The Widow's War

Carrie gallops up to the hanging tree and cuts William down. How long has he been dangling? Three minutes? Four? Dismounting, she kneels beside him, loosens the noose, and shakes him. “Breathe!” she yells. “Breathe!”

William struggles to obey, but his throat has gone into a spasm, or maybe it’s his lungs that don’t work. When he was hanging, he saw colors. Now all he sees is blackness creeping in from all sides like spilled ink. He fights to shove it away, but it keeps spreading, stuffing him into a black bag with no bottom.

Putting her lips to his, Carrie breathes into his mouth until the knot in his throat opens and her breath enters his lungs. He coughs and gulps in a mouthful of air. Breathing hurts so much he’s tempted to stop. “Clark . . .” he gasps. “Teddy . . .”

He points, and Carrie looks up just in time to see Henry Clark swoop down on Teddy, grab him by the shirttails, and jerk him off his feet.

“Shut up!” Clark yells. Throwing Teddy behind the fork of his saddle, he wheels around and kicks his horse into a fast gallop only to discover he’s headed straight at Carrie, who’s riding toward him with a pistol leveled at his chest. For a second, he feels a fear so intense his heart nearly explodes, but then he realizes she can’t fire, because if she does she may hit her son.

Wheeling around, he gallops back toward the river. He can hear her coming after him, but he’s got a good head start, and the trail that runs along the riverbank passes through a stand of willows before it comes out near the landing. If she loses her senses and takes a shot at him, the chances of her hitting him from a moving horse are small. Once they get into the willows where no one can see them, he’ll turn around, stop, and surprise her by offering to let her buy back her son.

All Deacon’s money, he’ll say. All Bennett’s. All yours, if you still have any left. While she’s trying to decide if he’s serious, he’ll blow her off her horse. Simple as that. His enemies always underestimate him, but he can outthink them.

Teddy will inherit the money, and there will be ways to get at it. Forged documents. A will from Deacon, perhaps, that appoints his dear friend Henry Clark as the boy’s guardian. Then whores and whiskey, the green felt of New Orleans gaming tables. Perhaps he’ll buy a gold-headed walking stick, or perhaps he’ll just help himself to one of those canes the slavers sent Bennett after he thrashed Sumner.

A willow twig slaps him in the face. That’s the problem with galloping through brush. He’s been riding for at least a minute now, maybe two, and he can hear Carrie gaining on him. Pulling back on the reins, he halts and turns his horse around. He is in a natural alley with a row of willows on one side and the river on the other. Perfect. He’s only going to get one shot at her but in a place like this, a blind man couldn’t miss.

Grabbing Teddy by the hair, he jerks the boy upright so his face will be the first thing his mother sees. Then he draws his pistol and holds it by his side, concealing it under the edge of his jacket.

“Carrie Vinton!” he yells as she comes crashing out of the brush. “Stop! I have an offer for you!”

Carrie takes one look at her boy, jerks up short, and lowers her pistol. Clark realizes there’s no need to actually go through the charade of making her an offer. She’s holding still and couldn’t be a better target if she had a bull’s-eye painted on her forehead. He lifts his revolver and points it at her.

“Say good-bye to your mama,” he tells Teddy. And that’s when it happens: Just as he pulls the trigger the little brat, who up until now has done nothing but scream, suddenly turns on him like a snake and bites through his thumb.

With a yell of fury, Clark drops the pistol and flings Teddy into the river. Before he can mourn the loss of thousands of dollars’ worth of boy flesh, Carrie raises her gun and pulls the trigger. For an instant, Clark is sure he’s been shot; then he realizes she’s clicked on an empty chamber.

Clark can see blood staining the left leg of her trousers. He may not have killed her, but he’s hit her. He starts to ride toward her figuring he can finish her off with his knife, but then he sees she’s drawn another gun. Two to his one. Hardly fair, but this hasn’t been his lucky day. Wheeling around again, he runs for it.

As soon as he’s out of sight, Carrie dismounts and plunges into the river. The wound on her leg stings as she staggers through the muck and reeds that line the bank. Just beyond the shallows, Teddy is thrashing around, going down and coming up. As she dives into the current and swims toward him, she can still hear Clark in the distance, yipping like a madman.

She grabs Teddy by the collar, and they both go under. When they come up, choking and coated with silt, Teddy clutches at her shirt and hangs on. He doesn’t fight her, so she’s able to keep his head above water as she swims toward shore.

When she can touch bottom again, she stands up, takes Teddy in her arms, and stumbles through the reeds. A few moments later, they are both sitting on the riverbank. She’s shaking, Teddy is crying, and both of them are plastered with mud from head to foot.

“Good boy,” she says as she rocks him and picks the waterweeds out of his hair. She’s so busy comforting him that she doesn’t bother to look at her leg. The wound Clark gave her hardly hurts, and she figures she can tend to it later.