Soul of a Crow (7 page)

For the fourth or fifth time, Boyd sputtered, “
Jesus H. Christ
.”

Malcolm fell to his knees beside me and I caught him in my arms; the boy's heart fired rapidly. Sawyer paced around us, putting his free hand on my hair, my shoulder, reassuring himself that I was indeed all right; he was, however, unable to cease moving, far too riled up.

“Are the horses safe?” I asked, terrified anew.

Boyd, having regained a sliver of composure, responded, “They's fine, though they was close to being dinner for them big cats.
Shee-it
. My heart just about quit beatin' when the one screamed. I never
seen
such big critters.”

Sawyer finally came to a standstill, drawing a fortifying breath and staring in the direction of the river. He said, somewhat hoarsely, “Me, neither.”

Boyd focused on his little brother, and his tone promptly changed into that of a disciplinarian, stern with warning as he said, “Boy, I oughta strap your hide within an inch of your life. Did I or did I not tell you to stay in that goddamn tent?”

Malcolm did not so much as attempt to offer an excuse, though his slender arms tightened their grip on my waist; I almost smiled at this gesture, which surely indicated that the boy would have to be pried forcibly from me in order to receive a whipping. Malcolm said meekly, “You did.”

“You's goddamn lucky I have to piss just now,” Boyd carried on, irascibly. “When I get back, you best be outta my sight.”

“You mind watching your mouth in front of Lorie?” Sawyer asked sharply.

Boyd huffed a surprised laugh, and we were all laughing then, the tension of the past quarter-hour taking abrupt wing. Boyd said, “I apologize, Lorie-girl, I truly do. I had me a shock to the system, you see. An' I
do
have to piss, something fierce.”

“Then
get
,” Sawyer ordered. He was laughing nearly too hard to say, “But watch out…
for panthers
…”

“Jesus
Christ
,” Boyd uttered again, clutched in hilarity. He declared, “Davis, you's gonna accompany me…an' then you's gonna watch my back while I water them cottonwoods…”

By the time we retired to our tent, dawn was perhaps an hour away, at most. The night had lost its clutch on the air, giving way to tones of gray; beyond the river, a faint stripe of pale peach heralded the advancing day.

“I'm just as guilty as Malcolm,” I admitted, my cheek resting upon Sawyer's heartbeat as he stroked my back, up and down in a gentle rhythm; it felt so good that most of the tension in my body had fled. I explained, “You told me to stay in the tent, too.”

“I did,” he agreed in a whisper. “It was a dangerous situation and I suppose I should be angry, but you're safe in my arms, and I can't muster up any anger just now.”

“Were they stalking the horses?” I whispered, horrified at the prospect; I had never considered that a horse could be a prey animal.

“They must have been,” Sawyer replied. He cupped my shoulder blade, gently stroking his thumb along the hollow created by it, which he knew I loved. He murmured, “I recall Mama worrying over panther tracks near our well a few times when I was a boy, but I never saw the size of such creatures back home.”

“Do you think your shots hit them?”

“No, I don't believe so. They were moving too fast.”

“I aim to keep practicing with the rifle,” I said, snuggling nearer to his warmth.

“Yes,” Sawyer murmured in agreement. He kissed my ear and whispered, “Sleep for a spell before dawn,
mo mhuirnín milis
, the danger's moved on now.”

- 4 -

We traveled on
into the prairies of Iowa. According to our route, I knew that we would shortly catch the Iowa River, which angled northwest, and would guide us nearly into Minnesota, where we would continue to travel due north before retaking the much-larger Mississippi, which had unfailingly led the way from Tennessee. Boyd posted a letter to Jacob, back in Keokuk, letting Jacob and his wife, Hannah, know that we were only a little behind their predicted schedule.

“Gus figured that by August we would be in central Minnesota and pick up the Mississippi again, and follow it all the way to Jacob's homestead. When we were plotting a route last winter, we determined that if we veered northwest in Iowa, it would cut weeks from the journey. With luck, we'll arrive by early autumn,” Sawyer said.

He rode Whistler near the wagon, which I drove, sweating under the long afternoon sunshine despite my wide-brimmed hat. The air was warm and bright, and I had rolled the sleeves of my blouse above both elbows. I was barefoot and wearing Malcolm's trousers, belted now with a length of satin ribbon. Malcolm and Boyd rode just ahead, and I reflected anew how much I appreciated the freedom to wear boy's clothing; here on the prairie, the strict rules of conduct which had been instilled in me from my earliest days did not apply as exactly. I allowed myself room to speculate that perhaps in Minnesota I would be allowed to retain this independence, however sparingly. What an unexpected luxury it would be if no one in the north woods objected to my unladylike mode of dressing.

Besides
, I reflected, with an acknowledgment of the bitterness coloring the thought,
You are no longer exactly a lady. No matter how dearly Sawyer treats you, how much he loves you, it can never fully absolve you of the truth.

And the truth was, like it or no, and I hated it to the blackest depths of my soul, I'd been a whore.

Forgive me, Mama
, I found myself thinking, as I did time and again, though somehow I knew in my heart that even my lovely, decorous mother would find it in hers to accept my plea.

“I am eager to see the North country,” Sawyer said; we spoke often in this conversational vein. “To read Jacob's letters is to picture a sort of heaven on earth. Lakes as you've never imagined, forests so deep it would take days to walk from under the tree limbs. The winters, though, I've trouble imagining as Jacob describes them.”

“Drifts higher than the windows,” I said, recalling the phrasing of one such letter. Inevitably we circled back to the idea of winter; Jacob was a descriptive writer, prone to excessive detail. For the countless time, I found myself anxiety-ridden, speculating just what Jacob Miller would think of my unexpected presence; Boyd kept his uncle well informed, and he was insistent that Jacob and Hannah would welcome all of us with open arms, but I was still apprehensive to meet them. As I told Sawyer, I would be content to forgo homesteading and roam the prairie for the rest of our days, as long as he was at my side.

Malcolm declared, “I aim to throw a snowball, that's what.”

“And catch a fish bigger than you,” Sawyer teased the boy. “Boyd, you recall the catfish in Sutter's Creek that was known to eat boys in one gulp?”

Boyd laughed, reining Fortune so that they could ride alongside Sawyer and Whistler. A smoke dangled between his lips; he spoke around it to reply, “For certain. Goddamn thing. Tried to snatch itself a piece of my foot, on occasion.”

“Daddy said it might snatch itself our winks, if we didn't stop swimming bare-naked,” Malcolm giggled, prompting everyone's laughter.

“Shit, I believe I just been insulted,” Boyd said, still grinning. “My wink's big enough that no catfish would ever mistake it for food,
thank
you kindly.”

Sawyer said with mock solemnity, “I'd like to think the same, of mine.”

“You-all
wish!
I seen you twos in your nothings-on,” Malcolm cried, taking great joy in teasing them, and Boyd reached and flicked a finger beneath the brim of his little brother's hat, setting it sailing; the boy had not latched his chin strap, as it was a windless day. I could not stop laughing.

Malcolm yelped and halted Aces to retrieve it; as he rejoined us he said, with an air of slight disdain, “Besides, that catfish was just a legend, Uncle Malcolm told me.”

I teased affectionately, “This from the boy who believes in hoop snakes with all his heart.”

“Lorie! I can't tell you again, them things are real!” the boy insisted, dark eyebrows lofted high. He peered at me from beneath the brim of his newly-resettled hat.

“But not a man-eating catfish?” I pestered, smiling at him.

He pursed his lips and squinted one eye at me in the way he had, replying, “No, but I done heard of a bird in the North that eats children. Flies down an' swoops 'em up in his talons.”

“Perhaps like those?” Sawyer asked in all seriousness, though I caught the note of teasing in his voice. We all looked upwards, where he was indicating, at a pair of wide-winged birds gliding on an updraft, crisp and black against the deep blue backdrop of the sky.

Malcolm whooped, and both Aces and Juniper shied at the unexpected sound, snorting and stomping. He yelped, “Run for cover! Lorie,
get down
!” He heeled Aces and cantered ahead, still shouting for all he was worth, as though in pursuit of the birds; he took aim with an imaginary pistol, and I could see the bunching of the horse's muscular flanks as he flowed smoothly into a gallop. Malcolm's already-lively imagination had been much stimulated since the night the catamounts bounded through our camp.

I changed the subject, taking up an earlier conversation, “Do you believe we'll be able to purchase land upon arrival?”

“We'll apply immediately,” Sawyer said. “The purchase will be determined upon approval of our application. And that's where it becomes a fair amount sketchy for us, as former soldiers. We've taken up arms against the United States government, officially, and therefore might not be granted permission by the Act of 'sixty-two, though Gus was certain that it wouldn't be so strictly enforced any longer.”

“We'll pray that's so,” Boyd agreed. “Uncle Jacob was never a soldier himself. We may just be guests upon his homestead for the rest of our livin' lives.” Winking at me, he said, “Y'all don't mind living your golden years in a haymow, do you?”

Sawyer assured me, “We'll make our own home, I promise you. Even if I have to clear every acre with my bare hands.”

I knew he would, too, if it came to that. I assured, “I will help you.”

“Yes, an' gripping your sharpest saw,” Boyd snorted in retort. “You may be strong, Davis, but I've yet to see you uproot a tree all alone. In fact, I recall the time me an' Beau beat you an' Ethan in the tug o' war competition, July the fourth, 1858. Exactly ten years ago this very day, if I don't mistake the date.”

Sawyer laughed and Whistler tossed her head and high-stepped at the sound, happy to hear the joy in his voice. He countered, “Not by much, if you'll recall.”

“Don't listen to him,” Boyd warned me. “
Shee-it
. Me an' Sawyer was fourteen years old that summer, more fulla piss an' hot air than you's ever seen. Christ.”

“Where was I?” Malcolm demanded breathlessly, rejoining us. Sweat trickled over his temples and created fine rivulets in the dust on his face.

“You was just a babe, still on the breast,” Boyd gleefully informed him, and Malcolm's lips went into an immediate pout.

“I done missed all the fun,” the boy muttered.

Boyd explained to me, “It was the Suttonville celebration, the one in which Ethan usually won the blue ribbon in the horse race. He rode Buck that year, did he not?” Sawyer nodded with amused agreement and Boyd continued, “You shoulda seen Ethan, strutting around with that ribbon on his shirt. Remember how we all tried to get Emily Ingram's attention that summer? Lord, that girl. She was pretty as a starlit night, but such a nag. Not that we noticed, nor even cared. We just wanted to get her around the corner of a barn for a kiss or two.” Boyd grinned impishly. “But she had her eye on Sawyer, an' oh was I jealous.”

“Emily Ingram,” Sawyer said, laughing. He shook his head and said, “Just the thought of her voice makes me cringe, yet. She always said my name in two parts,
Saw-yer
, all singsong-like.”

“I notice that didn't stop you from stealing a kiss, yourself,” Boyd remarked.

“She was the first girl I'd ever tried to kiss,” Sawyer told me. “I was so nervous I was sweating buckets, and hardly had I touched her when she started giggling, and then ran away. I never knew if I had done something wrong, or what.”

I laughed at this description, unable to imagine any girl who didn't near die with pleasure at being kissed by him. I tried to form a picture of Sawyer at fourteen years of age. And Boyd, surely even more incorrigible than he was now, a decade later. They were each so solidly-built, strong and broad and capable, intimidatingly formidable when the need arose, and adorned by various scars from battle; I had difficulty envisioning them as slim and gangly boys, full of mischief but innocent to what they would someday be forced to know.

“Well, you musta done something right, as she bragged about it to all the girls in attendance that day. I wanted to wring your gullet,” Boyd said good-naturedly, his eyes merry with remembrance. “I just knew I had to beat you at something if I wanted her attention.”

Like my own, their memories of the idyllic days before the War were as precious as gold, though even in 1858 the conflict was already on the horizon, an all-encompassing shadow, its approach inescapable. I did not wish to dwell on that thought, and so I prompted, “What of the tug of war?”

“Oh yes,” Boyd said, resettling his hat. “Well, Beau an' me thought there was no better way to get the ladies to notice us than to challenge the Davis boys to a little friendly competition. Beau had his eye on Sara Lynn LeMoyne, you'll recall, an' we figured the girls would pay attention if we tugged you twos into the mud. There was a right big crowd gathered to watch, as it had been goin' strong since afternoon. I recall that both Emily an' Sara Lynn was in the crowd.”

“It was an outright battle,” Sawyer said. “I remember you and me faced off in the front, Boyd. And Ethan behind me, yelling in my ear at the top of his voice, ‘Pull, goddammit, pull!'”

“The determination in your eyes was right frightening, old friend,” Boyd said. “At the last moment I looked away an' saw Emily watching, cheerin' an' clappin', an' I knew that we just had to win.”

“Carters
always
win in tug o' war,” Malcolm said, sounding affronted. “Daddy said it's since we got such strong arms, that's why.”

I was laughing so hard I could hardly catch a breath, and Sawyer's eyes were warm upon me.

Boyd said, “An' I was rewarded. Beau an' me let the rope go slack just long enough to fool the two of you, an' then hauled for all we was worth. There went Sawyer an' Eth right into the mud-slick, all churned up from the boots of near every man in Suttonville. Oh, it was a ripe victory. We basked in glory until I felt a sudden cold chill an' looked to see the glint in Ethan's eye. See, Lorie, his blue ribbon was covered in mud. I barely had time to move before he launched at me, swingin' for all he was worth.”

“I was sitting right in the middle of it,” Sawyer informed me. “Ethan went near over my head and socked Boyd square in the nose.”

“I then had to defend myself,” Boyd added, as Malcolm laughed and nodded in approval.

“Beau tried to grab for the two of you and fell, and I couldn't get to my feet as the mud was so slippery,” Sawyer said. “Then I got an elbow in the face.”

“Before you could slap a tick, the four of us was all-out wrestling like a bunch of boars in spring,” Boyd laughed. “Jesus, our poor mamas was downright ashamed. Big boys like us shoulda known better.”

“Your daddy waded in and near cracked our heads together,” Sawyer remembered. “And for all that trouble, Emily ended up on Nash Gandy's arm anyway.”

“Lord, that's right, I'd forgotten,” Boyd said. He sobered and said softly, “Gandy didn't make it past the summer of 'sixty-three, not so's I know of.”

“It's a wonder we did,” Sawyer said quietly, his gaze on the far horizon before coming back to me. He saw the concern in my eyes and sent me a smile of reassurance, asking, “You feel up to a ride? I'll mind the wagon.”

“I think I would,” I said, shifting and drawing back on the reins, halting the team. Sawyer pulled off his riding gloves and I slipped them into place, loving the warmth of the leather that had just been touching him. I hugged Whistler's neck before climbing neatly atop her back; Sawyer shortened the stirrups for me, then straightened to his full height and curved both hands around my lower leg.

“Don't ride out of sight, I can't bear it,” he told me, and I promised I would not.

Malcolm doubled back and appropriated my attention immediately, coaxing me to canter.

“Please, Lorie-Lorie,” he begged. “Aces wants to race.”

“Let's ride ahead a bit, instead,” I told him.

Malcolm shrugged agreeably.

I heeled Whistler and she pranced forward eagerly, following after Aces. Malcolm led us out at a trot; I overtook him easily and for a time we rode abreast while Boyd stayed back near the wagon.

“You look right healed up,” Malcolm said, our knees no more than two feet apart. “You's feeling better, ain't you? I been awful worried.”

“I am,” I assured. Wishing to compliment him, I specified, “The three of you take such marvelous care of me.”

“We aim to,” he said. “Ladies need someone to care for them.”