Cherish the Dream

by Kathleen Harrington

  At his nod Blade continued. “Good. Zeke, you and Chardonnais go over the list with the sergeant. I want everyone to have a full pack and a working rifle. And lots of ammunition. We have to move fast and we can’t leave anything to chance. Now, what do you think of this route, Zeke?” He pointed to the map and the two bent over it.

  Suddenly the men at the table fell silent. Blade looked up to find Theodora standing just inside the tent. She had changed into her yellow cotton dress. The wide skirt, with its yards of fabric, fell in graceful folds to her dainty feet, which were now encased in proper shoes. Her brilliant curls were bound on top of her head with a yellow ribbon.

  “Blade, I have to talk to you,” she said as she twisted her hands nervously in front of her.

  He spoke to her softly, trying to hide his impatience. “Theodora, we’re very busy. It’ll have to wait till later.”

  “It can’t wait, Blade. I must talk to you now.” Her green eyes were huge with concern.

  He set his cheroot on the edge of the table and nodded to the men. “Continue working on the route, Zeke. I’ll be right back.”

  Taking his wife’s elbow, he led her out of the tent. As they bent and went through the open flap, it seemed to Blade that she pulled her skirts carefully away from him, fearful that she’d brush against him and get her clothes dirty. He was still dressed in the dusty, fringed deerskin shirt, breechclout, and leggings he’d arrived in. So the honeymoon was over, he thought. He stood next to her and inhaled the sweet scent of wildflowers wafting up from her freshly washed hair. He knew he smelled of sweat and leather and horses.

  “What’s so important?” He didn’t need to be so curt with her, but the fact that she’d pulled away so fastidiously made him want to pick her up and shake her. Then slam her up against himself, dirt and all, and kiss her until she forgot what it was she’d come to talk about in the first place.

  “They’ve moved your things into my tent, Blade. This just isn’t going to work. I need some time to think the whole thing through. I’ve spent years studying to achieve my status as a scientist. Years spent dreaming of being able to contribute to the knowledge of the flora and fauna of this country. I’m not ready to throw it all away—”

  “On some Cheyenne half-breed,” he finished for her.

  “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  “No, you’d never put it in such plain language, but it’s what you meant.” He folded his arms to keep his hands off her.

  “The fact that you’re part Indian has nothing to do with it, Blade, and you know it. It’s our whole future that’s the problem. My life is going in one direction, yours in another. You’ll spend the next ten years mapping the wilderness. You said it once yourself—I don’t belong out here!”

  He expelled a harsh breath and shook his head. “I couldn’t have been more wrong, Theodora, and I admit it. Look at you. You’re not only surviving on the plains, you’re thriving. You’re more vibrant, more alive, more filled with a sense of purpose than any woman I’ve ever known. You belong out here with me, Theodora, not in some stuffy college lecture hall, and not in some cramped, confined research library. Don’t just talk about life. Live it, vehoka! And live it with me.”

  “I can’t. Not yet, anyway. When I’m with you, Blade, you destroy all my attempts to make calm, rational decisions. You turn my firm resolutions into indecisiveness. I refuse to be controlled by my emotions, especially when they’re in such a constant state of turmoil. And until I have time to think it through, I cannot agree to our getting married.”

  “Goddammit! We are married! Theodora, I can’t stand here and argue about this now. There’s too much that has to be done before we pull out.” Realizing he was shouting, Blade looked around in frustration. “Where the hell is Haintzelman? I told him to look after you.”

  “He walked me to your tent, Captain Roberts, when I said I wanted to talk to you. I guess he felt I was safe once I was there. But then, he’s a gentleman. He wouldn’t understand a man like you. And there’s no need to resort to profanity. Go back to your business, if it’s so important. I’ll leave you alone. Permanently.”

  “Haintzelman!” Blade bellowed. The lieutenant appeared on the run. “Take my wife and see if she can help Twiggs prepare the mess. It’ll keep her out of trouble while I’m busy.”

  “Yes, sir.” Peter turned to lead Theodora away.

  “Oh, and Lieutenant,” he called after them, his voice deceptively calm once more, “stay with her this time or you’ll find yourself in charge of the pack mules right alongside Wesley Fletcher.”

  Chapter 24

  Lieutenant Wesley Fletcher crossed the wide meadow beside Horse Creek, heading for the Snake camp. He was in a cold rage. Just when he believed he’d seen the last of Blade Roberts, the bastard showed up with that blond witch beside him. Certain that the two had not survived the buffalo stampede he’d so cleverly started, Fletcher had succeeded during the past week in convincing Benjamin Bonniville that there was no reason to continue the expedition without its topographical engineer or its naturalist. Fletcher’s goal—to take Roberts’s command back to Fort Leavenworth in such disrepute that the failure would leave a stain on the arrogant captain’s military career even after his death—had been just within reach, only to be snatched away once again. And he, Fletcher, who’d been unjustly passed over for promotion time after time, while that half-breed was given medals and commendations, was once more second-in-command to a filthy, no-account Indian.

  Even worse, the mission still stood. And, God knows, it hadn’t been for his lack of trying to wreck it. He’d split the strap on Theodora Gordon’s saddle and, incredibly, Roberts had managed to pull her out of the flood-swollen Big Blue River alive. Against all odds, the cunning breed had killed the rattlesnake planted in her tent at Laramie.

  He’d used the arsenic he’d brought along, a poison that he’d discovered produced symptoms similar to cholera, with better results. He’d managed to rid the expedition of Tom Gordon, one of its most important members. But even the loss of the young cartographer hadn’t stopped Roberts. Eventually, Fletcher vowed silently to himself, the old score between them would be settled.

  The lieutenant entered a Snake tipi with a blue crescent moon over its door and stared at the huge mountain man sitting on a filthy blanket. As he waited for his eyesight to adjust to the dim shelter, he noticed a young Indian woman who sat quietly in the far corner.

  “H’yar, come on an’ sit down, sol’jur,” the trapper said, his mountain speech distorted by the large wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth. He spit a stream of it on the cook fire and grunted as Fletcher lowered himself to the dirt floor. “Ya got a job fer me?” the man continued.

  “It’s private,” Fletcher snapped, his eyes once more searching out the woman, who was sewing quills on a fringed deerskin shirt.

  “Naw, don’t pay no mind ta her,” his host replied with a wave of his beefy hand. “She cain’t speak nary a word of English.”

  Fletcher raised his brows at the preposterous idea that what the trapper spoke could possibly be labeled English, then shrugged. “I understand you’re in need of some ready cash, Shrady. If you’re not overly fussy about how y’ earn it, we might just work somethin’ out.”

  Shrady grinned, revealing yellowed teeth with a gaping hole in the front. He scratched his shaggy beard. “Ya jest tell me what ya want, sol’jur. Big Joe’ll have it done, quicker ’n a cat can lick his whiskers.”

  “I want a woman killed. Make it look like a simple rape that got a little too rough. Your best bet is t’ beat her up some, stick it to her, and then break her neck. I’ll pay y’ a hundred dollars if it looks as though the death was accidental.”

  The mountain man whistled under his breath and rubbed his hands like a miser counting his gold. “Gimme the hun’erd up front an’ yer on.”

  Fletcher reached into his tunic and pulled out the bills. “I’ll throw in an extra five for the woman over there.”

  Shrady
shrugged, glanced over his shoulder, then back to Fletcher. “Whar’s the squaw ya want killed?”

  “She’s no squaw. It’s the white woman who rode int’ camp this afternoon.”

  “Shit!” Big Joe’s eyes were wide with alarm. “That’s Roberts’s woman. Yer crazy, man! I ain’t gonna do this for no hun’erd bucks.”

  Fletcher clenched his teeth to hold back the obscenity that sprang to his lips. “Someone told me you were the toughest man at the rendezvous, Shrady. I guess someone was wrong.” The trapper rose to tower over him. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it, sol’jur. I jest said it was gonna cost ya a sight more’n you’d planned. Make it two hun’erd, and that li’l blonde’ll never see mornin’.”

  Fletcher stood and nodded reluctantly. “Okay, Shrady. I’ll give y’ the rest when it’s done. But do it right.” He turned and faced the woman sitting on a fur mattress. Never taking his eyes off her, he added, “Now get out of here.”

  Shrady shoved the bills into a leather pouch hanging from his neck, slipped the pouch back under his shirt, and left the tent.

  “Come here,” Fletcher called quietly to the squaw. He remembered it was said that Snake women were the prettiest females in the mountains.

  Somewhere in her mid-twenties, this one was slim, with dainty feet and hands, and a smooth, clear complexion decorated with an intricate pattern of scarlet paint. She rose with a questioning smile and spoke to him in the Snake dialect as he approached her.

  With a feeling of satisfaction, Fletcher smashed his fist into her mouth, knocking her flat on the dirt floor. After slowly removing his belt, he unbuttoned his pants and yanked them off. “I don’t need t’ hear that damn gibberish when I’m takin’ y’,” he warned her, though she’d probably understood his first message clear enough. “I don’t need t’ be reminded that you’re nothin’ but a filthy squaw.”

  She rose, a trickle of blood oozing from one corner of her mouth. Her small knife flashed in the dim tent.

  “Why, y’ little whore,” he breathed. She sprang at him. He caught her wrist and twisted the weapon from her slim fingers. Then he shoved her down on the mattress, scooped up the knife, and split her dress down the front in one neat slice. Hurling the blade across the tipi, he fell on top of her.

  As he rode her, hard and mean, he closed his eyes and imagined that it was a head of golden curls that lay beneath him on the bearskin robe. Then he slowly strangled the life out of her while he climaxed.

  Neither Blade nor his staff or guest joined the others for mess late that afternoon. Even the chastised Lieutenant Haintzelman, who was replaced by Basil Guion as Theodora’s watchdog, ate with his commanding officer in the captain’s tent.

  Twiggs had been overjoyed to see Theodora. He took her hands in his gnarled brown ones and held her in front of him. “Miss Theo fine sight. Never been so worried. Knew Captain was with you. Still worried.”

  She threw her arms around his waist and hugged him. “Thank you, Julius. But your worries were all for nothing, as you can see.”

  He grinned in sincere thankfulness, his cocoa-colored eyes bright with joy. “Only Captain save you.”

  Abashed, Theodora looked down at the tips of her shoes.

  Twiggs was right. Only Blade could have rescued her.

  She helped Twiggs and Private Belknap prepare the roasted buffalo ribs. There was also the meat of antelope and red deer, which abounded in the mountains. The two cooks carried the tin dishes into the captain’s tent, while Theodora dished out the food to the other members of the expedition. She avoided Blade, for she’d no intention of facing him in front of the others. When the cleanup was done, she retired to her own tent. She wanted to be by herself to sort out her feelings.

  “You don’t have to wait around, Basil,” she told the French Canadian, who now followed her everywhere she went. “I’m going to retire early.”

  Guion smiled broadly at her as he rubbed his pudgy hand across his thinning hair. “I’ll be right here beside the tent, Madame Roberts.”

  The title startled her. She spoke to him earnestly in a low voice, conscious of the dragoons who lounged around the campfire nearby. “I’ll be using my own tent, Basil, now that we’re back with the expedition. And I’d appreciate it if you’d call me ‘Miss Gordon.’ ”

  Guion gave a Gallic shrug, clearly unconcerned by her plight. “Oui, Madame. Where you sleep is the captain’s business, not mine. But I will be right outside your tent, if you need anything.”

  “Thank you, Basil.” Ignoring his phlegmatic statement, Theodora nervously looked around, only to find a burly mountain man standing close by. It was clear he’d been listening to every word.

  Inside her tent, Theodora sank down on her bedroll. Peter had seen to it that someone had put up her tent and unpacked her gear before she’d even arrived at camp. As Blade had ordered, his own belongings had been carried in and stacked along one side. One by one, she checked her own packs. With relief, she discovered her specimens were all in order, just as she’d left them. Her journal as well. She put on her long white nightgown. The luxury of sleeping in cotton lace that night would raise her spirits. Nostalgic, she thought of her days in the Cheyenne village and of Snow Owl, whom she hadn’t seen since they’d arrived and the Indian woman had been reunited with her trapper husband.

  Outside, the bivouac grew noisier with the sounds of gaming, betting, bartering, and even courting. Theodora concentrated on writing in her diary, for she wanted to put down what had happened during her stay in the Indian village, excluding the moments of intimacy between her and Blade.

  The light coming through the tent opening gradually faded, and she laid the papers aside. The noise outside continued to rise until, curious, she pulled her robe on over the gown and peeked out the flap.

  In front of her shelter Basil Guion sat on a striped Hudson blanket. Parts of his musket were laid out beside him in neat rows. When he turned and saw her, he stood.

  “Is there something you need, Madame?” he asked, his brown eyes concerned. He was a stocky man, shorter even than she.

  “No, I just wanted to see what all the noise was about.”

  “The trappers are wild tonight, but don’t mind them.

  They’re having their last bit of fun before they start into the mountains. They will be alone all winter, except for their squaws and children.”

  “Thanks, Basil,” she said with a nod of understanding. “I’m going to retire for the night. I won’t bother you again.” Just as she moved to lower the flap, she once again saw the trapper who’d been listening to them earlier. His wide shoulders were propped against a nearby tree. He was a large, thickset man in dirty buckskins. His dark brown hair and beard were long and unkempt. When he saw she’d noticed him, he pushed away from the tree and shoved his filthy hat back on his head. His grin was marred by a large gap where he’d lost a front tooth. She shuddered at the leer he gave her before he turned and sauntered away. Drawing back inside, she quickly closed the tent flap.

  Theodora spread a bearskin robe across her bedroll; she’d become accustomed to the luxurious feel of the soft fur while she slept. As she smoothed it out, she heard someone enter the tent. Certain it was Blade, she didn’t even turn around. “You can just go on back to your own tent, Captain Roberts,” she snapped. “I’ll be perfectly comfortable here. I wouldn’t want to take up any more of your precious time.”

  “H’yar now, little girlie. Shrady can give ya all the time ya need.”

  She whirled to find the mountain man who’d been watching her earlier. He had just dropped the tent flap. As she rose, he moved over to her and clasped her elbow. “Get out of here,” she ordered in a loud voice, certain that Guion would rush in when he heard her.

  Shrady lifted a dirty hand and grabbed her hair. “Since ya don’t want the captain no more, I’m gonna claim ya for m’self. I liked ya even better dressed like a little Shian gal, but you’ll do all right this ’a way.”

  She could smell the liquor on his fe
tid breath and turned her head as she willed herself not to gag. When she tried to scream, he clamped his greasy fingers across her mouth to muffle the sound. Where was Guion? she wondered frantically.

  The man held one huge hand over her lips and yanked on her hair with the other, jerking her down on the soft bearskin. “Be quiet,” he snarled, “or I’ll have ta get rough.” He pinned her to the bed with his knee.

  She stared up into his bloodshot eyes in horror and realized he was stone, cold sober. He might have had a cup of whiskey earlier that evening, but he was in complete control of his senses now.

  “Yer goin’ ta like this,” he promised with an obscene leer. As he released her hair, he grabbed her breast and squeezed painfully. Theodora bit the hand that covered her mouth. He pulled it back to hit her, and she screamed before his palm struck her face. Despite the stars that danced in front of her eyes, she screamed again.

  The sound of her cries brought Blade running. He dashed past the inert body of Basil Guion, who lay crumpled beside his rifle on the blanket, and raced into his wife’s tent. A trapper knelt over her prone figure, unbuckling his belt. With a roar of rage Blade pulled the intruder off and flung him to the ground. He lifted him into the air and hurled him out of the tent, which collapsed about them as the man’s flying legs caught against the shelter’s taut ropes. Blade flung the canvas aside and strode forward.

  Blade Stalker had been angry all afternoon. He’d rejoined the expedition and assumed command only to find that Fletcher had ordered the soldiers to be ready to move east in the morning. Then the information that the missionaries had left two weeks previous had made it impossible to marry Theodora in a white man’s ceremony. Her capricious treatment of him that afternoon, coupled with her remark about leaving him permanently, had festered like a wound from a poisoned arrow. And his renewed fears for her safety, now that they were once again within striking distance of whoever had tried to kill her earlier on the trip, had heightened his anxiety .