Part 25 (1/2)

And if he was going to lose his land, why did it have to be to Tillney? Bits of rain sprinkled through the leaves, moistening his face and hands.

The prospect of losing his land, really losing his land, became a serious possibility in his mind for the very first time. Before, he'd figured he could somehow work it out. But not anymore. He needed a wife and his last chance had just said no. Again. Judge Rountree wouldn't be offering any more extensions.

Joe recalled the year he'd signed up for the grant and received his acreage. He'd had nothing but an ax and six wild oxen. It had taken him three weeks to break them. Once he had, he hired a four-man logging crew, then started every day at first light.

He cooked and fed the men in one old shanty, then fed the oxen in another. He acted as foreman, bucker, bullwhacker, and faller.

It had taken years of hard work and perseverance to build what he had. And he stood to lose half. Simply because he didn't have a wife.

The rain beat down with a vengeance now, but he was almost done. Directing the chestnut to fall in the opposite direction from which it leaned was child's play. Still, he eyed the spot he was aiming for.

Between the darkness and the rain, he couldn't see a thing. No matter. He knew the lay of his land. After a couple more chops, he felt the tree start to give.

I'm sorry, Lorraine. I'm sorry for not loving you the way I should have.

The sharp splintering of the fibers gave their own cry of warning. Joe jumped out of the way, then watched as it began its descent right where he'd planned.

The sound of another tremendous crack caught him by surprise. He knew without looking up that the falling timber had struck a second tree, breaking off the top of it and redirecting the chestnut's path.

He started to run, praying the portion of the second tree- falling who knew where-wouldn't crush him and that any ricocheting debris wouldn't impale him.

His pant leg snagged on something. I'm not wearing my sawed-off pants.

It was his last thought.

A cold sheet of rain hit Anna as she left the lean-to, soaking her wrapper and nightdress. By the lantern's light, she slowed as she approached the chestnut tree. Only a stump was left. The rest lay prostrate beside it. Her heart clutched; then she scanned the area.

”Joe?” Lifting the lantern, she crept closer, ignoring the rocky ground poking into her feet. ”Joe?”

She picked her way along the fallen tree, but the limbs and debris made it near impossible. ”Joe? Can you hear me?”

The rain swallowed any response he might have made. Something sharp jabbed into her tender sole. Yelping, she hopped back.

She would have to get her shoes. Retracing her steps, she paused to look around the clearing, squinting in an effort to see through the darkness.

The vague silhouette of a splintered log a few yards away captured her attention. Lifting the lantern, her breath caught. It wasn't a log.

”Joe!”

He lay facedown and unmoving on the ground. Dropping to her knees, she touched his shoulder. ”Joe? Are you all right? Can you hear me?”

Putting the lantern down, she slid a hand under his heavy head, lifted it a little, then turned his face so it was no longer buried. She placed her fingers on his neck, then held her breath. His pulse thrummed with a strong and steady beat.

Thank you, Lord.

She ran her hands along his arms and back and legs, checking for breaks and blood. Nothing.

”Joe?”

No response.

”Joe, please. Can you hear me?” She combed his hair away from his face and pulled back quickly when she encountered something sticky.

Oh no. She tentatively reached again for the spot that had blood on it. A knot the size of a lemon grew behind his ear.

Anna's heart dropped. This was her fault. If only she hadn't been so thoughtless with her rejection of him. If only she hadn't mentioned the tree again.

”Joe?” She gently shook his shoulder, tears mingling with the rain on her face. ”Wake up. Can you hear me?”

He didn't so much as moan.

She bit her lip. She was going to have to leave him and get help. Either that or sit here until he woke up. But that could be hours yet. Days, even.

She discarded that thought as quickly as it came. Please, G.o.d. Not days.

Surging to her feet, she ran to the lean-to and pulled a chair from the table, then dragged it out to where he lay. With great care, she positioned it over his neck and head. Rain began to puddle on the seat, but no longer hit his face underneath.

Satisfied, she ran inside to put on her boots, then gathered some blankets. When she had Joe and the chair covered as best as she could, she grabbed the lantern and ran to the men's sleeping quarters, splas.h.i.+ng through the puddles, slipping on mud, and tripping over roots.

Anna rapped her fist against the door of the bunkhouse. ”Red! Thirsty! Somebody! Wake up!”

Ronny jerked the door open. His eyes bulged. His hair stood out in discordant spikes. His faded blue union suit covered him from neck to foot.

”Where's Red?” she gasped, grabbing the ache in her side.

”Here.” Red pushed the door wider, hopping on one foot as he poked the other into his trouser leg. ”What's happened?”

”Joe got hurt felling a tree.”

Red paused, his shoulders relaxing. ”You must be having a bad dream. Joe's a seasoned lumberjack. He'd never do any chopping at night.”

She turned her attention back to Ronny. ”Joe got hurt felling a tree. I need help moving him inside. Will you come?”

Ronny jerked upright as if struck by a bolt of lightning, then surged forward. ”Show me where.”

Red grabbed him by the neck and flung him back inside. Anna hadn't realized the rest of the men had crowded behind the door until they caught Ronny as he fell. All of them were mussed. All were wearing union suits. All were staring at her as if she'd lost her mind.

”Let us get our, um, boots on first.” Red turned to the men. ”Well? You heard her. Get moving!”

She didn't wait but began running back home.

”At the house,” she gasped when they caught up with her. ”By the chestnut tree. Go on. Hurry.”

”Ronny, stay with her.”

The men rushed past.

Ronny grasped her elbow. ”No need to run anymore, Miss Ivey. The boys will take care of him.”

She didn't use up precious breath arguing. She simply alternated between running and jogging. Still, her body refused to cooperate. Several times, she had to stop until the st.i.tch in her side eased. And once, she tripped over a root, sprawling facedown on the path.