Chapter 2

The rain continued unhindered, and complicated the risks as night grew dark. Clouds covered the moon, and left nothing but instincts to guide Chris, Buck and Vin through the harsh landscape. Vin had captured Chris and Ezra's horses. Vin found them cornered against two downed trees. Buck destroyed his dear old friend, and it pained him to know nothing could be done to cure a broken leg. Peso was still missing.

Chris stood at the water's edge. He clenched his jaw and waited for the brief appearances of the moon. It was not enough to see anything except dark shadows and outlines, but it offered him hope. He clenched his fist, the same hand he had held onto Ezra with…the same hand that had failed him.

Vin scraped his hand along the mud still clinging to his jacket and flung it to the ground. His gut was tight, and pain wracked his legs and back, the effects of his horse rolling over the top of him. He knew if he took a seat he would not get back up.

Buck was defeated, and he rested on a large boulder with his elbows on his knees. He ignored the rain as it pounded his back. His saddle lay to his left, the saddle pad and bridle resting over the seat.

"If we head downriver at sunup…" Vin sighed, "we might find him."

Chris clenched his jaw. "Maybe."

Swallowed by both the blackness of night and the river's rage, Ezra fought. Mercilessly, the water forced him downward while debris slammed against him. He coughed and struggled to stay at the surface, only to get forced down.

He groaned when he was forced against a barrier. Water swirled around him and forced him toward the center of the river, but he fought it. He grabbed and clawed his way toward the landline. Ice cold, and unaware of his surroundings, he managed to crawl onto a narrow ledge of land. He gasped, he fell forward, and collapsed.

"If this rain doesn't let up we might have to build ourselves a boat," Gertrude chuckled, and straitened her yarn before continuing to knit. Gray hair was pinned back away from her round face.

Her sister Jane nodded, and then turned the pages of the four-month-old newspaper while she sat by the fire. Her glasses rested at the tip of her button nose, and she kept her eyebrows pulled together while glancing from word to word. "It'll be good for farmin' this year." She lowered the paper, folded it, and rested it on her thigh. "Harold should stop by next week…maybe he would be kind enough to check the dam — if it continues like this, I fear we'll end up flooded."

Gertrude chuckled: "Maybe we should take more precedence to the Good Book and build ourselves an ark?" She kept in pace with the rocking chair, and gently moved back and forth.

Jane shook her head: "That's blasphemous, sister dear. You're getting worse in your old age." She stood, tossing the paper onto the small table next to her chair, and walked to the fireplace. She placed a hand on her back she leaned forward, threw a couple of heavy logs onto the flames, and winced when her knees and back cracked.

"Mathew will be here in the spring to help with the planting, won't he?"

Jane nodded and stood. "Until then we're on our own," she said, and smiled. "Not unlike it's been for the past few years."

Gertrude sighed and shook her head as she continued to knit. "I like it here—I don't want to leave."

"I'm not asking you to." Jane leaned back, stretched, and looked at the pictures on the mantel. Carefully, she traced the silver frame with her finger. "I'm going to bed. Don't stay up late, you'll ware yourself out."

Gertrude nodded and watched her sister leave the room, and shut her bedroom door behind her. She listened to the wind and the rain pound the roof of the house. Leaves and branches slapped the windows and shutters. She put her knitting in a small satchel by her feet and rubbed her thighs. Feeling the years wearing on her bones, she took a moment before standing. Her knees cracked, but she ignored it, and moved to stand by the window.

As the clouds passed over the moon the rays reflected off the standing water. The reflections glistened, as though the stars were embedded within the earth's surface. Gertrude ran her hand along the curtain and sighed, her breath fogged the glass. Too warm to snow, too cold for growth, she could only stand by and wait for spring. She checked the door, made sure it was locked, and then she blew out the kerosene lamp.