Marcia Muller: Crucifixion River

Nobody had much to say until the door opened a few minutes later and the wind blew Murdock in. With him was a tall, smiley bird in a black slicker. When he unbuttoned it, I saw that he had a banjo slung underneath. That didn’t make me like him any better. If there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s banjo playing.

Mrs. Murdock had come hurrying over. “Thomas…”

“It’s all right,” he said. “She’s coming. I just spied the wagon.”

“Oh, thank God!”

“Our daughter,” Murdock said to the rest of us. “Late getting back from River Bend.”

His wife threw on oilskins and the two of them hurried out into the storm. The smiley bird moved over by the fire. He had a rake’s eye for a pretty face and a well-turned ankle-I could see that in the bold way he sized up Rachel and the Devane woman. I didn’t like the way he looked at Rachel. Hell, I hadn’t liked the look of him the second I laid eyes on him.

He introduced himself in an oily voice. “James Shock. Fine wares, patent medicines, knives sharpened free of charge.”

“Peddler,” I said.

“Traveling merchant, brother, if you please. At your service, Mister…?”

“Hoover. Save your pitch. I’m not buying.”

“Perhaps one of the ladies…?”

Neither Rachel nor the Devane woman paid him any mind.

He shrugged, still smiley. I could feel the weight of that money as I sat down next to Rachel. She laid her hand on my arm and I let her keep it there; the hell with what any of the others thought.

Outside, the wind yammered and rattled boards and metal and whistled in the chimney flue. The rain on the roof made a continuous thundering sound, like a train in a tunnel. I didn’t mind it so much now. I figured the longer it kept up like that, the safer we were. Not even that son-of-a-bitch, Luke Kraft, was going anywhere far in a storm like this one.

There was a hot fire in the fireplace, but I couldn’t get warm. My teeth chattered and I shivered and clutched Joe’s arm tighter. Mrs. Murdock had brought a mug of coffee, but there was a roiling in the pit of my stomach that wouldn’t permit me to drink it.

The common room was well lighted by oil lamps and candles in wall sconces, but it still seemed full of shadows. Puffs of ash drifted out of the fireplace whenever the wind blew down its chimney. After my outburst to Joe when we arrived, I could barely speak; my throat felt as if it were rusted. I looked around, wishing we were somewhere else far away and wondered what I had gotten myself into. Then I fingered the bruise on my collar bone, another on my arm, and reminded myself of what I was getting out of.

I didn’t like the way that peddler, Shock, was looking at me, a bold stare that made me feel as though he were picturing what I looked like without my clothing. But then, he was looking at Caroline Devane in the same way. I dismissed him as the type of conceited man who viewed women-all women-as potential conquests.

Outside the wind howled, and from somewhere close by I heard a dripping sound. Probably the roof of this ramshackle old building leaked. Now that we were inside I didn’t mind the storm so much, because I hoped-prayed to God-that, if Luke was already looking for us, the weather would force him to take shelter, keep him away from here until we could cross to Middle Island. But by now Luke would have discovered that the $3,000 was gone, and, if there was anything that angered him and made him determined to exact revenge, it was having his possessions taken from him. His money and his wife-in that order.

I shifted a little on the chair, and the pain in my ribs made me wince. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Caroline Devane had noticed. She had a keen eye, had seen that I moved stiffly, and guessed the truth. She’d been giving Joe hard looks, and I wanted to cry out that it wasn’t him, it was cold, hard, unyielding Luke Kraft, and, if he found us, he would kill us.

Luke. My husband. A monster. Sweet before and after our marriage until two years had passed and I’d produced no son for him. No daughter, either, but that didn’t matter. Big Luke Kraft, lord of 2,000 acres of prime delta ranch land, had an infertile wife and no son to inherit his empire. And in his anger he beat me, once broke my arm, another time tore out a patch of my hair and laughed about it, saying that it was just like scalping a damned Indian.

Thinking of him made me shiver again. Joe didn’t notice. He kept his eyes on the fire, thinking Lord knew what. I knew he was angry with me for stealing Luke’s money, but I also sensed that he wanted those $3,000. More than he wanted me? Oh, God, not more than me! Remain calm, Rachel. That’s what Joe’s always telling you. Remain calm.

I glanced at him. In profile, he looked strong, his jaw set, his eyes focused. A man who had battled the elements working cattle ranches in Montana before he came to California. A man who was everything Luke was not-strong, gentle, kind. And unafraid of the storm raging outside.

But was he unafraid of the man whose wife he’d run off with? Would he stand up to Luke if he found us?

Of course he would. He loved me. Or kept telling me he did.

But did I love him? Or was I with him only because he was my way out of an intolerable situation?

Well, I hadn’t had any choice, had I? In time Luke would have killed me, I was sure of that. I couldn’t leave by myself, a woman alone with nothing and no one to rely on for protection. I’d been so sheltered as a child in Isleton, and then so isolated on Luke’s big ranch, that I knew very little of the world beyond its borders.

The wind gusted, rattling what were probably loose shingles on the roof. With it came another battering downpour and a clap of thunder.

Joe gently removed my hand from his arm, favored me with one of his reassuring smiles, and stood. He moved to the buffet, poured himself a small glass of whiskey, and went to sit alone at the long trestle table.

Dear God, what if he was tiring of me? He’d been so angry with my nervous babbling when we’d first arrived here. “Keep still about the money,” he’d told me. Keep still. He’d never spoken to me that harshly before.

The door opened, and Mrs. Murdock and a young girl of perhaps seventeen wearing mud-spattered oilskins came inside. This must be the daughter she’d been so worried about. Mrs. Murdock clucked over her like a mother hen, helped her out of the sodden rain gear, and then bustled her through the common room to the rear. I felt the dampness on the hem of my traveling skirt, and again I shivered in spite of the stove’s heat.

Caroline Devane touched my arm. “There’s nothing to be concerned about,” she said. “By tomorrow morning we’ll be on our way.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“What on earth would stop us?”

“That there’s nothing to be concerned about, I meant.”

After a pause the Devane woman said: “Please don’t mind my saying this, but I have the feeling you’re fleeing from something. You and your…cousin. If you’d care to confide in me…”

“…I can’t.”

“Perhaps you wouldn’t be so frightened if you did.”

I’ve been afraid for years. Sometimes I think I’ll always be afraid.

Caroline Devane put her hand on mine. Normally I don’t like to be touched by strangers, but this time I didn’t pull away. “We share a common bond,” she said softly. “I’m running away, too, you see.”

Her words surprised me. There was a quiet strength about her; she didn’t seem the type to run from anything.

“Sometimes, Miss Kraft, sharing one’s troubles can be a comfort to both parties.”

“It’s Missus Kraft,” I said, and watched knowledge mixed with sorrow come into her eyes. Perhaps her troubles and mine were not so different. Perhaps we did have a common bond, that of sisters who had been badly used by the men they thought they could trust.