Morning was slow in coming. Geneva woke several times, squirming on the hard rock where they slept and wondering where Howard Knight might be at that moment. She could see him asleep, or standing poised upon the rock and plunging into the deep pool. She saw him riding through the forest in the moonlight, searching for her. She longed to see him riding toward her. She could feel herself being lifted up on the back of the galloping horse, and then together they would ride away deep into the forest where they could love one another far away from the sullied world. When at last the sun rose, she stumbled to her feet, bleary eyed and even more miserable than the night before.
Sally Beth was already stirring. Jimmy Lee and Lilly still slept. Howard Graves opened his eyes the moment Geneva sat up.
“Morning,” he smiled. “Did you sleep well on your downy bed?”
She forced herself to smile. “Goodness me, was that down? I kept thinking there was a small, hard lump in there somewhere, and so I hardly slept a wink.”
“Well, princess, I’ll have to buy you another bed. We can’t stand any lumps in your mattresses, now, can we?”
She smiled again wearily and made her way to the rock pool where she washed her face and drank some water. It was cool and good after the hard night, but she wished for one of Howard’s sweetgum toothbrushes. Sally Beth joined her at the water’s edge. Plopping her kangaroo purse down beside her, she rummaged through it until she pulled out a brush, a mirror, a few items of makeup, some soap and sundry items of personal hygiene. At last she pulled out a toothbrush, which she loaded up from a tube of toothpaste.
“Hey! You’ve got a toothbrush!”
“Of course I do. Don’t yew carry one with yew? Yew know you’re supposed to brush after every meal. If yew don’t yew can get cavities!”
Lilly appeared on the other side of Sally Beth. “Oh, Sally Beth! A toothbrush! Please, let me use it!”
“Use my toothbrush? Lilly, are yew out of your mind? I don’t want your germs all over it!”
“Come on, please, I’m your sister, for Pete’s sake. I’ll buy you another one.”
“No!” She held it as far out of Lilly’s reach as she could get it, which happened to be in front of Geneva’s nose. Geneva’s mouth watered. She had not brushed her teeth with toothpaste in days. The pristine little brush waved in front of her, all loaded up with the delicious smelling toothpaste, and she could practically taste the fresh, sweet cleanliness of it. It was impossible to resist. She grabbed it from Sally Beth’s hand and stuck it in her mouth.
“Geneva Lenoir! I’m going to kill yew! Yew give that back this instant!”
Brushing her teeth as fast as she could, Geneva danced away from Sally Beth, who tried to tackle Geneva. They both fell in the water. Lilly shrieked and jumped in after them, fighting both Sally Beth and Geneva for the toothbrush. She wrestled it away from Geneva, then dropped it. Geneva and Sally Beth both lunged for it, knocking heads. Lilly took advantage of the situation, grabbing it away from both of them and hauling herself out of the pool. She stood by the side, dripping, holding the toothbrush high over her heard.
“Got it!” she yelled triumphantly.
Sally Beth narrowed her eyes and tightened her mouth. “Give it back, Lilly! Yew should have brought yer own toothbrush if you’re so desperate for one!”
Geneva, easing her way out of the pool, eyes on the toothbrush, inched her way closer to Lilly.
“Yew stay right there!” Lilly cried, but Geneva lunged, and grabbing it, she scurried close to the edge of the precipice, holding the toothbrush over empty air. “Stop, or I’ll throw it over!” she shouted at her cousins, who were advancing on her. The sisters halted. “Come on, Geneva, give it here,” begged Sally Beth. “I’ll die if I cain’t brush my teeth!” She eased forward.
“Nuh-uh! I’ll drop it, I swear I will!” Geneva looked behind her to where the water fell a hundred feet into a rocky stream. “Nobody’ll get it down there. You might as well let me use it, and then I’ll give it back.”
Sally Beth hesitated. “Well, it’s already been in your dirty old mouth.” She curled her lips in disgust. “And yew’ve been sick. Who knows what yew’ve got. But go ahead. Maybe I can boil it or something,” she grumbled.
“I’m not sick any more, Sally Beth. I haven’t had any fever for two days now. I promise, I’m perfectly healthy.”
“Please, Sally Beth, can I please have it after you? I promise I’ll buy you a new one,” wheedled Lilly.
Sally Beth’s disgust grew. “Okay. But I cain’t believe yew two. Using somebody else’s toothbrush. Ugh!” She shuddered.
Geneva brushed her teeth in peace, relishing the taste of toothpaste and the feel of slick, clean teeth. She ran her tongue over them and smiled happily. Nothing like basic comforts.
Sally Beth took out her little collapsible tin cup, and filling it with water, placed it in the hot coals. As soon as Geneva relinquished the treasured item, Sally Beth plopped it in the cup and waited for it to steam, then when she deemed it sterile, she shot Geneva a disgusted look and moved to the pool, where she brushed her teeth vigorously. Lilly waited her turn nicely. Jimmy Lee and Howard chuckled at the women, then Howard shook his head and climbed up to the top of the cliff and disappeared.
He returned half an hour later with some huckleberries that he shared all around. “There’s more up there, if you ladies want to go looking for them. It wouldn’t hurt to get some more firewood, too. Jimmy Lee should be kept as warm as possible, and it feels like it’s going to be cool for a while yet.” He looked at Geneva’s wet clothing and added, “You ladies should dry out, too.”
Geneva stretched and rubbed the back of her neck. “Yes. Let’s go look for some berries, and get some firewood while we’re at it. It could be a while before they find us.” She glanced at Jimmy Lee. “You all go on, she added. “I want to make sure Jimmy Lee’s comfortable, then I’ll join you. Now, hurry,” she added as they hesitated. “This wood is getting really low.”
She watched them as they climbed up the precipice, Sally Beth and Howard helping Lilly over the treacherous places. When they had reached the top, she squatted down beside Jimmy Lee.
“Jimmy Lee,” she said in a low voice. “I know all about Howard’s mine, and I swear I’ll never tell a soul about it. And I don’t know how long it will be before anybody finds us, especially since you went to such great pains to lose the trail. Can you tell me how to get out of here? Is there a trail I can take?”
Jimmy Lee looked at her thoughtfully. “Chap never told nobody about that mine,” he said slowly. “Nobody but family. He made me swear I never would, neither.”
“I know. But I found out about it, and he told me the whole story. He even let me help him sluice some, and he tried to pay me, but I wouldn’t take any gold because I was afraid somebody would see it and figure out where it came from. I swear, Jimmy Lee,” she whispered urgently. “Tell me how to get out of here. I’ll go alone, if there’s a direct route. We’re out of food. And your leg needs attention,” she added. It was true. His leg was already turning dark, and she could see that the splintered bone had begun working its way through the flesh in his shin. Jimmy Lee could not wait a day or two for help.
Jimmy Lee looked at her with mute, appealing eyes, nakedly adoring. She flinched at the rawness of his feeling. “I cain’t let ye go, Miss Geneva. Hit’s too dangerous, and there’s a hunnert ways to git lost. I think yer about the bravest lady in th’ world, but I cain’t let ye go. If inny thing happened to ye… Oh, Lordy, I’d sooner die.”
“Please, Jimmy Lee,” she begged more urgently. “I can take care of myself. What about this stream? If I follow it, will it take me anywhere?” she asked, indicating the white water flowing over the edge of the cliff.
He eyed it carefully. “Yes. This here’s the crick that flows down to Chap’s house. But hit’s hard to foller—hit switches back and forth a lot through thick places and hit branches off in wet weather. I ain’t sure I could tell ye how to foller it right.” He shifted slightly and winced. Geneva knew his leg must hurt terribly. She could see the suffering in his face.
“Jimmy Lee. If we wait here, how long will it be before anybody finds us? Don’t you think that Howard—Chap may not have gone back home, but back up to the cabin? There was no need for him to go back once he led Myrtle away. It could be days before anybody finds us. By that time, your leg could be too bad to save.”
He shook his head. “Hit ain’t my laig I’m worried about. Hit’s yew. Yew git lost up here, or slip on a rock, or fall off someplace. Or, Lord, God, what if yew run acrost another bear?”
“Jimmy Lee, how much farther can it be? Surely I can get there by noon if I leave now.”
He shook his head again. “Not follerin th’ crick. There’s a straighter way, but I don’t think ye could find yer way. Th’ crick winds around too much. Could take ye hours. No ma’am, he said stubbornly. “Yer safer here. Even if we haveta wait a day or two, we’re better off here, together, where hit’s safe.”
She saw she would get nowhere with him. “Okay, Jimmy Lee. You win. I won’t ask you again. Now you just lie here, and I’m going to catch up with the others to look for berries.” She rose and made her way to the place where she could climb up to the rocky ledge. She had all the information she was going to get, and she feared for his very life if they waited any longer. She shuddered as she remembered the story of Laurel who had lain in the forest for more than a day with a compound fracture and had died. She would not have Jimmy Lee on her conscience. Resolutely, she hurried up the rocky trail and looked for a way to slip back down below the precipice to where the water fell.
The trail leveled off after a short way, and soon the cliff to her right began to fall off less sharply, and trees grew up out of the loose, rocky soil. She knew if the trees thickened enough to give her hand holds, she could make it down, no matter how steep the incline. Quickly, she walked until the rocky shale gave way to humus and good soil, and the scraggly growth grew lush. Huge trees afforded her secure places by which to make her way downward; their roots sometimes made steps for an easy descent. She left the rocky ledge and struck off downhill, literally running into tress, which stopped her from falling down the incline. Sometimes the going was easy, and it was never exactly treacherous as she worked her way back toward where she thought the stream would be. If she could just get there, she would follow it to Howard’s house.
Her heart lightened at the thought of seeing him, and she prayed that he would be home. If only she could see him once more, to have the chance to tell him again how she loved him! Surely he would hear her this time. Surely he would not turn her away again. She thought of the way his eyes gentled when he looked at her, at the feel of his smooth skin under her palms, of the softness of his lips. She flung herself into the next tree. Rounding it, she heard the water straight ahead, and the ground leveled off into a nearly flat little valley. Carefully, she threaded her way through a mighty oak grove toward the sound of running water.
Yes, there it was, just ahead. Surely, it was the same stream by which they had camped the night before. But she should not take any chances. She would work her way back upstream until she could look up and see it falling over the ledge. Then she would hurry downstream as fast as she could and make as much progress as possible before the others missed her. No need to make them worry any longer than necessary. If she made good time, surely she would find help by early afternoon, earlier if Howard were at home. She remembered her Mazda. She could drive for help, but she did not know how to get to Lenora and Ike’s house. And it would be impossible to tell anyone how to find the little lost group up high on the ledge. She prayed that Howard would be home. This time her need was more urgent as she thought of Jimmy Lee’s injured leg.
She stayed by the creek bank and walked upstream until she found the place she was looking for. Sure enough, above her, the water spilled down a hundred foot cliff of sheer rock face and over the small ledge that had miraculously saved Jimmy Lee. From her vantage, she could not see anyone on the ledge, but she could see the ledge itself plainly outlined against the cliff. Just above it was the scrabbled path they had used to climb up and down, and above that was the scar in the face of the rock that had been the main trail. Assured that she was on the right track, she turned back downstream.
The going along the creek bank was rough, but she knew better than to get into the swift water. A fall could mean a broken leg, and the rocks looked as slippery as oil. It would be better to make her way through the dense rhododendron and laurel, even though it meant slow, torturous going. Sometimes she had to get down and crawl, but she knew she would be better off staying within earshot of the creek. It was her only guide. If she lost it, she would merely have to go back to find it again.
After nearly an hour, the rhododendron hell gave way to a rocky slope, with poor, ragged trees scattered desolately upon its surface. The stream flowed smoothly beside her across the rock, then slipped noisily over the side. Another waterfall. She inched her way carefully forward to peer over the edge. A fifteen or twenty foot drop. She would have to go around. Carefully, she picked her way back up the incline, keeping her eyes open for a good place to veer away and find a more suitable descent.
She turned back into the woods to try to pick her way through the dense underbrush back from the waterfall, but the way continued to be steep for a good while. She walked until she could no longer hear the water, then decided to find a way down the slope without going any farther. If she lost the stream, she would also lose her way.
Leaning against a tree, she peered downward to try to gauge the incline. If she could hang on to low branches and the sturdy roots of trees and bushes, she could make her way without too much difficulty. The earth was soft here; there was no danger of slipping on rocks and plummeting. The worst that could happen would be a bit of a slide. Very carefully, she inched herself downward until her feet could no longer resist the pull of gravity. She sat on her haunches and grabbed for the first tree, then swung herself from limb to root to bush, making her way down the mountain. She reached for a clump of Joe Pye weed, erect and proud, with its blossoms just beginning to burst open, then moved her other hand downward toward a dead limb standing drunkenly askew from an ironwood. Just when she thought her hold was secure, the limb snapped and she tumbled down the hill, grasping desperately at bushes and weeds along the way.
After what seemed like several minutes of plummeting and sliding through the dark, rich humus, she finally managed to get her feet under her. She slid all the way to the base of the slope on her feet and backside.
She looked at her hands. The heels were scraped raw. They stung but did not bleed much. Her shoeless right foot felt terribly strained, but she lifted it and worked it carefully. Nothing bad wrong. It would not be comfortable walking on it, but it was not sprained.
Hastily, she picked her way back toward the direction of the stream, and found it only after having crawled through a cedar thicket so dense and sticky that she thought she would be scratched to pieces before she could find her way out again. By the time she made it to the stream, she was so filthy she could no longer identify the color of her pants. Sap and grime clung to her skin and hair; when she tried to push her hair out of her face, the sap on her hands stuck to it.
But at last she heard, then saw, the blessed stream. She was hot and thirsty. The sticky sap attracted insects, and she was itchy and miserable all over.
Limping, she entered a clearing caused by poor, rocky soil where nothing but butterfly weed and snakeroot grew. Through this the stream tumbled madly. By now she had been gone longer than she had thought it would take to get to Howard Knight’s house, and she realized that she probably had not come very far over the rugged terrain. The sun was high, and her shoeless right foot was caked with mud and loose rocks. Wearily, she removed the sock and washed it, then put her foot in the icy water, scrubbing the mud away from between the toes. There was a deep purple bruise and a raw scrape on her ankle, and the whole foot was throbbing and hot. She soaked it in the creek while she splashed water on her arms and face. The sun had turned the day hot, and although she remembered what Howard had told her about drinking so far from a pure spring, she was so thirsty that she was willing to take her chances. If she came down with Weil’s disease, she would pay for it later. But she was not certain that wild boar really existed in these hills, anyway. She had never seen one, although Howard had told her about them, and she had heard plenty of mountain folk talk about how they wreaked havoc over the fecund woods.
The clear, cold water was just too tempting, and her thirst emboldened her. As she bent her head and cupped her hand to take the fresh, white water, she heard a crashing in the trees across the stream, and the very beast whose existence she had just denied came trotting across the rocky slope toward her.
She made herself as small as possible and inched backwards, hoping the beast would not see her. But the wind shifted, and he suddenly lifted his head and poised, listening for noise in the air. His little, vile head with the razor sharp tusks tossed, then paused until he could see her with his little pig eyes.
He was about twenty-five feet away, with the stream between them, and he looked huge and mean as hell. Geneva backed away slowly, hoping it would not cross the water. She did not know how aggressive wild boars were, but the look of those tusks terrified her. She drew in a breath, telling herself not to run unless he made a break in her direction.
No sooner had she thought this, than the animal actually did charge at her. Snorting and growling savagely, it lowered its head and ran straight for the stream. Geneva scrambled backwards and ran for the safety of a medium sized tree just behind her. It would not offer her much shelter, but it was the best to be hoped for on such short notice. She made it in time to see the hog splashing through the stream, still charging straight at her.
Searching ahead of her into the better protection of the fertile soil where the larger trees grew, she darted across the granite earth, leaping over rocks and scraggy little bushes. At one point she stopped just behind a large boulder and glanced back behind her to see if the animal were still chasing her.
It had stopped, but to her horror, it was very close, only about ten feet away—close enough for Geneva to see the short bristles on the top of its head and the small split hooves, caked with filth. The beast stared at her through eyes running with matter. Mucous streamed from its nose, too, so copiously that when he slung his ugly head, she could see it fly from its face and spatter the nearby bushes. Abandoned by all possible sources of help, she stood alone in the clearing. She knew she was lost, and she was more afraid than she had ever been in her life. The forest seemed exceptionally still and silent as she tried to pull her eyes from the terrible face, violent with hatred.
The deep forest was just behind her. Only a few yards away stood a giant tulip poplar, a tree so large that had there been three of her, she could not have circumscribed it with her arms. Gently, trying to glide almost without touching the earth, Geneva took one step away from the small safety of the boulder. Immediately, the boar seemed to explode, charging at her with the energy of a hundred thundering horses, his eyes glaring red and horrible as he anticipated her blood.
She leaped, then ran. The massive tree stood like a beacon of hope against the mindless charge of the raging boar, and to that beacon she fled, offering all her trust to its mighty trunk. She gained safety behind it just as the animal reached her, then it rushed by. Geneva felt its hot, foul breath as it flung its razor tusks at her. There was a resounding thud and a cracking sound as the tusks ripped deep into the flesh of the tree. Geneva’s knees turned to water. She leaned against the solid safety of the poplar, and forced herself to turn and discover where the beast had stopped.
He was a scant ten feet away, perfectly still, regarding her with what seemed to be supreme irritation. Geneva could sense it considering, weighing the possible events of the next charge. In the eyes of the beast glimmered a malevolent intelligence that told her she might not be able to dodge him again. Perhaps this time he would circle the tree; he would slice her lovely legs just below the hip. Geneva let her horrified gaze fall to the fresh, deep gash in the tree trunk, wickedly clean, with the bark peeled away, exposing the flesh of the soft, yellow wood. From the wound, sap welled and bled down into the forest floor. The tree could still stand after such a brutal attack. She would not. Already, she could imagine the fragile flesh ripping away from the bone, then the bone itself snapping before the massive weight of that flailing head.
In the pause before the boar took aim to begin its next assault, Geneva felt her blood screaming its anguish with each beat of her terrified heart. She saw the slime running from the beast’s snout as he studied her.
Was it possible to outsmart it a second time? A dozen or more feet away stood a ragged pine with a low, solid branch not far above Geneva’s head. With her thoughts nearly inaudible above the pounding of her heart, she tried to calculate the distance and the time it would take to reach it, but her brain refused to work. A split second later, the boar charged again, and without hope, but with courage born of the desire to live, she leaped to the other side of the tree, just far enough to be partly visible from the pig’s vantage. The animal altered his course instantly, zeroing in on his target with the accuracy of a heat-seeking missile.
Wait… Wait… She forced herself, as the milliseconds ticked by like long minutes, and then, when the boar had come too far to swerve to the other side of the tree, she gathered her strength and switched sides, then sprinted through the clearing. The pine stood solidly, offering its branch like a lover’s arms, and as she reached it, she leaped, summoning all her power in her arms and legs to swing herself up and embrace it.
She had bought herself just enough time to stay one step ahead of the boar. It had indeed encircled the tree in anticipation of her ducking behind it the second time and had saved the violent toss of the head until it was more certain of its target. But its cumbersome body had negotiated the turn awkwardly, and Geneva had gained enough ground to make the safety of the high limb.
But her legs, although willing and nimble, were too slow. Just as she felt them swinging upward to embrace the limb, the hog overtook her, running directly under her and lifting its tusks into the deadly, flashing arc. She felt the breath again, and a split second later, a thin, sharp pain in the back of her right thigh. Her leg went limp, then both legs lost their purchase on the limb. For a moment, they hung down, dead weights pulling against the strength of her arms. There was a tickle in the sensitive spot at the back of her knee, and a second later, at the ankle. She dared not look, but she knew that already her blood was wetting the ground below her.
Her hands, clasped together around the pine branch, were wet with fear and pain, and she felt the strength ebbing from her arms. She tried again to wrap her legs around the branch, but her throbbing leg kicked feebly. The bare foot only scraped across the rough bark, then slid downward again. Now she did not know if she had the power to lift her legs at all; this time she must use her arms to pull her body higher.
Before she could think, she heard the snorting animal thundering toward her again. Her brain shut out the sound, and her body, in a last burst of self-preservation, pulled itself up high; her knees tucked up under her chin, and her elbows bent up tight to the prickly safety of the pine bough. The wind rushed under her once more, but this time, there was no responding pain.
There was a long silence while Geneva hugged the tree. The sickening smell of the filthy hog filled her nostrils, but still she was aware of the clean smell of the pine and the less comforting, sharp smell of her own terrified sweat. Sweat darkened her shirt, and she could feel it running into her eyes, blinding her with the dirt and grime it carried. She was afraid to look down, but at last she wiped an eye on her shoulder and peered through the crook of her arm, quivering with fear and fatigue.
The awful thing was standing still, staring at her, dripping at the nose and mouth, and then he tossed his deadly head, snorted once, and very deliberately ran headlong into the trunk of the pine.
The whole tree shook, but not as much as Geneva’s arms. Again she tried to sling her legs up and over the branch, but the pain in her thigh weakened the attempt. Her left foot hooked over the branch, but lost its grip and then slithered down again. Adrenaline and lactic acid together made an unholy mix, and as the tree trembled, Geneva felt her own weight, heavier than she ever dreamed possible, pulling against her quaking arms.
The beast charged at the tree again, twice more, three times more. Geneva began to cry, knowing that the muscles in her arms and legs and stomach would surely fail her in a matter of seconds. With each blow at the base of the tree, she felt her fingers slip farther and farther apart.
Oh, dear God! she cried. Do something! Don’t let me be ripped apart by this awful thing! And she sobbed aloud as she struggled to make her sliding fingers marry.
Again came the thunder of hooves, and the world shook. She knew she would fall this time, and she peered down to face the demon that was bent upon killing her. She saw him charging; she saw the lifted tusks, and she knew that this time he was aiming for her. Screaming, she begged her stomach to pull her legs up tight, her arms to embrace the tree, her hands to hold steady, but already they were giving away, all at once. Her legs turned to lead, her stomach muscles refused to pull any harder, her fingers, oily with sweat, determined to part. There was an explosion in her ears, and blackness enveloped her as she felt herself falling, falling into the cruel tusks of the wild boar, to his open mouth, to pain and certain death.
There was a violent jolt, and then a strange kind of warmth, and she felt herself no longer falling, but moving swiftly. Dazed, she opened her eyes to look down, and she dimly perceived that she might be flying. The prostrate form of the animal that had surely killed her floated below her. And then she felt another jolt, then a smooth rocking motion. Odd, she mused dimly through a swirl of pain and darkness. Dying feels just like cantering through the forest, only warmer. It’s not as bad as I expected…
Then she lifted her eyes to see ears and a flying mane. Slowly it came to her that she was, indeed, riding a horse, and then eventually, she realized that she was lying in the arms of a man. When her eyes opened again, the sight of the mane streaming toward her face gave her greater joy than she had ever known.
A name came to her, swirling in darkness and confusion, and before it was fully formed in her brain, her lips were already shaping themselves to caress it. “Howard,” she moaned, “You’ve saved me!”
The male arms tightened around her, pulling her close and comfortable against the warm, taut chest. “Not Howard, darling,” came the low breath in her ear. “John.”
She fainted before she could lift her eyes to his face.