Hannah Alexander

by Keeping Faith

  The scent of fresh water and mud, the aroma of budding flowers and trees lent a perfume to the place that truly did give credence to the village’s nickname—Jolly. Coming through here in the flowers of springtime definitely beat riding through early spring storms or autumn rain or the heat of midsummer.

  He led the mare, Countess, to the front of the dram shop and looped her reins to the post. The big buckskin nuzzled his neck as he walked past, reminding him of a habit McDonald had begun with her years ago—she always received a splash of whatever McDonald carried when he purchased alcohol for medicine.

  He rubbed her ears. “Don’t worry, Countess, you’ll get your share.”

  When he stepped through the heavy wooden door, the scent of smoke and a mixture of whiskey, rum and ale hit him in the face, but what caused him to misstep was the sight of a man standing at the bar, as tall as he was, with shoulders as broad as a barn, long, silver-gray hair in tangles down his back.

  It took all Joseph had to walk through that door as if he hadn’t just caught sight of a snake in the guise of Broderick Thames without his braid. The man’s eyes drooped, and his face was overly relaxed. He and a companion had apparently been here for quite some time, as their words and laughter echoed extra loud against the walls of the small shop, drawing the attention of four men puffing on pipes and cigars seated at a smoke-hazed table in the corner.

  Thames drawled a string of coarse words to his partner. “...rash of runaway slaves in these parts,” he was saying. “Boss sent me to round ’em up.”

  Joseph stepped to the bar adjacent to them and gestured to the bartender, still listening to their conversation without making eye contact.

  “Heard tell there’sh a cave that goes from here all the way to a new sett’ment they’re calling Plymouth.” Thames had more liquor in his system than Joseph had guessed. “Nobody ’round here’s talkin’ ’bout it. Guess I’ll have to smash some heads together. Maybe raid this place and show ’em who’s got the power in this state.”

  The other man gave a low murmur of agreement, then snorted with laughter.

  When the bald bartender approached Joseph, he cast a slit-eyed glare at the two men at the bar. The last thing Joseph needed was to get involved in a local fight. He quickly ordered a fifth each of rum and whiskey.

  The bartender lowered his head and peered over his glasses. “You do know this is a dram shop.”

  “Sure do.”

  “If you’re lookin’ for bulk, you might get it cheaper at the distillery.”

  “I figure you wouldn’t mind selling a couple of full bottles.”

  The man hesitated, shrugged. “It’s your money.” He turned to fill the order and silence reigned in the room, punctuated by the sweet scent of smoke and a fine hint of freshly sawed wood. The place was just being built last time Joseph came through.

  One of the men in the far corner at the table leaned back in his chair and glared at Thames and his pal. “You think the two of you could take on our town, do you?”

  Without turning to look toward the table, Thames stared into his drink and gave it a dark grin. “I heard talk about you folks. I hear you don’t approve of slavin’.”

  “We got slaves here, and they’d fight right alongside us if our town was threatened. No use in you or any of your kind bushwhacking a peaceful settlement.”

  Thames’s companion snorted again. “Town. This place here’s a hovel. Maybe it wouldn’t feel threatened if it had a few real men in it.”

  “We’ve got plenty of real men, just no raiders forcing their views down the throats of innocent folks,” called another man from the table.

  Thames glanced at his buddy. “You know what, Thad? We could take the mill over and pack in the money for our cause.”

  “You’re not stealing our mill and forcing your will on innocent strangers,” called another. “You got an army out there in the woods somewhere?” This man looked familiar, probably someone Joseph had spoken with on his way through here in the past.

  Joseph gave the hostile fellow a quick, warning shake of his head and caught his gaze. Surprise slithered up his backbone. He knew this man, but not from these parts. Quinn. Adam Quinn. An abolitionist from Illinois. What was he doing here?

  Quinn sat back in his seat and muttered to the others, his voice too soft for Joseph to make out his words.

  When the bartender arrived with Joseph’s order, he uncorked the rum at Joseph’s request, then screwed up his face in confusion as Joseph replaced the cork gently, paid and walked out. A tiny splash of the liquor in the palm satisfied Countess, and Joseph recorked the bottle and slid them both into his saddlebags. For a moment he’d expected Thames and friend to show a bit of curiosity about why he’d chosen to pay more for his bottles, but they’d already had enough alcohol to sink their wits.

  Either Thames hadn’t seen Victoria in town yet, or he hadn’t recognized her, because Joseph had a clench in his gut that told him Thames, in his rantings to his buddy, would have likely mentioned her if he knew she was here. So where was she?

  Another concern trailed Joseph like the dust on the street, sweeping up and hovering around his head. If Thames recognized Quinn, there could be an explosion of violence on the streets of this tiny village. But the man’s presence here gave Joseph a sense of relief. Others were taking up the fight. He and his small band of wagoneers might not be so alone.

  Despite the long trek Countess had already endured today, Joseph urged her into a trot and covered the streets and the byways that led out into the country. Nary a sign of any of the three animals or two humans he sought, nor even an indentation of familiar footprints in the dust on the streets. He met up with Mr. Reich and the two of them covered the roads again, out past the edges of town. Nothing.

  By the time Joseph returned to camp, Countess was irritable and jerking on her bridle bit, jumping sideways to unseat him every few moments, and in every way possible letting him know she was tired and ready for some dinner—what she typically did when starting off in the morning.

  Joseph’s stomach continued to tighten into a knot of worry.

  He slid from the buckskin with an apology to her and pulled the saddle from her back. Next time he’d ride bareback. These saddles were heavy.

  Before he could lift the currycomb to cool down the mare, Gray Johnston stepped forward and grabbed the comb from him. “None of the ladies have seen hide nor hair of Victoria or Heidi, sir.”

  “Mrs. Reich and her posse are back already?”

  “Yep. You’d think someone would’ve noticed a new woman and girl in town, especially two so pretty.”

  “This is a stopover town, Gray. All kinds of travelers come through here every week. We just need to keep looking.”

  “What you need’s someone with a fresh horse, then,” Gray said, taking over the currycomb and giving Countess a long sweep of tines. “I got me one at the livery stable, traded my horse for him, promised to do some shoeing tomorrow to pay it back. Thought I might ride out and see if I can find them.”

  “Good idea, but do you know the trail they took?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then I’m going to need your fresh horse, son.” Joseph nearly smiled when he saw the disappointment in Gray’s eyes. The kid thought he was going to race out into the wilderness with no idea where he was going, find Heidi and Victoria and be their hero. “See those kids up there fishing in the mill pond?” He pointed toward the huge wooden gristmill. “Soon as you finish with Countess, take my fishing pole up there and do some sleuthing for me, find out what any of them know about a local cave. Don’t be too obvious, and don’t act too interested.”

  Some of the disappointment left Gray’s face. “You’ll let me use your fishing pole?”

  “Sure will. But do more listening than talking or fishing, son.” Joseph gave Gray a hard look. “You got that?”

  “Got it, sir.”

  “And don’t go near the cave if you find out about it, just go to Mr. Reich and let him k
now.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “Backtracking as fast as I can.” If he told Gray where he was going, the kid was half-likely to try tagging along after him. “And remember, anyone asks you about our wagon train, you know what to say.”

  “Yep. We’re looking for land to settle and slaves for sale.”

  “But don’t volunteer anything. Can you handle that?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Then grab some grub and let’s get moving.”

  * * *

  Shadows of blue sky, green forest and the gray ears of Boaz spun in Victoria’s sight. Pain etched its way down her legs, weakening her grip on the saddle. The spinning upset her stomach, so she closed her eyes.

  This was what she’d brought herself to by raging at God. And why not? It wasn’t as if she counted on Him. How could she have expected to bare her anger toward Him and live? And yet her rage increased.

  The Bible said she was the clay and He the potter. He had the right to do anything He wished to her, as if she was some soulless, emotionless piece of dishware. As if He was a heartless being who enjoyed watching the tiny creatures on this earth squirm in agony. “I hope I’m providing You with some enjoyment now,” she muttered.

  She was going to pitch off this horse at any moment so weak had she become from blood loss, and they’d found nothing to stop the bleeding for good. For some reason, she believed the gelding could sense her struggle, because he walked with a smoother, swifter gait than any horse she’d ever ridden. A horse could be more gentle and merciful than God.

  She knew that somehow her reasoning was off, that there was another side to that argument, but her mind didn’t seem to be working properly...all she wanted to do was sleep.

  Heidi’s short-legged donkey, Pudding, gave a bray of complaint that jerked Victoria awake once more.

  “That thing don’t stop his squalling I’ll cut him loose,” Heidi muttered.

  “We need him.”

  “We need to get you to help. You suppose the captain’s reached the mill town yet?”

  “I can’t be sure he went that way.”

  “He would have.”

  Victoria breathed deeply of the cool forest scents. Both she and Heidi had neglected to pack the ginger root that was so good for nausea, and so Victoria focused on breathing in deeply through the nose. Hold. Exhale quickly. In again. Hold. This she had learned in another country...couldn’t remember where.

  She focused on the splash of water in the creek beside them, but the bright sunlight blended with shade of the trees against her closed eyelids and made the spinning start again. Her stomach heaved and churned. The dizzy-feeling vibration in her head extended into her limbs.

  Before she could grab the saddle horn, she felt herself float away from her grip on Boaz. She heard a scream that started with piercing strength and then distanced itself, as if caught on a bird flying away from her.

  Something slammed into her body and pressed the breath from her. Blackness surrounded her, along with that scream that refused to stop.

  For some length of time—though she could not tell how much—she thought she was floating upward, as if perhaps she was going to join her husband in heaven. Though what reason would God have to give her that honor? She’d treated Him like the enemy these past months.

  Soft hands embraced her cheeks, and she blinked up to see Heidi’s pale, tear-filled eyes, feel her hands shaking, hear her sobs.

  “Another mile or so, maybe less,” she was barely able to whisper. “Then head east. Follow the creek.”

  “No.” Heidi’s voice grew firm. “I’m not leaving you here!”

  “You’d better think about that again, or you could die with me here.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Joseph was just getting the hang of the cantankerous horse Gray had borrowed from the stables when he reached the spot where Capps Creek emptied into the larger Shoal Creek. One more thing the kid needed to learn was that a man got what he paid for, and he’d sure paid little enough for this nag—or the stableman was a new one Joseph had never met before, and he was crooked.

  The nag perked her ears forward and her chest rumbled about the same time another sound reached Joseph—a scream, high and light, like a young girl’s cry. The sound chilled him to the core, and the nag found new energy when she received the smack of his hand on her rump.

  The rocks were bad in this section. A horse could have fallen. Snakes were numerous. He forced himself to stop thinking of every catastrophe that could have befallen Victoria and Heidi and focused on getting to them in once piece.

  One thought wouldn’t stop pestering him, though. Where was Deacon? He was a good tracker, and with Heidi’s little donkey braying—yes, there it was now, as obnoxious as ever—how could he not have caught up with them? Surely there couldn’t have been some kind of ambush when no one even knew they were here.

  A rocky cliff forced Joseph to ride the horse into the middle of the water, where sand and mud, amazingly, made for easier travel. When he rounded a bend in the creek, he saw Victoria lying on the bank with Heidi kneeling beside her.

  He slapped his mount on the rump again. Water and sand flew all around him. He was off the horse and kneeling beside Victoria in seconds, shocked by the blood on her breeches. “How much has she lost?” he asked Heidi.

  “Too much.” The girl’s voice shook like she was riding over rocks in a wagon. “It just keeps seepin’, and she’s hot now.”

  Joseph rubbed the backs of his fingers down the side of Victoria’s face. He’d felt many a face with this same kind of heat. “What’s she been drinking?”

  “Fresh water from every spring we’ve come to, but she can’t keep it down. I’ve done everything I can think of, but I’m no doctor, and she’s not aware enough to tell me what to do most times. I can’t even find any yarrow—”

  He turned to Heidi and took her frail hand. “What happened? That doesn’t look like a gunshot wound on her leg.”

  “Panther got her. My fault. All my fault. I drew his attention and then like a crazy woman, started running away. Doc got between us and he got her.”

  “And then?”

  “I shot him.”

  Joseph felt the muscles of his jaw clench in horror, but Heidi didn’t need to be more upset than she already was. “Looks like you did a good job with what you had, too.” He could smell the whiskey they’d obviously used to clean Victoria’s wound. He felt a stirring of humility. Embarrassment, even. He’d been so self-righteous about this beautiful woman’s ability to take care of herself, and here she’d saved Heidi’s life. And then Heidi had saved hers. Courageous women, both of them. But now it was time to get busy, not brood about allowing Victoria to get past his defenses—both in his heart and in his job.

  “Guess you were right.” Victoria’s voice reached him, cracked and weak, barely there over the trickle of the stream, and he looked down to find her eyes the color of the sky-fed water staring up at him—pale blue, reflecting her weakness.

  “Guess I was wrong,” he said. “You’re close to the village, and now you have an escort.”

  The relief in her face, of course, forced him to release any and all resentment that might have been hiding anywhere in him. Later, when he knew she’d be okay, he could teach her a few things about listening to a man with experience...but he suspected she might have already learned that. In fact, he knew she hadn’t wanted to carry out this stunt in the first place. She’d merely done what she thought was right.

  “Let’s get you up from here.” He reached down to lift her and she cried out. He held her closer. “Heidi, got any whiskey left?”

  “Ran out. I poured it all into that gouge in her leg.”

  “Get a bottle out of my right front saddlebag.” Alcohol was good for a lot of things, but apparently it hadn’t worked for Victoria. Still, the alcohol in it could cool her hot skin better than water.

  While Heidi did as he said, he asked Victoria, “What all have you used to t
ry to stop the bleeding?”

  “Heidi packed it with cloth, with sassafras and soaked it with whiskey. Had a tight bandage.”

  “I brought something just on a whim. You know how the ladies like to dry their herbs and such hanging inside the wagon during the day? I gathered some potato.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out some ground dried starch from the inside of some of the potatoes Mrs. Reich had dried after a foray through the field some weeks ago.

  “I remember. How dry?”

  “I think it’ll do the job.”

  “Had to come from last year’s crop.” Victoria’s voice sounded weaker.

  “Whoever planted it must have moved on, don’t you think?”

  “What if it’s already too late?” Her eyelids fluttered. “I think the Almighty wants me dead, and I don’t think I’ll be following Matthew to heaven.”

  “I think you’re delirious.” He laid her into a soft mound of grass just as Heidi returned. “Miss Ladue, I’m no doctor, nor am I a woman. You need to do this procedure. I can guide you.”

  Heidi frowned at him and handed him the bottle. “Me? I’ve almost killed her already.” Her voice cracked. “You know what you’re doing. You do it.”

  “You’re learning quickly. I daresay she’s taught you a lot just on this trip, and it’s more proper for a lady to treat a lady.”

  “Oh, for the love of King David,” Victoria said with a soft rasp, “someone just do something before my blood turns the creek red.”

  “I’d rather get you back to the village first,” Joseph said, “but I don’t want to take the time.” He could see the position of the wound clearly. He pulled a knife from his belt, glad he’d taken time to sharpen it.

  Proper etiquette in this season’s society not only said a man was never to touch a woman where Joseph was about to touch Victoria, but it also said he wasn’t supposed to acknowledge she had a thigh. He’d never been one for those kinds of societal rules, which was why he’d taken to the trail so quickly. Women couldn’t afford to be picky when their lives depended on common horse sense.