Chapter 31

31

Sullivan held tightly to Silas as the rushing water swept them downstream, the glow from the burning steamer fading into the night.

"That's right," he called above the river. "Lie on your back. Don't fight the current."

The runaway had fought him when they'd first jumped off the texas deck into the river. But Sullivan had expected it. Most people who thought they were drowning struggled hard. But thankfully, the young man had remembered Sullivan's warning in time and had cooperated enough that Sullivan had been able to drag them both up to the surface, far enough from the flaming pieces that they hadn't needed to worry about the debris.

For mid-May the water was still icy, and Silas was shaking uncontrollably now. They had to get out soon before their bodies went into shock.

Sullivan kicked his legs and stroked with his free arm, guiding them closer to the bank. Although he couldn't distinguish the riverbank well, he could see enough to know that if he tried to bring them to shore along this particular stretch, they'd risk hitting rocks and logs. Instead, he was aiming for a section of grassy and sandy bank down farther.

If they could withstand the cold long enough to get there...

What he wouldn't give for just a little bit of the heat he'd just experienced in the conflagration. As he'd crawled out of the pilothouse window on the starboard side facing away from the St. Louis waterfront, he'd kept low. And as he'd snaked down the railing to the texas deck, he'd smashed open the window to his cabin with his boots to find the flames burning the bed.

Silas had already exited the closet and was cowering in a corner, staying in the room the way Sullivan had instructed him when the fire had first started. Sullivan had given him only the briefest of directions as they'd climbed out the window facing the Illinois side of the river. Then they'd jumped.

Moments after they'd hit the water and gone under, he'd heard the crashing of the steamboat collapsing upon itself. All he'd been able to do was offer silent prayers of gratefulness that they'd made it off in time.

The river wasn't running as fast as it had been in April. He was thankful for that too. He at least had some control of where he was swimming, even if it was difficult to navigate while trying to keep Silas from going under.

"There!" he called, cocking his head toward the shore. They were getting close to the grassy, sandy area, and now was the time to break out of the current. If he couldn't do it at this juncture, he didn't know where the next safe landing spot would be. Maybe another mile. The trouble was, their bodies might not last another mile.

"Kick your legs and veer to the right." He shoved hard against the water, attempting to propel them east to the bank ahead.

Silas did likewise with quick strokes. His eyes were wide and white in the darkness, but his face held a determination that Sullivan drew strength from. The young man wasn't more than fourteen, small enough to fit into the trunk he brought on board with every voyage. But even at so young an age, he'd likely been weathered and shaped by all that he'd gone through so that now he was able to face this new challenge without flinching.

"Harder!" Sullivan pushed toward the shore, but with only one arm to use in propelling them, he wasn't gaining the traction they needed.

Silas kicked more furiously. But the current seemed determined to keep them within its deathlike grip.

Was this it, then? Was this how he would die? Freezing to death and drowning in the Mississippi?

Enya's beautiful face flashed to the front of his thoughts. To say he'd been surprised to see her at the waterfront was an understatement. Had she viewed the fire from their upstairs window and come to investigate whether he was safe? It was possible.

Although he hadn't liked that she'd been so close to the danger, he couldn't deny he'd relished seeing her. And now he needed to make it back to her.

"Let's go!" he called to Silas. "We have to push together."

"Now?"

"Now." At the same time, they both kicked and shoved against the water, fighting their way with forceful strokes closer to dry land.

Sullivan could hardly feel his frozen legs and feet. But a moment later, the pull of the water broke away and their momentum slowed. They'd reached the shallower and slower water near the shore.

After only a dozen more strokes, he grabbed on to the grassy bank. Beside him, Silas latched on to the tall new growth hanging over the river. For several seconds, they clung to the earth, trying to catch their breath. Then the young man clawed his way up the grassy bank until he pulled himself out of the water.

He turned around and reached a hand for Sullivan. With the cold numbing his limbs, he could hardly grasp on, but somehow between Silas's efforts and the desire to see Enya again, Sullivan managed to climb out of the river's clasp.

As soon as he dragged himself to solid ground, he collapsed into the grass.

He'd survived. Though he'd felt like he was walking through the gates of hades, the same way he had when he'd been among the burning debris that day at Veracruz, he'd made it out alive.

God had spared him, had given him another day to live. Maybe it was past time to make peace with his frustrations with God. He'd been blaming God for rejecting him, but in reality Sullivan had let his insecurities push him away from God, the same way he'd let his insecurities push him away from others.

Now all he wanted to do was go home to his wife and be with her. Whether she ever reciprocated his love the same way or not, he wanted to spend every day that he had with her. Because the next time he faced death, he might not walk away. God might not give him any more chances.

It was a morbid thought. But his brush with death made him realize he wasn't infallible, that life was fragile, and that he needed to cherish every day with the people he loved because he didn't know how many he had left.