The Bride Series (Omnibus Edition)

by Bittner, Rosanne

  Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled as the woman came closer, swallowing nervously before she spoke. “Mac is sleeping hard from too much whiskey,” she told Marybeth. “Ever since…since John was sent away…he’s been drinking more.”

  Marybeth sighed. “I’m sorry. I know what he’s like when he drinks. And I’m sorry about John—not for him, but for you. But he brought it on himself, Ella.”

  “I know that. I am not here to accuse you of anything or make excuses for him. I just thought—as long as Mac is sleeping—maybe you would let me see Danny for a little while.”

  Marybeth studied the woman’s eyes, always afraid of a MacKinder trick. But after her last conversation with Ella, she was sure the woman was sincere. “I guess so, but I do not want him taken from the wagon. You can climb inside and see him for a while.”

  Ella nodded, struggling, as always, to show no emotion. “Thank you.” She climbed into the wagon, and Marybeth heard her coo Danny’s name like any doting grandmother. She felt sorry that the woman couldn’t see more of the boy, but Marybeth refused to allow Danny to go near Mac, and Mac would not allow Ella to come and see him.

  She waited outside, deciding to let the woman have time alone with the boy. After several minutes, Josh approached the wagon, smiling when he saw Marybeth standing outside. “I figured you’d be inside waiting for me,” he told her, putting his arms around her and drawing her close.

  She kissed his cheek and pulled away from him. “Ella is in the wagon with Danny.”

  “Ella?” His alarm was immediate, and he looked around into the darkness.

  “It’s all right. Mac is in a drunken sleep. She wanted to see Danny, and this was her chance. I said it was all right as long as Danny didn’t leave the wagon.”

  He sighed impatiently. “I suppose it is. I just don’t want Mac storming over here causing problems.”

  “He won’t.” The words came from Ella herself, as she came out of the wagon. Josh reached up to help her down, and she looked at him as though shocked that he would offer. She waved him off. “No man has helped me do anything in thirty years. No sense starting now.” She climbed down by herself and looked at Marybeth. “Thank you again. If I can find a way, I will come again.”

  “It’s all right with us, as long as there is no trouble with Mac.”

  The woman nodded and hurried off into the darkness. Marybeth looked up at Josh, blinking back tears. “I might have ended up like her.” Josh pulled her into his arms and she rested her head agains his chest. “Oh, Josh, thank God I found you.”

  He kissed her hair. “Let’s get inside and get Danny to sleep.”

  He helped her inside and pulled down the end canvas flaps while she lit a lamp and fixed Danny’s bed in a corner of the cramped wagon. There was just enough room in the center of the wagon to roll out the feather mattress at night, but neither Josh nor Marybeth minded having to sleep close.

  “I must look a mess,” she said as she unlaced her shoes. She was grateful for the flat-soled, leather shoes Josh had bought for her at Fort Laramie. They looked more like a man’s boot, but Marybeth didn’t care. All that mattered was that they were much more comfortable than the shoes she had been wearing.

  “You look fine. Help me get these boots off.”

  She held the boots while he pulled his feet out of them. “I need a bath,” she answered. “And I long to wash my hair.”

  “Your hat keeps the dust out of it, and you brush it out every morning and night. Nobody can be their best on a trip like this, so just remember you aren’t alone.”

  She unbuttoned her blouse and scooted out of her tattered skirt. “I just wish I could look prettier for you.”

  He laughed lightly, pulling off his shirt and pants. “You’d be beautiful if you were covered with mud. And how do you think I feel? I’d like to be all scrubbed up and wear my best clothes for you. We’re stuck with things as they are for now. We’re getting into much dryer country now, Marybeth. We have to conserve our fresh water more than ever. But Cap says up in the mountains, the streams flow as clear as glass. If we come across water like that, he says it’s safe to drink. Maybe up there you and I can find a place to take a bath together. Sounds like fun to me.”

  She smiled and blushed at the thought of it, and Josh moved closer as she reached for her nightgown. He grasped her hand and kissed her cheek lightly. “Leave it off.” Before she could answer, he met her mouth in a soft, sweet kiss, moving his fingers under the lacy strap of her cotton camisole and drawing it down over her shoulder. He moved his lips to her neck, pulling off the other strap and tugging the camisole down to her waist.

  “Josh, we’ve agreed we can’t do this too often,” she whispered. “There isn’t enough water for washing.”

  “We’ll just have to go thirsty then. It’s better than this craving hunger I have for you,” he said softly, kissing lightly at her breasts and moving his lips to taste their sweet fruits.

  She wanted to object more strongly, feeling self-conscious about being dusty and ragged. But then she realized he was the same way, and she didn’t even care. And how could she say no to him when he gently tasted her breasts this way, almost like a hungry child. He had a need, and she never minded fulfilling that need, for he always took her with such gentleness and respect. “Cap would be angry that we’ll have to use water for washing,” she said as he laid her back into the feather mattress, his lips lingering at her breasts.

  “Cap doesn’t have to know,” he answered softly, moving his lips back to her throat as with one hand he untied the camisole and pushed it open. “And if he had a woman pretty as you in his own wagon, he’d forget about the water supply, too.”

  He kissed her lightly, then raised up a little, meeting her eyes in the dim lamplight. “You think we’re the only ones going against the rules?” He grinned. “This journey might have its pain and hardship, Marybeth, but the needs of a man and woman don’t change. Maybe we can’t do this as often as we’d like and can’t fancy and perfume ourselves up for it, but by God I love you, and I need my new wife. Things are going to get worse instead of better for a while, so let’s take what we can get for the moment.”

  She watched his eyes. “I hate having to be so quiet about it,” she whispered. She raised her hips, letting him pull off her bloomers. “It will be so nice when we’re in a real house, with a real bedroom and a real bed.”

  “That it will, my darling,” he answered, mimicking her Irish accent.

  She leaned up and met his lips in an effort not to giggle, but they laughed a smothered laugh with their mouths together as he moved on top of her. She opened herself willingly, and in the next moment the laughter turned to sweet moans of ecstasy when he entered her in one quick, hard thrust. After that they moved slowly, quietly, loving each other too much to care about comfort and bathing and perfumed hair. What mattered was that one never knew what the next day would bring. What mattered was that they were here, together, alive, well and in love. They made up for lack of privacy as best they could, keeping as quiet as possible while outside night birds called and wolves howled…and John MacKinder struggled as best he could through wild country he knew nothing about, determined to stay within riding distance of the wagon train.

  They chose Sublette’s Cutoff, taking the more direct route to Fort Hall to save time. Oxen strained up steep, rocky embankments and down again, and already people were discarding more of their personal items to make the wagons lighter. Some women wept, others only watched with cold eyes as precious belongings were tossed aside. Men’s items, such as heavy tools, were usually not considered dispensible. Hammers and hatchets stayed, while china, beds and rockers went, putting new strains on relationships already tested nearly to the limit. Still, there were no more Sleiter incidents.

  It was toward the end of the cutoff that tragedy struck again, always too sudden. A rattler caused the head oxen of the Peters wagon to balk and veer off the beaten path. Al Peters shouted and cursed as he snapped his whip in
an effort to get the animals headed in the right direction again, while old Tillie James, Bess Peters’ mother, clung to the wagon seat. The woman seldom walked, finding it too difficult for her aging legs.

  The lead oxen swerved, while others held up their wagons and waited for Peters to get back into line. The lead oxen bolted one way, while those behind them went another, and Al kept whipping at all six of them. The animals made a sudden, sharp half turn bringing the wagon around in an arc, and before Al could bring the powerful animals under control, the right front wheel of his wagon rolled up onto a high, round rock, causing the right side to suddenly tip up so high everyone thought the entire wagon would fall over. Tillie lost her balance and went rolling off the wagon seat, while Bess screamed in horror.

  The oxen kept going, pulling the wagon in such a sharp circle that it slid off the rock, and before Al could stop the team, the left back wheel ran over Tillie James. By then several other men had run to Al’s aid, finally getting the oxen under control. Marybeth ran with Josh to where Bess was bent over her mother. She pulled the old woman into her arms, and it was obvious by the way her head dropped back that her neck was broken. Marybeth turned away from the sight, burying her head against Josh’s chest.

  “Somebody get Cap,” someone called out.

  For the next few minutes, as everyone stared in shock and sorrow, the only sound that could be heard was Bess’ pitiful sobbing, and her husband’s soft-spoken words as he attempted to comfort her.

  “Somebody dig a grave,” she heard Cap saying then. “Aaron, you and Josh check out the Peters’ wagon. See if there’s any damage.”

  Josh patted Marybeth’s shoulder and left her, and she wiped at her eyes and turned to Delores. The two women put their arms around each other, while Florence, the memory of the graves of her children still too fresh in her mind, turned away, hurrying back to her wagon and climbing inside. She was not going to watch another burial.

  With expediency that would seem cruel and ludicrous in any other situation, a hole was dug, Tillie’s body was wrapped in blankets, and men lowered it into the lonely grave. They were nearing the mountains, and time was of the utmost importance. The wagons had to keep going. Again Raymond Cornwall read from the Good Book, and Marybeth prayed over her beads. Men shoveled dirt into the grave and piled rocks on top of it to keep away the wolves.

  Bess knelt beside the grave and lay over the rocks, weeping. Al, his face stained from his own tears, bent over her and gently but forcefully pulled her away. “We’ve got to go, Bess.”

  “Not this soon,” she wept. “I didn’t even…get to tell her…good-bye.” The Peters children, Andy, thirteen, and Lilly, ten, both stood on the other side of the grave, crying and holding hands.

  Marybeth turned and wept against Josh’s chest, again imagining the horror of being without him.

  “It…can’t be,” Bess sobbed. “It can’t be! Just this morning she was saying how good she felt…talking about finishing a quilt…laughing with the children.”

  “Give her another fifteen minutes,” Cap told Al Peters. “I’m sorry, Al.” Cap motioned to the man to come and talk to Josh and Aaron. Josh kept an arm around Marybeth as the men talked. “Al, you’ve got a cracked axle, and one of the oxen broke a leg,” Cap told the man.

  Al turned away and rubbed at his eyes.

  “With five oxen, you’ll only be able hitch four. You can alternate each day so one of them gets a rest. But we’re headed into even higher country and you’ve got a bigger wagon than most of the others. It’s gonna put a strain on only four oxen. If there’s anything you can get rid of, do it. I’m sorry to have to put this extra burden on you.”

  Al rubbed at his neck. “I know.”

  Cap put a hand to the man’s back, then walked away.

  “Al, I think the wagon itself will make it if you lighten it up,” Josh told him. “The crack has weakened the axle, but if you’re careful, it will hang together. It might help to lash it, if we can find some rawhide. If we wet the rawhide first and pull it around good and tight, it will draw the crack together even tighter as it dries and shrinks.”

  Al nodded. “Okay. I’ll see what I’ve got.” He turned bloodshot eyes to Josh. “The only really heavy item we’ve got left is a chest-size music box that her mother brought over from Germany. She treasured it and we promised to let her bring it.” His tears spilled over. “I can’t ask Bess to just dump it off, especially not now. It would kill her.”

  Josh removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, for the time being, don’t tell Cap. We aren’t that far from Fort Hall. When we get there, I’ll buy a couple more oxen and you can load the music box into our wagon. We’ll make room for it somehow. Our wagon is a lot smaller. With two more oxen we should be able to handle the extra weight.”

  Al wiped at his tears. “I could get a couple more oxen myself. You don’t have to do that.”

  “Even with more oxen, you can’t take a chance with that cracked axle, and if you stop to put on a whole new one, you’ll fall behind and never catch up, not in this country. And right now I think it’s important for your wife to stay with friends for the rest of the journey.”

  Al nodded, watching his wife and children. “Yeah, you’re right.” He met Josh’s eyes. “I appreciate it, Josh.” He put out his hand and Josh shook it.

  “I can’t guarantee I won’t have my own problems and we won’t have to dump the music box ourselves, but we’ll give it a try. At least it gives Bess some time to get over this first shock.”

  “Yeah,” Al answered quietly. He sighed and walked back to his wife, and everyone left the graveside to give the family a few minutes alone. Josh and Marybeth headed back toward their wagon, pulling Danny behind them. One of Josh’s horses stood saddled and ready for Josh to go hunting. “I’m glad you offered to take the music box, Josh,” Marybeth told him.

  “All we have to do is find a place to put it. I reckon I’ll end up sleeping outside on the ground after all.” She looked up at him and he kissed her tears, then pulled her into his arms, both of them frustrated over the difficulty of not being able to share their love the way they would like. “It sure will be nice to get to Oregon, won’t it?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. She kissed his cheek. “We’ll find ways to be together, Josh.” He met her lips and kissed her tenderly, running a hand through her hair.

  “Sure we will,” he said softly.

  For a moment she cried softly on his shoulder. “Oh, Josh, poor Bess. It’s so sudden and cruel.”

  “I know, honey, I know. Do you want to keep walking, or do you want to ride in the wagon for a while?”

  She pulled away and took a handkerchief from a pocket on her skirt. “I’ll walk with Delores,” she said, wiping at her eyes. She looked up at him. “Please stay with the wagon train today. Don’t go hunting. I want you near.”

  “I have to go, Marybeth. It’s too important.”

  She met his eyes, loving him all the more for offering to take the music box, proud of his generosity in doing most of the hunting. How utterly different he was from a MacKinder man. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just—seeing that grave dug and all…”

  He grasped her arms. “Marybeth, the only graves with our names on them are going to be in Oregon, and they won’t be dug for a lot of years yet. Nothing is going to happen. How many times have I told you we’re supposed to be together? We haven’t gone through all this hell to let anything keep us from reaching our dream. Tillie James is dead, but I’m standing right here alive and well, and so are you. Now where’s that strong, fiesty woman I married?”

  She smiled through tears. “She isn’t feeling so strong today.”

  He kissed her cheek. “It will pass, Marybeth. My heart hurts for them as much as yours does. Besides, I’m to stay behind until the wagons are out of sight, then shoot the ox with the broken leg. We didn’t want to do it while Bess was around.”

  Marybeth nodded. “I understand.”

  From the
front of the wagon train Cap whistled. “Everybody gather up! We can make a few miles yet.”

  People quietly prepared to go on. Al half dragged his sobbing wife to their wagon, where Josh and Aaron had already hitched the spare ox. They had loaded the extra yoke onto the side of Aaron’s wagon. Bess and the children climbed inside, and the wagon train was underway. Marybeth watched Josh mount up. He rode his horse back a ways, and she walked on with Delores, pulling Danny behind her in the wagon.

  Her heart ached fiercely for Bess and the fresh grave they left behind. It was frightening to think how a person could be so alive one moment, and dead the next. She wept as she walked. It was perhaps fifteen minutes later that she heard the gunshot in the distance. The ox was dead. Marybeth felt sorry for it. None of them could realize their dreams about starting over in a new land without the strong, dependable brutes that got them there. The oxen seemed as much a part of the triumphs and tragedies of this journey as the people.

  Chapter Twenty

  John led his horse by the reins, walking gingerly because of blisters on his rear end. “Damn American saddles,” he grumbled. He looked at the aging mare that walked behind him. “No wonder Beckman sold you,” he growled at the animal. “You’re worthless. Pa should not have given a nickel for you.”

  He trudged through a rocky, heavily forested area, trying to keep panic from setting in. He had managed to stay within a day’s ride of the wagon train, always hanging behind it so the scouts, who usually stayed ahead of the wagons, would not spot him. But yesterday he had spotted a deer. His hefty appetite longed for the meat, and he had shot at the animal, hitting it but not killing it. The deer had bounded away, and John had gone after it. By the time he realized the old, slow mare his father had purchased for him would never keep up with the animal, he was totally lost.

  “That damn deer is probably lying dead somewhere, food for wolves, while I go hungry,” he grumbled at the horse. “It’s all your fault.”