And then everything went black.

SEVENTEEN

   Beth heard the girls before she saw them, their voices high above the roar of the water, childish and shrill. They clung to the front of a ramshackle cabin, their feet ankle deep in water, and yelling at her, “Miss! Miss!” She tried to recall the family name—McCarthy? McCallister?—and urged her horse across the water, but Scooter, already spooked by the strange electric atmosphere of the air and the dense, punishing rain, had made it partway across the swollen creek, then half reared and spun away so that she almost fell off. She righted herself but he would not be moved, snorting and running backward until his brain was so addled she feared he would do himself an injury.

Cursing, Beth had dismounted, thrown his reins over a pole and waded across the water toward them. They were young, the youngest maybe two at most, and clad in thin cotton dresses that clung to their pale skin. As she approached, they clamored for her, six little anemone arms, reaching, waving. She got to them just before the surge. A rush of black water, so fast and hard that she had to grab the baby around her middle to stop her being carried away. And then there she was, three small children huddled around her, gripping her coat, her voice making reassuring noises even as her brain raced to work out how in hell she was going to make her way out of this one.

“Is anyone in the house?” she yelled at the eldest, trying to be heard above the torrent. The child shook her head. Well, that’s something, she thought, pushing away visions of bedbound grandmothers. Beth’s bad arm ached already, holding the baby tight to her chest. She could see Scooter on the other side, jittering around the pole, no doubt ready to snap his reins and bolt. She had liked the fact that he was part Thoroughbred when Fred offered him to her; he was fast and showy and didn’t need to be pushed to go forward. Now she cursed his tendency to panic, his pea-sized brain. How was she going to get three babies onto him? She looked down as the water lapped around her boots, seeping into her stockings, and her heart sank.

“Miss, are we stuck?”

“No, we ain’t stuck.”

And then she heard it, the whine of a car headed down the road toward her. Mrs. Brady? She squinted to see. The car slowed, stopped, and then, lo and behold, if Izzy Brady didn’t climb out, her hand sheltering her eyes as she tried to work out what she was seeing across the water.

“Izzy? That you? I need help!”

They shouted instructions to each other across the creek, but were unable to hear each other properly amid the noise. Finally Izzy waved her hand, as if to wait, crunched the big glossy car into gear and began to creep forward toward them, its engine roaring.

You can’t drive the damn car across the water, Beth breathed, shaking her head. Did the girl have no sense at all? But Izzy stopped just as the front wheels were almost submerged, then ran lopsidedly to the trunk and hauled it open, pulling out a rope. She ran back to the front of the car, unspooling it, and hurled the end of the rope at Beth, once, twice, and again before Beth was able to catch it. Now Beth understood. At this distance it was just long enough to secure to the post of the porch. Beth put her weight on it and noted with relief that it held firm.

“Your belt,” Izzy was yelling, gesticulating. “Tie your belt around the rope.” She was securing her end of the rope to the car, her hands swift and certain. And then Izzy took hold of the rope and began to make her way toward them, her limp no longer visible as she navigated the water. “You okay?” she said, as she reached them, hauling herself onto the porch. Her hair was flat and under her felt coat her pale, baby-soft sweater sagged with water.

“Take the baby,” Beth answered. She wanted to hug Izzy then, an uncharacteristic feeling, which she smothered in brisk activity. Izzy grasped the child, and gave the little girl a beaming smile, as if they were simply out on a picnic. All the while she was smiling, Izzy pulled her scarf from around her neck and wrapped it around the eldest’s waist, tying it to the rope.

“Now, me and Beth, we’re going to walk across, holding on, and you’re gonna be right between us, tied to the rope. You hear?”

The eldest child, her eyes wide and round, shook her head.

“It’ll only take us a minute to get across. And then we’ll all be nice and dry on the other side and we can get you back to your mama. C’mon, sweetie.”

“I’m scared,” the child mouthed.

“I know, but we still have to get across.”

The child glanced at the water, then took a step backward, as if to disappear inside the cabin.

Beth and Izzy exchanged a look. The water was rising fast.

“How about we sing a song?” Izzy said. She crouched down to the child’s level. “When I’m afeared of anything, I sing me a happy song. Makes me feel better. What songs do you know?”

The child was trembling. But her eyes were on Izzy’s.

“How about ‘Camptown Races’? You know that one, right, Beth?”

“Oh, my favorite,” said Beth, one eye on the water.

“Okay!” said Izzy.

    The Camptown ladies sing this song

 Doo-da, doo-da.

 The Camptown racetrack’s five miles long

 Oh, de doo-da day.

She smiled, stepping back into the water, which was now at thigh level. She kept her eye on the child, beckoning her forward, her voice high and cheerful, as if she had not a care in the world.

    Going to run all night

 Going to run all day

 I bet my money on a bob-tailed nag

 Somebody bet on the bay.

“That’s it, sweetheart, you follow me. Hold on tight now.”

Beth slid in behind them, the middle child high on her hip. She could feel the force of the current beneath, smell the hint of acrid chemicals infusing it. There was nothing she wanted to do less than forge this water, and she didn’t blame the kid for not wanting to, either. She held the toddler close, and the child plugged in her thumb, closing her eyes, as if removing herself from what she saw around her.

“C’mon, Beth,” came Izzy’s voice from in front, insistent, musical. “You join in too now.”

    Oh, the long-tailed filly and the big black horse

 Doo-da, doo-da

 Come to a mud hole and they all cut across,

 Oh, de doo-da day.

And there they were, wading across, Beth’s voice reedy and her breath somewhere in her chest, nudging the child forward. The little girl sang haltingly, her knuckles white on the rope, her face contorted with fear, yelping as she was occasionally lifted off her feet. Izzy kept glancing back, urging Beth to keep on singing, keep on moving.