Lawless Love

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Well, it does take courage, but there’s plenty that can’t afford to travel this way so they still go by wagon. ’Course, most of the Indians are on reservations, you know, but there are plenty left out there makin’ trouble.” He eyed her admiringly. “You’ve got courage, too, you know.”

  “Me?” She blushed and looked at her lap. “Mr. Tucker, I’ve been so afraid on this journey, I’m ashamed of myself.”

  “But that’s what’s so courageous about you. You told me you’ve hardly ever been outside that orphanage, and you’re scared to death. But you’re goin’ anyway, and you had no idea whether you’d run into any help along the way. I admire you, Miss Boone. You’re a brave young lady, puttin’ the needs of that mission above your own fears. Where is the mission, anyway?”

  Amanda was pleased and flattered at his compliments, and secretly happy that he seemed to want to talk now. It gave her the excuse she needed to converse with him without appearing too forward.

  “It’s near San Francisco,” she replied. “Most of the children there are orphans, as I was.”

  “Well, it’s nice for kids to have a place to go. Me, I was runnin’ the streets of Chicago at thirteen.”

  She frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Tucker. You were an orphan, too then?”

  His eyes darkened slightly. “No,” he replied, turning to look out the window. “But I might as well have been.” He looked back at her. How she wanted to know more! But already she could see that was all he was going to say. “No more talk about me,” he commented. “You, uh, bein’ a teacher and all, you must be pretty well educated.”

  “The nuns taught me well,” she replied. She watched him smoke. What a casual, worldly man he was. How she admired him for his courage and sureness, and how her heart ached to know about his apparently tragic past.

  “I never had much education,” he told her, actually appearing embarrassed about it.

  “There are many forms of education, Mr. Tucker. I’ve had a lot of book learning. But I know little about the real world. You strike me as a person who’s probably been many places. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell me a little bit about the land where we’re headed. Have you been to California before?”

  His eyes saddened, and he puffed on the cigar.

  “I’ve been there before,” he said quietly. He appeared to want to say more, and Amanda was full of questions, but she forced herself not to ask them. It wouldn’t be right to show too much interest. He sighed and shifted in his seat.

  “Let’s see now…the country where we’re headed. Well, ma’am, it’s awful pretty—leastways I think it is. That’s mostly because there aren’t a lot of people out there yet. Oh, it’s growing, mind you, but there’s still places where a man could ride a hundred miles and not see another livin’ soul, where the only sound at night is a coyote singing, and the only movement is the wind itself. There’s big, crazy-lookin’ rocks that look like somebody painted them. There’s all kinds of pine up on the mountains and junipers, sagebrush, and cactus down below. There’s weird, cone-shaped mesas with flat tops, canyons, cliffs, lava beds, groves of golden aspen, thunderin’ waterfalls, and there’s them magnificent Rocky Mountains and the Sierras.”

  Amanda sat transfixed, watching him as he spoke. His voice was rather melancholy. He stopped to smoke a moment, and she said not a word. She looked out the window for a moment, trying to envision what he’d been describing. The endless prairies of Nebraska continued to fly past the window.

  “Oh, and there’s jackrabbits and roadrunners, screech owls and gila monsters, mountain lions, bears, buffalo and deer,” he went on. Telling her was like entertaining a little girl. He enjoyed her innocence, he loved her innocence—he loved the woman-child he was talking to. He knew it, and knew how foolish it was; he wondered what had happened to his common sense.

  “The days are scorchin’ hot and the nights are freezin’ cold,” he went on. “The rain don’t come often, and sometimes it comes in torrents and floods everything. And the sound of thunder up in the mountains…it sets a man’s flesh to tingling. And out there—out there a man can be his own man. He can—”

  He suddenly stopped, reaching over and putting out his cigar and seeming to be disgusted with something.

  “Please go on, Mr. Tucker,” she said softly. “It sounds wonderful! I was afraid before, but now with you along, and knowing you know so much about the land…”

  His eyes met hers, and they were filled with remorse.

  “I know the land all right,” he told her. “I know it ’cause I’ve ridden almost every inch of it.”

  “Oh? What do you do for a living, Mr. Tucker?”

  He studied her, and she felt the strange warmth again. She was alarmed by the pleasant but new sensation his eyes stirred deep within her body: an odd, hungry longing. Longing for what? She wasn’t sure.

  “It’s best we don’t talk about me,” he told her. “Let’s just say I’m goin’ to California to kind of start a new life.”

  Their eyes held again. Her heart went out to him. This man was struggling with something.

  “Then I will pray for you, Mr. Tucker. Whatever it is you wish to do, whatever your reasons for starting over, I’ll ask God to help you.”

  He smiled light. “Don’t waste your time, Miss Boone. You pray for somebody more deserving. I’ll just rely on myself and my gun. That’s all I’ve ever had.”

  “I don’t believe that,” she replied.

  He reached in his pocket for yet another cigar, and she realized he was getting nervous over this conversation about himself. He cleared his throat.

  “Let’s, uh, talk about New York,” he told her, lighting up. “Tell me about where you’re from. Chicago is as far east as I’ve ever been. I was born and reared there.”

  “You were? But how did you end up—”

  “No more talk about me,” he interrupted, waving his hand. “Tell me about the orphanage.”

  “Well, it’s just about all I know. I may be from New York, but I never saw much of the city because I seldom ventured outside the orphanage, Mr. Tucker. And I guess I’d have to say that the busy streets of New York frighten me just about as much as the barren loneliness of the West. I—I guess you must think me awfully childish. I’m twenty-two years old and I act ten.”

  She blushed and took out her knitting again. When her eyes met his again, she was almost startled at the gentleness and near reverence she saw there.

  “I don’t think you’re childish at all,” he told her. “I think you’re a beautiful young lady, and you’re…” He sighed. “You probably wouldn’t understand, ’cause you don’t know nothin’ about me, and you don’t know nothin’ about the kind of life I’ve led, the things I’ve seen and done—a world completely alien to you, Miss Boone. So you don’t understand how refreshing somebody like you is to me. Back there in Chicago I’d been stayin’ with…” He hesitated, then took another puff of his cigar. “Well, all I can say is you’re sweet and charming, and I aim to see you safely to California, ’cause I wouldn’t want to see somebody like you get hurt.”

  “I’m grateful, Mr. Tucker. I—”

  Before she could say more the train suddenly jolted. People cried out and Amanda screamed as she flew forward, while Moss tried to catch her. Others who had been seated facing the engine of the train also flying, and the wheels of the train screeched to a halt. People were gasping and cursing, and Moss Tucker sat with his arms around Amanda. She smelled lovely. The velvety cheek that briefly brushed his rugged face brought an ache to his groin.

  “My goodness, what’s happened?” Amanda asked, her face crimson with embarrassment as she moved away from him. Moss kept hold of her arms and helped her back into her own seat, bending close to her face for a moment.

  “You all right, Miss Boone?”

  His closeness made her feel light-headed.

  “I—I think so,” she managed to reply. Never had a man held her, not even by accident. It momentarily flashed through her mi
nd how nice it would be to have someone strong hold her, someone brave to always be around to protect her, someone—oh, but what a foolish, sinful thought!

  Never had Moss Tucker had to hold himself back like this. So close she was! So pretty she smelled! How nice it would be to kiss her virgin lips.

  “I’ll go see what’s happened,” he told her, anxious to get away from her for a moment. He left, and she waited anxiously. Others disembarked, and men were walking around outside shouting some kind of orders.

  It seemed forever before he returned. But finally he reentered the car and sat down across from her again.

  “Cattle,” he told her. “Happens a lot, they say. The dumb animals get on the tracks and won’t move. We hit one.”

  Amanda jumped when a shot went off.

  “What was that?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  “They had to shoot the animal—put it out of its misery.”

  “Oh,” she replied, frowning. “How sad.”

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes. I’m sure.”

  “We’ll be rollin’ again in a minute.” He moved to look out the window for a moment, and she suddenly realized how dependent she was becoming on this man. Was it right? It had to be. Surely the Lord had sent him to help her. If the Lord had sent him, then it was perfectly all right for her to be conversing with him and relying on his advice and protection. But what about the other feelings she was beginning to have? She realized that if he were to leave the train before reaching California, she would be devastated, afraid and lonely, and—worst of all, she would miss the man. Why should she miss someone she hardly knew? Why should it matter? It frightened her somewhat that she no longer wanted this man along just for protection, but more because she wanted to be near him! Her mind whirled with confusion. All of these feelings were things she had never before experienced.

  “Just don’t think about it!” she told herself. “When you reach California and the mission, you’ll not see him again, and you can get busy with your teaching. And soon you will take your final vows. Higher goals, Amanda! You must strive for higher goals, just as the nuns taught you. God sent this man to see you safely to California, and for no other reason!”

  The train lurched forward again, and Amanda looked out the window at a large herd of cattle. They passed by the dead one, and she crinkled her nose.

  “Poor thing,” she commented. “It seems so—so violent.”

  “Violent? Hittin’ a cow with a train?” he asked, frowning. “It was just an accident.”

  She turned her eyes back to his. She studied the rugged face and its lines of experience. He was more handsome than she had realized, perhaps because she was finding it easier to look at him without being embarrassed. There was a tiny scar on his chin where his beard would not grow.

  “To me it seems violent,” she told him. She closed her eyes. “I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re here, Mr. Tucker. I hope nothing more than this happens.” She opened her eyes again. “Do you—do you think we’ll run into Indians?”

  “It’s possible,” he replied, sitting forward and removing his jacket. She studied the broad shoulders. “The Indians are gettin’ mighty restless…fed up with the government’s broken promises. I can tell you, ma’am, I don’t blame the Indians much for anything they do. They’ve been lied to, cheated on, starved out, burned out, their women violated, and their children murdered.” Amanda reddened at the statement about women being violated. But he went on, although stirred by the way she blushed so easily. He wondered how frightened she would be and how much she would blush on her own wedding night. But then there would likely never be a wedding night for a woman such as Amanda Boone. “The Indian is proud,” he went on. “And he’s a man of his word. He hates the white man’s forked tongue, and I can’t blame him. There’ll be a lot more trouble before it’s settled, and I don’t reckon the Indian can possibly come out on the winnin’ end. It’s too bad, but it’s a fact of life. The white man will keep coming, and someday the red man will dwindle down to practically nothing.”

  “I feel sorry for them,” she replied. “But at the same time it frightens me. I would hate to be the brunt of their anger when I’ve never done anything against them.”

  “It’s human nature,” he replied. “I know how it feels to hate the world for what just one or two people have done,” he added. His eyes had hardened somewhat when he made the statement, and her heart went out to him.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Tucker. You’ve had a bad experience of your own then?”

  He laughed lightly, pretending not to care. “More than one,” he told her. “More than one.” He sighed. “There aren’t many people in this world like you, Miss Boone, people with hearts big enough for everybody, people who really care about others and are full of kindness, people who know nothing of hate, violence, lust, and vengeance. Most people think only of themselves, Miss Boone, and you’d best remember that and watch out for it. I know you like to think the best of folks, but you’d best be wary of them, too. They’ll smile and act nice, then turn around and stab you in the back.”

  She sat and watched him quietly for a moment. Their eyes met again.

  “And what about you, Mr. Tucker? Do you plan to stab me in the back?”

  His eyes softened again. Then he smiled softly, a handsome and reassuring smile. “No, ma’am. I’d never do that. I didn’t mean to turn around and make you afraid of me.”

  “You didn’t.” She smiled herself now. “The point is, Mr. Tucker, that violence and hate just breed more violence and hate, and fear. But love and kindness can also be contagious.”

  He looked her over admiringly, and she blushed again.

  “Maybe so,” he told her. “But it’s easy for somebody like you to say that. I hope nothin’ ever happens to you, Miss Boone, that would change your mind. ’Cause them is mighty pretty thoughts. And you’re a mighty pretty lady.”

  She smiled nervously. “I’ve never…thought about such things much, Mr. Tucker. Vanity is sinful. But thank you for the compliment just the same.”

  “You really gonna’ be a nun?”

  “I haven’t decided for certain yet.”

  “Well, pardon my sayin’ so, ma’am, but I hope you decide against it.”

  She looked over at him in surprise. “Being a nun has almost always been my goal, Mr. Tucker. I believe it’s what the Lord wants of me, and what better way to serve the Lord?”

  He grinned and looked her over again. “Yeah, maybe. But I’d sure hate to see a nice lady like you hide behind convent walls all her life. You’d make a fine wife, a beautiful mother. Did you ever stop to think maybe God would like you to do that instead?”

  Now her face was crimson. This man was planting thoughts in her head that she had never seriously considered until now. Was God testing her through this man? Was He deliberately tempting her to think of other things besides being a nun?

  “I—I have no such plans, Mr. Tucker,” she managed to say.

  “Mmm-hmm,” he replied thoughtfully. “Well, that’s too bad, Miss Boone. I ain’t speakin’ for myself, mind you. Man like me—he don’t deserve somethin’ as special as you. But like I say, you’d make some man mighty proud. You’re a fine young woman, and I’ll bet you’d raise a fine bunch of kids. But if you really want to be a nun, well, I admire that, too. Fact is, I admire you very much, Miss Boone. I’m glad you’re along on this trip. It’s real nice havin’ somebody to talk to, somebody to look out for.”

  “Well, then,” she replied, blushing and twisting a knitting needle in her hands. “We can help one another in different ways.”

  He smiled, and she hurriedly got back to her knitting, flustered over his remarks of marriage and children. She could hardly imagine having that kind of relationship with a man. He was confusing her now.

  “What are you makin’ there?” he asked her.

  “Well, I—I thought I’d make you a woolen scarf, Mr. Tucker, for your help. It started out as nothing in
particular, but I’d like to make you something. Do you need a scarf?”

  “That’s mighty nice, ma’am,” he replied. “I surely could use one, and I’d surely like to have something from you to always remember you by when this trip’s over.”

  “Good,” she told him, trying to act casual in spite of the flutter he kept creating in her chest. “Then a scarf it will be.”

  He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Tell me something, Miss Boone. How come you cling to that carpetbag like you do? It can’t be just the knittin’ you’re worried about.”

  She met his eyes. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes you do. You watch that thing like a hawk, and you didn’t even want me to touch it at first so I could fix the handle.”

  Their eyes held again. Why was she so sure she could trust this man?

  “All right, Mr. Tucker,” she spoke in a barely audible voice. “I’m carrying a crucifix in the bottom of it. It’s encrusted with diamonds and rubies. It’s a gift from the orphanage in New York to the mission where I am headed. I—I’ve heard so many tales about outlaws and such out here that I—I just thought it best I not let it out of my sight.”

  He frowned. Then he sighed almost disgustedly.

  “They never should have left somethin’ like that in your care. A sweet little thing like you carryin’ somethin’ valuable like that! What the hell was they thinkin’ of!”

  “Mr. Tucker! Please don’t swear!” she said quietly. “And I have the Lord to protect me.”

  “The Lord!” He rolled his eyes. “Jesus, woman, do you know what an outlaw would do to get his hands on somethin’ like that! Do you think the Lord is gonna come down here with a six-gun and shoot it out with somebody to protect that cross?” His words were whispered but angry.

  “Mr. Tucker, please! Don’t blaspheme!” she whispered back. “And how on earth would anyone suspect that someone like myself would be carrying anything valuable! And how do you know what an outlaw would do to get his hands on that crucifix!”