Lucas added his weight and shoved off from the shore. The canoe wobbled wildly beneath her. White-knuckled, she gripped the gunnels. Her heart pounded. The river roared in her ears. With a broken paddle, Lucas fought control of the craft in the dark swirling waters. They glanced off a rock and spun around.
“Go back,” she shouted, her voice shrill to her ears. To go back was impossible.
She looked behind. Lucas struggled to get the canoe turned around, fighting with the roiling currents that tossed them about.
“There’s a log…” Too late. They slammed into the swirling miasma, trapped. Water sluiced over the canoe, swamping them. Lucas stood, and the canoe rocked violently. He wedged his paddle beneath a log, freeing them, the canoe washing down the river, Rachel huddling in the bow.
“I lost the paddle.”
Her life spun out of control, bobbing like errant thistledown on rampaging waters. The canoe skidded off another rock, splashing water on her head. She gasped for air. In wide-eyed horror, disaster loomed in front, an enormous tree fall, damming part of the river.
“Lucas!” Sharp wooden thickets spiked before her eyes. The canoe smashed into the dam and flipped. Water thundered over them with spine-chilling, wicked force. Rachel’s head cracked against something hard. Black water choked her, sucking her into a whirlpool. Lights exploded in her brain. She kicked off the bottom, raised her head to get air. The surge rammed her under the buckled canoe. Swallowed into a blackened hole, icy water pinned her in a watery grave. The river is the master—to eat greedily of her.
“Rachel!” From far away, Lucas called her name. Her strength ebbed. Her arms fell numb. Her head spun, and her eyelids closed.
Rough hands grabbed her hair, pulled her down. Tiny lights popped in her brain. Strong arms yanked her upward, and then arrived the surreal sensation of floating and being dragged onto solid ground.
Rachel! Rachel!
The name did not register. A hard slap struck her back. Thrown forward, she vomited, coughing and spewing her insides. Rolled onto her back, she shivered and opened her eyes. The world swam. Overhead, long spidery willow branches stretched down.
Lucas.With trembling fingers, she touched his cheek.
“You didn’t let me drown. You kept your promise.”
Lucas curled up next to her, offering what little body heat his body could give. The sun came out for a few minutes, and Rachel rested, glad to have the warmth. They lay there letting the sun dry away some of the water that soaked their clothes.
“You’ve lost your bag, but we are safe and sound.” He rubbed her hands and feet until the blood warmed her numbed flesh.
“If we might start a fire,” she murmured.
He pulled her to her feet. Her knees buckled, and she sagged against him.
“We have to get you north, and you very well know the reason.”
So, he was back to that again. Tired, cold and hungry, she detested him for reminding her of her duty.
An inexhaustible demon, he pushed her on and on. He retrieved her hat and wig from the river’s edge, wringing them out and tucking her damp hair beneath.
Beneath her lashes, she studied him. What she found surprising remained his contradictory nature. Did his gentle touch spell out that he really cared?
“I feel like a trout, netted and bashed over the head,” she said, her head pounding.
“You scared me, Rachel. I’m glad you’re alive.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Let’s get moving. Someone may have heard our shouts.”
The screeching of blue jays with a flash of blue fluttered overhead.
“Someone did hear your shouts,” said a menacing voice from behind.
Rachel swung around. Home Guard militia surrounded them. How much had the lawless guerillas seen or heard. Her mind scrambled to think of explanations.
They were a motley bunch and looked more than capable of killing them if it took their whim. The leader pushed his horse through the brush, then jerked back on the reins. The horse rolled its eyes white and whinnied fearfully. Rachel reached into her coat pocket for the passes. Water caused the ink to run, making the papers unreadable. She shoved the soggy mass into Lucas’ hands who, in turn, thrust them into the leader’s.
Through close-set eyes, he glared at them. Rachel guessed he couldn’t read. Being a slave, she dared not speak.
The leader slapped the butt end of his rifle engraved with “Old Betsy” in the wood. “How do I know you ain’t Yankees?”
Lucas picked up his cue, emitting his perfect drawl. “We have passes.”
