Counterfeit Lady (James River Trilogy 1)

Once ashore, the men put their shovels over their shoulders and trudged up the hill, their heads down, letting the brims of their hats protect them somewhat from the rain. Once they arrived at the site where the others were digging, they lost no time in going to work. The Clayton who’d come to give them their orders was not a man they wanted to disobey.

Clay sank the shovel into the soggy earth. Now was not the time to let himself think he was helping Nicole in her sacrifice. Suddenly, it seemed important to him to save his crops. He wanted to harvest that tobacco as much as he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

He dug with more energy than he’d ever experienced before. He acted like a demon possessed. He concentrated so hard on moving shovelfuls of earth that he didn’t at first feel the hand on his arm. When he came back to the present, he turned to look into Nicole’s eyes.

It was a jolt seeing her again. In spite of the hard, driving rain, they might have been alone. They both wore broad-brimmed hats, the water running down across their faces.

“Here!” she yelled over the fury of the rain. “Coffee.” She held up a mug, her hand covering the open top.

He took it and drained it without a word.

She took the empty mug and walked away from him.

He stood quietly for a moment and watched her trying to walk in the sucking mud. She seemed especially small in the man’s clothing, the big boots. All around him, trampled in the mud, were stalks of nearly ripe wheat—her wheat.

He looked around him for the first time. There were fifteen men digging at the trench. He recognized Isaac and Wes at one end. To his left lay the land they were trying to cut away. The wheat bent under the pelting rain, but the hill’s slope assured good drainage. Not far away was a low stone wall. Clay had watched Isaac and Nicole build those walls. Every time she’d lifted a stone, he’d drunk a little bit more. Now, all that labor was being pushed into the river, discarded as if it meant nothing. And all for him.

He stabbed the shovel into the earth again and began to dig harder.

What little light there was began to fade a few hours later. Nicole came to him once again and pantomimed that he was to stop and eat. Clay shook his head and kept digging.

Night came, and the men still dug. There was no way to have lanterns, so they dug half by instinct and half by their increased night vision. Wesley tried to keep the diggers inside the lines he’d set.

Toward morning, Wes came to Clay and motioned for him to follow. The diggers were very tired, their bodies cold and aching. The shoveling was bad enough, but combined with the viciousness of the rain, it pushed them past exhaustion.

Clay followed Wes to the end point where the trench was being cut. They were very close to being through. In another hour or so, they’d know if their labor had accomplished anything. It flashed through Clay’s mind that the river did not have to take Nicole’s sacrifice. It could stay where it was and ignore the canal.

Wes looked in question to Clay, asking his opinion on the formation of the mouth of the trench. The rain was too loud and hard for them to speak over it. Clay pointed at a cutaway in the bend of the river, and the two friends began to dig there, together.

The sky began to lighten with the dawn. The men could see what they had done and where they must go. Only six feet were needed to complete the deep ditch.

Wes and Clay exchanged looks over Nicole’s head. She dug beside the men, never looking up. The men had the same thought. In minutes, they’d know if they would succeed or not.

Suddenly, the river answered their question. It was too greedy to wait for the removal of the six feet. The water rushed into the trench from both sides at once. The wet, soft ground fell away as if it were made of pastry dough. The diggers barely had time to jump back before they were swept away. Clay grabbed Nicole about the waist and swung her to the safe, higher ground.

All the diggers stood back and watched the river consume the wheat-planted earth. The land fell in thick, dark, rich sheets, falling into the water, then disappearing forever. The turbulent water rushed across the land like volcanic lava.

“Look!” Wes yelled above the noise.

Everyone looked across the river to where he pointed. They’d been so fascinated by the sight of the earth falling that they hadn’t noticed Clay’s fields. As the river moved to fill the gap left by Nicole’s land, which it now carried downstream, the level lowered considerably. The last rows of tobacco that had once been buried now were seen again, flattened and ruined, but the rows above them were safe.

“Hooray!” Nicole shouted, the first to do so.

Suddenly, the tiredness left everyone. They’d worked all night to accomplish one thing and they’d done it. Jubilation replaced their weariness. They began waving their shovels about in the air. Isaac grabbed Luke’s hand and they did a little impromptu jig in the mud.

“We did it!” Wes shouted over the steady rain. He grabbed Nicole and tossed her in the air. Then, he turned her and threw her to Clay as if she were a sack of grain.

Clay was grinning broadly. “You did it,” he laughed as he caught Nicole in his arms. “You did it! My beautiful, brilliant wife!” He crushed her to him and kissed her, a deep, hungry kiss.

For a moment, Nicole forgot the time, the place, all that had happened. She kissed Clay with all the passion she felt. She felt like a starving woman, and he was the only food for her.

“Time enough for that later,” Wes said as he slapped Clay on the shoulder. His eyes carried a warning. The men watched them in curiosity.

Nicole stared up at Clay, and she knew that tears mingled with the rain on her face.

Reluctantly, he set her down. He moved away from her quickly, as if she were fire and he would be burned, but his eyes held hers in fascination and question.

“Let’s eat,” Wes shouted. “I hope the women made enough food, because I could eat at least a wagon-load.”