“This isn’t much better,” she complained as Evie nestled down beside her and the pups tried to lick her face. Jan just laughed.
Tildie was surprised to learn they were going to Fort Reynald.
“Why?” she asked. She had no desire to meet the Frenchman who could have become her husband.
“I want to check on Henderson,” replied Jan. “You’ll enjoy meeting him. Remember, he saved my life. You might think of something you need before we start out across the prairie. Also, it’s a good idea to check on the mood of the Indians before we cross their territory.”
“You mean they might be hostile?”
“Probably not,” said Jan. “Or at least, no more than usual. But they have feuds between the tribes, and it’s smart to know where the disputes are festering.”
Tildie closed her eyes in prayer. She just wanted to get home, wherever that might be. She hoped it was someplace where they wouldn’t be constantly afraid of wild things—whether they were bears or renegades.
CHAPTER 21
Tildie entered the gates of Fort Reynald with trepidation. They immediately went to the livery. There, the genuine friendliness of Henderson, combined with his interesting accent, did much to alleviate her uneasiness. It was decided that they would accept his humble hospitality for the evening meal and camp outside the walls of the fort with many other visitors.
About thirty tepees gathered around the decrepit wooden structure passing for a fort. Some were occupied by Arapaho, some by Cheyenne, and several by trappers. An uneasy peace reigned between the Indians and trappers. The natives tolerated the traders because they obliged them in their own passion to dicker and barter. Most Indians looked down upon the trappers as interlopers.
When Henderson offered them tea, Jan, standing behind the Englishman, smiled at Tildie with an I-told-you-so look in his eye. The children enjoyed taking tea with the man who spoke so oddly. They giggled because he sounded just as Jan had imitated, and Boister went so far as to say that a “cup of tea would be most welcome.” His imitation of Jan’s imitation of Henderson’s accent made them all laugh. Henderson knew he was being made sport of and took it good-naturedly.
“I have a request of you, my giant friend,” he said when the children finished their tea and scooted outside.
“What is it?” asked Jan. “You know I’m willing to oblige if it’s within my ability.”
“I want to go back East.”
“Cross the prairie?” Jan could not hide the incredulous tone that invaded his voice.
“I think I can do it in your company and with the strength of Jesus.”
“You’re welcome to come with us, but we plan to travel only as far as the North Fork of the Cimarron in western Kansas territory. Why do you want to leave?”
“Rumor has it that the new inspector for Indian affairs will be more thorough this summer. None of the traders at this fort have a license, and with the unscrupulous competition of the Bent brothers, business is failing anyway. Most of the Indians have gone to trade either south, at Fort El Pueblo; or east, at Bent’s Fort. Fort Reynald will surely fold before the end of the summer and then I would be stuck here with my own company. I’d rather try to make my way east with you.”
Jan looked over at Tildie, who nodded her head slightly, indicating she had no objection.
“Fine, Henderson,” said Jan, “you’re welcome to join us.”
“I feel compelled to issue a warning,” Henderson continued.
“What about?”
“Des Reaux is in a black mood. He took a Mexican woman to wife this winter, and she grew tired of him quickly. She left him with a knife wound in his side when she departed at the first opportunity.
“He’s not pleased at being forced out of business by the Bents. Then, too, several traders drank a bit too much one evening just last week and decided to display their dislike of the Frenchman before they left for the summer. They tied him up and trashed his side of the mercantile building, leaving the other side in fairly decent order. In short, des Reaux is spoiling for a fight.”
“We’ll stay out of his way,” commented Jan.
Henderson nodded.
“I do have something you might consider valuable for our journey,” offered Henderson.
Jan merely lifted his eyebrows in inquiry.
“I had a small wagon given to me in lieu of payment. Perhaps Mrs. Borjesson will ride more comfortably in it.”
Jan smiled at Tildie. Her small frame showed the bulge of a baby. Henderson was right about the wagon.
Tired, Tildie longed to lie down on something that did not bounce, jolt, and sway. Henderson laughed with understanding at her request to stretch out on his motionless hay, but quickly gave his permission. Jan went to see that the children remained out of trouble while his pregnant wife rested.
Boister played with two Arapaho children. The white children amazed the Indians with their knowledge of the Arapaho language. Soon Jan heard Boister telling an elaborate account of their encounter with the bear.
Jan only interrupted once to make sure the listeners knew it was a black bear, not a grizzly. He didn’t want them thinking that any bear was to be toyed with, and especially they should not expect to stop a grizzly with one bullet. After the exciting tale had been told and Boister had answered many questions, the boys began the serious business of trading.
Mari knew that both in the telling of tales and the trading of goods, she was to stay in the background—for as a girl and a child, she did not have Boister’s status. Evie was treated with more tolerance, but Mari did not chafe. Evidently, she and Boister had a system set up where she could signal her wishes to him. He acquired a pair of moccasins for her as well as a Green River Knife for himself.
When Tildie emerged from the livery after her nap, she sat beside Jan. “They’ve made friends,” she stated, watching the boys play at an Indian sport involving a ball-like sack of rawhide.
“No,” said Jan. “These people don’t give their friendship so easily. Once you’re truly accepted, neither do they abandon you without good cause. Perhaps it’s a more stable system than our own.”
She leaned against him. Lately she’d had doubts as to whether Jan really wanted her as a wife. She seemed so inferior to his standard. She knew she hadn’t the Christian maturity he had. She was always to be a cripple it seemed. She knew that there were many women back East who were prettier, wittier, and more educated than she. He’d been lonely and obviously enjoyed the family atmosphere he had inherited with the responsibility of her. Now, she was cranky, clumsy, and lethargic most of the time. How could any man as fine as Jan feel blessed with such a burden as she? She sighed with the weight of her unhappy thoughts.
His arm came around her. “Are you okay?”
She sniffled, but didn’t answer.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”
She shook her head slightly, ashamed that she should be so close to tears when there was nothing definite to warrant such gloom.
“Is it that Henderson is coming with us? I think you’ll find him an agreeable traveling companion. I do wonder how he’ll react once we’re outside the walls of the fort.”
She shook her head again.
“Tildie,” he said earnestly, “You must remember that I’m the eldest of thirteen children. What I’m going to say is no reflection on you, but just something I noticed and my father gave me to believe was true.”
She said nothing.
“My mother, when she was expecting, would sometimes cry. She said herself that there was nothing specific to cause her tears, but that there were a multitude of little things that weighed her down.”
“You’re saying it’s all right to be a crybaby?”
“I’m saying when you feel like everything is wrong, come lean on me. I love you.” He kissed her quickly, mindful of the public place they sat. She dug out her scrap of calico, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose.
“What are you grinning at?” she a
sked petulantly.
“My beautiful wife.”
“Humph!” She looked away, embarrassed. “Your beautiful wife has a red nose, puffy eyes, and a swollen body.”
Jan grinned and nodded. “Looks great to me.”
Tildie turned back to him, and a smile broke through her tears. Jan had a way of banishing all her doubts. She could believe he honestly loved her when he sat beside her and looked at her with that warmth in his eyes.
Many of the men at the fort smelled from the lack of personal hygiene, but a rancid odor suddenly invaded the quiet talk between Jan and his wife and wrenched them out of their self-absorption.
Jan stood as soon as the shadow touched him. “Des Reaux,” he acknowledged the man’s presence.
“Borjesson.” The Frenchman nodded, seemingly undaunted by the fact that Jan towered over him. He worked the toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other while staring boldly at Tildie. “This is your wife?”
“Tildie,” Jan spoke as he put a hand on her arm and drew her to stand beside him. He put a protective arm around her shoulders. “This is Armand des Reaux, the grocer at Fort Reynald.”
Tildie knew she must remain calm. She fought the feeling of disgust that rose in her throat as she assessed the repellent nature of the man before her. This was the man John Masters had expected her to marry? This repulsive, malodorous, vulgar pig was his idea of a husband for her? She now realized how truly John Masters must have despised her.
She nodded, acknowledging the introduction but unable to voice any suitable pleasantries.
The Frenchman’s eyes narrowed, and he insolently looked her over.
“Amazing, Borjesson,” he spoke with false congeniality. “Your wife looks so young to be the mother of three children.”
Jan’s grip on her shoulders tightened.
“I take good care of her, des Reaux.”
The coldness in her husband’s voice sent a shiver down her spine. Surely, the Frenchman would get the message. Jan stood between her and des Reaux. A flood of gratitude filled her as she realized that God had given her a giant Swede to protect her from this unsavory person.
“Welcome to the fort, my little friend.” The congenial tone of des Reaux’s words still contained an underlying threat. “The sunshine of your presence is long overdue in this godforsaken hole. An entire year overdue, mon cherie.”
Tildie felt the rigidity intensify in her husband’s stance. The last thing she wanted to see was a fight between these two men. Jan was undoubtedly the stronger of the two, but the Frenchman impressed her as the type to use a knife instead of settling their disagreement with just their fists. She found the courage to speak.
“Thank you for your welcome, Mr. des Reaux.” She smiled up at Jan’s face, ignoring the rigid set of his jaw and the thin line of his lips. Determinedly, she went on. “I’m happy to be with my husband here in Colorado. I, too, thought this area might be godforsaken, until Jan reminded me of God’s goodness.”
She turned innocent eyes upon the antagonistic Frenchman. “Perhaps you don’t know the promise God gives His children. In the Bible it says He will never leave us nor forsake us, no matter what the circumstances. I lost sight of that while waiting in the Indian camp.”
“Spoken like a true wife of a preacher,” conceded the Frenchman. His eyes lost none of the hard glitter that chilled her heart. He removed the crude toothpick from his mouth and grinned widely, showing his yellowed teeth.
In an effort to find something legitimate to focus on other than this despicable man, Tildie shifted her gaze to the children. They stood in a line behind the man, having abandoned their game. The solemn faces of the Indian children told their hatred for the Frenchman. Their narrowed eyes bored holes in the back of the grocer. They watched his every move intently, showing their distrust. Boister had taken Mari’s hand. Mari held Evie’s.
Do they remember? wondered Tildie. Do they realize this is the man their stepfather intended me to marry? Boister’s stony expression could mean he remembered or just recognized this Frenchman as the same type of evil man as John Masters.
“Mama,” whimpered Evie.
Tildie held out her hand. “Come, Evelyn. Let’s go see about fixing dinner.”
Evie ran to grab her hand.
“Good day, Mr. des Reaux.” Tildie turned a disinterested shoulder on the Frenchman and marched away with a straight back and head held high.
“A truly magnificent woman.” Des Reaux watched her as she departed. Suddenly, a large hand grabbed the shirtfront below the man’s leering face, lifting him off the ground.
“Be careful how you look at my wife, des Reaux.” Jan’s voice was a low growl. “My God orders men to treat their wives as He treats His church. I understand that to mean I should be willing to die for my family. This preacher knows how to fight.”
Des Reaux made a deprecating movement with his hands and gasped out a disclaimer as best he could. “I have no interest in your wife.”
The Swede dropped des Reaux, and he collapsed in the dirt. Jan clenched his fists at his side, determined not to pound the little weasel into the ground.
“Come, children,” he ordered and turned on his heel, leaving the angry Frenchman muttering in the dust.
CHAPTER 22
We can leave tomorrow.” Jan held a supply list the three adults and three children had labored over the night before. They sat at Henderson’s table, but Tildie and Mari had made the breakfast. Now, as Jan reached for the last of Tildie’s tasty biscuits, he told Boister to put a skip in his step and get ready to go to the mercantile.
“I want to go,” begged Mari. “Please.”
“No,” said Jan as he pushed the last bite in his mouth and wiped his hands on his pant legs. “The men in the fort don’t have the manners I’d expect to be shown before my daughters.” He took a mug from Henderson’s table and lifted it to his lips. With his head tipped back, he drained it and set it back down with a thud. He then rubbed his forearm across his mouth wiping away any wetness.
The sight of the expression on Tildie’s face arrested the movement in mid-swipe. One of her finely drawn eyebrows arched in mock indignation, and a smile quivered at the corner of her mouth.
“What?” he asked.
“The trappers have no manners?” She looked pointedly at the arm that still rested against his mouth.
At that moment, Henderson came in from the other room. “Would you care for more tea, Madame?” he asked, holding the tin pot he used for brewing with the same elegance he would have held a teapot of Wedgwood china.
Jan dropped both arms to his sides and looked from the former butler to his wife. “Tildie, you’re not comparing me to Henderson here.”
The look of absolute horror on his face brought laughter bubbling out of Tildie. She laughed until her side hurt and tears ran down her face. Long before she could recover, Jan shot her a disgusted look, waved at Boister to “come on,” and left to buy the supplies they would need on the trail.
“That’s about all we can do to make it comfortable,” Jan said as he moved a barrel to the side and began strapping it to the wooden arch that held the canvas over the wagon bed. “With those boxes padded with buffalo robes and blankets, it should make a fairly comfortable bed.”
Tildie stood on tiptoe with her hands on the back of the wagon, trying to see in. Jan turned her toward him and lifted, holding her snug against his chest.
“Can you see better now?” He laughed at her prim expression as she looked around quickly to see who might be watching.
“I see fine,” she sputtered.
“You haven’t even looked in the wagon,” he pointed out.
“Jan, put me down.” She struggled weakly.
He kissed her cheek as she turned her face back and forth, still trying to see if anyone was watching them.
“How ’bout I put you down in the wagon and you can stretch out on that makeshift bed to see how it feels?”
“Why?” She quit struggli
ng to admire the fine lines at the corners of his eyes that crinkled so attractively when he smiled at her.
“Henderson and I will be finishing up loading the donkey cart. You need your afternoon nap, and if you’re in the wagon, you’ll be out of our way as we move around the livery.”
“Who will watch the children?”
“Henderson and I can watch the children, and when Evie gets cranky, I’ll bring her to the wagon and tell her to take a nap with Mama.” He gave her a hug, kissed her lightly on the lips, and swung her up and over the back of the wagon.
“I’ll be easier in my mind if you’re close to where Henderson and I are working instead of on the outside of the fort where we’ve been camping.”
“Are you worried about des Reaux?”
“I’ve been praying for protection, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be careless with what God has entrusted to me.”
“You’re worried about that man?”
Jan looked seriously into her eyes. “Honey, we must be as harmless as doves and as wise as serpents. I believe Armand des Reaux to be evil.” He leaned forward and kissed her again. “You take a nap. Tomorrow, we’ll be on the trail, and we needn’t worry about the Frenchman again.”
An hour later, Jan lifted Evie over the tailgate of the wagon. He put a finger to his lips and pointed to Tildie.
“Shh! Little girl,” he cautioned, “crawl in next to your mama and try not to wake her. Take a nice nap, and when both my pretty girls get up, we’ll fix supper. Tonight, we’ll get to hear Pennsylvania Paterson play his fiddle.”
Evie leaned out of the wagon and gave her pa a squeezing hug and a big kiss on the cheek before she turned and crawled over the barrels, boxes, and gunnysacks to where Tildie lay napping. She pulled herself onto the buffalo robes and turned to wave good-bye. She blew another kiss, put her finger to her little lips, and hissed a loud “Sh,” giggled, and snuggled down. Jan shook his head, grinning at her antics, and returned to the work in the barn. They’d discovered weak boards in the bottom of the cart, and those had to be repaired before they could finish loading it.
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 81
