Chapter 10
It took all of Adam’s strength to push away from the bank. He squeezed the oar with fingers purplish-gray from the cold. Had it ever rained this hard in the history of the world? His bottom jaw clattered against the top.
“It’s not like a canoe, Adam. You can’t steer with only one oar.”
What did she know about boats, anyway? Emily hadn’t stopped yelling since she got out of the van. But she’d gotten in the boat, and now he’d show her. Squinting into the sheeting downpour, he dipped the oar deep on the left. Port. He knew this stuff. He’d watched a movie on the Titanic just two weeks ago. Right was starboard, left was port. Two strokes into the wind, the boat swerved toward the bridge. He swung the oar across the bow, one stroke to correct. Back over the bow, two starboard strokes to fight the current, one port stroke to straighten their course. He glanced behind. Fifteen, maybe twenty yards stretched between them and the bank. Three more sets zigzagged them closer to the opposite shore. He studied the highway, a blurry line dotted with trees off to the right. It was getting closer. The current was winning.
“I’ll take a turn.”
What could she know about boats? Still, his arms burned. He swiveled on the splintery seat and handed her the oar. The boat jerked ahead a couple yards, but they were headed for the bridge. Adam smiled. She’d give up soon enough. Back and forth, they crept across, but they were losing the battle with the current.
He shifted position, moving away from a crack in the weathered seat. His feet felt weighted. He looked down. Water covered the tops of his shoes. His pulse quickened. It’s just rain. Just rain.
“Here! Take it!” she yelled.
She quit sooner than he’d thought. Women. He didn’t try to hide his grin. Taking the paddle, he quickly fell into rhythm.
The boat rocked. What was she doing back there? Adam looked over his shoulder. Emily was taking off her jacket. If she thought she was going to make him put it on, she could guess again. It would only slow him down. The boat stopped rocking.
“Keep rowing on the right!” she called over the wind.
He glanced back. She’d wrapped her Windbreaker around the curved end of her cane and was dipping it in the water. “Okay!” He stroked and she matched it. Their course straightened instantly.
“There’s no earthly way of knowing…” Emily scream-sang Willy Wonka’s “Rowing Song” over a clap of thunder.
Adam laughed and joined in. They volleyed verses about hurricanes a-blowing and danger growing as they neared the trees. Adam looked down. The water had risen at least two inches. The boat sat lower in the water.
“Log! Ahead on the right!” Panic filled Emily’s voice. He felt her swing her makeshift oar to starboard. “Paddle, Adam! Hard!”
He needed a better center of gravity. Sliding off the bench, he dropped to his knees and felt a board move beneath his shins. Bending into the wind, he shoved the oar deeper, pushed harder. The log rolled, a dragon head lifting out of the water— “We’re gonna hit it!”
“Stop paddling! Let the current take us around—” The boat shuddered then rose on the right side.
Adam scrambled for a hold. The oar tumbled into the river. Wood splintered. A jagged branch punched through the bow. “Emily!” Fighting terror, he fastened his gaze on the riverbank. They weren’t moving. If they could hold on to the log… “Give me your cane!”
It landed on his arm, the jacket still wrapped around one end. He fought with the material, but couldn’t untie it. He needed a knife. Back right pocket. Hands stiff and shaking, he pulled it out and ripped through the jacket. He swung the hook onto the dragon neck and yanked. It held. The pitching stopped.
“Hold still. I’m moving forward.” Her steady voice calmed him. “When I say so, move to your right. Okay. Move.”
Adam made room. With a quiet groan, Emily landed beside him. “Good thinking.” She pointed at the cane. “I’ll take over when you get tired.” She felt around behind her as she spoke and finally produced a phone. But when she flipped it open, the screen was black. Her arm rubbed against his as her shoulders fell. She turned to him with a scared-looking smile. “Can you swim?”
She should have stopped him. Or paddled against him and with the current. Such a narrow strip of water; in quiet weather they could have crossed in two minutes. But in this… Lord God, get us out of here.
Adam shivered. His lips were blue. She put one arm around his thin shoulders. “Can I borrow some heat?”
“Sh-sure. I r-read a study about mountain climbers. If two people h-huddle together, you only lose about twenty-five percent of the heat one person would alone. It works like how mittens keep you warmer than gloves. It’s a g-good survival technique.”
In agreement, she rubbed his back then reached for the cane. “Can you slip out of your shoes?”
With exaggeratedly slow movements, he eased out of them. Emily did the same.
“Rub your arms and move your knees up and down carefully to get some circulation.”
The wind picked up. Horizontal rain pelted like blunt-end needles. Lightning gashed the ink-black clouds. Just beyond the bridge, a tree exploded. A flash of white sparks shot into the air. Orange flames glowed through the trees but were quickly doused. So close. She stared at the aluminum cane. She was a human lightning rod.
“Jake will find us. It won’t be long.” Doubt edged his confident words.
Emily scanned the highway. Two cars, blobs of muted color in the tempest, had pulled to the side of the road. Looking for them? Most likely waiting out the blinding rain. “He’ll find us,” she echoed. Could he see them from the road? Adam’s shirt would look like Cardinal Bob through her handblown windows. “Any minute now. He’ll see the van and find us.”
Adam nodded, but his eyes reddened.
Seventeen months of training kicked in. She was the queen of distractions. “Let’s play a game while we wait.”
“O-k-kay. I s-spy something wet.”
Emily answered with an elbow jab. “Funny. Let’s play ‘Yes and No.’ Think of something or someone or a place that I would know of and I’ll ask questions. You can only answer yes or no and if I don’t get it in ten guesses, you win.”
“Okay. I got it.”
“Is it a person?”
“No.”
“Is it a thing?”
“Yes.”
“Is it in the boat?”
Jake held up three fingers. “No.”
“Can I see it from here?”
“No.”
“Is it within ten miles of here?”
“Um…yes.”
“Is it bigger than a car?”
“No.”
“Can I hold it in my hand?” Rain pelted her tongue as she yelled.
“Yes.”
“Is it made of wood?”
Adam shielded his eyes and turned toward the road. “No.”
“Is it made of plastic?”
“No.” He wiggled nine bluish fingers in front of her face.
“Can we do twenty questions instead of ten?”
“No.”
“Fine. You win. What is it?”
“The metal collar you found in your shed.”
“Awful to imagine a human wearing that, isn’t it?”
Adam nodded. “Yeah. But I wish there was something like that today.”
“Like the Underground Railroad?”
“Yeah. It’s not like I want slavery again, it’s ju—” The boat lurched. “The log’s moving!” Adam clamped onto the cane with both hands.
“Can you—” A high-pitched whine cut the air. In slow motion the bow bent around the limb, impaling it, then ruptured in a hailstorm of splintered fragments. Hot pain seared her temple. The seat lowered like a chair lift. Water rose to their shoulders in seconds. Emily tugged on Adam’s arms, but couldn’t break his grip on the cane. “Let go!” She shoved the cane forward until it dislodged from the branch. Adam lunged, released the cane, but grabbed her arms, pinning them together.
Panic seized her but she managed to yell, “Swim! Swim to the bridge!”
The pressure on her arms tightened. She opened her mouth. It filled with water. With a hard kick she pushed up, screaming as she spread her arms in a burst of fear. With a fierce shove, she separated from him.
Adam’s breath came in short gasps. His arms smacked the water. Emily watched her hand rise above the surface and slap his cheek.
Adam blinked. His eyes focused. With a nod, he rolled onto his belly and stretched out his arm. With smooth, strong strokes he swam toward the bridge.
Emily followed. The current ripped at her shirt. Saturated jeans dragged her legs. Eyes glued to Adam, she prayed as she had never prayed. “Almost there!”
Don’t miss, Adam. Be strong.
Adam neared the bank, scrabbled for a hold on the rocks, but his hand slipped off.
“Dear God, help him.”
As the current tugged at the boy, his left hand shot out and latched on to a branch. Wedging it under his arm, he waved.
With renewed strength, she stretched out and kicked deep. Her right leg slammed into something solid. Pain slashed through her thigh. Water engulfed her. She fought with her left leg and finally surfaced.
“Emily!” The frantic voice came from above her. Too deep to be Adam’s, the voice infused her with determination. Lashing out against the pain, she tore at the water. The bridge neared then seemed to tilt. Her arms wouldn’t move. The muffled scream grew distant. Murky green filled her vision and the world turned black.
Just like Sierra’s.
“I’ve got you. You’re okay. Can you hear me?”
So cold. Snow burrowed under her collar, beneath her gloves. Sierra? Can you hear me? It’s okay. They’re here. Everything will be all right now.
“Take her first.” Her voice rasped. She coughed. “I’m fine.” She pushed the hands away. “Take care of her.”
“Emily, it’s Jake. Just relax. Can you open your eyes?”
She lifted her hand to her face and felt it dripping with blood. Her eyes burned, but she forced them open. Only water fell from her hand. No snow, no blood. She was still in the river, and Jake’s arm circled her waist. Was she dreaming? She rested her head against his shoulder. Heat radiated from his chest. His heart hammered against her spine. An ambulance siren blew. “Adam. Is he okay?”
“We’ll get him checked out.” He bent over her, staring directly in her eyes. “You’ve got a cut on your forehead. Anything else hurt?”
Her thigh throbbed. “No. I’m good. Help me up.” She reached for a metal support just above her head.
Muscled arms pinned her. “Let’s wait for the rescue squad.”
“I’m fine. I just need to get warm.” Her left foot pressed against a pylon.
“Stay still. They’ll bring a spine board.”
“No!” God, please, no restraints. “Get me out. Now.” Both elbows thrust against his chest.
With a gasp of surprise, Jake opened his arms.
Pulling with her arms and pushing with her good leg, she hoisted out of the water. Large hands clamped her waist, supporting, not hindering. In seconds she stood on the bridge in front of Jake’s truck, using a rusted beam for balance. Lights flashing, the rescue squad drove onto the bridge. Adam called to her through the closed truck window. She took a step. Her right leg gave out.
Jake’s arm wrapped around her. “Steady. Are you dizzy?”
She shook her head and once again allowed herself to lean into him. The sky lit in repetitive flashes. Seconds passed. Thunder rumbled off to the west. Rain fell steadily but without force. Two EMTs rolled a stretcher toward her. “Look at the boy in the truck first.”
They opened the truck door and a third person walked toward her, a woman in a red jacket. With her on one side and Jake on the other, they helped her to the ambulance.
“Go check on Adam.” She pointed toward the truck.
Jake’s grasp tightened on her arm. “He’s in good hands.”
“So am I.” The intensity of the blue eyes squinting down on her made her squirm.
He didn’t move.
Teeth gritted, Emily endured the examination, answering every question with a negative. She was not going to the hospital.
With a strained expression, the EMT cleaned the cut on her head. “You could have aspirated dirty water, you may have a concussion, and this needs to be looked at. An open wound exposed to that water—”
“I’m fine. I’ll take a hot shower and go straight to bed.”
“Is there someone at home to keep an eye on you, to check for—”
A torrent of expletives cut her off. A balding man, yellow shirt stretched over a massive abdomen, stomped toward Jake’s truck. “What were you doing in a boat? In weather like this! How stupid can you get?” He shoved past one of the EMTs and loomed over Adam. “Your sister’s in the ER and—”
Without turning from the vile man, Emily sensed Jake tighten like a drawn bow.
“Get out of their way, Ben,” Jake seethed.
Bloodshot eyes turned on him. The man’s bloated face reddened. “Stay out of my way, Braden.” Hamlike fists opened and closed. “Why is it you’re always in the middle of it when my kids do something stupid?”
“They aren’t your kids.” He breathed the words, low and rasping, like a curse.
The EMT who’d been pushed aside raised a hand. “Back away, please, sir. You’re his father?”
“Yes.” He knifed Jake with a glance. “I am.”
“Not for long,” Jake whispered.
The EMT stripped off her gloves, pulling Emily’s focus off the drama. “You’re clearly in pain. You have no idea how you’re going to feel later to—”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with injuries before.”
“So you do have someone at ho—”
Shooting Jake a silent message she hoped would close his open mouth, Emily stood, sucked in air, and held it. Her stomach roiled in a wave of nausea. Breathe. Slow. She was used to pain. A bottle of Percocet waited on the floor beside her mattress.
A warm hand cupped her shoulder. “Is it money?” Jake asked. “Do you have insurance?”
“I have insurance. I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
The EMT sighed. “You’ll have to sign a release saying you refused transport.”
Jake increased the pressure on her shoulder. “Emily, don’t be—”
“Give me the pen.”
September 3, 1852
Hannah flinched as a brittle stick broke beneath her shoe. “It’s me, Liam.” She still couldn’t see him, but his name loosened the fear-hold on her throat.
“Here.” His voice blended with the whispering water.
One more step and his arms slid around her. “Hannah.” He buried his face in her hair. “Are you all right?”
Her ear pressed against his chest. Leather and smoke, the smells filled her nostrils. “There are men … speaking with Papa.” His heartbeat increased in volume with her words. “They’re looking for a man. Not the one we have, but it’s not safe tonight.”
“I’ll check my traps and come back.” His fingers dug deep in her hair, loosening her braid.
“Wait until tomorrow.”
“Is there a child?”
“No. An older man and his grown son.” A soft moan escaped her lips. “The son is a freeman, but he stayed for his father’s sake. Their master promised he could buy his father’s freedom if he worked five years. When the time came, he wouldn’t let him go. Their master took sick and they got away. They’ve been running for weeks.”
Liam shook his head. His hands slid to her face. He lifted her chin. “We are blessed. Only two years until I can buy your freedom.” In the moonlight his smile deepened the shadows around his eyes.
“It is your own freedom you buy, sir. Papa would hire you quick as lightning, and I would be as happy married to a clerk as a smith.”
His laugh tickled her face. “And would you be as happy if that man were miserable, balancing ledgers all day instead of using the hands God shaped to fit a horse’s hoof?” He spread the fingers of one large hand and held it inches from her face.
She pressed her palm against his. “These hands were not made for wielding a pen. Though I do dearly love what they do with one.”
His smile straightened then faded away. “I am going to speak to your father on Sunday.”
Her pulse quickened. Her smile would not obey. “About what?”
“I want you to go and stay with your aunt in Boston until this is over.”
Bile rose in her throat. “I will not! My father cannot fend for himself. He could not cook an egg nor make a decent cup of tea if his life depended on it. And who is to say this will be over before I am an old maid!” She kept her words low but could do nothing to stop the speed with which they came. “Liam Keegan, if you want to be done with me, please have the decency to address the matter forthright to—”
His lips, warm and rough and more tender than she had ever imagined, covered hers. Her legs bent like green twigs, but he held her up. She drifted above the clouds, to a weightless place where stars sang along with angel choirs. He pulled away, leaving her lips cold and longing for more.
“Now, Hannah Glennis Shaw, if ever for a moment you question my intentions or my promise, mind you remember this moment and hang those thoughts on the gallows.” Deep blue eyes bored into her, hot as the iron poker she’d seen him lift from the coals. “Do you believe me?”
Her eyes closed. “Almost.”
He shoved her, gently, at arm’s length. “Vixen.” His teeth caught the glow of the moon as he raised his head in a silent laugh. “Did the devil send you to test the strength of my convictions?”
It was a strange thing, this feeling of power. This man, strong as a bull, weakened by a kiss. Father, let me never cause him temptation. “I would never—”
“I know.” His fingertip touched her lips. “It is your very existence that tries me, my love.”
“Is it—? Are we wrong to—?” Warmth crept above the collar of her dress and spread to her face. If only Mama were still here. She had no sister or older friend to talk to. If Papa knew … In spite of the cold, she felt suddenly feverish.
“I don’t think so. These are different times. If I were free to court you openly, I would sit on your porch and drink tea with you every night. But God knows our desires. I have known for some time that you are the gift He handpicked for me. My heart is pure toward you and before Him.”
She nodded. “Is this … am I … ?”
“My first kiss?”
Turning from the laughter in his eyes, she stared down at the canoe he’d fashioned with his own hands. “Yes.” Was it wrong to ask a man such a question? Didn’t she need to know if she would someday be his wife? The heat she’d felt a moment ago deserted and she shivered.
Liam pulled her shawl onto her shoulders. “You can’t catch a chill. I won’t stand for that.” The twinkle still danced in his eyes, a reflection of moonlight and amusement. “I’ll be on my way as soon as you promise you’ll pray about going to Boston.”
“Then you and I shall both turn to icicles. You didn’t answer my question and yet you expect me to promise I will pray about something I already know is not within the will of God? I think not.”
He laughed again. “Are you sure you’re not Irish?”
“Bite your tongue!”
His expression darkened as if a cloud blotted the moonlight.
“You know I’m not serious.”
“I know.” But the teasing had left his voice.
“Be proud of your heritage, Liam.”
His hands dropped then folded across his chest. “There’s not a lot to be proud of. Da is exactly what they say all Irishmen are.”
“But you are not.”
“By the grace of God.”
“Of course, by the grace of God. But don’t berate yourself because you are what you are due to the intervention of Almighty God.” She stamped her foot in the dirt and the sparkle returned to his eyes.
“You are good for me, Hannah.”
“And you for me.”
He pulled her close. “I wish …”
She pressed her face into the coat that smelled of smoke from the forge, worn leather, and a man who worked hard for what he believed. “I do, too.”