He paused to take a breath and Sloan said, “Excuse us for a moment.” He pulled Cherish a short distance away and stood with his back to the group. “Cherish, this is our chance to wed. We may not get another chance until next spring.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I told you that you don’t have to marry me. I’ll take care of your babe.”
“You don’t want to marry me?”
“Marriage is forever. What if after a while . . . you don’t want me anymore? I’ve known of women who married in order to have a roof over their heads and were miserable. Later you might find someone you really wanted to marry and you’d be stuck with me.”
“Cherish!” He put his hand on her shoulders. “Don’t you know what a prize you are?”
“You think so now because you need me.”
“Maybe I want to bind you to me so you won’t leave and go back to Virginia.”
“I won’t! I promise I won’t leave until you want me to go.”
“Is this the way you want it to be? You’d have more security if you were my legal wife.”
“I’m satisfied with the arrangement.”
“All right. But I give you warning. I found you and I intend to keep you.”
He smiled at her then, and for a moment she was tempted, conscious of his nearness and her growing yearning; but she made no sign.
The preacher was looking at her speculatively when they returned to stand before him.
“The folk at Harrodsburg will be glad to see you,” Sloan told Mackanib smoothly. “Sometimes it’s a year or more before they see a marrying preacher.” He turned to Cherish. “We must be going. We have miles to cover before nightfall.”
She nodded, filled with an aching misery, already regretting her decision.
The women in the group were clustered together, talking in low tones and casting disapproving glances at Cherish. She decided they looked like a flock of black crows and had to suppress another giggle. She raised her chin defiantly. Sloan, taking in the situation at a glance, leaned over and whispered to her.
“Do you think that those old hens can stand the shock of seeing your bare legs?”
Her face turned red but her eyes danced with a wicked gleam.
“Shall we try it and see?”
“Take the back of your skirt, bring it up between your legs and tuck it into your waist band,” he ordered.
Without hesitation, Cherish did as she was told and stood with her legs bare to the knees. She was rewarded with a horrified gasp from the women. Sloan handed her the rifle and knelt down. With the grace of a queen stepping upon her throne she swung first one leg and then the other over his shoulders. Holding her legs to steady her, he stood.
Cherish looked down at the shocked white faces staring in open-mouthed astonishment. As Sloan moved toward the river with her on his shoulders, she inclined her head.
“Good-day,” she said politely.
She could feel the laughter in Sloan as she wrapped her bare legs around his chest, her feet digging into the back of his rib cage. Cherish never looked back but gave all her attention to helping Sloan keep his balance on the slippery river bottom. She heard a murmur of indignant voices and then the booming voice of the minister trying to quiet his flock.
The water came up to Sloan’s shoulders and the bottom part of her dress dragged in it. Brown swam alongside. It was plain that the shaggy dog was not fond of the water and was hurrying to get to dry land.
The water receded again as Sloan neared the other side. At last he walked out onto the shore and knelt down so that Cherish could dismount. She climbed off his shoulders and wrung the water out of her skirt. Aninus Mackanib and his flock were still standing in a tight group, watching.
“We’ve given them something to talk about all winter,” Sloan said. “Shall I grab you by the hair and drag you into the bushes? That’s what they’re expecting.”
“Oh, Sloan, did you see their faces? They’re sure that I’m a fallen woman.”
“I saw the men ogling your bare legs. The old preacher gave them a look too.”
“Will you think I’m wicked if I say it was fun to shock them?”
He laughed. “Not at all. I enjoyed letting them think I’m a savage.” His face settled into a sober expression. “In some ways the savages are more civilized than we are. I hope the poor fools make it to Harrodsburg.”
“Is there a chance they won’t?”
“There’s always a chance. They’d be good pickings to a couple like Mote and Seth.”
“And the Indians?”
“It’s according to what tribe they meet. They’ll not know the pilgrims are ‘wrapped in God’s cloak,’ ” he said with humor.
“Oh, I hope they’ll be all right.”
“It’s out of our hands.”
Sloan dressed quickly and shouldered their packs. Cherish picked up her share of the load, and they turned their backs on the river and the group watching, and headed into the woods.
CHAPTER
* 8 *
Despite the heavy clouds hanging overhead, Cherish felt . . . light. Different. Stronger. Walking behind Sloan, she felt as if she could follow him to the ends of the earth. During the late afternoon she became tired, but not as worn out as she had been the day before.
It was almost dark when Sloan stopped beneath an overhang of rock that came out of the hillside offering a few feet of shelter over their heads. He motioned for her to wait; and before he shucked his pack, he walked out a short way in each direction and looked around.
“I think this is the best we can do.”
Lightning flickered in the western sky. Cherish had been so intent on putting one foot before the other in order to keep pace with him, she hadn’t realized that he had been looking for some type of shelter from the approaching storm.
Sloan gathered wood for a fire while she walked down to a narrow stream. Hidden from view, she relieved herself, then bathed her face and hands in the clear running water before she filled the big tin cup from Sloan’s pack.
The fire gave off only pale smoke, hardly visible in the late evening light. Sitting beside the bright-flamed fire, Cherish was engulfed by a feeling of safety; but her eyes were wary when she looked beyond the small circle of light. Although she was not frightened of the forest at night, her flight from the trappers had given her a respect for it and a caution that was already a part of her.
They ate cold rabbit and drank the hot tea in companionable silence. They lingered beside the fire, soaking in the warmth, the forest closing in around them like a great dark blanket. The fire made a home, a hearth spot in the wilderness. Sloan sat at the side of the fire and avoided looking into the flame, as did Brown. The dog lay with his head pointed toward the darkness.
Cherish remembered her brother telling her that a man who looks into a fire cannot see for several seconds when he looks away, and those few seconds could cost him his life.
When they finished eating, Sloan walked with her to the creek, where she pulled off her moccasins and lowered her feet into the stream. The water stung only a little and she touched the healing cuts with her fingers. She let the water flow over her feet, then dried them on the hem of her dress before slipping back into the soft moccasins.
Sloan fed a few small pieces of wood into the fire when they returned and she sat down on the blanket, her legs suddenly weak with an awareness of this man.
“I’ll smother the fire after I’ve seen to your feet,” he said over his shoulder. “We’ll need to be more cautious from here on.”
“Because of the Indians Pierre warned us about?”
“Them and a few other things.”
“The fire doesn’t give out much smoke.”
Sloan sat down beside her, slipped off her moccasins and turned her feet up to the light of the fire.
“That’s because it’s apple wood,” he told her. “It makes a thin smoke that isn’t easy to spot from a distance. I always use it or hickory when I camp.”
His offhand manner of handling her feet and legs did nothing to ease her confusion. She didn’t understand at all why her heart should beat so fast.
“We don’t need to worry about anything sneaking up on us in the dark,” Sloan was saying. “Brown’s ears are the best I’ve ever known a dog to have.”
She didn’t say anything, and suddenly she realized that Sloan was making conversation to put her at ease. But it wasn’t working and she began to tremble.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“Yes, no . . . I guess I am,” she murmured.
He finished with her feet and folded the end of the blanket over them.
“Are you afraid of me, Cherish?” he asked suddenly, his voice gentle. “Are you afraid that I’m going to pounce on you and demand something of you that you’re not willing to give?” He placed firm fingers beneath her chin and turned her face toward him. His eyes were bottomless as they looked into hers. Her lips trembled with the frustration of words she could not utter.
“I believe that you’ve made up your mind that the reason I wanted to marry you was to give me the right to use your body for my own gratification.”
“No . . . no . . . I didn’t want to be bound to you . . . unless it was because we—”
“—Were in love with each other?”
She nodded wordlessly.
“I also believe that you have made up your mind that the coming together of man and woman is somehow shameful and degrading—something a woman must endure and it is easier for her if she likes or loves the man.”
She opened her mouth to deny it, but before she could he continued.
“Remember this. When the time comes for you, it can be something beautiful if you make it so.” He bent his head and briefly touched her lips with his. The kiss was sweet, gentle, undemanding. “You’d have to want it as much as I before I’d ever touch you. If not, it wouldn’t have any real meaning for either of us.”
There had been no opportunity to prepare for this moment. Her senses were swirling from the thrill of his kiss. Cherish wished she had the words to tell him that the thought of being with him, mating with him, did not frighten her. But already he was drawing away, his face sober, his tantalizing eyes veiled by his dark lashes as he scooped dirt onto the fire. When he spoke again, his soft words came out of the darkness.
“When I asked you to marry me, it was for your own protection as much as anything else. An unwed white woman in this country is like a crust to a starving man. And one with your looks could start a major uprising.” He chuckled a little to himself. “I was on my way to Harrodsburg because I heard that there was a young woman there who was recently widowed. I need a woman to care for the babe, so I thought I would look her over and, if she were suitable, marry her and bring her back. I couldn’t believe my luck when I met you on the trail.”
Cherish sat very still and tears suddenly stung her eyes. It all sounded so cold and impersonal. A woman was what he needed, any woman would do.
Rescuing her from the trappers had saved him a trip to Harrodsburg.
The thought was bitter, and she was fiercely glad now that she hadn’t let him know that she regretted her refusal to marry him. At least a small portion of her pride was saved.
With an empty ache in her heart, she shifted her position, drawing her legs up and wrapping her arms around them. She rested her chin on her knees and stared into the darkness, her unshed tears stinging her eyes and such a feeling of homesickness slicing through her that she winced. She had left behind everything that was known to her—for this. But then she glanced sideways at Sloan. She could see only the outline of his strong face and knew again that she could not have done anything else. She had chosen to be with him rather than some unknown man in Virginia.
“Tell me about your child,” she said, forcing a calmness into her voice she did not feel. “You said it was a girl. How old is she? How long has your wife been dead?”
“I was wondering when you were going to ask,” he said quietly. “I was beginning to think you were the least curious woman I had ever met.”
“I thought you’d tell me when you were ready.”
“To answer your questions, the child is a girl of almost two years. She is my child, although she is not of my seed, but my brother’s. And in answer to your last question, I have never had a wife.”
His tense short answers hurt her. Her eyes sought his face, but it was turned away.
“But . . .” She had to know. “But the mother. Where is she? Dead?”
“Not dead. Gone,” he said harshly. “She left the babe when she was less than four weeks old.”
“And your brother?”
“Died shortly after she left.” His voice was low and full of emotion. “He didn’t have the desire to live after Ada went away. His lungs were bad, and he worked himself to death. He chopped wood all day, every day, for a week. The snow was red with the blood he coughed up.”
Ada. So that’s who she was—his brother’s wife! The feeling in his voice was so intense, Cherish could have cried for him. She could find no words of comfort to say, so she remained silent. The silence lasted for a long while and finally she said, “It must have been difficult taking care of a baby that young.”
“No. You would be surprised.” She sensed a smile in his voice. “It was quite easy at first. Ada left her black slave behind when she went away, and we found an Indian woman for a wet nurse. Then Pierre brought us a cow.” To her surprise, he laughed then. “I never asked how he came to have a cow. At the time I didn’t want to know.”
“But you said there’s no woman with her now.”
“There isn’t. The Indian woman went back to her tribe and the slave, Vinnie, died a few weeks ago.”
“Then who is taking care of her?”
“Oh, she’s in good hands,” Sloan said quickly. “If the two old goats I left her with haven’t killed each other by now.” He reached over and wrapped the end of the blanket about her shoulders. “Old Juicy has probably got more half-breed babes scattered around than any mountain man this side of the Ohio. And True,” he continued, “had a couple of young ones of his own once. Lost them and his wife when the fever infected the bay area where he lived.”
The lightning forked now, seemed to be closer, and they could hear a distant rumble of thunder. A gust of wind swept through the clearing.
“We could be in for a storm before morning,” Sloan said.
Cherish’s thoughts were not of the approaching storm.
“Then there was no great hurry for you to find someone.”
“Juicy and True can care for her all right, but I want her to know the ways of a well-brought-up white woman. It would be an easy thing to find an Indian maid to come and take care of her, but she would grow up knowing only the Indian way. While it is a good way, I want her to know her own culture. Can you understand that?”
Cherish nodded even though he was not looking at her.
“What is her name?” she asked.
“Orah Delle. Orah Delle Carroll. It was my grandmother’s name—my father’s mother. My own mother was French. Her name was Claudine.”
The statement seemed to require no response from her. It explained why he spoke the language so well and why some called him Frenchie.
After a silence she asked, “How long have you been out here?”
“Six years. I came out from Virginia, liked it and built my home in a deep bend of the Ohio. I furnish supplies to settlers, trade with the Indians and send my furs back upriver.”
“I heard Pierre call it Carrolltown.”
He laughed. “It’s been called that. To my way of thinking two cabins, barns, storage sheds, and a lodge doesn’t make up a town.” After a pause, he said, “My home is not fancy, Cherish, but it’s comfortable.”
She wasn’t sure if he expected an answer to that, so she said nothing.
He got up, stretched, and walked a distance out into the darkness. Without him the campsite took on a ghostly atm
osphere. Cherish rolled her shawl into a pillow, laid her pistol beside it, folded the blanket over her and lay down, her back against the stone wall.
Brown crawled on his belly until he was near enough for her to reach out a hand to him. He licked it gratefully before giving a big sigh and closing his eyes.
Sloan returned and flung his blanket on the ground, angled out from hers.
“It’ll rain before morning. This ledge won’t be much protection unless the wind shifts to the southwest.” He lay down, stretched out on his back, his head pillowed on his arms. Only his head and shoulders were beneath the ledge.
Cherish’s breath bubbled through her parted lips when she thought of his kiss. Why had he kissed her? Was it just an impulse? She had never before felt the pressure of a man’s lips on hers. It had been over so fast, yet she could almost feel the touch. Had he kissed her as if comforting a child? If that were the case, he’d not have kissed her on the mouth.
Gradually the ground began to make itself known to Cherish. It was not covered with fern or even a bed of dry grass. It was hard and lumpy. She shifted positions trying to find a place between the lumps. Finally she lay still, her body aching from the unaccustomed demands that had been made on it.
The moment she closed her eyes the forest began to crackle and pop. Her eyes flew open. She wondered how she could have thought the wilderness a silent and peaceful place. Each new sound left her tense and waiting for another. She thought she heard a footfall, and immediately Mote and Seth came to her mind in frightening detail. She thought she could even smell the rancid stench of them—sweat, spoiled meat, smoke, rotting teeth—
In desperation she lifted her head and looked at Brown. At her slight movement, he opened his eyes, closing them again when she lowered her head.
An owl hooted. Startled, she lifted her head again. Brown licked her hand. She looked across at Sloan, but he was breathing evenly and did not move.
Cherish was sure that with the hardness of the ground, her body aches, and the sounds of the forest she would never sleep. Yet, even as she thought this, she drifted off.
Love and Cherish Page 7
