Never Too Far (6 page)

“I don’t see any bridge,” Joe said. “That’s not good.”

Somehow they had gotten off the road and veered up to the crest of this hill that had been carved away by the river. Where were they?

Back at the wagon, he got out the map and tried to figure out which direction they’d veered. The map showed the river bending sharply south of the bridge. Joe thought he would follow the river a while to see if it led to a sharp bend. If it didn’t, they’d turn back the other way. There was no reason to panic. They were at the river now, and water was the most important thing they needed. They got back in the wagon and rode down the side of the hill to where the ground flattened out along the river.

Joe unhitched the horses
and led them to the muddy water to drink. He grabbed the empty water bucket and slapped it down in the river. When it was full, he lugged it up to where the girl stood and set the bucket down beside her. He caught a whiff of his smell and realized he stunk, ripe and sour.

“We’ll wait till the dirt settles to the bottom and then we can drink it.”

In the meantime, he decided to wash and cool himself in the river. He stripped off his damp green shirt and brown pants and stood in only his undergarments, which consisted of a one-piece top and bottom. He felt the heat of the sun burning into the exposed skin on his arms and legs.

“You want to wash off?” he said to the girl. “It will do you good.”

The pregnant girl crouched beside the water bucket like a little bird.

“I guess that’s a no,” he said. “Your loss.”

At the edge of the river, he dipped his toes into the slow-moving water before he stepped in with both feet. He took a few steps out into the water where it deepened and swirled around the top of his ankles. He turned to look at the girl. His feet sank in the sandy bottom but then held firm.

“Watch this,” he said.

He spread his arms out to his sides like a cross. Then he closed his eyes, tipped back on his heels, and fell straight backwards and smacked against the water. The river rushed over him, rolled him a bit in its current and then tried to bounce him back to the surface, but he held himself under as long as he could. The “ooooom” sound of the water played in his ears. He held his breath until he couldn’t hold it a second longer. That’s when he sprang forward, blasting out of the water. When he opened his eyes, he saw the girl standing at the river’s edge. She jumped back.

“Aha!” he shouted. “I scared you.”

She apparently wasn’t amused because she turned her back on him and stomped up the bank where she sat beside the water bucket again.

“Ah, don’t be mad,” he said. “I was just having fun.”

She grabbed the sides of her floppy hat and pulled it down tighter as if to say it wasn’t funny.

“It was only a joke,” Joe
said.

She scraped at the ground with her fingers.

“Be that way, then.”

He sat in the water and grabbed handfuls of sand from the bottom and used them to rub the grime and stink off his arms and legs. He glanced at
the girl once more. Her head was tilted up a smidge as if watching him from beneath the brim of her hat. He decided to have a little more fun with her. He walked up the bank, stood in front of her, and shook his body like a dog. A spray of water flew off on her. She got him back, though. She snuck her little hand out and pinched his big toe.

“Yow!” Joe yelped, and then laughed. “You got me.”

After Joe sunned himself dry and put his clothes back on, they each took turns dipping the tin cup into the bucket of water and gulping it down. This was the best Joe had felt since they started, and he was beginning to appreciate what the girl had to offer. Before they left on their journey, he didn’t think of her as contributing anything more than their cover story to throw off suspicion.

“You know,” he said, “I don’t know your name, like the name your mom and dad gave you. I’m kind of wondering what it is and if you could tell me.”

He waited for a reply, but as usual, she didn’t answer.

“What if I say a bunch of names and you nod your head when I get to the right one. Let’s see. How about Becky, Susan, Rachel…”

He rattled off ten more but the girl never nodded her head.

“Okay,” Joe said. “Well, why don’t I make one up for you until you tell me otherwise?”

He pretended to be in deep thought. He scratched his chin, narrowed his eyes, and twisted his mouth until he came up with a name.

“Mary! How’s that? I’ll call you Mary.”

She raked at the dirt between her feet and then dipped her knees in together.

“So Mary it is,” he said. “Unless you tell me your real name.”

At that moment, he happened to glance down the river at a stand of trees on the other side. What he saw made him do a double take. He saw a wispy stream of white smoke rising into the air above the treetops. He stood up and looked harder, squinting to make sure it was smoke and not something else.

“You see that?” He pointed toward the trees. “Somebody’s over there.”  

The next thing he knew there was a rifle shot from over his shoulder. A puff of dust exploded about five feet in front of him. Joe whirled around and looked up at the hill.

“Get down,” he said to Mary.

He hit the ground and scrambled over her body to shield her from another shot that he assumed was coming at any second. He crouched low and spied up the hill but he still couldn’t see anything. His rifle was in the wagon cab. Trying to run for it was too risky, especially since it would leave Mary exposed.

Suddenly a man popped up over the hill like a jack-in-the-box. He pointed his rifle at them. Joe flinched and turned his head away in anticipation of another rifle report. When nothing happened, Joe peeked up the hill again.

The man was no longer aiming at them. On the contrary, he looked completely at ease. He held his rifle under one arm while he cupped his hands to his face and lit a pipe. After puffing on it, he shook the match out and flicked it away. He puffed some more. The smoke clouded his face for a moment. The man was short and scrawny with thin bandy legs. He looked akin to a half-starved elf—and he didn’t look particularly frightening, either, but rather peculiar. His ragged clothes hung off him in tattered strips. Squashed on his head was a stovepipe hat. His straggly hair fell from the sides of his head like fringe. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned or nervous. He acted as if he was all alone on that hill and he was simply enjoying a smoke without a care in the world.

He pulled the pipe from his mouth and shouted, “Good day,” in a high gruff voice.

Joe sat up a little.

“I say good day to you,” he said again. “Cat got your tongue?”

Joe got to his knees and stared at the man, still unsure of what to make of him.

“That shot was just to see if you were on your guard.” He laughed. “Which you weren’t. Could’ve killed you and robbed you blind. Never let your guard down.” 

The man walked down the hill in a bizarre way. His short bandy legs appeared to swivel out in front of his torso as if his top and bottom weren’t connected right. His stovepipe hat wobbled on his head.

While Mary stayed curled in a tight ball behind him,
Joe got to his feet. The man was a great deal shorter than Joe, but something about his gregarious nature made him seem larger. His skin was brown like clay and his cheeks shallow and streaked with hairs. A stringy billy-goat beard hung from his chin. He held his pipe clenched in his stained teeth when he smiled. His eyes gleamed.

“Nahum’s the name,” he said

He extended his hand, and as soon as Joe grasped it, the man’s fingers clamped tight. He squeezed Joe’s hand hard enough to make his bones grate together. 

“Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?” Nahum said.

“Joe.”

“Joe? That’s it? Joe? Nothing else.”

“Nope. Just Joe.”

He could’ve kicked himself for saying his real name. Frank told him to never tell anyone, or else make up a phony name. But he was so taken aback by this strange man in the stovepipe hat that he couldn’t think to make up a phony name for himself.

“Fine. Joe, it is. No need to be formal here.” Nahum flicked his pipe to the other side of his mouth while still smiling. 

“Who’s that behind you?”

Joe nudged Mary with his heel.

“She’s an orph—” He caught himself. “She’s my girl. She’s pregnant and I’m taking her to the city to give birth.”

“Pregnant, huh? The city, huh?” Nahum narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Yes, sir.”

“You sure she is okay?”

Joe looked at Mary. She still hadn’t moved from the tight ball she was curled into.

“She’s kind of afraid of people.”

“Afraid? She looks downright petrified.”

Joe bent down beside her, his hand on her shoulder, and lowered his head to where her ear was hidden by the brim of her hat.

“It’s okay,” he said, “you can get up.”

He glanced up at Nahum who pursed his lips. He sucked hard on his pipe and then peeled open a corner of his mouth to let the smoke escape. Mary finally unrolled herself and stood up. Her head was bent so low it appeared as if it was growing out of her chest. At the full sight of her, Nahum stepped back and widened his eyes.

“Jumping Jehoshaphat,” he said. “That tiny thing really is pregnant. She’s about to pop.”

“That’s why she needs to get to the city. She’s breech.”

“Jumping Jehoshaphat.”

“We need to find the bridge. We’re off course.”

“I’ll say you are. The bridge is that way.” Nahum pointed behind him over the hill. “My place is not too far from here. Why don’t you come for something to eat? You look half starved.” 

A meal sounded good, and it would make the meager amount of food they had left last longer, hopefully until they got to the forest where he could hunt for something. Still, he wasn’t sure it was worth the risk to go off with this very odd man.

“Don’t trust me, huh?”

Nahum shoved his hand in his frayed pants, pulled out a handful of bullets, and flung them all into the river.

“Frisk me. No more ammo.”

He held his arms out in invitation, but Joe didn’t move.

“Here,
” Nahum said, “take the rifle.”

He planted it right in Joe’s chest.

“You got no more excuses.”

Chapter 12

A while later, farther down the river from where they met Nahum, they arrived at a raft laid up on the bank. It was across the river from the trees where the smoke was rising. In the center of the river was a dry mud flat that shined like a dull sheet of tin as the water flowed around it in two thick channels.

“Can I make it across?” Joe said.

“Bring the horses and leave the wagon,” he said. “Don’t worry. Nothing is going to happen to it. You’re the first person I’ve seen along here in a year.”

“I can’t take that chance.”

Nahum waved his hand in the air with a dramatic flourish. “Drive on, then,” he said.

Joe couldn’t tell if Nahum was annoyed or if that was just the way he acted.

“I know a place to stash it,” Nahum added.

They rode until they came to a rocky outcropping that stuck out of the ground near the river. That’s where they left the wagon. Joe led the horses as they walked back to the raft, where Nahum heaved it into the water and used a pole to push himself across.

Joe looked at Mary and said, “We got to take the horses across, okay? So I got to help you up. I’m just going to lift you up. That’s all.”

The floppy hat nodded.

Joe scooped Mary up in his arms. He was surprised at how light her body felt, despite her big stomach and the child inside. He thought it would weigh her down more. Once he swung her up onto Lester’s swayed back, she immediately tossed her leg over his neck and sat straddling him like she’d done it a thousand times before. That surprised him too, just like the way she took care of the horses after the duster. In truth, anything she did was a surprise, at least until he learned more about her.

Joe scrambled on the back of Sam and they waded slowly through the river. At its deepest point, the water only came to the horses’ knees. Evening approached and the sun dropped lower, but the air was still hot. On the opposite shore they weaved through a cluster of trees until they came to a mound of patchy brown grass with a brick chimney sticking out. A stream of white smoke rose from the top. Behind the chimney was a rusty windmill that looked as if it might topple over any second.

“It’s an old bunker from a long time ago,” Nahum said, “when everybody thought the world was going to end.”

He laughed and grabbed the black metal ring on the wooden hatch and yanked it open. They walked down a set of crumbling steps until they reached the floor of the bunker. It looked like a root cellar and certainly smelled like one. Musty and earthy. Above a wood table, a lone lamp hung from a rafter along the low ceiling. The lamp burned with a bright halo that quickly weakened before it reached into the bunker’s dark corners. On the stovetop sat a steaming pot of what smelled like boiling fish. Joe stayed stooped over, keeping his head bent so he wouldn’t bang it on a rafter. He felt like a mole in an underground burrow. And when he watched Nahum rummaging for cups and plates, the strange man sort of resembled a mole himself. His broad hands were like a mole’s flippers, and his bearded face was like a whiskered snout.