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  The rush began. Ashford ran into the store. Men ran to their houses for shovels. Women ran, taking the children up the rise.

  “I’ll go sound the bell. Call for help!” called out Gunther, the young man courting Amanda Ashford. He ran south toward the school.

  “Asa! What can we do?” Emma, with Judith beside her, called out. His wife was staring at him as if she’d never seen him before.

  He had no time for that. “Get needle and thread!” he replied. “Those sacks of sand will need to be sewn securely or our efforts will fail.”

  “We’ll carry down my sewing machine!” Mrs. Ashford called out and hurried into her store.

  Asa looked at Colton. “Go get your sister and head up with the rest of the children. Keep Lily right with you, and if it rains, get her under cover.”

  Colton jumped from the wagon and raced straight to his sister, dragging her by the hand to higher ground. Asa hated that he’d been forced to act, but he couldn’t let helpless people suffer when he knew what to do. Irritation prodded him. He didn’t want to be the one giving orders—once again. He swallowed angry words, stuffed them down and strode ahead to see that the effort to save the town began.

  *

  Thoughts of Judith’s startled expression intruded over the intense hours that followed. But Asa had no time to ponder his wife. More people, those who’d heard the school bell, streamed into town. And stood there, dumbfounded at the rising river.

  Asa wondered about the people around him, helpless in this crisis. He had to show them how to fill the sandbags, where to stack them and how to stack them like a brick wall. But once he got them working, they were like a hive of bees. Asa worked alongside them, sweat pouring down his face, his arms aching from digging, filling, lifting.

  Mrs. Ashford and Emma took turns sewing the bags closed. Some women with Judith sat on Ashford’s porch, hand-sewing bags shut. The wall of sandbags formed and began to grow. But Judith said nothing to him. Whenever he glimpsed her, she looked at him as if she didn’t know him, and then her gaze slid away. She never came near but kept her distance. I can’t worry about that now.

  Asa roamed the line, encouraging, working, not letting despair take hold. “We can do this. I’ve seen it done. But the wall must be strong and near as tall as me.” He saw an older man flagging and moved him off the line, telling him to bring water and a dipper for the line of sweating men.

  A few older children ran down and began bringing pails of water to the workers. Hours passed. Periodically women brought out food, and in between filling up sandbags, the men shoved morsels into their mouths and went right back to filling and stacking.

  Hours later, Asa once again studied the river level, considering. “Women, just in case the worst happens, start carrying everything you can lift up to the second level of each store. I don’t think the water will reach that high.”

  Gasping, the people gawked at him as if collectively asking, “That high? Is it possible?”

  “Yes!” he replied with a resounding shout. “It can go that high. We don’t know how high the crest will be here. Get your animals to safety, too. Now go!”

  And they went.

  Thick clouds hovered over them and masked the sun, which lowered, lowered. Finally dusk darkened the sky. The panting, sweat-soaked men looked to Asa, slumping, silently asking for reprieve.

  He walked the line of sandbags along the river. “I know we’re tired. But we’ve got to keep working till we can’t see to work. That river—” he pointed toward the Mississippi “—has power you can’t imagine till you see it rolling toward you, downing full-grown trees, destroying everything and everyone in its path. This wall has got to be higher than the flood. Keep working, men!”

  No one argued. The men bent again, digging up more sand and pouring it into bags. Asa stacked bags and stacked more, making certain they were placed right and would hold against the coming flood.

  Finally night closed in around them. Scattered lanterns glimmered. Asa dragged the last few bags and saw to their position. A wall of sandbags nearly chest-high to him hemmed in the riverfront north to south. It would have to do.

  “I think we should pause to pray,” Noah Whitmore, who’d joined the work, said in the faint moonlight. Everyone bowed their heads. “Father, we’ve done all we can to save our town. Now it is in Your hands. We ask humbly for You to protect not just our buildings but all the people here. Thank You. In Your name we pray, Amen.”

  Noah looked to Asa. “Is there anything else we should do?”

  Asa turned toward the sound of the rushing river, the danger it posed rushing through him. “The river level has been rising all day. I don’t know when it will crest, but I think the safest course is to leave no one in town. Our wall is built right and strong, but one never knows with a river. If you’ve ever seen a flood, you’ll know what I mean.”

  He paused, drawing in a deep draft of air, not wanting to say what he must. “Townspeople, take your precious belongings and go stay with friends above the rise.” He pointed to the bluff behind town. “We have room for guests.”

  “Excellent,” Noah agreed. “We have room for another family. Everyone go to a friend’s house. You will be taken in. Now let’s go while we have some light.” He looked up at the veiled moon. “I feel certain more rain is coming tonight.”

  Sandy, sweaty and weary, the people began to obey. Nearly everyone who passed Asa said a word or touched his arm. He wanted just to go, but he couldn’t leave his post till all were safe.

  A familiar touch at his wrist. He looked down and saw that Lily was taking his hand. Colton stood beside her. But where was Judith? He recalled her shocked expression when he sounded his warning shots. What did she think of him assuming command, telling people what to do? And what if all this work was for naught? Had he made the right call?

  Chapter Eight

  The Ashfords and, of course, Emma rode in the Brant wagon home with Judith and her family. Their daughter, Amanda, had elected to go with Gunther to the Langs’ cabin ostensibly to help Gunther’s aunt.

  The day had taken its toll on Judith. When Asa had stood, fired his rifle and began giving orders, she’d recognized him. In that flash, Asa’s true identity had stunned her.

  Even though she’d done her best to help with the effort to save the town, she could barely follow simple directions. Why hadn’t Asa told her who he was? Why didn’t he use his first name? The questions she couldn’t ask now with the Ashfords listening swirled in her mind. And what if she were wrong? The vague memory of those days in 1861 and 1865 would not come into focus, leaving her some doubt.

  The effort to appear normal had further drained her. When she glimpsed their cabin in the moonlight, she wanted to run inside, crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head. But of course she couldn’t.

  The Ashfords, Emma and the children needed her to provide a meal, provide bedding. With nothing prepared, she merely brought out bread, butter, cheese and milk and made a fresh pot of coffee. As Emma and Mrs. Ashford helped, the latter provided a constant stream of words, which Judith merely nodded at occasionally.

  Soon a cold supper had been eaten, and then sleeping arrangements had to be worked out. Over it all, rain drummed on the roof till Judith wanted to scream her frustration and confusion.

  After much offering and refusing, the Ashfords were persuaded to take the bedroom, while Emma bedded down, sharing a pallet with Lily and the kittens near Colton’s by the fire. That left Judith to climb the ladder and join Asa in the loft. Of course, on no account must anyone find out that Judith and Asa still slept apart. She could only hope that neither Lily nor Colton would innocently let this juicy bit of gossip out.

  She struggled up to the last rung, her voluminous nightgown and robe hampering her. There Asa offered her his hand to help her negotiate shifting onto the loft. She stared at her husband’s hand in the low firelight. Doubt hovered within her. Why had he shortened his name and never told her who he was? He knew her brother!r />
  Finally she bowed to necessity and let him help her. Then, both on their knees, they stared at each other. Words, questions jammed in her throat. Yet she noted his exhaustion. That and the fact that they had an audience who might hear every word forced her to remain silent.

  He motioned toward the pallet he’d unrolled for her. She crept to it and then sat.

  “Night,” Asa muttered, rolling into a quilt on his own pallet.

  Judith didn’t reply. Without shedding her voluminous robe, she lay on her back, listening to the insistent rain, and let her mind return to the first time she’d seen Asa Brant over a decade ago in 1861.

  Fort Sumter had fallen. President Lincoln’s call for volunteers had gone out, and local men had gathered to enlist and form a militia unit to defend the Union. While their wives and sisters had sewn uniforms of blue, the men, mostly farmers, had finished plowing and sowing their fields and each evening practiced marching and firing their rifles. Then the day had come when the local militia marched to the nearest railhead to ride east and end the secessionist uprising. She felt a pang recalling Emma wishing her fiancé farewell.

  She turned back to the memory. She, Emma, their father and the other families of the militia had arrived at the rail stop. In the jostling, excited crowd, Judith heard again the jumble of voices of family and friends who’d come to see their brothers, fathers, sons, husbands and fiancés off to war. Her brother, Gil, had looked so proud that day in the new uniform that she and Emma had sewn him. Leading the militia had been Fitzgerald A. Brant, captain of the Rock River Illinois Militia. The man she was now married to.

  That first moment they met here at the dock she’d thought he looked familiar, but why hadn’t she recognized him in the days since? She had no explanation except that her mind just had not made the connection.

  As she lay staring at the roofing planks, that day in 1861 became clearer in her mind, and she recalled it vividly. Asa had mounted a wagon just as he had today. To quiet the milling, excited crowd, he’d fired his rifle and then commanded his men to board the train by rank.

  That’s it. It’s not the face that I recognized. I saw it only from a distance. It’s the man taking command—his voice, his actions—that jogged my memory.

  The contrast between that proud, happy day and the aftermath of the long, deadly war rolled through her like the low thunder outside. Sudden tears streamed down the sides of her face. But she held the memory of that day like a photograph in a frame, examining it over and over. Was her memory right?

  Was Asa Brant really Fitzgerald A. Brant? And if he was, why didn’t he use his first name? Had Emma recognized him, too? What had happened to lead him to change his name? The answer came easily—the war. But that didn’t make sense. Fitzgerald A. Brant had done nothing to be ashamed of. Or had he?

  *

  Lying on his side with his back to Judith, Asa felt his muscles ache with the day of hard digging. But that did not bother him as much as what he’d done today. And worse yet, Judith’s reaction to what he’d done.

  Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut and go home? I don’t own anything in town.

  His conscience smacked him. You’d leave your neighbors to suffer and maybe die?

  No. But what if I was wrong? What if I ordered everybody to do all that work for nothing?

  He could not believe that was true. The swollen river had been rising and truly dangerous. And even the temporary levee they’d constructed might not be high enough, strong enough to hold back the tumultuous river.

  He recalled Judith’s expression as, just moments ago, she’d stared at him from the top of the ladder. What had happened for her to look at him as if he were a stranger? Was it the peril to the town? Was it mere worry? He didn’t know. But all day she could barely look at him and had spoken no personal word to him since he’d fired the rifle in town this morning. What was she thinking? Did she fear that side of him, a side she had never before seen?

  He groaned soundlessly. He could only hope that the town would survive the flood and that Judith would return to normal. He tried to relax his tight muscles and hoped exhaustion would shut down his thoughts and aching pain. Thoughts of what might come tomorrow and what people might say about him clamored to be heard.

  And on their heels, as always when he was overtired, came memories of battle scenes, that day at Gettysburg. He shut his eyes and began counting, the only way he’d ever found to block out the past, the present. Why did his sense of duty keep goading him? Why couldn’t he ever just leave well enough alone?

  *

  The morning after next, the seven of them had barely finished breakfast when they heard the school bell ringing. Mr. Ashford headed straight to town. Asa retreated into the barn, as Judith could have predicted.

  Soon she heard Mr. Ashford shouting, “The flood has passed! Come! See!”

  Judith stepped outside and looked up at the clear sky overhead. She, the other two women and Lily ran toward the voice calling them. They met others on the way to town.

  Then they followed the bend in the road that led down to the river flat where the town sat. From the rise, Judith realized that in the distance, the Mississippi River’s level had lowered some. Judith, along with the rest of the people who lived north of town, ran the last few feet to the local sheriff, Brennan Merriday, who stood in the middle of Main Street. They all gathered around him.

  “Who rang the bell?” Mrs. Ashford asked, breathless.

  “I did,” said the sheriff, who had a pronounced Southern accent. “When I got back from my rounds a day ago, Rachel told me about the sandbag levee. Wasn’t going to leave the town unprotected, so I perched under an oilcloth up yonder on the rise.”

  People nodded solemnly.

  “Anyway, the flood crested early this mornin’ at barely light. I heard it. The water rushin’ fast.”

  “Our sandbags held!” Levi shouted, coming up from the wall they’d built.

  “It did indeed,” the sheriff agreed. “It’s good y’all stacked it high enough.”

  “It was Asa Brant,” Levi said. “He knew what to do.”

  “Our town is saved,” Mr. Ashford said, “thanks to Asa Brant.”

  Everyone began looking around for Asa.

  Judith cleared her throat, forced to give an explanation of her husband’s absence and stem speculation. “My husband is a very modest man, a private one.”

  Everyone turned their attention to her.

  “He…he won’t want anyone to make…a fuss,” Judith said, feeling her way, trying to…do what? Protect her husband? She hoped they would listen to her but had no real hope that they would.

  Everyone turned as if to head northward. Toward their cabin? Judith began to panic. Asa had taken refuge in his barn. If they hurried there to thank him, what would he do? Say?

  “I think,” the sheriff said loudly and with emphasis, “that is understandable. Asa seems a very private man, all right. And we’ve got enough to do here for now.”

  Everyone turned and, after a moment of silence, began speaking about what needed to be done to move back into town.

  Judith sighed with relief and offered to help the Ashfords move back into their quarters by carrying down the items they’d crowded up from the first to the second floor. If only everyone would stay away from Asa. But how long could that last? Then she wondered again at the invisible wall Asa hid behind. Now that she knew who he was, she was no further ahead in understanding him. It must have something to do with the war. But what? He’d returned an honored veteran—that’s what everyone said. She could not come up with a reason he’d altered his identity.

  *

  The next day, Judith rejoiced in the dawn’s light, which turned all the trees in front of their cabin to gold. Two days in a row without rain. Had the spring rains played out at last? Could planting begin? A year without a crop could render Pepin nearly a ghost town.

  While Judith finished washing the breakfast dishes, Colton was gathering eggs for her. Lily w
as playing with the new little rag doll Judith had sewn for her after her other Clara had finally fallen apart and had been set on the mantel. Of course, as soon as the meal had ended, Asa had headed for the barn. Judith’s heart felt as if it were caught in a noose. She’d begun to care for her husband, but she was no closer to understanding him.

  She dried the dishes, gazing around the cabin. She’d come here just wanting peace and a home. Well, she had a home. But trying to reconcile who Asa had been in the past in contrast to his present life and his desire to keep everyone, even her, away did not add up to peace.

  “Judith!”

  At the sound of her sister’s voice, Judith set down the plate, pulled at her apron strings and stepped into her open doorway. “Emma!”

  Once more Judith argued with herself. Should she ask her sister if she’d recognized Asa? Sometimes Judith was absolutely certain that Asa was Fitzgerald Brant, but then doubt would niggle at her. If he was, why hadn’t he just told her so? Her head hurt with thinking.

  “I come with definite good news.” Emma glanced toward the barn and lowered her voice for Judith only. “And perhaps not so good news.”

  Lily, of course, followed Emma inside.

  Judith offered coffee, and the two sisters sat in the chairs by the fire. For once, Lily decided to take her doll and kittens to play outside in the sunshine, releasing some of Judith’s tension and caution. Nonetheless, she decided to let Emma take the lead in this conversation. “Now, what did you mean?”

  “I’ve been offered the position as Pepin’s schoolteacher.”

  Judith’s mood shot upward. “Oh, Emma, I’m so glad. I didn’t want you to leave town.” She claimed her sister’s hand. “I like having you near.”

  “I must agree. And I will move into the teacher’s quarters this week.”

  “You’ll be happy to be by yourself,” Judith commented diplomatically.

  Emma chuckled. “I really do like the Ashfords. They have treated me just like a daughter, but it will be nice to have a bit of quiet.” Emma’s face crinkled into a grin. Then she sobered. “Now for the less than good news.”