The River Girl's Song: Texas Women of Spirit, Book 1 Page 10

Orrie ran up to meet her. Dirt smudged his cheeks and snail shells dotted the path behind him where he had dropped them in his haste.

  “Elves? Surely not.” Maybe I should stop reading him tales from my old fairy book. “Let’s get the lantern, it’s getting too dark to see down there. Perhaps you can show me the elves.”

  Zillia tugged her brother up the bank to the house. She took the lantern from its hook on the porch and they headed back down the hill.

  The river was swollen after the early spring rains. Moonlight danced on the water while it swirled around tiny rock and branch islands. Early wildflowers filled the air with their powdery sweet scent. Thick, throaty sounds echoed from the muddy shallows and rocks.

  With one hand, Zillia held Orrie back from the water, and with the other, she lowered the lantern.

  A sleek, green shape hopped away from the light, and then another.

  “See, Zillia, elves!”

  A laugh escaped her lips. “No Orrie, those are frogs! Mama used to call them peepers. Just watch.”

  The two of them crouched down by the ground. Zillia could feel Orrie quivering in excitement.

  Another frog hopped in front of them. Its throat ballooned out and released an unearthly croak into the night.

  “See, Orrie, that’s how they talk,” Zillia whispered. These moments were the best part of caring for her brother, the times she could share something new and watch his eyes shine in wonder.

  When all the frogs had disappeared, Zillia sat on a log and pulled Orrie onto her lap. “The stars sure are pretty tonight. See those three in a row? That’s Orion’s belt. My papa always said he was the hunter of the skies.” Zillia took her brother’s chubby finger in her hand and held it up to each star, tracing the shape of the mythical hero. “There’s his belt, and his bow. He’s strong and brave, just like I knew you would be. That’s why I named you after him.”

  “Yep, I’m brave.” Orrie wriggled down to the ground. The lantern light played on features to reveal his face was changing again. Every day he left behind another baby trait and became more of a little person.

  “Well, it’s time all the brave heroes went to bed.”

  They walked back up to the house. Zillia had to admit she missed the open land and the country quiet. Sometimes she’d allow herself a moment to listen to the river sing.

  A week had passed since they had returned from town. Wylder had not come by, but she wasn’t surprised. He’d be busy with spring planting.

  A silence had sprung up between Zillia and Wylder since the dance. She gave it little thought the first few Sundays, when he barely tipped his hat or gave a mumbled “good morning.” After a few weeks, she knew something was wrong. By then, she felt too awkward to bring it up.

  Mr. Alder had come by to visit her a few times at the Fowler’s. He’d made his intentions clear, but she could do nothing to encourage his advances. No fluttery feelings entered her heart when she saw him come up the drive, even though he was quite handsome. Yes, he could offer an escape from this life, but she had seen Mama throw her life away for a loveless marriage and she wasn’t about to make that choice.

  They reached an unspoken agreement to remain friends.

  Saying goodbye to the Fowlers had been tough for everyone, especially Mr. Fowler, who kept blowing his nose in his silken handkerchief. But Zillia knew they couldn’t stay there if she wanted to keep up with the farm.

  Returning to the farm was even stranger with Grandpa Walt coming in Wylder’s place. She missed her friend’s warm smile and his encouraging words.

  The lantern light winked along the path as she led Orrie back to the house. He stumbled sleepily beside her, humming a tune she recognized as one of the lullabies she often sang.

  Orrie was quickly snuggled into his little bed and on his way to dreamland. His gentle snores drifted from underneath his quilt.

  Gruff sank down at the foot of Orrie’s bed with a contented sigh. Once settled, he would not leave his little master’s side.

  With her small charge down for the night, thoughts began to swirl through Zillia’s head. What will I do about the crops this year? Why is Wylder so upset with me? She stepped back outside to ponder them in the cool evening air.

  The song of the peepers was the perfect background music for her wonderings. Her favorite rock gleamed in the moonlight at the edge of the clearing. She scooted across the stone until she settled into a comfortable place and tucked her knees under her chin.

  The house, though a bit musty, had seemed to welcome them. Accommodating as the Fowlers had been, it was nice to settle back into their own space and routine. Even the chickens and goats seemed happy to return to their own pens and yard.

  But what am I going to do now? She’d never be able to keep things going without money. She buried her face in the folds of her apron.

  “Papa, I’ve tried so hard,” she sobbed. “I don’t see how I can do it this time. I’m going to have to sell the farm.”

  A loud crack from the brush answered her, followed by more snapping. A man grunted.

  One hand rubbed away her tears while the other scrabbled through the dirt beside the rock until she found a branch the thickness of her wrist. Who could it be? A drifter? A lone Comanche scout? She never came outside without a gun. Only tonight.

  Rising as silently as she could, she gripped her stick and crept along the path. The crash had come from her left and though every instinct screamed for her to run, she had to protect Orrie.

  The broad-shouldered man’s face was shadowed as he rose to his feet.

  Zillia brought the stick high over her head.

  The man turned a second before wood contacted skull, grabbing the branch. “Zillia, what are you doing?” Wylder yelled.

  “I could ask you the same thing! Wylder Eckhart, you gave me the biggest fright of my life! Why on earth are you out here? I almost knocked you senseless.”

  His eyes twinkled in the lantern light. “You were really going to hit me, weren’t you? Do you think you could have knocked me out with that piece of kindling? What if I had been someone with evil intentions?”

  “I could have dealt with it.” She raised her chin. “I’ve been out here for awhile, and I reckon I’ve learned how to take care of myself.”

  “Is that so?” Wylder tipped his head back and folded his arms across his chest. “You think this is the first time I’ve come out here to check on you?”

  Suddenly, missing pieces of a puzzle clicked together in Zillia’s mind. Wylder’s red eyes, the times he fell asleep in church, the days he couldn’t stop yawning. She always assumed it was from when he’d stay up too late carving by the fire, or because of working so hard. Would she have guessed he came late at night to spy on her? Never.

  Her heart beat faster. How many of her whispered conversations with God had he overheard? Over the years on her rock, she had created a spoken journal of ideas and dreams. Sometimes she had even sung them. It was as though Wylder had trespassed in her thoughts.

  Fingernails dug into her palms as she glared at him. “I never asked for your help.” She knew how ungrateful these words sounded after the years of work and support he had given without a dime paid back. “You have no right to come out here and spy on me!”

  “That’s not why I came, and you know it, Zillia,” he was shouting now, something he never did unless he was trying to communicate across a barn or a cornfield. “You’re crazy, you know that? Trying to run this farm by yourself and take care of everything. It’s not safe!”

  “You said I was doing a good job!”

  “Yes.” His voice softened. “But that’s when I could be here to help out, to keep watch. I’ll be gone soon, and I won’t...”

  “Fine with me, leave.” The words felt like ice on her lips, and for a moment she thought someone else was speaking them. “I can take care of myself.”

  “No, you won’t,” he said slowly. “You’ll just find someone else. Maybe that lawyer. He’d do a better job anyway, right?” He s
tepped back, and his jaw tightened. “At least he has money. He’ll buy you whatever you want.”

  Now she was confused. “Ulysess Alder? He is going to help me try to get the deed for the land in my name. I really don’t understand why you’re so upset about him. He’s just a friend.”

  “He’d better stay away from me,” Wylder muttered, and pulled his hat down further over his eyes.

  A tremor washed over her and she turned away from him, folding her arms around her body against the shiver. “I think you should leave, Mr. Eckhart. And there’s no need for you to come back.”

  “Wait, Zillia.” His voice broke. “I’m sorry. I scared you, I didn’t mean to...”

  She walked up the bank, across the yard and into the house, where she slammed the door in his face.

  Early May 1889

  12 Meeting Uncle Isak

  “Why is my brother angry with you?”

  Zillia gripped the buckboard’s seat tighter. She had tried to avoid the topic for the last few days, but she knew her blunt friend wouldn’t leave it alone forever. “Didn’t he tell you what happened?”

  “Just because Wylder is my brother doesn’t mean he shares everything.” Soonie shrugged. “I noticed he’s been upset since the dance. He looked especially gloomy after he made his rounds out at your house the other night.”

  Zillia gasped. “You mean, you knew he’d been coming out this entire time?”

  “Of course I did. Grandpa wouldn’t have allowed you to stay out there on your own without someone checking up on you.”

  “So it was Grandpa Walt who sent him out?” Zillia rubbed her forehead.

  Soonie nodded. “At first he planned to ask the hired man to go. Wylder volunteered to ride out every few nights. He’s been doing it for years, except when you stayed with the Fowlers.”

  Zillia sank back against the seat. “How did I never see him?” And I thought I was doing such a good job keeping watch. “I wish someone had told me.”

  One of Soonie’s dark eyebrows arched up. “Do you?”

  “Yes. Well, I don’t know,” Zillia faltered. Would I have wanted to know he lost so much sleep because of me?

  She leaned forward on the wagon seat, straining to see further down the road. “How long does this trip usually take?”

  “A few hours. I’m so glad you and Orrie came with me today; it makes the time go faster.”

  Every year, Soonie’s relatives from North Texas brought goods to a town outside of Austin. Soonie’s uncle always came a little farther south after the trade days to swap items and visit.

  Usually Wylder and Soonie went together, but this year Soonie asked Zillia to come along. She thought her uncle would give a good price for the bushels of pecans Zillia had hoarded in the barn.

  The gardens were planted, the paltry amount of corn had been sown, and a few loose boards on the chicken shed had been repaired. So Zillia allowed herself the rare treat of a day’s outing.

  The horses clomped across the dock to the ferry station. Soonie hopped down from the wagon. “Orrie, you want to help?”

  Orrie nodded and climbed out. “Can I pull, Soonie?”

  With a boost from Soonie, he was able to reach the worn, thick rope attached to the signal bell. One good tug, and the bell swayed wildly, tolling out across the river.

  Soonie held Orrie’s hand on the dock while Zillia stayed in the wagon, holding the reins.

  “Wonder where Mr. Teller is.” Soonie squinted at the ferry man’s station across the river.

  “Who knows,” Zillia replied. The ferry man was notorious for wandering off to go fishing. Complaints had been made for years, but no one else was willing to take the job.

  Finally, a man wearing overalls appeared at the door of the small hut across the river. He stared out at the party on the dock, shook his head, and made his way over to the ferry.

  Orrie loved the ferry ride. “Fishies!” he shouted as several silvery shapes darted under the wide, wooden platform.

  “Stay close to me, you little rascal.” Zillia pulled him back from the edge.

  After crossing the river, Soonie directed the horses down the wide, twisting road towards Austin. After awhile, they stopped beside a small pond for lunch. A blanket of nodding bluebonnets and Indian Paintbrushes spread out before them.

  Orrie bit into a biscuit and grinned. “This is good. When will we be there?”

  “Just another hour or so.” Soonie pointed up to the sky. “See, the sun is over there. When it gets to that spot , we’ll be at the place.”

  “That’s forever and ever, Soonie!” Orrie pouted.

  “Perhaps we can make the drive seem shorter if we discuss the cookies I have for a certain boy at the end of the trip.” Soonie reached over to tickle him.

  He fell over in the grass, laughing. “Hey.” He sat back up. “Soonie, are the cookies for me?”

  Soonie smiled over his head at Zillia. “Your cookies? Oh, I thought they were for some other little boy.”

  Though still early in the spring, the sun was blazing by the time they arrived. The horses’ flanks were drenched in sweat and drool dripped from their bits.

  A small cluster of homes gathered around the big trading post building, like chicks huddled around a mother hen. The trading post served as a store, meeting place, watering hole and post office for wagons traveling from Austin to River County.

  A man sat in the shade of the building’s wall, his eyes shut tight.

  “There’s Uncle Isak.” Soonie pulled back on the reigns.

  Though half white, Isak had chosen to fully embrace the Comanche lifestyle. His hair hung in two long braids, like Soonie’s. As the wagon approached, his eyes flew open, shining like turquoise beads in his tanned face.

  “Soonie, maruawe.” Isak held out a hand to help her down. “It’s good to see you, Little One. I am sorry Wylder, Henry and Will could not come.”

  “They and Grandpa and Grandma send their love.” Soonie smiled. She gestured to Zillia. “This is my friend, Zillia Bright.”

  Isak bowed his head. “Thank you for coming. Travelers in groups are always safest.”

  “So, what did you bring to trade?” Soonie’s eyes danced.

  “You will have to come see. My pack is over this way.” Isak turned and walked to side of the building.

  Orrie bounced in the back of the wagon. “Let me out, Zilly!”

  “I’m going to take Orrie for a walk,” Zillia told Soonie. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.” Her part of the bartering could wait.

  Orrie skipped ahead of her into an expansive meadow spread out behind the little town. Hills rose in gentle green slopes, dotted with flowers of all colors and shapes. Sunk in the middle, like a button sewn into a cushion, rested a little pond.

  Cattails surrounded the small body of water. Zillia plucked a sausage-like stem and held it out to Orrie. “Look, when you pull this apart, it’s all soft.”

  He patted the fluff for a moment, then dropped the stalk and moved toward the water. “Look! Fishies and froggies!”

  Zillia rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand as he leaned over to get a closer look. She should have known he’d be more interested in the fauna than the flora. His bare feet sank into the thick mud.

  “Let’s not get too dirty.” She pulled him back to dry ground. Soonie wouldn’t appreciate muddy toes on her newly acquired goods.

  After her little brother had examined every bug, turtle and frog the small body of water had to offer, Zillia decided to take him back to the post and check on Soonie.

  Niece and uncle leaned against the wagon, talking in low, earnest voices. They turned when she approached.

  “Come and see what you want to trade,” said Isak. He led them over to his packs, stacked on the ground for the afternoon to give his mule a break.

  Zillia eyed the colorful baskets and beaded jewelry. Such beautiful things. She touched a bright blanket. “How much for this one?”

  “How many pecans do you have?” Isak arche
d an eyebrow.

  “Two bushels.”

  He pulled out three blankets and placed them in her arms. “Is this a good trade?”

  “It seems like too much,” Zillia said.

  Isak shook his head. “We don’t have pecans near the reservation. Everyone will enjoy the change.”

  “Well, thank you.” Zillia traced an intricate pattern in awe. She would never have the patience to create something so lovely, even if she had the time.

  They spread out one of the blankets under a tree and talked for awhile longer.

  Isak spoke of the turmoil within the Comanche people. “Some just want to live in peace. Others take whatever they can, while they can.”

  War parties still sprang up in the south from time to time. Sometimes Zillia forgot about these troubles, wrapped up in her own difficulties. Many good people had lost their lives, on both sides.

  Soonie’s lips trembled while she listened to her uncle, and tears glistened in her eyes.

  Zillia reached out to squeeze her hand. Soonie never forgets.

  After a short time, Isak rose to his feet. “I must go, Soonie. Take care of yourself, and the little boys.” He hugged his niece. “Please think about what I asked.”

  Soonie nodded. “May God ride with you, Uncle.”

  A few moments after they started for home, Orrie wrapped himself in colorful blankets and fell asleep.

  “What was Isak talking to you about while we were gone?” Zillia asked.

  “Hmmm.” Soonie’s eyes narrowed. “He wants me to come to the reservation. I always got high grades in school, and he thinks I could be a good teacher. Some of the children don’t even know how to read.”

  “You would be perfect!” Zillia clapped her hands. “Oh, Soonie, what a wonderful opportunity for you.” She stopped when she saw the wistful smile tugging at the corner of her friend’s mouth. “Of course, I would miss you.”

  “Yes, it would be hard to leave,” said Soonie. “But the boys are getting older and will be more help to Grandma and Grandpa. My heart has always been with my people.”

  “I know.” But Zillia couldn’t imagine life without her friend.