Roger, the eldest of them all, was the master of ceremonies. He said, “A toast to our brothers and our sister who will venture forth at dawn to find — not new lands to conquer, nor adventures to prove their courage, nor riches of gold or silver, but rather that most priceless discovery of all — information. Information we all need, information that will make it possible for us to erupt into a thousand blooms, a million! Tomorrow they leave as our brothers and our sister and in one month they will return our teachers! Jed! Ben! Harvey! Thomas! Lewis! Molly! Come forward and let us toast you and the most priceless gift you will bring to us, your family!”
Molly felt her cheeks burn with pleasure as she made her way through the crowd, now standing and applauding wildly. At the front of the room she joined the others on stage and waited for the cheering and applause to die, and she saw her little sisters standing on chairs, clapping with abandon, their faces red, smeary — they were going to cry, she thought. They couldn’t contain such excitement much longer.
“And now,” Roger said, “for each of you we have a gift . . .”
Molly’s gift was a waterproof bag to carry her sketch pads and pencils and pens in. It was the first time she had ever owned something not shared by her sisters, something uniquely hers. She felt tears welling, and could not hear the rest of the ceremony, was not aware of the other gifts, and presently they were being led to the dock and the final surprise — a pennant flying from the mast of the small boat that would carry them to Washington. The pennant was the color of the midsummer sky, deep blue so clear that in daylight it would blend into the sky perfectly, and in the middle of it, a diagonal lightning blaze of gleaming silver. A canopy covered the forward section of the boat, and it too was blue and silver.
There was another toast, wine that tingled and made her head light, and then another, and now Roger was laughing as he said, “The party will continue, but our brave explorers will retire.” Jed shook his head, and Roger laughed again. “You have no choice, my brother. Your last toast was doctored, and within an hour you will be sound asleep, so you will start your trip fresh and rested. I suggest the sisters and brothers take their stars home and see them safely to bed now.”
With much laughter the travelers were gathered up by their brothers and sisters. Molly protested feebly as her sisters half led, half carried her back to their room.
“I’ll repack your things,” Miriam said, examining the gift bag. “How beautiful this is! Look, it is all carved . . .”
They undressed her and brushed her hair, and Miri caressed her back and rubbed her shoulders, and Melissa brushed fairy kisses on her neck as she unwound the ribbon from her hair.
Molly felt a pleasant inertia envelop her and she could only smile and sigh as her sisters prepared her for bed, and then two of them unrolled the floor mat and waited there as the others guided her to it, all of them laughing at her unsteady walk, the way she almost buckled at the knees, and her attempts to keep her eyes open. On the mat they caressed and delighted her until she floated away from them entirely, and then they carried her to her own cot and pulled the thin summer blanket over her, and Miri bent over and kissed her eyelids tenderly.
Chapter 11
By the end of the first hour, life in the boat had become routine. The shouts had been lost in the distance and there was only the quiet river and the silent woods and fields and the regular splash of oars.
For weeks they had been in training, and now all six were hardened and worked well together. Lewis, who had designed the boat, stood forward on guard against unexpected hazards. Three of the brothers and Molly rowed in the first hitch, and Ben sat forward, behind Lewis.
There was a covered section forward, with the canopy down now, and a permanently closed-in rear section with four bunks. The forward section could be closed as snugly as the rear. Every available inch of space had been used, mostly for food, extra clothes, medical supplies, and waterproof pouches folded neatly, to be filled with documents, maps, whatever they found of value.
Molly rowed and watched the shoreline. They had left the familiar section of the valley, with its cultivated fields; the land was changing. The valley narrowed, then widened, then narrowed again, with steeply rising cliffs to the left, wooded slopes on the right. In the silent morning the trees were unmoving; there was no sound except the splashing of oars.
Her sisters would be in the food-processing kitchens this week, Molly thought, as she watched the oar dip into the clear water. Laughing together, moving together. Perhaps they missed her already . . . She pulled steadily, lifted the oar, watched it dip again.
“Rock! Ten o’clock, twenty yards!” Lewis called.
They shifted course easily to give it a wide berth.
“Nine o’clock, twenty yards!”
Thomas, in front of Molly, was wide-shouldered, his hair the color of straw, and as straight as straw. A slight breeze lifted it and let it fall over and over. His muscles moved fluidly, and perspiration glazed him. Molly thought he would make a fine drawing, a study in musculature. He turned and said something to Harvey, across the boat from him, and they both laughed.
Now the sun was higher and the heat was in their faces, along with the breeze they created moving through the water, slowly, but steadily, smoothly. Molly could feel sweat on her upper lip. Soon they would have to stop to put the canopy in place. It would offer some wind resistance, but they had decided the pluses were greater than the minuses; the trip was planned to provide the maximum of safety and comfort, and neither was to be sacrificed to speed.
Others had gone down the river as far as the juncture with the Shenandoah. There were rocks ahead, then a smooth, long slide into the broader, and unknown, river. And that afternoon Molly would relinquish her place at the oars and start her real mission, a pictorial diary of the trip, including whatever changes in the maps were necessary.
They tried to use the sail, but the wind in the valley was capricious, and they decided to wait until later, perhaps on the Potomac, and try it there. They stopped and set up the canopy and rested, then returned to the oars, and now Molly sat alone, her sketch pad and the river maps on the seat beside her. Her hands felt stiff and she was content to sit quietly. Finally she started to sketch.
They came to the first rapids later that afternoon, and navigated them without difficulty. They joined the Shenandoah and turned north, and when they rested, they were all subdued and even Jed had nothing to laugh about, no jokes to make.
They slept in the boat, riding gently on the water. Molly thought of her sisters, now in their narrow white beds, the mat rolled up and put away. She fought down tears of loneliness. A high breeze stirred the treetops and she imagined they were whispering. She longed to reach out and touch one of the brothers; it mattered little which one of them. She sighed, and heard someone whisper her name. It was Jed. He slipped into her narrow bunk, and with their arms wrapped tightly about each other, they fell asleep.
On the second night they all paired off and comforted one another before they were able to sleep.
The next day they were forced to a stop by rapids and a waterfall. “It isn’t on the map at all,” Molly said, standing on the bank with Lewis. The river had been wide and easy, the valley heavily overgrown with bushes and low trees where once corn and wheat had grown. Then the cliffs moved toward the water, which narrowed and deepened and ran swifter, and sometime since the maps had been printed one of the cliffs had shuddered and dropped massive boulders and debris that now choked the river as far ahead as they could see. The water had spread, filled the valley from side to side. They could hear the thunder of a waterfall ahead.