DAVY

The shockingly cold river swallowed me as I smacked my body headfirst into its turbulent depths.  The compelling power of the swift current rushed me far down and away from the thundering waterfall that plunged from the staggering height of the Sierra Nevada mountains.  As the river curved suddenly and dropped to a lower level, its agitated waters dispersed over a wider area and quieted down into large pools that branched off from the hurried waters.  I surfaced in one of the deeper pools at about the place that I had anticipated the young stranger would soon be hurled.

I was intent upon rescuing the one who had just propelled his body off from the throne of the waterfall.  Barely had I caught my breath before his shadowy form brushed passed my legs under water.  My rescue attempt abandoned, I dove down and pursued, now driven by curiosity.

He was fast out distancing me.  My limbs were pushed to their limit. Surging forward on the last remnant of air left in my lungs my body suddenly flinched.  Pain gripped my abdomen, pulling my limbs involuntarily inward.  I swallowed water as my head sank.

This can't be happening!  My mind shouted in protest as an overwhelming numbness invaded my body.  Somehow, my brain tenaciously held onto consciousness and began to recapitulate my life.

Anxious to end our three-thousand-mile trek across the width of our North American continent, my family and I arose before dawn this morning of June 10, 1863, to complete the last leg of our journey home. Midday we picnicked at the falls, not an hours ride from our ranch which none of us has set foot on for these past ten years.

We are a fiercely independent and self-reliant lot.  On our father's side, we Shepherds are the second generation of Irish/Dutch immigrants.  On our mother’s side, we are the third generation of an English frontiersman and a Spaniard.

It must have been the English bent to cool reason and the Irish bent to loyalty and duty which enabled my oldest brother, Dan, to keep our clan of eight intact these ten years hence and return us to this California wilderness, in the midst of civil war. 

This war is threatening to tear this country apart. It has wreaked havoc in too many families by pitting brother against brother, just as northern or southern sympathies are nurtured.  Dan vows that will not happen to us.

Besides his stubborness Dan inherited a large frame, blond hair, and blue eyes from his Dutch ancestry.  His very presence commands respect.

When our mother died, Dan was all of twelve years old and began to shoulder the responsibility for us six younger siblings.  There were seven of as then including our infant brother, Davy.

Because our father never fully recovered from the loss of our mother, Dan became the family's ramrod.  He made sure each of us pulled our own weight as much as we were able to.

Next to the oldest, Bill became Dan's right hand.  Bill is a blue eyed, curly haired brunette, only slightly smaller in stature than big Dan.  He is an avid reader.  I don't believe there is a line from any of Shakespeare's works that he cannot recite from memory.

I was eight when Mother died.  I inherited her dark brown eyes and hair, her brother's name, Roy, and her newborn son, Davy.

I wasn't quite grown enough to be of much help to Dan and Bill in assisting Dad with the farm chores.  I decided I was big enough to take full care of my infant brother.  I became much like an old she-bear protecting its cub when Dad attempted to procure help from a nursing Mexican woman.  I refused to allow her to take my baby brother home with her and insisted she come daily to us to nurse Davy.

I marvel now at the patience that kind woman had with me.  Three times a day and once during the night, she packed up her own toddler twins on the back of her mule and made the two-mile trek to our farm to nurse Davy. 

After a month of this, Dad put his foot down and told me we would not be taking any more advantage of this woman's generosity; that she had her own family to care for and enough was enough. So we compromised. She loaned me the use of her mule.  Dad made a carrying basket for Davy that was strapped to the mule, and I, myself, made the frequent trips with my baby brother to her home.  Only, I made sure that the trips became less frequent as I hurried my brother into accepting solid food before his first year.

I was greatly disturbed that our Spanish heritage had come out so strongly in Davy.  His black eyes, olive skin and dark, wavy hair could easily have allowed him to be passed off as this Mexican woman's own son.  I made sure that would not happen.  I didn't let Davy out of my sight.  I slept with him, stayed awake with him, walked the floor with him, dressed him, played with him, and stayed by his side even when she nursed him.

Mother had allowed me to remain by her side during Davy's birth. Weakened by consumption, her days here were limited.  She told the rest of the family that I had a gift for doctoring, as young as I was, and reminded them of the farm animals I attempted to treat.