Passing close to the bluff that overlooked the river, Ruth glanced down at the water. The River’s Pride, the once wonderful keel boat that brought them north, lay on the bank, stranded like a fish. It’d take a team of oxen to get it back in the water. She waved at the captain, glad to see he appeared unharmed, and flicked the reins to encourage her horse to move faster.
Hoof beats pounded on the road behind her. She paused and turned. John galloped to her side, then reined in his horse.
“Where are you going?” The low brim of his hat did nothing to hide his scowl.
“To check on the people in the bottom land. Nobody else seemed concerned. They might need help.” She kicked her heels into the horse’s flanks.
John pulled alongside her. “I planned on getting the men together and going this afternoon. That area isn’t safe. The people stick to themselves and help each other. Most of them are as likely to shoot you, as look at you.”
“You’re the sheriff.” She glanced at the pistols on his belt. “Are they residents of Painted Bluff or not?”
“They are, but they still don’t welcome outsiders.” He reached for her horse’s bridle. “Stop.”
“No. I’m sorry, but I need to do this.” She urged the horse forward.
“Did you even think to bring your gun?”
“No.” She kicked her horse into a trot. “If you’re afraid, go back.”
“Afraid?” He sputtered. “You know that’s not it.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know any such thing, sheriff.”
“Woman, you do beat all. You’d try the patience of a saint.” He shoved his hat back. “If you insist on going, then I am too.”
“Suit yourself.” Secretly, she was glad of his company. Running off half-cocked might be a fool’s errand, but this wouldn’t be the first time she’d gone on one. She might be impulsive at times, but Ruth Stallings was nobody’s fool.
She cut John a sideways glance. His lips were set in a firm line. His neck flushed crimson and a muscle ticked in his jaw. She shouldn’t be so stubborn and cause the poor man such a headache. Embarrassment from her previous fit seemed to control her actions. Forging ahead to help those who might need her, seemed a way to gain back some of her self-respect.
“I’m sorry to cause you trouble, Sheriff.”
He cut her a glance from the corner of his eye.
“I guess you figured we’d be a problem from the moment we set foot in your town. Doesn’t appear as if you were proven to be wrong.”
His shoulders straightened.
“And now, you aren’t speaking to me.” Ruth’s face burned. “Well, that’s fine with me. Go ahead and sulk like a child.”
“I am not sulking, and you’re not a problem.”
“Then what’s got a burr under your saddle?” She reined her horse to a stop.
“I promised the people you’re so insistent to help, that I’d stay out of their lives, as long as they didn’t break the law. You’re causing me to back out on my word.” He turned in the saddle. “Ruth, we’re talking about former slaves and sharecroppers. They deserve their privacy.”
“They also deserve help when needed. All we’ll do is check on them, offer help if they want it, and leave them alone if they don’t.”
John sighed. “Okay.”
Ruth skirted around a fallen tree. Her horse’s hind hooves slid on some loose gravel as the trail made a steep decline, and her heart leaped into her throat. The farther they went, the easier it was to see why most traveled by river. Other than the sound of the horse’s hooves on the packed dirt and loose rocks, they continued down the mountain in silence.
“Clouds are building again,” John said when they reached the bottom. “We might get caught in a storm. It wouldn’t be good to be caught in the bottom lands during a heavy rain shower.”
Ruth glanced overhead. Sure enough, the gray clouds continued to build against a slate sky, and a breeze whipped the tree branches. She didn’t relish the woods during a lightening storm. Or trying to make it back up the mountain if the trail was muddy. “You won’t melt.”
He laughed. “You won’t either, not being made of sugar.”
A giggle escaped her, despite her attempt to stifle it. “Salt dissolves just as quick.” What was it about Sheriff John Powell? He could get her dander up one minute, then make her want to laugh like a schoolgirl, or hide her face in shame, the next.
A negro man who stood well over six feet tall stepped from the bushes. He cradled a musket in his arms.
“Oh.” Ruth pulled on the reins and stopped her horse
“State your business.”
John’s hand settled on the butt of his gun. “We came to see if anyone was hurt in the twister.”
“We’re all right.” The man lifted his chin, his dark eyes focused on Ruth. “We don’t cotton to strangers nosing around, sheriff. We had a deal.”
“Yes, we did.” John waved a hand toward Ruth. “This is Ruth Stallings. She felt a need to check on y’all.”
Moses sniffed. “Did she now? Why would a pearly white woman care about us?”
Would he shoot her if she approached him? Ruth met the man’s gaze. Intelligence showed in his eyes.
With her heart beating hard enough to escape her ribcage, Ruth slid from her horse’s back and approached the man. She kept her hands loose at her sides. “Please, we’re only here to help. Surely you’ve got women and children that might need assistance.”
His gaze flickered from Ruth to John, and back to Ruth. “Y’all got any food?”
Why hadn’t she thought of that? “No, but we can get some.” She placed a hand on his arm, her skin pale in contrast with his ebony shade. “Let us come look around, and see what we can help with.”
“Why?” His gaze narrowed. “Ain’t nobody cared for us black folks before. Or the whites that live here neither.”
John slid from his saddle and joined them. “That’s my fault, and I’m sorry, but you haven’t allowed me to help. I’ve always respected y’all’s privacy, but when disaster strikes, the community needs to bind together, regardless of the color of someone’s skin.”
He stared at them for a moment, then offered John his hand. “I’m Moses Washington. Come on. We shore can use some help if y’all are feeling Christian-like. Got a bit of debris scattered around.”
Leading their horses, Ruth and John followed Moses through the trees and stepped into the most depressing scene Ruth had ever witnessed, besides the sight of her parents’ lifeless bodies. Babies wailed from tattered tents. Haggard-faced women, both black and white, held tight to toddlers’ hands. Some of the river people were more fortunate than others in that a few scraps of wood kept them from the elements, rather than worn canvas walls. But even those were nothing to look at. How did they survive during the winter?
Ruth swallowed past the lump in her throat, blinked against the sting of tears, then trudged past the makeshift homes. “Did the twister destroy everything?”
Moses looked her way. A quick flash of a smile contrasted with his skin. “No, ma’am. This is how it always is, other than some fallen trees, which is a gift from God we can use for firewood. Of course, some of our chickens ran away, and the milk cow got loose, but we’ll fetch ‘em.”
He shook his head. “No ma’am, we fared all right. Could’ve been worse.” Thunder rumbled overhead. “’Course, it’s been raining up the mountain all morning. If it don’t stop, the river might rise. That could be bad.” Moses shook his head.
Ruth glanced at the swiftly moving water about twenty feet from their homes. “Why don’t you move away from the banks?”
“Too hard to clear the underbrush from the woods. This makes it easier for the women to gather water, bathe, and wash clothes.” He waved a thin woman with a baby on her hip forward. “This is my woman, Tilly, and my son Benjamin.”
“Welcome.” Tilly’s faded yellow calico complimented her caramel-colored skin. Eyes the color of fine whiskey shone from her face. High
cheekbones hinted at a trace of Indian in her blood. She was the prettiest woman Ruth had ever seen. Why would she be content to live amid such squalor?
Ruth pulled John aside. “Sheriff Powell, please head back and tell Grandma to pack up as much food as we can spare. Also, there’s a couple of bolts of extra fabric upstairs from the last time we went to Rolling Brook. Blankets too. Tell her to get those, and some empty cotton sacks for diapers.”
“Wait a minute.” He held up a hand to stop her. “You can’t stay here while I fetch supplies.” He lowered his voice. “I’ll bring you back later.”
“I’ll be fine. If they wanted to hurt us, they would’ve already shot us.”
“That isn’t the point.” John gripped her arm. “The river is rising, Ruth. If those clouds open up, everyone will be in danger.”
“I won’t leave them.” She glanced at the women and men as they folded tents and stacked belongings. “Without help, they’ll never get everything moved before the river rises. If it rises that far.” She patted his hand. “They don’t have much. To lose anything at all will cause them hardship. They appear to have suffered enough.”
He shook his head. “I don’t feel right about this.”
“I may not be able to do much, but I can’t, in good conscience, leave. Just hurry.” She tilted her chin. “You might want to leave soon and stop lollygagging.”
*
John tugged his hat firmly on his head, and stormed to his horse. That’s why he didn’t have time for women. The ornery creatures never did what a man said. He was only concerned for Ruth’s well-being. Why wouldn’t she listen to him?
He eyed the thick clouds and buttoned his vest against the rising wind. It’d take a miracle to get back before the storm hit. He launched himself on Buster’s back and headed to town like the horse’s tail was on fire.
Halfway home, the clouds released their deluge. If not for his wide-brimmed hat, John’d be hard-pressed to see past his nose. Please, God, let Ruth have enough sense to get the river people away from the bank before it’s too late.
He galloped into the yard and slid off his horse before Buster stopped. He draped the reins over the hitching post outside, then thundered into the dining room. Hank Johnson sat at the table with Miriam.
Grandma glanced his way. “John, where’s Ruth?”
“She got the notion in her head to help the people in the river bottom. Wouldn’t come back with me. Insisted I gather supplies for them.”
“River people?” Hank shoved his chair back. “With this rain, that river will rise at least a foot. Those folks’ll be swimming soon. What’d she get such a fool idea for?” He glanced at Grandma. “Not to be worrying you none, Miss.”
Grandma stomped her foot. “It ain’t foolish. Ruth might have a hard shell, but inside she’s as soft as a lamb. If someone’s in trouble, she’s there faster than a fly on … well, you know.” She glanced around the room. “John, you tell those men in town what Ruth needs, and they’ll go with you to deliver it. If you don’t want to paddle your way, best you get moving.” With a swish of her skirts, she headed to the kitchen. “They’ll need food. I can handle that part.”
Thunder rattled the few unbroken windows, and rain streamed down the walls. Hank cringed. “We’d better wait until morning. There’ll be no way down the mountain in this. We’ve still got a couple of boards to nail up to keep the rain out of here.”
Then why was he sitting there talking to Miriam? John couldn’t leave Ruth there until morning! His stomach churned. “I’ll take The River’s Pride.”
“Grounded.”
John slapped his hat against his thigh. He should’ve had his mind off Ruth, and on his town. Then he’d know these things. He shouldn’t have let the bottom people live their lives in privacy. Look what turning his head the other way had done. Put a crazy, hard-headed woman in danger, not to mention the very people she wanted to help.
Several men entered the room. One of them sniffed, then spat tobacco juice in the can on the floor. “Heard you was back, sheriff, and heard what you said. We’ll go with you. ‘Though I gotta tell you we’re taking our lives in our hands. Either you’ll lose a horse, a man, or both, sliding down the mountain in this wet. Ain’t no way you can take a canoe on the river, either. But you say the word, and we’ll help you fetch yore gal. Ain’t nothing in town damaged that can’t wait a day or two. Seems everyone is accounted for too.”
“I think y’all are fools.” Another of the townsmen crossed his arms. “You want to risk life and limb for colored folks and white trash. Knew we shouldn’t have elected a sheriff who turned his back on his own kind. Fought on the side of the traitors.”
There it was again. The fact that John fought on the side of the Union. He thought the citizens of this town gave up those thoughts a long time ago. “No one’s forcing you to go, although I believe it is our Christian duty to care for all of God’s children.”
The man shrugged. “You’re entitled to your opinion; I’m entitled to mine.” He slapped his hat on his head. “I won’t be joining you, sheriff. Got my own folk to care about.” He turned and rushed into the rain.
John glanced at those left in the room. “I’m obliged to y’all for checking on the other townsfolk, and for your offer of help.”
Grandma paused in the doorway, her arms loaded with sacks of food. Her face paled. “My little girl has to stay out there, doesn’t she? Lord, have mercy on her.”
John’s heart sank. He couldn’t risk the lives of these good men. They’d have to go after Ruth in the morning. He prayed her new friends had more sense than she did.
Chapter 7
With Moses’s infant son on one hip, and her free hand clutching a hysterical toddler, Ruth sloshed through knee-deep water. The river rose as fast as her spirits sank. The other adults rushed to move their meager belongings to higher ground. The baby’s wails pierced Ruth’s eardrums. The two-year-old in her care released her hand. Ruth lunged for her, submerging herself and the baby. She shoved her hair out of her face.
The water swept the toddler away. Ruth’s heart skipped a beat. “Mary!”
“Momma!” The little girl’s head bobbed above the water, then she disappeared behind an outcropping of boulders. Within minutes, the child’s curly head showed as she climbed to the top. Ruth took a deep, shuddering breath and splashed in her direction.
Tilly, loaded down with blankets, glanced their way, and Ruth waved her off. “I’ll get her. We’ll catch up.”
“I’ll find her mother!” Tilly sloshed away from them.
Debris swirled around Ruth. She lifted her feet from the sucking sand beneath her and pushed ahead. One ram from a floating branch, and Mary would disappear again. Possibly forever.
A water moccasin slithered across the top of the murkish water. Ruth shrieked and jumped, almost submerging them again. Grit splashed in her mouth, coating her teeth. “Mary, let’s go find mommy.” Please, before we die of a snake bite. Or drown.
The baby on her hip squealed louder. His cries turned to hiccups. Tears prickled the back of Ruth’s eyelids. She couldn’t leave the child out here by herself. No telling what they could run into in addition to poisonous serpents. The little girl wouldn’t last another fifteen minutes, and the baby in Ruth’s arms weighed a ton.
After removing her soggy apron, Ruth fashioned a sling from the muddy fabric and tucked the infant inside. She needed to hold onto Mary. Ruth glanced at the still streaming sky.
A muted cry drifted across the water. Ruth turned and scanned the rock where Mary perched. The water’ rose past Ruth’s waist, making walking even more difficult, and now it licked at Mary’s toes. Thank you, God, for letting me hear her above the roar. She almost laughed at her willingness to pray in a time of dire circumstance, but evaluating her need to cry out to God would have to wait.
The water swirled around Mary, ready to knock her from her precarious position. Ruth fought the current until she could latch on to the child and grab hold. Wit
h the rain still falling in torrents, grasping onto Mary’s wet skin was like trying to catch a greased pig. She embraced the child and clasped her to her chest.
Her body leaned against the river’s power.
Her foot slid on the slippery bottom.
Something wrapped around her ankle and tugged like an unseen predator intent on dragging her under. The baby continued to screech and squirm in his sling.
God, help us! Lightning slashed the sky.
“Is that your answer, God? Fine. I’ll save us myself! Like I always have.” She wanted to pound her fist toward heaven, instead, she pushed one foot in front of the other, testing where to put her feet, and headed toward a tall oak tree with branches low enough to climb. The tree could provide sanctuary against the flood waters until help arrived. If help arrived.
Visions of Sheriff Powell sliding off the muddy mountain trail and being pulled into the churning river flashed through her mind. She shook her head. No, he made it back to town. He had to. He’d be back with help by morning.
“Come on, sweetie.” Ruth lifted Mary above her head. “Grab hold right there. That’s it. Now, hang on until I can climb and pull you up.” She checked to be sure the baby was secure against her chest, then traversed up the sturdy branches of the oak tree, and hauled Mary behind her like a sack of flour.
They nestled in a sturdy crook between two curved branches and held on. The world blew apart around them. The tree beneath them swayed, threatening to dump them into the whirlpool below. She’d thought storms in the foothills were bad. They were nothing compared to the mountain’s fury.
She kept her arms tight around Mary, the baby squashed between them and wrapped her legs around the trunk. The sun sank over the mountain, casting them into darkness. Ruth’s tears fell and mingled with the rain.
*
John paced the porch while men saddled horses and gathered supplies. They needed to go now. Who knew whether the river swept Ruth away during the night?
Grandma stared down the road, her age-spotted hand shading her eyes. Her lips moved in a silent prayer.
Woman of Courage (Four Full length Historical Christian Romances in One Volume): Woman of Courage Series Page 28
