Across the River - an 1800s Black / Native American Novella

Chapter 1

"Well, get back in the house, you fool. Are you fixin' to die? It's freezin' out here. You don't even have shoes on."

Naomi looked down. It was true. She was dressed just in her nightshift. The sickness had come on so sudden that she'd raced out, leaving the door wide open behind her.

She gingerly stepped through the snow back to the house, Bill tromping in behind her. She idly wondered if he'd gotten into yet another fight down at the tavern. Normally he wouldn't have been home for hours yet. But she didn't dare to ask him. She'd learned quickly not to question anything he did. His answer was often the back of his hand.

He slammed shut the door behind him, then pulled off his heavy boots. Naomi went to the fire to stir it into life. Their home was small – barely two rooms closed in by rough-hewn timber and a roof which leaked in the rainy season. The room they were in held a rough-hewn table, four wooden chairs, and two open shelves filled with their meager possessions. The other room held the large bed for the adults, a smaller mat for Johnny, and the crib for young Polly.

Soon they would need another.

Bile rose in Naomi's throat. She staggered to sit in the chair nearest her.

Bill snapped a look at her. "What is with you, woman? You best not be slacking off 'cause I wasn't around. You see me?"

She pulled a smile onto her face. "I'm fine. Really. Everything will be set for Christmas tomorrow."

She bit her lip. She shouldn't ask. She really shouldn't ask. But the thought of young Johnny in the other room, and his fervent pleas, made her continue. "Were you able to get that toy horse that Johnny wanted?"

Bill turned with the bottle of whiskey in one hand, a metal cup in another. His eyes flared. "What are we – in the pines? Made of money? Of course I didn't buy the spoiled brat that horse. Twenty-five cents! I could buy a quart of rum with that!"

Naomi glanced over. A pair of large eyes were peering from the corner of the bedroom.

She stood, putting herself between Bill and her young son. A note of pleading came into her voice. "Please, Bill. It's Christmas. And Johnny's been so good –"

Bill's brows came together. Deep creases shadowed his face.

For a heart-stopping moment Naomi could see clearly why the locals all called him "Devil" Bill.

Her throat tightened, and she put her hands up before her. "You're right. Of course. Absolutely right. I'll find him something else for a present for Johnny."

Bill's glower shimmered with heat. "You're damn right you will. No son of mine is gonna to grow up spoiled. He's gotta work for what he gets. That's how a man lives. He takes what he wants and he don't let no meddlin' crow-black woman tell him otherwise." He coughed and spit into the corner. His voice dropped into a grumble. "Damn crow women's all alike."

Naomi glanced behind her. The round eyes were gone.

She looked to Bill. "I gotta check on the baby." Her hand went automatically to her stomach, and she flinched.

Bill's eyes lit up in a leer. "My seed take a'hold again so quick? I done waited the three months before I mounted you. My mammy always said three months is what she needed to gain strength for the next one. Kept her from dying in childbirth, like all those weak women do. But you can't keep a man off forever." His grin grew. "Ain't healthy for a man to go too long without."

Naomi's hand tensed against her belly. He couldn't know. Not when her soul was already twisted with worry.

She shook her head. "I'm not pregnant," she insisted. "I'm just sick."