Like a River Glorious (8 page)

I didn't think much of it then. I thought he was sweet on Therese, that the hand-holding was just his way of showing kindness to an old friend. But I see the truth of it now. It was a declaration, maybe even a promise.

Jefferson wants a lot more from me than a little hand-holding. He wants
me
. And as I lie here all alone, feeling colder without him, I have to admit that maybe I want him right back.

I need to put it from my mind and get some shut-eye before Hampton comes to wake me for my watch shift. I close my eyes tight and try to think of pleasant things, like the way Peony's winter coat is coming in, making her look like a fuzzy cat with hooves, or the genuine mirth in Becky's face when we all laughed about her cooking.

In the distance, Coney barks. Which is nothing curious, but then Nugget joins him, and soon the two of them are caterwauling something awful. With a sigh, I throw off my bedroll and reach for my boots. Someone has to check it out, just in case something is truly amiss, and since I'm not sleeping, it might as well be me.

I stumble from my tent, rubbing at sleepy eyes. It's darker than dark, with not even a moon to light my path as I feel my way through our shanties in the direction of the corral. I grab the oil lamp from its place beneath Becky's awning and take a moment to light it.

The acrid scent of smoke pricks at my nostrils. We stomped out the fire pit hours ago, and the woodstove inside Becky's cabin sends its smoke high into the sky. Maybe it's one of our
neighbors, a mile or more distant. The wind through these hills can be tricky.

Nugget's barking takes on a frenzy. A sick worry wriggles at the back of my head.

“Jefferson!” I holler, without thinking. He needs his sleep too, but something is wrong out there in the dark, I just know it, and Jeff is always the person I think of first when I'm in a predicament.

The Major barrels out of his shanty holding a lantern. He swings forward on his crutch, moving faster than I can believe. “What's going on?” he says.

“Not sure. The dogs are after something. Hampton and Martin should be walking the perimeter out there.”

Jefferson comes running, rifle in one hand, ramrod in the other. The strap of his powder horn is clutched in his teeth, and the horn bangs at his chest. “Martin and Hampton still making their rounds?” he says around a mouthful of leather.

“Haven't seen either.”

He starts loading his rifle. “Let's find them. Major, wake the college men and make sure they're ready for anything. Then check on the Joyners in the cabin.”

“I'll join you afterward,” the Major says, and heaves off in the direction of the college men's shanty. Those boys would sleep through anything if we let them.

“You got that five-shooter loaded?” Jefferson asks, with a chin lift in the direction of the gun at my hip.

“Yes, sir!” I say with a mock salute.

His glimmer of an answering grin fades quick. “It's probably nothing, but . . .”

“Better safe than sorry,” I finish for him.

We head down the hill toward the corral and pasture. “With Hampton and Martin out there, we can't just shoot at any old thing,” he says as we walk. My lantern barely lights our way, and we have to step carefully. “So keep your eyes open and your ears pricked.”

“Always.”

“Sure wish you'd consider replacing that old thing with a Colt. Better range, faster loading, and beautiful to boot.” I can't see his face in the dark, but I hear the smile in his voice. He knows why I won't give up my five-shooter. “Wait.” He puts up a hand. “Do you smell smoke?”

“Thought I smelled it earlier. But there are camps all through these hills. No telling where it's coming from.”

“The oxen are making a bit of a racket.”

“Let's hurry.”

We near the bottom of the hill. The pine trees break onto a meadow, which is just a wide smear of darkness to our eyes. Hampton's fence posts enter the circle of light cast by my lantern, then the oxen, and just beyond them are the lumpy shapes of our horses. All our creatures are milling about, tossing their heads. Peony dances back and forth, stepping high.

“Hampton!” I call out. “Everything all right?”

No answer. Jefferson and I exchange a worried look.

“Maybe he walked a wide circuit tonight, to see what had the dogs all worked up.”

“Maybe.” The dogs' barking is distant now. “Nugget!” I call out. “Coney!”

Jefferson whistles for the dogs, a trick I haven't mastered. I climb over the log fence into the corral and make my way toward Peony. The scent of smoke grows stronger.

“How are you doing, girl?” I say soothingly. She tosses her head, but she settles and lets me plant a kiss on her nose. “I smell it, too,” I say when she snorts.

Jefferson checks on Sorry, and I send a quick glance around at the other horses: the Joyners' gelding, the Major's tall mare, the cart horse. Artemis the cow is pressed up against the fence, her big eyes rolling around in her head. This corral isn't much. Hampton rigged it quick to give the animals a homey place, but it won't hold them all if they panic.

I let the scent of smoke pull me forward, through the milling animals and over the opposite fence. “Jefferson?” I call out, staring at the feed shed. Hampton built it out of the way of the animals, so they couldn't get to it at night. It looks like a wide outhouse open on one side, filled halfway to the roof with hay bales. A few bags of oats sit on shelves up high. Maybe it's the darkness, but my view of it seems fogged, and my lungs are starting to burn. “I think the shed is on fire.”

He sprints toward me and clears the fence with a single leap.

“Hampton?” I call out, and it's almost a scream. Maybe he brought a lantern out here. Maybe he set it down on a hay bale and forgot about it. He's probably asleep somewhere, the fool man. He's been working too hard to keep a proper watch, I'll wager, in his eagerness to see his wife again.

Several things happen at once.

“A leg!” Jefferson says, pointing at the ground. Sure enough, a boot snakes out from behind the shed. “Hampton?” he calls out, running forward.

The shed whooshes into flame.

A gunshot cracks the air, less than fifty yards away, and something squeals—a hurt-animal sound that I feel deep in my bones.

From the opposite direction, where our camp is, comes a human scream.

I freeze, knowing I need to do something, not sure which direction to dash off to first.

“Hampton!” Jefferson says again. He squats down beside him and smacks the man's cheeks. “C'mon, wake up!”

Heat licks at my face, and I can see everything for yards now that it's washed in a firelit glow.

“Lee, don't just stand there!”

His voice jolts me to action. I heave the top log from the corral's fence and thrust it aside. Peony dashes out first. “Go on, git!” I yell, smacking the rump of the nearest ox, then Sorry, then Artemis. We'll be a day rounding them up, if we find them at all, but at least they won't hurt themselves trying to escape or, worse, get burned.

I sprint over to Jefferson and Hampton. “Is he dead?” I ask in a breathless voice, then I cough. The shed is a conflagration now. The very air feels like it's on fire.

“Not yet! Grab his legs. Help me get him away from here.”

For a short man, Hampton sure is heavy. We cough and
heave our way farther into the meadow, Hampton's body swinging between us. We reach a muddy patch free of dry grass, a safe distance from the feed shed, and we lower him gently to the ground.

“What's wrong with him, Lee?” Jefferson asks, finally letting fear into his voice.

“Was he shot?” I say, remembering the gunshot moments ago.

“I don't see any blood.”

“But he's breathing?”

“For now.”

I jump to my feet. “I'll get Jasper. And water.” I hesitate. There's no way we can bring enough water down the hill to put out that fire. “I'll bring shovels. We need to dig a break, before the trees catch fire.”

Jefferson rises to come with me.

“Stay with Hampton! Someone's still out there. They might—”

“There's trouble back at camp, too.”

He's right. My toes curl to think of the scream I heard. Becky, probably. No, it wasn't her voice. Henry? And something got shot, out there beyond the meadow. I'm terrified it was one of our dogs.

“Let's go.”

I grab the lantern, and together we run back up the hill. My foot catches on a rock, and I nearly fall, but I don't dare slow down. The air glows, and smoke sears my lungs. We crest the top. Our camp is on fire, too.

Jefferson runs to help the Major, who has whipped off the canvas roof of his shanty and is futilely smacking at the flames licking the corner of Becky's cabin. The college men sprint back and forth from the pond with buckets of water, trying to douse the conflagration that used to be our cart. Andy and Olive stomp around, snuffing sparks and tiny flames that flutter to the ground.

“Where's Becky?” I yell. “And the baby?”

Becky barrels from the cabin, baby in her arms. She shoves her tiny daughter at me. “I'll be right back!” she says, and she turns and dashes back inside.

“No! Becky!” Smoke thickens, blurring my view of the cabin door she disappeared into.

My feet twitch to go after her, but I can't go in there with the baby in my arms. I look around for a safe place to put her so I can
do
something. She starts to wail, and tears streak the soot on her face, so I bounce her the way Martin always does.

Martin.

“Where's Martin?” I scream through the smoke. “Anyone seen Martin?”

I grab Jasper's arm as he's dashing by, water sloshing over the side of his bucket. “Hampton is hurt,” I say. “Down by the corral. He's unconscious.”

Jasper is wearing his long underwear, half unbuttoned. His feet and legs are drenched to the knee from fetching water in the pond. “Is he safe?”

“I don't know! There was someone out there, Jasper. Someone with a gun.”

“Was Hampton shot?”

“I don't think so. Feed shed is on fire, though. Jefferson and I dragged him out of range.”

“Artemis!”

“I drove her out of the corral. We'll round her up later.”

“All right, fetch my kit—unless my shanty has caught fire, too. I'll meet you down by the corral once we've secured the cabin.”

He turns to go, but I grab his arm again. “Have you seen Martin? He was supposed to be on watch.”

The look that washes over Jasper's face sends fear stabbing into my gut. His expression becomes resigned. “Fire first, before we lose everything and put the little ones in danger.”

I nod once. It's a harsh decision. An awful one. And I agree completely.

Hitching the baby onto my shoulder, I run for the college men's shanty. Mine is a wreck, the canvas roof burned to nothing, the walls caved in and sending long tongues of fire into the sky.

I can't help but think about what's left inside—my bedroll, Peony's saddle and bridle, the boughten dress the college men gave me that I will never wear.

The shanty Jefferson and Martin share is untouched, but beyond it, the college men's shanty is just starting to smoke. Fire is like that; it can leapfrog a target for no apparent reason.

I lift the door flap and peer inside, deciding whether or not to chance going in. Only the far corner is in flames. Jasper's
kit is along the opposite wall, beyond their three mussed bedrolls.

Carefully I place Baby Girl Joyner on the ground. I take a moment to make sure she's not going to roll away, then I dash inside the shanty, heading straight for Jasper's medicine kit. I grab it with both handles as smoke swirls around my head. I lug it outside and place it beside the baby. Then I go back in.

Working fast, I grab the bedrolls and drag them outside. I find a saddlebag, which I throw over my shoulder, and a pair of boots—Henry's, if I don't miss my guess. A chest rests on the ground along the back wall. The flames are only inches away.

I have no idea what's inside that chest, but I have to do something, save something. I try to lift it as heat singes my eyebrows. It won't budge. I wipe a dollop of sweat from my forehead before it can pour into my eyes, then I crouch down and shove.

It slides a few inches. Working one corner and then the other, I gradually slide it across the floor and out the door.

I take a moment to gulp clean air and clear my lungs. After checking on the baby, I move to Jefferson's shanty. It's not on fire yet, but it's only a matter of time.

On the floor are two bedrolls, Martin's knapsack, and Jefferson's saddlebag. Beside the saddlebag is a small wooden box I've never seen before. A flowery design is burn-etched into the top, the latch closed with a metal clasp. I know I
shouldn't pry, that I don't have time, but it's so odd that we spent months together on the trail and I never saw this box. I flick the clasp open and peer inside.

There are only a few tiny items: a small leather pouch filled with something soft, a long feather, a letter that's been unfolded and read so often that the pages are frayed and the writing is blurred, and a single gold nugget the size of my thumbnail.

I stare at the nugget. My memory is vague with the distance of both miles and months, but I'm sure of it. This is the nugget I gave him, back in Georgia, the day my uncle killed my parents. I found it on his land, so it belonged to him fair and square. He should have used it to buy supplies for the journey west, but he saved it. For some reason, even though he needed money worse than anything, he saved it.

The baby starts screaming again. I slam the box closed and dash outside. I gather all of Jefferson's and Martin's belongings into a pile where I hope they'll be safe from stray embers; then I bend to retrieve the Joyner baby.