Louisa Rawlings (14 page)

He nodded, negotiating the swift current with ease. In a moment the smooth surface of the river was broken up as more and more rocks came into view. The boat picked up speed. Drew worked furiously, steering this way and that, taking advantage of the whirls and eddies to propel their craft forward. They topped a sudden rise and darted down a steep incline. The wild spray shot across the bow.

The roar of the falls was now quite loud. Drew grinned over his shoulder at Marcy. She laughed aloud. “That’s only the
first
one!” she cried.

They glided on, swerving past giant boulders, bouncing and tossing on the foam, as the roar grew louder. Marcy looked up. She could see the rim of the falls. “Now!” she shouted. “Throw yourself against the oars! When we crest the falls, let go and lean forward! And hang on!”

Drew nodded without turning. He bent to the oars. The boat leaped forward, shivered slightly, and plunged over the falls. They drifted for a moment in the shallows beneath the falls, then Drew steered them to the side of the river just behind Old Jack’s craft.

Ed Collins wiped the foam from his face. “I’ve lost my hat,” he said in a hurt tone. “And there’s more to come?”

He looks like he wishes he were still in the city, thought Marcy.

“I, for one, wouldn’t mind a rest,” said Dr. Marshall shakily. “That’s the most harrowing fifteen minutes I’ve ever spent!”

“
I’m
ready to go on,” said Drew. “How about you, Marcy?”

She smiled and nodded. He was so wonderfully devil-may-care. She’d never met anyone like him. “We’ll wait for you down below, Uncle Jack,” she said.

“Now, Marcy…”

She laughed. Drew had already maneuvered the boat toward the center of the current. “Wait,” she said. “There’s a shallow patch ahead. Watch out for it. If you have to, back up and take us another way. Then we’ll hit the short drop. We’ll come around a sharp bend. Then the current’s very swift, and there’s only one channel deep enough. I’ll point it out to you. As we come out of it, we hit the second falls. You won’t have time to catch your breath. Stay on the oars till the last minute, and after we go over, row like crazy or the falls will swamp us.”

“I understand.”

They hit the current. The boat was alive, dancing in and out of small whirlpools, flying past jagged rocks that cut the river to shreds and sent the spume whipping into their faces. Marcy laughed in delight; it had never ceased to thrill her, the heart-stopping excitement of it. But now her life, her safety, were in his hands; it made it all the sweeter.

They passed through the shallows and dashed toward the first drop. She could feel the wind on her wet cheeks. The falls loomed ahead, then the boat was on the crest. They dropped in a great splash of foam, spun dizzily for a minute, then hurtled around the sharp curve of the river.

Marcy leaned forward and pounded Drew on the back. She pointed. “There!” she screamed over the noise of the water. The wind whipped the words from her mouth. He shook the spray from his eyes and nodded, fighting with the oars to guide the boat to the space between the rocks. They hit the channel. They seemed to be sucked by some great force toward the roaring unknown. They shot out of the channel, oars trailing, and raced to the rim of the raging falls. The boat shuddered, paused, then plunged. For a moment they seemed to hang suspended. Drew let out a whoop of joy. They hit the seething water with a great splash; then Drew clutched at the oars and rowed them into the calm shallows.

Breathing hard, he turned around in his seat and smiled at Marcy. His eyes were shining with excitement. “My God!” he exclaimed. He wiped his wet shirt across his wet face and laughed. He grinned and reached out his hand, dabbing at the spray on her cheek. The grin faded. Leaning forward, he kissed her tenderly on the mouth. “I wouldn’t have shared it with anyone but you, Marce.”

Oh, drat! she thought, feeling her heart leap at the sweetness of his kiss, the gentleness of his words. No! I can’t let him get to me! He’s only playing a game to amuse himself. He has no intention of marrying. He said so himself. She cocked a skeptical eyebrow at him. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls!”

His mouth twitched in amusement. “We’re usually sharing some other experience when I do.” He pointed to the falls behind her. “Look. Here come the others.”

She turned just in time to see the two boats come flying over the falls and land in a whoosh of water at the bottom. Dr. Marshall was shaking like a paper birch in a storm; he tried weakly to rise, but was restrained by Old Jack.

“I say, Drew, that was capital!” shouted Ed Collins. He smiled brightly, turned green, and vomited over the side of the boat.

By the time they reached their campsite farther down the Raquette River, it was late afternoon. There was no lean-to here, only a small stretch of beach. The guides propped the boats upside-down with a strong sapling at one end; they would sleep under their craft tonight.

Mrs. Marshall was in rare spirits. She and Amos had spent the afternoon fishing, and had caught enough trout to furnish them all with supper and breakfast besides.

Marcy had to laugh. She’d watched these past weeks as Mrs. Marshall had slowly discarded bits and pieces of her costume. The gloves had gone first, then the hat with its netting, and the funny little glasses on her nose. She could only guess when the corsets had been put aside; but it was now quite plain from the bulges around Mrs. Marshall’s waist that her underpinnings had been stowed with the rest of her “city” clothes.

And yet, thought Marcy with amazement, she’s as stiff and proper as the first day she arrived. Still giving orders, still treating the men with suspicion when it came to Marcy. She saved her sternest lectures for Drew, who was entirely too “frivolous” for her taste, cautioning him to let the “pure and rarified air” that filtered through the trees cleanse his wicked nature.

While Amos cleaned the fish and Alonzo mixed some pancake batter, Old Jack examined the upended boats. “Marcy,” he said, “I think we’re about to spring a leak.”

She peered over his shoulder at the hull of their boat. There was a deep gash in the wood. “I was afraid of that. We scraped a bit going over that last slide.”

“Aren’t we near that spruce bog?”

She pointed away from the river. “Half a mile in. I blazed a fresh trail in the spring. Do you want me to go?”

He nodded. “I should help Amos with the fish. You get us some spruce gum for the boat.”

“I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind,” said Drew.

Mrs. Marshall had been taking a proprietary interest in the preparation of her fish, but at Drew’s words she turned to him, frowning.

“Did you intend to go into the woods with Marcy, Mr. Bradford? Alone?”

“Yes, ma’am, I did,” he said solemnly. He bent to the pile of supplies on the sand and grasped his rifle. “If our boat isn’t repaired, it could mean our lives. But if it grows dark before Marcy returns from her noble mission, who’s to protect her from the savage beasts that may lurk in the wilds?”

Mrs. Marshall smiled uneasily, unsure of his sincerity.

Marcy thought, If she starts in lecturing him, we’ll never get out of here. “Mr. Bradford’s right,” she said. “I’ll feel much safer with his protection.” She grabbed for a tin cup, motioned to Drew, and made for the narrow path beyond the beach.

Behind her, Drew laughed under his breath. “Safer?” he whispered. “Really?”

As soon as they were out of sight of the others, she slowed to let him walk beside her. “Honestly, Drew Bradford,” she said. “You’ll burn in hell for all those lies!”

“I wasn’t lying. I didn’t say
I’d
protect you!”

She giggled. “And I didn’t say who I thought the savage beast might be!”

“Anyway, what are we doing?”

“There’s a big swamp ahead, ringed with spruce trees. The sap is hard and sticky. I’ll scrape off a few chunks into this cup, and Uncle Jack will cook it up with some bits of shredded rope. When it cools a little, he can caulk the seams of the boat.”

He looked around. “How do you know where we’re going?”

She pointed. “See that tree? That thin gash in the bark? That’s how you blaze a trail. I was out here last spring. That’s my mark.”

“You’re a regular Hiawatha.”

She ignored that, content to walk beside him in silence, taking in the sights and smells of the wilderness she loved so well.

He seemed to feel it too. “It’s so silent,” he said at last. “I guess I’ve noticed that from the first day, but it didn’t register in my brain. Dark and silent and mysterious. Why’s it always so quiet? I can’t remember the Catskills being like this.”

She shivered unexpectedly. “It’s scary, sometimes,” she said softly. “Like it’s haunted. The Indians felt it too. They didn’t live here, you know. They just hunted and fished. Then went home again. Some north, some south.”

“But why is it this way? So eerie?”

“Haven’t you noticed? The trees. Dr. Marshall was talking about it yesterday. He made it sound so…scientific. It’s colder here than the Catskills. And rockier. So there’re more evergreens. Pine and spruce and tamarack. And lots more. Look at all the patches of needles on the ground. That’s not good ground cover for the little animals. It doesn’t give them much to eat.”

“Nor the birds. I’ve mostly heard chickadees.”

“Well, anyway, that’s why it’s so quiet.”

He laughed. “I’d like to hear
Mrs
. Marshall’s explanation sometime. The majesty of God. The silence of the spheres…”

“It’s nice enough without her trying to find highfalutin reasons. Come on. There’s the spruce swamp.” They circled the marshy patch until Marcy had found a tree to her liking. Pulling out her knife, she hacked off several large wads of the thick resin that oozed from its bark, and filled her cup.

“My God,” said Drew. “Look at that sky.”

Marcy turned. Large, fleecy clouds, touched with gold and red, were cradling the setting sun. Above it, the sky glowed in bands of bright color, deep ruby and pale green and, finally, clear blue. And the evening star.

She’d never been able to make a wish on the first star. What could she wish for beyond the beauty of the star, the glory of the sky? She gulped, feeling the tears well in her eyes.

“Good Lord, you’re crying!” Drew turned her to face him.

She stuck out her chin. “So what if I am? Can’t a body cry when…when something’s so beautiful?”

He stroked the side of her cheek. “Then I should cry every time I look at your face.”

She sniffled and pushed him away. “Bosh! You’re just buttering me up to steal another kiss.”

He grinned. “Oh. Then you’re
not
beautiful?”

She looked disgusted. “Well, I’m not a fool either. I know I’ve got looks. But I’m not about to let a devil like you turn my head!”

His blue eyes narrowed. “Now I really
am
going to kiss you.”

“You’ll have to catch me first!”

“Easy enough.” Before she could flee, he had swept her into his arms. “Now, my beautiful Marcy…” he said, holding her close. “Damn!” He released her and slapped his neck. “I thought we’d seen the last of the black flies!” He rolled down his sleeves, buttoning them tightly, and brushed at the air in front of his face.

She swatted at a swarm of insects. “It’s gnats. The black flies are done for the season. Maybe it’s just the swamp,” she said hopefully.

He scooped up his rifle and grabbed her arm. “Then let’s get out of here!”

Laughing, they raced back toward the campsite. At last Drew stopped, breathing hard. He smacked at his cheek. “No. They’re still with us.”

“If we’re lucky,” panted Marcy, “the wind will blow them away from camp.”

He chuckled. “I’m hoping not. I’ll personally take great delight in smearing Mrs. Marshall’s face with that foul slime your uncle mixes up.”

“It’s just tar and castor oil. It keeps the bugs off. Why are you so mean about Mrs. Marshall?”

He laughed. “It’s only that I can’t do this when she’s around.” He bent and kissed her. “Two in one day. Fancy that! Well, I’ve got to get them while I can. Tomorrow I lose you to Mister Moneybags William Stafford!”

The following afternoon Drew watched as Marcy began her campaign when the group sat together at McBride’s boardinghouse.

“You’re looking mighty pleased with yourself, Mr. Stafford. Did you have a good success?” Marcy smiled warmly with what she hoped was a seductive expression. On the other end of Mr. McBride’s veranda, Drew cleared his throat and turned away. Dang him! she thought, and smiled again at Mr. Stafford.

Stafford stroked his side whiskers. “Very good. Very good. I took some barometrical observations of Wall Face Mountain, and explored a bit of the Ausable River. Should be good for an article or two in
Harper’s Weekly
.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” she breathed. As though half the city slickers didn’t write stories for the newspapers the minute they left the Wilderness! But she couldn’t think like that. She’d already made up her mind to marry; she’d better start finding good things to think about William Stafford. He certainly was handsome enough, very distinguished—even if that gleam in his eye made her nervous.

She was glad she’d put on a skirt and lady’s waist; it was plain, but far more attractive than a man’s woolen shirt. She was sorry that she’d left her mother’s earrings back at the cabin in Long Lake. But she’d brushed her hair until it shone, and left it loose.