A Path Worth Taking

by Mariella Starr

  “Someone who loved music,” Beth murmured.

  “Do you play?”

  She nodded. “I used to a long time ago.”

  “Keep it,” Garret said.

  She laughed. “It would swallow most of the floor space in the cabin, too.”

  “What’s all this?” he asked regarding stacked leather cases and trunks she had set aside.

  “Silver and crystal, and things with totally indiscernible purposes. They looked as if they were made of silver,” Beth explained. “They are probably family heirlooms. It’s so sad.”

  Her husband bent down and opened several of the boxes. “Keep these kinds of valuables separate. If we get hard-up, it will be something we can sell for cash later.” He shook his head. “This kind of fancy silver is worth a lot of money. However, on a wagon train, it’s not worth the price of a tin of salt. I have to get back to work. Leave those heavy crates alone, I’ll come back later and help you open them.

  Later in the evening, Garret joined Beth in opening more crates. He gave her a stern look when he saw she had used a hammer and chisel to open many of the wooden containers. He took one of her hands and turned it over to inspect the palm where there was a blister. She pulled her hand away when she saw his disapproving frown.

  “There are a lot of locked trunks and boxes. If I could lift them, I stacked them there,” she said pointing to a corner in the barn.

  “I’ve decided to give a share of what this brings with Jasper when we sell it,” Garret announced as he opened a wooden crate and found books.

  “Whoever left these behind must have been a teacher,” Beth observed searching through the books. “There are dozens of primers, and books on geography and history. We should donate them to a school.”

  “I don’t know if there is a school in these parts,” Garret said. “We’ll ask around. Keep at least one set for our children. We’ll want to teach them how to read and write. I think we should keep the stove for you. It’s brand new and has an oven. It’ll make cooking easier for you.”

  “Don’t you feel the slightest bit guilty about our keeping these things?” Beth asked.

  “No,” he answered firmly. “Beth, bringing this kind of heavy furniture was stupid. This stove must weigh close to two hundred pounds. Someone thought they could move it across fifteen hundred miles of the toughest terrain in this country. Every wagon train is different depending on the captain and what rules he sets. Still, some things are always the same. Everyone is told exactly what provisions and tools to bring for the journey. Everyone is warned about not bringing heavy items. Furniture like this is of no use on the trip across the Oregon Trail or any of the trails branching off it. Trying to bring a piano or a grandfather's clock is foolishness. These larger pieces filled space that should have been used for food for their families. Later, they were forced to make a choice between leaving these items behind and survival. When given a hard choice most people pick the right one. When these things were abandoned, they became castoffs for anyone who could use them or would take the time to haul them off.

  “We’ll keep what you want if it makes sense. We can store it in one of the empty stalls. You won’t have room for much in the cabin this year, but if all goes well, I’ll add on a room. Take a rocking chair into the house now and make sure you put aside one of those cradles. I’m hoping we’ll have a use for it by next year.”

  With Jasper’s help, Garret moved the heavier pieces of furniture into an empty stall where they covered them with tarps and canvas.

  “We could use a cat,” Jasper suggested. “Otherwise, the mice and rats will gnaw on the wood.”

  “I’ll look into it on our next trip to town,” Garret said nodding thoughtfully. “Meanwhile, why don’t you take a dip in the creek.”

  “I took a bath last week,” the boy complained.

  “Take another one,” Garret growled. “There’s a bar of soap in a crock down there with a lid. Use it and wash your hair. I’ll see about cutting it, later.”

  Jasper made a face. They heard him grumbling as he left, although not loud enough for them to make out his exact words.

  “I guess I better finish supper before it gets dark,” Beth stated.

  “Hold on there,” Garret said putting a hand out to stop her from leaving. He stood at the door watching as Jasper walked over the hill toward the creek.

  “I need to get the cornbread in the oven,” Beth protested.

  “I need to attend to a matter with my wife first,” Garret disagreed.

  Beth’s eyes widened. “Can’t you wait until tonight?”

  “No, I like to get things settled right away.” He closed the barn door, took her hand, and led her to a large masculine chair with hand-carved arms and feet. It would probably fetch a good price when they sold it. He took her hand again and turned it over exposing the blisters on her palm. “Didn’t I tell you to wait for me to open those crates and move around those big furniture items?”

  Beth swallowed and nodded reluctantly. She realized her husband had something entirely different on his mind than she had on hers.

  “There was no reason why I couldn’t pry open those boxes.”

  “Yes, there was. I told you not to do it. It was a simple request, Beth, I didn’t expect to be disobeyed.”

  “Garret, you’re being silly,” she protested.

  “It’s not silly. I do not want my wife’s hands to have blisters on them. There is enough hard work for you to do, Beth. You’re not used to wielding hammers, saws and such, and I don’t expect my wife to have to use them. My intention is to shield you from being hurt again. I told you not to open those crates because your hands are still tender. I won’t have my wife disobeying me. I’m going to spank you, Beth, and I hope you’ll learn a lesson from it.”

  “You will not,” Beth protested lightly, thinking he must be teasing her.

  “I do intend to spank you, Beth. I don’t need your permission.” Garret pulled her across his knee and tossed her skirts over her back.

  “You can’t do this!” Beth screeched, kicking at him. “I’ve never been spanked before in my life!”

  “It’s hard to believe no one has put you in your place before. You’ve probably earned many others,” Garret said, tugging down her brand new pair of ruffled bloomers. When she was bare, he laid down the first smack, and it was a hard one.

  Beth did not take well to her spanking. She cried and squealed, and tried to protect her bottom as he was reddening it. His hand was strong and hard, and when he smacked it against her bare skin, it stung like a bee sting. The sting was multiplied by however many times he whacked her bottom until she felt as if it were on fire!

  She pleaded with him, except her words were having no effect on making him stop. Instead, he shifted her slightly and began peppering the backs of her legs with sharp stinging swats. Garret continued spanking Beth until the fight went out of her. She lay across his lap sobbing as he yanked her bloomers over her sore bottom and stood her on her feet.

  She buried her face into his chest crying, and he held her tightly to him.

  “Beth, you need to listen. I don’t tell you to do or not do something without a reason. This is harsh country, and your life could depend on obeying me. It’s not for you to decide what you will or will not do. Today’s offense was minor, yet it’s the principle of the matter. This little spanking was more of a warning than anything else. I’m your husband, and you must heed my words.”

  Beth cried until she thought she couldn’t cry anymore. When she was down to sniffles and snuffs, Garret walked her back to the cabin where he poured a basin full of water, wet a cloth, and wiped her eyes.

  “How could you do that to me,” Beth wailed, a new batch of tears flowing down her cheeks.

  “I spanked you because you deserved it,” Garret said sternly. “I’m going out to check on the animals and make sure Jasper didn’t drown, although he might have heard you squalling and decided to remain scarce. We’ll be back inside in a few min
utes. You need to pull yourself together. It might have been the first time your backside was walloped; it probably won’t be your last!”

  ***

  Beth sat on a portion of a log Garret had dragged to a crest on the hill for them to use as a bench outside. The supper dishes were soaking in the cabin, and she would finish them later. This was the time of day she liked to reflect on her new life while she sat with Jasper as he slowly stammered his way through a sentence in one of the primer books they had found in the barn. She had discovered the boy could not read and with her husband’s approval, she was teaching him.

  Garret generally found something to do during the time she spent with Jasper to avoid embarrassing the boy. He kept his eye on them, though, and would walk out to meet Beth afterward every evening. They would watch the sun set over the mountains and hold hands as they returned to the cabin. This portion of the day belonged to them. Chores were done, and it was time to relax. It was the time they set aside for themselves.

  Both Garret and Jasper carried rifles with them at all times. They were her protectors, although she had not seen anything yet from which she needed to be protected. Oh, she had heard the warnings about bears and cougars, and Indians and mountain men. So far, though, she had not seen another soul except the two who sat at her table three times a day.

  Beth still had not come to terms with the idea of her husband spanking her. She did recall he had given her fair warning when he asked her to marry him. The physical effects of the spanking had not lasted long. By morning, there had been only a few tender places. She had recovered from the spanking itself, but she had not reconciled herself to the idea of Garret applying his hand to her backside. She had no idea what to make of a man who thought it was acceptable to spank his wife.

  She knew, as did every woman, once married a woman she was dependent on her husband. She also knew a husband could treat his wife as he saw fit. Beth had never seen her father hit her mother, although she was aware they might have had hidden some aspects of their marriage from their children. She did remember her father had a habit of turning to his wife and saying sternly Corrine, bide your tongue. At the time, Beth had been too young to realize it was a warning.

  As she listened and corrected Jasper when he needed help, her thoughts were far away from the task at hand. Garret was not cruel like the men on the wagon train, whipping their wives on the say-so of Captain Howell. The smacking of her bottom had hurt, yet there were no lasting marks. Being spanked was almost more embarrassing than painful—almost.

  ***

  Having a thirteen-year-old, almost fourteen as Jasper was quick to point out, around most of the time meant Garret had to be more mindful when being familiar with his wife. He liked the youngster well enough, but there were times when he wanted to be alone with his Beth.

  Garret was a man who took his responsibilities seriously. He had a wife and a boy to provide for as best he could. Except for the little set-to with Beth’s bottom, they were getting along real well. After spanking Beth for disobeying him, Garret had not given it another thought. To his way of thinking, she had deserved it. He would not tolerate a wayward wife.

  He had a routine, and he stuck to it. After he met Beth on the hillside in the evenings, they would walk back to the homestead where she went inside the cabin while as he took a lantern and checked on the animals before calling it a day. He would holler a good night to the boy in the barn loft and return to his wife.

  The cabin was a bit crowded to his eye. Beth had brought some small tables and a rocking chair into the tiny room. It was a different chair from the one he had used when he spanked her, although every time he saw it, he thought of it as the spanking chair. She had brought in a third kitchen chair and some fancy pieces from the barn. They looked out of place against the rough sturdiness of the cabin. He had been unconcerned and used what the previous owner had left behind. His wife was turning the stark cabin into a home.

  When he entered the cabin, Beth put her book aside and rose to meet him. “All’s well?” she asked.

  “Well enough,” Garret responded lowering his head and kissing her. He drew her into the little lean-to bedroom and began to remove his shirt. By the time he unbuttoned his trousers, Beth was already in the bed waiting for him.

  Garret was amazed there was no coyness in his wife. She did not pretend, or play games or act shy around him. He had instructed her on almost everything he knew about sex. Still she remained a lady, even though she wanted him to take her as badly as he wanted her. Nary a night or a morning went by when he was not enjoying his wife. She never got angry when he woke her in the middle of the night with a need that had to be quenched.

  The truth was Beth enjoyed having marital relations with Garret even though he did not wax poetic as had Leland Haywood when pursuing her. She realized she preferred a more masculine man as a husband, even if he did get contrary sometimes.

  She was learning what it meant to be a settler’s wife. Mostly, it involved a lot of hard work. They had planted a field of potatoes and another of corn, and sprouts were already popping out of the ground. She also had planted a vegetable garden behind the cabin.

  Garret and Jasper seemed to be busy all the time, and sometimes her husband would tell her to stay in the cabin while they were gone. He would sternly remind her to keep the loaded rifle close. So far, she had seen no need for all his concern. No one had stopped by their cabin in the two months since they had moved there. She sometimes forgot to take the rifle with her because it seemed so unnecessary.

  One morning, Beth carried their laundry to the creek and began the chore of scrubbing. It was not a favorite chore but was definitely what Garret considered women’s work. She was singing as she scrubbed one of Jasper’s dirty shirts against a washboard she had found in the barn. Something in her peripheral vision caught her attention, and she turned to find an Indian woman sitting astride a saddled horse.

  “Oh,” Beth exclaimed. She backed away in surprise and fell into the creek with a splash. When she surfaced, the woman had dismounted and was observing her. Beth was not sure if she should scream or run.

  “Are you all right? I did not mean to frighten you.”

  Beth stared at the woman in a heavily beaded and fringed buckskin dress. “You speak English!”

  The woman smiled at her, and Beth noticed something else. “You have blue eyes!”

  “You are observant, which is good, although you let a stranger approach without noticing it. You need to be aware of what happens around you. A lack of attention out here could get you killed,” the woman said with a slight French accent. “I am Marie Chardon, wife of Pierre. May I ask who you might be?”

  Beth was wringing out her dress as she waded from the stream. She was shocked to see a white woman dressed as an Indian squaw and was stunned the woman spoke with perfect diction. “Mrs. Wakefield, my name is Beth. My husband owns this property.”

  “White settlers claim land not theirs to claim,” Marie said wryly. “They call it civilizing the west. To my people, it is an encroachment on our ancestral lands.”

  “You speak as an educated woman, yet you dress as…”

  “An Arapaho,” Marie interrupted. “Therefore, you think you need to fear me?”

  “I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Beth replied defensively.

  “I am used to it,” Marie declared. “Come, you need to get dry. I saw you in the distance and wanted to meet the woman who has come to live here.” She bent and began to gather the wet clothing.

  Beth saw no danger in the woman even though she was dressed in buckskins. She invited Marie into the cabin, disappearing behind the curtain to the bedroom and quickly changing into dry clothing.

  When she returned, there were three pottery crocks on the table.

  “These are gifts,” Marie said. “Honey, chokecherry preserves, and wild rose hips.”

  “Thank you,” Beth exclaimed. “It’s been a while since I’ve had anything sweet. Would you like some coffee?”
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br />   “I would enjoy your hospitality,” Marie answered. “Crush the rose hip and make tea if you get a canker sore or a sore throat. You are wondering why I am dressed as an Arapaho?” Marie stated bluntly.

  “To be honest, yes,” Beth admitted as she set two bone china cups on the table with saucers.

  “I am a white woman. I am also Arapaho and French Canadian. My husband and I have lived with and among both my people and his since we married. My husband is a French Canadian trapper. We come to these mountains in the spring and summer to trap the beaver and the muskrat. In the winter, we move north where Pierre trades his furs, and we settle our children in for the long winters.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Beth said ducking her head. “I apologize, I don’t mean to pry.”

  Marie smiled. “There is no reason you would understand. I traveled west with my parents in 1843 when I was seven years old. Our wagon train was afflicted by sickness. The wagons were separated by sick and well. The well wagons moved on and left the sick wagons behind. Everyone in the sick wagons died except for me. Somehow, I survived. The Nank’haanseine’nan, the people of the Arapaho, found me. They took me to live with them where I was adopted by an Arapaho family, not taken as a slave. I later became the wife to a warrior. Taking a white woman for a wife was a prize, but my husband was not kind to me.

  “Pierre Chardon came to our camp to trade when I was seventeen. He wanted a woman for the winter, and when he saw me, he wanted me. He offered my husband four horses and many furs in trade for me, yet my husband refused. Pierre and my husband fought over me. Pierre won. I was not unhappy with the death of my husband. He mistreated me. Pierre took me to live with him and later we were married by a Catholic priest. I have been with Pierre for eighteen years. He has been kind and treats me well. We have a good marriage.

  “If you speak English and you remember your life before, why wouldn’t you want to return to it?” Beth asked. “Surely the Army would have helped you get away and return you to your relatives.”