Page 87 of A Rugged Beauty
Then he grabbed out two of the quilts that were within arms' reach. "Take blankets," he shouted to the nearest women. "We'll soak them in the water."
He threw the blankets over his shoulder and stuck by Abigail's side as she hurried out of camp and toward the water, two in a steady stream of people attempting to save their lives and possessions.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw the men lighting patches of the ground on fire. The wind was working against them, but the men had formed a line and fought with shovels and blankets to keep the fire to the north of their camp.
The break fire licked up the dry grasses, moving more slowly toward the oncoming blaze.
When he went over the lip of the riverbank, he could no longer see them.
Abigail slipped as she scrambled down the bank, landing hard on her backside. He dropped the washtub to grasp her elbow and help her stand. Their gazes caught for a prolonged moment. And then they were off again, running across the muddy bank to the water.
Hollis didn't care that his boots and pant legs got soaked as he filled the washtub as full as he could and still carry it. He pushed both quilts under the water and then slung them around his neck, water streaming down his body. The river was rising, beginning to churn and froth.
Abigail was still weak from the sickness. She struggled with her pails. "Go on," she told him.
He shook his head. "I won't leave you."
For a fractured second, he thought she understood that he meant the words for more than just this moment.
When she'd regained her footing and began to tote the full pails toward the bank and up the incline, he followed her closely with the washtub in his arms.
She broke down coughing halfway to the circled wagon, the acrid smoke burning every breath now. He couldn't let down his tub, but he angled his body so that he blocked what he could of the wind.
Urgency fueled him, but he waited until she looked up at him, tears streaming from her eyes. Moisture flowed down his own face, too, as his eyes burned.
He gave directions and each woman relayed them down the line, around the circle. Women scrabbled to take down the canvases from their wagons, to flatten the tents to the ground. Thank God so many had begun to pack up, ready to move out.
The cattle bawled, several cowboys working to keep them in a bunch, keep them from bolting away.
He grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket and doused it in the tub, then presented it to Abigail. "Tie it over your nose and mouth."
Her hands were trembling too much to complete the task, and he moved closer. She didn't protest when he gently took the fabric from her fingers and tipped her head back to tie it behind.
Awareness slipped over him amidst the chaos in camp. This was the closest they'd been since the kiss he hadn't taken. "I wish I'd kissed you before," he said.
He saw the flash of surprise, but the moment was wrong. He tied on a bandana of his own before directing her to move in front of the wagon.
"Can you help me put the quilts over the wagon?" he asked, the words muffled through his face covering. He threw the sopping wet quilt over the supplies in the bed of the wagon. She was shaking and dropped the corner of the quilt when he flipped his side up.
He wished he could stop and just hold her. They'd run out of time soon enough. In this moment, he had to keep going. But he found a song inside him and let loose with a cracking voice.
“Deep river, my home is over Jordan…”
She froze, staring at him, but then gripped the edge of the quilt and helped him cover the inside of the wagon. Within a few moments, her faltering voice joined his song, just like he’d heard his mother sing it.
“Lord, I want to cross over into campground…”
A cough broke Abigail’s dear voice. Smoke was low and thick, covering everything. He couldn’t see the men in front of the wagons anymore.
"It's almost here!" someone cried.
There was a roar in his ears—the roar of the fire.
He curled his arm around Abigail and guided her around the back of the wagon. It would offer them scant protection if the fire crossed the line of burned grass where the men had done their best to form a break.
They huddled there, his arms around her, her face tucked into his chest. He prayed, the words falling from his lips and into her hair as she clung to him.
He didn't know whether his hasty plan was going to work. Maybe he'd doomed them all.
