By the end of the day there were twenty-four pear trees planted firmly in the ground. Paxton and Hank dug the holes and positioned the eight-to-ten-foot saplings, then Isabell and Anora tucked the rich black dirt and sod back around the roots.
Hank stopped and leaned against the oak. Lydia, wrapped in the lap robe, had fallen asleep in the sun. Her eyes fluttered open, she yawned and came up on her elbows, tipping her head, her smile sending him an invitation to join her.
He squatted beside her, and she looked away to where Anora and Paxton were helping Isabell pack the dirt around the last tree. “I’m worried about my brother,” she said under her breath.
He grunted in agreement.
Lydia looked up at him. “He’s attracted to her. She is pretty, and surprisingly intelligent, but she’s damaged, like a vase that’s been dropped and glued back together too many times. She will never be what she once was. I fear she’s beyond repair, unable to function properly.” Lydia shook her head. “She’s not the right woman for my brother. He’s taking her on as his project. That’s not good. He’ll tire of her sooner or later, or she’ll tire of him; either way, it won’t work.”
Hank came to his feet and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I don’t see how we can stop him. Today’s been good for her.”
Lydia nodded and reached for his hand to help her get to her feet. She swayed a little. Tightening his hold on her, he said, “You’re going home and right to bed.”
“I’m a little dizzy, is all. You worry too much, Mr. Reason. I’m fine.”
“I don’t think there is such a thing as worrying too much when your wife is with child.”
»»•««
A warm southwesterly wind pushed dark clouds inland, whipping the bare branches of the oak and maple. At the cabin, the sound of the rising river set Anora’s nerves on edge. She hated the water, the sound of it, the relentless rush of it, the color, dark and evil.
Mr. Reason pulled the wagon to a stop.
“We better get across,” Mr. Hayes said. “Looks like the thaw’s begun. The forks of the Willamette are carrying the runoff from the Cascades upriver.”
Mrs. Reason leaned out to speak to her brother. “I don’t like the looks of the ferry, Paxton. Are you sure we can make it across?”
The ferry had started to cross from Takenah. It looked small and flimsy, straining against the fast-moving, swirling current. The color of the water had changed from steel blue to a murky, greenish brown.
Mr. Reason, holding the reins, came to his feet to study the river. “Looks like the water level’s risen well over a foot since morning.”
The boy on the ferry put all his weight on the rudder. He lost his footing, slid on the slippery deck, then righted himself. Mr. Reason turned his attention to the oxen.
Anora, unable to stand the sight of the water, turned her attention to the oxen in the style. With their heads bowed, they plodded slowly around and around, pulling the cable across the carriage, their hooves digging a trench into a slurry of mud.
Mrs. Reason clutched her husband’s arm. “We could stay here tonight. It looks treacherous. The ferry is nearly submerged. We’ll never make it across.”
Mr. Reason patted her hand. “You keep a good hold on Isabell. Paxton will hold the team. I’ll give Barney a hand. You need to be in your own bed tonight. Besides, this might be our only chance to get across. If it starts to rain, my guess is we won’t be back over to our place for several days. We don’t want to get stuck on this side of the river. You sit tight. We’ll get across.”
Anora scrambled down off the wagon and scurried up the bank to stand near the oxen. Mr. Hayes dismounted and followed her. “It looks like we’re in for a flood. Are you going to be all right here? You’ve got plenty of food…wood? I probably won’t be able to get back over for a few days. You could come home with us?”
She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the water—eddies swirled with slush, tree branches tumbled in the current. She shuddered, the water screamed by, laughing at her, taunting her.
The arm he laid across her shoulders didn’t help ease her fear. “You should be all right, but if the water gets up here, you go up to the barn? Anora…did you hear what I said?”
She shifted away from his arm. Head down, she licked her cold lips, nodded, and hugged herself, to hold herself together.
“Good. I’m glad you came with us today.”
Her fingers digging into her arms, she made herself look him in the eyes; he mustn’t guess her weakness, her terror. Teeth chattering, forcing a smile, looking anywhere but in the direction of the river, she said, “Yes…yes…it’s been a good day. A better day than I’ve had in a long while, thank you.”
“Paxton,” Mr. Reason called out from the wagon. “The ferry’s pulling in. We’re losing daylight.” Mr. Hayes waved and took the reins of his horse. He squeezed her arm before he skidded down the slippery bank, leading his mount.
Anora watched them board. They waved. The ferry pulled away from shore, and she thought them doomed. The ferry could break loose from the cable, or a log, rolling down from upstream, could crash into the rickety raft and send them all to a watery, horrible, cold and merciless grave. Helpless, she waited for disaster to strike.
Holding her breath, arms folded tight across her chest, she listened to the voice of the water gurgling, gulping, greedily whooshing and hissing. The cable sang overhead, growing tighter with the pull of the current. Her gaze drawn up into the bare branches of the oak where the cable choked the girth of the tree, she heard the snap and crack of bark being stripped away.
The ferry, made of puncheon logs and split rails, slick with water, swung out into the current. She could make out Mr. Reason, he put his weight on the rudder to help the boy. After a few, long, tense moments, the craft sidled safely into the shore on the Takenah side. Mr. Reason waved to her—she imagined she could see his grin.
Mr. Hayes led the mules and wagon, with Mrs. Reason and Isabel still on the board seat, off the ferry and up the track, away from the river. He took off his hat and waved to her before climbing up onto his horse. Furtively, looking toward the cabin, Anora hesitated to wave back, afraid. Even if Rueben wasn’t there today, he’d find out. He’d kill her or make her wish she were dead.
Alone on the bank, she waited until the wagon had gone out of sight before unharnessing Roscoe and Pete. It started to rain, the rain coming down so hard rivulets of water cut down the track from the barn. She saw to the milking and feeding the chickens. Barely able to see the cabin, she made her way to the shelter of the stoop at the cabin.
Before making a fire, she removed her wet clothes and wrapped herself in the comforter. The sound of the river never left her ears throughout the long night. Several times, she got up from her bed and opened the cabin door, to peer into the deluge. Everywhere she looked she saw the water reflecting back at her, making a lake of the yard. She didn’t want to think about the river, or the rising water, she wanted to think about the day, about running, laughing, and playing. But the river kept flooding her dreams, swamping any peace she might have had.
»»•««
Paxton wiped his hand across his face. “Phew.” He sat on the bench on the back porch to remove his high-top rubber boots. “It’s going to be a long night.”
“If it rises much farther, it’ll be in town,” Hank said, sitting next to Paxton on the bench to remove his boots. “I wonder how Mrs. Talbot is faring.”
“If she’s gone up to the barn, she’ll be fine. It’ll be a miracle if the cabin goes untouched.”
“Does the river go out every year?”
Paxton grinned at him and shrugged. “More or less, sometimes a couple of times a year, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen it come up this far this fast.”
“The rain’s stopped,” Hank said, going to the rail of the porch, looking off to the northwest. “The sky looks a little pink tonight, maybe it’s clearing off.”
“Hmm, yep, but there’ll be another day or so of rising water. Maybe the rest of the week, so we better be ready with those sand bags.”
“Good thing you put your house on this end of town, away from the river,” Hank said, following Paxton into the kitchen.
“It wasn’t planned. I just liked the view here.”
Lydia laid the last plate on the table, straightened to rub the small of her back. Hank crossed the room to the stove and lifted the lid off the cast-iron pot to inhale the aroma of the savory contents. He opened the oven and there he found golden biscuits.
“Would you take those out for me?” Lydia asked. “Everything’s done. I think I’ll go lie down.”
“You go ahead. I’ll bring your supper up. Don’t worry about the dishes, or Isabell. You’re wearing yourself out.”
“It doesn’t seem like I’m doing anything. I don’t know what’s making me so tired.” Hank helped her up the stairs.
“Couldn’t be because you’re going to give birth in less than a month?” he said, his hand beneath her elbow as they came to the upstairs landing.
“A month and a half,” Lydia said, opening the door to their room.
“A month,” Hank corrected her.
Paxton had followed them up the stairs. Hank looked over his shoulder and met his brother-in-law’s concerned gaze. Paxton stayed on the landing, still there when Hank came back out into the hall. “Is she going to be all right? Maybe she should have a doctor. I think I could get one to come down from Salem. Dr. Geary. I met him once, he delivered a foal for me.”
“A horse doctor? Paxton?”
“I liked him. It was an expensive foal, one of those purebreds, Morgan, I think. We should at least talk to Tamara Gregson. Everybody comes into the store sooner or later. She’ll know who’s good at helping out at a birthing.”
“That would be a relief. Lydia doesn’t say so, but I know she’s scared of having the baby by herself. Your mother was there for her when Isabell was born. I think that’s part of the reason why she’s been so snappish lately.
Paxton sent a look toward the stairwell. “Speaking of Isabell, I better find the little squirt. It’s mighty quiet around here. I wonder what she’s up to.”
Hank nodded. “Right, I’ll get supper on the table.”
He set the small oak table, the sound of rain falling on the roof of the back porch. He shook his head. He’d hoped the rain had stopped for the night. On second thought, he thought the flood a good thing. Ben Talbot’s return would be delayed for a few more days. Anora needed time to heal.
Hank asked himself what he’d do when Ben returned. He couldn’t stand by and allow Anora to endure even one more minute of torture. And the thought of her spending a night in the man’s company filled him with such rage and foreboding, he could barely keep himself from screaming.