Samuel shook his head, “You’re chilled, and I’m only standing here and telling tales, unfortunately.” He nodded in his camp’s direction. “I promised it was Nick’s story to give, and I’ll let him be the one to tell you when he has time tomorrow.” Taking Beth’s fingertips, he bent as if to kiss the back of her hand. “In the meantime, I’ll bid you goodnight and offer a silent Godspeed to your husband.”
“Thank you, Mr. Granville. I hope he arrives soon too. Otherwise I will have to wait until next year.” She shook her head, not wanting to think about being homeless and living in their wagon. Beth self-consciously admitted to him, “And I’d rather not do that, preferring you and the other Mr. Granville to be our guides.”
“Thank you, ma’am, for your confidence. I’ll be sure to pass on the compliment to my undeserving brother.” He tipped his hat.
She stared at her feet in chagrin. “You’re welcome, Mr. Granville. Goodnight”
After he left, Beth slid in between the blankets she’d set down. All her fears, questions, and speculations over the next several months kept her awake for a while. Once asleep, she dreamed of falling overboard while on a ship at sea. She struggled in her dream to take off the heavy petticoats pulling her underwater. Her grandmother had told her of journeying to America and the storms on the ocean, and the dream matched what Beth had imaginged. The high waves threatened to submerge her, and she tried to scream against the water choking her.
The pain woke Beth to find her husband trying to mount her while smacking her face when she moaned and shoved him away. He’d pushed her skirt up past the waist and now made loud, grunting noises. She squeezed her eyes shut because he sounded like the pigs they’d butchered a couple of years ago. Did everyone around them know what they were doing? She listened and heard voices outside the tent, could even see other wagons when she looked out the openings. Beth pushed against his shoulders, hard. “Dag, please! Stop it! Stop this right now!”
He continued to grunt, rubbing his lifeless member against her. “Shut up and be my wife.”
Beth felt demeaned and wanted to disappear. Everyone in camp, she was sure, heard his high-pitched grunts as he tried to enter her. She shook him then hit his strong arms to distract him, whispering, “Daggart, stop it! Not here, not now! It’s not private!”
He increased the frequency of his ineffective thrusts and the noise as well. “Damn you, Beth! Be Lizzy. I want my Lizzy Lou back, so shut up and be her.”
She heard laughter from right outside the tent. “Daggart Bartlett,” she hissed, grabbing him by the throat and squeezing to get his attention. “Everyone can hear you, even children, so you’ll stop this right now.”
He slapped her, hard. “I’ll do what I damn well want with you.” With every few words and resting his weight on his left elbow, Daggart hit her again. “You’re my wife, and I’ll take you however and whenever I want.” He grabbed the back of her head by her hair and asked, “How long have we been married? How long are we going to be married?”
Beth knew the answer he expected and gasped through the pain, “’Til death do us part.” Her bruised cheek stung, and she felt her heartbeat in her temple. Trying a change of tactics, she lay there, still, until Daggart considered himself finished with the task.
Her husband whispered against her ear, “You never, ever, tell me no where others can hear, or I’ll make certain it’s death that parts us.”
Chapter 4
Nick watched the horizon. Clear skies over the vibrant landscape brightened the land. Along the Missouri river, the rolling hills kept his line of sight to the tens of miles. Still, he saw far enough to notice the deep blue of distant storm clouds against the bright green of spring grass. On his other trips, the promises of spring, and the sun’s warmth filled him with anticipation of the frontier.
Not this time. Not after what he’d heard this morning at breakfast. Away from the women and children, the single men gossiped louder than old hens and cruder than a greenhorn’s sod house. His breakfast soured in his stomach when they’d laughed over the grunting noises heard from the Bartlett’s tent. He’d dumped the rest of his food into the fire and drained his coffee. The hot liquid distracted him enough to cool his anger as he left the campsite.
He shifted in the saddle, angry with himself and his reaction earlier in the morning. Nick knew he had no right to deny a married man his wife. Moreover, he knew his caring feelings toward Mrs. Bartlett exceeded common decency. The couple’s relationship was none of his business. Mrs. Bartlett didn’t need his protection when she already had a man. If he’d forgotten that, Sam reminded him of the fact this morning. He reminded himself of it again now for good measure.
In the valley, the wagons traveled alongside each other as much as possible. Still, not everyone could be in front. Most emigrants, worried about Indians attacking, let him and a few other men ride ahead as scouts. He snorted. They needed to be bothered about their own carelessness. People killed themselves by accident far more often. The idea of Lizzy meeting a similar fate raised the hair on the back of his neck. The metallic taste of fear tickled his tongue. “Damn it all to hell,” he cursed under his breath. Better to imagine Bartlett versus his wife. Even then, he couldn’t wish the man being mashed in two by a wagon wheel, trampled by cattle, or shooting himself by mistake.
“Hey, Nick.” Sam rode up beside him.
Startled out of his dark thoughts, Nick replied, “Yeah?”
“It’s about midday.” After his horse snorted a protest at the slower pace, Sam continued, “Let’s break for noon in a couple of miles. Give the youngest ones a rest.”
He glanced over at his brother. Even after a morning of riding at a good pace, the man looked crisp. Not for the first time did Nick wish he himself had been so blessed. Feeling the grime on his face, he raised an eyebrow. “Sounds fine to me.” Nick glanced sideways at him. “You want to say something else? Something I don’t want to hear?”
Sam stared ahead of them. “I’m afraid so.”
They rode on for a while until the silence struck Nick as funny. He laughed then said, “Get it over with. We’ve not got all day.”
“I want you to avoid Mrs. Bartlett as much as possible for the next few days.”
Nick’s temper rose in him like acid in an overfull stomach. Struggling inside with his anger, he studied the sky ahead of them. He finally felt calm enough to ask, “How badly did he hurt her?” He already dreaded the answer. After a few minutes, he knew his brother didn’t want to continue. “So,” Nick growled, “How bad is it?”
Keeping his voice low, Sam replied, “Not very, but enough so I don’t want you near her for a week.”
“A week?” he exclaimed. “It’ll take Lizzy that long to heal enough so I don’t beat the guts out of him for hurting her?”
Sam glared at him. “Yes, you know how black eyes are. It’ll take a while for the yellow to fade from,” he paused for emphasis, “Mrs. Bartlett’s face.”
Nick gritted his teeth with Sam’s accent on Lizzy’s title. Lizzy? He needed to quit thinking of her with such familiarly. Anyone who’d called another man’s wife by her given name would be asking for a fight. “You’d think Bartlett could keep from hitting her.”
“I agree.” Sam gestured, indicating up ahead. “Those rains are going to raise the Missouri. If they hold, we’ll have floods tonight.”
“Yep.” He’d have to ride alongside the river, helping when the wheels of various wagons bogged down in the mud.
“Chuck and I can take care of the back half, if you and Lawrence can corral the first.”
He struggled to keep the disappointment from his voice. “She’s in the latter group?”
Sam laughed, letting him know he’d failed. “The very latter.”
Nick snorted “Huh!” in response and shook his head. His transparency kept him from playing cards with Sam and using real money. No one else saw through him like his brother. “We’ll be along the Platte in a week.”
“I exp
ect so. You’ll not need to see her then, either.”
The word need bothered Nick. While it was true he’d not wanted anyone since Sally, let alone harbored an interest in any one woman in particular, enjoying Mrs. Bartlett’s company didn’t mean he as much as needed her. Besides, people might think it strange if he kept a deliberate distance rather than talk with her as if she were any other woman. Nick grew more certain he must visit with Mrs. Bartlett to allay suspicion the longer he thought about it. He felt a smack on his arm and Sam turned his horse into Nick’s.
The younger brother scowled. “Nicholas, I know that expression. Wait until the Platte and keep peace in the camp.”
Nodding, he mustered his best, albeit transparent, poker face and pretended to agree. “You’re right. I can wait until the Platte. Maybe even to Laramie’s Peak just to ease your mind.”
Not convinced, Sam scowled at him. “Let’s stop for noon, and I’ll check for stragglers.” He rode off to the trailing people in their party.
Nick continued ahead. He waved and signaled to Lawrence to stop for mealtime. The ruddy-faced Scot galloped off to inform the southern travelers, while Nick began alerting the northern wagons. He much preferred his current position in the lead. Everyone else lagging behind helped him forget the crowds of people, letting him enjoy the solitude of the open country.
He dismounted and led his horse to the water, studying the bank of rainclouds inching ever closer. The Kaw Indians in this part of the area kept the game scarce. No one had seen anything worth hunting this morning, not even he and his men up front. The smell of broken vegetation and sound of Buck snuffling drew him from watching the weather. His animal chewed at the new grass, ignoring the river. “You’ll wish you’d taken a sip soon enough.”
While his horse ate, Nick’s thoughts drifted. He’d bet Bartlett had done nothing in town but drink last night. The man deserved a hangover biting him like a devil. He looked back at the various wagons. If Lizzy was lucky, her husband hadn’t gambled away what little they now owned. In helping Bartlett plan for the trip, he and Sam had learned Bartlett spent everything on the wagon, oxen, and supplies. But then, Nick had to concede, a lot of people did literally bet the farm on a better living in Oregon Territory.
In his opinion, Bartlett’s gamble on the west was a bad deal. He retrieved a canteen and some dried bison meat from a saddlebag. Nick sat to lunch and to watch the river flow past while his horse drank. He’d seen the farm that Lizzy had been forced to leave. The place needed a little extra care certainly. But, all the things he knew a woman could do herself had been done with love. The animals looked well fed, the garden tilled and ready for planting. His heart hurt for her loss. Nick had done what he could while there, but knew he’d never be able to do enough to replace the loss of her home.
Standing, he hoped to see her among everyone else at the river. Nick wanted to tell her a new garden waited for her in Oregon, wanted to say this sacrifice was worth everything she’d have to endure in the next six or so months, but knew he couldn’t give such a guarantee. Her husband planned to split off for California. Well, he thought, Sam will have to convince Bartlett to continue on to Oregon. Nick mounted his horse as Lawrence rode up to him.
“Mr. Sam wanted me to tell ye right away a lady was caught up under a wheel.”
Fear raced through his veins. Not Lizzy. Had his dreading an event turned it real? “How is she?” Anger outlined the anxiety in him. If this was somehow her husband’s fault, he’d skin him alive.
Lawrence bowed his head, his usual happy demeanor gone. “Bad, real bad. Won’t last the day, I reckon.”
Nick stared down at the pommel of his saddle, willing himself to breathe. Forget Sam’s request of a week; he’d see her now, but first, to quiet his heart, he said, “Very well, she needs to be in a wagon and to be made as comfortable as possible in the meantime.”
Restless, Lawrence pushed back the brim of his hat. He blinked at the sudden sunshine in his eyes and pulled the hat back down over his brow. “They’re doin’ that now. Mr. Sam wanted me to first tell you the Calhoons want everyone to attend the Missus’ prayer service after dinner.”
The Calhoons? Nice family, but not the Bartletts. His hands shook as he lowered them to his thighs. Lizzy had not been injured. Nick wanted to give out a war whoop in joy and anguish at the same time. He hated like hell they’d lost someone already, but for now, Lizzy was safe. “I’ll be there this evening, then.” He frowned at Lawrence, adding, “Next time Samuel says tell me something first, make sure that something is the first thing you say. Understand?” Lawrence gave a nod and turned his horse to go back to the main group.
He squinted against the sun and gave the signal to the others to get moving. Stuff Sam’s week, Nick knew he must see her before then. He ambled along the river valley, inventing ways of accidently visiting with Lizzy. Time passed without his notice. A cloud bank hid the sun, cutting the heavy warmth. The sudden cool caught his attention and he heard the rapid staccato of hoof beats. He turned as Sam galloped towards him.
The younger man indicated the gust front and dust rising ahead of the coming wind. “We will need to stop for the night.”
“As soon as possible.” Dirt sandblasted him and flashes of lightning lit the insides of the clouds. The scent of rain hung in the chilly air. “This storm’s going to be bad.”
“Let’s get started.” With a kick to his horse’s flanks, Sam rode back to warn the last of the train.
By the time everyone stopped, the wind had grown fiercer, preventing anyone from starting a campfire. He and his men helped put up shelter as needed. Despite the rush, Nick managed to visit the woman who’d been injured. Her family had given her enough laudanum to help her sleep. He left with an offer to pray for her recovery.
After a sharp crack of thunder, water poured from the sky as if from a bucket, soaking him in an instant. He shivered and searched around for Sam, certain his more couth brother was already in his wagon.
He rode through the camp under the guise of making a final check on everyone, knowing he looked for Lizzy instead. Wincing at the thunder’s volume, he spotted their wagon and trotted over. Nick went to the slight opening in the oilcloth at the end. “You two all right in there?” A few moments passed with no answer. The couple had to be in their wagon. The storm raged too much for anyone to accomplish chores. Despite feeling rude, Nick peered inside the opening. He saw Bartlett lying down, one arm over his eyes and jaw slack. Lizzy sat opposite him, wrapped in a blanket, her eyes closed. She took off her sunbonnet and put a hand up to her face. He saw the bruises before her fingers hid them. Nick muttered a curse and when she glanced up at him in alarm, he stepped back with almost a stumble. Sam had been right; he hadn’t wanted to see the burst blood vessel in the white of her eye. He’d been hit like that in a fight once and knew how the blow must have hurt her.
His hands shook and he clenched his fists to make them stop. Nick took in a deep breath to calm himself, but anger still burned in the pit of his stomach. He worked to shake the feeling off as he would pain from a stubbed toe. He needed focus and a plan, neither being with him at the moment. For now, he could at least help keep her safe for the night. Nick knocked on the wagon.
“Yes?” she shouted over the din of the rain.
“We’ll have to stay here for the night, looks like,” Nick hollered back.
Mr. Bartlett bellowed from inside, “For the love of God, woman, be quiet!” He held his head in his hands. “Ow, ow, ow.”
Mrs. Bartlett pulled the sunbonnet even lower over her face and moved closer to the opening to talk. “I’d prefer to stay put tonight, anyway. It sounds terrifying out there.”
“It’s a little rough, sure.” Now so near her, he didn’t want to leave. Grabbing at any topic, he tried asking, “Is your husband all right?” Nick grinned, just shy of yelling, “He doesn’t sound very well.” Bartlett rewarded the efforts with a sickly groan at the noise.
She kept her head lowered so the brim
of her hat covered her upper face. “He sounds better than he feels. He helped drain the tavern last night.”
Nick smirked, “So he’s paying for it again?”
She replied, “Sadly, yes.”
He leaned closer to make sure only she heard him, “I’m afraid tomorrow will see him well again.”
Lizzy tilted her head to give him a sidelong glance and a little smile. “I’m afraid you’re right.”
The color of her eyes captivated him. Nick forced himself to look away from their grey-green depths and checked on Bartlett. The man had wrapped himself in a blanket, cocooned like a worm in the dirt. Certain the man wasn’t watching, Nick put his hand under Lizzy’s chin, lifting her gaze to his. “If you need anything, Mrs. Bartlett,” he softly said, “please tell me.” He saw her shiver, amazed she could be chilled when he burned so warm himself.
“I’ll remember that, sir.” She took his hand from her chin as if to shake it like a man. “Thank you for the kind offer.”
He held her hand for too long, wanting to ease her trembles. “It’s a promise, ma’am.” Nick let go of her. “You need to wrap up in a blanket too. No sense in you getting sick so soon in the trip.”
Lizzy pulled the ends of her thick shawl closer together. “I wouldn’t mind warming up a little, but don’t worry, I’m very healthy. I’m not prone to the fever or hysterics.”
He tipped his hat at her. “Good! Keep it that way. Take care.” Through the small opening in the canvas door, he saw her reach for a blanket. Nick pulled the fabric closed for them.
As he turned to ride away, the large drops of rain hit him like pea-sized hailstones. He hurried the horse to his wagon, the only sort of dry shelter to be had. After tying off the animal, Nick climbed in. Sam held out a flask of whisky. “Is she better?”
Nick shrugged out of his wet buckskin jacket, hanging it on its hook. “I’m assuming Mrs. Calhoon is the same. I’ve not seen her since talking with you.” Taking the flask, he drank a couple of mouthfuls.
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