Gwyneth

by Christine Sterling

  Gwyneth swallowed hard and tried not to think about what the stranger was saying. “Who are you?” she asked when she found her voice.

  The man chuckled to himself. “Your husband never spoke of me?” he asked.

  “No, he didn’t. And I please ask you to leave,” she added, keeping her voice calm and as stern as she could muster.

  The man gave a hearty laugh at this. “But you haven’t heard why I have come all the way here. Don’t you want to hear my proposal?” He walked up to her, only a few feet away from her. “You should be more hospitable.”

  “What is it that you want?” Gwyneth whispered.

  “I don’t want anything, I just want to make your life a little easier,” he said, as he sat on the chair that belonged to her husband. “I’m a very hospitable person and I want to offer you some advice and maybe a push in the right direction.”

  She sat across from him. “How would you want to do that?” she asked.

  “I’m Mortimer Crane, so I can do anything.”

  Gwyneth recognized the name. She knew he was the owner of the mine. Kimama told her that the mine had been destroyed from the internal explosion. There had been a substantial loss of life inside it.

  Kimama also told her that Mortimer was more upset about the destruction of the mine, rather than all the men who had died in it. The mine had employed most of the men in the town and had brought a lot of revenue, although the only person who benefited from it was Mortimer himself. He was a very wealthy man. Now looking at him, she could see the coldness in his eyes. He was exactly as she had imagined him to be.

  She took a deep breath. “Mr. Crane, I appreciate your concern,” she said, although she wasn’t too sure he was concerned, “but I can tell you that I am fine as of now. There are people from the local tribe that are helping me through this time. I think I will be able to manage.”

  “Do you really think so?” he said in a condescending tone. “How long do you think you can sustain yourself up here. You are such a pretty woman; it’s unsafe for someone like you to be up here by yourself,” he said, as he reached for her face. She moved her chin away from his grasp. “You have no means to defend yourself,” he said motioning around the house.

  Gwyneth remained silent as he continued. “I’m just here to offer you a way out, so to speak. I can grant you stay in the next town, find you another husband to take care you. Wouldn’t you want that?”

  Gwyneth gave it a thought. It was true, she did feel a little out of place out in the wilderness. She never thought she would be out here in this house all alone; with her husband now gone, there was no reason she had to stay here. But she was rather scared to leave the only home she had at the time. She didn’t want to go back to her parents and explain to them what had happened to her. She couldn’t take the disappointment in their eyes.

  “What do you get in return?”

  Mortimor’s eyes lit up as she asked the question.

  “Why, Widow Davies, in exchange I will get all your land and the hunting cabins as well.”

  “My land, hmmm? I’ll think about the offer,” she said. While she didn’t want to agree to it at the moment, she also didn’t want to tell him no. She wanted to give it serious thought. It could honestly solve many of her problems if she moved for a fresh start.

  “Well, thank you for the hospitality,” he said, as he got up from the seat. Gwyneth was grateful that he was leaving. “I’ll be sure to send some of my men by to see if you are interested.”

  Gwyneth gave a curt nod, as she followed him to the door. Mortimer turned around, as he went through the door. “I’m sure you’ll be making the right decision,” he said, before he walked out.

  She shut the door behind him, putting her back to the door. She didn’t know what the right decision was, but she knew the decision he had wanted her to make.

  Chapter Two

  Late May 1884

  Gwyneth dropped the fish trap back in the creek behind her house. She was surprised to find them empty. She walked a little further down the creek and even her snares were empty.

  She couldn’t understand why, as she had set them days ago and usually, they would be full of game by now. It had been just over two months since her husband died and she had finally gotten into a routine. She would spend the morning tending to her traps and process any fish or game she shot, before going back and tending to her garden. Kimama would visit twice a week, bringing gossip and some food supplies for her to use.

  Mortimer was true to his word and sent several of the men who supported his operations in Cranesville to stop by for a visit. Gwyneth made sure she had hot coffee for them, but she made them stay outside. She wasn’t about to invite anyone inside her home. Each of the men was creepier than the last; luckily, they came by when Kimama was visiting so she wasn’t totally alone.

  Gwyneth didn’t find a desirable man in the bunch. Granted, they were making quite a bit of money and could provide for her, but she already had one man that sold her that bill of goods.

  She thought maybe she would be able to stomach some of these men, so long as they took care of her, but the more that came to visit, the more the list of negative traits would grow. One of the men in particular smelled of sulfur and sweat and would not stop staring at her in a way that gave her chills.

  She dismissed the thought and waded out of the creek, scrambling onto the bank before wringing the water from her clothes as best as she could.

  First her garden was missing crops and now her traps had no fish. She usually had enough to sustain herself, but now that there wasn’t anything for her to use, she knew she was going to have to do something. She still had her husband’s cache of weapons, plus the smokehouse still had a bit of meat that Clint was going to sell. Perhaps she might be able to trade for additional supplies and a rifle that she could carry. It was her only option, since she didn’t want to marry any of the men that Mortimer had sent.

  Mortimer hadn’t come by since their first encounter and she wished he would never come back. She was trying to plot what to do when he did come back, but she didn’t like to think about it too much.

  She hoped that he would leave well-enough alone when she told him she didn’t want to move. But the first thing she needed to do was change out of her buckskins and put on a dress before going to town.

  When she got back to her house, she dug out the dresses that she had brought from New York when she came to marry Clint. The last time she wore them was when she went to town over two years ago. She was in the mercantile and mentioned that she needed to repair one of her skirts as it would be less expensive than buying a new dress. When they got home that evening, Clint beat her until she couldn’t stand. He accused her of showing him up in town, that he couldn’t afford to buy her fancy dresses or materials like she had back East.

  She didn’t move from the bed for two days.

  He must have realized how badly he hurt her as he apologized profusely and gave her a dress made of deer skin. It was so beautifully beaded she cried. Of course, she forgave him, because he blamed it on the boozing and he promised he would never drink again.

  She wore buckskins from that point forward and never revisited the town. She did, however save the dresses, hiding them where Clint wouldn’t look for them.

  It took about 30 minutes for her to walk from her house on the hill to the mercantile. She crossed over the railroad tracks and made her way up to Chestnut Street, trying to ignore the whispers and stares as she strolled into town.

  The pack on her back was rather heavy and she shuffled it from one shoulder to another to alleviate some of the weight. She should have brought Betsy and the wagon, but too late now. She forgot how far a walk it was.

  She was almost at the mercantile when a small group of women stopped her. She was surprised to see one of the women in similar buckskins to what she normally wore.

  “You new around here?” the woman in the animal skin top and pants asked.

  Gwyneth shook her head. �
��No, my name is Gwyneth Davies. My husband was the trapper in the hills. He caught most of the wild cats and bears so they didn’t bother the town.”

  The women looked at her with surprise in their eyes and their mouths turned to an O.

  “Gwyneth? I thought you were dead. Clint said you had died of a fever about 2 winters past.” Gwyneth looked at the woman, not quite recognizing her. She wore a star on her chest. Wentz…

  “Are you the sheriff?”

  “Yes. I’m Cordelia Wentz. This is Blessing, but you can call her Buster.”

  “I remember your husband. I am sorry for your loss.” She looked around at the rest of the women, their tired, haggard faces showing the stress of the previous few months. “I’m sorry for all your losses.”

  “Where is your husband, Mrs. Davies?”

  “He died after the explosion. He left the house and never came back.”

  “Those tremors were something else. It rattled everyone through the town. I’m sure they must have felt it over in Curdy’s Crossing.”

  “Yes,” Gwyneth said. She wasn’t sure what else to say. She moved the pack to the other shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get these to the mercantile and then head over to the butcher. It was nice seeing you ladies. I hope to see you again.”

  “Glad you aren’t dead,” a voice called from behind her. She stopped but didn’t turn around. Taking a breath, she continued on to the mercantile.

  She was able to trade her furs for some coffee, sugar, cornmeal, beans and a bit of salt pork. She also had enough coins left over to buy a yard of fabric, so she could repair that skirt. She almost felt guilty, but then she remembered that Clint couldn’t get to her any more. It was such a feeling of relief that she even picked up some additional fabric to start making a layette for the wee one growing inside her.

  When she was done at the mercantile, Mrs. Tweedie made her promise that she would be back soon and to bring any more furs she may have. Beaver was going for $5 a pound!

  Gwyneth didn’t know the first thing about snaring a beaver, but she was determined to learn!

  She packed her items in her sack and walked down to the butcher. The case was filled with all different cuts of beef and pork. Looking at them made her mouth water.

  Mrs. Muckelrath came from a room behind the shop area. “Oh,” she said with surprise in her voice. “Are you here for the auction?”

  “Auction?”

  “Yes, the horse auction. You are a little early, most folks won’t be arriving for at least another two or three weeks.”

  “No… no, I’m not here for the auction. My name is Gwyneth Davies. My husband…”

  “Are you related to Clint Davies?”

  “Yes, he was my husband. He died heading up into the mountains the day of the explosion.”

  “My husband used to buy meat from him.”

  “I know. I was hoping you would give me the same arrangement as you gave him.”

  “Do you hunt?”

  “Yes ma’am. I also catch fish.”

  “Fish would be lovely.”

  “The creek is full of brown trout. I also have prairie chickens and rabbits.”

  “I’m not sure how much meat I’ll need right now.”

  Gwyneth bit her bottom lip. She needed to find a way to make sure she was set for winter. In order to do that she had to sell something. She looked at the poster on the wall announcing the horse sale.

  “How many people are you expecting for that?” she asked, pointing to the paper.

  “I don’t know, I’m thinking at least 100. Some of the people will be here next week to check out the horses before the auction.”

  “One hundred. Hmmm. Are you providing the meat for all those people? I take it,” she looked at the poster again, “Blessing, will have someone cooking, but she needs to get the food from somewhere.”

  “I guess I really didn’t think about it.”

  “Let me get as much food as I can to help feed those visitors. You give me a fair price, and I can keep you in fish, grouse and other game meats.”

  Mrs. Muckelrath thought for a moment. “Let me figure out what I’ll need. If you can stop by tomorrow, I’ll have a list ready.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Muckelrath, I won’t let you down.”

  “Please call me Olive. I believe you. Now, did you want anything from the case?”

  Gwyneth felt the few coins in her pocket. She needed to make them last as long as possible. “Everything looks so good, but it is a little bit more than I have right now. Do you have a soup bone?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. I’ll be right back.”

  She disappeared into the back and returned with a package wrapped in paper. “That will be a nickel.”

  Gwyneth handed her the coin and took the paper wrapped bone, placing it in her bag.

  “Thank you very much. I’ll stop by around the same time tomorrow.” She gave Olive a quick wave and headed out the door.

  It didn’t take her long to head back down towards the railroad tracks. She crossed them and took a slight right towards the creek. Clint had built a bridge to cross the water. Her legs weren’t as long as his, so she couldn’t just jump over the creek bed. He made a bridge for her, but after the last disastrous visit to town she didn’t use it again until today.

  As she walked past the creek, she heard a rustling in the grass. She stopped where she was walking and turned to the noise. She heard it again. This time it was coming from behind the bushes lining the creek. She pulled the knife she had tucked in her boot and walked closer to the noise, clutching the knife in her hand. She dropped her pack so it didn’t encumber her.

  She told herself that she would do whatever it took for her and the baby to survive. She walked over cautiously, noticing the shape in the grass. Something was getting into her traps! The closer she got, she noticed the something was in the shape of someone.

  “Get out!” she shouted at the form.

  The form turned around sharply, showing its face.

  It was the young boy from the town that they called Stinker. No more than 11 years old, his father had been killed in the explosion. His mother had died years ago from the fever.

  He looked like he hadn’t bathed in months. He probably hadn’t, Gwyneth thought. As long as she stayed upwind, she’d be alright.

  In his right hand, he was holding a fish, that presumably came from her trap.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, taking her knife and pointing it at him.

  “Ma’am, it’s not what you think,” the young man stammered, letting go of the fish, so he could scramble back a few paces. Gwyneth kicked the fish further up the bank. No point in losing it now.

  “It looks like you are stealing from me,” she countered. Thinking back, her eyes widened. “Have you been stealing from my garden too?” Anger laced her voice. How dare he be stealing from her!

  “Um, I, well,” he started to say, looking in all different directions.

  Gwyneth was so angry, she didn’t know what to say to him. Finally, she took a deep breath and shoved the knife back in the sheath in her boot. “You have been taking my livelihood, and all you can do is sit there?” she said, feeling the tears stinging her eyes.

  “I needed them!” he shouted back to her, wiping his nose on the back of his shirt sleeve.

  She stopped in her tracks. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “My parents are dead. We didn’t have anything. I’m sorry, Ma’am. I knew stealing was wrong. But I didn’t have any other choice.”

  “We?” she asked, tilting her head. She dropped down to the kid’s level. She pushed his hair back, looking at his tear-soaked face. “Who did you need to take care off?”

  Stinker wiped his nose again. Gwyneth reached in her pocket and passed him a handkerchief. “My brothers. I have to take care of them. And I tried to do it honestly. But no one wants to give me a job in town. They call me a street urchin, whatever that means. I was trying to fish in the creek, but I
couldn’t get anything. Then I saw your traps, just sitting there. I was only going to take a few fish, nothing for you to notice,” he said with a sniffle, wiping his eyes as well. “But then it was so easy, and I didn’t think you would notice. So, I just kept on doing it. I promise that I didn’t mean any harm. I didn’t think you noticed!”

  With a shout, he started to cry. All the anger Gwyneth felt died at the thought of what this child had gone through. She pulled him into her, giving him a hug as he shook in her arms. They sat like that for a while, as she soothed his tears.

  When his tears started to subside, she backed away, pushing his hair from his face. “What you did, that was wrong.” He nodded his head, as she continued. “Stealing is wrong, even if it was for the best means. You can never do it again.”

  He nodded profusely. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. I promise it won’t happen again.”

  “Of course, it won’t, because you are going to earn all that fish you stole from me and the fish that we are going to trap in the future,” she said, as Stinker looked at her with wide eyes. “You are going to help me clear the traps, as well as skin the animals I plan on hunting. In exchange, I’ll share the meat with you. I might even be able to pay you a few coins here and there, depending on if I can sell the meat in the town.”

  Stinker’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “You would do that for us?”

  “Of course, I would,” she said nonchalantly. She looked around, searching for the other boys. “Where are your brothers?”

  “They aren’t here. We have a shack in town that they stay in until I can bring the food back.”

  A shack? That wouldn’t do, Gwyneth thought to herself. “No, not anymore. You will live with me. The boys can help around the house and in the garden. And no trouble. Got me?”

  Stinker looked as if he just received Christmas. The smile on his face spread from ear to ear. “You mean that, Ma’am?”

  “Yes, of course I do. I would never lie to you. But please don’t call me Ma’am. You may call me Miss Gwyneth.”