“Yeah, well, bully for them. Sure felt daisy cutting down half a hundred white folk so as a dozen Injuns can get their prairie land back.” Jessie grumbled. “Some knights in shining armor.”
Kaga frowned at the remark but said nothing. Grace and Tokota soon rejoined them, Grace sinking cross-legged on the ground. Tokota stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Kaga rose to his feet, moving with a fluid grace that betrayed his supernatural character. He took a step toward Tokota and extended his hand, palm up. “I know there was bad blood between you and my kind. I hope my own tribe and the battle we fought at your side goes some way to healing that hurt?”
Tokota looked at Kaga’s hand and he straightened his stance, threw back his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “I did not want to have yee naaldlooshii join this war. The presence of your people helped us win against the white men. But I will not forget what happened to my people by yee naaldlooshii, and if I see yee naaldlooshii in the wild, I will kill them on sight.”
Tokota’s hard gaze shifted to Grace, and he bobbed his head stiffly. He turned and strode out the tent without a backward glance. Kaga lowered his hand and snorted. He turned to Jessie and Grace, and a wry smile crept to his lips. “Maybe I should have bathed before offering him my hand. Do I smell like wet dog?”
Jessie couldn’t help but grin in return, but Grace’s expression was unusually sober. “Don’t take his bad attitude personally. I expect a large part of his bluster is on account of Enapay,” she said.
Kaga frowned. “I should forgive his bad behavior because he lost a friend?”
“They were more than just friends, Kaga,” Grace said.
Jessie’s eyes widened as he looked from Grace to Kaga.
The native man frowned and asked, “Lovers?”
Grace shrugged. “I love a wolf. Why can’t a man love another man?”
Kaga made a noise in the back of his throat but didn’t answer. Jessie shook his head and stirred the campfire embers with a fat stick. He didn’t know what to make of this revelation.
Kaga shrugged and waved a dismissive hand. “Whether it is grief coloring Tokota’s opinion, it does not matter. He may not appreciate me and mine, but I can farewell and thank the Ba’cho even if he will not. They intend to run by light of day.”
Jessie knew he meant, “they intend to turn into wolves and run free and wild by light of day”. For one fleeting moment he envied the Ba’cho their freedom. Kaga nodded to Grace and Jessie then turned and left the tent, padding away on silent feet. Jessie breathed out and slumped his shoulders with the departure of the native man. He always felt inadequate beside Kaga, with his graceful movements, long flowing hair, and rippling muscles. Jessie was acutely aware the fluff on his chin he tried to pass off as a beard had come in patchy and thin, and he was irritated that his growth spurts had all but dried up, leaving him at a less than desired height. The days spent in the saddle had toned his muscles, and he wore a golden tan across his arms and face instead of a milk-pale complexion, but when it came time to throw a punch, he was still seventeen and stuck between grass and hay.
“So, we bug out in the morning?” he asked.
It took Grace a few seconds to turn and acknowledge him. She flicked her cheroot into the fire. “Hm? Oh yeah, right. Gonna be a long ride to Lou’siana. You up for it, Jessie?”
Jessie frowned. “Course I am. Why would you ask that?”
Grace shrugged, though her lips were pressed firmly together, and her dark eyes filled with concern. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay after...” She trailed off. Jessie knew she meant to say after Bess. He stiffened and a shadow passed over his features. He didn’t want to talk about Bess. Especially with Grace.
“I’m fine.”
Grace smiled but concern still lingered on her face. When she reached over to pat Jessie on the arm, he shrugged her off. A frown furrowed Grace’s brow and she flicked her blond hair off her shoulders. “Jessie, if you’re holding on to ill feelings, I’d rather have it out now than let you fixate on it.”
Jessie shook his head. “I ain’t holding onto anything. What’s done is done and stewing on it won’t change anything.”
Grace cocked an eyebrow. “You wish things had worked out different?”
Jessie frowned. “Don’t you?”
“The Sioux got their home back, Tokota’s coming with us, and a whole mess of white folk got shifted off the frontier. I know you’re worried about those folk, but Jessie, the frontier ain’t no place for white folk to setup anyhow. They’ll be safer back east.”
Jessie snorted. “You got it all tied up in a neat little twine parcel in that head of yours, don’t you?”
Grace frowned. “Well ain’t it?”
“What about Bess? And the apothecary? And all the other folk who died? How do they fit in your parcel?”
Grace frowned. “Someone always—”
“Aw quit it!” Jessie snapped. He climbed to his feet and glared down at Grace. “Someone always dies. Ain’t that right? Well, maybe this time it weren’t the right someone.”
He stomped to the tent flap and strode out into the chilly night without a glance behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The high-pitched whine in his ear was getting on his last nerve. Jessie waited until he felt his cheek tingle and knew the mosquito had landed. He slapped his cheek, and when he looked at his palm he grinned at the sight of the squashed bug. His grin faded as he heard buzzing again. Even with a hundred hands slapping from noon to night he’d never be free of the mosquito menace. The same went for the oppressive heat, dripping sweat, and the near constant itch of chigger bites. In the weeks they’d spent in steamy Louisiana, Jessie had come to loathe the place.
For the lad born and raised in frontier West, all his life dawn had meant a hot, dusty day, and night promised cold, clear skies. He’d never known humidity and had rarely come across masses of water. He’d seen rivers and creeks before, but the swamps and bayous of Louisiana had knocked Jessie acock. The first inkling he’d traveled into a whole different world had been the change in color. Green crept in where he was used to yellow, brown, and ochre. He soon noticed more varieties of plant life and greener grass. Then came the little settlements with big trees draped in Spanish moss. Folk began using different words, and Jessie noticed dark-skinned people spread among the whites. He, Grace, Tokota, and Kaga stuck to the wilds as often as possible to eschew the curious stares and wagging tongues of the locals. Yet there were inevitable moments when they were forced to ride into a settlement to barter or trade for things they simply couldn’t be without and couldn’t catch or forage for themselves.
They also sought out settlements to source information.
Jessie soon learned that the good God-fearing colonial folk of the bayous had no idea about a town named Temerity and were insulted by the very insinuation that such an ill-named town could exist in their much-loved state. Yet the dark folk and the strange people who spoke with thick accents smiled secretive smiles and nodded. They answered in a string of nonsensical English Jessie had no hope of understanding. Grace surprised the lad yet again when she nodded and returned their strange jargon. Cajun, she called it, and spoke about past hunts that had taken her through Louisiana.
The answer they got from the lips of the Cajun and Creole folk was always the same: south. So, they rode through swamps and lowlands, skirted bayous, and were eaten alive by mosquitoes and chiggers in their search for Temerity.
And still, they traveled farther south.
It was well beyond dusk and into early evening when the strange quartet rode into Temerity. It spoke volumes about the town itself that a woman cowboy, a dour native, a greenhorn boy, and an oversized wolf were met only with cool stares from those who witnessed their approach. A young boy, no more than eight years old, sat on a front porch whittling a piece of wood as they passed. His hands paused and his eyes followed them, but otherwise he seemed unfazed by their appearance.
Jessie gazed around
the town in wide-eyed wonder. Temerity was the first settlement he’d ever come across that displayed trappings of modern civility and extravagant wealth. Large, double-story buildings loomed on either side of the main street and were built of material more substantial than wood. Paved bluestone paths stretched between the larger buildings so folk didn’t have to trample through the mud in the streets. Lanterns flickered in windows and lampposts cast their warm kerosene glow over the streets. Graceful, sweeping trees dotted the sides of the wide street, and folk strolled or sat outside to try to scare up respite from the humid, oppressive night. Up ahead, a large double-story structure dominated the landscape. It was surrounded by a latticework balcony, and the windows had red curtains drawn against the night. A lantern burned behind the curtains and created a bright, red glow in each window.
Jessie frowned at the building. “I don’t want to stay in no cathouse this time.”
Grace’s lips twitched as her gaze roved over the brothel. It was in excellent repair and its whores were sequestered inside without exception. She gazed at the polished wooden plaque fastened over the large double doors. La Chatte Affamee.
“La chat aff-a-me,” Jessie said and frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s French,” Grace answered. “The hungry pussy.”
Jessie’s frown deepened. “They got a feral cat problem or something?”
Grace grinned and Tokota shook his head and rode on. Jessie looked from one to the other, then understanding dawned. He bit his lip as heat crept up his neck and across his face. He cast one final glance at the brothel, then chirked Paul and hurried past. They continued down the impressive main street, nodding at folk who paused to watch. Kaga kept to the shadows to draw little attention, and still the townsfolk of Temerity didn’t seem overly alarmed at Tokota’s presence in their town. This may have been largely due to the cowboy’s duds he’d donned at Grace’s insistence. She’d said no good would come of Tokota riding down south in his furs and pelts. Slung across his shoulder was the gleaming Sharps rifle he’d claimed from the dead sheriff back at Whitestand Hollow, and a full bandolier of bullets crossed his broad chest. Jessie wondered why the big native would want to carry the grisly reminders of the Whitestand Hollow war, but he was too intimidated to ask.
Grace nodded to women clad in extravagant gowns and protruding bustles. Mothers and their children stiffened at the sight of the small group but otherwise appeared composed. Grace gazed around for the menfolk of the town, on the lookout for potential trouble, but there weren’t any on the streets.
Large bluestone buildings gave way to stately wooden manor homes the farther out of town they traveled. Jessie spied an impressive three-story home with a plain wooden sign out front. Spelts’ Boarding House.
“What do you think?” Jessie pointed at the house.
Grace frowned. “We ain’t got a lot of tin, and that place looks dreadful costly. We can pitch the tents just outside of town for nothing.”
“Aw, cain’t we just see?”
Grace glanced at Tokota. He shrugged and said nothing. Grace turned back to Jessie. He looked at her with wide pleading eyes.
“Guess it won’t hurt to ask,” she sighed.
Jessie grinned and made for the boarding house. They climbed out of their saddles and tied their horses to the hitching post out front. Kaga sat beside Crowbait and gazed up at Grace. She nodded to him, and by some unspoken agreement, Kaga remained behind as they mounted the boarding house steps. Grace rapped on the door and waited with her hands on her hips. Jessie removed the Stetson from his head and combed down his hair. He frowned at Grace and nudged her ribs. “Take off your hat. It’s mannerly.”
Grace frowned at Jessie but removed her John B. and held it in front of her. The door remained closed. Grace sighed in frustration and drummed her fingers on her hat.
“Pardon, but are you seeking lodging?” The voice from behind made the trio jolt in surprise. Grace’s hand fell to her revolver and she half drew. Tokota glowered and tensed. Jessie frowned and took the measure of the speaker, noting the alarmed shock in the young man’s eyes. He was a dandified sort, dressed in a brown woolen suit with a waistcoat and crisp white shirt. He wore a long mustache that curled at the ends, and on his arm clung a young woman. She was covered in calico and lace and had the bonnet and bustle of a proper sage hen. It had been so long since Jessie had spoken with well-to-do folk, he almost forgot his manners. He pushed forward between the glowering Tokota and intimidating Grace and bobbed his head.
“How-de-do, mister. Ma’am. Yessir, we’re looking to board. You the owners?”
The dandy recovered quicker than his lass, though his hand covered hers protectively. “Sorry, friend. You’d be wanting Mrs. Spelts. Minnie and I are just boarders. We’re here on our bridal tour.”
Jessie smiled. “You’re newly wedded?”
The young lass nodded but her husband spoke. “Yessir.” He held out his hand. “George Richmond. Pleased to make your acquaintance. This here is Mrs. Minnie Richmond.”
“Jessie Beck.” Jessie shook Richmond’s hand and tipped an imaginary hat toward Minnie. Tokota and Grace glanced at one another. Jessie looked over his shoulder and gave them a pointed stare. When neither moved he turned back to the Richmonds and gave a weak smile.
Thinking fast to avoid drawing attention to his uncouth companions, Jessie stammered, “Uh, forgive my sister and our friend. We been out on one of them Injun reservations and are a bit poorly mannered.”
“Land sakes! What in tarnation would have a lady out on one of those filthy reservations?” Minnie squealed. Her husband shushed her, but not before Tokota gave her a withering glare.
“Uh, she’s one of them journalists from up north. Doing some research on them native folk.” Jessie spoke quickly. He waved behind his back to signal Grace and Tokota to say nothing. God only knew what they would come up with if left to do the talking; Grace would likely find some way of getting offended and draw Justice and Mercy on the poor dandy and his wife. Then what hope in Hell would they have of getting decent lodgings? It’d be the cathouse all over again.
Richmond frowned. “Right dangerous business for a woman. Glad you made it back to civilization. I see you brought one with you.”
Tokota made a low noise in his chest and Jessie spoke loudly to hide it. “Yessir, this fella found the good Lord and wanted to come with us to learn God-fearing ways and be forgiven his life of sin.”
Mrs. Richmond eyed Tokota and shyly smiled. “Well, isn’t that grand. Good evening,” she said to Tokota slowly and loudly, “my name...is Minnie...”
Tokota’s jaw clenched and he opened his mouth. Jessie jumped in first. “Oh, nice of you to try, missus, but he don’t speak no English.” Jessie cast a glance over his shoulder. Tokota glowered.
Minnie nodded with a patronizing expression of sympathy across her features.
Richmond patted her hand. “Well, if you folk are looking to board, you’d best speak with Mrs. Spelts. Minnie and I got a key. We’ll let you in.”
Jessie let the two pass and winced as Grace and Tokota moved aside with barely disguised contempt. Grace glared at Mrs. Richmond, and when the lady offered Grace a friendly smile, Grace’s top lip curled. Mrs. Richmond flinched and pushed up against her husband, hiding her face against his back.
As the dandies moved inside Spelts’ Boarding House, Jessie swatted Grace. “Just be good!”
Grace looked at the doorway and muttered, “I am being good. Should see me when I ain’t.”
Edna Spelts turned out to be a widow who rented out her home more for company than for coin. She had a quick smile, dry wit, and a barbed tongue. She took to the strange group instantly and settled on a more than fair price for a week’s lodging, meals, and corral for the horses. After an initial moment of hesitation, she’d even welcomed Kaga into her home, saying he reminded her of her own long-gone cocker spaniel, Dally. The look on Kaga’s face was priceless as the widow scratched his ruff and call
ed him a good boy. Jessie had to turn away to stifle his laughter.
After eating their fill of good southern fare, with the newlyweds in attendance, Jessie, Tokota, and Grace went to their separate rooms. Jessie took his time washing the dirt and road dust from his face. The water in the ceramic bowl quickly turned black. He scrubbed his face on a piece of cloth and looked around the room. Mrs. Spelts had rich tastes; the entire boarding house was festooned with French furniture, delicate china, and picture frames filled with unsmiling portraits of her late husband.
In the glow of the kerosene lamp, Jessie’s room was cozy and romantic. He sat on the edge of the four-poster bed and thought of the Richmonds. He wondered if tonight would be the night George and Minnie consummated their vows or if that had been the previous night’s pleasure. They sure looked smitten; at the dining table their hands kept meeting and secretive smiles lit their faces. After the meal, Richmond had asked Jessie if he was courting a lass. Jessie had flushed and mumbled something vague as he willed his gaze not to drift to Grace. Richmond had chuckled, slapped Jessie on the back, and said, “Faint heart never won fair maiden, Jessie. Be a man. Be bold. Walk right on up to her and say, ‘Listen here, missy, this is how it’s gonna go.’ Trust me. They’re all waiting on a man to be a man.” Richmond retired shortly after, pulling Minnie along behind him.
Jessie chewed the inside of his cheek and mused on the dandy’s words. A rap on the door jolted him. He tucked in his shirt and snapped his suspenders in place as he crossed the room and opened the door. Grace stood outside his room with a bowl of fruit in her hands. Jessie gaped for a moment, then stepped aside and let her in.
“Mrs. Spelts said she ain’t never seen anyone put away three serves of her peach pie before. She said the way you ate makes her wonder if you’re poorly. She asked me to pass this on.” Grace handed Jessie the bowl of fruit. He didn’t recognize most of the fruits, but they looked enticing and smelled wonderful. He nodded and put the bowl on a side table.
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