Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] by Lonesome River Page B

bread.” He tilted his head to one side, his blue eyes twinkled, and the whiskers around his mouth shifted so that Liberty knew he was smiling.
    “I’ll make bread, but it’ll take some time.”
    “We can wait. Times me ’n Farr’d give a prime pelt fer a hunk a good wheat bread.”
    “How far is the Shellenberger place from here, Mr. Juicy?” Liberty reached to catch Mercy’s hand before she pulled a wooden trencher off the table.
    “Ain’t no need to be puttin’ mister to my name, Mrs. Perry. I be jist Juicy to one ’n all.”
    The old man’s sharp eyes gleamed as he watched her, his smile wide across his whiskered face.
    “Then don’t be putting a mistress to my name, Juicy. I’m just Liberty, or Libby, if you prefer.” There was a friendly sparkle in her eyes.
    Juicy laughed, and turning, poked at the cookfire with a long iron poker before be spoke.
    “The Shellenberger place ain’t but down the road a piece. Good stout cabin is what it is. Hit was all Shellenberger knowed how to do, I reckon. Good builder, but he warn’t no hand a’tall puttin’ in a crop.”
    “Is the cabin on the road where people pass?”
    “If’n they be on the river or the road they go by if’n they be aimin’ fer Vincennes or Shawneetown.”
    “It’s near the river then?”
    “Right slap dab on, but on a rise. Ain’t much risk of gettin’ flooded out.”
    Liberty brushed a strand of hair back off her forehead, then slowly turned her face toward the open doorway and looked out into the bright sunlight. Her mind was busy sorting out the sudden flood of ideas that had flowed into it while talking to the old man.
    “I reckon the younguns is hungry,” Juicy said. “I’ll fetch the milk ’n meat. Got taters, too, tho’ they be sprouted some.”
    “Sprouted? Shouldn’t they be planted by now?”
    “I ain’t much hand at puttin’ in a patch. We get sich from them folks ya passed back yonder, or from folks that trade fer salt ’n sich,” he said and was gone.
    He returned with a large crock cradled in one arm and a small one in the other. He saw Liberty eyeing the fly floating on the top of the milk.
    “I allus forget ta cover it. Now Farr, he be more persnickety,” he said with a sheepish grin. “Him ’n that boy youngun is sleepin’ in the barn. The little feller is curled up right by him like a pup to his ma.” He hooked a stool from beneath the table and sat down. Mercy pulled her hand from Amy’s and went toward him. “I allus did like purty little gal younguns.” Juicy lifted her and sat her down on his knee. The child pulled on his whiskers and his roar of laughter filled the room. “Ya be a lively one, ya little scutter.”
     
    *  *  *
     
    After the noon meal Liberty pushed the pot containing what was left of the deer meat and potatoes to the back of the hearth to keep warm for Farr and Daniel and made up a batch of wheat bread. Elija sat on a bench just outside the door, and she could hear him telling Juicy about Middlecrossing, the wonderful life they’d had there, and the hardships he’d endured on the long journey to the Wabash.
    Liberty gritted her teeth and continued to work. The heat from the fireplace had brought a rosiness to her cheeks and dampness to the curls around her face. As her mind churned with plans, the excitement in her body grew, encompassing her heart and expanding into her soul. Somewhere in her heart she had known all along that she had done the right thing in coming to Quill’s Station. Now she was sure of it.
    Amy stuck her head in the door. “Mr. Quill’s coming,” she announced.
    Liberty suddenly felt shy. She stood with her back to the doorway, her chest rising with the deep breath she permitted herself to draw. She heard Farr ask Juicy if Colby and Rain had returned, heard Juicy tell him no.
    “Something smells mighty good.” His voice was deep and rich and came from a few feet behind her.
    Liberty turned. The picture of him standing there with the