The House of Closed Doors (36 page)

“I saw you leaving Victory.” Hiram hushed Sarah, who began to grizzle a little. “I came back just in time, it seems. Not very skilled at driving a cart, are you, Eleanor?”

I saw movement out of the corner of my left eye and whirled around in desperate hope. But it was a horse, saddled and bridled, slowly making its way out of the woods. It lifted its nose to whicker at us and then returned its attention to a patch of dried grass by the side of the path.

“My horse,” Hiram confirmed. “Did you know,” he continued quite conversationally, rocking Sarah from side to side, “that when I was in the Militia during the War, we used these woods to practice our maneuvers? I know every trail and every marker. There are many, if you know where to look. We used to practice stalking each other; an amusing game, and the fellows said I was rather good at it.” He smirked almost as if he were expecting praise.

I drew myself up and faced Hiram squarely. “Just give me Sarah, please, Stepfather. Then we can talk.”

“You are a strong woman.” There was a tinge of respect in Hiram’s voice. “Red Jack’s daughter in every respect‌—‌except for the ability to handle a horse.” He actually giggled. “I admire your strength, even though I do not find it particularly becoming in a woman. Not a bit like your dear Mama.”

“Mama loved Sarah very much, Stepfather. You will not harm her, will you, for the sake of my mother’s memory?” I tried not to sound as though I were pleading.

Hiram continued as if I had not spoken. “But strong women, you see, can be controlled. And how? By love, my dear Nell, by love.”

“What are you going to do?” My voice was a hoarse whisper. I took another step toward him, knowing it was useless but drawn helplessly on by the presence of my child in his arms. We were very near the riverbank now, and I could see the water, low in relation to the bank’s muddy sides, rushing and gurgling on some small rocks near the river’s edge.

Hiram’s reply was to tense his whole body and then whip round viciously in the direction of the river. I saw his shoulders bunch, and then my baby‌—‌my Sarah‌—‌was soaring through the air in a perfect arc, aimed right at the center where the water flowed swiftest.

FORTY-EIGHT

I
didn’t hesitate, didn’t think, didn’t care about Hiram or the river or the stones. Some kind of noise came out of me as I took the three steps to the very edge‌—‌a scream, perhaps, or a yelp, or a howl. Then I hit the water feet first, and my shins were scraping against rocks and the water felt so cold and I propelled myself forward with all my might, my arms flailing as Sarah’s had as she soared through the hot breeze.

One final push, and suddenly there was no more riverbed under my feet. I was out in the middle, and underneath the cold upper layer of water I could feel a deeper layer, colder still, that tugged at my petticoats. My calves stung, cut by the rocks no doubt, and my clothing was wrapping around my legs and made it hard to stay on the surface. I went under a couple of times and came up gasping and choking, spitting out river water that tasted pure and fresh.

I could swim‌—‌had learned as a child‌—‌but with my skirts pulling me downward the only thing that kept my head above water that day was the sight of my baby’s red head a hundred yards ahead of me. Her clothing had ballooned up around her and was keeping her afloat, but I knew that could not last for long. I kicked desperately at my petticoats until they finally floated away from my body, returning occasionally to wrap lovingly around my legs in an attempt to pull me deeper into the river’s embrace.

I could feel at my waist the weight of Mama’s purse, doing nothing to keep me afloat. I had forborne to put on a corset that morning, rebelling against the idea of making myself uncomfortable for nearly a whole day’s journey. And I was only wearing two thin petticoats and very light drawers under my plain cotton dress. If I had been arrayed in the traveling costume of a society lady, I would have drowned for sure.

I did not seem to be getting any nearer to Sarah. She was not making any sound, and I was horrified that she might be dead. This thought made me kick out like a madwoman determined to escape her keepers and thrash my arms wildly in an attempt to make faster progress forward. Somewhere ahead I could hear the weir; so I was near the portage landing? I wished I could spare the energy to scream.
Martin
, I thought.
Martin, please be there
.

“Stay afloat, stay afloat, stay afloat.” I realized that I was whimpering through chattering teeth as I pushed forward. I had gained a yard‌—‌two yards‌—‌ten‌—‌on Sarah and could see one of her arms waving as the current bore her swiftly onward. She was still alive, then.

A crashing sound to my right made me whip my head around as I kicked frantically onward. Far away on the riverbank I could see the tall form of my stepfather flinging himself against two trees as he searched the water for evidence of our distress. Oh, God, oh, God, he was not leaving until he made sure we were dead, was he? When he killed Jo and Blackie he had simply left the final outcome to fate, but he would not stop now until he had ground Sarah and me into the dust with the heel of his boot.

I looked forward again and realized I could not see Sarah. My whimpering shaped itself into a prayer: “Please, God, let me find her. Please, God, let her be alive.” I could barely see a thing with the water swirling around my chin, but I whipped my head round from the right to the left and back again, wiping the water off my face whenever I could spare an arm from the task of staying afloat.

I could not believe my eyes when I saw a white blur not five yards to my left. A tree, which must have once grown where the river now ran, was sticking a single branch out of the water‌—‌and Sarah was caught on it. I could even hear her wailing feebly.

I agitated my arms and legs in a fury of desperation, and in just a few moments had a hold of Sarah with my right hand, my left wrapped around the miraculous tree.

I took stock of the situation. Ahead of me I could see the line of the weir, maybe two hundred yards from where we clung desperately to life. The opposite bank was far away, too far to swim to. But the nearer bank‌—‌where Hiram must surely be, although I could not see him‌—‌was close, and I could see small branches and pieces of flotsam being directed toward it by some quirk of the current. That same current must somehow have taken both of us away from the deepest water, although I had been concentrating so hard on my baby that I hadn’t noticed.

I scanned the bank but still saw no Hiram. The trees were dense at this spot, and it was possible that the trail swung away from the riverbank as it approached the portage landing‌—‌where was the portage landing? The current had scooped out a sandy pool at the water’s edge, a small haven before the river swung round to crash over the weir.

Sarah moved feebly in my arm, and I realized how tired and cold I was. It was now or never. I planted a cold kiss on my baby’s wet red hair and let go of the branch.

FORTY-NINE

R
eaching the bank was easier than I thought it would be. The current that swung us away from the center of the river was strong, and I only had to aim at the place where I had seen some floating twigs being pulled out of the main race toward the bank. I kicked hard again, and then I suddenly felt solid ground under my feet. There were no rocks here, only sucking mud that overlay a firmer layer. I flung myself forward and grasped a tuft of grass with my free left hand.

It came away from the bank, leaving my arm in midair. I spat muddy water, glanced at Sarah to ensure that I was keeping her mouth above the flow, and took another step forward.

The most horrible scream sounded above and to the right of us, and I looked up to see Hiram coming toward us at a flat sprint. His face was purple and distorted, and in a split second’s thought I wondered how I had ever been so foolish as to trust this man, even for a heartbeat, even with Mama in the same room.

He was upon us, and I braced myself for the push or blow that I knew would come. Shielding Sarah as best I could, I set my jaw and looked him straight in his cold blue eyes, which stood out horribly in his darkly flushed countenance.

Then suddenly the nightmare face had gone, and something shot past me into the river. At the same time a loud thud resounded across the water, audible even above the noise of the weir. There was a soft splash, and a dark shape slid along the surface behind us and headed for the center of the river.