Love and Cherish

by Dorothy Garlock

  “Where is this child?”

  “A two-week journey from here if the weather holds. Less if I were traveling alone.”

  “What kind of home?”

  “A comfortable one.”

  “You will take care of me if I take care of your babe, is that it?”

  “That’s it,” he said, looking her straight in the eyes.

  “You don’t need to marry me for that, Mister Carroll.” Her voice was firm though her chin trembled, a fact that didn’t escape his notice.

  “I want to marry you,” he said flatly.

  “But . . . why?”

  “I want you and I’m prepared to marry you to get you and keep you.” There was a slight change in his tone of voice, a certain intensity in the eyes that looked into hers.

  Her head whirled. How she longed to say yes. But all the dreams a young girl dreamed of a lover tall and handsome, big and bold sweeping her away on a cloud of love were shattered. A man had asked her to marry him, but not for love . . . to care for his child. In a way he would be her employer. She would be given food, shelter and protection for services rendered.

  “Just like that . . . without love?” she asked, looking at him through tear-damp lashes.

  “Who knows?” he said, misunderstanding her meaning. “You may come to love me in time.”

  A tremor ran through her. She knew then that she could not marry him, no matter how much she might long to. She could not bear to be this man’s wife without his love. But what then? Go back to Virginia? She had no family, no home. And . . . she would never see him again. She didn’t understand why that was such a devastating thought.

  “Mister Carroll, I’ll come with you and take care of your child, but I’d rather not marry you.”

  He had started to smile, but the smile vanished and he looked at her silently, as if he expected her to say something more. She did.

  “I might not like it in the wilderness,” she said desperately. “I might decide to go back to Virginia.”

  He nodded, his face expressionless. “Suit yourself,” he said and got to his feet.

  “Well?” Cherish waited. “Do we have a bargain or not?”

  “We have a bargain . . . for now. You’d better get some rest. We’ll hit the trail early in the morning.” He moved closer to the fire, where he sat down and continued to work on her moccasins.

  Cherish lay on her side watching him. Her heart ached, her mind whirled. At last the warmth of the blanket and the campfire, the security of his presence eased her mind and she began to drift off into sleep.

  Suddenly, with a stab of fear, she thought of something.

  “Mister Carroll,” she called anxiously. “Do you think those men will come back?”

  “They might,” he answered, without looking up from what he was doing. “But I doubt it. Don’t worry. Brown has their scent and he’ll let us know in plenty of time.”

  Brown was lying much the same as he had all evening, his head on his paws, his eyes on Cherish. Now and then he raised his head, his large ears up and listening. Evidently satisfied that whatever he heard was nothing to be concerned with, he resumed his resting position. On impulse Cherish stretched out her hand to him. The dog crawled on his belly until she could reach him and gently stroke the rough hair between his ears.

  “Thank you, Brown, for what you did for me today,” she murmured. He responded with a soft whining sound as if he understood the words. Cherish looked up, found Sloan staring at her, and quickly withdrew her hand.

  “Brown doesn’t let many people touch him,” Sloan said. “He must like you.”

  “I like him. I had a dog once. He wasn’t as big as Brown.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “A neighbor mistook him for a fox after his chickens and shot him. I never could understand how he could have made a mistake like that.”

  Sloan said nothing and Cherish reached out her hand again and let it rest on the dog’s paw. Making the little whining sound, Brown put his nose under her hand and nudged gently. Smiling, Cherish resumed the stroking between his ears. The dog heaved a big sigh and closed his eyes contentedly. Sloan chuckled, shaking his head, and bent over his task.

  The sounds of the night took over. Near the water a frog croaked earnestly and the crickets sounded startlingly loud in the darkness. Somewhere an owl hooted. Cherish snuggled warmly in her blanket on the soft bed, feeling strangely at home with the big dark-haired man and his dog.

  CHAPTER

  * 4 *

  She woke with a start.

  It was dawn. The campfire was out and nothing was moving in the camp. She reached out her hand and found the place empty where Brown had lain. A night bird called out with startling clarity, sending a shiver of dread up and down her spine. She had been told that Indians frequently used bird calls to signal each other. Her flesh crawled with uneasiness. She wanted to call out to Sloan, but she didn’t dare for fear of calling attention to herself.

  Had those two terrible men come back and killed Sloan as he slept?

  Cherish was on the verge of panic when suddenly he was there, kneeling beside her. Her relief was so great she almost swooned.

  “Oh . . . Sloan. I thought—”

  He put his finger on her lips to silence her and leaned over until his lips brushed her ear.

  “Someone is coming.”

  “Not . . . them?” she breathed anxiously.

  “I don’t know, but we’ll take no chances.”

  The bulk of his body was warm and reassuring. He scooped her up in his arms, still rolled in the blanket, and carried her into the woods.

  “What will we do?” she asked as he set her on the ground at the base of a large tree.

  “We’ll see who it is first,” he said softly.

  “Sloan!” Cherish grabbed his hand. “Don’t leave me!” She was shaking.

  “I must, but I’ll be back.” He loosened her fingers from his and said again, “I’ll be back.”

  Fear closed in on her. She felt the nagging sense of danger she had felt during her flight from the trappers. Catching her lower lip firmly between her teeth to stop its trembling, she stared into the dim forest where Sloan had vanished.

  He returned silently and dropped their packs down beside her. Kneeling, he looked into her frightened face.

  Seemingly of their own accord her arms circled his waist and clutched him tightly. He let her cling to him for a moment, then, gently taking her arms from around him, he held her hands tightly in his.

  “Don’t be afraid. Brown will stay here with you and I’ll not be far away.” With that, he moved soundlessly away.

  Brown, alert, moved into position beside her. His body was tense and his head tilted in the listening stance that was becoming familiar to Cherish. Worry for Sloan invaded her mind. She tried not to imagine something happening to him. In so short a time he had become the center of her life, a fortress to cling to in this vast, unpredictable wilderness.

  Suddenly Brown’s ears came down and his tail wagged slightly. Cherish had heard nothing. The dog moved closer to her. She reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck. Brown stood patiently. It was evident that he considered the danger, whatever it might have been, over.

  Several minutes passed. Cherish heard a voice speaking words she could not understand and then a man’s boisterous laugh. She caught the familiar sound of Sloan’s low voice and sighed with relief. Whoever it was obviously was a friend. She leaned back against the tree to wait for her protector to return.

  The morning light was filtering through the trees when Sloan came for her. She did not feel the pain she expected when she stood to meet him. Her feet were tender when pressed to the hard ground, but not with the agony she had suffered the day before. The sacrifice of her chemise for bandages had been worthwhile, even though she regretted the loss of the garment.

  Before she could question Sloan about the visitor to their camp, he opened his pack and took out what looked like two leather pouches
with leather drawstrings at the top. Kneeling in front of her, he lifted one of her feet, placed it in a pouch and gathered the top around her ankle and tied it. Cherish put her weight on that foot while she lifted the other. A smile of pure pleasure crossed her face. The bottom of the pouch was lined with soft fur. She felt as though she were standing on a feather pillow.

  “Oh, wonderful! Thank you.”

  He stood looking down at her blankly, as if he couldn’t understand her enthusiasm.

  “They were necessary.”

  “I know that, but thank you for making them for me.” Her eyes were shining, and her face glowed as if he had given her a precious gift.

  His gray eyes narrowed and an odd stillness came over him while he looked down into the lovely face turned up to his. She was truly pleased, and over such a small thing. His hands came up and rested lightly on her shoulders, then moved slowly to encircle her neck. His thumbs caressed the soft skin at the base of her throat. He tilted his head toward her and, for one delirious moment, Cherish thought he was going to kiss her. But his hands fell away and he bent to pick up his pack.

  Cherish swallowed her disappointment and looked down at his dark head. She wanted to stay with this man. She wanted to stay with him forever. When Sloan straightened, he had her shawl in his hands. He draped it over her shoulders.

  “Who has come? It’s obviously someone you know.” Cherish struggled to keep her voice steady.

  Sloan smiled that rare, miraculous smile that made her heart beat a little faster.

  “Come on. You’re going to meet a rare man.”

  Brown went ahead of them and entered the clearing beside the spring. With his tail wagging happily, he approached the bearded man squatting before a mound of dry leaves and twigs, trying to coax a small flame into a full-fledged fire.

  “How-do, Brown.” He spoke to the dog without looking at him and blew on the small flame. He carefully added a handful of dried leaves and twigs. “Catch and burn, drat it. That’s it, just keep burnin’, little fire.” When there was a good, steady blaze he added larger pieces of wood and stood up. “’Bout time you took a notion to burn, you stubborn critter. If I didn’t need ya, I’d kick dirt on ya.” He drew back a boot threateningly.

  “Pierre, are you so desperate for conversation that you’ll talk to a fire?”

  “Oui, my friend. Pierre talk to the trees, to the sky, to the water.” A startlingly white grin flashed in his dark beard.

  Standing beside Sloan, Cherish felt secure enough to stare openly at the stranger. He was short, but with broad shoulders and a deep chest. Her papa would have said he was built low to the ground. His hair was black and framed his face with a mass of curls. His beard was just as curly. Perched on his head at a jaunty slant was a fur cap.

  As Cherish stared at him he stared back at her in frank admiration.

  “Mon Dieu, Sloan! Where did you find this angel of a woman?”

  His dark eyes examined Cherish boldly. She was disturbed, yet for some reason she did not understand, she was not offended by the way his glance roamed over her. He was looking at her as if he had forgotten Sloan’s existence, all his senses completely involved with her. The heat of embarrassment soon rose up from her neck and covered her face. She inched closer to Sloan.

  “This is Cherish Riley, Pierre.” Sloan smiled one of his rare smiles. “And Cherish,” the smile deepened, “this rake who is looking at you as if he has never seen a woman before is Pierre La Salle.”

  “Ah . . . Mademoiselle.” Pierre’s voice was hushed, almost reverent. He jerked the fur cap from his head and bowed low. “Mademoiselle, forgive poor Pierre, but your beauty makes a man’s knees go weak. My eyes have enjoyed the feast so much, they do not want to see it end, for you are beautiful beyond imagination.” He sighed deeply.

  Flustered, Cherish managed a weak smile. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Sloan dropped his pack to the ground and moved to help Pierre at the campfire.

  “Pierre has offered to share his morning catch of fish with us.”

  Pierre put his cap back on his head, tilted it over one eye, and walked jauntily down to the spring. Sloan took the opportunity to speak to Cherish.

  “Don’t mind Pierre staring at you. Like all Frenchmen, he’s a lover of beauty.”

  Cherish blushed. What he had said implied that he thought her beautiful too.

  “If you want to be alone,” he said next, “go a ways into the woods. Brown will go with you.”

  She nodded. She had been wondering how she was going to relieve herself. The woods held no terror for her now that she had Sloan and Brown.

  After caring for her bodily needs, Cherish washed at the spring and rejoined the men. Pierre had prepared a breakfast of smoked fish and pone cakes. While they ate, he regaled them with the details of his encounter with Mote and Seth back along the trail.

  “Ho, mon ami, the devil was on them. They look for pelts that hide from them.” He winked at Sloan and shrugged his shoulders. “They look and they look and they curse and fight! Ho, it was a sight for the eyes. They have great distrust of each other. But Pierre know someone play a joke, no?” He slapped his leg and cocked his head at Cherish. “They fight like a dog over a bone, eh? Or beautiful woman?”

  Cherish blushed. Her eyes were drawn to Sloan. He smiled slightly and, realizing that Cherish was reluctant to tell her story, told it for her, ending with her being traded to Mote and Seth by Burgess after her brother failed to return from a scouting trip. He told of her courageous flight through the woods and how he and Brown had heard her coming and had waited at the spring.

  “It be no wonder they be mad as hornets. They lose such a treasure.” Pierre kissed his fingers to Cherish. “I, too, be crazy if I lose such a one.”

  Sloan glanced at Cherish’s red face and rolled his eyes upward as his friend launched into another long, detailed description of Cherish’s beauty.

  “Pierre,” Sloan finally said, “you’re making Cherish uncomfortable.”

  “Forgive me, Mademoiselle.” Pierre snatched his hat from his head and held it against his chest. The sorrowful look on his face made Cherish forget her embarrassment, and she gave him her brightest smile.

  “I’m honored, sir, that you think me comely.”

  “Only comely! Mon Dieu! You’ve a face that put an angel to shame.”

  “Pierre, do you want to hear the rest of this story or not?”

  “Of course.” Pierre put his hat back on his head and gave his attention to Sloan.

  “I trailed Mote and Seth after Cherish fell asleep,” he confessed. “I didn’t like the idea of that pair hanging around too close, maybe waiting for another chance to get her. Mote especially didn’t seem to take kindly to giving her up.”

  Pierre’s teeth flashed in his dark beard. “What man in his right mind would want to give her up, mon ami, eh?”

  “I didn’t have to track them far. Maybe they did figure on coming back in the hope of catching us unawares, I don’t know. After they bedded down I waited until I was sure they were asleep, then stole their fur packs. I thought that might keep them busy for a while.”

  Pierre roared with laughter. “A while? It should keep them busy until spring, dumb as they be. They kill each other before they look up in tall tree.”

  “Do you remember the time you and I and John Spotted Elk were up on the East Fork and stole back the furs those renegades had stolen from us?”

  “Ya, I remember. They take off down river to get back furs. Ha! They in trees not hundred paces from camp.”

  Pierre and Sloan began to talk about fur trading and Cherish let her mind wander. It was hard to believe that only a short day ago she had been in the depths of despair. Sloan had revealed nothing about himself, yet she was ready to go with him, to trust him completely. Strange how—

  She came back to the present with a start when she heard Pierre growl a woman’s name: “Ada!”

  There was no doubt from the expression on his face tha
t, whoever the woman was, he disliked her immensely. From Pierre, Cherish glanced to Sloan and could see that he wasn’t pleased with the turn the conversation had taken. He frowned and shook his head slightly, and Pierre stopped talking. He bent to poke at the campfire. Cherish couldn’t be sure, but somehow she felt that Sloan hadn’t wanted her to hear what Pierre was going to say about the woman.

  “How long will you be away?” Sloan asked after a few minutes of silence.

  “Who knows?” Pierre shrugged his thick shoulders.

  “Come back and winter with us. John Spotted Elk and his people will be there sometime around Thanksgiving.”

  “I may go only as far as the Ohio, or I may take boat to Fort Pitt. See the sights, eh?” He grinned devilishly and wiggled his thick black eyebrows up and down. His teeth gleamed in the firelight against his black beard. “I may come to Carrolltown and pay court to Minnie Dove.”

  Sloan laughed. “You’ve already tried your hand at courting Minnie Dove. Didn’t she chase you from her lodge with a fishing pike?”

  Pierre looked wounded. “John tell his sister Pierre’s heart not true.” Then, he was laughing boisterously. “But I plenty fix that John Spotted Elk with honey on his blanket. Ho! He run for the river when the ants bite, and not a scrap did he have to cover him.”

  Both men laughed. Obviously they had shared many experiences together and with the man called John Spotted Elk. Cherish had not known many Indians, but the ones she had met were certainly not fun-loving as this one seemed to be. She wondered whether, if not for her, Sloan would have gone east with Pierre.

  It suddenly occurred to her that this was her chance to get back to Virginia. Should she ask Pierre to take her as far as the Ohio and see her on a flatboat headed back east? Somehow she knew that she would be safe with him. She could pay her passage with the silver in Roy’s pouch.

  But, what then?

  She saw that Sloan was looking at her. Was he thinking the same and waiting for her to give some indication of what she was going to do? Gray eyes locked with sky-blue ones. The expression on his face gave her no clue as to whether he wanted her to go or stay. The decision was to be hers. If she wanted to go with Pierre, now was the time to say so.