Anora pushed her body away from the security of the rudder, and before she could think about what she was doing, she skipped to the end of the ferry without holding on to anything. Stepping down off the tongue, she removed the loop of heavy, braided hemp rope that secured the raft to the pylon stump. Moving quickly, she hopped back on board, took hold of the crank that let out the cable for the tongue. Bent, feet set wide apart, using both hands, she put her whole body into it and the tongue came up and locked itself into the upright position.
Roscoe and Pete had already started to go around within their style, which had set the ferry into motion. Shoving Whit aside, she rushed back to the rudder. Putting her full weight into it, she hauled back on the long beam—back, back, until she thought she’d tip over the side into the river. Hanging on with all her will, the raft swung into the current. She felt it being pulled downstream toward the gravel bar and the wide bend in the river. Caught in the eddy, a tree limb with spiky branches sailed past the bow, scraping the underside of the ferry.
Whit yelled out a warning, his arm pointing to a big tree root coming directly at them. Instinctively, Anora shoved the rudder hard to the left, the raft swung aside, righting itself. Leaving the strong current behind, they cruised out into the middle of the river. The tree root, caught up in the swift-moving rapid, waddled by giving them three feet of clearance.
“That was a close one.” Whit yelled, slapping her soundly on the back. “As close as I’ve ever seen. You handled her just fine. Just fine by-crackin’. Yeehah!”
Whit’s booming laughter echoed up and down the river. Anora let loose of a whoop of triumph in spite of herself.
Shaking, teeth about to snap off, jaw tightly clenched, she brought the ferry into shore. A strong surge of defiance hit her—she thrust herself from the rudder pole to let down the tongue. Taking up the heavy rope, she leaped into ankle deep water to moor the craft to the pylon. With that taken care of, she scurried up the bank with one purpose in mind—get as far away from the water as she could before her legs gave way.
Eyes closed, she stopped to catch her breath in front of Pete and Roscoe’s crib. Stroking Roscoe’s thick, white neck, she gave thanks to the beast for bringing her safely ashore.
“I’m gonna go get my gear,” Whit said, passing the split-rail corral, heading for the barn.
“Wait. Whit, you can’t leave now.”
“Yup, I thought I would. Not much reason to stay. You can handle anything that river dishes out. You’ll get used to it. You got to do this on your own, I can’t do it for you.”
They crossed the yard to the cabin, Anora skipping alongside to keep up. “Stay one more day.”
“Anora Claire,” Whit said, coming to a sudden halt, a sparkle in his eye, a smirk on his lips. “The truth is if I stay, I want to be in your bed. No. No, I can see it in your eyes, you’re over me. I can live with that. I ain’t one of those fella’s that needs to be hit over the head with a fry pan. I best be gettin’ on. I think I can make camp along the Long Tom River tonight. The weather ain’t bad. There’s some passes to go over, might run into snow before I get into California.
“Now, I left you Grandpa’s double barrel there, next to the bed. You don’t have to be a good shot to do damage with that thing. Just point it in the general direction, what it don’t shoot full of holes, it’ll scare to death.”
He barked a big-chested laugh and grabbed her by the shoulders, holding her to his chest. “Don’t look so scared. I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t think you could handle this. You’re a natural born ferryman, Anora. All that stuff you learned watching your pa, it’s in you. Trust yourself.
“Hey, look out there,” he said, turning her around to look out the door of the cabin, “you’ve got a customer. You can take me back over to the Takenah side. Anora Claire you are now a ferryman.”
Furious, she could do nothing more than stand with her mouth open.
The crust, the out and out audacity of the male, left her speechless. They came, they went as they pleased. They took what they wanted, what they had use for, and to hell with the leftovers; they could rot for all they cared.
After detangling herself from her cape, she jammed her wide-brimmed leather hat down on her head, pulling the brim low over her eyes. Angry at the whole damn world, and especially angry with everyone she’d ever loved or cared for, for leaving her, she donned her father’s big rain slicker.
Whit, her family, they’d left her, never mind they’d left against their will—the fact of the matter remained—she only had herself to rely on. And, by damn, that was how she preferred it from this day forward. Being alone was better than caring, feeling, craving comfort, and understanding…tenderness, from another human. Who more than likely, would be more concerned with the fulfilling of their own wants and desires.
Stomping down off the porch, she retrieved a pair of leather gloves from her pocket. Tossing her voice over her shoulder, she said, “Best get your horse, Mr. Comstock, if you mean to cross that river with me. I don’t have time to waste.”
Waving her hand to her customer, she said, “You there. Loaded wagon and team three bits. Get off the wagon and lead your team to the front of the ferry, please. If you haven’t got the price of the fare, we might make a trade, depending on what you’ve got.”
Grinning, setting his hat more firmly on his head, Whit shouted across the yard, “Better do what the lady says, folks. Shake a leg, she means business.”