The River Girl's Song: Texas Women of Spirit, Book 1 Page 5

  Her brother’s curls bobbed over the ridge, several hundred yards away. She ran after him and grabbed him by his overall strap. “Orrie, I’ll take you down to the river after we make some soap, all right?” She pulled him back in the direction of her project.

  “Duckie!” Orrie threw himself on the ground and drummed his bare feet against her shins, his sharp ankles digging through her skirts and petticoat.

  “Ow! Stop that! I’ll get your ark down and you can play in the yard.”

  “Ark?” The rage on Orrie’s face mellowed into a sweet smile.

  On the way to the house to fetch the toy, Zillia lifted the pot lid to check her soap. The fat had almost completely melted. I should add the lye soon.

  Once inside the cabin, she pulled the Noah’s ark down from its place on the mantelpiece. Wylder and Grandpa Walt had carved the pieces through the cold winter evenings and presented it to Orrie for his birthday. They had hollowed out an oak log, shaped it into a boat, and painted it in bright colors. From time to time they presented Orrie with a new pair of animals. So far he owned giraffes, bears, elephants, zebras, and of course, Noah.

  She carried the ark into the yard and set it at a safe distance from the fire.

  “Ark, Ark.” Orrie crowed happily. He squatted down in the sand and lined the animals up in rows.

  Zillia checked the fat. “Time to add the lye.”

  How much was a little at a time? The lye bucket slipped in her hands, and she splashed in a generous amount. I hope that wasn’t too much. Stir it in. Pour in a little more.

  “Duckies.” Orrie’s red face appeared next to the pot. His eyes scrunched into little slits, and tears streamed from the corners. Animals, ark and patriarch were scattered in the sand.

  “Orrie, be careful. Grandpa Walt and Wylder spent a lot of time on those.” Zillia dusted them off and scooped them back into the ark.

  The stench of a very burnt something interrupted her chore. Dark slime bubbled over the sides of the pot and dripped into the fire.

  “Oh no!” Zillia swung the heavy kettle over to the side and away from the heat. The lid slid off to reveal blackened chunks floating in a pool of ooze.

  The lid fell out of her hands and she sat down hard on a stump. The noon sun beat down over the mess. Half the day is gone. How?

  “Zilly!” Faint and far away.

  “Orrie?” She leapt to her feet. “Orrie, where did you go?”

  “Zilly!”

  The river. The hem of Zillia’s filthy skirts tangled around her feet and tripped her up while she ran down the bluff. “Orrie, I’m coming. Where are you?” She reached the edge of the river and pushed through tangles of vines and brush. Orrie’s footprints dug deep into the sand, then disappeared into the water.

  “Orrie!” she screamed.

  “Zilly!”

  Sticks and logs had gathered together in the depths of the river over time and formed an island. Orrie’s tiny face peeped out of the branches. He stood up and waved. “Zilly, duckies.”

  “How on earth?” How could a two-year-old child reach the center of the river? She ran along the bank, searching for a way across. A log jutted out to the island. Orrie must have crawled over, using it for a bridge. Murky water lapped and tugged at the pile of sticks. The river was unusually high and swift for this time of year.

  What if Orrie had been swept away? She couldn’t harbor such a terrible thought. He’s fine, I just have to figure out how to get him back on the shore. The log was too shaky to hold her weight. Papa had taught her how to swim, but it had been years since she’d been in deep water.

  A few steps in, and the water already reached her waist. River mud tugged at bare toes with each movement. Closer. The water lapped against her chest and the current pulled at her dress like witches fingers. Why hadn’t she taken off her clothes? Her brittle, cracked corset dug into her ribs.

  Orrie grinned and held up a ball of yellow fluff. “Duckies!”

  Indignant quacks came from the mother duck. She flapped her wings and swam in circles around the island.

  Finally, Zillia reached the pile of sticks. She stretched out her arms, but couldn’t touch her brother. “Orrie, please come to me. The ducks are in their nest, and we need to go to our house.” She pointed to the mother duck. “See? She’s scared of us. We should go away so she can take care of her babies.”

  Orrie frowned. “My ducky.” He pulled the duckling close to his chest. The tiny bird opened and closed its bill and squirmed to get away.

  “Come on, Orrie.” If she tugged on the logs, she risked pulling the whole island apart. “You’re going to hurt it. Maybe we can buy a little ducky next time we’re in town. Would you like that?”

  “My ducky.” Orrie stomped a foot and almost lost his balance.

  How can someone so cute be so much trouble? Zillia pulled herself closer and reached for Orrie’s ankle. “You get over here right now!”

  He scooted out of the way, laughing.

  Her thoughts raced. What could she do? “I’ll give you a peppermint stick,” she promised.

  Orrie’s face lit up. “Okay, Zilly.” He placed the duckling back into the nest, where it settled down among its siblings.

  “All right, now come over here.” Zillia tugged on his sleeve. She finally managed to pull him into the water.

  “Cold, Zilly!” he squealed and struggled to get away.

  Zillia fought to hold him in one arm while she moved back towards the shore. “Just a little ways, then we’ll go home and get dry clothes.”

  Half way to the shore, her feet slipped. She screamed and scrambled, but could not regain her hold on the slippery rocks. In an instant she and Orrie were swept into the current. Orrie somehow managed to hang on to her neck while she kicked and struggled toward another log.

  Fingers slipped on the moss then held. Coughing and gasping, she clung to the wood and the little boy. Her toes felt for a surface, but this area was too deep for her to reach the bottom.

  “Zilly, Zilly!” Orrie’s tiny chin stuck out above the waves and he gasped for air.

  “Hold on, Orrie,” she cried. “Hold on to me.”

  “Help!” she called out, though it seemed a futile plea. “God, if you’re listening, please help us!”

  Her fingers were becoming numb as the current tugged on them. Orrie’s hands gripped her neck so tight she thought he’d choke the life out of her.

  What if she was being punished for lying? But Orrie didn’t do anything wrong. “God, I’m sorry. Please help us. Please!”

  “Zillia!” a faint voce floated from the bank. “Zillia, I’m here! I’m coming down!”

  She turned her head just enough to see Wylder burst through the trees along the riverbank. He pulled out a long section of thick, rope-like grapevine. His knife glinted in the sun and the vine snaked out on the ground.

  “Grab this!” He threw it out to her.

  With what hand? “Orrie, you have to hug me tighter.”

  Orrie’s grip tightened as Zillia let go of the log. Her scrambling fingers reached for the vine, which had floated beside her, and she caught it. There! She wrapped the thick vine around her arm.

  Wylder tugged on the other side, and peace and security flooded through her soul. Only a few yards over, and once more Zillia’s feet dug into the mud. The vine slid from her fingers, and she scooped Orrie into her arms.

  Wylder waded in to help them to shore.

  What a blessed relief to feel the powdery sand beneath her toes. Zillia sank to the ground. “Thank you, God,” she whispered over and over, hugging Orrie close.

  Her brother squirmed and tried to get away. “Zillie’s wet.”

  Wylder laughed. “You’ll be fine. In this heat both of you will be dry before we get to the house.” He pried Orrie from Zillia’s arms and held his hand out to her.

  “Thank you.” Her shaking fingers closed around his wrist and she pulled up to stand.

  He pulled her close and let her lean on him on the way up
the hill.

  The sun shone, and goats bleated as though nothing had happened, as though she hadn’t almost lost her little brother. A sob caught in her throat and she gulped it back.

  Once home, they rushed to get Orrie into dry clothes. He seemed fine despite the ordeal and fell asleep clutching one of his painted zebras.

  Zillia changed into a clean dress and came down to sit beside Wylder, who was poking up the coals in the stove.

  “Better stay here for a while. Even though it’s a hot day you don’t want to catch a cold.” He looked her over as though checking for signs of impending pneumonia.

  Obediently, she scooted closer on the bench and held out her hands. “How could I have been so stupid? I almost lost him today, Wylder.”

  He put down the poker and rested his chin on his folded hands. “You would have thought of something. Neither one of you were hurt, that’s what counts.”

  “No.” Zillia shook her head. “Today shouldn’t have happened. It wouldn’t have happened to Mama. Maybe I’ve been wrong to try this. Orrie needs a home with two parents who will take better care of him.” Just speaking the words made her shiver.

  Wylder grasped her cold shoulder with his warm hand and gently pulled her around to face him. “Zillia, you can’t believe that. You’ve done a wonderful job. Better than most girls could, that’s for sure. Every baby gets into trouble sometimes. Grandma Louise will tell you. I almost burnt the house down when I was three.”

  “Really?”

  Wylder nodded. “It’s just by the grace of God Almighty any of us live until tomorrow.” He leaned closer, until their foreheads almost touched. “You’re doing the best you can, and it amazes me every day.”

  Warmth finally flowed into her, and as her spirit thawed, she began to cry again.

  Wylder touched a tear with his finger. “No need for those.”

  Is he going to kiss me? He had done it once. Four years ago, when in the woods with Soonie on a picnic. Zillia had tripped over a log and twisted her ankle. She had started crying, and he just bent down and kissed her, right on the lips. Carried her all the way home, too. He’d never mentioned it afterwards, and she decided he’d just wanted to help her feel better.

  Would I want him to kiss me again? Maybe. She stayed perfectly still.

  He drew back and folded his hands. “I have to head home. We’re cleaning the barn out today. Will you be all right until Soonie can check on you this evening?”

  Zillia released the breath she’d been holding and nodded. “Thank you, Wylder. Not just for saving our lives today, but for everything.”

  “Any time.” He rose, tipped his hat, and walked out the door.

  Late October, 1888

  6 Grove Harvest

  Corn kernels flowed through Zillia’s hands while she measured them into barrels. Two full bushels left for seed. Even after a hail storm and not enough rain, she hadn’t thought it would be this bad. Her shoulders slumped. No point in trying to grow enough to sell next year. If she was lucky they’d be able to feed the goats and themselves after the next harvest. Papa had never cried in front of her, but if he saw the state of his farm he would shed bitter tears.

  Fields of stubble stretched before her. It had seemed like so much. But after twelve years of farm life, she knew better.

  After they loaded the corn into his wagons last evening, the buyer had counted a few limp dollars into her hand. “Sorry, Miss. Prices are down again this year.”

  The bills had crinkled as Zillia clenched her fist and stuffed them into her apron pocket. “Thank you, Mr. Brett.” The money would pay the two hired harvesters and the rental of the thresher machine, that would be all.

  Canned vegetables, fruit preserves and dried meat they had in plenty. Winter clothes for Orrie and herself, along with staples such as sugar and flour, would have to be paid for with egg and milk money or they’d just have to do without.

  Why can’t I have one easy day? Zillia slid down next to the corn barrels. Pastor Fowler always said ingratitude to the Almighty was the worst of sins. Sometimes she grew weary of spending all her functions trying to figure things out.

  Memories of Virginia taunted her. Her sixth birthday party with six little girls, cake and lemonade. Winter, with sleigh-riding parties in the powdery drifts of snow. She’d learned to ice skate right before her parents brought her to Texas. She shook her head. They’d never have ice like that here in River County.

  She slapped on the tops of the corn barrels and tacked them down with a few nails. The containers went into the barn to save for next year, if the rats didn’t get into them. “And I just bet they will,” she whispered fiercely.

  Once outside, she eyed the pile of firewood by the side of the house. She’d have to start chopping a small amount each day. While Texas winters rarely brought snow, they did possess many freezing nights and she’d go through fuel quickly. Every month she’d had to forage a little further out to find kindling. Last year she’d been forced to purchase bundles of wood in town during the coldest months.

  “God,” she spoke into the blue sky, “I’ve been ungrateful, and I have no right to ask for anything, but I really need help right now. Orrie needs a warm coat, shoes--and so many other things. What do I do?”

  Suddenly, she felt silly. With all the things going on in the world, presidents and kings and wars and who knew what else, why would God want to help her?

  Gruff, a medium-sized yellow mutt who’d wandered up to the house a few months ago and refused to leave, gave his ‘here comes a friend’ bark.

  “Shhhh, you silly dog. Orrie’s sleeping late this morning!”

  The dog bounded up to her, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. She patted him on his scruffy head. Yes, another mouth to feed, but he paid for his keep by alerting her to every human and beastly visitor.

  Gravel scattered under hooves on the path.

  “Good job, Gruff,” she whispered.

  A dazzling piebald pony galloped around the corner. The animal slowed as it reached the yard. Soonie swung down. Today she wore buckskins and her hair flowed over her shoulders.

  “Wylder told me about the corn man.” She walked over to Zillia’s wood stack and nudged it with her toe. “You’re gonna get cold. There’s not enough wood around here to keep you going. By January it’ll be gone.”

  Zillia frowned. “I know, but what can I do? I don’t even have money for flour this year. Maybe I can barter for a few loads of wood.”

  “I came by to tell you. Mrs. Slolem is making pecan pies, and she wanted more nuts. She’ll pay a good price if they are shelled and ready.”

  “Pecans? But we only have two trees.” Zillia pointed to the small specimens that grew in the lawn. “I won’t have enough to sell.”

  “Yes, but I found a grove.”

  “An entire grove? Is it on someone’s property?” Zillia clasped her hands in front of her.

  Soonie nodded. “Old Mr. Dunbar. I met him in the store yesterday. He asked if I’d like to help him harvest his grove in return for half of the nuts. He’s getting on in years and can’t afford a crew. I think we could gather several bushels.”

  Zillia’s fingers ached when she thought of the countless hours they’d spend plucking meat from the sharp shells. Shelled pecans fetched a much better price than whole ones. “I’m finished with the animals. The rest of the chores can wait. I’ll go wake Orrie.”

  Soonie skipped beside her like a little girl as she walked towards the house. “Wylder and Grandpa are harvesting the early pumpkins today, but we can take the small wagon.”

  Zillia gathered the few empty barrels and baskets scattered around the house and stacked them by the door.

  When she went into Mama’s room, which she now shared with Orrie, her brother was sitting up in his little cot. Blue eyes widened, and he stared at her like she was part of a dream.

  “Want to go into the woods with Aunt Soonie?” she asked.

  Orrie nodded in solemn silence. When he climbed out of b
ed his diaper sagged.

  Zillia poked her head into the kitchen. “Soonie, it’ll be a minute. Someone had too much water before bed last night.”

  Soonie frowned. “He still wets the bed? My cousins were going to the privy before they were his age.”

  Good for them. Soonie was her best friend, but it irritated her to no end when people compared Orrie to other children.

  Zillia jerked the covers off the cot. The sickly-sweet odor made her nose wrinkle. She poured water into the basin, cleaned Orrie up and dressed him quickly. “Every child is different,” Grandma Louise always said when Zillia came to her with concerns.

  The wet clothing and sheets went into a basket. Tomorrow was laundry day. Orrie could sleep in her bed tonight. She’d have to limit drinks so he didn’t soak them both.

  “All right, we’re ready,” she said to Soonie, who was flipping through a battered book of fairy tales she had pulled off the shelf.

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  Soonie lifted Orrie up on the pony’s back and held the bridle while she led them on the fifteen minute walk back to her house. The cool of the morning was still upon them. The sun was watered down by colors and not to its full brightness.

  Once in the Eckhart’s barn, the girls worked quickly to hitch the mare to the small wagon and load up their baskets and barrels. On the way out, they met Wylder coming in on the buckboard full of round, ripe pumpkins.

  His eyes softened when he saw Zillia. He nodded towards the fruit. “These will fetch a good price in town. Hard to believe it’s already time to make pumpkin pie.”

  “Autumn did come quickly this year.” Zillia jumped out of the small wagon and leaned over the side of the buckboard to examine the crop. “You’ll save me a pumpkin, right?”

  “Only if you make me a pie.”

  Zillia’s smile froze. A pie? She’d never attempted such a thing. Grandma Louise had already spent hours teaching her to make Johnny cake, bread and preserves. Before Mama died, the only thing she had cooked was toasted bread on a fork. “Um... Of course I will.”

  Soonie raised her eyebrows, but she didn’t say anything.