"No, they'll be awake and more ready to cause problems," Jon grumbled.
"You're big enough to protect us, Jon," Caitlyn said, not even realizing she had spoken his name for the first time. She felt his arm, which he had securely tucked her hand beneath when they left the food tent, slacken its tenseness under her fingers.
"Please?" Caitlyn repeated, enjoying this new-found power she seemed to have over Jon when he looked down at her and his steps slowed. She widened her eyes like she had seen Sky Woman do at times when the Indian woman was coaxing Paw for a treat.
Uh oh, Jon thought to himself. What was I telling myself earlier about her not having any wiles?
Caitlyn evidently realized he wasn't going to fall for that one, and Jon smiled in satisfaction when she dropped her gaze and murmured a hasty compliance that they would return to camp. But then she kicked at a small clump of grass with one dirty, bare foot, and her lower lip protruded just a scant bit.
Jon became aware of the sounds around him — women and men murmuring and laughing together, tent awnings flapping gaily in the morning breeze — and he remembered his own somewhat wide-eyed enjoyment yesterday when he and Silas had wandered around, taking in the sights after so many nearly silent months in the moutains. Back at the quiet camp a person could still hear faint echoes of the merrymakers enjoying the rendezvous, which came only once a year.
Jon reluctantly slowed his steps again and pulled Caitlyn to a stop. "You'll stay right by my side," he said in a gruff voice. "You won't wander away."
"I promise," Caitlyn said quickly, drawing an "X" between her breasts with a slender finger. "Cross my heart and hope to die. Let's just look around another hour."
"Half an hour," Jon growled. He changed direction and strode back toward the center of rendezvous, with Caitlyn hurrying beside him to keep pace. It was worth it this once, Jon guessed, when he looked down and saw her lip back in place and her eyes sparkling with unsuppressed excitement.
At least it was a lot quieter this early in the day than it would be later on, Jon told himself in an attempt to justify his actions as he led Caitlyn to another tent, this one set up by a bourgeois from one of the trading companies. American traders, rather than British, it looked like from the nature of the goods laid out on the rough wood. Probably the company owned by Jedidiah Smith, whom Jon had heard about back in St. Louis.
The bourgeois approached them, holding out his hand.
"Pete Smith," he introduced himself. "I head this outfit for Jedidiah Smith, no relation to myself. If you're interested in trading, rather than just looking, I'll haul one of my clerks up. They're still lazing in bed."
"Jonathan Clay," Jon returned as he clasped the bourgeois' hand. "And this is Caitlyn O'Shaunessy."
"Pleased to meet you, ma'am." Pete tugged his forelock, not having a cap to remove. "Clay, you say?" he said as he looked back at Jon. "Virginia Clays?"
Jon only gave a curt nod in reply. Just his luck. The first man he ran across had heard of his family. "We're only browsing right now," he said in an attempt to forestall any more questions from Pete. "We'll come back when we've got some furs with us."
"Oh, look." Caitlyn pulled her hand free and bent over the counter. She picked up the figurine and tenderly ran her fingers over the full skirt.
"It's a music box, Miss O'Shaunessy," Pete said. "Here, let me show you how it works."
Pete took the figurine and turned it upside down. He twisted a key on the base and handed it back to Caitlyn. The haunting strains of "Greensleeves" tinkled in the air.
"We brought six of them with us, and that's the only one left," Pete told her. "Two got broken on the way here, even though we packed them in straw. Don't reckon we'll try to bring any more of those with us next summer. Sold the other three yesterday. They all played different songs."
"Thank you for showin' it to me," Caitlyn murmured. She set the figurine back on the counter and turned away.
"How much is it?" Jon asked.
"Six mink or twelve beaver," Pete replied.
"Good grief," Caitlyn said as she swung back to the counter. "That's three or four days' good trappin' for two men, even at the height of the season! You're mighty proud of that there thing, ain't...aren't you?"
"Well, now," Jon mused when Pete shrugged his shoulders. "Seems to me like gold would take up less room going back to St. Louis. Leave more room to haul more furs."
"You got that right," Pete said. "But nobody out here has gold to trade."
Jon reached in his buckskin trouser pocket and pulled out a leather pouch. He opened the drawstring and dug his long fingers inside, bringing out a gold coin that sparkled in the morning sun.
"Six mink or twelve beaver come to around thirty-six dollars," Jon said as he held the coin between his thumb and forefinger, turning it to catch the sun's rays. "A double eagle's only worth twenty, but it sure takes up less room."
"Come on, Jon." Caitlyn tugged on Jon's free arm. "Them music boxes is for women, anyway. You ain't...don't have no...any use for one."
"What do women use them for, Caitlyn?" Jon asked as he smiled down at her.
"How'd I know? I never had one."
"Sure is a pretty tune." Pete picked up the figurine and twised the key again before he set it down. "'Greensleeves,' isn't it?"
Caitlyn couldn't stop herself from looking down at the music box again. The wide-skirted woman twirled around on the box this time.
"How's...how's it do that?"
"There's another button on the bottom you push," Pete told her.
"Oh. Well, come on, Jon. We don't have much time left, and I want to see all we can."
As Caitlyn walked away, Jon flipped the coin to Pete and raised an eyebrow. Pete caught the gold piece and brought it to his mouth, biting it, then nodding his head as he reached for the music box.
"I'll hold it for you," Pete said with a conspiratorial wink.
Jon whistled a few soft bars of the song as he strode after Caitlyn and caught her arm. "You're breaking your promise already," he said, pulling her close to his side. "You're supposed to stay with me."
"I'm sorry," Caitlyn said in a distracted voice. "I'm just gonna have to get used to bein' on a leash, I reckon."
"'Going to,'" Jon said, "not 'gonna.' And in proper English, you also pronounce the g's on the end of the words — like 'being,' not 'bein''. And 'trapping,' 'sleeping,' 'walking.'"
"Going to. Being. Trapping." Caitlyn rolled the words around once more over her tongue, than nodded her head. "Think I've got it now. Look! Look over there!"
Caitlyn grabbed Jon's hand and tugged him after her toward another tent. A lot longer than a half-hour passed as they wandered from tent to tent, stopped now and then at the wigwams where the Indian women had spread out their own wares for trade, and even sampled a taste or two from various cooking pots, both white and Indian.
At one point, Jon even pulled out another coin from his pouch and bought a few of the smaller goods at a trader's tent, giving them to Caitlyn so she could make her own trades with the Indian women.
Caitlyn's blue eyes glowed with excitement as she accepted the goods with only a slight protest. She traded a small paring knife at the first wigwam they came to for a basket to carry the remaining goods in, then dragged Jon with her over to another nearby wigwam and dickered endlessly with a sour-faced woman sitting in front of it. Finally Caitlyn handed over a small mirror and accepted an exquisite pouch decorated with painted porcupine quills in return.
"Here," she said as she held the pouch out to Jon. "Your possibles bag's about worn through."
"I gave you that stuff to trade for things you need," Jon grumbled. But he bent his head and allowed her to place the strap over his head.
"There." Caitlyn patted a small hand on Jon's chest and adjusted the bag slightly. Cocking her head, she studied the possibles bag while Jon stiffened his knees to counteract the tremble in his legs. Caitlyn gave a nod of satisfaction and grabbed Jon's hand to continue her quest for barga
ins.
"Next thing you get better be for somethin' for yourself!"
"'Something,' not 'somethin''," Caitlyn returned as they stopped in front of the next wigwam.
Jon chuckled and shook his head as he watched Caitlyn pick up a beaded belt.
"This sure would hold up my britches a lot more comfortable than that rope I got now." Caitlyn started to gather Jon's shirt up and lift it above her waist.
Jon's hand snapped out and he grabbed her arm. "Try it on over top of the shirt for now!"
Caitlyn shot him a quizzical glance, then shrugged her shoulders and wrapped the belt around her waist. She drew it snug, then looked up at Jon for approval.
"Uh...." Jon wrenched his eyes away from the tilted mounds outlined against the shirt material, now drawn tightly against them. "Uh...it's a little small, isn't it?"
Caitlyn reached down and adjusted the belt, a frown of concentration on her face. She loosened it an inch, then moved her shoulders until the shirt hung more loosely over them.
"That better?"
"Much," Jon agreed.
Caitlyn lifted the lid of the basket and pulled out a string of beads in varigated colors. She slipped them around the Indian woman's neck and stepped back to study them. Nodding her head, Caitlyn spoke a few words to the woman.
"What did you say to her?" Jon asked.
"Told her they made her eyes sparkle."
The Indian woman picked up the beads from her chest and fingered them, then glanced down and back up at Caitlyn. A smile quirked the Indian woman's lips, and she held up two fingers and spoke to Caitlyn.
Caitlyn laughed and translated the woman's words for Jon. "She says if one string will make her sparkle, she needs two, one for each eye."
Caitlyn nodded agreeably and delved into her basket. Leaving the belt on her waist, Caitlyn grabbed Jon's hand and hurried to the next wigwam, almost dancing along in her excitement.
"Slow down," Jon said with a chuckle. "Those things aren't going to walk away before you get there."
"I was afraid you'd remember you only gave me half an hour," Caitlyn admitted, her eyes twinkling when she slid a sideways look at him.
"All right," Jon agreed in a grumble he had to force into his voice. "We'll stay until noon, then have dinner before we go back to camp."
"That long? Thank you!" Caitlyn gave Jon a brief hug and squatted down to examine the articles on the blanket in front of the wigwam, leaving Jon standing upright with his breath caught in his throat.
****
Chapter 6
"You paid way too much for it," Caitlyn teased, running her fingers across the beaded bodice of the deerskin dress and kicking her legs out slightly to make the fringe dance. "It sure is purty, tho', and reckon Silas'll be glad to get his britches back."
"Pretty, not purty. We got the moccasins, too," Jon reminded her, "even if you won't wear them. And all I gave her was my old possibles bag and my knife and sheath. I've still got the knife I won from Tall Man."
"Pretty," Caitlyn repeated agreeably. "Oh, I'm so full. I couldn't eat another bite. We keep eatin'...eating like this, you'll be right about me needing a bigger belt. That there roasted corn sure was good, though. And fresh buffalo steak. First I've had this summer. You and Silas figure on going on a buffalo hunt before we head back up into the mountains?"
"What would we do with all the meat? Among the three of us, we probably couldn't eat more than one haunch before it spoiled."
"Why, dry it and pickle it. Salt it down," Caitlyn said in astonishment. "Lot's you can do with it, leastways I can. Wouldn't 'spect you and Silas to do that part. You just got to bring it to me. You ever had jellied buffalo tongue?"
"Can't say as I have," Jon said with a grimace.
"You simmer the tongue in a pot with some wild onions, mint and a little coltsfoot salt and Indian vinegar. After it cools and the sauce jellies, you slice it up and there's not a better tasting dish on earth. Ummmm."
She ran her tongue around her lips and Jon watched the movement, fascinated by the two different shades of pink.
"How...what's the difference between regular vinegar and Indian vinegar?" he asked.
"Indian vinegar's made out of sap from the birch tree," Caitlyn explained. "Or maple, if you can find it. Maple's scarce out here, though, and most of the time people use its sap for syrup or candy, they do run across a tree. Look, Jon. She's makin' Wagmiza Wasna over there!"
"What in the world's that?" he asked as he obeyed the tug on his arm and followed Caitlyn to a wigwam he recognized as Sioux. He should recognize it. Caitlyn had explained the different signs painted on the buffalo-skin structures over and over to him all morning.
"Pemmican!"
"Pemmican? We've got pemmican back at camp. And you just said you were so full you couldn't eat another bite."
"Not like this pemmican. Just wait. Here. Hold this stuff."
Caitlyn piled Jon's arms full of the treasures she had gathered over the morning, keeping only the basket to take with her to the wigwam.
"Took the ol' woman shoppin' this mornin', huh?"
Jon swiveled around to meet a pair of laughing eyes in the bearded face of a grizzled old trapper. He felt his face flush hotly as the picture he must make, standing there with Caitlyn's purchases dangling from his arms, flashed through his mind.
"Here, Jon." Caitlyn stopped beside him and held out a deerskin pouch.
"Hell," Jon heard the trapper mutter. "Find me one like that there 'un, guess I'd buy out the whole dern rendezvous for her myself."
Jon's face darkened and the look he gave the trapper told the old man exactly who would be doing any buying for Caitlyn, but the old man just touched his forehead in greeting and ambled away.
"Is he someone you know, Jon?" Caitlyn asked.
"No. He was just admiring you...our purchases."
"Don't you want to try the pemmican? It's good for dessert. Oh. Your hands are full. Here."
Jon stood helplessly as Caitlyn reached into the pouch and pulled her fingers out, filled with lumps of the mixture inside. She raised her arm and he opened his mouth so she could push the pemmican inside, her finger touching his tongue when she wiped off a lump trying to cling to the end of one.
"Good, isn't it?" she demanded when he slowly began chewing.
Jon nodded his head in surprise. It wasn't the flat tasting permmican he was used to. His teeth clamped down on something, and sweetness filled his mouth.
"It's made from cornmeal and dried currants and sugar," Caitlyn said. "'Course, this is maple sugar. I'll have to remind Silas we'll need to trade for our sugar. Only time you get maple sap is in the spring, but reckon Silas knows that."
A high yelp split the air and Caitlyn swung around. Before Jon could unload his arms and grab her, she let out a scream of dismay and ran toward the next wigwam.
"You quit that!" Caitlyn flew into the Indian man and pounded on his back just as the man swung his leg back again, his kick aimed at the half-grown dog cringing at his feet. The shock of Caitlyn's weight against his back sent the Indian man sprawling in the dirt, and the dog crawled a few feet away on its belly, whimpering in fear but eyeing the scraps of bone the Indian man had dropped.
Jon grabbed Caitlyn before she could launch herself at the Indian man again and captured her wildly swinging fists in his hands.
"Caitlyn. Stop it!"
"Let go of me, dash nab it! He don't feed his animal, he ain't got no right to mistreat it when it's only trying clean up what he don't want himself! Let the hell go of me!"
Jon wrapped his arms around Caitlyn and held her tightly against his chest. He looked down at the Indian man still sprawled on the ground.
"She's been under a strain," he said in an apologetic voice. "Too much shopping."
Caitlyn let out a giggle and collapsed in Jon's arms. Her giggles quickly escalated into laughter, and then full-fledged guffaws. She braced her legs under her and tried to stand, but her knees gave way and she had to depend on the sup
port of Jon's arms to keep from falling beside the Indian man in the dirt.
"Caitlyn, hush," Jon said around his own laughter. "He'll think we're crazy."
"I'm sorry," Caitlyn gasped. "But you sounded just like we'd been prancing up and down one of them streets back where you come from, 'stead of wanderin' 'mongst almost every kind of Indian a person could name!"
Caitlyn finally managed to control her legs and stood, flashing Jon a look from eyes brimming with merriment and tears of laughter. "You did, you know." She lifted a hand and cocked her little finger. "Maybe I ought to've drunk my coffee like this at dinner. Paw told me once that's how the eastern women drink their tea."
Jon's smile split his face and he threw back his head as the laughter roared from between his even, white teeth. His arms tightened around Caitlyn and she laid her forehead on his chest, giggling merrily and clenching one small fist among the fringe on his shirt.
The Indian man stared at them for a long moment. Then his own face creased in understanding, and he rose to his feet. He grabbed a piece of rope from beside the wigwam and held his hand out to the dog. It whimpered and crawled forward, and the man looped the rope around its neck.
The Sioux waited until the laughter subsided, then approached Jon and Caitlyn. Pushing the rope into Caitlyn's hand, he spoke a few words.
"Oh!" Caitlyn gasped. "No." She dropped her head to hide her flushed cheeks, but held onto the rope.
"What did he say?" Jon asked.
Caitlyn shook her head, a wisp of hair loosened from her braid falling across her face.
"Caitlyn." Jon tipped her face up and studied the bright flush on her cheeks. "What did he say? Why's he giving you the dog?"
"He...." Caitlyn took a deep breath. "He says it's for our wedding present. He...he thinks we've just got married and he...wants...us...to...have...."
Caitlyn gave a hopeless shrug and eyed Jon warily. "We...we can't give it back."
"Ask him why he thinks we're married," Jon demanded.
"Jon, no...."
"Ask him, Caitlyn, or I'll give the dog back, no matter what the consequences."
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