Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River]

by River of Tomorrow

  “You wouldn’t have thought it so funny if I had dropped you on your behind,” he heard himself saying while his eyes devoured her face, and he wondered if ever a man in love had had the problem he now faced.

  “You haven’t held me like this since I lost my shoe in the river and you had to carry me home because my foot was bleeding. I was ten or eleven and thinking I was a young lady. You complained all the way.” Her lashes fanned down, then lifted over mischievous, laughing eyes. “You said I was a stupid child and that I was muddleheaded.”

  “I remember,” he said softly, his eyes holding hers.

  The pulse in Mercy’s throat throbbed, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. She had a fierce desire to encircle his neck with her arms, but one of them was pinned between them, and the other clutched her shawl.

  “I’m still muddleheaded, Daniel,” she whispered.

  “Yes, you are,” he said with a grin that deepened the creases on each side of his mouth. He took the two steps necessary to reach the wagon and lifted her so that her feet were in the space in front of the seat. “I think I’ll add ‘clumsy’ to that.”

  “What an unflattering thing to say,” she snapped, but she was smiling because his twinkling brown eyes were teasing her all the way down to her toes.

  “I’ve never been accused of having a way with words.” He put the reins in her hands. “I’m going on ahead to the ferry, like I said. I’ve all ready told Lenny. They’ll be with you.”

  “No doubt about that,” Mercy said dryly. “I don’t think I could shake them if I had the plague.”

  Half an hour later, Mercy came to the place where the riverbank had been cut away and a long log ramp had been laid. The ferry was tied to the dock, and Daniel was waiting to lead Zelda onto the gently rocking raft that would take them across the Wabash. After the horse and wagon were secured, Mercy got down off the seat to stand at the rail.

  Lenny and Bernie had stopped on the riverbank. Daniel walked up the log ramp and called to them.

  “Come on aboard. We’re not waiting for you.”

  “We ain’t crossin’ here,” Bernie said.

  “Why not?”

  “We can cross on down a ways,” Bernie said to Lenny, ignoring Daniel. “We ain’t takin’ no handouts from the likes a him.”

  “Hush up. I’m thinkin’.” Lenny spit a stream of tobacco juice into the dirt, churned into powder by the traffic coming to the ferry landing.

  “Suit yourself. Your fare is paid.” Daniel shrugged and walked back onto the ferry.

  “Ain’t no use getting wet if’n we ain’t got to,” Lenny said.

  “I swear! Ain’t ya got no pride a-tall?”

  “Yeah, but I ain’t wantin’ ter drown, neither. The waters is up since we crossed afore.” Lenny followed Daniel onto the ferry.

  “I ain’t a-likin’ it,” Bernie protested, even as he slid from his mule to lead it onto the rocking craft.

  Lenny tied his mule to the side post where Daniel indicated, but Bernie defiantly moved past him to the front of the boat.

  “Tie that mule to the side post or get off,” the ferry operator yelled as the raft tilted and rocked.

  Bernie snorted, cast Daniel an angry look, and reluctantly tied his mule to the side post.

  When all was secure, Daniel took a stout pole and helped the ferryman push the raft out into deeper water. A thick rope running through a pulley lashed to an oak tree ran to the other side of the river. The ferryman began to turn the windlass. He had wide shoulders and thick arms. He strained against the crank and finally the rope began to move through the pulleys and the wide log raft was pulled out into the river toward the eastern bank.

  Mercy had crossed on the ferry many times. It always reminded her of Mr. Washington’s ferry, which had been farther upriver, closer to Quill’s Station. Mr. Washington, George’s father, had been a huge freedman who wore his hair cut in the fashion of the Mohawks. He had large silver rings swinging from his earlobes and a small one from his nostrils. He would set Mercy a-straddle his neck and gallop like a horse. She would scream with laughter and hold on to his topknot. Sugar Tree, his Shawnee wife, would scold and caution him to be careful. Mercy thought now that she couldn’t have had a happier childhood. What kind of childhood memories would she have, she asked herself, if Farrway Quill had not found her?

  “I always think of Mr. Washington when I cross the river,” Mercy said to Daniel when he came to stand beside her.

  “So do I. Life was a lot less complicated then. We only had the Indians to worry about.” He smiled down at her, and she returned his smile.

  They stood silently. Mercy was aware of Daniel in a way she never had been before. His arm touched hers and she wanted to lean into it. How can I be so happy? she thought. My life has been turned upside down since the Baxters found me. It did one thing for her, she decided. It made her realize how much she loved Daniel. Her thoughts shifted to how capable he was, how dependable, how wonderful, how . . . handsome. No other woman will have him, she vowed. She had been a fool to run away and leave him with Belinda. That was a mistake she would not make a second time.

  Together they watched the waterfowl swarm up as they approached the other side. Mercy could feel the warmth of Daniel’s arm against hers, and the warmth of the telltale blood that covered her neck and face. She bent her head and occupied herself with watching the water that lapped at the side of the craft.

  “Stay here.” Daniel’s hand was on her arm for just an instant. “Hold on. I’ll help ease the raft up to the ramp.”

  As soon as the raft bumped the log landing, Daniel tossed a thick rope around the stout post set on the shore. The ferryman left the windlass and secured the other side. When they were ready to disembark, Mercy climbed upon the wagon seat, and Daniel led Zelda up the ramp and onto the hard-packed landing.

  They headed south at the fork in the road. Daniel led the way, urging them to move along briskly. Toward late afternoon, after only one stop to water and rest the horses, Mercy’s arms felt as if each were trying to lift a hundred-pound weight, and the seat that had felt so soft that morning was now hard and uncomfortable.

  They passed a number of homesteads. The women came outside, each usually with a child in her arms, and waved as they passed. Most of the homesteads were neat and well planned, with a goodly number of acres cleared and planted. A few were ramshackle affairs with crops planted amid tree stumps and a woodpile that consisted of a deadfall pulled into the yard, and chopped as the woman of the house needed it. Several log houses or barns had been burned out. Fire was the dread of all. It was usually caused by a hastily, carelessly built fireplace, or an overturned candle.

  The sun sank behind the thick grove of trees to the west. As the air became cooler, Mercy wrapped her shawl around her. The silence of the deep forest seemed strangely oppressive. Birds fluttered in the newly leafed trees. Otherwise the stillness was unbroken. It was almost dusk when Daniel reined in so that the wagon could come alongside.

  “The inn is up ahead.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  “It isn’t much, but it’s lodging.”

  Peering through the gloom, Mercy saw a good-sized barn with a rail fence attached. Beyond that, sitting close to the road, was a long, narrow log building. Mercy sighed, thinking of a comfortable resting place for her aching limbs. They passed the barn and stopped in front of the inn. A chill of disappointment came over her. It was as uninviting a place as she had ever seen. Signs of neglect were everywhere. A heavy cloth was nailed over a broken window, the cross pole was missing from the hitching rail, an empty watering trough lay on its side. Through the open door they could hear loud and boisterous voices. On a shingle above the door a crudely printed sign hung by one leather strap: BED AND EATS.

  “It’s hardly the place I remembered,” Daniel said, frowning.

  “Welcome, folks!”

  The man who appeared in the doorway was wiping his hands on the once white cloth tied about his waist. He wa
s an odd-looking person, rather slight and short in stature. His large, prominent features were overshadowed by a shock of coarse yellow hair that gave him a wild and savage look, especially as his hair and his complexion seemed almost one color.

  “Are you the landlord?” Daniel asked. He stepped down from his horse with his rifle in his hand. The pistol was tucked in his belt.

  “Lyman Sickles, sir.”

  “What happened to James Looney?”

  “Dead. God rest his soul. Died of snakebite a year ago. Bought the place from his poor grievin’ widow. Are you wantin’ lodgin’?”

  “Yes. For me and the lady.”

  “Come in. Come right in. The woman is ’bout to dish out supper. Pearl,” he shouted back over his shoulder. “We got two more. One’s a woman.”

  Lenny and Bernie had stopped their mules behind the wagon. They sat watching, making no move to get down.

  “Are they with you?” the landlord asked.

  “Are you?” Daniel directed his question to Lenny.

  “We ain’t goin’ in thar.”

  “Supper and lodging for two,” Daniel said to the innkeeper. “They’ll fend for themselves.” He helped Mercy down, then lifted her carpetbag out of the wagon. “Come morning, there had better not be anything missing out of that wagon or there’ll be a hell of a ruckus.”

  “My man is honest as the day is long, sir.” Sickles said with a wounded look on his face. “But”—he glanced at Lenny and Bernie—“I don’t know ’bout them.”

  “Don’t worry about them. They’re as honest as the day is long,” Daniel echoed.

  With his rifle in one hand, he took Mercy’s elbow with the other and ushered her into the inn. The inn seemed to consist of three distinct buildings, probably put up at different times. The room they entered was used as a barroom according to the counter that was made of the roughest construction—two tree stumps with boards laid across them. Planks nailed to the wall served as benches.

  The landlord led them through a wide doorway and into the kitchen. Talk ceased among the four men seated at a trestle table. They stared curiously at Daniel and with open admiration at Mercy. Three of the men were dressed in the rough clothes of rivermen; the fourth man, who had on a well-worn, dusty black coat, sat a little apart from the others. The man looked Daniel over briefly before his dark eyes honed in on Mercy and stayed there.

  A woman of perhaps thirty years was waiting on the table. She held the bail of an iron kettle in one hand and a ladle in the other. In the light from the two candles on the table, Mercy could see that the woman was plain and old-fashioned, almost beyond her memory. Her dress was a thick-striped material, woven to defy time and wear. It was unlike any fabric Mercy had ever seen. The dress fitted the woman closely, was low in the neck, with sleeves coming to below the elbow. She was tall, and the dress was extremely short-waisted, without a particle of fullness in the skirt. She had on no shoes or stockings, and a faded piece of cloth was tied in a loose knot around her neck. Her dark hair was bound straight around her head and fastened with a metal comb on top.

  “Stop your lollygaggin’, Pearl.” The landlord’s voice was loud and harsh. He nudged the woman in the back with his elbow. “Make room for the gent and his missus.”

  “We want to wash before we eat.”

  Daniel released Mercy’s arm, but she stayed close to him, wondering if she would be able to eat in this place. She gave a glance of scrutiny to the dishes on the table and the eating spoons. They were clean, as was the scrubbed tabletop. The woman appeared to be clean, for all her odd appearance.

  Sickles waved them toward the other end of the room where a window of four small panes let in a meager light. A wash bench was attached to the wall. Mercy set her bag down against the wall, took the shawl from around her shoulders, and looked for a peg to hang it on. When she found none, she folded it and laid it on the bag.

  “I don’t like this place,” she whispered while Daniel dipped water into a washdish from a wooden bucket. The basin was surprisingly clean, as was the towel that hung on the bar beside it.

  “I don’t like it either, but it’ll have to do.”

  “Where will we sleep?”

  “There’s a room up above for the men. There’s another room off the kitchen. I’ll ask about it for you.”

  “I’m not staying in there by myself!”

  “Don’t panic. I’ll not be far away.”

  Mercy washed her hands and splashed the cold water on her face, wishing for the luxury of warm water from the teakettle back home. She tidied her hair while Daniel washed.

  The boards, or rather planks, of the floor were hand-hewn and laid down so unequally as to make walking on them perilous. Daniel kept a firm hold on Mercy’s elbow and led her back to the table. The innkeeper was not in sight, but the silent woman placed plates of food at the end of the table and indicated that they were to sit down. Daniel leaned his rifle against the wall within easy reach and sat down beside Mercy.

  The meal was meat, cabbage, and turnips. Bread that appeared to have been baked in an open kettle was placed beside each plate. Neither milk nor butter were offered. Mercy’s eyes swept the table, and she saw that the men were breaking up the bread, putting it on their plates, and shoveling such great quantities of food into their mouths that grease was running down their chins.

  The meat was in large chunks. It was difficult to eat it with a spoon. While wondering how she was going to manage without a knife, Mercy raised her eyes and met the gleaming black eyes of the man across from her. He had a narrow hawklike face that was in variance with his thick shoulders and the hamlike fist that gripped a long hunting knife. The end of the hilt rested on the table, a piece of speared meat was on the point, the juice running down the blade and onto his clenched fist. He sat as still as a stone with his unblinking eyes on her face.

  Daniel’s elbow nudged hers. Then he pulled her plate toward him and cut the meat with his hunting knife. “Eat,” he said.

  She ate quickly, wishing to hurry and get out from under the intense gaze of the man across from her before Daniel took offense at his staring. Daniel cleaned his plate and shook his head when the woman offered to refill it. Mercy laid down her spoon although her plate was still half full.

  “I’m ready,” she whispered.

  Daniel picked up his rifle, Mercy the carpetbag, and they went into the barroom. The flame from a single candle was the only light. The air in the barroom was fouled with the odor of stale ale. It tickled Mercy’s nostrils. Daniel’s hand on her elbow urged her over near the door where he stopped, glanced outside, then down at her anxious face.

  “I wish we hadn’t stopped here. We could have camped out in the open,” she whispered.

  “It’s too late now.”

  “Why can’t we just leave? I don’t like the looks of those men in there . . . or the landlord.”

  “The one across from you is the one we have to worry about. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have a little robbery on his mind. The other three are river drifters.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know. If we leave now, he’ll follow if he has mischief in mind. You’ll be safer here.”

  “Don’t leave me alone.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Can we go outside while they’re eating?”

  “Sure. We’ll go out and check on the wagon. Leave your bag here.” Daniel picked up her shawl and put it around her shoulders.

  As soon as they stepped out the door, they saw the innkeeper coming from the barn. They moved out away from the house before Daniel called to him.

  “What accommodations do you have for us, Sickles?”

  “We got a room for you and your lady. The woman’ll get it ready soon as supper is over.”

  “We’ll walk down to the barn and see about the horses while we wait.”

  “They’ve been taken care of. They got a good measure of grain.”

  “Much obliged.”

  “W
hat did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t say, but it’s Phelps.”

  “Headed for Evansville, are you?”

  “We haven’t decided.”

  “I don’t see them fellows that rode in with you. They must have gone on.”

  “Must have.” Daniel and Mercy moved on down the path toward the barn.

  “There’s a lantern inside the door,” the landlord called.

  After Daniel looked in on the horses they walked around to where the wagon was parked in an open shed. Daniel checked the lock on the wooden box that held his extra powder and shot. Then he lifted several heavy blankets from the basket containing the food and set the basket out on the ground.

  “The rats will be in this by morning. We’d better take it in with us.”

  “Where did Lenny and Bernie go? They could have eaten the chicken if they hadn’t been so stubborn.”

  “I’m thinking the meat will be spoiled by morning. Why don’t you lay it out there on the end of the wagon and let the rats or the coons have it.”

  “I’ll not do—” The pressure of Daniel’s hand on her arm shut off her protest. She looked up and saw that laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. He put his face close to hers and winked. Mercy suddenly felt extremely happy. “That’s a good idea,” she said, trying to keep the laughter out of her voice. “I’m glad you thought of it. We don’t want spoiled meat stinking up the basket.”

  Mercy spread a cloth on the folded-down tailgate and placed the chicken, several pieces of buttered bread, and two boiled eggs on it. When she finished, Daniel took the lantern back to the barn, and they went back toward the inn.

  “How did you know they were there?” Mercy whispered.