Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (26 page)

Liberty could feel her knees weakening, but not from terror. Anger started down in her stomach and surged up

“Don’t you mean what’s best for
you?”

“All of us—me ’n Amy too. I be head a this family, what I say goes. It ain’t fer a woman ta be makin’ the choice! Beddin’ goes with marryin’. It’s a woman’s duty ta her man.” His voice rose angrily.

“What about your duty to me and Amy?”

“A man does what he can fer girls he’s got. He gets ’em a man ta look out fer ’em. Ya got them notions ’bout a woman havin’ her say from yore ma.” He snorted angrily.

“Yes, I did, and I thank God she had the sense to teach me that I have the same amount of brains in my head as any man alive!”

“A woman ain’t got no more sense than a hen chicken. She’s there ta give eggs, have a rooster ta ride her ’n pay no mind ta her squawkin’.”

“That sounds like something Stith would say. Don’t you have any thoughts of your own, Papa?”

“Yo’re jist deaf, dumb and blind ta a woman’s ways, is what ya are.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like I had no more sense than a hen waiting for a rooster to ride me!” Liberty’s temper flared out of control and she almost choked getting the words out.

“Don’t ya raise yore voice ta me!” he said with more determination than she had heard in a long time. “Stith’s still willin’ ta take ya, jist as if’n ya ain’t been had by Jubal. Jubal had the say of ya fer a while, but he’s gone. Yo’re back under my say, ’n I say you’ll marry up with Stith like ya ort a done, ’n we’d not be in this gawdforsaken place.”

“I suppose Stith reminded you that I’m back under your control?” Liberty’s anger faded and she was able to speak in an unnaturally quiet voice. Her father reminded her of Preacher Ellefson and would be just like him, she thought, if he had a strong enough character.

“Stith ain’t no fool. He knows the law.”

Liberty watched Farr working with the oxen. He was out of earshot, but within calling distance.

“You can tell Stith that he might as well pack up and go back to Middlecrossing. I’m not coming with you, now or ever. This is the parting for us, Papa. Go back home with Stith. You’ve said repeatedly that you don’t like the wilderness.” She watched the anxiety fill Elija’s eyes and anger goaded her to say, “You don’t care a whit for me and Amy anyway except to use us to make an easy life for yourself.”

“That’s a mean thin’ ta say. Ya’ve always been headstrong ’n mouthy, ain’t ya? Ya always stick your bill in when I’m tryin’ ta do right by ya. Ya ain’t got no gratitude in ya a’tall fer me workin’ ’n raisin’ ya up like I done. I’d like ta take a stick to your backside is what I’d like ta do.”

“I don’t think I’d try that if I were you.” Liberty looked over her father’s shoulder and saw Farr walk up behind him. He came around and took her hand. It was trembling and he held it tightly.

“Is your pa staying for supper?” he asked casually.

“None a us is stayin’.” Elija cleared his throat. “If yo’re done with the oxen, I’ll hitch up. We got ta be agoin’. Get Amy, Libby.”

“You’re not taking my
wife
anywhere. She stays here with me. I understand the oxen and the wagon are hers. They stay too.” Farr’s voice was moderate, reasonable as he dropped his quiet words into the silence.

Elija looked at Farr stupidly. Farr looked back at him steadily until finally Elija glanced down at Liberty’s hand clasped in his big brown one.

“Ya ain’t wed. There ain’t no place—” he stammered as if his throat were raw and he was having trouble speaking.

“Yes, there is. We are wed and have a paper to prove it. It’s legal and binding in the Illinois Territory. My wife brought to our marriage the oxen, the wagon, and the two horses. They stay here too

“He can have one of the horses,” Liberty said.

“All right. Take one of the horses. I want you to understand this, Carroll. Liberty and her sister are under my protection now. You tell that blowed-up bastard who’s taken over the Shellenberger place that if he as much as touches a hair on the head of either one of them, I’ll draw and quarter him and hang him out to dry.” Farr’s cold green eyes slashed across Elija’s face like the sharp edge of a knife.

“Ya can’t be wed,” Elija protested and scrubbed his hand over the stubble around his mouth.

“We are wed, Papa,” Liberty said almost kindly. “Face it. Go back and tell Stith to forget about me. Maybe he’ll go back home and you can go with him.”

“It ain’t right, ya up ’n weddin’ without yore own pa knowin’. It’s like ya done when ya wed Jubal.” His shoulders began to slump and a whine came into his voice. “Nothin’s gone right.”

“You’re welcome to come see Liberty and Amy, but if you stay, you work for your keep,” Farr said bluntly.

Elija stood silently for a moment, fingering the reins in his hand, and Liberty thought he was going to mount and ride away. When he looked at them, there was a defiant gleam in his eye.

“Ya ain’t wed to Amy. I’m her pa ’n I got the say over her. She’s acomin’ to Stith’s with me.” He led his horse to the rail and tied the reins.

Farr dropped Liberty’s hand and with a few quick steps was in front of him, blocking his way.

“You’re not taking Amy down to stay with a bunch of rough men. Get that through your head and we’ll avoid trouble. Her place is here with her sister.” Farr spoke calmly but firmly, and Liberty was grateful that she had him beside her.

“You ain’t got no right ta be tellin’ me what ta do ’bout Amy. I’m her pa.”

“I have the right because it’s the decent thing to do.”

“Papa! Amy’s been with me all her life.” Liberty’s heart had given a sickening leap and was still pounding so hard she could scarcely speak.

“Stith’ll get the soldiers. Stith said—”

“He said if you couldn’t make me come to bring Amy,” Liberty finished bitterly. “Isn’t that right?”

“Carroll, I don’t want any trouble with you because you’re my wife’s father. But you’re going to get plenty if you insist on taking Amy away from her sister.”

“Libby—” Elija turned to Liberty, but she turned abruptly away and closed him out as sure as if she had slammed a stout door in his face. “It ain’t right, losin’ both my girls.”

“You’re free now to do as you please, Papa,” Liberty said without looking at him. “Take one of the horses and go. I’m making my home here, with Farr. Someday Amy will marry and make her own home. Until that time comes she’ll stay with us.”

It seemed to Liberty she had come out of a long, dark, frightening tunnel and into the light. She had always had to stand alone against her father and Stith. This time Farr had stood beside her. Her emotions in check, Liberty looked at her father, and soon her anger gave way to pity for the man whose heart was so lacking in love for her and her sister. He was not an evil man. As far as she knew, he had never harmed anyone. He was just willing to trade his daughters for what he sincerely believed to be a life of ease. He cared for no one and nothing but himself.

“Good-bye, Papa.”

Her eyes met his briefly, then she turned away and walked swiftly to the barn and didn’t look back.

*  *  *

Evening had turned into night by the time the evening meal was over. Amy washed the children, and almost as soon as she put them to bed they were asleep. Willa and Liberty cleaned up by the faint light from the floating oil lamp. Supper had been quieter than the noon meal. Juicy and Colby joshed each other as was their habit. Rain and Farr ate in silence. When the meal was over, the men went out into the storeroom with a stub of candle Liberty had placed on the mantle, and she could hear them talking about the partition they were going to build to make the extra room.

“I like light in the evening.” Liberty rushed into conversation to break the silence. “I’m glad I brought the tin molds. We’ll melt down some beeswax before winter—”

“There’s not much soap, and what we’ve got isn’t much good,” Willa said hesitantly. “Mr. Juicy said they got this from the Sufferites.”

“We’ll make our own soap from now on. I’ll ask Juicy to build us a lye box and we’ll start soaking down the ashes. There’s a crock of lard in the springhouse. I don’t think they’ve kept it covered, so it’ll not be good for anything but making soap. We’ll make a batch and put some honey in it. Have you tried that? It’s nice to wash your face with. I’ve used beeswax, too, but I like honey better.” Liberty talked on about making soap and adding rose oil to make it scented. She told of the garden seed she had brought with her. “I’ve got marigold seed too,” she admitted.

Willa asked her about the carded wool in her trunk. They talked about knitting warm stockings, gloves and caps after it was spun into yarn.

Liberty’s nerves were like a jumping jack by the time the work was finished and it was time to retire for the night. Amy seemed to be blissfully unaware of her sister’s anxiety and chattered endlessly about how happy she was that they were staying with Farr and Juicy, Colby and Rain. That they had made a permanent break with their father didn’t seem to affect her at all.

Willa came to the wash shelf where Liberty was washing her face and hands with a wet cloth and a small bar of scented soap Jubal had given her before they left New York.

“Don’t be so worried,” she said quietly. “Mr. Quill is a kind man.” Soft brown eyes looked anxiously into Liberty’s and Willa’s work-roughened hands clasped her arm.

“How did you know I was worried?” She answered her own question before Willa could open her mouth. “I have been running off at the mouth, haven’t I?” She sighed deeply. “I always dreamed it would be . . . different. Since I was a little girl, I’ve dreamed I’d be with a man who loved me. Mr. Quill doesn’t love me—”

“Oh, he must! How could he not? You’re so nice and so pretty.”

“Have you ever been with a man, Willa?” Liberty’s face reddened as she whispered the words.

Even in the dim shadows Liberty could see the fear and tension that flitted across Willa’s face, and wished she could withdraw the question.

“Once . . . but it wasn’t like it’s supposed to be. I didn’t want to do it. Catherine, Mrs. Coulter, the lady who had my bond, told me being with a man wasn’t anything to be scared of. She said it was real nice to . . . do it, when she and Mr. Coulter were young.”

“Did he—”

“Oh, no. Not Mr. Coulter. He died first, then when Mrs. Coulter died, her kin got my papers. He . . . he came to my room one time. His wife found out and made him sell my bond to Mr. Thompson.”

“He forced you?”

“Yes.” Willa shuddered. “He was so hairy . . .” She clasped Liberty’s arm. “But Mr. Quill won’t be like that,” she said quickly.

“He wants children.”

“But . . . you were married. You know what they do.”

“My husband treated me like a younger sister. He never made any attempt to take me to bed. I don’t think he even thought about it.”

“Oh . . .” Willa’s eyes filled with pity. She watched Liberty through dark, thick lashes. In all her young life, Willa had known little love, and much loneliness, longing and hardship. There had been years of impossible struggle. And from that struggle, she had learned to judge men. “Mr. Quill isn’t the
taking
kind of man,” she said firmly, and searched Liberty’s face, trying to decide if the dampness on her cheeks was caused by tears or the wet cloth.

Liberty avoided her eyes. “He isn’t the
asking
kind of man either.” She felt faintly giddy and her face, flamed by the blond hair, paled. “I’m going on out to the wagon. He’ll . . . know where I am.”

Amy was sitting quietly in the rocking chair, and Liberty dropped a kiss on her forehead as she passed her.

“Night, Libby.” There was a pitying quality to her voice that brought home to Liberty the fact that Amy was aware her sister was now the wife of a man who would expect her to be a wife in every sense of the word. While married to Jubal she had slept most of the time with Amy. It occurred to her that sometime in the future, after she had experienced what happened between a man and a woman, she should talk to her sister and tell her things that had never been told to her.

Forcing a lightness in her voice, Liberty said, “Night, honey. In the morning we’ve got to plant the potato eyes and make something decent for Mercy and Daniel to wear.”

*  *  *

A full moon rode high in a sky full of floating, drifting clouds that allowed its light to shine through one moment and concealed it the next. The cottonwood leaves were whispering and the peeper frogs down by the river seemed unusually loud in the quiet night. With no other noise, the smallest sounds were obvious, such as the loud creaking of the wagon as Liberty climbed inside.

She sat down on her straw pallet and took the pins from her hair. She looked out the end of the wagon, staring into the shadows, transfixed, literally shaking inside. She swallowed hard, fighting back the tears. A poignant longing for her mother surged through her. For a moment all the years rolled away and Liberty could hear her talking.
Someday you will meet a man and a miracle will happen. You will love each other very much. He will be the center of your universe. It will be as if you are not whole without him.

It was years after her mother died that a distant cousin told Liberty about her mother’s younger days. The love of her life had been killed by a Tory bullet, and in the midst of her grief and depression she had married Elija Carroll, a man who was the complete opposite of the man she had loved so desperately.

Thinking about her mother’s life, and how she had bedded with a man she didn’t love and who didn’t love her, Liberty slipped out of her dress and underclothes and into her nightdress. Filled with tension, she sat on the pallet and raked her fingers through her hair. Finally she lay down and pulled a cover over her. She was sure that her brain was too tired and too confused to think about what she would do when Farr came to her. But her mind refused to be turned off. Knowing she was merely
paying
for his protection, she wondered how she was going to share the most intimate act a woman could share with a man—especially a man who stirred longings in her. She would never have his love. Fawnella, sleeping on the hill above the river, would always have his heart. Liberty meant no more to him than a woman who would give him children, keep his house, and work beside him in return for his protection.