He almost smiled. "Woman, sometimes you acts like a little kid who ain't got her way."
"And sometimes you act like you think you are perfect." Making another knot in the leather strip, she slung the resulting loop over her shoulder, letting the blanket roll hang diagonally across her back. "Give me the gunnysack. I am ready."
"I'll carry it." He started down the trail. Beowulf looked at her expectantly. Always before he had been left in the camp. Now his leash lay on the ground beside him. She bent to pick it up. "Arrogant ass! Just like all men!" she said to the dog.
She would ask Doctor McLoughlin to arrange for her funds to be transferred to England. Last night she had been too upset to know what she was saying.
Go back to Cherry Vale? Back to the wilderness? Absurd!
On the way into town, William whupped himself good, inside his head. He'd no business callin' Flower a spoiled brat, even if she had been actin' like one. She'd been through a lot this past while. Most of the time he was proud of her that she didn't give way to melancholy.
"William, I am sorry."
He stopped in his tracks certain he'd been hearing things. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, "You say something?"
"Yes." She didn't quite meet his eyes, lookin' off into the woods beside the trail. "I have been acting childishly," Flower said. She bit her lip. "I have been so angry that I wanted to scream and strike out at everyone. But you were the only one within reach, and I have treated you abominably."
"Not all the time you haven't." He couldn't stop a grin from creepin' across his face. There was times she'd been so nice to him he could hardly stand it.
"Yes, well, that was a mistake, too." Stepping forward, she paused beside him. "May we begin new, right here and right now, William? Please? Forgetting all that has gone before?"
Regretful, he said, "I reckon there's things happened I don't want to forget."
Only her head turned as she looked away into the dark woods again. "That is up to you. But I will make you no promises."
"Didn't ask you for none," he told her, starting down the trail again. Maybe she's decided to start healing herself, instead of waiting for somebody else to take care of her.
As soon as he thought it, William was sorry for blaming her for something she had no fault in.
From what Jacques had told him, Flower's life had been easier than most. She'd had good schoolin', thanks to that Earl-godfather of hers. Even when her ma had died, she'd been took care of, instead of havin' to settle down and take care of her pa. From what Jacques had said, her folks had been mighty protective of her, all the time she was growin' up, and it sounded to him like others had protected her ever since.
She'd told him her pa had taught her that life wasn't easy. William had known Buffalo Jones a while and had seen how he took care of those weaker than him. Buffalo wouldn't have nothin' harm his little girl, nohow.
Maybe, for her sake, Buff ought to have let her get hurt a little bit now and again, so when she got hurt a lot she was able to get over it easier.
And quicker.
Thinkin' what should have been done don't get it done, boy. What you gotta do now is puzzle out how you're gonna get her to go home with you.
He was still thinking on it when they arrived at Doctor McLoughlin's house.
* * * *
"They're here!"
Konrad Muller pulled his arm free from Bickelow's grasp. "Who's here?" he said. He was getting sick and tired of Bickelow and the sooner he was shut of him, the better he'd like it. The puke was lazy and a whiner. If he didn't need Bickelow to identify the squaw....
"The squaw and her Nigger. I saw 'em, goin' into McLoughlin's house."
"You're seeing things. If they were here, we'd have heard." For the past week they had been asking if folks had seen them. Bickelow had swore they were traveling together. Muller still doubted it was the same two, but he'd been fed up with The Dalles anyhow. Time to move on.
"They just came into town. He was carrying a pack and she had a bundle and a bedroll slung across her back. Maybe they just got here."
"Maybe." Tipping back his mug, Muller swallowed the last of his beer. "I wonder where they been."
"Hiding out somewheres, I reckon. But they're here now, sure enough. They went up to McLoughlin's place. Knocked on the door, bold as brass. And they went right on inside, too."
"Go on! That don't make sense," Muller said, scratching his chin. The whiskers rasped against his fingers, reminding him that he'd best shave. He'd wore a beard, back in The Dalles.
"Sure it does. McLoughlin's got a Indian wife, a handful of half-breed brats. So the squaw might be kin."
"That don't explain the Nigger goin' in with her."
"Hell, Muller, it doesn't need to! They could be man and wife. Or they could have met up and traveled over the mountain together. Even a squaw might not want to come that way alone."
"Or he could be her slave," Muller said, thinking back to the Nigger's story. Was this the woman he'd said he belonged to?
He made up his mind. "Let's go. We'll have us a look."
* * * *
"I want to hear what you talk about with him," William said, catching her arm as she opened the gate. "I reckon what happens next matters to me near as much as it does to you."
Openmouthed, she stared up at him. "Of course," she said after a bit. "I never thought...yes, come in with me."
He followed her inside, noticing that the girl who opened the door couldn't stop staring at him. It was a relief to him that she seemed more interested than scairt.
Maybe she thinks I'm one of them peculiar critters, like that two-headed calf I saw once.
The white-bearded man who was waiting for them didn't give him a second look. Not until Flower said, "This William King. He is not really my servant, but my friend."
Then the feller looked him over good. Finally he said, "I see."
William reckoned he didn't see atall. If a man was to put words to a tone of voice, they wouldn't be kind ones.
"Everett's letter," Flower said, holding the much-crumpled piece of paper out. "You should read it. I need your advice." She went to a chair and sat in it, stared down at her hands which were twisting together in her lap.
William wanted to take hold of them, to tell her that things was gonna get better. Instead he scrunched down against the wall beside the door and kept his eye on her.
After a while Doctor McLoughlin put the letter down on the table. He didn't say anything for a while, just rubbed a hand across his eyes, then sat with them closed and his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
Flower moved restlessly, but didn't say anything either.
William was wondering if they was gonna sit like this all day, when Doctor McLoughlin said, "What a great tragedy! Yet I am not surprised. Although Peel's men have made a tremendous difference in the level of crime in London, there is still much for them to do."
"But I thought London was a civilized city," Flower said.
To William she sounded like she was about halfway between hurtin' bad and ready to kill somebody.
"My dear. Civilization is perhaps more dangerous than wilderness. Evil lives everywhere, though worthy and godly men do their best to combat it. In cities, there are more places for the wicked to hide, more opportunities for them to practice their vice."
"But I thought --"
"I know you did. I worried about your unrealistic expectations when you first spoke to me of going to England. But then I thought you would be safe with Hetherington, and might never know how false your picture of England was."
He touched the letter where it lay on the table. "This was perhaps a cruel way to open your eyes, but perhaps it is for the best. Now you know that England is not the paradise you expected it to be."
"I do not care. I still want to go there."
"Can you be certain you have a place to go?"
"What do you mean?"
"Flower, this letter, at least the last part of it, was
written by a man caught in the depths of despair. He speaks of ending it all. When he wrote this, he must have believed there was little left for him to live for."
"He says the other children need him. He wouldn't do anything...wouldn't take his own...would he?"
McLoughlin shook his head. "I cannot say. One would pray he would not, but a man so bereft...Who can tell?"
William couldn't remember when he'd had to bite his tongue so much. Flower was just sittin' there, both fists hard against her mouth. Above 'em, her big gray eyes were wet with tears, and she seemed to be staring at something only she could see. There were so many words he wanted to say to her. Words of love, words of comfort. Begging words that would make him less of a man in her eyes. Instead he just sat there and left the deciding to her and McLoughlin.
"What shall I do? I cannot stay here!" Flower felt like an animal at bay. "There is no law, no safety for the innocent, the helpless."
McLoughlin came around the end to her. He pulled her to her feet and hugged her hard against his deep chest. "I wish I could give you answers, my dear Flower. But I can't. Only you can decide what to do. I will tell you one truth, however, and you would be wise to give it serious consideration."
Fighting to control the tears that choked her, she said, "What? What truth?"
"Your father taught you to fight," he said, easing her back into her chair. "He taught you to defend yourself when you were very small. I remember him laughing over the time you bloodied the nose of one of the boys who had been teasing you."
"Hilaire," she murmured, remembering too.
"He taught you that because he knew that true safety lies in the ability and the willingness to defend oneself. There is wickedness in the world, and always will be." His voice rolled over her, sonorous and strong. "Evil is often where you least expect it. So you--so all of us--must be ever vigilant against it. And willing, nay, eager, to fight it with all our might."
"I fought." She swallowed. "I fought, but it did me no good."
"Oh, my dear, one can't always win. But there is victory in the fight, for to give in to wickedness is to give it victory. And when evil triumphs, there can be no civilization."
His words lent her strength, but were of no help in telling her what she should do. "I must think," she told him. "May we leave our packs here for a time?"
"Of course. If you need somewhere to stay tonight, I hope you will be my guest."
When she hesitated, he said, "Both of you. Please."
Turning she said, "William?"
"I be fine in the yard, if that's all right with you," he said to McLoughlin.
"He does not like to sleep inside," she explained. "Thank you. We will gladly accept your hospitality."
They climbed the steep bluff behind town, and Flower found the exertion helped clear her mind. Once they were standing at the edge of the cliff overlooking the great falls of the Willamette River, she said, "I wish I knew what was right for me to do."
"You know what I wants you to decide," William said. He stood just behind her right shoulder, so she could not see his face. But his voice told her what she would see there. Hope. Entreaty.
Love?
Do not love me, William. I am still not whole. I may never be whole. You deserve better than I can ever be.
At the same time, she wanted desperately to feel loved. To belong to someone.
"You know," William said, "that night I cotched onto that big branch and floated away from the plantation, I never knew what was gonna happen to me."
"You said there was a hurricane?"
"That's what they told me. All I knows is it was the biggest wind I ever saw. And the rain! Like the whole sky was turned to water and was fallin' down." His arms went around her waist and he pulled her back against him. But his embrace was loose. She was not confined.
"There was four, maybe five of us, but by the time I cotched that branch, only two was left besides me. The others, they got carried away in the water. It was deep and goin' so fast, I don't reckon a man could have swam in it, even if he'd knowed how. Then that big ol' branch come along and I just grabbed onto it and hung on for dear life."
"You must have been terrified." She had never before given thought to what he had endured in his escape from slavery. Oh, she had admired his tenacity, his courage. For an ignorant slave to set out on a quest such as his, seeking a place where he might live free--like a king--was admirable and enterprising.
That William was a brave man she had never doubted, any more than she doubted his stubbornness.
But to willingly give up his hold and trust his life to the raging, wind-driven waters... Could I have done that? I am not so brave.
And floating for a day and a night, never knowing where he was or if he would ever reach land again. How easy it would have been for him to be swept out to sea.
"How did you get out of the water?"
"Even when it was day, it was real dark, so I couldn't be sure where I was or if there was any place for me to get to solid ground. The wind blowed me around some, and now and again I felt grabbed, like I was floatin' through trees or bushes. I tasted salt water once. Then the wind died down and the moon came out. I could see lights a long way off, so I paddled and kicked my feet, and pretty soon I could touch bottom."
"Where were you?"
"I don't rightly know. Some little place where they was pickin' up the pieces and wasn't too particular about who helped 'em. I stayed there for a couple of days, then took off. Folks was starting to look at me real curious."
"So you came west?"
He chuckled. He really did, the first real laughter she had heard form him. "Woman, I didn't even know what West was. But I knowed...knew that there had to be better places than where I came from or where I was, so I just started walkin'."
"Hattie told me you followed the wagon trains. You must have known where they were going."
"That was a while later. I hid out a lot, but whenever I could, I listened to other folks who were travelin'. That's when I heard about the place where every man could have land of his very own. 'Oregon' they called it. Lot of folks, they talked of this Oregon, and I figured that must be the place I'd heard about since I was a child. Where I could be king."
His hand came up and pointed out at the view below, rolling hills covered with tall firs, a wide river full of fish. An empty land, where the hand of man had scarcely touched. A land she had known all her life.
"Look out there, Flower. Do you want to go away from that, go to where there's folks around all the time? I seen a city, and it was dirty and full of smoke and noise. Worst of all, there was people wherever you turned."
She had never looked at her choices in quite that way before. Before she could reply, William pulled her closer.
"I never knew when I went to sleep at night if I was going to see the sun rise tomorrow. I didn't have no money, didn't know exactly where I was goin', and any man cotched me, he could send me back for a reward. So every night when I lay me down, I say to myself, 'today was the best day you ever lived.' I still do that."
"Even when the renegades had you captive?" she whispered, unable to find her voice.
"I had to work some to make myself say it then," he admitted, "but I did. I reckoned that just stayin' alive one more day meant that tomorrow I might figure out a way to get loose."
She turned in his embrace. "William, you are a good man," she said, pulling his face down to hers. She kissed him, not with passion, but with tenderness and thanksgiving. "And you have made deciding what to do easy for me."
His body went very still.
"I will go back to Cherry Vale."
"You mean that, woman?" He picked her up and held her high. His face was filled with joy. "You really mean that?"
"Wait," she cried, catching at his shoulders. "Put me down!"
He lowered her but did not release her. When he would have kissed her, she held him away. "Wait, William. Let me finish.
"I will go back to Cherry Vale. Beyond
that I make no promises." Her hand went to her breast. "My heart is troubled and my mind confused. I still do not know what will be best for me. But I see now that running away has solved nothing so perhaps it is time for me to go back where it began. To start anew."
With a sober expression, he looked long and hard at her. At last he said, "That's enough for me. We'll start home in the morning." He caught her hand and pulled her after him, back toward town.
The yank on her hand nearly pulled her off her feet. "Wait!" she cried. "We have decided nothing!"
"Nothing' to decide. You say you'll go home with me. We got to get some supplies, so's we can be ready to go at first light. You reckon we got enough of that gold left to buy us a mule?"
Chapter Seventeen
William couldn't get Flower to move fast enough to suit him. She visited some more with McLoughlin, and made arrangements to have her mother's trunk sent to Fort Boise. She wanted to buy presents for Hattie and Mist' Em. A wedding present for her friend Marie and some tobacco for Jacques. She had to shop for food. They needed coffee, tea, sugar, flour, cornmeal--he lost count of what she had on her list.
"You sure one mule's gonna be enough?" he asked her, when she finished telling him what all she wanted to take with 'em.
"Perhaps not. We can buy two mules if we need them."
She didn't seem much worried about spendin' all their gold. William decided ol' Buff must have left a pile of money with McLoughlin.
Flower stayed at the McLoughlin house while they were putting together all they'd carry back. Livin' that close to so many folks, some of 'em who looked at him with too much curiosity, made William skittish. He found himself a comfortable hidey-hole out in the woods a ways. Him and Beowulf bedded down there.
Three days later they were all packed and ready. Flower still didn't seem in much of a hurry to get out of town, but she finally told everybody goodbye.
"Take good care of her, young man," McLoughlin said, holding out a hand.
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