Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] by Lonesome River

plantin’. Ain’t she got no man?”
    “Buried him a couple of days ago.”
    “Too bad. But I be thinkin’ she ain’t agoin’ to have no trouble gettin’ another one, sightly as she be. Ain’t no woman—”
    “I’m going back for her wagon,” Farr said abruptly. “I’d take her pa, but if there’s trouble, he’d be about as much good as a leaf in a whirlwind.”
    “Humpt!” Juicy snorted. “I knowed that afore he got off’n the horse. Take Colby or young Rain.”
    Liberty watched the two men walk over to the porch of the long building. Farr was doing most of the talking, and she imagined he was telling his friend about the massacre. She stood still, looking around her. It was a wonderful, beautiful land. It was good to see an open stretch of sky after so many days in the dense forest. The grass in the meadow behind the station was a rich green, knee-high, and moved gently in the southern breeze. She had noticed that the earth was black when they passed a turned field. Here they would stay, she decided. It had been in the back of her mind since Farr told her about the land beyond the Wabash and the abandoned homestead.
    Her only disappointment was that the people she had seen so far were a religious sect that was not friendly to outsiders. There would be no friendship there, but so be it. More people would come. She and Amy had been a long time without friends, they could wait a little longer. She would ask Farr how she could send word to Hammond Perry that she was here, and if he wanted to see her he would come.
    Suddenly she noticed Mercy heading across the yard toward Farr on her stubby little legs. The single garment she wore hung on her small body like a rag. Amy had braided her hair and tied the ends with strips torn from the shirt. Her bare little feet were tough, and she seemed to not notice the wood chips she crossed to reach the hardpacked dirt in front of the porch. Suddenly she stopped, squatted down and picked up something from the ground with her chubby fingers.
    “No, Mercy!” Liberty dashed to the child and grabbed her hand, but she was too late to keep her from popping her find into her mouth. She looked up at Liberty and smiled broadly, spit dribbling from her chin. Liberty shoved a forefinger into her mouth to extract a gooey mess. “Oh! Ugh, Mercy! Nasty! Nasty!” She slung the child on her hip and hurried to the waterbucket. “Get me a wet rag, Amy.”
    “What did she do?”
    “She ate some . . . some—”
    “Oh! Phew! It looks like chicken doo!”
    “It
is
chicken doo! Oh, Lordy!” Liberty poked the rag in the child’s mouth until she gagged. “Don’t put that old nasty stuff in your mouth, Mercy. It’ll make you sick.”
    “Ma’am . . .” Daniel tugged on her dress and Liberty looked down into a worried little face. His large, round, brown eyes were pleading. “Don’t whup her. Please! She don’t know no better.”
    “For goodness sake! Of course I won’t whup her! She’s just a baby, Daniel. You’ll have to help us watch to see that she doesn’t put such stuff in her mouth. There. I’ve cleaned out as much as I can. Give her a drink of water, Amy.”
    “Mercy ate some chicken doo, Mr. Quill.” Amy gave him a slanted look and waited for an answer.
    Liberty looked around to see Farr standing nearby. She would have been surprised to know that while he watched her with Mercy, his thoughts rocked to and fro with the futile rhythm of a rocking horse. She was a spunky woman, he thought. But how would she manage out at Shellenberger’s place? Would her father help her plant and tend a field? he wondered. If she decided to go to Vincennes, Farr knew he would take her. But he couldn’t see how he could ask her to take Mercy and the boy with her. She had enough on her plate as it was with her sister and her father.
    Farr decided his only alternative was to ask the Sufferites to care for Daniel and Mercy until he could get them upriver to Carrolltown or find