The Giver of Stars(87)
Just get me home, boy, please.
One step.
Two.
‘You okay there, Margery?’
She felt William’s great hand on her arm, gripping her, and was unsure whether it was for his security or her own. The world had receded until it was just her and William and the mule, the roar in her ears, William’s voice murmuring a prayer she couldn’t make out, Charley straining valiantly against the water, his body buffeted by a force he didn’t understand, the ground slipping and sliding away from him every few steps, then again. A log whooshed past them, too big, too fast. Her eyes stung, filled with grit and water. She was dimly aware of Sophia reaching forward from the bank, her hand outstretched, as if she could haul the three of them up by force. Voices joined hers from the bank. A man. More men. She could no longer see through the water in her eyes. She could think about nothing, her fingers, now numb, wound into Charley’s short mane, her other hand on his bridle. Six more steps. Four more steps. A yard.
Please.
Please.
Please.
And then the mule lurched forward and upwards and she could feel strong hands reaching for her, pulling at her shoulders, her sleeves, her body a landed fish, William’s shaking voice, ‘Thank you, Lord! Thank you!’ Margery, feeling the river reluctantly relinquish its grip, uttered the same words silently through frozen lips. Her clenched fist, Charley’s hair still woven through her fingers, moved unthinkingly to her belly.
And then everything went black.
17
Beth heard the girls before she saw them, their voices high above the roar of the water, childish and shrill. They clung to the front of a ramshackle cabin, their feet ankle deep in water, and yelling at her, ‘Miss! Miss!’ She tried to recall the family name – McCarthy? McCallister? – and urged her horse across the water, but Scooter, already spooked by the strange electric atmosphere of the air and the dense, punishing rain, had made it partway across the swollen creek, then half reared and spun away so that she almost fell off. She righted herself but he would not be moved, snorting and running backwards until his brain was so addled she feared he would do himself an injury.
Cursing, Beth had dismounted, thrown his reins over a pole and waded across the water towards them. They were young, the youngest maybe two at most, and clad in thin cotton dresses that clung to their pale skin. As she approached, they clamoured for her, six little anemone arms, reaching, waving. She got to them just before the surge. A rush of black water, so fast and hard that she had to grab the baby around her middle to stop her being carried away. And then there she was, three small children huddled around her, gripping her coat, her voice making reassuring noises even as her brain raced to work out how in hell she was going to make her way out of this one.
‘Is anyone in the house?’ she yelled at the eldest, trying to be heard above the torrent. The child shook her head. Well, that’s something, she thought, pushing away visions of bedbound grandmothers. Beth’s bad arm ached already, holding the baby tight to her chest. She could see Scooter on the other side, jittering around the pole, no doubt ready to snap his reins and bolt. She had liked the fact that he was part Thoroughbred when Fred offered him to her; he was fast and showy and didn’t need to be pushed to go forward. Now she cursed his tendency to panic, his pea-sized brain. How was she going to get three babies onto him? She looked down as the water lapped around her boots, seeping into her stockings, and her heart sank.
‘Miss, are we stuck?’
‘No, we ain’t stuck.’
And then she heard it, the whine of a car headed down the road towards her. Mrs Brady? She squinted to see. The car slowed, stopped, and then, lo and behold, if Izzy Brady didn’t climb out, her hand sheltering her eyes as she tried to work out what she was seeing across the water.
‘Izzy? That you? I need help!’
They shouted instructions to each other across the creek, but were unable to hear each other properly amid the noise. Finally Izzy waved her hand, as if to wait, crunched the big glossy car into gear and began to creep forward towards them, its engine roaring.
You can’t drive the damn car across the water, Beth breathed, shaking her head. Did the girl have no sense at all? But Izzy stopped just as the front wheels were almost submerged, then ran lopsidedly to the trunk and hauled it open, pulling out a rope. She ran back to the front of the car, unspooling it, and hurled the end of the rope at Beth, once, twice, and again before Beth was able to catch it. Now Beth understood. At this distance it was just long enough to secure to the post of the porch. Beth put her weight on it and noted with relief that it held firm.
‘Your belt,’ Izzy was yelling, gesticulating. ‘Tie your belt around the rope.’ She was securing her end of the rope to the car, her hands swift and certain. And then Izzy took hold of the rope and began to make her way towards them, her limp no longer visible as she navigated the water. ‘You okay?’ she said, as she reached them, hauling herself onto the porch. Her hair was flat and under her felt coat her pale, baby-soft sweater sagged with water.
‘Take the baby,’ Beth answered. She wanted to hug Izzy then, an uncharacteristic feeling, which she smothered in brisk activity. Izzy grasped the child, and gave the little girl a beaming smile, as if they were simply out on a picnic. All the while she was smiling, Izzy pulled her scarf from around her neck and wrapped it around the eldest’s waist, tying it to the rope.