Beyond the Trail. Six Short Stories Page 10

  Papa would have never said that, but he wasn’t here now, so Amy had to grit her teeth and deal with Jacob. “Yes, I’m a girl,” she said, forcing herself not to let her annoyance show. “That’s why I’m lighter than you. Uncle Jacob, please. Let me do this.”

  Jacob looked back and forth between the house and Amy.

  “Come here, Amy,” Mama shouted over the roar of the water.

  “No, Mama, I—”

  “Come here!”

  Amy turned.

  Mama reached around her, slung a lariat around Amy’s middle, and tied it off with a knot Papa had shown them. She kissed Amy’s forehead. “Now go. And be careful.”

  Jacob still blocked the window. “Are you sure you want her to—?”

  “Yes.” Mama pushed at his shoulder.

  Finally, Jacob took hold of the lariat’s end and moved away.

  Amy’s stomach knotted. Don’t think. Just move. After one glance back at the women at the river’s bank, Amy crawled through the window. She set her feet onto the floor of the Buchanans’ bedroom, careful not to cause any vibrations that might dislodge the house from its precarious hold. Wood creaked, but the bushes still held on to the house.

  Amy tiptoed forward. Water swirled around her ankles. She looked around.

  The wooden trunk that normally sat at the foot of the bed had been swept halfway toward the door. Someone had piled the Buchanans’ most valuable possessions onto the bed to save them from the rising water. A leather-bound Bible balanced on top of Sunday dresses, a rifle, and a hand-carved cradle. A doll was perched on the pile as if watching everything.

  Amy opened the bedroom door and looked around the parlor.

  It was empty too.

  Had she been mistaken and only imagined someone moving inside the house? Mama will have my hide if I’m risking my life for nothing.

  But then a low whimper came from the parlor.

  “Hello?” Amy called.

  No answer came.

  Slowly, step by step, Amy crossed the parlor, letting the whimpers guide her.

  The noises were clearly coming from the fireplace, which was as wet as the rest of the parlor.

  Was an animal, swept into the house by the flood, stuck there?

  Amy crouched down to look into the fireplace.

  Wide blue eyes stared back at her.

  “Lucinda!” Amy let her gaze sweep over the Buchanans’ youngest daughter, making sure she wasn’t hurt. “What are you doing here? Where are your parents?”

  Instead of answering, Lucinda launched herself at Amy.

  Amy was toppled over and landed on the floor, the six-year-old on top of her. Water soaked her through her pants and shirt.

  The house creaked and shook.

  Amy’s heart lurched. “Lucy,” she whispered. “Stay very, very still.”

  The floor tilted beneath them. They tumbled toward the front door, which stood open, revealing the roaring river beyond.

  Amy protectively clutched the girl against her body. She tried to stop their slide, digging in her heels. It was to no avail. They rushed toward the door and the river.

  No, no, no! Amy grabbed hold of the table, but it was hurled toward the river too.

  A jerk on the rope around Amy’s middle stopped their fall.

  Air whooshed out of Amy’s lungs. She lay still, gasping, then the groaning of the house made her fly into action. With trembling fingers, she loosened the knot, holding on to the rope with one hand. She tied it around Lucinda’s thin waist and frantically pulled on the rope, hoping Jacob and Mama on the other end would understand that she wanted them to pull.

  Branches broke outside.

  A pull on the rope jerked them toward the bedroom, but it wasn’t fast enough.

  The house slid slowly back into the river. Amy’s weight on top of Lucinda’s was slowing them down. As they were dragged through the bedroom door, she let go of the rope.

  Lucinda was wrenched away, toward the window. She screamed at the top of her lungs.

  With a bursting sound, the house was pulled back into the floods, away from the bank.

  * * *

  Everything seemed to happen at the same time. Lucinda was yanked through the window. Amy crashed to the floor and held on to the doorjamb. The house around her spun and bucked like a bronco.

  Hold on!

  Debris hit the house, making it shake. With an almost painful squeal, one of the walls was wrenched away. Gasping, fighting down panic, Amy knelt on the now raft-like structure and stared at the roaring torrent surrounding her. The banks rushed by. All she could see was the torrent of gushing, brownish water.

  Screams and shouts, almost drowned out by the roaring water, came from outside.

  Mama!

  A lump formed in Amy’s throat, choking her. Her hands shook so much that she almost lost her grip on the doorjamb. She was trapped. No way out. Her only chance was to hope the house would lodge in a tree or a bush along the banks again.

  Ahead of her, she made out a bend in the river. The house was swept toward the riverbank. If she got close enough, maybe—just maybe—she could jump ashore.

  Please, please, please!

  The house crashed against the bank. Amy was hurled across the room. Her head collided with the bed. She cried out and covered her head with her arms. The cradle toppled over, almost hitting her too. Lucinda’s doll landed next to her.

  Groaning, Amy looked up.

  Part of the outer wall had been torn away. The remnants of the house bobbed up and down just a few yards from the riverbank.

  Following an impulse, Amy shoved the doll behind her waistband and staggered toward the opening in the wall. Right before the edge, she stopped. The bank was too far away to reach it by jumping. Could she make it the five yards to the bank if she paddled like crazy?

  Her legs trembled as she tightened her muscles and prepared to jump.

  “Amy, no!”

  Amy’s head jerked up. Hot tears dribbled down her face as she made out Papa, standing in the stirrups on top of Dancer, waving frantically. Her legs gave in, and she fell to the floor. “Papa, help me!”

  “Stay calm,” Papa shouted. “I’ll come and get you.” He jumped off his horse, slid down the muddy bank, and waded into the river.

  The floods tore at his legs, nearly sweeping him away.

  Cursing, he jumped back. “The current is too strong. Whatever you do, don’t jump in.”

  The house moved faster now, away from Papa. “Papa!”

  Papa raced along the bank, jumping over driftwood and other debris.

  The river made another bend, forcing the house toward the opposite bank, where Papa wouldn’t be able to reach it anymore.

  Papa jumped into the water.

  “Nooo!” Amy shouted as waves crashed over his head. She couldn’t see him anymore. “Papa? Papa!” On her knees, she slid closer to the edge of the improvised raft and stared into the brownish flood.

  Her father was gone.

  Amy sobbed.

  A touch to her knee made her look up.

  Papa! He clung to the wooden floor of the house. “Slide down to me and climb onto my back.”

  “B-but I’m too heavy.” Amy stared at the river. What if she dragged Papa down too?

  Water dripped from Papa’s hair. “Remember how I saved your mother from the Wakarusa River?”

  Amy nodded. It was one of few things she could remember of her early childhood. Mama had almost drowned, trying to prevent Amy’s doll from falling into the river. Amy gripped the doll sticking out from her pants.

  “I can do this,” Papa said as if to reassure them both.

  Hesitatingly, Amy slid down and climbed onto his back. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on for dear life.

  “Whatever you do, don’t let go,” Papa said. Then he pushed them away from the remnants of the house.

  Rushing water tore at them, engulfed them.

  Amy’s head dipped under water. She couldn’t breath
e. Panic rose. She struggled against the urge to let go and kick her arms and legs. Water burned in her eyes. She couldn’t see and didn’t even know which way was up and which was down.

  Something slammed into her back. Her mouth opened as she wanted to cry out in pain. Instead, she swallowed water. Her lungs ached.

  Papa’s strong legs propelled them up.

  Amy’s head broke the surface. She spat out water and gasped for air, sucking it into her lungs.

  Inch by inch, Papa brought them closer to shore.

  Amy kicked out her legs to help. A wave washed over them, and she swallowed more water.

  Papa coughed beneath her, but he never stopped swimming. Finally, he crawled up the riverbank.

  Amy rolled off his back, panting, coughing.

  They lay in the mud, just gasping for air and staring into the cloudy sky.

  Then Papa sat up and looked at her. Water ran down his face. “What the heck were you doing in that house?”

  “L-l-lucinda.” Amy’s teeth clacked against each other. She was trembling so much that she could barely speak.

  Papa stared at her.

  “T-the B-buchanan’s daughter,” Amy said. “She w-was stuck in the house. I rescued her, b-but then it was too late for me to get out.”

  “Christ, if I hadn’t come down to the river to look for the yearlings ...” Papa’s voice trembled too. “Never, ever do something like this again, do you hear me?”

  Amy flung herself at her father. She burrowed her head against his shoulder, ignoring the wet, muddy shirt, and cried.

  * * *

  They wandered south, keeping a safe distance from the river. Amy shivered in her wet clothes. They crested yet another hill, but still no trace of Papa’s horse or anyone coming to their rescue. All Amy could see was water, mud, and ruined fields. Apparently, the river had swept her northward for quite a distance.

  “Where’s Phin?” she asked. Maybe he would find Dancer, the gelding Papa had left behind, and come get them. She longed to climb onto the gelding’s back and let him carry her home.

  “I sent him to see if any of the yearlings went down to the Molalla.”

  He had barely finished the sentence when hoofbeats approached.

  Amy stumbled and stopped.

  The Garfields’ buckboard rumbled toward them. Mama galloped ahead on Cinnamon, her own mare in tow. Her hair had come free from its pins and was fluttering like a red flag in the wind. She brought the gelding to a stop in front of them and slid from the saddle. Her face was blotchy as if she had been crying.

  “I’m all right, Ma—”

  Mama engulfed her in a tight hug, muffling the rest of what Amy wanted to say.

  The Garfields and the Buchanans crowded around them, all talking at the same time, asking, explaining, laughing, and crying.

  Finally, Amy’s strained nerves couldn’t take it anymore. She freed herself from Mama’s embrace and walked over to the Buchanans.

  Tom and his wife Emeline were huddled together, holding on to Lucinda, while Joshua, Tom’s grown son, hovered nearby.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” Tom said, his voice rough as if he had been shouting for hours. “We had all climbed onto the wagon and were about to head out when Lucy jumped down and ran back into the house. I think she wanted to fetch her doll.”

  “Oh.” Amy patted her waistband. The doll was still there. She pulled the sodden toy from her pants and handed it to the girl. “Here.”

  Lucinda wrapped her arms around the doll and clutched it to her chest, mud and all.

  Amy felt hands on her shoulders. She turned.

  Her parents were standing behind her with Nattie and Hannah.

  “Come on,” Papa said. “Let’s go home.”

  * * *

  “Weren’t you scared?” Hannah whispered.

  Amy turned in bed to face Hannah. “A little.” She kept her voice low too so she wouldn’t wake Nattie, who had bedded down next to Amy’s bed while the Buchanans slept in her room.

  “Climbing into the house even though you can’t swim was really brave,” Hannah said. “You saved little Lucy.” She threw her arms around Amy, pressing their chemise-clad bodies together, and planted a kiss on Amy’s cheek.

  Heat rushed through Amy. Her body tingled. She lay still, barely daring to breathe. Basking in the glow of Hannah’s admiration, she felt six feet tall.

  Hannah didn’t pull back. She laid her head on Amy’s shoulder and sighed dreamily.

  Oh, Lord. This has got to be the best moment in my life.

  “Amy?” Hannah whispered.

  Amy’s breath caught. What was Hannah about to say? She tried to make out Hannah’s expression in the darkness but couldn’t. “Yes?”

  “Joshua finally asked me.”

  Joshua? Why was Hannah talking about Joshua now? “Asked you what?”

  Hannah lifted her head off Amy’s shoulder and leaned over her on one elbow. “He asked me to marry him.” Her teeth gleamed in the moonlight as she smiled. “And I said yes.”

  Amy’s moment of happiness crumpled just as the Buchanans’ house had disintegrated around her. She felt as if she were going to be sick. “M-marry?”

  “Yes,” Hannah said. “Isn’t it great?”

  “B-but ...” Amy shook her head. “Why now?” Joshua had been courting Hannah for some time, but Amy had never thought about them marrying. She had imagined she would spend summers riding the range with Hannah forever. “Maybe you should wait.”

  Hannah sat up. “Wait? Amy, I’m almost nineteen. My brother and sister were married and had a child when they were my age.” She leaned over Amy and looked into her eyes. “You don’t think marrying Josh is a good idea? I really care for him.”

  “I know,” Amy said. For the last two years, Hannah had gone on and on about how wonderful Joshua was and how he made her heart race and her stomach flutter whenever he was close. Finally, it had dawned on Amy that Hannah could have been describing Amy’s feelings for her. Amy let her head sink back onto the pillow. “But what about ...?”

  “About what?”

  “What about me?” Amy whispered.

  Hannah hugged her again. “Oh, Amy. Just because I’m getting married doesn’t mean we can’t be friends anymore. Soon you’ll be all grown up, and you’ll fall in love with a wonderful man and marry too. Maybe one day, our children will grow up together.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Hannah patted her arm. “You just wait and see.”

  Amy didn’t answer.

  “What is it?” Hannah asked. “What’s wrong?”

  Amy shrugged. She couldn’t explain what she barely understood herself, least of all to Hannah.

  “Let’s go to sleep,” Hannah said after a minute. “Your parents said we’ll head over to the Buchanans’ farm in the morning. Maybe there’s something we can save from the outbuildings. Sleep well.”

  “You too,” Amy mumbled. She turned her back toward Hannah and stared into the darkness, feeling as if she were still in the floating house, with the world spinning around her. After a while, she realized Hannah had fallen asleep. Quietly, she slipped out of bed, stepped over the softly snoring Nattie, and tiptoed downstairs. Maybe a visit to the stable would help clear her head.

  The bottom step creaked before Amy reached it.

  Amy paused. Was someone else awake?

  “Mama?” a small voice asked.

  “No, Lucy. It’s me—Amy. What are you doing up?” Now that her eyes had grown more used to the darkness, she could see Lucinda huddled on the bottom step. Had the girl had a nightmare? After what she had been through, Amy wouldn’t be surprised. She took Lucinda’s hand and led her into the parlor, where she lit a kerosene lamp.

  Lucinda clutched her still damp-looking doll and stared up at Amy with adoration. “Thank you for bringing Betty back.”

  “You’re very welcome,” Amy said, keeping her voice low so she wouldn’t wake the Garfields, who were sleeping in the parlor. She t
apped the doll’s porcelain nose. “I had a doll just like this when I was little.” Sometimes, she longed for those days, when she and Hannah had run along the wagons traveling to Oregon, or later, when they had held hands as they watched a foal being born. When had her innocent adoration of her older friend turned into these strange, confusing feelings?

  “What happened to her?” Lucinda asked.

  Amy glanced down at her. “Um, what?”

  “What happened to your doll?”

  “She fell into a river,” Amy said.

  “Oh.” Lucinda clutched her doll more tightly against her chest. “Did you get another one?”

  Amy shook her head. “No. Back then, we didn’t have much money, and on the journey to Oregon, there were no stores to buy a new doll.”

  Chewing her lip, Lucinda looked back and forth between her doll and Amy. Finally, she held the doll out to Amy. “I give you mine.”

  Amy blinked. This little girl had lost her home and nearly her life, yet she offered to give up the only thing she had left. Compared to her, I’ve got so much. She reached out and stroked Lucinda’s head. “You keep it, sweetie. I don’t need it. After I lost my doll, my papa made toy horses for me.”

  Lucinda pulled the doll back against her chest. “I like horses.”

  “Me too,” Amy said. “Want to go and visit the horses with me?” Spending time with the horses always helped her forget about her troubles for a while. Maybe it would do the same for Lucinda. Amy held out her hand.

  Lucinda hesitated. “The horses’ home won’t swim away, will it?”

  “No, Lucy. It won’t. So, shall we go?”

  Nodding eagerly, Lucinda took Amy’s hand.

  They tiptoed through the parlor, where Jacob was snoring on the sofa, his feet hanging off the end. When they stepped onto the porch, the rain had finally stopped, and for the first time in weeks, the moon wasn’t hiding behind clouds. An owl hooted in the pine tree behind the house.

  Amy lifted her face to the sky and breathed in the night air.

  Lucinda tugged on her hand.

  Smiling, Amy led her toward the stable. No matter what the future would bring, she would have her family and the horses. If that was enough for a little girl like Lucinda, it would be enough for her too.