Tilly Trotter Wed (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy)

by Cookson, Catherine

  ‘Shut up! woman. Shut up!’ He was growling at her now. ‘Where? What did you see?’

  She bounced her head a number of times and swallowed deeply before she managed to bring out, ‘I saw one coming towards the house, a big, big fellow in . . . in war paint.’

  ‘Quiet! Come on.’ It wasn’t to her he was speaking but to Tilly now, and at a run they all went into the living room. There he snatched up his gun from the side of the fireplace, where it had been resting in a clip; then throwing open the lid of a box on a rough side table he took out first one Colt revolver and handed it to Tilly, then a second one to Katie. When her hand refused to grasp it he growled slowly, ‘Take it, woman. You’ll likely be glad of it before the night’s over. And listen.’ He gripped her shoulder. ‘If they should get near you use it on yourself. Do you hear?’

  Katie could utter no word, for every pore of her plump body was oozing trembling sweat.

  All this time Tilly hadn’t spoken. Twice she had glanced upwards to where the children were still crying, and when Matthew pushed Katie towards her she gripped her arm and led her to the window and, having pressed her down to one side of it, she took up her position at the other.

  Matthew had gone down the room to the second window, that was to the left of the door, and, standing to the side of it, his gun cocked, he peered out into the compound and waited.

  There was no sound but he knew from the various horrific stories he had listened to that that was how they came at first, soundlessly. They would let all the horses out of the stockade, leaving some of their warriors to herd them, and their own horses would be held at the ready. When they’d finished their work they would mount with their captives behind them and race back to their base, which could be two, three, even four hundred miles away; they had been known to ride a hundred miles in a day stopping only to change their mounts. If it wasn’t that, like every other man, woman and child who had settled in this state, he feared them he would have admired them simply for the magnificence of their horsemanship. It was said that they had more concern for their animals than they had for their own women. He had never been in an Indian raid or seen the devastating effects left by one but he had heard enough to make his blood run cold and to know that if it came to the push he himself would kill Tilly and the children rather than let them fall into the hands of any Indian, especially a Comanche.

  He had been given to understand when he first came here that should there be any sign of trouble three shots would be fired: this would alert the whole ranch. Well, he had heard no shots, so they mustn’t have made themselves felt down below. Perhaps their intention was to take this place first.

  Suddenly he thought of the back door. Was it locked? He had never locked it. He hissed now, ‘Go and lock the back door, Katie.’

  When there was no movement from the window, he sprang across the room, through the kitchen and to the door, and thrust the bar across it, then stood for a second breathing deeply before running back again to the window.

  The moon was bright now, and he could see no movement outside, no sign of anyone. He wondered if he should set off the alarm. It would mean opening the window, and the slightest creak could put them on their guard or be a signal for them to begin their attack.

  As he hesitated there came the sound of movement from the end of the house where the meat store was. They were likely raiding that first. It was often their way. If the buffalo and deer were scarce and the winter hard many of those in the small camps died of starvation, even being reduced to eating their horses, which only anticipated death, because without horses they couldn’t hunt.

  The noise became louder. They were dragging the meat out. They had likely overturned one of the barrels; he had helped salt down three hogs yesterday.

  When the dark hump came into view, his body stiffened; then he dropped onto one knee and gently slid open the window, rested the muzzle of his rifle on the sill and waited. A shadow crossed the moon but he could pick out a figure moving towards him, slowly lumbering, nothing like the stealthiness of an Indian.

  Of a sudden, the cloud left the moon and there, not ten yards from the house, stood an enormous bear and at its feet a shoulder of hog, and gnawing at the shoulder was a cub.

  Matthew almost laughed with relief, but his laughter was short-lived when the bear took a limping step forward and he could see that its right shoulder was badly shattered. A healthy bear was dangerous but a wounded bear was something else.

  ‘It’s the bear, Matthew. It’s the bear.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Be quiet.’

  A decision had to be made: to shoot or not to shoot. If he didn’t kill the beast outright it could charge. The door might hold but not the window, and the beast was now almost opposite the window where Tilly and Katie were standing. Anyway, if he missed, as he could easily do from this angle, the sound would bring the others out.

  The report of his gun seemed to shatter the room, and the children upstairs screamed louder; but the bullet had found its target for the bear reared on its hind legs and gave a cry that was almost human, and the cub, leaving its meal, ran in agitated circles around its mother.

  But the animal was far from finished. It began to lumber now straight towards the window, attracted perhaps by the glint of the moonlight on the glass and the shadows of the figures behind it.

  Knowing that he couldn’t get it within his sights from where he was standing, it took but a split second to whip the bar from the door, and then he was in the open facing the animal which had now turned towards him. When Matthew fired again his aim must have been erratic; he had been aiming for the beast’s heart, but the bear was still lumbering towards him.

  Again he reloaded and pulled the trigger, but the lock stuck and the animal was now not more than eight feet from him. For the first time in his life he experienced panic: he was aware of shouts coming from the ranch and knew that the men would be here in minutes, but by then it would be seconds too late. He also knew that Tilly was by his side and he wanted to scream at her, ‘Get away! Get away!’ But he had no voice. As he went to thrust his arm towards her he heard the shots, and when he glanced at her he saw that she was holding the Colt in both hands and he imagined she had her eyes closed.

  As he and the animal fell to the ground together he felt a breath-tearing pain rip down his arm; then he was smothered in a weight of stinking fur. It was in his mouth, wet, sticky, sweet. He couldn’t breathe, he was finished. Not until the hot blood-smeared weight was dragged off him did he realise he was almost naked and covered with blood.

  ‘Tilly! Tilly!’

  ‘She’s all right, Matt, she’s all right.’

  ‘Where is she? Where is she?’

  ‘It’s all right, she’s indoors. It didn’t touch her, she fell clear, but it got you. Boy! it got you. Still, you’re lucky. By God! I’ll say you are, you’re lucky. She’s the biggest I’ve seen in years. She is the one that got away . . . but not quite, not quite.’ Doug Scott talked all the while he was settling him in a chair in the room.

  Luisa, her hair tucked underneath a white cap, her feet in top boots into which were thrust the sides of her nightgown, and this only partially covered by her old fur coat, was attending to Tilly. She too, like Doug Scott was talking all the time. ‘There now. There now. Come on, say something. It’s the shock. It isn’t every day you kill a bear. Brave lass, you are that. And a good shot. I saw you, you held it steady. I would have smacked your chops for you if you hadn’t after all the lessons I gave you. Here, drink this. And you Katie, stop your shaking.’ She turned to where Katie was huddled up in the corner of the settle. ‘You’ve got the house trembling. Anyway, what is it after all? Only a bear. But by God! I thought for a moment they had come. Somehow, been expecting them for years. I didn’t stop to think they’d been pushed back too far this time to make it.’ On and on she prattled, and not until her father appeared on the scene did she stop.

  Alvero Portes didn’t enquire what had happened, he could see for himself
, and his concern was solely for Matthew. ‘Bring him down,’ he said to Mack McNeill; ‘there are proper medical dressings down there.’

  ‘I’m all right.’ Matthew didn’t look at him as he spoke.

  ‘You’re not all right. With that tear from those claws you could lose your arm, so don’t be foolish, come down. Bring him down.’ He again looked at Mack who, looking back at his boss, said nonchalantly, ‘I can’t carry him; and if he doesn’t want to come, boss, he doesn’t want to come.’

  On this Alvero cast his glance from Mack to Doug Scott, then on to Matthew, and he said, ‘Well, when you lose your arm you’ll remember my words.’ And on this he turned and went out.

  Pressing Doug aside with his good hand, Matthew walked over to the settle, and there, dropping into a seat Luisa held out for him, he took hold of Tilly’s hands, saying, ‘It’s all right, my dear, it’s all right. You were wonderful . . . wonderful.’

  As she looked into Matthew’s face, Tilly wasn’t thinking, I saved your life, but, I killed that poor creature. It looked at me and knew what I was going to do. I have killed a creature.

  Other people could go out on bear hunts; the Indians could raid a homestead and massacre the inhabitants, the army and the rangers could retaliate and massacre the tribes; it was all hearsay, like listening to a story, nothing became true until you did it yourself. She had taken up a gun and killed a creature. That she had saved her husband’s life didn’t weigh against the fact that it was her hand that had killed. Was there something wrong with her that she should think this way?

  She waited for the answer, and when it came it said, No; the only thing that’s wrong is that you are a misfit in this country, and always will be.

  Seven

  Matthew’s arm healed slowly. Although the rip had been but a surface one, one claw alone having done the damage, it caused him a great deal of pain. The rough stitching carried out by Mack with the help of a hefty measure of whisky had left a zigzag weal from below his shoulder to the inside of his wrist; and each day he made a point of exercising the arm, stretching it, bending it, twisting it behind his back even while he had to grit his teeth in the process. The pain would be spasmodic, and he described it to Tilly as being like an attack of toothache.

  And toothache was another thing. At times Katie was reduced to tears with the pain of a diseased molar but on no account would she let anyone extract it. Once Doug almost succeeded. He had got the pincers into her mouth but, before they had touched the tooth, she had clamped down on them and let out a yell as if the offending molar had left its socket. Katie’s toothache had become a topic for joking down in the bunkhouse.

  Tilly herself kept well in health, as did the children. Josefina had fallen into the pattern of the house as if she had been born to it. She spoke in a mixture of Spanish and English; and in turn Tilly, too, was learning a deal of Spanish.

  Since the night of the bear, as that episode was referred to, Tilly had felt a change in herself. She couldn’t actually put a name to the change, she only knew how it affected her; and even then the explanation she gave to herself was not the one that had come as an answer to her question on that particular night, for in her heart she knew that she would have to get used to this country because it had become Matthew’s country, so what she told herself was, that she felt nearer the earth somehow. Yet when she tried to analyse this, the meaning behind it escaped her.

  Now she had her own home she was kept more busy than usual, for she did her own cooking, with only one help. His name was Manuel Huerte. He was a full-blooded Mexican and from the beginning of his service he made it plain that he would have nothing to do with Diego or Emilio; to him they were Indian. In addition to his own tongue he spoke Spanish quite well, and it was through him that Tilly progressed in the latter and so was able to talk more with Josefina, and coach Willy too.

  Katie came from the living room where she had left the children playing on the rug before the fire and, sniffing loudly, said, ‘Me nose tells me something.’

  ‘And what’s that?’ Tilly turned from the table.

  ‘You’re making a peach pie.’

  She came and bent over the table and sniffed at the dish of fruit, saying, ‘Eeh! I never thought those wizened pieces of chopped leather, ’cos that’s all they looked like, would ever turn into that. Why didn’t they dry fruit like that back home?’

  ‘Yes, why didn’t they? Why didn’t they make ice like they do here? And why don’t they use animal hides like they do here? By, we’ll make a difference over there when we go back.’ Tilly grinned at Katie, and Katie, her face straight now, said, ‘Think we ever will, Tilly?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. Matthew’s promised to take us over once we’re settled away from here.’

  ‘Is that still on?’

  ‘Yes, definitely. When the spring comes he’s going on the lookout for a homestead.’

  ‘Oh, that’ll be grand. But . . . but about hands?’

  ‘Oh, we’ll be able to hire hands.’

  ‘Would any of them leave here?’

  Tilly kept her head down as she replied, ‘I should think so; all except Mack. I don’t think he would leave.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose he would.’ Katie’s voice had a bright note to it now. ‘But do you think Rod and Doug would move?’

  Tilly still kept her head down. ‘Oh yes. Yes, I think they would come with us; they’re very fond of Matthew.’

  ‘Aye. Aye, they are . . . Well I’d better get back to the terrors.’

  She was making for the door when she turned and said, ‘You know it’s touchin’, Tilly, to see how she’ – she jerked her head back into the room – ‘looks after Willy. She hates me to do anything for him. I had to slap her hands yesterday ’cos she pushed me. And I’m sure she was swearin’ at me in that tongue of hers.’ She laughed, and Tilly laughed with her as she said, ‘The main thing is, they’ve taken to each other.’

  ‘Aye. Aye, they have that.’ As Katie went to turn away Tilly said, ‘When I get this in the oven I’m going to slip down to see Luisa. She wasn’t too good last night, she’s got a heavy cold on her. If I’m not back within half an hour look to the oven, will you?’

  ‘Aye. Aye, I’ll do that.’

  They nodded at each other.

  A few minutes later Tilly, muffled to the eyes in a long skin coat and hood, hurried over the hard ridged ground. The sharp air caught at her throat and she tucked her chin into the collar of her coat; but she lifted her head before entering the open passageway and looked about her hoping she might catch a glimpse of Matthew for he’d be somewhere in the compound, if not there over in the corral. But the only one she saw was Rod Tyler struggling with a mettlesome horse as he aimed to get him into one of the sheds; horses that had been used to roaming the plains took badly to cover.

  When she tapped on Luisa’s sitting room door and she heard her croaking voice say, ‘Come in,’ she wasn’t all that surprised to see that she wasn’t alone. Mack McNeill was standing to one side of the fireplace, and Luisa sat at the other side.

  Tilly nodded to Mack, then to Luisa and said, ‘How is it?’

  ‘Doing nicely, I should say. It seems to have taken up its abode on my chest. Damn the thing!’

  Tilly now looked at Mack and said, ‘She should be in bed.’

  ‘Aye; I told her that.’ The remark was brief, after which Mack lapsed into his habitual silence. Except for the one time he had come to the house and talked of them moving, she hadn’t heard him speak more than half a dozen words at a time. She had become used to the fact that this man could be in your company for two hours and not open his mouth. If he answered a question it was brief and to the point. However, one thing she was sure of, nothing ever escaped him. She had no doubt that even though he might already have been here half an hour or more yet when he answered her it was perhaps only the second time he had spoken.

  She had seen him at times standing silently listening to Luisa’s prattle, and when he left it would be
without a word of goodbye, merely a lifting of his chin; yet she knew there was a strong affinity between them. She often wondered why Luisa hadn’t married him. Perhaps the answer was he hadn’t spared the words to ask her. She smiled to herself now as she wondered how he might pop the question were he ever to get round to it.

  But this time he surprised her by speaking as he was about to make his departure. Looking towards Luisa, he jerked his head at her, then said, ‘Aye well’; then nodded at Tilly before turning and going out.

  The door had hardly closed on him when Luisa, also jerking her chin upwards, said, ‘You get tired of his constant chatter.’

  At this Tilly burst out laughing, saying, ‘He doesn’t get the chance, poor fellow. Anyway, it’s as he said, you should be in bed, and not down here on your own either. Why don’t you do as I ask and come up and let me look after you. It’s warmer up there. That passageway of yours, as Katie says, would blow the hair off your legs.’

  ‘Katie’ – Luisa pursed her lips – ‘do you know that Doug Scott’s for courting her?’

  ‘Well . . . I’m not quite blind, and I’ve got the idea she won’t run from him.’

  ‘You wouldn’t mind then?’

  ‘Why should I? I’d be delighted if she could get married.’

  ‘You might have to find another helper.’

  ‘I doubt it; she won’t want to leave me, we’ve been friends for many years now.’

  ‘You know, I think that’s funny, you and her friends. You’re like chalk and cheese.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s why we get on so well together. She’s a good woman is Katie.’