There was no time to waste arguing, so I rolled my eyes and ran off to fetch my boots and gloves.
Within minutes, we rode down through the front pastures toward the road. As the crow flies, the village was situated less than eight miles from Brighmor, but this distance had to be tripled at least with the Schuylkill River lying between us, making it necessary to travel well out of our way to the only ferry in service. Quickly doing the calculation in my head, I figured it would take almost two hours to reach the ferry and cross the river. Then another three hours of riding to double back much of the way.
This amount of time troubled me. If the sickness had progressed to the phase of severe spasms then the poison was already well engaged in Teme’s nervous system, putting him at great risk of torn muscles, fractured bones, and possibly even suffocation. Driven by thoughts of Teme’s suffering, I spurred my horse on faster. The steel gray sky promised rain, much of the same from the past month. I offered a silent prayer that the dry weather would hold just long enough for us to get to the village.
We had traveled two miles at the most when the Lenape man suddenly turned from the road and headed into the woods. By no means could the ferry be reached this way, and I called out for him to stop.
“What’s wrong?” Henry reined his horse at my side.
“He went the wrong way. We need to go up the road another twelve miles, unless...” A tight knot formed in my throat and I couldn’t even finish the sentence. The guide stopped about twenty yards ahead, turned his horse and motioned frantically for us to follow.
“Unless what?” Henry asked warily still greatly distrustful of the Indians, and possibly thinking this might be some sort of a trick.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. “Unless he wants us to cross the river without the ferry.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem.” Henry visibly relaxed once he understood the Indian’s intentions. “How much time would it save?”
“About four hours.”
Henry considered me for a moment. “Selah, are you worried about crossing the river?”
“My family has a bad history with water,” I told him.
He gave me an expectant look, saying nothing as he waited for more of an explanation.
Under the circumstances, I decided it best to be more forthcoming so he would understand my strange reaction. “My mother and grandmother,” I said reluctantly. “They both drowned.” My throat constricted painfully, making the next words difficult. “The magistrate found no sign of foul play and ruled both deaths accidental, though we’ve no idea what happened. My mother was discovered in one of Brighmor’s ponds. My grandmother drowned in the Schuylkill River while attempting to cross over to one of the Lenape Villages during an outbreak of yellow fever.” The first accident had occurred years before I was born, but my mother died when I was fourteen. I shuddered from the memory and the vivid nightmares that had haunted me ever since her death.
“I see,” Henry said quietly. “I’ve not much experience with lockjaw and don’t know what difference a few hours will make. If you don’t want to cross here, we can keep on going to the ferry. It’s your decision.”
I thought again of Teme suffering with his jaw clamped shut and his back arched in painful spasms. Unfortunately, a few hours could mean everything. “We’ll cross the river here.” I set my shoulders and spurred my horse into the woods.
The Schuylkill River measured approximately 50 yards wide where my guide intended to cross. Following weeks of rain, this normally slow-moving river had swollen beyond its banks. The water had turned from clear to a murky brown from runoff and the stronger current. Though my horse could keep her footing most of the way, the river grew deeper toward the middle, especially with the raised water level, and would require some swimming to get across.
I stared out at the river and tried to remind myself that people crossed on horseback all the time. The ferry was primarily used for wagons and those traveling on foot, or the occasional dandy who didn’t want to get his clothes wet. I didn’t fall into any of these categories.
“Can you swim?” Henry asked as the Lenape man urged his horse into the water.
“Not so well.”
“Well, I can swim for the both of us. You go ahead. I’ll keep close behind.”
Faced with one of my worst fears, I began to doubt if I possessed the necessary courage. By now my guide had reached the middle of the river. The blood drained from my face when he leaned into the horse’s neck once the beast lost its footing and started to swim. For a short time all I could see was the horse’s head as the murky water flowed unhindered over its back, soaking the man to his chest. Finding solid ground again beneath its hooves, the horse jerked forward several times, rising up from the water and continued wading toward the other bank.