by Norah Hess
"What about your breakfast? Have you eaten anything?"
"I can make myself some bacon and eggs on the heating stove." Daniel nodded. "I'll bring you over a meal around noon."
"That sounds real good, Daniel. As for supper, Pa always closes the store between five and six so he can eat the evening meal." Daniel nodded again. "Maida will have supper on the table then."
Fletch said, "Thank you," then added as he turned to leave, "I've got to get hold of a teenager to shovel a path to the cabin and to the barn." The low bawl of a cow drifted on the cold air, and he added with a wry grin, "and to milk the cow."
"Look, I'll shovel the snow," Daniel said, "but I don't know nothin' about milkin' a cow."
"That's right thoughtful of you, Daniel, but don't you want to get started laying your trap-line today?"
Daniel shook his head. "Not today. I'll do it tomorrow. The snow will form a frozen crust on top of the snow tonight, makin' it easier to walk on." Fletch was hailed from the post by George Morse, waiting for him to open up. "I'll see you later," he said and walked off on the now well-trodden snow.
As he unlocked the door and stepped inside the store, he answered the questions put to him. Yes, Pa would probably be laid up most of the winter, and yes, he'd be running the place until Pa could take over.
"Reckon you won't be too happy bein' tied down to the post all the time," Morris said in his nasal voice, hitching up the trousers that had slid down past his paunch. "Are you gonna miss raisin' hell with your drinkin' buddies?"
"I'll survive," Fletch answered shortly as he pulled open the door of the stove and chucked some wood into its belly. He didn't like the meddling man any more than he did the man's widowed sister, Martha Louden, the biggest gossip in Big Pine.
"I reckon you'll find time to pleasure all your women, though," George said with a leer. "A man has to keep his rod greased or it gets rusty."
It was on the tip of Fletch's tongue to say I'll bet yours is greasy as hell but then he thought why give the lout the opportunity to brag about his power in bed. He'd heard him brag often enough how he rode his Agnes three or four times a night and once in a while a couple times in the daytime if the mood struck him.
Fletch slid the man a contemptuous look. If George Morse thought his neighbors envied him, he was mistaken. Every time they saw the rail-thin Agnes coming to the post, a dozen children at her heels, they growled to each other that Morse should be castrated like a bull or a stallion. If he'd spend some of that energy working his farm, his family wouldn't be near starvation all the time.
Ignoring the braggart's remarks, Fletch asked coolly, "Did you want to buy something, Morse?"
"Yeah, I need a gallon of kerosene. Ran out a couple days ago and I kept forgettin' to buy some."
You didn't forget, you fat bastard, Fletch said to himself. You were too damn miserly to buy some.
While Fletch was filling a gallon container with the clear liquid, the door opened and Tommy Weatherford stepped inside, his face red from the cold.
Fletch liked the young man and felt sorry for him. Tom worked hard from dawn to dusk on the farm where he lived with his widowed mother, Agatha. She watched over her son as though he were a virgin in danger of being raped by one of their neighbors' young ladies. Whenever Tom attended a social event, his mother was with him, glued to his side. If he danced or talked too long with any girl, she developed a headache and insisted she and Tom go home.
Fletch pushed the can of fuel toward Morse, then turned and smiled at the young man. "What can I get for you, Tom?"
"Ma needs some salt. I reckon a pound will do."
"I hear you're courtin' the Fraser girl," George said. "You got between her legs yet?"
Fletch and Tom looked at each other in disbelief at the man's crass question. Fletch opened his mouth to order him out of the store, but Tom had wheeled around and aimed his foot at George's crotch with all his strength. "There," he grated out. "Agnes will get a long rest from you."
"Damn you, Weatherford." George howled with pain, tears running down his bewhiskered cheeks. "You've ruined me."
"I sure as hell hope so," Tom said. "If you ever so much as speak Justine's name again I'll beat you half to death." He picked up his salt and left a grinning Fletch as he went out the door.
Taylor called to Fletch from his cot, and Fletch went into the storage room, closing the door behind him, leaving the injured Morse to get home the best way he could.
The cow's continual painful lowing brought a sympathetic sigh from Laura as she sat at the table going over in her mind the happenings of the morning. She knew how painful it was when her own breasts filled up with milk and Jolie wasn't ready to nurse. Poor Bossy was feeling the same pain.
She had to be milked, Laura knew, but who was to do it? She couldn't wade through the snow carrying Jolie. And she couldn't leave the little one alone for that long a time.
At a scratching sound outside, Laura stood up and went to the window. A wide smile curved her lips. Thin, gawkish Jebbie Morse was shoveling the snow away from the Thomas path.
She watched the teenager, thinking that his well-worn jacket wasn't much protection against the frigid weather, nor were the raggedy gloves he wore. George Morse should be ashamed of himself not to clothe his children in decent clothing. She'd noticed that he always had a heavy jacket when winter set in.
When the path had been cleared to the porch, Laura opened the door. "Come in, Jebbie, and warm up with a cup of hot coffee."
"Thank you, Laura, but Fletch told me to shovel a path to the barn and then milk the cow for you."
"I'd be so pleased if you would. I've been worried about the poor cow. When I see you reach the barn I'll bring the milk pail to you."
Laura closed the door, unable to believe that Fletch had given a thought to her welfare. The shoveling and all had to have been on Pa's orders. She looked at the clock. By the time Jebbie finished shoveling and milked the cow it would be time to take Pa his lunch.
Should she take enough for Fletch? she wondered. It would be just like him to refuse to eat it. He hated her. It shone out of his dark eyes, showed in his actions, and sounded in his voice.
Would he accost Adam Beltran and demand to know why he hadn't married her? And what would Adam's answer be? Adam knew very well that Jolie wasn't his. But he was basking in his peers' belief that he had slept with the aloof Laura Morns. It was the weak man's one claim to glory.
Laura vowed that someday she would face Adam Beltran in front of their neighbors and yank that undeserved fame from under his feet. She would make him tell all of Big Pine that Jolie wasn't his, that he had in fact never touched Laura intimately.
In her rising anger she thought she might even tell all those people who looked down on her now that Fletcher Thomas was her baby's father, that he had used her one night and then gone away for close to a year.
Of course I'd never do that, she rethought her threat. Fletch would never believe her because of Jolie's fairness, and it would crush Pa.
When Laura walked into the post carrying Jolie, with Taylor's lunch basket over her arm, she wanted to turn around and leave. Milly Howard and the widow Martha Louden were standing at one end of the counter, watching Fletch measure sugar into a cloth bag for Reverend Stiles who stood at the other end. It was apparent the women had been there for some time, for they both had their heavy coats open and the shawls pulled off their heads.
A glance at the storeroom door showed it only partially open, just wide enough to let the heat from the stove filter into the storeroom. The corners of her lips twisted wryly. Fletch had had the foresight to put a barrier between Pa and the widow. That one was as determined as Milly to land a Thomas man. No one, it seemed, put any importance on her and Pa's man-age to each other. He was still fair game as far as Martha Louden was concerned.
Wouldn't her fat lips flap open if she knew where Pa's real affection lay?
Her back stiff and her head held high, Laura walked past the two women
who had only glanced at her when she entered the store, and walked toward the storeroom door. She received a cold stare from Fletch, but the preacher gave her a friendly smile.
"How are you and that little doll of yours?" he asked, laying back a corner of the blanket that covered Jolie's face. "We' re both fine, thank you, Reverend Stiles. How are you and Ina?"
"Ina's fine, but I'm a little tired right now. Been shoveling snow since sunup." He grinned and jerked a thumb toward the storage room. "Do you suppose Taylor broke his leg on purpose so he wouldn't have to clear paths all winter?"
"I heard that, Stiles," Taylor's voice boomed out. The preacher and Fletch laughed, and Martha tittered. The widow gave a disgruntled snort when Taylor called, "Laura, bring that little scrap in here to me. I've missed her." Laura's fast glance at Fletch saw cold rage in his eyes.
She said good-bye to Stiles, then walked into Taylor's room, closing the door behind her with a sharp click. What she and Pa said to each other wouldn't be heard in the other room.
"Put her right here in my arm." Taylor carefully edged over a few inches to make room for the tiny bundle. "Keep her wrapped up, though, for I want that door closed while that widder is in there. I don't need her fussing over me."
"How are you feeling? Are you in much pain?" Laura asked as she settled Jolie into the crook of his arm, then took the basket holding Taylor's lunch off her arm and set it on the floor.
"I don't have too much pain to speak of, just a dull throbbing." He gave Laura a sheepish look. "Butterfly would boil up some roots and dried berries that would ease my pain and help my leg to mend faster."
Laura arched a teasing brow at him. "Are you hinting that I should go to her village and ask her to do that for you?"
"Well"—Taylor looked away from her—"I would like to get word to her about my accident and that it will be quite a while before I can visit her again."
"Yes, she should know." Laura's face sobered.
"When you don't show up next Thursday, she'll think you've grown tired of her." Taylor shook his head. "She'd know better than that, but she'd worry a lot."
Laura waited until Taylor finished the thick beef sandwich she had brought him, then checked on Jolie. "She should sleep all the time I'm gone, Pa," she said.
"She'll be fine. You go on along." When Laura straightened up, Taylor grabbed her wrist and said, "Be careful and take my pistol with you. The wolves will be out looking for something to eat. I sure as hell don't want it to be you."
"I'll be careful, Pa, and if need be I'm a pretty good shot with your gun, you know. I'll go get your pistol and strap on my snowshoes."
"You won't need them if you go through the woods. The snow isn't nearly as high there."
When Laura walked back into the store she found that the widow had left, but Milly was still there. She was leaning against the counter, most of her heavy breasts escaping her bodice, her eyes flashing an invitation to Fletch who lounged on the other side of the counter. When he saw Laura enter the room he leaned over and whispered something to Milly that sent her into a fit of giggles.
Laura ignored them and walked on outside. But she had been very aware of their presence, and her heart had twisted, seeing Fletch's dark head so close to Milly's. What had he said to his lover? she wondered as she followed the path through tear-blurred eyes. Had he been telling her that he would visit her tonight after the post was closed? Most likely, for Milly had looked very pleased.
You must accept the fact that someday they will marry and you will have to see them together all the time, she told herself firmly. You must reconcile yourself to seeing their little black-haired children running around, Jolie's little half brothers and sisters.
And those dark Thomases would be accepted by the community while her little one would be looked down on as the bastard child of Adam Beltran. "Oh, Jolie," she half cried, "where did you get those blue eyes and pale hair?"
Laura searched the cabin for half an hour looking for Taylor's pistol. She finally gave up. The gun wasn't there. It had to be in the store. She put her jacket back on and hurried back to the post.
She was hardly aware of opening the post door and closing it behind her, she was so stunned when she walked inside. Fletch and a couple of his rowdy friends were gathered around a familiar-looking basket that had been placed on the counter. She took a step closer and saw Jolie inside the reed basket, propped up on a blanket. Her toothless little mouth was smiling and her small arms and legs were waving as she made soft, cooing sounds.
The men were so busy making foolish baby talk to her, they weren't even aware of Laura's presence. What amazed her the most, Fletch wore a wide, proud grin as though Jolie was his daughter and he was showing her off. If only he would always look at her with pride in his eyes, she thought, and passed on into Taylor's room.
"Aren't you going to go see Butterfly?" Taylor looked anxiously at her.
"I can't find your pistol in the cabin. I've looked everywhere for it."
Taylor slapped a hand to his forehead. "I'm sorry, honey, it's on that shelf over there next to the lantern. I brought it to the store to shoot rats."
Laura found the gun and slipped it into her jacket pocket. "I see Jolie is being entertained out front." She smiled down at Taylor.
"Yeah." Taylor grinned. "Shortly after you left, she started squirming and fussing, raising a racket. Fletch came and picked her up, and the little scamp was all smiles then. Just like a beautiful woman, she's been showing off for him and his friends."
"I think that little lady is becoming spoiled."
"She's older now and wants more attention."
"I'm surprised at the attention Fletch is giving her."
"I am too, considering how he treats her mother," Taylor griped.
Laura shrugged. "Babies are hard to resist. Don't let his behavior toward me bother you. The two of you are getting along now, and that's what's important. I don't mind how he acts."
Taylor knew she lied, but he said no more about it. "Are you headed for the Indian village now?" he asked as Laura rebuttoned her jacket. Laura slanted him a teasing look. "Do you want me to give Butterfly any personal message?" Taylor shook his head. "She knows I'll miss her."
"I've got a feeling she'll slip over here tonight after the post is closed. She'll want to see for herself if your leg has been properly set."
"You think so?" Taylor looked hopeful. "I do," Laura said and opened the door.
The store was empty except for Fletch and Jolie when Laura entered the store. With her head held high and ignoring the glowering look that Fletch shot at her, she walked toward the outside door.
"Are you leaving the baby here again?" he demanded when she was midway to the door. "I don't have time to look after her."
"You won't have to. She'll be going back to sleep any minute."
"What are you doing up at the cabin that's so important you can't take her home with you?"
"Look." Laura swung around and glared at him. "I don't have to answer to you about anything, but I'm not going home. I have to go somewhere."
"Now where could that be, I wonder," Fletch sneered. "You're not welcome in any of Big Pine's homes." His eyes narrowed to glittering slits. "Of course, you'd be welcome at Adam Beltran's place."
"That's right," Laura answered sweetly, then added, "As well as at all the other single men's cabins. Do you think that you and Adam are the only two men around here who would like to make love to me?"
With those cool remarks she walked outside, leaving a fuming Fletch behind her.
"Damn you, Laura," he muttered, going to the window to watch her walking swiftly away. "Why do I still let you get under my skin, still want you with an ache that never lets up? You're a worthless piece. You let a man sire a child on you, then manage to convince Pa to marry you, to give your bas… Jolie a name."
Fletch stopped short of calling the baby a bastard. Something inside him wouldn't let the word come out. She was a sweet little baby and didn't deserve such a h
andle put on her.
He watched Laura pass out of sight, his gut twisting as he thought of her and Beltran in the man's bed, doing what they had once done together. He wanted to go after her, demand that she turn around, pick up her baby, and go home where she belonged.
You can't do that, you fool, his inner voice warned. You don't have the right. You lost that privilege when you went gadding off to Canada.
That was the damnedest foot thing you ever did in your life. Fletch turned back into the room.
As Laura walked fast in the frozen forest there was no sound except the crunch of her feet and the creaking of pines rubbing against each other.
She had never been inside the Indian village and she became a little wary as she neared the settlement. How would Butterfly's people greet her? Would they associate her with Pa and not hinder her from making her way to the woman's dome-shaped wigwam? This village was of a Chippewa tribe, and with the exception of a few renegades who had broken away from their chief, the rest were at peace with the whites at the present.
The village suddenly stood before Laura, spread out along the lake. The only signs of habitation were blue smoke spiraling from each hut, and the pack of thin-ribbed dogs that came barking toward her. She stopped short, her hand on the pistol in her jacket pocket. If she shot into the air, would that hold them until someone came to see why they were making such a racket?
The animals were only yards away when a strident order sent them skidding to a halt with only deep growls issuing from their throats. She recognized Red Fox, Fletch's friend, coming toward her. Her heartbeat slowed and she said with a nervous laugh, "I can't tell you how relieved I am to see you, Red Fox. I thought my end had come."
A slow smile curved the handsome brave's lips. "They do look vicious, but they wouldn't have attacked you unless given the order to do so. What brings my friend's sister out in such weather, and alone? Has something happened to him?"
