Read Online Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] by Lonesome River - Free Book Online Page A

would eat, sleep and rest, rest . . . and sleep. . . .
    “Liberty?” he whispered. “Liberty, are you awake?”
    “Of course,” she said testily, becoming fully alert. “What is it?”
    “We’ll rest here for an hour.”
    “I don’t need to rest—”
    “The horses do. We can water them here, and they can feed while we rest. Give me the boy. I’ll lay him down and come back for Amy and Mercy.”
    Her arms felt magically light when the boy was taken from them. Now only Amy rested against her. She scarcely had had time to untie the shawl when Farr returned and lifted Amy into his arms. Liberty flexed her shoulders and moved her head in a circular motion in an effort to ease her tired muscles. Her father sat his horse directly behind her. Farr went to him and lifted Mercy down from in front of him.
    Liberty knew she should get off the horse, but she was powerless to move. Pain, like a giant hand, was squeezing her legs and thighs. Her bottom was numb and her back ached from her tailbone to the base of her skull.
    “Let me help you.”
    “I’ll get off in a minute.”
    Ignoring her protest, he lifted her from the horse with strong hands at her waist. She didn’t know when her feet touched the ground because they were numb, and her legs seemed boneless. She sagged against Farr, clinging to him to keep from falling. A whimper escaped her lips as the blood rushed to her numbed limbs. Her mind was mixed and unclear, but she knew that the arms that held her were strong, and there was no threat in that strength. Her face pressed against a smooth buckskin shirt that smelled of smoke, male body, and the peculiar, heavy, yet clean odor that was found only in tall timber.
    He tilted his head downward, the better to see her face. “Are you all right?”
    She laughed nervously and tried to step back, but her knees bent. “I’m not used to riding.” Before she finished speaking he had swung her up in his arms. “Oh, no! I can walk.” She hadn’t been carried since she was a child. Afraid of being so high off the ground, she raised her arms to encircle his neck and cling.
    Farr carried her to where he had placed the children, knelt, and gently set her on the ground beside them. They lay on one shawl and were covered with the other. When his arms left her she instantly felt the cool, damp air.
    “Don’t fall asleep.” The words were breathed in her ear before he released her. “Sit for a bit, then move around, or you’ll get stiff.”
    “I’ll help with the horses.”
    “Your pa can help. You stay here,” he said firmly and left her, moving swiftly and silently.
    Liberty sat for a moment, then rolled over onto her knees and got slowly and carefully to her feet. Her buttocks and thighs ached, and every muscle in her body quaked with weakness. She stumbled to a tree, put her palms flat on the trunk and stood there until her light-headedness passed and the terrific pounding of her heart subsided a little.
    Farr removed the saddle from her horse and after a few murmured words to Elija, he followed suit. They led the horses to where a ribbon of glimmering water snaked through the clearing. Liberty picked up the water bag he had left on the ground beside the children and stumbled after them.
    “I ain’t seein’ no need a ridin’ all night with them younguns and jist awearin’ ourselves out,” Elija said when Liberty came up beside him and knelt down to fill the water bag. “We ain’t agoin’ to outrun nobody. We’ll jist—”
    “Please hush up, Papa,” she said tiredly. “You could have turned back, but you chose to come with us. You’ll do just as Mr. Quill tells you to do. Can’t you see that he’s doing his best to save our lives?”
    “Life ain’t hardly worth livin’ out here’n this place God forgot about, nohow. Twarn’t worth much back home, either, what with ya always naggin’ do this, do that, and holdin’ so tight to the purse strings a man’d die a thirst afore ya squeezed out a