Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 01]

by Wild Sweet Wilderness

  “The raisins are good, but so was the wash,” Rachel confessed. “I’m tired of eatin’ dust.” She took the precious wire pins out of her hair, placed them in a small box, and picked up the hairbrush. When she shook her head, the long coil fell and spread, making her look like a child.

  “I’m hopin’ we get a place near a clear running stream. We can bathe in it, put our wash pots on the bank, and have scrub water without havin’ to tote it far.” There was a wistful quality to Berry’s voice.

  “Asa’s got wilder and wilder on this trip,” Rachel said with a worried frown. “He might not farm. He might try to turn his hand to somethin’ else.”

  “I’m afraid of it. I don’t—” She broke off in mid-sentence and held her finger to her lips in silent warning. The campfire was still ablaze, and a shadow had passed between it and the wagon. “Keep talkin’,” Berry mouthed silently, and gently set the bag of raisins in Rachel’s lap.

  Rachel’s eyes grew large and frightened, but she cleared her throat and began to murmur words about their home in Ohio. Berry injected a word occasionally, all the while inching toward the back of the wagon. She heard the rasp of cloth or leather as it scraped wood, and saw the movement of the tarp as it was gently prodded from the outside. She motioned for Rachel to hand her the musket they kept loaded. Rachel reached for it and laid it on the feather tick within her reach.

  Berry got to her knees, then to her feet. The movement at the end of the wagon was more obvious now as a knife sawed at the rope that secured the flap. Her foot nudged the tin chamber pot they kept for Rachel to use during the night. Berry had used it herself this evening, being reluctant to leave the wagon, and it was half-full.

  A devilish grin tilted Berry’s lips as the idea struck. She quietly removed the lid and lifted the pot by the bail. She raised it until she could grasp it with both hands.

  Rachel talked on in low tones while they waited. Sure that his presence had gone unnoticed, the man sawed at the ropes. Within minutes Berry saw the canvas go slack. She tensed for the moment the flap would be thrown back.

  If she was surprised at all, it was by the way the whole end of the wagon opened up. Blop! The tarp fell, and Linc Smith stood scarcely three feet from her with a leering, drunken grin on his face. As he reached for her, Berry threw the chamber pot, contents and all. She saw it splash in his face before the pot struck him. She grabbed the musket.

  “Ahhh . . . ahhh . . . !” Linc yelled and stumbled back. At that same instant a club came down on his head with a thud. His body went limp and he fell face forward in the dirt.

  Israel, with both hands holding the club, rolled white-socketod eyes toward the astonished women.

  “Israel! You coldcocked him!”

  The slave began to tremble so violently that the thick stick of wood slipped from his fingers. The enormity of what he’d done paralyzed him with fear.

  Berry saw his fear, and knowing he could be whipped to death for his action she said quickly, “Did he see you?”

  “Naw . . . naw . . .”

  “Good!” Suddenly she began to laugh. Peals of laughter rang out as she looked on the drenched form lying in the dirt. It was a tinkling, musical sound that reached the man in the brimmed hat, who stood in the shadows. He was fascinated by the sound and couldn’t keep his own lips from twitching into a broad smile.

  “Good heavens!” Rachel leaned over the tailgate and stared at the man sprawled on the ground.

  Berry put down the musket, bunched her nightdress in her hand and jumped down from the wagon. “Don’t worry, Israel. Nobody will know you did it,” she said between fits of giggles. “What’re we goin’ to do with him?” She wrinkled her nose. “Phew! He’d scare a hain’t in a thicket!”

  “Yass’m . . . ah . . . yass’m.” Israel was clearly terrified, and her mention of a ghost didn’t help.

  “Stop worryin’,” Berry said gently. “I’ll say I did it. And . . . thanks. Thunderation! You were takin’ a chance.”

  Rachel was first to see the trader approach. She only had time to gasp, “Berry!”

  “I’ll say I did it.” The voice was quiet and drawling, but just the sound of it caused Berry’s heart to leap with fear. She whirled like a cat ready to fight. A soft chuckle came from the trader. “I was about to step in, but it appears like y’all don’t need no help.” He backed away a step. “Phew!” Rumbles of laughter came from his chest, and in spite of herself Berry’s face relaxed into a grin.

  She had no idea of the picture she made standing there in her white nightdress. Masses of black curly hair floated around her white face and gasps of laughter came from her soft mouth. She put her hand to it to stifle the giggles. Later, she was to wonder why she had been so sure he meant them no harm.

  Simon circled the man on the ground and leaned his rifle against the end of the wagon. “Israel,” he said to the slave. Then, “Israel?” He shook the man’s arm to rouse him out of his fear and to get his attention. “Get on back to your sleepin’ place. The fewer tracks you make around here, the better. I’ll drag him off in the woods. If there’s any questions asked, I’ll say I bashed his head for botherin’ the women.”

  “Lawsey me!” Israel stared at him in awe, then ran off.

  “Phew!” Simon said again when he grasped the man by the collar. He dragged him into the underbrush a good distance from the wagon, and as he returned he swept the tracks away with a branch.

  “Did we kill him?” Berry asked, then added, “I don’t care if we did or not. I was goin’ to shoot him anyway.”

  “It’d take more’n that to kill the bastard,” Simon said, grunting. “But he might wish it had. He’s full of whiskey, ’n’ that bash on the head won’t help.”

  “Why’d you come back?” Berry peered up into his face. “And why do you wear that hat so a body can’t see your face?”

  He laughed shortly. “You’re just full of questions, aren’t you?”

  “How’re you goin’ to find out anythin’ if you don’t ask?”

  “I had a hunch they’d get your pa drunk and come back.”

  “The other’n will come lookin’ for him.” Her eyes scanned the darkness beyond him.

  Simon saw her anxious look, and the wish to bash more heads jerked at his mind. “He’ll not come tonight. He and your pa are sleepin’ it off on a pile of hides down by the river. But that’n,” he jerked his head toward the spot where he’d left Linc, “he’s goin’ to be madder than a skunk with a twisted tail.” He took a length of rawhide from under his shirt and started tying it to the wagon flap.

  “I reckon he will. It was decent of you not to tell on Israel. They’d kill him. If they didn’t, Pa’d whip him somethin’ awful. He’s not as dumb as he lets on,” she added in the slave’s defense.

  “Get in the wagon and I’ll tie the flap down and poke the end of the strap inside. When you want out in the morning, pull the strap and the knot will come untied.”

  Berry skirted the wet spot in the dirt and picked up the chamber pot. She couldn’t suppress another bout of giggles. A bubble of laughter escaped her lips when she looked at Rachel’s solemn face. “I know I’m makin’ a fool of myself laughin’. . . but he looked so . . . funny!”

  As she continued to laugh, she was such a pleasure to look at—all warm, sparkling, and pretty beyond belief. With an effort, Simon pulled his attention back to the tarp. He slit the canvas with a long, thin-bladed knife and laced it with the rawhide. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the blond woman reach for the chamber pot and whisk it out of sight. He almost chuckled. White women had notions that never occurred to Indian women.

  Berry stepped up on the box to crawl over the tailgate and back into the wagon. Simon put his hands on her waist and lifted her lightly. She didn’t protest, and he had a sudden notion to enfold her warmth in his arms and kiss her. Sternly he put such thoughts from his mind. She was soft and warm and so small it seemed he could snap her in two. But he knew she was tougher than she looked and that s
he had spunk. She’ll need it, he thought with a fierce spurt of anger at her pa. He wondered if the man knew there were a hundred men on the river who would kill to get their hands on these women.

  “Thank you, Mister . . . ?”

  “Witcher. Simon Witcher.”

  “Do you live in Saint Louis? Will we see you again?” Berry asked boldly.

  “More’n likely.” Simon hesitated before he pulled down the flap. “I got a place up on the Missouri.”

  “That’s a long way.”

  “It’s no piece at all in this country. Where’s your pa’s land?”

  “Across the river. He don’t tell us much.”

  There was a small silence while he looked at the women and they at him. “I’ll be at the ferry,” he said, and let the flap drop between them. “Don’t forget about pullin’ the strap.” He poked the end of the rawhide inside the wagon.

  “Thanks,” Berry called softly. “And thanks for the raisins, too.”

  “My pleasure.” The masculine drawl was muffled as it came through the canvas.

  Berry stood waiting expectantly, but he said no more. She turned to look down at Rachel, who sat with her back against the trunk. The women looked at each other for a moment and then Berry sank down onto the mattress. “Well, I never! Law, he’s a strange one!”

  “We don’t have to worry about Asa tonight,” Rachel said with relief.

  “He’s gonna be madder than a rained-on hen in the morning.”

  “I hope he’s too sick to pay us no never mind.” Her eyes twinkled. She showed a side to Berry that she never allowed to surface with anyone else. She loved the dark-haired girl. There had been no love in her life until Asa took her home to the thin, sad-eyed little girl. They had been a comfort to each other through the years. Berry had been all that made Rachel’s life worth living.

  “Rachel.” Berry hesitated. “I never asked you, but somehow I knew that Pa didn’t wed you. Did he?”

  Rachel looked at her steadily and slowly shook her head. “He bought me for a horse and a hundred pounds of shot. It was either go with him or stay at the tavern and be a whore.”

  “But . . . why’d you stay with us after you growed up? He was mean to you! I hated him for it.”

  “Where would I have gone? Who would want Asa Warfield’s leavings? Besides, I had you. You’re the only person I ever loved and who loved me.” Rachel looked down at her fingers pleating the material of her nightdress. “I wish this babe wasn’t his. It could take on his meanness.”

  “It won’t if we start it off right,” Berry promised. “I didn’t take on his meanness. My ma was sweet and gentle like you and she taught me book learning and she said, ‘If you think of yourself as somebody, other folks will too.’ I’ve thought about that a lot.” Berry blew out the small light and lay down. “It isn’t fair, is it, Rachel?” she said in the darkness. “It isn’t fair that ’cause we’re women we got to go along and do as a man says. I wish we could strike out on our own. We could clear us a place to live, or go downriver to a town and do some kind of work to earn our keep. It just isn’t fair,” she said again. “A woman has to have a man to stand between her’n the mangy polecats what only wants her for fornication!”

  “I remember way back being with a man and a woman who loved each other. They touched and kissed and laughed. I remember she’d run and he’d grab her and kiss her, and she’d laugh. It’s so far back I can’t remember who they were. I used to dream I’d find a man who touched me gentlelike and laughed a lot.” Rachel’s voice trailed away sadly. “Asa ruint me for that.”

  “You’re not ruint!” Berry reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’ve got me a feelin’ that somethin’ good is waitin’ for us across the river in that wild, sweet wilderness.” Berry’s laugh was a little shaky. She squeezed Rachel’s hand again to reassure her as well as herself, then lay quietly, as her thoughts returned to the man in the brimmed hat.

  * * *

  “Where’s Asa this morning?” The leader of the wagon train sat on his buckskin horse and spoke curtly.

  “I dunno, Mr. Benson. But we’re ready to go. We won’t hold you up. Pa’ll show up before we load on the ferry.” Berry stood beside the ox and Rachel sat on the wagon seat.

  “Well, I dunno if I’ll let ya cross if’n he don’t show up.”

  “He was drunk. He’s sleepin’ it off down by the river,” Berry said carelessly.

  Mr. Benson scowled and put his heels to his horse. Berry swatted the ox on the rump with a switch and it followed.

  It was daylight when they moved out. Berry and the ox took the lead, and Israel, driving the stubborn mules hitched to the heavy wagon, brought up the rear. Berry was glad to be leaving the campsite. She and Rachel had worried constantly that Linc and his partner would come back to the camp with Asa. It was an unusually warm morning for the end of May. The mist rose from the river as the air was stirred by a light breeze. The sun, coming up over the horizon, glowed on the white canvas tops of the wagons that lined the slope to the river. Berry’s eyes searched for her father among the group of straggling immigrants, but she didn’t see him or the trappers he’d been drinking with. She took off her bonnet and fanned her face. If Asa didn’t show up, she didn’t know what they’d use to pay the ferryman when it came their turn to cross.

  The sun had reached a quarter of its way across the sky when Mr. Benson rode up to the wagon. “You’re next. Move right on down and onto the boat.” He didn’t look at her and wheeled his horse to leave.

  “Mr. Benson!” Berry had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Pa hasn’t showed up and we don’t have money to pay. We’d best stay here and wait for him.”

  “Your fare’s paid. C’mon,” he said curtly. He rode away, and Berry had no choice but to follow.

  There were more wagons and horses on the flatland beside the river. Mr. Benson waved her on, urged her to hurry, and she had no time to look for Asa. The bargemen had tied the flatboat to the landing. Two of them stepped forward and grasped the ox by the horns, and although it bawled and resisted, they urged it onto the gently bobbing craft. Berry moved back and held on to the wagon frame as she took her first tentative steps onto the wet planks. The men dragged the balking ox to the front, looped a rope around each of its horns, and tied them securely to a brace. Another man stood ready with a hammer to coldcock the beast if it became frightened and tried to bolt.

  Berry could tell by the commotion behind that the men were having difficulty getting the mules aboard. She knew Israel would be useless unless he was told what to do, so she edged her way to the rear of the wagon. To her surprise, she saw the trader. She recognized him by his flat-crowned hat; he was leading Asa’s saddlehorse on board and instructing Israel on how to hold it. Two rivermen stood beside the mules and more men lashed the wagon to the deck. This done, crates of goods were stacked beneath the wagons.

  It was scary but fascinating to Berry. She returned to the front of the wagon, wanting to share the excitement with Rachel. Rachel was not enjoying the experience in the least. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the seat, and her face was gray with fright.

  “Rachel?” Berry started to climb up on the wheel. “Don’t be scared, Rachel. They’ve poled this boat across a hundred times. They know what they’re doin’.”

  “Hold on, little gal.”

  The drawl came from behind her. When Berry turned, her eyes were level with a broad chest covered with a leather shirt that fitted like a glove. Her eyes traveled up and up to a weathered face and bronze hair that swept back from a wide forehead and hung to shoulders that seemed a yard wide. The giant had twinkling blue eyes, and a stub of a pipe was in his mouth. He was the biggest man she’d ever seen, but rawboned big, without an extra ounce of flesh on his body.

  “Who’re you?”

  “Fain. I’m goin’ to give ya a hand and see ya get across.” He looked up at Rachel. “Ya gotta come down off that seat, ma’am. It’s a mite safer for ya to sit on the raft. I
’ll get ya an oilskin ta sit on.”

  “No! No . . .” Rachel shook her head. She looked as if she would be sick.

  “We can’t have ya sittin’ up there,” the man said firmly. He reached for her. “I won’t let ya fall. I’m goin’ to hold on to ya. Ya can count on it.”

  Rachel’s eyes swung to Berry. “He won’t, Rachel.” Berry laughed. “From the looks of him, he could lift that ox down from there.”

  “Thanky, purty little gal.” The man’s laugh was a soft, rolling chuckle.

  It could have been what changed Rachel’s mind. She leaned over and put her hands on his shoulders. He grasped her beneath the arms, carefully lifted her over the wheel, and set her gently on the floor of the raft. She swayed, lowered her chin to her chest, and refused to let him go. “Oh . . . oh . . .”

  “It’s all right to be scared. Only a fool ain’t scared some,” the giant murmured to the top of Rachel’s head. “Spread the cloth on the floor, little ’un, so she can sit.” Berry spread the cloth and the man eased Rachel down. “Sit right down, ma’am. When we get goin’ I’ll be right by ya. Don’t you worry none. I can swim like a beaver for all the size of me.”

  Berry sat down beside Rachel facing the back of the raft. She saw Simon Witcher standing beside Israel and her pa’s sorrel mare. Why hadn’t he come to speak to them?

  “Why’re you helping us?” she asked the big man.

  “Wal, now, a man’d hafta be daft to not help purty womenfolk.” He smiled broadly, holding the pipe stem in his teeth.

  “Did Mr. Witcher tell you to help us?”

  “Not just like that. We knowed ya needed help, and being the fine gentlemen that we are, we jist naturallike pitched right in.” His clean-shaven face was alive with amusement. He was like a big friendly bear.

  Berry’s laugh floated out over the water like the song of a bird. Totally unaware that every male eye turned to look at her, she smiled happily into the twinkling eyes that smiled back. She liked this man. Liked him a lot. In all her life she’d not met a man she was more comfortable with, or one who in just a few short minutes had put her so at ease that she trusted him completely. She glanced at Rachel and found that she too was looking at him, and some of the strain had left her face.