Wilderness Double Edition 13

by David Robbins

  “That isn’t what I meant and you know it.”

  Mabel flicked a thumb toward the bed. “You mean that? Hell, sex is the most natural thing of all. Men and women been doing it since Adam and Eve. Where’s the shame in lettin’ our urges take over?”

  “It makes you no better than animals.”

  “We are animals. What else would we be?”

  “We’re human beings. We’re children of God. As different from animals as night from day. We have souls, we have minds. We’re meant to better ourselves, not to wallow in the same filth as the hogs.”

  Mabel arched an eyebrow. “What makes us so special? Haven’t you ever read Genesis? How the Almighty put the first man and first woman in a garden with all the other animals? About how they were happy there until one day they were filled with that shame you think is so wonderful. Shame because they were naked, as the Good Lord meant them to be. So the Lord threw them out of the garden and they had to fend for themselves.” Mabel shook the dice. “Seems to me you’ve got it all backwards.”

  No, you do, Felicity almost said. But she held her tongue. Nothing she could say would change their outlook. No argument could make them give up beliefs that had governed their lives for generations.

  Soon Tinder and Cindy Lou were done. They slid off the bed, adjusted their clothes, and casually rejoined the rest as if coming back from a Sunday stroll.

  Felicity had opened a cupboard and was reaching for the sugar tin when strong arms encircled her waist and foul breath laced with the odor of whiskey enveloped her like a cloud.

  “What say you and me go do what they just done?” Cole Coyfield whispered in her ear.

  The insult was more than Felicity could bear. Twisting, she slapped him with all her might. But it was a flea slapping a grizzly, for all he did was smirk lecherously and hold her closer.

  “Come on. You’ll like it.”

  “Never! I would rather die than let you degrade me!” Felicity drew back her hand to hit him again, but he suddenly grabbed her wrist.

  Cole glowered. “You’re too damn uppity, woman. I say it’s about time someone taught you respect.” He started to pull her by the arm toward the bed. “I want you, and I aim to have you.”

  Felicity held on to the counter and braced her legs. She tried to break loose, but he was immensely powerful. His fingers were like corded iron. She dug her nails in, thinking that would do the trick.

  “Keep it up. I like it rough.”

  Frantic, Felicity remembered the knife she had used to skin the rabbit. It was still on the counter. Lunging, she grasped the hilt and raised her arm on high. “Let go of me, you vile brute!”

  “Do as she says, son,” Mabel interjected.

  “I want her, Ma.” Cole’s eyes were pools of carnal hunger. He showed no fear of the poised blade.

  “I know, boy. But after you’re done she’s liable to curl up into a ball and spend days whinin’ and sulkin’ like some of the others. Granted, a few more pokes and she’ll come around, but that’ll take a while.”

  “So why can’t I start now?”

  “Because we need her in case Nate King shows up. Remember?” Mabel held the jug out to him. “Here. What’s left is yours. Then go splash some cold water on your face. Or in your britches if need be.”

  Cole was loath to obey. Reluctantly, he let go of Felicity, accepted the jug, and downed what remained in one gulp. “For you, Ma. Just for you I’ll do it. But it don’t sit well with me.” He tossed the jug onto the counter, then stormed outside, leaving the door open.

  Seconds later Cindy Lou skipped out, too.

  Mabel, Jacob, and Samuel were staring at Felicity as if she were the scum of the earth. “You need to be taken down a peg or two, dearie,” the mother said sternly. “Now you’ve gone and got my son all upset. I hate to deny him anything, but it had to be done.”

  “What was that about Nate King?”

  “You’re our ace in the hole in case he pays a visit.”

  Felicity lowered her arm but did not put down the knife. “I’ll never help you. With Simon free, you have no hold over me.”

  “Reckon so, do you?” asked Jacob. “Here I thought the Kings were your friends.”

  “They are. So?”

  Jacob folded his hands on his big belly. “So your husband told us King is due here soon. Might even be on his way already. Whether he lives or dies depends on how well you do what we tell you.”

  Mabel remarked, “We told Bo and Jess to keep their eyes peeled and hide if’n they saw him.”

  “What is it you want of me?” Felicity asked.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” Jacob said, and laughed coldly. So did Mabel and Samuel.

  Felicity didn’t like the sound of that.

  The blast of the Kentucky was deafening. The rifle discharged almost in Simon Ward’s face. He wasn’t hit, but the flash and smoke so blinded him, he couldn’t see Mary Beth. Holding on to the barrel, he yanked, seeking to pull her toward him. The Kentucky jerked forward, the stock dipping toward the ground, and he realized she had released it. No doubt so she could use the pistols.

  Holding the barrel with both hands, Simon swung at the spot where she had been standing when she fired. The rifle cleaved the smoke like a sword through paper. She cried out, and he swung again.

  This time the Kentucky swished through empty air. Either Mary Beth had ducked or moved. Simon sprang through the gun smoke and there she was, a pistol in each hand, doubled over in pain, an arm pressed to her side where the stock had connected. Mary Beth saw him and uncoiled, bringing the flintlocks into play.

  Simon rammed the rifle at her face. She yelped again as it split her cheek. One of the pistols banged, the slug ricocheting off a rock at Simon’s feet. That left the last pistol. One last shot.

  Mary Beth extended it, taking aim. Simon had no time to swing, so he threw the Kentucky at her. The rifle hit her forearm. She didn’t drop either pistol, but she did stumble backward. He was on her before she could recover. Seizing her wrist, he tried to pry the unused flintlock from her fingers. Mary Beth howled and slammed the empty pistol against his temple.

  To Simon, the slope seem to dance and swirl. He clung on, standing with his shoulder against hers so she couldn’t strike his head again. At the same time he forced her arm backward so she couldn’t shoot him.

  “Let go of me, you bastard!”

  Mary Beth was incensed, her face a vivid hue of red, her eyes blazing with near-maniacal rage. Just as she had been the night before. She was in the grip of a killing frenzy, and the longer he resisted, the worse she became. Screeching like a wildcat, she suddenly sank her teeth into his left arm. It was excruciating. He tugged but she bit deeper, slicing into his flesh and drawing blood.

  Pivoting, Simon drove an elbow against her jaw. The blow had no effect, so he levered his arm to do it again. Abruptly, a knee drove up into his groin. Despite himself, his legs nearly gave way.

  Mary Beth rammed the knee at him again, but Simon managed to shift and absorb the brunt on his thigh. She surprised him by dropping the spent gun, but it was only to free her hand so she could claw at his face, at his eyes.

  Grappling, they teetered back and forth, neither able to gain a clear advantage. Simon couldn’t make her drop the second pistol and she couldn’t make him stop trying. Mary Beth snarled and hissed, raking his cheek, his chin, his throat. She nearly took an eye.

  Their struggle brought them to a rough tract of ground littered with small boulders. Simon was bending Mary Beth’s thumb back when she tripped, taking him down with her. Her arm smashed against one of the boulders. The flintlock fell from fingers suddenly numb. Simon grabbed for it, but she screamed pure hate and lashed upward with both legs. Her feet struck him in the chest, knocking him back.

  It was Simon’s turn to trip. Instantly, he scrambled to his knees, afraid she had scooped up the pistol and would shoot him. Instead, she held the long knife she kept hidden somewhere under her dress, and now she came at him
like a Viking berserker. He had to fling himself backward to keep from having his throat slit from ear to ear.

  “You’re going to die!” Mary Bath growled.

  Simon crabbed backward to put distance between them. There was no reasoning with her now. She was too far gone. Either she would slay him or she would die trying. His hand closed on a fist-size rock, which he hurled as she bounded forward. It clipped her on the forehead, slowing her, allowing him to heave upright.

  Mary Beth held the knife close to her waist, the tip angled upward. “I’m fixin’ to gut you, Yankee!”

  Simon cast about him for something he could use to defend himself. Another rock caught his eye, but as he skipped toward it, Mary Beth lunged toward him. He had to concentrate on her to the exclusion of all else. Again and again she slashed, at his stomach, his face, his groin. Each time he barely avoided the glittering steel.

  A crafty look came over Mary Beth and she stopped swinging wildly. Crouching, she circled, seeking an opening, her knife snaking back and forth. Twice she feinted, laughing.

  Simon was tiring fast. The past twenty-four hours had taken a fearsome toll. He was exhausted, he was starving. His wrists were in torment, his side throbbed. His head felt as if a mule had stomped on it. And as if all that were not enough, his sprained ankle refused to bear much weight. Eventually, he would become too weak to resist. Mary Beth would easily finish him off. He knew it, and she knew it. Which was why she was toying with him – to wear him out that much sooner.

  Simon had to do something while he still had the energy. His desperate plight called for a desperate gamble. To that end, he braced himself, and the next time she feinted, he was ready. Simon flicked a hand out and grasped her wrist. Immediately, Mary Beth hauled backward while simultaneously kicking at his knee. Holding on, he plowed into her.

  Mary Beth attempted to spring aside, but Simon’s weight bore them both to the ground. She fought like a panther, using her teeth, her nails, her knees. He pressed her knife arm flat, but she heaved against him, almost bucking him off.

  “You son of a bitch!”

  Simon was counting on his greater weight to keep Mary Beth pinned. But trying to hold on to her was like trying to hold on to an enraged bobcat. She shoved him onto his side, then slid on top, her nails seeking his throat. Simon kept on rolling, carrying her with him, never once slackening his grip. They rolled onto a short slope and careened down it in a tangle of arms and legs.

  A tree brought them to a stop, the jolt driving them apart. Simon’s ribs were on fire as he rose onto his hands and knees. A broken branch lay a few yards away. Simon dived, swept it up, and turned to confront Mary Beth. Woman or not, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He had to end it one way or another.

  To Simon’s surprise, Mary Beth had not risen. She looked up at him, the fiery glaze gone from her eyes. “Never thought it would end like this.”

  Suspicious of a ruse, Simon sidestepped to the right to get in front of her. He stopped dead when he saw the hilt of the knife jutting from her chest. A scarlet stain was spreading across her dress. “I wish it hadn’t come to this,” Simon said. “I’m truly sorry.”

  Mary Beth pumped onto her knees, swayed, and steadied herself. “Damn my bones if’n I don’t believe you.” She laughed, then coughed, red drops oozing from the corner of her mouth. “Just my luck to be killed by someone as dumb as a shovel.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Sure. Pull this pigsticker out and cut your throat with it.”

  Simon was astonished she could be so flippant with her end so near. “Shouldn’t you make your peace with your Maker?”

  Mary Beth was staring at the knife. Her eyelids fluttered, she inhaled deeply, and her shoulders sagged. When next she spoke, it was scarcely above a whisper. “Why should I? What did my Maker ever do for me?”

  “Gave you life—” Simon began.

  “Some life!” Mary Beth said bitterly. “He didn’t do me no favors. Havin’ a pa who thought I was a growed woman at ten, and a man who could never tell the difference between menfolk and womenfolk.”

  “Sweet Jesus!”

  “Is he? Then why’d he let me suffer like I done? Why would he let anyone suffer?”

  Simon had no answer.

  Mary Beth raised tear-filled eyes to the heavens. “I’m not much account, I know. But I did the best I could.” A gasp escaped her. She clutched the hilt, trembled as if cold, and died where she knelt.

  “I really am sorry,” Simon reiterated softly. He wrenched the knife out and wiped it clean on Mary Beth’s dress. Next he gathered as many fallen limbs as were handy and covered her to keep predators away until he could return and see to a proper burial. Then he went in search of the second pistol.

  It wasn’t over yet.

  Not by a long shot.

  Lou was filling the water trough inside the corral when a shadow fell across her. She turned, not the least bit alarmed, having heard the cabin door open and close moments earlier. “Come to lend a hand? You’re too late. I’m about done.”

  Zach had his Hawken with him. He had spent the past half an hour making sure all their guns were loaded and primed. “Why don’t you take a break? I’ve got something I’d like to say.”

  “Oh?” Lou’s heart skipped a beat. Could it be he was finally going to propose? She hung the bucket from a post and leaned on a rail. “I’m all ears.”

  She was much more than that, Zach thought, admiring the healthy glow to her cheeks and the redness of her lips. He could not get over how merely being close to her excited him. How her presence seemed to sharpen his senses. His eyes beheld her with crystal clarity, his nose tingled to her scent, his ears hung on her every word.

  For her part, Lou wanted to remember this moment forever. It was perfect. Sparrows were flitting in the brush, a jay hopping from branch to branch. The sky was clear, almost as deep blue as the lake, and as still as her breath as she waited for him to speak.

  Zach fidgeted, uneasy. He had decided to come right out with it, but now that the moment of truth was upon him, he fretted she might say no and dash his hopes. Suddenly he remembered something. “Where’s Evelyn? Have you seen her anywhere?” He didn’t want his sister to eavesdrop.

  “She was here a while ago,” Lou said. “I think she went off to play. Why?”

  “No reason,” Zach fibbed. “We just have to keep an eye on her so she doesn’t get into mischief.”

  “She promised your father she would behave.”

  Zach snorted. “You don’t know her like I do. She always tells our parents she’ll be good, then she turns around and starts a fight with me just to get me in trouble.”

  “Surely she wouldn’t.”

  “A fat lot you know about girls,” Zach said. Realizing what he had just said, he burst into laughter.

  So did Lou. She liked how relaxed he had become around her, how at ease she felt around him. As if they had been meant for each other.

  Zach stepped closer and leaned the Hawken against the corral. His palms were damper than usual, his throat much drier. Gripping a rail in case his hands started to shake, he began by saying, “I had a talk with my pa before he left.”

  “What about?”

  “Where to live.”

  “Oh.”

  “About how I’d like to have a place of my own someday. I always figured I’d live with the Shoshones. Have my own lodge and two or three warhorses and a Shoshone wife. It was my dream.”

  “And now?” Lou had the impression he was beating around the bush, but she let him get to the point in his own sweet time. Her mother once told her that men often found it hard to say what was in their hearts, that a woman had to be as patient with them as with children.

  “Dreams change, I’ve learned.” Zach looked at her and quaked inside. He wondered what was wrong with him. Why was he so scared to utter four little words? Will you marry me? What was so hard about that?

  “I never had many dreams, myself,” Lou said. “Not a
bout the future. My ma used to say that one day a man would come along and I’d fall so hard, I wouldn’t believe I was me. If that makes any sense.”

  Zach faced her. She had made it plain how she felt. All he had to do was ask. He reached for her hand. “I’d better get this out before my tongue freezes up on me. Louisa May Clark, will you do me the honor of—”

  “Zach! Lou! Get up here, quick!”

  The cry came from behind and above Zach. He whirled, and was stupefied to see his sister hunkered on the roof of the cabin, gesturing excitedly. “What in the world are you doing up there? Spying on us?”

  Evelyn had been doing no such thing and resented being accused. “Pa told us to keep our eyes skinned, remember? I came up here to keep watch and I just saw something. Hurry! Climb on up!”

  Long ago their father had nailed short boards to a pine next to the cabin, in effect making a ladder so he could climb on the roof several times a year to sweep off pinecones and busted limbs or do repairs when needed. Until the last year or so Zach had liked to climb up there a lot himself. Snatching the Hawken, he ran around the corner to the tree.

  Lou was a few steps behind, doing her best to smother the disappointment that seared her like a red-hot poker. He had been close, so very close. Another few seconds and her heart’s desire would have been fulfilled.

  Zach scaled the ladder with the agility of a squirrel. The square roof sloped slightly from front to back so rain would drain off. In the center stood his sister. From there a person could scan the valley from end to end. He joined her. “Well?”

  “There,” Evelyn said, pointing to the west. “They’re gone now, but I saw two riders. I swear.”

  “Whites or Indians?’ ‘

  “Too far to tell. But they’re heading this way. And it can’t be Ma and Pa. They’re not due back for another couple of days.”

  Zach scoured the slopes. He saw no one.

  “You believe me, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Zach responded. Evelyn was a tease and a prankster, but she would never joke about something so serious.