Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River]
Page 36
“How did you get out here to the kitchen?” Mercy asked.
“He hopped on one foot and used the rifle for a crutch,” Eleanor said. “Gavin is the stubbornest man in the world, and Daniel is right behind him.”
“You’ve got to get back in the bed,” Mercy exclaimed, suddenly realizing the effort it must have taken for him just to get out of bed, much less come into the kitchen. Dark spots of blood were on his shirt. “Your shoulder is bleeding again!”
“Tenny and I will take care of him, Mercy,” Liberty said. “Get out of those wet clothes, honey. You’re as exhausted as he is.”
Farr was in Liberty’s thoughts, as he had been since the morning he’d left to look for George, as he always was when he was away from her. He would be angry with himself for not having been there when Hammond Perry had come. Farr had not expected him to come to Quill’s Station, but as always, Perry had done the unexpected, and Mercy had almost been lost to them forever. Hammond had met his end by two whom he considered less than human: Jeems and his demented son, Gerrit. Who would have thought, Liberty mused, that Gerrit, unmanageable for most of his life, would have a lucid moment and see the wrong being done to Mercy?
Farr, darling, hurry home, I miss you so! Liberty worked to help change the bandage on Daniel’s shoulder and to settle him comfortably in bed. Oh, how she loved these two, who had been orphan waifs so long ago. They were as precious to her as her own flesh and blood. Hester Baxter, whom Amy had named Mercy, and Daniel, the serious little boy, had grown up to be in love and married—to each other. How fast the time had gone by.
Hurry home, Farr, I’ve so much to tell you!
* * *
They were finally alone. The door was closed, and Mercy snuggled close to Daniel’s side, her head resting on his uninjured shoulder, her face tilted to his. They talked and talked, between soft kisses. Mercy told him every detail that she could remember about her ordeal. He told her that he had died a thousand deaths while she was gone.
“I never thought when I went out to find the cat that so much would happen. If not for Gerrit, and Jeems coming to get Mamma—” She felt a chill and shuddered.
“I’ll see that Jeems is taken care of for the rest of his life.” He hugged her to him and tried to push away the chilling thought that he had almost lost her.
“I’ll hurt you,” she whispered, and moved away slightly.
“Come back—you’ll not hurt me! Sweetheart, I hope never again to feel the pain that I felt in my heart when you couldn’t be found. They tried to keep it from me that Mamma and Tenny had gone out looking for you, but I knew in my heart something was wrong. I have never felt so helpless, or had so much fury. If something had happened to you . . .” he whispered in an agonized voice, and buried his face in her hair like a child seeking comfort. “I just want to kiss you and kiss you and hold you. But I know that bastard hit you and you’re bruised and sore.” He moved his head to kiss her lips, his mouth so tender on hers, so reverent, that it almost brought tears.
“We’re a battered pair, Danny. I find new sore spots all the time, and you—That slimy little toad that hired someone to shoot you is dead. I’m glad Gerrit killed him!”
“We’re rid of him. Don’t talk about it. Talk about something pleasant.”
“Like our wedding night, the one we had in Evansville.”
“Our next wedding night will be in our own bedroom, in our own house, with our own door shut!”
“What’s wrong with this bedroom, this bed? The door is shut.” Her hand trailed down his chest, and her finger burrowed into his navel. His hand cupped her buttocks and pulled them tightly against him.
“I’m so hungry for you. I wish we could—” he whispered.
“I wish we could too.”
“I could turn on my side if you fixed the pillows for my leg. If I break it open, Tenny will have to stitch it again.”
Mercy jumped out of bed and went around to the other side. She carefully piled the pillows between his knees to keep his wounded leg off the bed. She hastily slipped off her nightgown and hurried back to snuggle against him.
“Ah . . . you feel so good. Oh, sweetheart, come here, come here. I want to touch you everywhere,” he murmured, running his free hand over her. “Don’t ever leave me, not for one day, one hour.”
“Hold me, Danny.”
“I’m going to hold you every night for the rest of our lives.”
He made love to her slowly, with melting tenderness and whispered erotic words that thrilled her. They were so intense in their pleasure of each other, the little stabs of pain they felt occasionally melted away like snow on a warm day. The entry he made was long, slow, and gentle; the plunges and withdrawals exquisitely tender. His lips traveled across her face; his hands teased her breasts.
“I love you, sweetheart,” he whispered.
The rain fell softly on the roof while they gently rode the crest of their passion to fulfillment, knowing that for now it was enough to be together, to be joined.
And then, totally exhausted, they slept in each other’s arms.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Quill’s Station on the Wabash River, as well as the characters in this story, are imaginary, with the exception of Levi Coffin and John Crenshaw.
Levi Coffin, abolitionist, known as the President of the Underground Railway, assisted thousands of runaway slaves on their flight to freedom. He lived in the area at the time and may have acted as I have portrayed him.
John Crenshaw built his mansion, Hickory Hill, in 1834. I took the liberty of moving the date forward five years in order to include him and his home in this story. After more than one hundred and fifty years, Hickory Hill, known as the Old Slave House, still stands overlooking the rolling Shawnee Hills in Southern Illinois.
In 1847, the Illinois lease system ended, and the salt wells were purchased by school trustees. Crenshaw farmed his land, and it is believed he continued his slave operation until the beginning of the Civil War. He died at Hickory Hill in 1875.
Uncle Bob, the Negro Crenshaw used to beget strong and healthy offspring, fought in the Civil War and died in 1940 at the age of 114. He was of African descent and is said to have fathered more than three hundred children.
I would very much like to thank Rita Farney, of Evansville, Indiana, for the material about Hickory Hill, the area along the Wabash River, and Evansville. The Cavern of Crime, by Judy Magee, and the history, The Old Slave House, provided by its present owner, Mr. George M. Sisk Jr. were most helpful.
For the readers who may be interested in the death crown mentioned in my story, the information came from my aunt, Orah Delle Colson, of Kingston, Oklahoma. She has in her possession a mysterious clump of feathers known as a death crown. It was found in her dead father’s pillow and is as I have described it in this book.
Dorothy Garlock
Dear Reader,
This is the last book of the Wabash River Trilogy. I hope my characters have given you a few hours of enjoyment, while allowing you a peek into the lives of our pioneer ancestors. While writing the books I became increasingly aware of the hardships endured by the people who colonized our country, and now have a greater appreciation for their stamina, courage, and perseverance.
The setting for my next book will be Southwest Wyoming in the year 1872. The story will be about an Irish colleen and the Irishman who loved her. She is an educated, refined young lady, and he a teamster who earns extra money bare-knuckle fighting. Look for Midnight Blue to be released in the summer of 1989.
Your letters are appreciated, your ideas recorded. In answer to the many of you who have asked for the other books—The Wabash Trilogy, the Colorado Trilogy, as well as Annie Lash and Wild Sweet Wilderness—write Warner Books, Box 690, New York, NY 10019.
My address is Warner Books, 666 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10103.
Until next time,
Dorothy Garlock
Garlock - [Wabash River]