The boat pitched forward violently, and I was airborne for ages before slamming down hard on my back. Agony radiated through my body in all directions, and I rolled gasping off the bench seat and into the floor of the boat. I was face-to-face with the old woman, wedged under her own seat and moaning in terror. Someone was crying nearby–Douggie, where was he? There, under the bench. Cold water sloshed around me as I crawled over to him. I prayed that we’d only been dowsed by the wave instead of about to sink.
I sat up gingerly, steadying myself against the rocking boat. I definitely had a bruised rib or two, if not a broken one. I gave Dougie a quick once-over. He seemed alright except for being badly frightened. Russ was holding a rag to a nasty gash on the side of Louis’ forehead. Logs banged against the side of the creaking boat. Maynard and Frank were shouting and pointing. We were heading towards something white, drifting swiftly in the current. A life ring from the boat. And someone was in it.
“June! Oh my God…June!!”
Frank piloted the boat as fast as he dared towards my sister, while the other men readied a long pole with a hook on the end. There was so much detritus in the water that I feared we’d never be able to get close enough. But by some miracle we did. When the boys pulled June over the side of the boat, I immediately threw myself around her. God, she was so cold. Frank wrenched open the supply chest and threw two blankets at us.
“Get her undressed!” He shouted.
I gave him an incredulous look. Before I could think of what to say, Maynard was sitting June upright. “He’s right. Those wet clothes will kill her. I’ll hold up the blanket and look away, then you help her.”
I was trembling with fear and cold, but I at last managed to get my sister’s sodden dress and undergarments free. She coughed as I wrapped her up in both blankets. “Ro…Rory,” she croaked.
Russ knelt over both of us. “She needs to be inside or near a fire, and fast. We all do. But I doubt that will happen anytime soon…” He trailed up and gestured to our surroundings. I’d been so focused on June that I’d nearly forgotten the extent of our current predicament. We were now nearly in the middle of the river and at least a half-mile from actual land. Maynard was scanning the water with binoculars, while Frank steered the boat in a slow, wide arc.
“Russ…where are the others?”
He slowly shook his head. “The dark-haired lady, I think her name was Maryanne, she went over with June. Jankowski…he went in after them. Maynard went in too, but Frank and I grabbed him right away.” Maynard’s uniform was drenched and his cap was missing.
We searched in vain, in a constant battle against the current and debris. June was now shivering violently. Louis, his bleeding head now wrapped in a bandage, held on to Douggie, who was also whimpering and shaking with cold. Ms. Griffith muttered to herself from next to the supply crates and refused to let anyone touch her. We had just called off the search and were motoring towards shore when the engine began to sputter, then die completely. Frank swore, yanking the pull cord several times, but the motor would only run for a few seconds before cutting out again.
“Dammit!,” He swore again as he peered into the gas tank. “There’s more water than fuel in here.”
“So now what do we do?” Louis said worriedly.
Ms. Griffith’s muttering grew louder. I began to recognize some of what she was saying:
“…My soul is among lions…and I lie even among them that are set on fire, even the sons of men, whose teeth are spears and arrows and their tongue a sharp sword…”
“If yer gonna pray for somethin’, pray to turn the water in this motor into gasoline, otherwise, shut up or grab a paddle!” Frank stood up, holding two white oars. “Maynard, Carmichael, we need to get out of the middle of this godforsaken river before we end up in Cincinnati.”
“Russell, do you know how to row?” Maynard asked.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, taking an oar.
“Then you’re on starboard. We’re not going to make it to the rescue camp. Right now, we just need to get to land, or the lil’ uns ain’t gonna make it!” Maynard took his oar and began pushing against the current. The boat began to curve to the right.
“Walsh, sir!” the coastie shouted, though not as loud as before due to the absence of engine noise. “What’s the closest place to make safe anchor out of this current and find shelter?”
“Cass Hollow, about a half-mile south of the church,” Frank said. “Aim for the big gnarled oak tree at the end of the road that goes into it.”
Our pitiful crew rowed towards what I hoped was safety. I decided to continue the old woman’s recitations, whispering them to June:
Be merciful unto me, oh God, for my soul trusteth in thee…yea, in the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast.
Trees rose up on either side as we cleared what would have been the banks of the Ohio on a normal day. The steeple of the church was just visible far to our right, and ahead was a gap between the ridges. The current died down enough that the boys had to row as well as steer.
“How far back the holler do you think we can take the boat? Maybe we could make it to the Osborne place,” Russ said as he paddled.
“Doubtful,” Frank responded. “Look there.”
Great broken sheets of dirty ice piled up like peanut brittle along the shore on either side and jammed up the way ahead. Maynard grimaced, shoving an iceberg the size of a dining table aside with his oar. “There’s no way we’re going any further than this.” He checked his watch. “And it’s near 1800.”
Frank leaned on his oar, coughing “Dammit. It’ll be dark in less than two hours.” He pointed up the steep wooded hillside to the right. “There’s a place just up the ridge there, maybe half an hour walk, not too steep. It’ll be dry and we can make a camp there.”
Our boat pushed aside some ice chunks and floating branches before scraping to a halt. Russ and Louis tied moorings while Maynard and Frank gathered supplies. It was then I discovered that my suitcase was missing. The handsome Maynard again held my hand as I climbed ashore, though I was too busy also guiding June and Douggie and thinking of our lost belongings to make room for any other feelings besides apprehension. The last to leave the boat was Ms. Griffith. She had fallen silent, her face a grim mask of contempt for her current plight and company.
Frank moved to the front of the group. He had a walking stick and was limping slightly, though it didn’t seem to slow him down much. “See that path over there?” he pointed. “That’ll take us to where we’ll make camp. Before we start, a couple of…precautions.” He coughed again and took a long drink from his canteen. “Firstly, this ain’t my land, and where we’re headin’ ain’t exactly known to very many folks. Let’s hope that anyone that does know of the spot hasn’t gotten there first.”
“Also, times like these, some folks like to…take advantage of a fortuitous situation, if you take my meaning. I doubt we’ll meet anyone else but ourselves tonight, but since there’ll be a fire goin’, we might have to deal with a moth or two. Everyone else just needs to stay put until morning. Then we’ll come down off the ridge and try to signal someone on the other side of Moneto Creek. Understand?”
Not really, I thought to myself. What did he mean by, deal with a moth or two? I reckoned that he was referring to looters, men who use disasters as an opportunity to ransack homes and businesses, or to scam people out of what little they had left. The notion that Mr. Walsh might be of the same disposition had certainly crossed my mind since my “rescue”.
The path up the hillside to which Frank directed us was little more than a game trail, and would have easily been mistaken as such. I suspected this was by design as much as it was by disuse. It was at least easy enough to walk, winding its way gradually up and around the back of the ridge.
There was little in the way of conversation on our hike, save for the occasional watch your step when encountering rocks or muddy patches. I tried to carry Douggie but my ribs and back ached too much. Thankfully, Louis was a sturdy 13-year-old and, despite his bandaged head, was able to shoulder his younger brother with little effort. Russ, meanwhile, was carrying June and his old Army surplus haversack. Maynard stayed at the back with the largely silent Ms. Griffith.
We reached a mossy cliff face where the trail disappeared around a large boulder. Frank held up a hand. “Wait here. I’m gonna scout ahead an’ make sure we’re alone up here.” He toddled off around the boulder and out of view.
Maynard came to my side. “So, what do you know about him?” he said quietly.
“That…depends,” I replied. “What do you know about him?”
“Franklin Walsh, Navy Chief Petty Officer, served ten years until the War. His ship went down off the coast of France after a U-boat attack. Honorable discharge, received the Navy Cross for saving at least five men and nearly dying to do it.”
“It’s true, but you wouldn’t know it now,” Russ added. “These days, he’s a boozehound and a swindler. I can take a fair guess at where he’s takin’ us to.”
“What would that be?”
Russ started to speak, but then Frank appeared from the other side of the boulder. “Coast is clear. Let’s go, it’s not far now. Watch the trail though, it’s a lil’ slick an’ narrow.”
A few minutes later, we were standing in front of a shallow but sizable recess cave in the cliff face. Tucked into the left side of the opening was a little shack, not much bigger than an outhouse. It was overed on the outward side with branches, presumably as camouflage, though most of these had been scattered. Around it were signs of previous use–crates, bottles, empty cans, along with several broken mason jars and ceramic jugs.
Russ shot me and I knew it look as we entered the moonshiner’s hideout. Frank opened a large chest and removed some old flannel blankets, tossing them to us. They were musty but mercifully dry. I shook one out and placed it on the ground next to the still shack. The children all huddled on it as Maynard stacked some firewood onto the circle of stones near the front of the cave. Soon, the warmth of a roaring fire radiated through the space.
“I’m hungry,” June said weakly, after sipping from the water canteen I’d taken from the boat. None of us had eaten since that morning, and the unexpected reminder sent an earthquake through my stomach. “Does anyone have any food? Rations?” I asked aloud to the group. “These children haven’t eaten all day.”
Frank opened another crate and produced several tin cans. “Pork ‘n’ beans, potted ham, some carrots, peaches. Hell, I even have a few jars of Mrs. Miller’s famous pickled eggs if you’re so inclined.”
Ms. Griffith’s face screwed up. “I think a few of those might be broken,” she remarked irritably. “It reeks like sour vinegar in here.”
“Well, this ain’t exactly the Ritz, ma’am.”
Using a cast iron pot of questionable cleanliness, Maynard and I set to warming the ham and beans. He was a deft hand at cooking over an open fire, and I complemented his skill with what little equipment we had.
“I was a Boy Scout, spent most of my life outside. So none of this is new to me,” he smiled. His shoulder brushed against mine as he stoked the flames beneath the hanging pot. Another flame rekindled itself inside of me, and I turned away to hide the sudden redness in my cheeks. June’s complexion was nearly as rosy now, and I heard her giggling while playing with Douggie’s little toy car that he’d managed to keep ahold of.
I let myself relax a bit, stirring the simmering beans lazily after the coastie went to check on Ms. Griffith. Then someone else crouched next to me, and I flinched at the sudden smell of liquor and sweat.
“You an’ the seaman seem to be gettin’ along well,” Frank grinned devilishly. “He is a rather charming young man, isn’t he?”
I said nothing and focused on the cooking beans, willing him to just leave me be.
“You know…” he started, removing his cap, “I never did get a chance to say I was sorry, to you or to you brother, for my…indiscretion a while back. I know you both think me a drunken fiend, and, well, I won’t lie, I’d maybe had a little more of the ol’ white lightning than I should ‘ave that night.” Frank wrung his cap between his hands. “I know you hate me for it, an’ I don’t blame you. But I swear on the Bible and my momma’s grave that I wouldn’t have done what I did had I my full wits about me. Can you believe that, Miss Carmichael?”
“She shouldn’t.”
Russ was standing there behind both of us, the firelight flickering across his set jaw and clenched fists. Frank sighed and rose to his full height, a fair few inches above my brother. But instead of going chest-to-chest with my brother, the old Navy man backed up and put up a defensive hand.
“That goes for you as well, Russell. You’re a good boy, and a good brother for defending your sister. Drunk or no, it ain’t any excuse for what I done. All I have to offer is my sincere regret at the whole fiasco. And I hope both of you can accept my apology.”
Russ gazed long and hard into the man’s eyes, then gave a curt nod. Frank turned to me, raising a questioning brow. I couldn’t be sure if there was genuine remorse in them, but for the sake of easing the tension, I nodded as well.
Frank gave a little bow and returned to his post near the far end of the cave, perching on an overturned crate. I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, my heart thundering away in my chest. I felt no closure, only relief that the moment was past. Maynard returned to my side, resting a gentle hand on my shoulder before scooping a plate of beans into an empty can. “Everything alright?” he whispered.
I gave a little shrug, my hands shaking a bit as I attempted to open a can of peaches.
Maynard gently took the can and the opener from me. “I’m guessing something happened between you two. And that you can’t really talk about it.”
I said nothing, hoping that Maynard was astute enough to assume my lack of response was an answer in the affirmative. He gave my arm a squeeze, then handed me both cans and a spoon. “Go eat. I can take care of things from here.” I nodded and joined my siblings on the blanket. Despite the knot of nerves in my gut, I ate far more greedily than I’d intended, finishing both cans in minutes.
Rain began to patter against the bare branches outside of the cave, the light diminishing early to the cloud-veiled twilight. I was thankful to be here with my family, dry and fed and safe for the time being. Maynard was being more than kind, and even Frank was doing his part. He’d given the youngest a bottle of soda pop to share, and they took turns drinking and giggling over the fizzy beverage. Despite what we’d been through, we all seemed to be OK. Not everyone had made it off the river that day.
I thought about Jankosky, about his family and when they’d eventually hear the news. I thought about my parents, praying they were alright and wondering whether anyone had notified them of our predicament. It was possible that my aunt and uncle had already arrived at the rescue camp, and all of them were agonizing over our fate that very hour. Then there was the young woman that Russ called Marianne. Frank had called her a “witch”. Was that only because he was an ignorant bigot who thought anything different was wrong? Or had he actually known something about her that I did not?
There was a crack of a branch and a low chuffing sound down the hillside from us. June whimpered. “It’s just a deer, Junebug,” Russ reassured her. “They do that when they get spooked.”
“Maybe it’s ‘ol Green O’Leary, comin’ to take you away!” Frank cackled. June cowered behind me.“Shame on you, scarin’ her like that!” I scolded.
“She should be scared!” he retorted, taking a long swig from his canteen. “Everyone ‘round these parts knows what ‘ll happen if ol’ Green-O gets you.”
Douggie looked up at me wide-eyed. “What will happen, Rory?”
Frank laughed again. “You mean you youngins’ never heard tell the legend? What about you, Rusty-boy, surely you know ‘bout him?”
Russ nodded, arms crossed. “‘Course I have. But it ain’t the kinda tale to tell ‘round little ‘uns. Especially with all they been through today.”
“Well then, y’all musta had better folks then I did, ‘cuz I first heard it back when I was knee-high to a grasshopper just like them.” He smacked his lips, “Ah, I bet even ol’ Ms. Griffith has heard of ‘im, ain’t you?” The old woman gave Frank a contemptuous scowl.
“No? How ‘bout the seaman? Where ‘you from, son?”
“Owensboro,” Maynard answered.
“Oh hell, a Kentucky boy!” Frank said, swaying a bit as he took another drink. “Did ol’ Green-O make it down y’alls way?”
“I know the story, if that’s what you’re asking,” Maynard said calmly.
“Would you mind tellin’ it, then? And do try to keep it…wholesome. You know, for the children,” he giggled.
“Come on, you can tell us,” said Louis eagerly.
Maynard sighed in resignation. “Well…the way I heard it told, is that Liam O’Leary was an Irishman, came over in the late 1700s. He made his way to the Ohio Country, got caught up with the river pirate Samuel Mason. At some point, Mason accused him of taking some of his stolen goods. But instead of taking out O’Leary, Mason…he took his wife and son instead.”
Frank nodded grimly. “Found ‘em all hangin’ from a sycamore tree ‘long the river, with the words “DEBT PAID” written in their own blood on the rocks nearby. Ol’ Liam was so distraught that he hung himself next to his family.”
“Frank!”
But he ignored my rebuke and continued: “And legend has it that he still haunts the river looking for women an’ children to take to be his new family. That’s one version I’ve heard, ‘specially down below Cincy.” Frank took another drink. “Now let me tell you the true story:”
“Liam’s father came here as a boy with his family, like lots of Irish did a hundred years ago. He grew up, worked, married, started a family. Then in 1861, everything went to shit. Lot’s of young Irishmen were forced to pick a side. Well, if you chose the losing side–like Liam’s father and his brothers did–well, things weren’t exactly gonna go your way once it was all over with.
“Little Liam lost both of his older brothers to Union muskets, and his family had no love from the North nor did he have any for them in return. Times was tough for the O’Learys. But then on his deathbed, the elder O’Leary shared a secret.
“They say that the O’Learys were involved with the Knights of the Golden Circle, a secret society of Rebel sympathizers who wanted to start a second war. And supposedly, they stole and hid gold all over the north. Liam’s daddy said that knew where some of it was buried. Had a bonafide treasure map an’ all.
“So Liam, now a young man, he goes and gets a couple of friends and they go lookin’ for the treasure. And by God, they found it! A hidden cave full of gold and guns and all sorts of stuff. Well to no one’s surprise, the two ‘friends’ turn on Ol’ Liam, dropping him in a well near the river. This is in the winter of ‘84, and he’s in that well, freezin’ and living off the frogs burrowed in the muck at the bottom. And wouldn’t you know it, one of the worst floods ever–darn near as bad as this one–hits the Ohio Valley. Water starts pourin’ in that well, and that should ‘ave been that.
“But then, legend has it that Liam begged anything that would listen to save him from his fate. And whatever it was that answered…he ‘survived’, but only by being twisted into something that was less than a man. They say that now he sleeps in that well, hibernatin’, and that when the river floods, he wakes up to feed his hunger for flesh…and revenge.”
Frank searched for looks of approval in the firelight. The youngest were cowering behind Russ and I. Ms. Griffith snored lightly from her corner.
“It’s a good story,” Louis said, side-eying me.
“‘Course it’s a good story!” Frank howled, draining his canteen. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go see a man about a dog.” He gets up, grabs his walking stick, and shambles off into the night.
Russ leans over to me. “Think we’re lucky enough that he’ll fall off a cliff while taking a piss?”
I scolded him, but did secretly hope he was right.
“Why do they call him ‘Green O’Leary’?” Louis asked.
“I always heard that it was because his ghost was green,” Maynard shrugged. “Or maybe it was just because he was Irish.”
The rain had stopped, and all was quiet save for the popping of the fire and the occasional little cough from Ms. Griffith or June. Some time passed, and Frank still hadn’t returned. Maynard began pacing at the edge of the cave. With a final curse, he went to his supply pack and produced a small Eveready flashlight. “I think I should go check on him. He’s been gone far too long.”
“Please wait,” I begged, perhaps a bit too forcibly. “I mean, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go out there. If…something is out there, and we lose you, we’ll be down two of our strongest.”
“Hey, I’m still here,” Russ sulked.
I sighed. “Oh, you know what I mean, Russell. Maynard and Frank have…well, they’ve had special training for this sort of thing.”
“I can handle myself! If you remember, when Frank and I had–”
“What I remember, was that you had a black eye and a busted lip when it was over. And if someone can take out both Frank and Maynard, then I’m not so sure it’s going to be a fight you can win.”
“Yeah, but Frank’s drunk right now.”
“I’m not that drunk, Rusty-boy,” Frank said, wandering back into the firelight. “Takes a bit more liquor than this to put this ol’ sea dog down.” He paused in front of Russ. “Handled you pretty well, boy, and I was much further into the giggle juice that time.”
Russ glowered as Frank took back his seat on the crate. “If anyone else needs to make the call, do it now. Think it’s time for everyone to tuck in for the night.”
Cans and bottles were gathered and moved outside the cave so as not to attract varmints. I made a bed for myself and the two youngest. Russ slept in front of me, Louis leaning against a stack of corn sacks. Maynard offered to take the first shift while Frank slept off the contents of his canteen.
I was anxious, bruised, dirty, still somewhat damp, and only had a thin blanket between me and the dirt floor of the bootlegger’s cave. But what I was most of all was tired. Before I knew it, I was fast asleep.
And I dreamed. I was back in the boat, alone this time, floating along the main street of Providence as I had earlier that day. But now there were people, dozens of them all standing on the roofs of their houses and businesses. There were the Shoemakers, the McKeans, the Cliffords. There was Tom Pritchard, the boy I sometimes fancied, standing next to the sign for Providence Five & Dime, waving at me. I waved back. Then there was kind Mrs. Fields on the roof of the schoolhouse. I remember being glad that everyone was there, all my neighbors were alright.
And yet…there was something wrong with all of them. Their skin was dirty and gray, their hair wet and unkempt. Below eyes that were clouding over, water was dripping, then pouring out of their slack mouths. As I drew closer to the chapel, the doors swung open, pushing a wave of water towards me. Pastor Ellington waded out into water that was up to his chest. His milky white eyes locked onto mine as I drifted closer. From beneath the waters he raised a sodden bible, opened it carefully, and in a sickly, gargling voice he boomed:
“And behold I, yes even I, do bring a flood of waters upon the Earth to destroy all flesh, wherein is the breath of life. And everything that is in the Earth shall die…”
As he read, his skin darkened and his eyes bulged, giving him the moutled, putrid countenance of a rotting fish. I searched desperately around the boat for an oar or anything I could use to try to get away. But then many wet, rotten hands were grasping the side of the boat, and they were rocking it, then tipping it over.
“Aurora,” they all croaked in unison, the wretched corpses, the drowned and damned. Cold wet hands reached for me as I tumbled towards the awaiting abyss of the floodwaters. “Aurora…”
I gasped, realizing with a start that I was still rocking, hands still touching me. I shrieked in panic.
“Aurora! Wake–oh thank God, sorry but quickly, we need…” Maynard said frantically, then trailing off as Russ ran up behind him, carrying a lantern.
“No sign of any of them,” he panted.
“Dammit,” cursed Maynard. “I don’t understand it…”
I was still groggy and shaken by my sudden awakening. “What–Maynard? What’s going on?” I put my hand down to steady myself…right where June should have been laying.
I whirled around, scanning the cave. The three of us appeared to be the only ones there. Ms. Griffith was gone, as was Frank; and June, Douggie, and Louis were nowhere to be seen.
“Maynard…where are the kids?”