Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River]

by River of Tomorrow

  “There’s nothin’ here,” one of the men said when he could see the bare floor of the wagon bed.

  “Get everything out, you fool!” Hammond shouted. “There’s got to be a false bottom in that wagon!”

  Levi stood by, wringing his bony hands. He ran to pick up a bolt of fine lace that had been tossed into the dirt and clutched it to his chest.

  “Thee are ruining me, thee are ruining me,” he chanted sorrowfully.

  “Turn the goddamn wagon over,” Hammond roared.

  “No!” Levi pleaded. “Thee will hurt the beast.”

  One of the men, a man with a stubble of red beard on his face, quickly unhitched the team and stung each of the animals on the rump with his whip. They took off down the road and were quickly out of sight. The wagon was tipped on its side and examined.

  “There ain’t no double floor in this wagon.” The man who spoke went to his horse and mounted when he saw the rage on Hammond Perry’s face.

  Four of the men began rummaging in the goods they had tossed out of the wagon. One of them picked up a bolt of material and took it to his horse.

  “The nigger ain’t here, but I’ll have me some of this dress goods fer my trouble. By jinks’ damn! I know me a woman who’d shine up ta me for a hunk of this.”

  The red-bearded man who had freed the horses stood watching Hammond whose eyes were on Levi Coffin. Hate and rage contorted his face.

  “You thieving son-of-a-bitch! You left her at Quill’s.” Hammond spoke calmly, but his hands were trembling violently. He suddenly pulled his gun from the boot on his saddle and pointed it at Levi. “That’s the last nigger you’ll steal.”

  The red-bearded man sprang forward and grabbed Hammond’s arm.

  “You’re not killing him. He doesn’t have your nigger.”

  “Get your hands off me, you scum!”

  “You’re not killing him,” the man repeated as he held Hammond’s arm in an iron grip. “You don’t know for certain that he hides your runaways.”

  “Damn you! A man who works for me stays in his place and does as he’s told.” Hammond’s face was livid with anger.

  “You said nothing of murder.”

  “I aim to put a ball in his knee, damn you! I’ll cripple the thieving Bible spouter.”

  “It’s the same thing. He’d die out here.”

  “You . . . you lily-livered bastard,” Hammond shouted. “You’re done!”

  “Then give me my pay.” The steely eyes of the red-bearded man bored into Hammond’s.

  Growling with frustration, Hammond shoved his gun back into the boot, took some coins from his pocket, and threw them into the dirt at the man’s feet.

  “Goddamn your creeping, crawling soul! Grovel for them!” He yanked on the reins, causing his horse to spin around. “Take what you want and let’s go,” he yelled to the men still rummaging among Levi’s trade goods.

  Several of the men grabbed up bolts of cloth or lace before they mounted and rode after Perry.

  “Thank thee, Edward.” Levi wiped the sweat dripping from his face.

  “He’s a mean one, Levi. I’ll not be any more use in keeping an eye on him for you now.” Edward Ashton stooped and picked up the coins Hammond had thrown on the ground at his feet. “It’s just as well. Another day and I’d have split the bastard’s gullet.”

  “What happened at Quill’s Station?”

  “Nothing much. First Phelps made Perry madder than a stepped-on snake so that he wasn’t thinking straight. Then he let it slip that you were headed for Springfield. Perry took it that Phelps was trying to throw him off the track. We headed south for the ferry like a prairie fire was behind us. It wasn’t hard to pick up your trail.”

  “Good man, Phelps.”

  “I’d hate to go up against him myself. He’s got a look about him that says he’ll not back down, and he’s got the size to back it up. Say, Levi, I’m almost sure a feller trailed us across the river. Does Phelps have a young, light-colored nigger with hair braided like an Indian’s working for him?”

  “Yes. I met him at the mill. He’s the son of a Negro and a Shawnee woman.”

  “I saw the same feller a couple of times. He was sly about his trailing, but he’s a man who stands out. He had on Indian dress, but there was no mistaking his color.”

  “Did Perry see him?”

  “Perry was like a hound dog on a scent. He had his nose to the ground and was too hot on your trail to notice anything. But he knows about the boy. He’s heard that he’s a pet of Mrs. Quill. He said that if he had him, he’d put him to a high-colored wench and get whelps that would bring top price.”

  “Such inhumanity intensifies my hatred of slavery and inspires me to devote myself to the cause of the helpless and oppressed,” Levi said fervently.

  “Yeah? You’re not going to help anybody if you’re left beside the road with your throat cut. I’m almost sure Hammond Perry is a member of the Mystic Clan, James Murrell’s outlaws, who rob, steal slaves, and pass counterfeit. He’ll put the word out on you. You’d better not be roaming around alone.”

  “Is he also a partner to John Crenshaw at the salt works known as Half Moon?”

  “I don’t think he’s a full partner. Crenshaw is too smart for that. Perry is more than likely associated with Crenshaw in the Negro-napping operation. He furnishes slaves for the salt works at a good price. It saves Crenshaw from renting them from planters across the line.”

  “’Tis said Crenshaw not only profits from human bondage and enforced servitude, but he also is cruel man. Slaves are under the whip and treated like animals.”

  “I know one slave who doesn’t think Crenshaw is a cruel man. He’s the one that Crenshaw keeps to service the young, healthy females. He’s got a smile on his face a yard wide.” Edward’s blue eyes slitted with amusement at the horrified look on Levi’s face.

  “Edward! That’s against God’s teachings and not to be made light of.”

  “Yeah, so it is.” The grin disappeared from Edward’s mouth, but the twinkle remained in his eyes. “We’d better get the wagon turned upright. You can put your goods back in while I get the horses.” Edward shook his head. “Beats me all hollow how you’ve kept from being killed roaming around on these roads all by yourself. You’ve got to start using some horse sense, Levi. You’re getting pretty well known to the slave hunters. If Perry don’t get you, some of the others will.”

  “The Lord is with me, friend.”

  “Yeah? Let’s hope the Lord gets you to Newport. If he does, stay there and take care of your store. You’re better suited to setting up a network of places along the way where a runaway would be safe. Leave the transporting across country to others. Help me turn the wagon over.” Edward brought a stout branch from a deadfall beside the road. “When I lift, shove this under the wagon bed.”

  Edward went after the horses while Levi reloaded the wagon. When the team was hitched in place, Levi climbed up on the wagon seat.

  “I thank thee. I will take thy advice and return to Newport. Get word to Phelps that Hammond Perry has his eye on George and will seek revenge.”

  “I’m on my way.” Edward mounted his horse. “A few miles from here there’s a family by the name of Rankin. He’s a son of John Rankin of Ripley who has helped so many runaways. Stop and make yourself known to him. He may be able to send one of his sons with you.”

  “I will be all right, Edward.”

  “Dammit, Levi—”

  “Thee must not swear.”

  “All right, but seek help from the Rankins. I’d ride with you, but I want to see what Perry will do next.”

  “He could kill thee.”

  “He couldn’t, but he might hire someone else to do the job. I’ve got to be going. Take care, Levi.”

  “God go with thee, Edward.”

  * * *

  “Shut up!” Hammond Perry turned in the saddle and shouted to his men. The fact that he had been outwitted by Daniel Phelps was a cancer gnawing at his in
sides. He was nursing a resentment that flared into rage given the slightest provocation.

  The men riding behind him had been laughing and talking. They were excited over the goods they had taken from Levi Coffin’s wagon and were boasting about the favors it would buy from the trollops along the river. A quiet settled among them. Each man secretly despised the small, cocky man who sat his saddle with his back straight as a board and his head tilted back. They put up with his overbearing ways because the pay was good.

  Retaliation was on Hammond’s mind. He had suffered another indignity at the hands of his old enemies, the Quills. He knew just how to make them pay. He would capture the nigger known as George Washington and take him to Crenshaw. If he didn’t want to use him as a stud, he would be put to work in the salt mine. Before he was finished, Hammond vowed, he would have every Negro who worked on Daniel Phelps’s land.

  Hammond’s mind drifted back to the time before the War of 1812. He had been a lieutenant in the militia serving under Major Zachary Taylor and stationed at Fort Knox, a few miles from Vincennes. Liberty Quill had married Hammond’s brother Jubal, in upstate New York and, with her father and Sister, had set out to homestead along the Wabash. Jubal had died on the journey to the Illinois Territory, and later Liberty had married Farrway Quill. She had conspired against Hammond Perry when he had Quill arrested for treason and tried at Fort Knox. Major Zachary Taylor had sided with the Quills, and Perry had been banished to Fort Dearborn to serve for two years, a duty dreaded by all militiamen.

  Perry’s hatred for the Quills even surpassed his hatred of Major William Bradford, who had been given the assignment of establishing Fort Smith, an assignment Perry had coveted with every fiber of his being. He would have been chosen if not for the lies told by Bradford. Shortly after that he had left the service. For a time Hammond’s hatred had been directed toward Bradford, and he had schemed to kidnap Bradford’s prospective bride, Eleanor Woodbury. In that effort he had been thwarted by Rain Tallman, another one of Farrway Quill’s strays.

  A growl came from Hammond’s throat at the thought of all the frustrations that had been dealt to him by the Quills. This time he would win. His first move would be to take George, the son of that uppity nigger who ran the ferry back in the days before the war. If Crenshaw didn’t want him, he’d transport the damn nigger so far south that Quill would never find him, or else he would kill him. Then he would concentrate on the niggers on Phelps’s farm. After that there was Eleanor McCourtney and that big Scot she had married.

  Hammond rode with his head down. If Quill had not crossed him, none of this would be necessary. Revenge would be sweet.

  “We’ll just see who has the last word, you bastard,” he whispered. “We’ll just see.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When the sun was directly overhead, Daniel signaled for Mercy to pull off the road and stop beneath the branches of a spreading maple tree. He helped her alight from the wagon, then lifted the covered basket out of the back and set it on the ground. Mercy spread a cloth from the basket and laid out buttered bread and cooked chicken while Daniel unhitched Zelda and led her and his mount to the river to drink.

  Lenny and Bernie stopped a good fifty feet behind them, talked in low tones, then rode toward the river. Daniel returned and picketed the horses. He lifted a jug of water from the wagon and brought it to where Mercy sat on her shawl beneath the tree.

  “Where’s Lenny and Bernie?” She took the tin drinking cup from the basket and set it on the ground beside him, then handed him a chicken leg and two slices of buttered bread, laid face-to-face.

  “Watering their mules. I don’t think they’ll wander off,” he said dryly, and filled the cup from the jug.

  “Minnie must have worked all night cooking this food. She packed food for several days. We’d better eat the meat. It’ll not keep like the eggs and the huckleberry pies.” She lifted the cup of water to her lips and drank deeply.

  “I sent word to her in the afternoon. She had the basket ready when I went out to the farm last night.”

  Mercy ate the buttered bread before she spoke again. “It’s hot for this time of year.”

  “It’ll cool off toward evening.” Daniel took off his hat, placed it on the ground beside him, and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. He sat with his elbow on his bent knee and ate slowly while staring off down the road.

  “Daniel?” Mercy waited until his eyes turned to meet hers. “I didn’t like it one bit, what Belinda said about me.” She tilted her head and raised her chin a fraction. “It was rude of you and Belinda to talk about me as if I weren’t there. She was mighty quick to name Lenny and Bernie trash because of . . . how they look.”

  “Didn’t you do the same?”

  For a moment she was incapable of replying. There was a tightness across her chest and a fullness in her throat, and she couldn’t utter a word. He was looking directly into her eyes as if he were seeing straight into her inner self. She lowered her lashes and bit her bottom lip, knowing that what he said was true.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice shaky. “But I was wrong to judge them so hastily. I realize that now. Not because they are my brothers but because Mamma taught me to give respect and consideration to others, even if they are different. I didn’t appreciate hearing Belinda’s remarks.” Mercy’s voice firmed. “And I don’t want pity from anyone.”

  “You were there. Why didn’t you speak up and say so?”

  “Speak up?” She met his gaze and blinked. “The two of you were having a private conversation.”

  “Not as far as I was concerned. You ran off in a snit when you heard something you didn’t like. Next time stay and take up for yourself.”

  “Well, for goodness sake! What did you expect me to do? Pull her hair out? I wanted to!”

  He lifted his shoulders, and his face broke into a grin. He looked at her for so long, her face began to redden. She was grateful when Lenny and Bernie came back up onto the road and drew his attention from her.

  “Lenny,” Mercy called when the brothers settled down on their haunches beneath a persimmon tree. “There’s plenty of food here. Come have something to eat.”

  “We ain’t hungry.”

  “You must be. There’s enough meat and bread for all of us.”

  “We don’t want none. We ain’t beggars.” Bernie had taken off his hat and was poking a bluejay feather in the band around the crown. More than ever, his thick, straw-colored hair looked like a sloppy haystack.

  “For crying out loud! I’m offering the food to you. That’s not begging!”

  “It’s his grub, ain’t it?”

  “Well, yes, but what difference does that make?”

  “Hit makes a heap ta us. We’ll shoot us a bird along come suppertime.”

  A look of exasperation came over Mercy’s face. She grabbed several slices of bread and a couple pieces of chicken and started to get up. Daniel’s hand on her arm stopped her.

  “If they’re too stubborn to come be sociable, let them go without.”

  “But . . . we’ve got plenty.”

  “You heard what I said, Mercy. Sit down.”

  “I don’t like for food to go to waste.”

  “It won’t go to waste. Eat up so we can go. It’s only a few miles to the ferry. I’ll ride ahead and make sure it’s there when you get there. There’s an inn about twenty miles south of New Harmony where we can stay. We’ll have to hustle to get there before dark.”

  Mercy sat down and nibbled at her food. Daniel watched her as he drank from the cup they shared. She was hurting. Belinda had been cruel, and he told her so in no uncertain words after Mercy had left them. But he would not always be with Mercy, and she was going to have to get used to holding up her head and fighting back. It had angered him that she had broken and run. He had fully expected her to turn on Belinda like a spitting cat and tell her to shut her gossipy mouth.

  “Are you sorry that you came with me?” Mercy asked, and quickly turned away f
rom him so that he wouldn’t see the anxiety in her face. She wrapped the bread in the cloth and put it back in the basket.

  “No.”

  “I don’t seem to be doing anything that pleases you.”

  “Leave the Baxters their pride, Mercy. They’ve had to swallow having me along. Let them get used to it. You invited them to eat and they refused. Either they are going to accept us or continue being hostile. It’s up to them.”

  “And Belinda?”

  Daniel stood abruptly. “We’d better get to moving. Do you want another drink before I take the jug and basket to the wagon?”

  “No thank you.”

  Mercy shook the leaves and dried grass from her shawl and folded it over her arm. She moved behind the screen of hazel bushes and grapevines so that she could relieve her full bladder. She was puzzled by Daniel’s manner. If she had stayed to defend herself against Belinda’s catty remarks, she would have made a fool of herself and embarrassed him. It was plain enough that he had a fondness for Belinda’s little boy. Had he brought the sugarhards thinking he would stop at the homestead? He had already made arrangements with Mike to give Homer licorice when he came to the store. Did Daniel remember his longing for male companionship when he was a little boy? So many questions floated around in Mercy’s mind that she drew in a deep, pained breath and moved out from behind the bushes.

  Zelda was hitched, and Daniel was waiting to help Mercy up onto the wagon seat. She placed her hand in his without looking at him. The hand that had clasped hers many times before felt warmer and stronger to her now that she was aware of him in a completely different way. Her thoughts in disorder, she set her foot on the spoke of the wheel, and as she reached to grasp the rail to pull herself up, her foot slipped. With a cry she fell backward.

  “Oh! Oh!” She gasped, flinging her arms in an attempt to catch herself.

  Daniel caught her in a tight embrace when she tumbled against him. The force of her unexpected body caused him to backtrack a few steps. When he had regained his balance and stood holding her, sudden laughter burst from her lips. He watched in fascination as the sky-blue eyes sent shards of sparkling sunshine that penetrated his very soul. He heard himself laughing too. A deep, rumbling, uncontrollable sound. Her face was close to his. He could smell the warmth of her womanly body. Christ! She was his love, his own sweet woman. He wanted to hold her forever, kiss her, make love to her.