Cherish the Dream

by Kathleen Harrington

  “Come on, out with it,” he insisted. “You haven’t said three words to me this evening. Something has you tied up in knots.”

  Forcing herself to meet his determined gaze, she ran her fingertips up his arms and rested them on his wide shoulders. She bent her head and stared at the dark hair at the base of his neck. “It’s just that I’m starting to regret every mile that brings us closer to the expedition. Our time together has been so wonderful.”

  His forehead creased in a brief frown. “When we join the others, we’ll be very busy, but it doesn’t mean we won’t have some moments to ourselves, Theodora.” He flashed her a teasing smile. “We’ll still have our nights together.”

  She squared her shoulders and cleared her throat nervously. “No, we won’t, Blade. When we reach the rest of the party, I’ll be sleeping in my own tent. Alone.”

  “The hell you will,” he snarled. He rose and towered over her, his hands capturing her waist in a fierce grip.

  She shook her head in frustration at his unwillingness to listen to her explanation. “These last few days have been more than wonderful. They’ve been a blissful idyl, a romantic daydream that I’ll treasure all my life. But when we reach the rendezvous, we return to the real world and the dream will be over. Once again I’ll be the expedition’s naturalist—its spinster naturalist.”

  His rugged features turned to granite. His strong chin jutted out ominously. “So that’s all this has been for you. A romantic interlude. And when you said you loved me? Was that just a fantasy too?”

  A flush crept up her neck and suffused her cheeks at the lie she was about to tell. It would be better to let him believe she didn’t love him. He’d be so angry that he’d refuse to have anything to do with her. She lowered her lids, unable to meet his irate gaze. “Sometimes, in the throes of passion, people say things they later regret.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to disillusion you, princess, but it’s been a helluva lot more to me than just a brief affair.” He slid his hands possessively up her waist to hold her under her arms, where his thumbs pinioned the sides of her breasts. “Theodora, I’m going to say this once and I’m not going to say it again. You are my wife. Nihehtametove: I am your husband. We are married.”

  She pushed against his solid chest. “Maybe to you we’re married. To your grandfather and your cousins and all your tribe, we’re married. But not in the white world to which we return. And if you recall, I never agreed to a real marriage. I went along with the Cheyenne wedding because I had to. But I spoke no vows. I made no promises. And until we do have a clergyman and a written document, we’re not really married.”

  “Bullshit.” A muscle leapt in his taut jaw. Turning her around, he grabbed her elbow and started toward camp.

  She pulled frantically against him. “Wait a minute! We need to talk about this reasonably.”

  He skidded to a halt. Jerking her off her feet, he held her up so they looked eye to eye. He was furious. “Do you think my mother wasn’t married to my father? Or Two Moons Rising isn’t married to Weasel Tail? Theodora, there are millions of people in the world who don’t have a Protestant minister lead them in their vows. And they’re still married. But if we find those ministers at the rendezvous, we’re going to go through two ceremonies, just to nail it down.” He set her back on the ground.

  She jerked her chin up. “You can’t dictate what I will or won’t do, Blade. And you can’t force me to be your wife against my wishes.”

  His voice was a low roar as he grabbed the back of her neck and roughly jerked her to him. “By God, I don’t know whether to throttle the daylights out of you or blister your little backside.” He shook his head in exasperation. At her unblinking stare he drew a long, harsh breath and expelled it slowly. His words were low and crisp. “Listen, wife. Even though we’re already married, I intend to go through every ceremony available until I get it through your stubborn head that you belong to me. Permanently. If we meet a Buddhist monk on the way to Horse Creek, he’s going to preside at a wedding and recite verses from the Dhammapada. If we happen to run across a Hindu priest out here, he’ll write the vows down in Sanskrit, and you’ll sign them. If we discover a Muslim mullah packing a load of beaver pelts, he’s going to pray over us from the Koran. And when we get back east, I’m going to dress up in a cutaway suit and walk you down the longest aisle in the biggest cathedral in New Orleans.” Increasing the pressure on her neck, he bent his head and drew her even closer until they were nose to nose. “But in the meantime just remember, princess, that I am your husband.”

  Without waiting for her reply, he swooped her up, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her to their lodge. Inside, he tossed her on the furry bed and made love to her, roughly and possessively, approaching a savagery he’d never shown her before. He stilled her protests with his mouth and worked his magic with his hands until she was writhing beneath him in mindless passion, all thoughts of a calm, rational discussion soaring to the roof hole of their tipi with her spiraling climax. There was no white blood in him that night. He was all Indian. Silent and ferocious and dominating. Again and again, through the long, quiet hours, he took her until she was spent and exhausted and moved beneath his hands like a limp, sated doll. At last she fell asleep, sprawled atop him and still impaled on his rigid manhood.

  * * *

  The tribe rode for two days through sun and wind toward the great river that the trappers called the Siskadee. The sterility of the sagebrush flat was horrible. Every puff of the hot wind blew a whitish, caustic dust on the travelers, and Theodora wondered absently if she could ever repair her dry, cracked skin. The alkaline springs they passed were poisonous to animals, and the horses could not be allowed to graze near them or drink the water. Still silent and angry, Blade spent most of the second day at her side as they passed through this waste land, while Bald Face Buffalo and Weasel Tail rode ahead to tell the expedition of their arrival.

  By mid-afternoon the two Cheyenne braves returned. Riding with them at a furious pace came Zeke Conyers and Louis Chardonnais. They shouted and fired their guns as they approached. Chardonnais had tied a piece of white shirting to his rifle and waved it like a flag. Across the distance came the piercing cry of a war whoop, then another. Behind them, but coming up fast at a dead gallop, was Sergeant O’Fallon and a small detachment of dragoons.

  Like an Indian war party the advance group raced in zigzag fashion right up to the column, firing volley after volley over their heads, jumping their mounts over clumps of sagebrush, and whooping in glee. When they reached Blade and Theodora, they skidded to a halt and leaped from their saddles, while their horses bucked and curveted in the excitement.

  Zeke was the first one to reach them. “Well, I’ll be!” he shouted at Blade, who’d already dismounted and helped Theodora down. “Tarnation, you old boss, yore a sight for sore eyes.” He pounded Blade’s shoulder with one fist while he clasped his hand with the other. Then he gripped him in a fierce hug. He turned to Theodora, his arm still around Blade’s shoulder. “By gor, lookee hyar! A yellow-headed ln’jun gal!” Theodora broke into a wide smile at his open display of joy. “Oh, Zeke,” she exclaimed. “It’s so good to see you again.” Impulsively, she threw her arms around his thin shoulders, then placed a smack on the coarse gray beard that covered his cheek.

  Clearly flustered by her open display of affection, he returned her embrace. “By the eternal, if this don’t beat all,” he said. Then Chardonnais stood beside them, and the whole scene was repeated in French. By the time Theodora had welcomed him, Sergeant O’Fallon and five dragoons had arrived.

  “Sure and it’s our little mavourneen.” he shouted from his saddle, his gravelly voice filled with happiness. He dismounted and took her small hand in his big one. “Why, miss,” he boomed, “Why, miss, I could just hug you me ownself.”

  She opened her arms wide. “Then come get your hug, Michael O’Fallon.”

  They arrived at the rendezvous site in the valley of the Green River, the ve
ry heart of the mountain fur trade, in a procession of triumph. Escorted by Conyers and Chardonnais on either side, Theodora rode next to Blade. The French trapper and the Kentuckian seemed to know immediately what her new status was, and Louis even addressed her once as Madame Roberts. But she could tell by the inquisitive looks on the dragoons’ faces that they were mystified by her costume.

  As they drew near, Theodora saw a scene that was a combined country fair and harvest festival. Along the Green and its creeks, tents and lodges spread for over two miles. There was a mixture of whites, mostly free trappers, and Indians from nearly every tribe in the Rocky Mountains. Squaws moved among them, curing robes, decorating lodge skins, mending clothes and gear, putting up pemmican, and butchering and preparing the meat that the men brought into camp. Some of the men were seated on blankets and robes, gambling at cards. Others were catching up on the winter’s news, reading faded newspapers and renewing old friendships. A horse race was being held in a nearby meadow, with the usual betting and hollering. Not far away a target shoot was in progress.

  From in front of their row of military tents, the members of the expedition stood and watched Blade and Theodora ride in. As they drew closer, Theodora could see Peter Haintzelman standing beside Wesley Fletcher.

  “Blade!” A tall trapper, dressed in buckskins and with a long, thick black beard sprinted toward them just before they reached the tents. He was an enormous man. Jumping up, he grabbed Blade and pulled him down off War Shield in one fell swoop. With a wild hunting cry he wrestled Blade to the ground. Together they rolled in the dust. Then the man lifted Blade and pounded him on the back. “Blade!” he roared again. He grabbed the captain by the sides of his head, his fingers locked in his thick hair, and bussed him loudly on the lips.

  Theodora watched in astonishment, for Blade was actually laughing out loud.

  “Mon père, ” Blade admonished through his deep chuckles, “you’ll frighten my bride.”

  “Your bride!” the man shouted. “Let me look at her!” He turned and sprinted over to Spitfire. Without warning he reached up, lifted Theodora off the pony’s back, and held her high in the air over his head. In his enormous hands, three feet off the ground, she felt as small as a five-year-old. “MonDieu, look at the size of her!” With surprising gentleness for his huge frame, he set her down. His booming voice was filled with reproach. “Son, you should have waited for her to grow up.”

  Blade grinned and shook his head. “She’s fully grown, mon père. That’s the biggest she’s ever going to get.” His eyes twinkled with hilarity as he turned to Theodora. “As you’ve probably already guessed, sweetheart, this old mountain reprobate is my father, Jacques Roberts.”

  Theodora gazed up in awe at her father-in-law. She thought by now she’d become used to big men. After all, her husband was well over six feet. But Jacques Roberts was a giant. Close to seven feet tall, he towered above her. His darkly tanned face was weatherbeaten, with deep furrows around the eyes that had been chiseled by the sun and wind. When he spoke, his roar seemed to shake the ground.

  “I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Roberts,” she said, and extended her hand in a polite greeting. “But, though we were forced by circumstances to go through a wedding ceremony in the Cheyenne village, Blade and I are not actually married.” She refused to meet Blade’s gaze, knowing the anger she would see there.

  “Are the missionaries still here, mon père? ” interjected Blade, the steel in his voice giving Theodora no doubt as to his intent.

  “The missionaries?” Jacques yelled back and she cringed.

  Did the man never speak in a normal voice? “Why, they’ve been gone for over two weeks now.” He turned and thumped his son on the back. “Congratulations, Blade. Maybe I’ll live to see some grandchildren yet.”

  The mention of children was all she needed to destroy her composure. She realized there was a possibility that she had conceived a child, but his putting the thought into words brought stark terror to her heart. If she were pregnant with Blade’s child, she would be bound to him irrevocably.

  Someone cleared his throat behind her, and Theodora turned to find Lieutenant Haintzelman. “Peter,” she exclaimed, and hugged him warmly. In a way he had taken Tom’s place during that awful time after her brother’s death, when she hadn’t cared whether she lived or died. With sincere affection, she pressed her head against his shoulder.

  “Teddy, we were afraid we’d never see you again. Either of you.” Behind his glasses, there were tears in his sincere blue eyes. Releasing her, he reached out and clasped Blade’s hand. “Welcome back, sir.”

  “It’s good to be back, Lieutenant.” Blade had stepped closer to take Peter’s hand. He slipped his arm possessively around Theodora’s waist and looked behind the young man. “Lieutenant Fletcher, I trust everything has gone smoothly?”

  If the others had been amazed to see them alive, Wesley Fletcher was incredulous. For a moment he seemed too dazed to answer. With an obvious effort he saluted formally. “Y’ll find everythin’ in order, Captain. I was just overseein’ the preparations for tomorrow’s departure. We were leavin’ for the East in the mornin’.” Though he spoke to Blade, he stared at Theodora, taking in the fringed dress with its beads and quilling, the moccasins, and the side braids with their rabbit fur trim. Clearly appalled, he watched her with eyes that seemed to condemn her outright.

  “You were going to do what, Lieutenant?” Blade snapped, his voice cold and hard. He released his wife and moved to within inches of him.

  In a reflex action Fletcher stepped back. “With you and Miz Gordon lost, I could see no point in continuin’, sir, since the purpose of the journey was t’map the mountain pass through the Sierras, if there is one. Without either cartographer, it would’ve been senseless t’ go on. I just finished conferrin’ with Captain Bonniville, and he agreed.”

  “Bonniville is here, then?”

  Peter spoke up. “Yes, sir. He’s in your tent right now.” The captain moved to go and Theodora caught his arm.

  “Blade, I need to speak to you for a moment.”

  “It’ll have to wait, vehona.” he replied as he took her hand and squeezed it. “I need to talk to Bonniville immediately.” He glanced at Peter. “See that my wife has what she needs. She’ll want to clean up and rest for a while. And have my personal belongings moved to her tent.” He nodded to his father. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

  “We’ll have a celebration,” Jacques shouted. “Where’s Chief Painted Robe? I think I’ll make a call on my father-in-law.”

  Before she could say another word, Blade was gone, Lieutenant Fletcher and Zeke Conyers hurrying after him.

  Although many of the trappers and Indians had already left Horse Creek, a considerable number remained at the rendezvous site. Over a thousand Indians of various tribes were camped up and down the Green River in a temporary truce. Many of them swarmed about the traders’ liquor tents and show counters. They chattered and swore as they attempted to barter the skins and robes prepared by their women, the horses they’d stolen or trained, and sometimes even the women themselves. Red and white, the men boasted and haggled as they attempted to reprovision their outfits for the coming winter.

  In the captain’s tent six men sat around the collapsible map table. At one end was Blade, at the other Benjamin Bonniville, while Zeke Conyers and Louis Chardonnais sat across from Lieutenant Fletcher and Sergeant O’Fallon. Blade questioned each of his men one by one, in rapid-fire order. No detail of their trip from Fort Laramie was left undiscussed. Satisfied at last, Blade turned to look at the thickset man at the far end of the table.

  Still addressed as captain, although he was actually on leave from the army, Bonniville was the owner of a nearby fort. He’d been in the mountains for the last five years, attempting to build up a profitable business in the fur trade. But he’d come late to the trade, when the beaver had been nearly played out. Each year the profits were smaller and the hazards greater as the trappers were forced to
probe farther and farther into the land of the Blackfoot. Still, that didn’t seem to bother Bonniville, who appeared totally involved in reading the sheaf of papers Blade had handed him.

  Finished, he looked up. “Now that you’re here, Captain, we can forget about the expedition leaving tomorrow. And you won’t be returning east as Lieutenant Fletcher planned.” Bonniville spread his pudgy fingers across the map and tapped it restlessly.

  “We’ll leave the day after tomorrow,” Blade told him. He leaned back and drew on his cheroot with satisfaction. “And we’ll be going west.”

  “You can leave so soon?”

  “We have to. We’ve lost almost two weeks as it is. I want to get these men moving before the dragoons start to get cold feet from sitting around with nothing to do but think. The fainthearted are going to be mighty disappointed when we tell them tonight that they’re not heading for home in the morning. Besides, winter comes early in the Sierras.”

  “I reckon we can stop in B’ar Valley to ready our outfittin’s,” Zeke interjected. “We’ll pick up more horses and meat thar.”

  “Oui,” Chardonnais agreed. “Many of the trappers have already left the rendezvous. Watching them go was hard on the ones left behind. The sooner we move out, the better all the men will feel.”

  “ls this really the best plan, gentlemen?” Fletcher cautioned. “The soldiers have been waiting here for over a week with the expectation that they’d soon be returning to Fort Leavenworth. Can you really tell them now that the dangerous part of the journey is only beginning?”

  “The dragoons will take orders, just like every man here, Lieutenant,” Blade said preemptively. He ignored Fletcher’s sudden stiffening and turned to Conyers. “Now, let’s take a look at that map, Zeke, and see what the best route is going to be. Then I want orders issued for every man to recheck his gear. We’ll be provisioning from Bonniville’s stores.” He turned to Bonniville. “I assume you brought supplies from your fort?”