twice I hit my head. My head aches bad, River.”
“Where are your things? We must get off the Jasmine. She is breaking loose and will be carried downriver any moment. If we do not get off this thing we will be killed. With this much rain, a wall of water and mud could come down from the mountains and wipe out everything.”
“I don’t…have anything. They didn’t let me bring my clothes.”
“Come then. We have to get back to land. My horses are waiting.”
“River, the Negro slave! Jim! He saw you!”
“He slipped and fell into the river when I chased him. I tried to grab on to him, but he disappeared in the waters. He will drown. I am sorry for him.”
“But what if he doesn’t drown!”
“We cannot worry about that now. We must get to safety ourselves.”
He lowered her, keeping one strong arm around her. “You must be strong for a little while longer, Agiya. You must hang on to me while I carry you through the waters to land.”
She clung to his waist as he led her outside, where wind and rain lashed at her. It seemed that all heaven had opened up and she wondered if it would ever stop raining. The river roared beneath the groaning Jasmine. River Joe helped her to the edge of the deck, where a rope was stretched tightly, the only thing holding the Jasmine to a stump on shore.
“I hope this rope stays tied a little longer,” River Joe shouted. “If it lets go, we will be swept downriver! Hang on to me. I got on this way, I will get off this way!”
She clung to the railing, staring into the dark, swirling waters as River Joe climbed over the railing and grasped the rope. Emma held her breath as he jumped into the threatening, roaring river, disappearing for a moment into the darkness. She wondered how he would be able to hang on against the current, with
the bleeding shoulder wound surely hurting him.
“Come on, Emma!” he yelled through the rain and thunder. “Grab on to me around the neck!”
She didn’t want to disappoint him, wanted to show him how brave and strong she was. And there was so little time! She climbed over the railing but all her courage left her as her terror of the roaring waters overwhelmed her.
“I can’t!” she screamed.
“What did I tell you about being afraid!” he yelled back. “Esaugetuh Emissee is with you, Agiya. Climb onto my back! Hurry!”
“I’ll drown!” she screamed.
“Emma, I can’t hang on forever. You will drown for sure if you stay on that boat!”
He managed to rise slightly so that the rope was under his right armpit and he could wrap his right arm around it and hang on better. He reached up then with his left hand. “Trust me, Agiya! The Maker of Breath is with us. He helped me find you in time. He did not do that so that I could stand and watch you die! Now grab on!”
She stared at him another moment. This was River Joe. River Joe had come for her. He loved her. He had killed for her. She reached down, grabbing on to his powerful wrist and jumping into the water. She screamed as the current immediately pulled wildly at her, yanking her away from River Joe. River Joe hung on to her tiny wrist with a big, strong hand, and she felt her dress being literally torn the rest of the way off her body. She felt River Joe pulling, wondering where he got such amazing strength.
She herself fought then, turning against the current and helping him pull. She managed to get one leg hooked around his waist, then grabbed hold of his buckskin shirt and pulled more. It seemed an hour rather than minutes before she finally managed to get around to the front of him, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.
“Good girl!” he shouted. “Hang on to me, Emma! We will make it!”
Now he had hold of the rope with both hands. There was a loud crashing sound on the Jasmine, and then the sound of something cracking and groaning. The lanterns that hung in various places around the outside began flickering out, and the rope River Joe clung to began vibrating. He pulled steadily along it, saying nothing, while Emma clung to him in terror, wondering how in God’s name he managed to hang on, especially with his wounded shoulder. Something large floated past them, and then Emma felt something bump her, scraping her leg and going on. It was too dark to see what strange things were floating by, and she wondered if some of those things were dead bodies. She clung fiercely to River Joe, sure the river would tear them apart any moment.
They finally made it to shore, coughing and panting. They collapsed to the ground, where River Joe lay taking deep breaths to regain his strength.
There was a loud snapping sound then, and instantly River Joe threw himself on top of Emma. The ground shook a moment later as a huge tree came crashing down nearby. River Joe held her a moment, still panting, then drew her closer.
“Emma,” he said softly.
For a brief moment the storm seemed not to matter. He had come for her, just like he promised! He kissed her cheek, her eyes, pulling her close, realizing only then that her clothes had been torn away.
“My God, Emma! You will be sick!”
“I’m…all right…now that you came, River,” she said, her teeth chattering.
He sat up, removing his buckskin shirt, grimacing against the pain in his shoulder. “Here. It is wet, but it is better than nothing at all.”
Lightning flashed and he could see her fair skin, the full breasts he ached to taste again. But for now neither of them had any thought but to escape the river and the storm, to be dry and warm and somehow survive this awful night. “I know where we can go until the storm is over,” he said. “Put this on and come with me. My horses are not far away.”
“Joe, now you don’t have a shirt. Now you’ll be sick. And you’re wounded.”
“I have lived with the elements many years. Do not worry about me.” He slipped the shirt over her head and she put her arms through the sleeves. It was far too big for her, but having the buckskin around her to break the wind felt much better.
They heard a loud snap just as he helped her up, and there were more creaking and groaning sounds from the Jasmine. In the almost constant lightning they could both see that the riverboat had finally broken loose. It turned wildly then, and was torn downriver by the wild current. It disappeared quickly into the darkness, carried by the roaring waters, and they could hear crashing sounds as the Jasmine bashed against the trees and rocks, floating free and untended, slowly breaking into pieces until Emma and River Joe heard nothing then but the sound of the roaring waters.
Emma wondered what had happened to Hank Toole’s body, and if the Negro slave had really drowned.
“Can you walk?” River Joe was asking her.
Her head ached fiercely. “I…think so.”
He took her arm and led her through the dark, rainy forest. She had no idea where they were, how far downriver they were from Luke’s small farm. She whimpered in sorrow at the thought that maybe her mother’s grave would be washed away, and she realized that if not for River Joe she would be utterly terrified at this moment. But he seemed to know exactly where he was going. She stumbled and fell, and he helped her up again. Then she stepped on a jagged stump and cried out.
River Joe stopped, grasping her around the waist.
“River, I lost my shoes!”
He picked her up then. How he could carry her after all he had been through, she could not imagine. “River, I can walk. It’s all right.”
“No. It is too dangerous.”
Her head felt as though it was twice its normal size. She struggled to stay conscious, resting against his shoulder, wanting to cry with relief that he had come, that he really did love her. She was his woman. She was River Joe’s woman, and as soon as they were safe and dry and warm, they would make love again. He cared so much for her that he had risked his life for her, and risked a hanging. She tried not to think about what the consequences of this night could be. She didn’t dare think of anything right now but survival.
She heard him say something in the Cherokee tongue then and realized they had reached the horses. He set her on one, then climbed up behind her, holding her in one arm while he picked up the reins with the other hand. The rain came down even harder. She felt the horse turn, sensed that they were climbing. She had no idea where he was taking her and didn’t care. Her head lolled back against his chest and she thanked the Maker of Breath that they had gotten off the Jasmine safely, and that this man was so strong and sure.
She slipped in and out of consciousness, unaware of just how much time passed or in what direction they were going.
“There will be a bad flood,” she heard him say. “It will be many days before the Jasmine is found and anyone begins to figure out what might have happened to Hank, if his body is even found. And it will be even longer before people can organize themselves to come and find us. By then we will be well on our way higher into the mountains, and most whites do not like to come where we are going. Right now we have to worry about getting high enough not to be touched if the really big waters come! A wall of water and mud could come through and wipe out everything along the Hiwassee from the upper mountains all the way down the Tennessee River.”
Those were the last words she remembered hearing that night. The pain in her head was finally obliterated by blessed unconsciousness.
Farther downriver the Negro slave Jim clung desperately to a piece of wood, while he screamed to God to save him from the raging waters. In his thirty-two years of life, all spent in slavery, he had never known this kind of terror. He finally managed to grab on to a tree branch and pull himself up, wrapping his ankles around the branch so that he hung above the water. He inched his way along the branch to the tree trunk, then slowly lowered himself, relieved to realize he was finally on dry ground.
He ran then, higher, deeper into the woods, his mind whirling with what he s
hould do now. He belonged to Hank Toole. But Hank Toole was dead, and he had seen the big white Indian pull a knife out of Hank’s chest. The Indian had taken the white girl and run off with her, or maybe they had both drowned by now.
What would people think when they found him? Would they think he had killed his master himself and had raped and drowned the white girl? Maybe they wouldn’t believe his story about the big Indian. No one ever believed a Negro slave. They would think he had killed Hank in an effort to run away and be free.
His heart pounded with fear. What was he to do now? Where should he go? Should he tell what he had seen, or should he just say the flooding river destroyed the Jasmine and killed Hank Toole? Maybe he should try to get to Sam Gates in Knoxville. Master Sam might believe him. After all, it was Master Sam who had told Hank to buy the girl. Jim had heard the whole conversation.
Yes. Maybe his only hope was to get to Master Sam. But would he believe Jim’s story about the Indian taking the girl? Maybe even Master Sam would think Jim himself had killed Hank so he could rape the white girl. White men were always ready to believe things like that. How strange that they thought nothing of raping Indian girls and Negro girls, and sometimes even their own kind, and of buying and selling pretty, innocent girls like that Emma Simms. And yet if they thought Jim had touched her, they would torture and hang him.
He ran until his breath left him, then plunked down on an old log, putting his head in his hands and trying to decide what to do. Maybe if he headed north he would find help. Maybe God had brought the flood so that he could escape!
Yes! Surely this was a sign from God. But where was north? He was not at all positive where he was. He would have to wait till morning, wait till there was some sunshine so he could get his bearings. Surely with a flood this bad it would be a long time before anyone bothered to look for him. Besides, they probably thought he was drowned. He would never have a better opportunity to get away. And he secretly hoped the poor white girl Emma Simms would also escape, and never have to go to Sam Gates.
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