to see herself as fated to a lifetime of happiness with this war-wounded man. Their relationship became something more than it had been, and one week after the visit from the crazed preacher the lieutenant dropped to a knee on the dirt floor of her cabin. “Marry me,” he begged. “Marry me, Elvy Callaway.”
“Of course,” she replied.
The lieutenant then told her of a British fort downriver—across the border in Spanish Florida—and promised that if she helped him reach that place they would one day sail together to England. “Your next home will be a castle,” he promised her. “A castle with silver and servants and silk.” The lieutenant held her and she fell asleep trying to conjure up what an English countryside might look like. In the morning she awoke in a brilliant mood and went down
to the wharf, taking into her confidence a milky-breathed riverman she had twice turned away from her cabin. For an hour in the boat-house plus nine dollars exact he furnished her with a canoe and supplies.
The journey south with the lieutenant was the great adventure of Elvy’s life. They traveled at night, the only moment of real danger coming as they eased past the bonfires of the Choctaw mercenaries stationed at the final American outpost on the river. At last they reached the point where the Chattahoochee gathered the Flint and became the Apalachicola. “Florida,” said the lieutenant, and the two lovers gave a great sigh of relief and accomplishment.
ELVY BROKE FROM her story and he saw that she was crying. “That was nineteen months ago,” she said.
“So he gone?”
“I killed him.”
“Killed him?”
“Cut his veins while he slept.”
He sat watching and as she began to explain herself it registered, the animal wildness in those blue eyes. She wiped her nose and told him how the lovers had stopped at this same valley. She had been collecting water while her fiancé gathered roots and herbs and berries in the pocket forest. The lieutenant had happened upon the abandoned stone hut and called out to her. It was late in the afternoon and so they decided to make their camp. That night while the lieutenant slept beside her she had a dream—a dream in which all she had begun to suspect during their long cold hours
on the river was revealed to her as truth. In this dream she was alone and in hell, burning. There was the sound of a man laughing, and as her skin melted away she saw him—the preacher at the door. She awoke holding a knife and covered in warm blood. The one-handed lieutenant was dead, his stumped wrist sliced open at its base.
Kau watched as she began to shake. Fish soup splashed from her bowl down onto her bare feet. “Now do you see?” she asked him.
“See what?”
She dabbed her wet eye with the hem of her filthy dress. “Never mind.”
“You really don recall killin him?”
“I don’t.”
“Then maybe it weren’t you.”
She was staring at a heap of rocks piled beside the hut, and he realized that suspended in the dirt beneath those stones were the bones of her lieutenant. She tilted her head back and spoke to the stars. “May the Lord and God forgive me,” she said.
Kau set his own soup down on the ground by his feet. “Why you sayin all this?”
“My God,” she said. “You still don’t see what we did that night?”
He shook his head.
“The preacher,” she said.
“What of him?”
“I believe we met the Devil that day.”
“The Devil?”
“Think now, heathen. Who else would have tempted us so?” She punched at her neck with a fist. “I woke up that morning and just knew I was damned.”
“But why stay here?”
“To repent. To beg for the Lord’s forgiveness.”
“Forever?”
“I suspect.”
“How come you ain’t been killed youself?”
She laughed. “By?”
“Indians?”
Elvy waved a limp hand. “I see them now and again,” she said. “They look down at me from atop the cliffs, throw pebbles for sport. Nothing too
“Of course,” she replied.
The lieutenant then told her of a British fort downriver—across the border in Spanish Florida—and promised that if she helped him reach that place they would one day sail together to England. “Your next home will be a castle,” he promised her. “A castle with silver and servants and silk.” The lieutenant held her and she fell asleep trying to conjure up what an English countryside might look like. In the morning she awoke in a brilliant mood and went down
to the wharf, taking into her confidence a milky-breathed riverman she had twice turned away from her cabin. For an hour in the boat-house plus nine dollars exact he furnished her with a canoe and supplies.
The journey south with the lieutenant was the great adventure of Elvy’s life. They traveled at night, the only moment of real danger coming as they eased past the bonfires of the Choctaw mercenaries stationed at the final American outpost on the river. At last they reached the point where the Chattahoochee gathered the Flint and became the Apalachicola. “Florida,” said the lieutenant, and the two lovers gave a great sigh of relief and accomplishment.
ELVY BROKE FROM her story and he saw that she was crying. “That was nineteen months ago,” she said.
“So he gone?”
“I killed him.”
“Killed him?”
“Cut his veins while he slept.”
He sat watching and as she began to explain herself it registered, the animal wildness in those blue eyes. She wiped her nose and told him how the lovers had stopped at this same valley. She had been collecting water while her fiancé gathered roots and herbs and berries in the pocket forest. The lieutenant had happened upon the abandoned stone hut and called out to her. It was late in the afternoon and so they decided to make their camp. That night while the lieutenant slept beside her she had a dream—a dream in which all she had begun to suspect during their long cold hours
on the river was revealed to her as truth. In this dream she was alone and in hell, burning. There was the sound of a man laughing, and as her skin melted away she saw him—the preacher at the door. She awoke holding a knife and covered in warm blood. The one-handed lieutenant was dead, his stumped wrist sliced open at its base.
Kau watched as she began to shake. Fish soup splashed from her bowl down onto her bare feet. “Now do you see?” she asked him.
“See what?”
She dabbed her wet eye with the hem of her filthy dress. “Never mind.”
“You really don recall killin him?”
“I don’t.”
“Then maybe it weren’t you.”
She was staring at a heap of rocks piled beside the hut, and he realized that suspended in the dirt beneath those stones were the bones of her lieutenant. She tilted her head back and spoke to the stars. “May the Lord and God forgive me,” she said.
Kau set his own soup down on the ground by his feet. “Why you sayin all this?”
“My God,” she said. “You still don’t see what we did that night?”
He shook his head.
“The preacher,” she said.
“What of him?”
“I believe we met the Devil that day.”
“The Devil?”
“Think now, heathen. Who else would have tempted us so?” She punched at her neck with a fist. “I woke up that morning and just knew I was damned.”
“But why stay here?”
“To repent. To beg for the Lord’s forgiveness.”
“Forever?”
“I suspect.”
“How come you ain’t been killed youself?”
She laughed. “By?”
“Indians?”
Elvy waved a limp hand. “I see them now and again,” she said. “They look down at me from atop the cliffs, throw pebbles for sport. Nothing too
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