Chapter 72
Charlotte helped Mason down from the gelding at the water’s edge. The gravel bar extended into the river, slick with algae and dew, and beyond it, the water deepened toward the center channel where the current ran fastest.
“Stay close,” she said.
Mason nodded and gripped her gloved hand with the firmness of a child who understood that staying close could make all the difference.
The dog paced on the gravel, tense about the water.
Charlotte tightened the mare’s cinch one final time.
The saddlebags were packed with sixteen messages, water, antibiotics, and what remained of the supplies she had gathered at the farm a few days earlier.
She checked Mason’s mask and helped him back onto the gelding.
Just as they were about to enter the water, the first family arrived from the trail.
Five people emerged, the same family they had passed earlier.
The father gave Charlotte a brief nod before moving onto the gravel bar, followed closely by his wife and their three children.
The elderly women came next, advancing with walking sticks and measured caution as they assessed the water.
By the time Charlotte led the mare forward, twelve people had gathered on the gravel bar.
Three men with fishing gear were helping elderly women into life jackets.
Two wounded soldiers arrived with civilian support.
One used a rifle as a crutch, while the other had his arm in a makeshift sling.
They paused on the gravel to assess the crossing.
What had felt spacious just ten minutes earlier held eighteen people, two horses, and a dog.
Charlotte guided the mare into the water.
The cold hit her immediately, cutting through her fever.
The mare hesitated but then carefully stepped forward, followed by Mason’s gelding.
The dog entered last, visibly reluctant.
The current was stronger than it appeared.
As the water rose from her thighs to her waist, the mare searched for solid footing on the silt and stones, stumbling twice before finally finding stable ground.
Behind them, the other travelers entered the water in a staggered formation.
The family went first, followed by the elderly women in life jackets, moving forward with determined slowness.
The ford narrowed quickly. What looked broad from shore was in fact a path perhaps eight feet wide, carrying eighteen people, two horses, and their gear through a strengthening current.
The mare was halfway across when one of the wounded soldiers tried to pass upstream, lost his footing, and grabbed the saddle. The mare shied.
Charlotte steadied her with a low voice and felt the horse settle again. “Easy. Easy. I’ve got you.”
The soldier recovered and continued. In the center channel, the current was strong enough to sweep a person off their feet.
The water reached the mare’s withers, and Charlotte could feel the animal working beneath her.
Beside them, Mason’s gelding stood still, with the boy rigid in his seat, gripping the saddle horn.
They were three-quarters of the way across when a sudden sound reached them.
A sharp crack echoed over the water, followed by the roar of earth giving way.
Charlotte turned and saw part of the eastern trail collapse into the river.
Trees, roots, and soil slid into the water, sending a wave across the ford that lifted the mare’s hindquarters before she regained her footing.
The collapse had taken a fifteen-foot section of the trail, leaving raw earth and tilted trees in its place.
A family approaching the gravel bar from that section of the trail halted at the edge of the collapse.
Charlotte could see them clearly. The father had a child on his shoulders, while the mother held two more children by the hand.
They stood at the newly created precipice, frozen in place, processing the reality that the distance between where they were and where they needed to be had suddenly become unbridgeable by any means at their disposal.
Other travelers had been on that section when it gave way.
Charlotte couldn’t see how many. The collapse had caused confusion, movement, and voices calling out.
As the initial shock faded, the realization settled in that the ford they had all been counting on was now accessible only to those already on the gravel bar or in the water.
For everyone else, the river had transformed into an obstacle with no visible solution.
Charlotte turned back toward the far shore.
The mare began moving again, each step bringing them closer to West Virginia.
Behind her, the sounds of the collapse continued.
There was a secondary slip of dirt, the groaning of trees, and beneath it all, the constant voice of the river.
It had been there long before any of them arrived and would remain long after whatever happened next had concluded.
She didn’t look back again, knowing that doing so changed nothing.
The messages pressed against her chest. The mare’s front hooves found solid ground.
Then her hindquarters. Then they were across, standing on the western shore of the Potomac with sixteen messages, a child, a dog, two horses, and whatever came next.
Charlotte allowed herself one breath. The kind people take when they have crossed something that could have killed them and didn’t. Then she gathered the reins, adjusted Mason’s mask where the crossing had loosened it, and turned the mare toward the tree line.