Promise Bridge by Eileen Clymer Schwab Page A

natural to me as geese winging through a crisp autumn night. However, traversing the angled cliffs to the river was territory I had yet to navigate in the dark of night. But even that did not rattle me as much as the thought of what would happen once we came upon the river. Unable to wait any longer, I headed for the cave.
    Livie and I cleared away all evidence of her stay. We burned the quilts and pine bed in the fire pit and stacked the unused logs against the inside wall, as if they’d been stashed by a hunter for another day. When all looked undisturbed, we flopped on the ground and rested, side by side in anxious stillness. Finally, Livie heaved a long, jittery sigh.
    “I ain’t had no cause for swimmin’ in a mighty long time. There was a fair-sized pond at the edge of Massa’s land where we cooled off when our heads gots’ta spinnin’ in the summer heat. Marcus showed me how to swim ’cuz he said someday I might need the know-how. But ’twas long ago, and I don’t have much kick in this shot-up leg right now.”
    I wanted to reassure her, but more importantly, I wanted her to be prepared for what the Red Hawk River demanded. The Horse’s Bend was a half-mile stretch of water between two fierce sets of rapids north of Echo Ridge. This slow and steady stretch of water provided Livie with her best chance at crossing. Still, the Horse’s Bend had its challenges, as evidenced in its name. Legend had it that when the untamed mountain region was settled, a band of renegade Shawnee Indians chased a group of Lutheran missionaries to the river’s edge. When the missionaries rode their horses into the deep current of the Red Hawk, they were sucked under midway across the river. The missionaries eventually pulled themselves up on the banks of what is now Echo Ridge, but not one of the horses ever resurfaced.
    With that in mind, I used a stick against the dirt floor to sketch the flow of the river so Livie could picture in her head what she would face once she hit the water. “Now, don’t forget,” I said, circling a spot on the craggy diagram. “We will hike to the bottom of the first set of rapids, and you will enter the water here. You must swim hard, steady strokes toward the far shore as the current moves you downstream. If you swim fast enough, you will reach a large boulder called Turtleback Rock, which curves above the water halfway between the first and second set of rapids. Grab on to it and catch your breath. When you are ready, you can start a paddle sprint across the far section of the river. When you reach the other side, follow Colt’s instructions downriver where he agreed to meet you. Then the second part of our plan will be put into motion.”
    Contrary to my earlier wish for sunset, now I prayed the sun would freeze to a standstill and remain orange in the sky rather than sink away and lead Livie into uncertain darkness. Betrayed by the natural flow around me, I watched the sun defy my wishes and disappear behind the indigo mountains on the western horizon.
    Livie reached into the satchel tied around her waist and removed a strip of stained chambray cloth. I recognized it as part of her brother’s neckerchief, used to stop her bleeding the day she was shot. She smoothed its length and then tied it to her ankle.
    “Fo’ luck,” she said, looking up at me. My stomach twisted, knowing our time together was slipping away. She then pulled a tin cigar box from her satchel and handed it to me. “Take this, and keep it safe until I return.”
    I nodded and smiled to hide my mounting fear. We knelt over the map I had etched in the soil and traced her route one last time. Her eyes were wide and attentive, as if hearing the plan for the first time. “Try not to let the river’s strength frighten you, Liv. Never fight against the current. It’s a battle that is impossible to win. Flow with it and use its power to help you get where you are going.”
    Coaxed by the urgent hoot of an unseen owl, we