being lowered down the steep bank by means of a rope, one end winched around a stout tree. It was slow work. Waiting below was a very curious concoction of a boat.
“What kind of a raft is that, Johnny? I never saw one like it on the Ohio.”
“It looks like two pirogues ~canoes~bridged with poles, Meg. I think they mean to float the wagon in the middle.”
Maggie shivered in the early spring warmth. Johnny noticed and gave her hand a firm squeeze. “Not to worry, love. The owners of the ferry~those two Indian-looking gentlemen directing the proceedings down there~they’ve been doing this since ‘44. The Pappan brothers. Their father was a French mountain man, their mother a squaw. They’re in the guidebooks, and Chandler seems comfortable with them.”
Maggie studied the sweep of water, surging powerfully against its banks.
“Where’s Jamie?” She spun around wildly. He’d slipped out of her grasp unnoticed. In her mind’s eye the boy had already fallen into the waters and was even now being swallowed irrevocably by the merciless currents.
“Rest easy, Meg. He’s wandered over there, with the Kreller girls.” Johnny pointed.
Maggie ignored the creaks and groans of the Chandler wagon being lowered against its will. “I’m off to get him into my sights.”
“Meg.” Johnny smiled. “This should be an easy crossing. We’ve a ferry to help us. A thousand miles beyond here is when you can begin to worry.”
“I’m still getting that boy firmly into view. The way he hops around, he could be vaulting himself into the river any moment. He’s overly impressed with himself and his exploits these days. Even his strong swimming couldn’t save him from those currents!”
Johnny shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. I guess I forget the boy’s only seven.” And Johnny himself stepped nearer to the brink.
Maggie caught up with Jamie in the center of a crowd of youngsters. He was busily scratching something on a bare patch of earth with a stone. Finished, he stood up importantly to show off his work.
“There, Matty. This is how I see it. That big old rope is acting like a pulley, levering the wagon’s weight slowly down~” He sensed something and looked up. “`Lo, Ma, Charley. Just explaining to the girls how the ferrying business works. Wish I knew the depth of the river so I could judge how those Injuns figure to pole the wagons across.”
Maggie let out her pent up breath. Maybe he had more sense than she gave him credit for.
“You must be Jamie’s mother. A fine boy you’ve got there.”
Maggie collected herself to stare up into the calm eyes of a fine-looking, chestnut-haired man. He smiled at her, clamped his teeth down on his meerschaum pipe, and held out a hand.
“I’m Max Kreller. Matty’s father. And Hilda’s, and Irene’s too. She’s the baby.”
“I’ve heard nothing but `Matty this and Matty that’ since the trip began,” Maggie smiled back. “The children seem to have taken to each other.”
He nodded his head in agreement. “Matilda don’t take to many, so it’s a pleasure to see them get on like that. Always wanted to be a boy, she has.”
“She’ll grow out of it when the time is ripe. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kreller.”
“Max.”
“Maggie Stuart, Max.”
A slight woman bustled up, a baby near Charlotte’s age draped over one shoulder, busily pulling fistfuls of dark black hair out of her mother’s bun.
“You Jamie’s mother?” She didn’t wait for Maggie’s nod of agreement. “I’ve been wanting awful bad to meet up with you. I’m Hazel. Max’s wife, and mother to his daughters.” She went on nonstop. “I do admire the way you’ve dealt with your baby. Slung on your back like that. Ain’t never seen nothing like that back in Pennsylvania where we come from. Looks a mite easier’n how I handle mine, and leaves your hands freed up for the work,
“What kind of a raft is that, Johnny? I never saw one like it on the Ohio.”
“It looks like two pirogues ~canoes~bridged with poles, Meg. I think they mean to float the wagon in the middle.”
Maggie shivered in the early spring warmth. Johnny noticed and gave her hand a firm squeeze. “Not to worry, love. The owners of the ferry~those two Indian-looking gentlemen directing the proceedings down there~they’ve been doing this since ‘44. The Pappan brothers. Their father was a French mountain man, their mother a squaw. They’re in the guidebooks, and Chandler seems comfortable with them.”
Maggie studied the sweep of water, surging powerfully against its banks.
“Where’s Jamie?” She spun around wildly. He’d slipped out of her grasp unnoticed. In her mind’s eye the boy had already fallen into the waters and was even now being swallowed irrevocably by the merciless currents.
“Rest easy, Meg. He’s wandered over there, with the Kreller girls.” Johnny pointed.
Maggie ignored the creaks and groans of the Chandler wagon being lowered against its will. “I’m off to get him into my sights.”
“Meg.” Johnny smiled. “This should be an easy crossing. We’ve a ferry to help us. A thousand miles beyond here is when you can begin to worry.”
“I’m still getting that boy firmly into view. The way he hops around, he could be vaulting himself into the river any moment. He’s overly impressed with himself and his exploits these days. Even his strong swimming couldn’t save him from those currents!”
Johnny shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. I guess I forget the boy’s only seven.” And Johnny himself stepped nearer to the brink.
Maggie caught up with Jamie in the center of a crowd of youngsters. He was busily scratching something on a bare patch of earth with a stone. Finished, he stood up importantly to show off his work.
“There, Matty. This is how I see it. That big old rope is acting like a pulley, levering the wagon’s weight slowly down~” He sensed something and looked up. “`Lo, Ma, Charley. Just explaining to the girls how the ferrying business works. Wish I knew the depth of the river so I could judge how those Injuns figure to pole the wagons across.”
Maggie let out her pent up breath. Maybe he had more sense than she gave him credit for.
“You must be Jamie’s mother. A fine boy you’ve got there.”
Maggie collected herself to stare up into the calm eyes of a fine-looking, chestnut-haired man. He smiled at her, clamped his teeth down on his meerschaum pipe, and held out a hand.
“I’m Max Kreller. Matty’s father. And Hilda’s, and Irene’s too. She’s the baby.”
“I’ve heard nothing but `Matty this and Matty that’ since the trip began,” Maggie smiled back. “The children seem to have taken to each other.”
He nodded his head in agreement. “Matilda don’t take to many, so it’s a pleasure to see them get on like that. Always wanted to be a boy, she has.”
“She’ll grow out of it when the time is ripe. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kreller.”
“Max.”
“Maggie Stuart, Max.”
A slight woman bustled up, a baby near Charlotte’s age draped over one shoulder, busily pulling fistfuls of dark black hair out of her mother’s bun.
“You Jamie’s mother?” She didn’t wait for Maggie’s nod of agreement. “I’ve been wanting awful bad to meet up with you. I’m Hazel. Max’s wife, and mother to his daughters.” She went on nonstop. “I do admire the way you’ve dealt with your baby. Slung on your back like that. Ain’t never seen nothing like that back in Pennsylvania where we come from. Looks a mite easier’n how I handle mine, and leaves your hands freed up for the work,
Similar Books
