Oct 28, 2013 6 min read

? Chapter EIGHT

THE STORY SO FAR: The Damron children, newly orphaned, hope that a flatboat will carry them down the Wabash River toward their Kentucky home – but Moses wants to return to Illinois.

June 25, 1828. Down the Wabash River to Shawneetown, Ill.

The man in the bow breaks the silence. “Where are you young ones headed?” he asks.

“Shawneetown,” I tell him.

“Wagon and animals, too?” he asks. “That’s a lot of weight.”

“We have money.” I give Moses a look. His mouth is tight, but he reaches into his pocket to pay the pilot. When he grabs Sadie’s bridle, I sigh with relief. I guess we’re a family again.

It takes all of us to push the mule onto the boat. Sadie tosses her head and bucks, even when Moses clucks to her. Finally a boatman with a droopy mustache snaps a stick near her rump, and Sadie jumps onto the ferry, nearly tipping the wagon. When she’s tied to the railing, with the wagon lashed to the deck, the boatman beckons to Moses. “Bring that horse now.”

Moses leads Pearl onto the deck as if he planned it all along. “Thanks,” I whisper as the boat eases back into the current. Moses shrugs, but looks back toward the landing we’ve left behind.

Solomon’s brown eyes are wide with excitement. He cranes his neck and looks up at the pilot. “What kind of boat is this?” he asks. “Will we sleep in that house?”

“You’re full of questions,” the pilot says. “It’s a flat-bottom boat. No sleeping on board; Shawneetown is just a few hours downstream. We’ll be there by nightfall.”

We’re moving faster now. We drift past clumps of willows, their long green branches trailing in the water. Mama always loved willows. My eyes burn. As if he can read my mind, the pilot calls down to me, “So, where are your folks?”

Moses pinches me hard and I bite my lip. “We’re going to visit our grandmother,” he tells him. I don’t dare look at him. I get the message: Don’t talk about Mama and Papa. We should have made up a story together. I hope the little ones won’t give us away.

The puppy saves us. It snuffles Louisa’s pockets. She laughs and feeds it crumbled johnnycake she’s hidden there. “Can I keep it?” she begs.

“Ask the men,” I say.

The man with the mustache has a cruel laugh. “Do what you want. We were ready to toss it in the river. That sack is full of stones.”

Two pink spots shine on Louisa’s cheeks. “You were going to drown it? That’s mean.”

Moses comes over and lifts the dog above his head. “A boy pup,” he says. “Maybe he’ll turn into a coonhound.”

“Not likely,” the boatman mutters.

Louisa’s eyes are on Moses. “Please, can we take him?” she pleads. “I’ll call him Sandy, after Grandma’s river.”

Solomon pulls his thumb from his mouth and strokes the puppy’s head. “Can we?”

“Let them,” I whisper to Moses. “The pup’s an orphan, like us. We all need some comfort.”

“All right.” Moses sounds grumpy, but he rubs the puppy’s head.

I wink at Louisa behind his back. She smiles, showing gaps where her bottom teeth are missing. The puppy nestles into her lap.

“So,” the bowman asks in his nasty voice, “where’d you say your folks were?”

Before Moses or I can answer, Solomon pipes up, “Mama and Papa died.”

“Orphans.” The bowman almost spits out the word. He calls to the man behind him, “Hey, Myron. You need some children to work your farm?”

Moses steps in front of us, his legs braced apart. Solomon clutches my skirt, and Louisa begins to howl. “We’re going to Grandma!” she sobs.

“Of course we are.” I stroke her thin hair and turn on the bowman, trying to sound brave. “We’re not to be bound out.” I touch the bodice of my dress, to make sure the letter is still there.

“Is that so?” The bowman laughs.

The pilot yells from the roof, “Come to your senses down there! No one wants a litter of young ones, especially sniveling babies. Keep a lookout for that sandbar.”

“We’re not babies!” Louisa protests. I hush her up while the boatmen grumble and lean into their poles. We huddle together, stroking the puppy, as the Wabash carries us downriver.

By late afternoon, when the boat pulls up to the landing, Louisa and Solomon have worn us out with their whining. The nasty boatman looks the other way when Louisa tucks the puppy into her shawl. “Good riddance,” he grumbles.

Shawneetown is a busy settlement with hundreds of log cabins jumbled near the river. As Moses hitches up the mule, the pilot jumps down and takes me aside. “This is a rough town,” he says. “Keep a tight hold on the little ones, and stay with my friend Willie Cottland. He lives outside town, near the saltworks. You’ll be safe there.”

Even though the pilot was rough with his crew, his brown eyes seem kind. But can we trust him?

Moses puts the little ones on Pearl’s back, and we walk the horse and mule through the busy streets. We pass a bank, a newspaper office, a blacksmith’s shop – even a shoemaker. I peer into the window. If only I could buy some boots for my cold, cracked feet!

“Can I have money for shoes?” But Moses is following the smell of fresh bread from a bakery. Papa would have bought me shoes, but Papa’s gone. Besides, my stomach is empty, so I don’t protest when Moses hands me some pennies and sends me inside to buy bread.

The baker is setting new loaves on a wooden counter. He looks down his nose at me. “Didn’t your mama tell you to wash before you eat?”

I keep my head up, even though my cheeks are hot. I have no mama to keep me clean. But that’s none of his business.

• NEXT WEEK: Trapped!