Page 34 of Shoshone Sun

“I will love you, little one,” she whispered into the quiet room, her voice broken but filled with resolve. “I will love you as I loved him. And I will keep you safe. I will do my best, for both of us.” But even as she spoke the words, she knew they could not fill the emptiness inside her.

Chapter Eighteen: The Waters Rise

-Peter Jacobs Homestead, Spring 1867

Ninety miles west of Fort Laramie –

The rain fell relentlessly, leaving the sky above the homestead a thick gray, heavy with the promise of more. The earth below, soaked and sodden, seemed to groan beneath its watery burden.

Four days earlier, when the rain had begun, they’d all felt a welcome relief for the parched fields that had suffered through the dry months of winter. But with each passing day, the rain had grown heavier. What had started as a gentle patter had turned into a drumbeat of worry—a sound that was no longer soothing, but threatening.

Peter Jacobs stood in the doorway of the cabin, watching the swollen river that wandered just beyond the reach of their fields. The water had risen steadily over the past days, creeping closer to the house and the barn, and his gut twisted with an uneasy certainty. The rains, combined with the snowmelt from the mountains, had sent the river over its banks, threatening to consume everything in its path.

“We need to prepare,” Peter said quietly to Susan, who had come to stand beside him, cradling little Petey in her arms.

Susan’s tired eyes, lined with worry, scanned the scene before her. The rain fell in sheets now, a curtain of water that hidden the view of everything beyond. She nodded, though her voice wavered when she spoke. “It’ll be all right, Peter. The rivers never come this close before.”

Peter didn’t share her optimism. They had never experienced weather like this before. He could hear the rush of the water growing louder now, its roar mixing with the wind’s howl. His thoughts turned to their fields, to the crops they had recently worked so hard to plant. The rain that had seemed a blessing at first now felt more like a curse. The ground was softening, and the river was furious. If it kept rising, it would take their crops, their livestock, their barn, and maybe even their cabin. Peter had spent the last few days reinforcing the dam he’d built near the riverbank, but it was clear now that the water had simply overwhelmed his efforts. He had no way of stopping it. All he could do was watch, wait, and pray.

As the fire crackled in the fireplace that evening, its warm glow cast flickering shadows across the small cabin. The scent of chicken stew filled the room, mixing with the dampness that seemed to have settled into the very walls. Outside, the rain continued its relentless assault, the sound of it pounding against the roof and windows like a thousand tiny drums.

Peter Jacobs stirred the stew in the pot, the spoon scraping softly against the sides. The rich, comforting smell of the cooking vegetables and chicken was a small reprieve from the worry that hung thick in the air. He glanced at Susan who sat across from him at the table, Petey seated beside her.

Susan’s face was drawn, the usual warmth in her eyes dimmed by the anxiety that had settled into her chest. She glanced at the window again, as if expecting the storm to cease at any moment. But the rain, as unyielding as ever, showed no signs of stopping.

“It might stop soon, Susan,” Peter said, trying to offer reassurance in his voice, though he didn’t feel it himself. He put the spoon down and gave her a soft smile. “It’s just a storm. It happens every spring. It has to end sometime!”

Susan shook her head, her fingers tightening around Petey’s. “The river’s getting so high. What if it floods the cabin?”

Peter stood and moved around the table to sit beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’ve been through storms before, Susan. The river’s never come this far before, and it won’t now. We’ve prepared. We’ll be fine.” He wished he believed his own words.

Jane sat next to Susan, her bowl of stew in front of her, but she wasn’t eating. Her spoon hovered over the dish, her eyes lost in the dancing flames of the fire. She couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in her gut since the rains had started. Something didn’t feel right this time. The water was rising too quickly.

Her hand absently brushed over her belly, where the life inside her was still new, fragile. She hadn’t told anyone yet, not even Susan or Peter. She wasn’t sure what to say. The thought of carrying a child—Flying Arrow’s child—without him here filled her with a sense of helplessness she had never before experienced.

Susan noticed Jane’s distant expression and leaned forward, concern softening her voice. “Jane, you’ve hardly touched your stew. You’re not feeling ill, are you?”

Jane’s heart gave a small, guilty lurch, but she forced a smile. “No, I’m fine. Just tired, I suppose.”

Peter glanced between the two women, sensing the undercurrent of worry that lingered there. “We’ll make it through the night. The rain will stop by morning, you’ll see.” He attempted a reassuring smile.

“I hope you’re right, Peter,” Susan murmured, gazing at their son, her expression filled with a quiet fear. “I just ... I can’t bear to think of anything happening to our boy.”

Jane bit her lip and said nothing, her gaze drifting once more toward the window. Outside, the rain beat down without mercy, and her thoughts turned inward.If Flying Arrow were here, he would know what to do.She felt the absence of him like a dull ache in her chest. He had always been so steady, so certain. She could almost hear his voice in her mind, calm and sure:Everything will be all right.

But Flying Arrow was gone, back with his people, far away from this cabin and from her. She pressed her hand to her abdomen again, as though trying to feel some connection to him through his child growing inside her, even though the distance between them felt impossible.

The silence stretched between them all until Peter cleared his throat, standing up to collect the bowls. “We’ll make do, we always do. Let’s just get some rest. Tomorrow will be better.”

Soon, they retreated to their small bedrooms, the weight of the storm hanging heavy in the air. As Jane lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the wind howled outside, rattling the window panes. She closed her eyes, silently wishing for the storm to pass, for the river to remain calm. But most of all, she wished for Flying Arrow to be there, with her, to tell her everything would be fine.

And with that thought, she drifted into an uneasy sleep, unaware of the rising waters that would change everything overnight.

The next morning, when they awoke, the house was flooding. The floorboards groaned beneath the weight of the water that rushed in through the doorframe, filling the cabin with an icy chill. The rain had not stopped. If anything, it had intensified.

“Peter!” Susan screamed, her voice shaking with panic. “The water—it’s inside!”

Peter was already moving, his boots splashing through the ankle-deep water that had overtaken the floor. He grabbed Petey from her arms and pushed her toward the door. “Up to the roof, quick! We need to get high—get on the roof!”

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