For several long hours, they endured the thunderstorm, making slow miserable progress. The gloomy morning looked more like late evening. Water flowed in steady streams through every low point on the trail. The oxen trudged through sticky mud, every step they took becoming more difficult. Goosebumps rose on Stephen’s arms as the temperature dropped, making them all cold as well as wet.
The trail ahead became increasingly difficult to see as the rain turned into heavy torrents. Then the wind picked up, blowing rainwater horizontally and throwing small branches and wet leaves in every direction, as though the storm could not decide which way to turn.
Stephen rode next to Jane and noticed her hands trembling so hard she had difficulty keeping the team moving. He tied George to the side of the wagon and jumped up beside her. “Get in the back and dry off,” he ordered.
For once, she gave him no argument. She nodded, handed him the guide rope, and kissed him before climbing into the back. Her lips felt wonderful against his cold face, and he wished she could linger there longer, deepen the kiss. At least the thought warmed him.
“Get under the blankets,” Jane told the children.
“But I’m afraid,” he heard Polly whine.
“Remember what I taught you, ‘fear sees the storm, faith sees God in the storm’,” Jane said.
“This doesn’t look much like God to me,” he heard Martha say.
Stephen had to agree with her.
“Step up!” he urged the oxen. It worked for a few yards and then they slowed again, unable or unwilling to improve their pace in the downpour.
The heavy rain suddenly slowed to a steady drizzle and he turned to look inside the wagon. Jane was trying to dry off as best she could, but it was hopeless, her gown and cloak were soaked. “Get out of that wet gown,” he suggested.
“I guess I’ll have to. Little John, cover your head with that blanket, so I can change my clothes.”
Stephen glanced back inside to be sure the boy complied as she hauled a dry gown out of her wooden trunk.
“He’s peeking Father,” Polly accused, pointing her finger at her cousin.
“Am not you tattle tale,” he shouted, taking the opportunity to lower the blanket again.
“Little John, if you don’t keep your head under that blanket, I’ll shave all the hair off your handsome little head,” Jane threatened.
All the girls laughed.
“Best you do as she says, boy,” Stephen said, then grinned.
Little John moved closer to Stephen and threw the blanket over his head. “There are too many girls in here.”
He had to sympathize, four girls, plus Jane. No wonder Little John felt outnumbered. He knew exactly how his nephew felt.
As quickly as the deluge slowed, a heavy downpour started up again.
Sam pulled his horse up alongside. “I’ll scout ahead, see if I can find shelter.”
“Good, this wagon is starting to float,” Stephen yelled back.
Sam urged his mount to a trot. The big gelding responded eagerly, undoubtedly anxious to find shelter too. Sam kept the horse at a brisk pace until the muddy trail began a gradual slope downhill. The treacherous path would hold numerous hidden rocks and cracks under the flowing water. He slowed the gelding to a walk and prayed his mount wouldn’t stumble and break a leg.
Iridescent white lightning exploded overhead like burning arrows, shooting across the dark sky.
Sam sensed his horse growing tenser under him at each angry bolt. He had to admit, the terrible thunderstorm made him edgy as well.
The trail turned to follow the side of the hill and Sam hoped it signaled a chance for shelter. But each bend in the road only revealed more trail and each section of the trail only led to more woodlands. Sam began to wonder if he should turn back. Finally, he saw a clearing of grass and gravel underneath a large rock overhang. The stone outcropping slanted sharply from the side of the hill, rain falling off its edge in a steady waterfall. It appeared just big enough to pull the wagon under and maybe keep the horses out of the deluge too. He turned around and urged his mount back up the trail toward the others.
In the next moment, lightning hit so hard and so close, the ground quaked, nearly knocking Sam out of the saddle. The bolt’s reverberation exploded painfully in his ears as though someone had fired heavy artillery next to his head. Sam tried to cover his face with his trembling arms as splintered smoldering wood and pine bark flew through the air. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the huge tree beginning to fall. He urged the gelding forward in an effort to escape. But it was too late. He and the horse joined the large tree’s deafening collision with the ground. Landing solidly on the mount’s hindquarters, he heard the horrific sound of the pine’s trunk shattering his horse’s back and hips. Instantaneously, his gelding was dead and he lay trapped beneath thick heavy branches.
Sam remained motionless, unable to hear or to think clearly. But he needed to get moving. He shook his head to try to clear it. Winded in the fall, he struggled to draw shallow breaths while he assessed his predicament. He could smell the tree smoldering. Fire? He couldn’t move his foot and knee, pinned under the horse and saddle. His ankle screamed as if someone had just planted a hatchet in it. A large branch immobilized his right arm, but he didn’t think the arm was broken, he could still move his fingers without pain.
Sam tried to move his other arm toward the saddle but could only just touch the saddle horn. Every movement brought agonizing discomfort in his leg and ankle. He pushed against the horse with his right leg, but the weight of the tree trunk rested fully on the gelding’s hip.
The cold rain pelted him incessantly, yet he could feel himself sweating from the effort to free himself. His head pounded and his ears would not quit vibrating, and he still found it hard to breathe. The air smelt burnt and hurt his lungs.
Sam clenched his jaw at the pain and looked for his Kentucky rifle. If he could manage to fire it, he could signal the others. But the rifle lay on the ground just out of reach. He grabbed his pistol, although he realized they would probably not be able to hear it through the storm. Sam pulled the trigger anyway, but the gun did not fire. The powder was too damp. It reminded him why he preferred his knife to the pistol. But even his knife would be of no help to him now.
The deluge pounded his eyes and sent water running into his nose, making him choke. Sam turned his face to the side, but his ear began to fill with the standing water all around him. He held his head up, but after a minute, he laid his head back down, too weak to continue to struggle. What felt like buckets of water, poured over his face. Rainwater continued to pool all around him, as the tree’s trunk and the horse’s body acted like a twisted bizarre dam, trapping the rising water. Much longer and he’d drown before anyone found him.
“Damn,” he swore, as consciousness began slipping away.
Stephen, help me.
Chapter 20
Stephen kept the group on the move through the terrible rainstorm, expecting Sam to come back any minute. But the minutes became interminable, with no sign of his brother. The nearly continuous lightning was the worst he had ever seen. A fiery bolt pierced violently through a black cloud up ahead, traveling perfectly vertical. It hit something close by as the explosive clap of the thunderbolt followed nearly instantly.
Stephen began to worry. “He should be back by now,” he yelled at William, who rode alongside him in case he needed help with the wagon and team.
John and Bear pulled their horses up beside William.
“We’ll scout ahead, check on Sam,” John shouted.
“Good,” Stephen said. “Hurry, something’s wrong.”
He watched the two start a slow trot through the downpour. Hopefully, they would keep a careful eye on the barely visible road, now covered in a brown river of liquefied mud. They would only be able to see a couple of horse lengths ahead of them.
Moments later, Bear returned. “Sam’s pinned under a tree in risin’ water,” he yelled. “Nee
d rope and saws. Hurry!”
Stephen instantly tied the oxens’ reins, leapt off, and opened the supply box attached to the wagon’s side between the wheels. He grabbed the axe, saws, and the rope Edward had given them, and then gave them to Bear and William.
“Is he hurt bad?” Stephen asked.
“If he’s not, ‘twill be a miracle. His horse is dead,” Bear said.
“Jane, hold the team here until we get back. Keep your rifle loaded and dry and the children in the wagon,” he instructed. “If you need us, fire the rifle.”
They reached Sam and John as quickly as they could. “How bad is he?” Stephen yelled as he flew off George.
John held Sam’s head, doing his best to keep his eyes and nose out of the water. “He’s still breathing. Hurry—the water’s rising,” John pleaded.
Stephen grabbed his axe and the three ran to Sam’s side.
“He’s knocked out. It could be bad,” John said. “I can’t lift him any higher—his arm’s pinned. His left leg is under the horse—probably broken. It’s a heavy tree, but his horse took the brunt of it. We’ve got to get the weight off that leg before it cuts off the blood or he’ll lose it.”
“William, use the saw to cut off this branch pinning his right arm,” John ordered. “Bear, get the big rope and put a loop around the top of the trunk over there. Once William has the arm cleared, use Camel to drag the tree. Stephen, use the axe to clear all the small branches from around him so they won’t tear him up when we pull the tree off. I’ll check on Sam some more to see if anything else is broken.”
The builder in John had designed an efficient plan to free Sam. It took only a few more minutes before they were ready to move the tree off.
Standing next to Camel’s head, Bear urged the big gelding forward. The horse struggled against the enormous weight. The tree didn’t budge. Slick mud, wet leaves and pine needles, made it hard for the gelding to get any traction. Bear coaxed Camel again. “Come on now, ye’re a giant among horses, my friend. Our Sam needs your help.”
Camel seemed to respond to his master’s plea and the sure-footed gelding’s muscles tightened as he took a step forward, then another. “Aye, that’s the way.”
Stephen let out a sigh of relief when Camel managed to move the tree just enough to lift it off Sam’s horse. He and William had tied their ropes to the dead horse’s flank and used their mounts to lift up the hips. John quickly freed Sam.
“Got him,” John yelled, over a loud clap of thunder.
They rushed to Sam’s side. His brother’s ankle pointed at nearly a right angle to his leg.
“That ankle’s clearly broken. We’d better set it before he wakes,” John said.
“I’ll get Jane,” Stephen said. “She knows more about doctoring than all of us put together.” As a youth, her father had her doctor animals and as a young woman, she had done some nursing during the Revolution. “William, come with me so you can guard the children.”
William turned without saying a word and jumped on his mount, already heading up the trail. Stephen followed.
Spare Sam, Stephen prayed as he rode. They needed him to make it safely to Kentucky, but, more importantly, he loved his brother. And, aside from their father, he respected and valued him more than any other man he’d ever known. He couldn’t imagine his life without his big brother by his side.
They reached Jane just as he finished his prayer.
“Jane, Sam’s injured. He broke an ankle, maybe more. Need you to set the ankle while he’s still unconscious. William will look after the children and bring the wagon. Grab what you need. Ride William’s horse.”
“What happened?” she yelled as they rode side by side.
“Huge tree fell on the gelding. Pinned Sam and his leg was caught under the horse.”
Jane carefully set the swelling ankle, using pieces of bark, cloth, and braided leather. She had to move quickly and do a good job, or Sam would always have a limp. He might anyway, even if she did set the ankle exactly right. Stephen watched, grateful that Sam never woke while she worked. But his brother slept fitfully and from time to time moaned loudly. He worried that the ankle might not be the worst of Sam’s injuries.
While Jane worked on Sam, they unsaddled Sam’s dead horse and William caught up to them with the wagon. The wind had let up and a slight drizzle was all that remained of the violent storm. They were all soaked and chilled to the bone, but none as cold as Sam.
“His skin feels like ice,” Jane said.
“We need to get him someplace warm before he gets a fever,” Stephen said.
“I’d best see if I can find shelter up ahead.” Bear said.
It did not take Bear long to locate the same outcrop of rock Sam had spotted. By noon, the group managed a rough shelter under the cliff and used a dead log and dry leaves, tucked under the overhang and out of the rain, to quickly build a fire. They placed Sam on a pallet next to the warm flames. Stephen and John took off Sam’s wet clothes so Jane could examine him further.
“There is considerable bruising, but no open wounds,” she told them, “and I see no signs of burns from the lightning strike. His internal injuries are unknown. They could be severe. I wish we had a physician to examine him.” Jane applied ointment to Sam’s cuts and scratches.
Stephen had to help Sam somehow, if only in his own small way. He took a dry cloth and dried as much of the moisture off Sam’s skin as he could. They would all need to dry off and get warm, but Sam came first. He covered his brother with the wool blanket Edward had sent and tucked it snugly around his chest and feet.
“Will he wake up?” Polly asked meekly, helping to straighten the blanket across her uncle.
“We must pray that he will,” Stephen said, placing his hand on the top of his daughter’s little shoulder.
“I don’t want Uncle Sam to die,” Little John told his father through tears.
Stephen understood how unnerving it was for the children to see their hero in such a state. It worried all of them. Sam could have unseen injuries and he might never wake.
“He won’t die Little John. The good Lord knows we need him to help us on our journey,” John said. “I bet he wakes up tomorrow morning as fierce as ever.”
It would be a long time until morning. Stephen would get little sleep, if any, and his stomach would be knotted with worry by then.
Amy scooted up next to Sam and knelt down. She gently kissed his forehead and then his bandaged ankle. “Mama says kisses make hurt bedder.”
Polly also knelt down and kissed him. Then Martha did the same.
Stephen studied Sam, desperately hoping that Jane was right.
Chapter 21
The prayers and kisses worked. Sam woke the next morning.
Jane examined Sam’s swollen arm and knee. The ankle caused him great pain, but otherwise, he appeared to be all right, except for numerous bruises and scratches nearly everyplace Stephen could see.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he told Sam, handing his brother a generous cup of whiskey for pain after they finished breakfast. He suspected Sam would not savor the whiskey. He hurt too much to enjoy it slowly.
“I’ll try my best not to put you through that again,” Sam said, gulping a big swallow. “Was it hard to get the tree off?”
“Indeed, but thanks to that new saw and the long rope Edward gave us, we made quick work of it. We might still be working on it if we hadn’t had those.”
“Here’s to Edward,” Sam said, downing the rest of the whiskey with relish. “Too bad about my horse, he was a good one.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to ride?” he asked.
“I’m as sore as a butchered hog, but yes, if one of our spare horses will let me mount from the off side with my right foot,” Sam said. “I can just leave the left one hanging, and ride with one stirrup, especially if I can stay on this medicine. How about another cup?”
He took the cup but filled it with coffee instead. He needed Sam alert enough to shoot
straight if the need arose. “I’ll give you a stronger cup in an hour.”
The group decided to rest up for a week or so and let Sam recuperate.
“I’ll start training one of the spare horses to let you mount from the off side. It bothers some horses, but others not at all,” Stephen said.
That afternoon, he chose the bigger of the two extra horses he had brought along and started training it. He spent two full days mounting the tall buckskin from the off side to get it ready for Sam. The beautiful golden gelding, with a silky black mane and tail, became indifferent to which side Stephen mounted him. He also spent the rest of the week fine-tuning the horse’s other skills. Sam’s new gelding was a quick learner and willing to please.
After several days, Sam could take short steps if he used a sturdy branch for a cane. He hobbled over to where Stephen worked with the horse and watched. Stephen remembered that Sam had admired the gelding when he brought the mount back from Barrington, but hadn’t been willing to give up an experienced mount for a green one. After this training, the steed would be more dependable.
“He’s level-headed but he’s got a lot of go in him,” Stephen said. “You’ll have to hold him back some.” He made the horse turn in a tight circle. “As you can see, he reins well too.”
“Looks like you’ve polished him up well,” Sam said. “Thank you for getting him ready. You’ve had several horses over the years. Which one was your favorite? Old Rebel?”
Hearing the name, Stephen fondly remembered the first horse his father gave him. “I don’t know. I always like the one I’m riding. But George is exceptional. He’ll be hard to beat.”
“This one will be called Alex,” Sam declared.
“Why Alex?”
“After Hamilton—the rascal who came up with that excise tax on whiskey last year. He’s a horse’s ass, so I thought it would be a fitting name.”
Romancing the Wilderness: American Wilderness Series Boxed Bundle Books 1 - 3 Page 14
