Undesirable

by Laura Stapleton

  “How remarkable you are!” Jenny said. “You can speak to any savage we encounter.”

  He disliked the description she’d used of the people and tried to ignore his ire. “Thank you, but not as much as you’d think. I’ve forgotten as much as I’ve learned.”

  Marie smiled at him. “I like how you can communicate with them. Do they all speak the same language, or do different groups have different dialects?”

  Grinning back, he replied, “A very good observation! They have separate languages and even their own dialects like the whites.”

  “Would you know what to say to those who massacred the Whitmans?” asked Ellen.

  Her question took him aback. Shocked, he first said, “Probably the same thing I’d say to a group of whites who massacred an Indian village of women and children. Controversy aside, I know some Sioux, and my brother married a Nez Pierce. She taught me a little before she died. They’re both different from Cayuse.”

  “Was your sister in law on the warpath?” Ellen asked, her eyes wide.

  He shook his head, amazed at the foolishness of what she’d said. “No, women don’t go on the warpath. Sally died in childbirth.”

  She looked contrite. “Oh, I’m sorry. Not even an Indian deserves that sort of death.”

  Jenny added, “You’ll have to excuse her, Mr. Granville. My theory is an Indian once bit her as a child, and she’s not been the same since.”

  A familiar language reached Sam’s ears. The young brave speaking sat to the right, grinning. Sam looked at him, eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?” he asked in the Sioux language, and the man repeated his suggestion. He shook his head, not wanting to trade Marie or the other women for a war pony. Glancing at the ladies, he grimaced, not wanting to explain. He replied in Sioux, “No trade.”

  ““I’ll give two ponies,” he replied.

  Shaking his head, Sam replied, “No, they are all mine and far more valuable than any horses you have.”

  The brave laughed. “The women are more valuable? They have tricked you.”

  He grinned. “Yes, they have. If I reconsider, I will come to you.”

  The man gave a go on gesture, knowing he’d failed. Taking the hint, Sam took Ellen’s elbow and Jenny’s hand. “Jenny, could you link arms with Marie, please? We need to look at the other items away from this gentleman.”

  “Why would we do that?” asked Jenny. “He seemed very nice.”

  “He thought you were nice, too.”

  Ellen’s expression was sour. “Don’t tell me, he wanted to trade for one of us.” She crossed her arms. “I’ve read about this. You said no, I assume?”

  “I did,” Sam assured her.

  Hands on her hips, Ellen scolded him as if she were the guide instead of him. “That cinches it. He’ll be following after us, kidnapping us in the middle of the night to go live as a savage. You know how they are, always just taking what they want.”

  He noticed how Marie and Jenny gave each other a glance as if used to Ellen’s strong opinions and shook his head. “We are on their land, and we take what we want, too.”

  She frowned, not budging in her stance. “Maybe so, but we don’t take people or scalps like they do! You told him no trade and your saying so should be enough.”

  “For the scrupulous ones, it is.” Ellen was starting to anger Sam, and he didn’t want to argue with someone with a closed mind. “There’s a criminal element in every culture. Indians are no different.”

  She crossed her arms, still frowning. “Well, in this culture, there’s more criminal than not.”

  He watched Marie admire a string of turquoise beads. “It’s been my experience, personally, that the natives are more honest than whites.” When Ellen glared at him, he couldn’t help adding, “You have to concede I might be an expert.”

  “That is an excellent point.” Her expression softened as they walked along. “Fine, I do concede you are an expert, and I can sleep safe tonight.”

  Grinning at her, he said, “I’m glad you think so.”

  Ellen smiled at him, but before she could say anything, Lucky said, “Boss, Miss Jenny wants me to look at something further down the line.”

  “Sure.” Sam leaned in so only Lucky heard. “Just keep her safe, even from you.”

  Giving him the nod, Lucky said, “You got it.”

  Whites and Indians mingled all around them. A few black freedmen had offers for customers or themselves shopped for good deals. Sam looked over the available items. Some seemed new, fresh off of a wagon. Others had signs of being scavenged. Once past a stack of weathered and new books, he turned to look at him. Sure enough, they had drawn in Lefty. Sam waited a little while, watching as the boy picked up one blank journal then another half full of scribbles. “Should we move on and let you stay for a while?”

  “I suppose so, sir.” The young man didn’t glance up from the book. “This might take a while.”

  “Sounds good.” Sam grinned at Ellen and Marie. “I don’t mind being with two beautiful women.”

  The younger girl’s expression showed her disbelief, while Marie only laughed. “Thank you. I’d been wondering what happened to all your excessive charm.”

  “Excessive?” He winked at Ellen. Rewarded with a smile, he added, “I'm just honest, dearest.”

  “I’m sure.” She paused at a selection of quilts. “Do you suppose we should trade for a few? The guidebook mentioned something about cold mountain air at night.”

  Before he could answer, a tall, lanky man tapped him on the shoulder. “Samuel! How are you?” They shook hands. “You’re out here again so soon after your wedding?”

  “I’m doing well, leading another group west.” Sam looked at his friend’s clothes. Indian buckskins, long braided hair, and moccasins meant he’d embraced the Shoshone side of his family tree. He grinned at the change, more used to seeing Adelard as a French man.

  With an intense focus, the man’s gaze fixed on Marie. Seeming a little shy under his scrutiny, she smiled. Del took her hand and kissed it as if in Europe or the nation’s capital. “Is this the beautiful Anne you’ve described to me?”

  Sam shook his head. “The wedding didn’t happen. This is Marie.” He paused, unable to take back his faux pas. “I mean, Mrs. Charles Warren.”

  “Bonjour, Madame Warren.” He kissed her hand yet again.

  “She’s very married, so mind your manners,” Sam retorted. “Ma’am, this is Mr. Du Boise.”

  “Adelard, to you, ma copine.” The man released her hand as if reluctant to do so.

  A blush crept over her face. “Thank you, though copine is a bit much. You must call me Marie, instead.”

  Sam shifted from one foot to the other, uneasy at the attention his friend paid Marie. He expected his friend to use some form of the French word for dear, but copine sounded suspiciously like more than an endearment. Many other women walked around them, yet Adelard focused solely on Marie. Sam needed to distract him with another pretty face. He stepped over to where Ellen browsed through a selection of discarded shoes. Taking her elbow, he grinned at her puzzled expression and led her to the other two. “This is Miss Ellen Winslow. Miss Winslow, this is Adelard Du Boise.”

  “Mademoiselle, is it?” He took her hand and kissed it as he’d done Marie’s. “I’m very charmed and pleased there’s no Mr. Winslow.”

  A smile belied his friend’s words. Sam muttered to Marie, “Not as pleased as all those broken hearts in his wake.”

  Ignoring Del, Ellen said, “Mr. Granville, I’m not like a lot of the other women. I’m sure this, um, gentleman, will find me far too fussy for his tastes and will soon go on his way.”

  “Qu’est que c’est?” Del stared at Ellen for a few seconds. “Fussy?”

  She gave him a tight grin. “Hmm, maybe picky is the word.” Ellen pulled her hand from his. “So are you from this area?”

  “Yes. I live with my mother’s people, as you can see, but still appreciate my father’s society very much. I’ve had adventur
es in both cultures.”

  “How interesting,” Ellen said.

  “It is, actually,” said Sam, winking at the young woman’s sour face. “However, I’ve heard this story before and need to get supplies.”

  “So do I, Mr. Granville,” Ellen interjected. “I’ll accompany you while Marie might keep your friend company.”

  Adelard held out his arm for Marie to take. “Excellent idea! I’ll escort Madame Warren while you work.”

  She took his offered support, saying, “I wouldn’t want you to be troubled.”

  “Bah! It’s no trouble for you. If Samuel is agreeable, I’ll bring today’s hunt to tonight’s dinner at your camp and share. Maybe then he can tell me how he let his Anne get away.”

  “Dinner tonight will be good. There are plenty of other ladies for you there.” Sam smiled at Marie and tipped his hat. “Beware, his tales can be taller than he is.”

  “Shh, Samuel, let me tell the lady my secrets myself.” He put his arm around her, leading Marie down to look at the handcrafted items. “Monsieur Granville exaggerates my faults instead of my charms. He’s misguided.”

  Ellen waited until they walked out of earshot. “Do you think he will be back this evening early, or very late?”

  “I’m counting on early, since he’s bringing us dinner.” He paused at a knife display. The blades gleamed in the sunlight, and he admired the craftsmanship in the ornate handles.

  “Him? Bringing us dinner? Should we have him taste it first to see if it’s safe to eat?”

  He straightened, not knowing how to respond in a calm way and walked on down the row. A long silence stretched between them as he tried to concentrate on the items in front of them. A long time had passed since the last time he and Del had been around Americans together. Sam had forgotten how people from the States thought little of the natives they’d displaced. When they’d studied together in Europe, his friend had been the toast of the continent. Sam remembered that attitude far more than the discrimination here. At last, he said, “Du Boise is one of the finest men I’ve ever met. One of the bravest and trustworthy friends I’ve known.”

  Ellen crossed her arms. “He’s a brave, certainly.”

  He glanced over at her, seeing the mulish expression and a little bit of a sneer. Some natives deserved her scorn, but not this one. He strove to hide his irritation at her attitude by looking at the shoes to see if any might fit some of the faster-growing children in their group. Sam made note of a couple pairs, feeling calm enough to tell Ellen, “I don’t doubt there are some Indians who have earned your harsh judgment of them. This particular one does not. Your opinion of Del is very wrong.”

  “You’re probably right. He’s rather fair-complected and speaks French,” she acknowledged.

  “His father is French.”

  “Oh! So he’s not all bad.”

  Her grasping onto his European heritage bothered Sam. The man had more redeeming qualities than Ellen gave him credit for. “No, just half, and I already disagree with you on which half that is.”

  “You must admit, newspapers and other first-hand accounts haven’t painted savag-, um, natives, in the best of light. I might be forgiven for thinking they’re a deplorable race of people.”

  “Have you ever considered a legal career? You’re persistent in a debate.” He saw Marie glance at him from a few vendors away and smiled. She returned his grin and went back to looking at the jewelry in front of her.

  “I’ve been told that by those who know me.” Ellen followed his line of sight and added, “Mrs. Warren is a lovely person, isn’t she?”

  “What?” The young woman had caught him off guard and red handed. “I suppose so.” He added, “She’s kind to others.”

  Ellen gazed at various goods as they strolled. “She is. Her husband is very charming. Marie has a huge blind spot where he is concerned. Most do, I’ve seen.”

  His heart dropped. Despite admitting they loved each other, Sam knew she’d go wherever Charles went. He just didn’t want to hear the same thing from someone else and make Marie’s leaving more real. “What do you mean by blind spot?”

  “A lot of people think he’s a wonderful man.”

  Sam kept his own counsel on Warren’s personality. She didn’t need to know he had the same opinion. “I see.”

  “You don’t right now, but keep your eyes open and you will.”

  “Is there something you need to tell me? As captain of the wagon party, I need to know when it affects the group.”

  “That’s a fair question. It’s not my place to tell you, and if I did, it wouldn’t affect everyone.” She reiterated, “Keep your eyes open and you’ll see soon enough.”

  Sam had no idea what she went on about and stated, “I’d prefer if you just told me flat out.”

  “So would I, trust me, but it’s not for me to say you.” She sighed, frustrated. “When you learn for yourself, remember that I did want to tell you but…”

  “It’s not for you to say.”

  “Exactly! Please believe that.” She linked arms with him. “Come on, let’s catch up with the others. You’ll find out soon enough, and it’ll most likely end up well for you.”

  Sam pondered her meaning while walking back to camp with her. As they talked about the various goods and people they’d seen, he went over his experiences with Warren’s behavior in his mind. Ellen’s allusion had been too vague. He didn’t like surprises and made a mental note to keep an eye on the man.

  The Indians had begun packing with the first hint of sunset. He looked back to see most of them gone. Clouds hovered above the western mountain range. The sun dipped below to give them a golden lining. He glanced back at the trading post again, glad to see no one following and insisting on a trade for the women.

  Arriving at Winslow’s wagon, Sam realized he had not heard a word she’d said in their walk. He didn’t remember his responses, either. Trying to keep his expression more neutral than shameful over his lack of attention, he tipped his hat in goodbye. At his own camp, Lefty sat on his bedroll with a stack of books beside him. Sam had caught Uncle Joe before he began cooking. “Joe, we’re having a guest tonight who is bringing the meat.”

  “Just that? Cooked?”

  The question amused Sam. He’d not thought about that aspect. “I’m assuming raw.”

  He nodded. “Fine. I can start the biscuits and an apple cobbler until then.”

  Sam’s stomach growled in response. “Let me know if I can help!” He reached out to feel the heavier blankets. Now dry, he pulled one from the wagon’s ribbing and started folding. Lefty jumped up to help, while Joe dug around in the back for food.

  “You mentioned us having a guest tonight?” asked Joe, his voice muffled as he searched.

  “I did,” replied Sam. He walked forward, taking the blanket ends from Lefty. “He’s French Indian, and I’ve known him since we were children.”

  “So, he’s more French than Indian?” asked Lefty.

  The other men set out tonight’s bedding for them to sit on during dinner. As he put away the stack of spare blankets, Sam replied, “He’s an equal mix of both.”

  “Excellent answer, my friend!”

  Sam turned at Del’s voice and said, “Merely the truth.” Indicating the slab of meat held in the other man’s hand, he teased, “You walked through my camp carrying that?”

  “Voilà.” He held up the raw beef. “Yes, as promised, I brought dinner.” Glancing at the fire, Del smiled when seeing the Dutch oven. “Dessert?”

  Joe said, “It’s apple cobbler.”

  “Merci, I appreciate you adding such a treat.” He turned to Sam. “If I could use a pan, a plate, and some whiskey, you can continue being a gossipy hen about me.”

  Lucky and Arnold walked up to camp. Seeing the wary expressions on both, Sam let them know, “Gentlemen, meet a good friend of mine, Adelard Du Boise. We met at the trading post today, and we agreed he’d fix dinner for us.”

  “Mostly,” added Uncle J
oe.

  Del stood and held out his palms, blood stained from cutting the flank into smaller portions for them. “We can shake hands later, agreed?”

  The younger men nodded, Lucky adding, “Agreed.”

  Arnold came over, pausing at the apple cinnamon smell. Distracted by dessert, he said, “Boss, the stock is settled in for the night.”

  “Thank you.” Sam was last as they settled in around the fire. Lefty and Arnold talked about the books Lefty had acquired. Everyone else watched as Del poured a cup of whiskey in the pan and placed it on the fire. One by one, he positioned the fillets in the hot liquor. The aroma released as the meat simmered made Sam’s mouth water. The cobbler bubbled in the pan.

  “Hello, there, Granville.”

  Sam recognized the voice as Ellen’s father and glanced up at him. “Hello, Mr. Winslow. Are you joining us for dinner?”

  He stopped in his approach when seeing Del at the fire. Mrs. Winslow bumped into him from behind as a result. “Yes.”

  The one clipped word and the expression on his face echoing his daughter’s told Sam all he needed to know. An understanding man might let Winslow make a graceful exit so as not to socialize with an Indian. Sam didn’t feel like being understanding at the moment. “Good! You and your wife join us. I see you brought your youngest. Will your daughter and other son be joining us?”

  “Yes. They’re on their way now.” Jack Winslow sat first, taking up most of the blanket his wife spread out for them. Lucy Winslow claimed her portion, and Little Buster sat on her lap.

  Sam saw Winslow fidget as if retrieving a flask from an inner vest pocket. That explained the liquor smell radiating from him. “Good evening, Jack. Missus.”

  Mr. Winslow cleared his throat. “I see we have a guest or sorts.”

  “We do. This is Adelard Du Boise, a longtime friend of mine.”

  Del held out his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”

  Winslow ignored Del and turned to Sam. “Young man, if I were in charge of this operation, I’d do a lot of things on the journey different.”