The ferry was still running by the time they reached it. It crossed over a slimmer part of the current but the rain had picked up and the banks were starting to swell. The ferryman spit between his teeth and eyed Tom as he pulled the cart up.
“Do I know you?”
He leaped from the driver's seat and tipped his hat to the man. “Good to see you too, Bill Fornier.”
The middle aged man's eyes widened and he barked a laugh, clapping Tom on the shoulder. “Well shoot, boy! Mighty glad to see you back and in one piece!”
“Glad to be back-”
“Hear tell that your partner in crime just got back to St. Petersburg as well,” Bill continued, shaking Tom's hand. He didn't let go quickly but narrowed his eyes. “I thought you went off to war together...”
“Something like that,” Tom laughed off the question. “So, can we make it across?”
Bill rested his measured gaze on the rising waters and whistled low. “You might be able to but it will be rough. If it gets any higher, you might have some trouble. You sure you want to risk it? Especially with the young lady?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Watts spoke up, drawing both of their surprised attention. “I should like to get out of this weather, Mr. Sawyer. And if St. Petersburg is as close as you claim, being safe and warm at my Aunt's by nightfall is preferred.”
Tom shifted his weight and perched his hands on his hips. “The storm might let up sooner than later. Give us safer passage then.”
“Are you positive.”
“Well, no-”
“Then lets get on with it while we still can, shall we?”
She pulled out her purse and counted out the money for the ferry. Though he had sworn he would pay back every piece of his share to her once they were home, taking money from the widow still made him uncomfortable. She held out the bills expectantly. Tom strode over and gripped the other side of them, not taking the money quite yet. He met her steady gaze evenly.
“Mrs. Watts, are you certain you want to risk this?”
“Aren't you the one who said that danger and fun are essentially the same thing?”
He swallowed back a chuckle. “Yes but not where risking the life of a lady is concerned.”
“Whether I am shot by brigands on the highway or drowned in a river, none of it really matters anymore, Mr. Sawyer. There isn't much left for me in this world, except the thrill of a little risk.”
She lifted her chin as if to dare his contradiction. What scared Tom more than the flooding river was the belief in her voice that she had nothing to live for. He hadn't known her long but it concerned him.
He winked at her. “Very well, Mrs. Watts.”
Bill Fornier and Tom took up the poles and fought the strong current as they pushed the ferry towards the other shore. They had covered the horse's eyes but the animal still danced with anxiety. Mrs. Watts held the reins, rain dripping around the edge of her black bonnet. Tom glanced over his shoulder in time to see her strip her gloves from her fingers and throw them to the side. She gripped the sides of the horse's face and spoke to it softly. It helped a little.
“Tom, watch your side!” Bill hollered.
Tom looked back to see the edge where the ferry was tethered to the rope guiding them over was starting to pearl under the water. The broiling brown water gushed over the side. Rain pelted down overhead and the river rose.
“It's that damn rope!” Bill yelled.
Anyone could see that the rope was dragging them down. Much longer and they would all be in the water. Tom pushed the hair from his eyes and peered over at his traveling companion.
“Mrs. Watts!” He shouted. “Come here a minute!”
Pushing her bonnet off of her head and gathering her heavy skirts, she reached him. He held her steady by the waist at the edge of the raft.
“I need you to keep us on course best you can!” He instructed, giving her the pole.
He ran across the dangerously tipping platform to the cart. The horse was panicking. Digging into one of the dry compartments of the widow's luggage, he pulled out the extra pistol he had stowed in there. The one at his waist was soaked and he needed to make sure his shot was clean.
Stabilizing his elbow on the side of the cart, he aimed for the pike where the rope was tied, the length of it held in the violent waters. He shot. It pinged the iron ring where it was bound but then slithered out of sight. The ferry jumped, suddenly freed, and Mrs. Watts screeched in response as she fell backward onto the boards.
The river took them rolling down the current, dark shapes of rocks under the water ghosting in and out of view. Tom helped Mrs. Watts to her feet and pushed her towards the cart, away from the edge. Bill Fornier let out a whoop and lifted his pole out of the water.
“We're along for the ride now, boy!” He hollered.
Tom smiled back but his glee faded as Bill went white. He turned forward. Up ahead, a large boulder loomed right in their path. He didn't even have time to warn Mrs. Watts as they crashed headlong into it. The ferry splintered in two, the cart, horse and three occupants plunging into the violent current. Caught under the white capped swells, Tom twirled head over heels as he fought for the surface. He sputtered up in time to see Bill swim over and cut the horse away from the sinking cart. How the old river man had done it under such conditions, he'd never know.
A piece of the steamer trunk floated by and Tom caught it. Hanging on as he flew downriver, he searched frantically for Mrs. Watts. If she died on his account, he would never forgive himself. Bill and the horse had made it to shore and they disappeared from view as Tom turned a corner.
“Mrs.Watts!” He choked, voice pitching.
A head popped up a few feet from him. Without hesitating, he reached out and grabbed the woman by the collar of her dress. She gasped, a heavy swath of loose hair covering her face.
“Hang on!” Tom dragged her to the trunk, gripping underneath her arms.
She wrapped her arms around the wood, coughing up river water, as Tom fought towards the shore. The current drove them close till he was able to catch a nearby snag in a rock and pulled them both in.
Mrs. Watts hoisted herself up into the crevice of the rock and held on to the side as she helped pull Tom from the water onto the short ledge. The sheer face of the rock prevented them from climbing any further. Holding her trembling form close, he was shocked as she peered up at him and let out a girlish laugh, her chin trembling. He furrowed his brow with a grin.
“That enough of a risk for you, Mrs. Watts?” He asked, helping to brush the soaked strands of hair from her eyes.
“After that, you should be calling me by my first name.”
“Which is?”
“Verity.”
She looked like a different woman on the other side of the river. As though she had been reborn from the waters. Life was in her dark eyes and her cheeks were pink. She looked like a nineteen year old girl, not merely a bereaved widow.
“You two getting comfortable down there or do you need a hand!” Bill Fornier hollered above them.
Tom peered up as the man dropped what remained of the ferry rope on top of them. Verity went up first and Tom followed, shimmying up out of the river's clutches. The horse was none the worse for wear other than a little spooked. All of Verity's belongings though had been washed away down stream. She didn't seem as bothered as she had been when the highwayman had shattered her family china. In fact, she seemed almost giddy without having to carry the burden of her past.
“I promise to compensate you for the loss of your ferry as soon as we reached St. Petersburg, Mr. Fornier,” she promised after the three of them made it back to the main road.
Bill shook his head, “We were fixing on building us a new raft this summer. Merely sped up the process. I'm only sorry for the loss of your possessions.”
Verity shrugged as Tom helped her onto the horse. “They were only trinkets from a past life.”
Tom gripped Bill's hand and bid him farewell. Mounting the horse in front of Verity, they rode away towards home. Verity's dark blonde hair lay loose on her shoulders, curling as it dried in the humid air. Her bonnet, gloves and shawl had all been lost to the river. He was still stunned at what a different girl she seemed.
“Look!” He pointed to a worn, wooden sign. “Two miles to go. It will just been getting dark by the time we make it, depending on how fast we go.”
“Go as fast as the horse can handle, Mr. Sawyer. I am quite at my leisure.”
“Tom,” he laughed over his shoulder.
“What?”
“Call me Tom.”
“Alright then, Tom,” she replied, tightening her grip on his waist as Tom spurred the horse to a gallop.
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