Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (27 page)

Tears trickled from her eyes. Soon the tiredness in her body overcame her restless mind and she slept.

She awakened suddenly. A fierce gust of wind had rocked the wagon and she could hear a tin bucket rolling across the yard.

“It’s only a windstorm.” Farr’s voice came out of the darkness. “Go back to sleep. The clouds are thin, and it will pass.”

Liberty sank back down and pulled the quilt up over her shoulders. It was the same as the night Jubal died. His voice had come out of the darkness to reassure her. She had not even awakened when he had come to the wagon and lain down beside her. Would he turn to her now and demand his right? No. He had said for her to go back to sleep. She lay still, almost afraid to breathe lest she draw attention to herself. Her eyes became accustomed to the darkness and she could see the shape of his shoulders as he lay with his back to her.

Her last thought before she drifted off to sleep was that Farrway Quill was a strange man—kind, but strange. And she wondered about the little spark of disappointment that flickered through her mind.

*  *  *

Morning came and Liberty awakened to find herself alone. Light rain was falling and a mist hugged the ground. She dressed quickly, and with an old leather jacket over her head dashed for the door of the cabin.

“Mornin’.”

Willa spoke from where she was bending over a pan of frying meat. The smell of coffee boiling permeated the room. A faint light from the storage room shone through the open doorway and Liberty could hear Juicy’s gravelly voice and Colby’s light teasing one.

“Oh, flitter! I overslept again. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”

“You didn’t oversleep. I got up extra early. ’Sides, Mr. Quill came in early and stoked up the fire. He said you were still sleeping.”

Liberty felt the warmth of the blush that covered her face and was grateful that Willa didn’t look at her. She washed, dried on a towel that was damp from previous dryings and wondered if it was Farr who had run the cloth over his face to rid it of wash water. There were so many things about him she didn’t understand; his explosive temper when he struck Stith, his tenderness with the children, his kindness to Willa. She knew nothing about his personal habits except that he was clean, very clean.

She turned from the wash bench to see him coming through the doorway.

“Morning,” he said. “It’ll be too wet for you to work the garden today. But the rain will soften the clods and make raking easier when you do work it.”

“Will the rain slow you down much?” She was surprised she could carry on a normal conversation.

“We’ll fell trees today. Colby and Rain are like two water rats,” he said and smiled. “Juicy will work on the extra room. Coffee smells good.”

“Sit and I’ll get you some.”

The men filed in and took their places at the table. There were no sly glances, no indication of the teasing that usually followed a wedding night. Voices were kept low so as not to waken the children. Liberty saw Rain cast his eyes toward Amy’s bunk. She lay with her back to the room, her loose hair spread over the quilt that covered her.

When the meal was over, Farr lit a candle and asked her to come into the storage room. He told her their plans for building bunks and a cobblestone fireplace before winter. He took her to the back and showed her bolts of material stacked on a shelf. Alongside were needles, threads, garters, leggings, white goods and blankets.

“Use what you want of this to fix up the house,” he said casually. “Women like curtains . . . and things.”

“I don’t have to have curtains. . . .”

He shrugged. “Then make the children some clothes. Rain and Juicy will make them moccasins.” He led the way farther back into the storeroom. “Back here we have kegs, sacks of salt, lead, powder, guns, gun screws, knife blades, and the like. Keep the little ones away from here or they’re liable to get hurt.”

“I will. Farr? Do you mind if I put my clock and some of Jubal’s best pots on the mantle?”

“Put out what you like. It’s your home.”

“It’s yours and Juicy’s and Colby’s and Rain’s too.”

“It was mine and Juicy’s. Now it’s yours and Amy’s and Willa’s. Colby and Rain come and go as the mood strikes them. Rain is beginning to be uneasy about the Indian war. He’ll not want to stay and fight against his Indian brothers. He won’t fight against us, either. I suspect he and Colby will go west before fall.”

“Had you planned to go with them?” The question was out before she could stop it.

“No. I committed to Harrison that I’d stay here until things settle down along the Wabash. Besides, I’d not stay away from Juicy for long. He’s slowed down a lot. He won’t admit it, but he has.”

Liberty followed Farr back to the front of the darkened storeroom. Juicy and Rain were there, and Rain was helping the old man shift bags of salt and bales of furs away from the front wall. Through the open doorway she could see Colby sitting at the table with Willa. His head was bent toward her and he was talking. Liberty backed away from the doorway, instinctively knowing it was no time to intrude.

*  *  *

As soon as the others left the room and it was evident Colby was going to stay, Willa jumped up from the table on the pretense of fetching the coffeepot. She filled Colby’s cup and would have moved away, but his words stopped her.

“Sit down and talk to me.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

She was breathless and felt stupid and weak. Events were happening so fast her head was spinning. She wanted him to go and she wanted him to stay. What she really wanted was for her crazy heart to stop galloping like a runaway horse so she could gather her scattered thoughts into some kind of order before she made a complete fool of herself.

“How are you feeling?” he asked when she was seated.

“All right.” Her tongue was stuck on the roof of her mouth and she kept her eyes on the plate in front of her.

“Do you like it here?”

“Oh, yes. Mrs. Perry—ah, Mrs. Quill’s real nice.”

“That was something, wasn’t it? Old Farr jumping the broomstick. I never thought it would happen.”

“Why not? He’s not old.”

“He’s older than I am by six years or so. How old are you, Willa?”

“Sixteen.” She kept her head bent and refused to look at him.

“Let me see your pretty eyes.” He placed his forefinger beneath her chin and tilted her face. Startled, she backed away from his finger and her frightened eyes looked into his. “They’re just as pretty as I remembered. Are you afraid of me, Willa?” His brows had drawn together in surprise and there was honest regret in his voice.

Willa shook her head vigorously. “I’m not scared . . . I’m just jumpy.”

“I can understand that after what you’ve been through. Don’t ever be afraid of me. I’ll never hurt you. You believe that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I thought about you all day yesterday. It made the day go so fast it was over before I knew it.” His eyes were warm and bright, his mouth was slightly parted and his lips tilted at the corners.

“Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know. I’d be on the other end of the saw with Rain, and suddenly a little heart-shaped face with big, sad brown eyes would just be there right in front of my eyes. I wanted to hurry back and be sure you were still here, that I hadn’t dreamed you.”

Willa stared straight ahead of her, her face red, her hands dug deep in her lap. She couldn’t have gotten a word out if her life had depended on it.

“You’re not all talked out, are you?” Colby’s voice held a trace of amusement and her eyes darted to him. From the laughter in his eyes she knew he was teasing, and her pounding heart released a flood of happiness that reflected in her shy smile.

“I think you’re full of clabber, Mr. Carroll.” She couldn’t believe she had said that. Her face flamed and she drew in a deep breath. She heard his low chuckling laugh. It warmed her, and she stared at his bright blue eyes and handsome, laughing face before turning away in confusion.

“I want to know about you, Willa. I want to know all about you.” He said it so kindly, so sincerely. His blue eyes watched every expression that flicked across her face.

A long silence followed his words. Willa’s mind searched for something to say, and then from behind her she heard Mercy’s little voice.

“Pee, pee.”

Willa jumped up from the table and went to her. The child was sitting up in the bed rubbing her eyes. She held up her arms for Willa to take her.

“Are you sure, love?” Willa whispered.

“Pee, pee,” Mercy said again, loud and clear.

Willa gritted her teeth and kept her red face turned away from Colby. She lifted the child in her arms and with relief heard the scrape of Colby’s chair on the floor as he got to his feet.

“I have the feeling that this is no place for me right now.” A small chuckle followed his words. He went into the storeroom and closed the door.

Willa’s embarrassment was so acute she wanted to cry. Instead she pulled the china pot out from under the bunk and sat the child down on it. She let water go immediately and when she was finished, Willa replaced the lid and slid the pot back under the bunk. She lifted Mercy in her arms and the child wound her arms about her neck.

Willa carried her to the rocking chair beside the hearth and sat down. “Go back to sleep, baby,” she crooned and kissed the little smooth cheek that snuggled against her. It was comforting to hold the small warm body, and Willa’s thoughts roamed.

Did Colby Carroll consider her fair game because she was an indentured servant? She was trying desperately to believe he was a nice, decent man and wasn’t just trying to get her under the blanket as others had done when they had been nice to her.

She couldn’t get to liking him, she cautioned herself. If she had learned one thing it was that men like Colby Carroll never considered a woman like her when they chose a wife.

L
iberty’s wagon was still parked beside the cabin. Four days had passed since she and Farr had married. Each night they had slept beneath its canvas top. He came to bed long after she retired and was up before she awakened. The first few nights she had expected him to reach for her and take the right that was due him, but he had not as much as touched her or spoken to her since the first night during the windstorm.

The early summer heat was growing strong. Inside the wagon, Liberty stripped off her dress, then two petticoats, and put her dress back on, using only her pantalets and waist shift for a foundation. The sudden airiness made her smile, and she wished she had a mirror so she could see herself without the bulky padding. When the weather turned hot a man could take off his shirt, she thought, but a woman had to work and swelter beneath a long, heavy skirt and at least two petticoats. She would not do it, she decided. She would wear the long skirt, and what she had under it was her business.

Breaking up the rich Illinois dirt was back-wrenching labor. Liberty had chosen to work the garden and leave the cooking, cleaning and sewing to Willa and Amy. Each night Farr had plowed an addition to her garden, and when she was satisfied it was big enough, he had dragged a knobby log across the ground to break up the clods.

All day Liberty worked in the soil. It was a labor of love. Her face and arms were turning brown from the sun, and small freckles had popped out on her nose. While she worked she could hear the ring of axes, the rip of saws, the slough of adzes and the crackling crash of falling timber. The work was progressing well, according to the conversation among the men when they came to the house to eat the hearty noon meal. A member of the Sufferite community had come to help Farr, but he never stayed for a meal, so Liberty had not seen him except from a distance. In a few days other men would arrive, and she, Willa and Amy would be really busy with meals.

When the last seed was planted, Liberty slowly straightened. Her back was too stiff for flexibility. She placed her sore hands in the small of her back and stretched carefully. That morning at breakfast Farr had taken her hands in his and spread them palm up, exposing raw and blistered flesh.

“Are you about finished with the planting?” he had asked.

“Today should do it.”

“I’ll get some salve. Put it on your hands, then wrap them with a cloth.”

Liberty thought of it now. He hadn’t scolded or made too much of the fact that she had worked from daylight to dark. He had not asked if her hands hurt, and if he had, she wouldn’t have told him that at times they hurt her so badly she bit her lips to keep from crying. He had merely handed her the salve and walked away.

She stood back and let her eyes wander over the rich black soil and the neat rows she had planted with sticks to mark each end. Later she would tie some string to the sticks and attach small scraps of cloth to flutter in the breeze to scare away the birds that would feast on the bounty. It wasn’t a big garden. She had brought with her only one small bag of seeds, but it gave her an enormous amount of satisfaction to know it was all her doing. Farr had promised to drag up some brush from the sawyer camp and make a brush fence around the small plot to discourage deer and other animals from trampling the tender shoots.

Liberty knew Farr was pleased with the changes she had made to his home although he never voiced the fact. She had seen him pause in the doorway, his eyes going to the hand-carved clock with the glass face and short pendulum. She had wound it, set it by guess, and placed it on the mantel. The soft ticking had caught his attention. A glass lamp with a shiny chimney and filled with what was left of her precious lamp oil was there beside the clock. Pots were hung, trenchers lined up on the shelves, ashes from the fireplace had been removed and dumped into the lye box. Clean towels were on the rack beside the wash bench.

He had surveyed his home with an expressionless face. Her own eyes had held a sparkle of deep pleasure as she watched him. He had nodded his approval and passed on through to the storeroom.

That morning Willa and Amy had washed clothes at the creek and now they were spread on the bushes to dry. Juicy sat in front of the cabin smoking his pipe and watching the children play on the sack swing Rain and Colby had made for them. A log had dropped on his foot the day before. Luckily no bones were broken, but Farr insisted he stay off it for a few days.