The rocks bit into the soles of his boots and caught at his toes, slowing his progress. His legs pumped but seemed incapable of forward movement. Move. Move. Move. He ordered his limbs to rush onward and ran downstream until he was even with Libby. His heart thundering in his ears, he plowed into the river. Shock seared through him as icy-cold water soaked his legs and filled his boots. Libby had been in the water several minutes. Her blood would be ice by now.
The water impeded his movement.
He forged on, his muscles strengthened by the remembrance of running to save Nancy and Beau and Alice. He’d arrived too late that time.
He would not fail this time.
Libby was almost within reach. If she would lift her arm, he could catch her.
“Libby, give me your hand.”
She turned her head slowly. The cold had already numbed her. She drifted on, out of reach.
He dived for her, the cold water penetrating his clothes. His brain begged to be free of this torture, but he did not listen.
He caught the tail of Libby’s coat as it floated behind her.
“Don’t let it come off,” he yelled, hoping to get through to her numbed brain.
He planted his feet and pulled her to him. The coat hung from her elbows, but it held, enabling him to catch her. It saved her.
He crushed the child to his chest as his heart thundered in his ears. She was like holding a block of ice. If she didn’t get warm soon—
He would not think of the consequences and rushed out of the water and up the bank.
Clara and Eleanor raced toward him.
“Is she—” Clara’s voice caught.
“She’s cold. I need to get her to the shack and get her warm.” No need for both of them to think the worst.
Clara made it to the door first and threw it open. “Bring her in.”
He carried Libby toward the stove. Clara was already adding wood to the coals and stirring up the flames. He snagged a chair and sat down, Libby on his lap. He worked off Libby’s dripping coat.
Her eyes were big, her skin bluish.
Clara grabbed a blanket and held it toward the stove to warm it.
Libby sat in her wet dress. If this were his child, he’d have no worry about removing it. “She needs to get her wet things off.”
Clara handed him the warmed blanket, and they switched places.
He should leave them to their privacy, but he couldn’t go until he was certain Libby was okay. He held the blanket to the stove as Clara removed the wet dress and petticoat.
With the blanket before him to shield the child, he waited for Clara to remove the last of her wet things; then she wrapped Libby tightly in the warm blanket he handed her.
Clara rubbed Libby hard. “Thank you.” A sob caught in her throat. “Thank you.”
His teeth chattered.
Clara brought her gaze to him. “You’re cold and wet.”
“I’ll go change.” He rushed from the shack and over to the church. He quickly shed his wet clothes and put on dry things. He’d been able to save her. He fell to his knees. Why, God? Why could I save someone else’s child and not my own?
But there was no answer. Only regret and sorrow. Also satisfaction that Libby had not drowned.
But she had been frightfully cold. Was she really okay?
It took him several minutes to pull his wet boots on again, and then he trotted back to the shack.
He paused outside the door. “It’s Blue. Can I come in?”
“Come ahead,” Clara called. She glanced up as he entered. “Where’s your coat? You must be cold. Come and sit by the fire.”
He obeyed without thinking and lifted the corner of the blanket to peek at Libby swaddled in her mother’s arms. “Is she okay?”
Her blue eyes were wide and watchful. “You saved me.” Her voice filled with awe.
He chuckled. “I guess that answers my question. Mind telling me how you fell in the river?”
Clara caught Libby’s chin. “I’d like to hear, too.”
Libby sat up and clutched the blanket around her.
Seeing Eleanor watching with such longing, Blue lifted her to his lap. She snuggled close.
“I was trying to be Moses.” Libby seemed disappointed.
“I told her she couldn’t make the waters part.” Eleanor’s voice was muffled against Blue’s shirtfront. “But she wouldn’t listen. She never listens to me.”