She clung to the edge of the raft, watching him strain to pull it higher onto the shore. He tugged, dragging it up onto the bank with strong arms, then leaned close, breaking the boards with his bare hands to release her foot.
“I told you this thing was dangerous,” he said.
She watched in surprise, amazed at his quick movement, his clear speech, and the strength of his big hands as he pulled her leg free of the boards. Then he reached around her waist and lifted her off the raft.
She noticed that he smelled of leather and fresh air, a wonderful, clean, spicy scent. She clung to his arm and looked up at him, feeling strangely warm when her eyes met his dark gaze. He held her close for a moment, and her heart pounded with a mixture of terror and fascination. For that one brief moment she forgot about her problems, felt comforted, protected. This was a wild, white Indian, a man she didn’t know at all, and here she was letting him hold her.
“Why were you crying?” he asked, his strong arm still tight around her. “Who was in the grave?”
Her eyes filled again, reality returning. “My mother.”
With genuine sympathy, he said, “I am sorry. Remember that death is only part of the great circle of life. It is not to be feared. Someday you will be with your mother again. In the meantime be glad that she has been freed of the hardships of this life.”
Their eyes held a moment longer, and she felt comforted; she almost wished he would enfold her in both his arms and hold her even longer. How wonderful it would feel to be held! She began to redden then, realizing she was still pressed close to him and had not objected. “I think you should… put me down.”
The faint smile returned and he gently released her. “Are you all right?”
She looked down at her leg and bent to feel her ankle. “I think so.” She straightened, meeting his eyes again. “Thank you. I… I’m afraid of the water. I saw the dead body of a boy once who had drowned upriver.” How could she tell him about the humiliating thing Tommy had done to her?
“You should not be afraid of the water. Or of anything.”
“Aren’t you ever afraid?”
An odd sadness darkened his eyes. “Only for my people, the Cherokee, and what is happening to them.”
“Then you are the one they call the white Indian—River Joe?”
He nodded. “What are you called?”
“I’m Emma Simms.”
His eyes moved over her, and she suddenly felt naked. She stepped back slightly. “If I scream real loud, Luke will hear me and come,” she said defensively.
He grinned. “I will give you no reason to scream. Who is Luke?”
“My stepfather.”
“And who is that boy who yelled at me?”
She guessed River Joe’s age to be perhaps twenty-six to thirty. Tommy was younger, but it was more the difference in their personalities and conduct that made the age difference seem even greater. Yes, to River Joe someone like Tommy must be just a boy.
“Tommy Decker. His pa is a friend to my stepfather. They’re from the MacBain settlement.”
“You are Tommy’s woman?”
Her face reddened and her eyes flamed. “Never! I hate him! He wants to marry me, but I won’t do it.”
His eyebrows arched and he grinned again. “Then whose woman are you?”
She could feel the crimson in her cheeks. The way he referred to her as someone’s woman gave her wonderful, warm feelings, and an odd pressure deep inside that she had never felt before. “I… I’m nobody’s woman.”
His eyes moved over her again. He thought of Yellow Sky, dear, sweet Yellow Sky. But she had been dead a long time. “Most girls your age belong to a man,” he told Emma.
She folded her arms in front of her self-consciously. “First a girl has to find a man she wants to be with. It really isn’t your business, you know, whether I belong to anyone.” She felt proud that she was actually talking boldly face to face with the white Indian everyone else feared. She saw the faint smile again, and she was annoyed. “Why do you always look at me? Why did you come here last year and then leave for so long a time?”
His eyes moved over her again. “You were not ready.”
“Ready for what?”
He smiled more. “It does not matter. I will tell you this much. I came back because I wanted to see you again, see how you had grown. I traveled farther south last year than I usually do; and in my travels I came upon this place and caught sight of you. I liked what I saw, and all last winter back up in the mountains I thought about you, the girl with the cornsilk hair and eyes like the sky. I came to see if you were still here, and I am glad that you are.”
Her cheeks felt hot. Was he saying she was pretty? Was she being too bold and taking a great risk standing here talking to him? “You shouldn’t be here, you know,” she told him. “And you shouldn’t go around sneaking up on folks like that. You could get in a lot of trouble. Some people think you are bad.”
He nodded, smiling sadly. “You go back now. It would not be good for us to be found here. I am considered Cherokee, even though I am white. Men like your father think a pretty white girl should not talk to an Indian.”
She rubbed at the backs of her arms nervously, wishing his dark eyes would not make her feel so flustered and warm. “He’s not my father. I told you, he’s my stepfather. He’s not a nice man, and I don’t much care what he thinks about who I talk to.” She looked around the woods. “Where did you come from?”
“I live much higher in the mountains. But for now I have a camp not far from here—my horse and a pack horse are there. I have brought deerskins to trade to Hank Toole.”
“You know Hank?”
He nodded again. “I have traded many times with the man who travels the river.” He stopped short then, listening. “Voices. They come looking for you. I must go, for your sake.” He walked past her and she turned.
“River Joe!”
He stopped and turned.
“Thank you… for helping me.”
He studied her beauty again, wishing he could carry her back with him, this lovely girl with the golden hair who had never known a man. For some reason it angered him to think of someone like the smart-mouthed Tommy Decker being her first. Would she be obligated to marry him, now that her mother was dead?
“Be strong, Emma Simms. I will pray to Esaugetuk Emissee and ask Him to give you strength and courage for the lonely days ahead. I know the feeling of losing a loved one through death. I have lost a mother… and a wife.”
He turned and disappeared, as though he were no more than a spirit. She watched after him. A mother, and a wife! A wife! River Joe, the white Indian, had lost a wife to death. She had seen such loneliness in his eyes when he told her. And she felt such warmth at the memory of being held close to him. She found herself swept by an overwhelming disappointment that he had gone. Perhaps she would never see him again. Yet she still did not fully understand why he had come at all.
“Emma! Where the hell are you!”
“Here, Luke.” She hurriedly left her secret hideaway, not wanting him to see it, and ran through the woods toward his voice.
When she reached him, he gave her a shove toward the cabin. “Where have you been, girl? We need some supper. Don’t you realize we’ve got company?
“This ain’t no time to be runnin’ around in the woods alone,” he fumed as they headed back. “That damned wild Indian is around here someplace. Tommy come back—said he couldn’t find no sign of him. You watch yourself, girl, else that man will do somethin’ to you worse than death.”
Emma smiled to herself. “He’s probably far away from here by now, Luke.”
“Well, I wouldn’t bet on it.”
They passed Betty Simms’s grave, and Emma stopped to fix the flowers, some of which had fallen away.
“Forget about that,” Luke said. “Flowers ain’t gonna do her no good now, girl.”
Emma rose, staring at the man w
ho was now in control of her life. “Didn’t you love her at all, Luke?”
The man scowled. “Love? What’s love? Just a stupid feel-in’. A man marries a woman to satisfy his needs and to get sons. Your mother didn’t do neither one for me. Now get on into the house and fix us somethin’ to eat.”
Emma turned, struggling against tears again, telling herself to be strong as River Joe had told her to be, wondering. if the Maker of Breath knew about Emma Simms and would give her courage as River Joe had said He could. She forced herself to think about the white Indian, forgetting the horrible ache in her heart and considering how amusing it was that everyone was talking about River Joe, telling her to be careful going out alone.
She cherished her secret more than anything now. She had been with him. She had been with the one called River Joe, had spoken with him! She had actually been held close to him, totally at his mercy, and had not felt one ounce of fear. She hoped—no, she prayed to the Maker of Breath—that she would see River Joe again.
The man was handsome and wore an expensive suit, but something about his slick, dark eyes was chilling, especially when he was negotiating for yet another unsuspecting young girl.
“You sure she’s worth this much?” he asked Hank Toole.
Toole smiled through teeth yellowed from too many cigars. “You’ll see for yourself, Mr. Gates. That stepfather of hers is givin’ you a real deal. She’s worth twice this much.”
Sam Gates grinned, his well-groomed appearance and firm build making him look younger than his forty-eight years. He handed Hank two hundred dollars, anticipating how delightful it would be breaking in the pretty little girl Hank was to bring back to him. Emma Simms was her name, and she was supposedly blond, blue-eyed, full-breasted, and beautiful—and most important of all, a complete innocent. Sam always felt his blood race a little hotter, his heart beat a little faster, at the thought of initiating a new girl. When he was through with them, they were ready and willing to work for him in the rooms above his saloon in Knoxville, where male customers could find whatever kind of sweet treat they hungered for.
“You’d better be right, Hank,” the man told Toole. “You know I don’t like to be disappointed.”
“Have I ever disappointed you, Mr. Gates?”
Sam Gates studied the man intently, making Hank feel uncomfortable. Hank had heard stories of how cruel this man could be when he was angry or when someone crossed him. Some of the girls Hank had brought to the man had never been seen again. Hank had never asked questions. He only paid the money to whoever wanted to sell the girls, then made a profit on them from Sam Gates if the man was pleased.
“No, Hank, you have never disappointed me,” Gates was saying. “I think you’re too smart for that. You do have a good eye for women.”
“Then you can trust me on this one, Mr. Gates. Ain’t another girl up in them mountains as pretty as she is. I’ve watched her grow up. And she’s the proud type, you know? Ain’t no man been inside this one… yet.”
Both men laughed. “I’ll have to see what I can do to break that pride,” Gates answered, his dark eyes glittering.
Jim Jackson, Hank Toole’s black slave, walked by then, glancing at the money that changed hands. He knew what it was for, and he felt sorry for the poor little girl who would be the victim this time. He suspected it was Emma Simms, but men in his position had no power to help anyone else.
The man quietly went about his business, stoking the boiler of the Jasmine with wood, preparing to get the small steamer under way for its monthly trip up the Tennessee and the Hiwassee to trade with settlers in remote areas. He threw more wood into the boiler, wishing he could do the same to Hank Toole and the white man called Sam Gates, who bought and sold young girls the same as slaves. He guessed that few black slaves, men or women, had it as bad as some of the poor young girls who were sold to Sam Gates.
Emma lovingly planted more flowers around her mother’s grave. For some reason, the past week since her mother’s burial had been more bearable after spending that brief moment with the white Indian. His strength had had a calming effect on her; his words about the Maker of Breath were comforting. She had seen honest concern in his eyes, and had felt so warm and protected when he scooped her up in one strong arm and pulled her off the raft.
The more she had thought about it over the past week, the more she had realized that the man had literally saved her life. Why? And why had he even been there in the first place? Had he followed her there? Was he watching her, thinking about attacking her? Why had she felt so safe, so unafraid, when he held her so close?
For the first time in her young life she began to imagine a man being nice to her, imagined what it might be like to lie with a man and do what a woman did to get babies. She had never met a man who stirred something so deep inside her that it almost hurt. She found herself wishing River Joe would come back, wishing she could talk more with him, wondering if he really thought she was pretty.
Maybe he liked only Cherokee girls. Maybe he was teasing her, laughing about the silly white girl.
“What do you think, Mama?” She traced her finger over the grave. “Luke was so mean to you. Can a man be nice to a woman? I wish I could tell you about River Joe. I wish I could ask you about this funny feeling I have for him. I don’t even know him. I only talked to him once, and I’ll probably never see him again.”
She sighed deeply. She was glad neither Tommy nor Luke was there. Both had left on hunting trips, Tommy with his father the day after the funeral. Now that he was not there to push her into marrying him, Emma had some time to think. Her dilemma about how to avoid Tommy had not changed, but she fantasized about River Joe helping her. Surely only a complete fool would expect any help from the white Indian! The man might not even come back. He might wait another whole year to return. She had to concentrate on the here and now and stop thinking about what might be. Luke should be back from hunting in a day or two, and when Tommy returned there might be no escape. Hank Toole still seemed the only answer. She had packed her things and could only hope Hank would come soon with the Jasmine. Somehow she would find a way to get on that boat.
She rose and drank in the sweet air, again letting nature soothe her soul. When Luke was gone it was like being out of prison. She could be free and happy, at peace. She looked at the sad, leaning cabin with its sagging roof. Mrs. Breckenridge had told her about fine, sturdy homes in the city. She had been embarrassed for the woman to see the sorry condition of the little two-room cabin she lived in. She did her best to keep it clean, but everything they owned was so dilapidated, and Luke was so messy, it was almost impossible to have a nice house.
She looked around the decaying farm. Everything seemed to be falling apart, and now her stepfather had threatened to sell everything and leave. She hated leaving her mother’s grave behind, but somehow she had to get away, and the only thing she could think of so far was to find a way to sneak onto the Jasmine when Hank came with the supplies.
It was then that she heard the horse. She turned, surprised to see Tommy Decker riding in. Her heart pounded in panic as chickens scattered beneath the hooves of Tommy’s “fine black,” and a couple of pigs snorted and scurried away. Luke had let most of the fencing get so bad that animals wandered about freely.
Emma stood as if frozen. Tommy was supposed to be gone on a hunting trip. What was he doing here? She was alone! Now he rode his horse closer, positioning himself between Emma and the house.
“Hi, Emma, honey. You’re lookin’ mighty pretty today in that fine pink dress. You got anything pink underneath it?”
“You get off my place!”
“Your place? This is Luke Simms’s place. And I know Luke ain’t here, because we all run into each other up at the Sillsbury settlement. Luke went home with my pa. I told them I’d be along.” He grinned, his blue eyes cold, his nostrils flaring with desire. “After a while.”
Emma could think of nothing but getting to the cabin and the musket
Luke had left behind. He had several guns and kept them all loaded, prepared to shoot a deer or a squirrel from the house if one happened to wander too close.
“You and me are gonna have us a good time, Emma Simms. I’ve waited for you long enough,” Tommy said. “You might as well get them clothes off, else I’ll do it for you.”
Emma found her legs and darted toward the house, but Tommy swung around his “fine black” so that the animal’s head slammed into her back, knocking her down. Emma screamed and scrambled back to her feet, heading for the house again. But Tommy dismounted and chased her down, plowing into her and knocking her down again near an old, broken fence.
They lay in the grass. The second fall had knocked Emma’s breath away, and she lay helpless while Tommy spread himself on top of her, pinning her down. “No sense goin’ into the house, is there? Might as well do it out here, where the sun’s shinin’ and I can see you real good. I don’t mind the grass, honey.”
Tommy’s voice was gruff with excited lust, as Emma squirmed and screamed for help.
“Go ahead and scream, honey,” Tommy growled. “You won’t be for long. Your screams will turn to moans, and you’ll be beggin’ for more before I’m through with you!” He tried to kiss her, but she lifted her head and butted his mouth.
“Ouch! You damned, uppity bitch!”
Emma twisted savagely and spit at him, but then a big fist landed on her cheek, bringing on a black dizziness. She felt him ripping at her dress, ripping it down from the neck and exposing one breast and most of the other.
“Damn, you’re the prettiest thing I ever did see, Emma Simms,” she heard him say with a groan. “You’ll be okay, Emma, honey. You’ll find out how good it feels.” She felt a wetness on one breast, and vomit rose into her throat. She couldn’t let this happen! Not with Tommy Decker, and not this way!
“You got a lesson to learn, Emma Simms, and I’m gonna teach you,” he said then, his voice gravelly, his mouth still lingering at her breasts. “A girl your age ought to be broke in by now.” A hand moved up under her dress and groped at her bloomers. “You think you’re too good to marry me, so I’ll just take it for free, little girl.”
Tennessee Bride Page 3
