Badlands Bride

by Cheryl St. John

  There was an undeniable new awareness between them, something stirring yet tolerable in the way they spoke and talked and carefully avoided touching. She put on her coat and they trudged through the snow to the other building.

  "I want to order from these catalogs. Mrs. Kell helped me once." He placed a few books on the desk top. "I'll be able to do it myself soon. But for now, well, I can't make out a lot of words and the prices confound me."

  "I'll help," she said.

  "And…" He pulled up a chair beside hers and sat. "I want to have items women will want. The brides are here now and there'll be more women next year."

  "Good thinking. Will you sell these things to the trading post?"

  "Some. Some I'll send with the freighters to other posts and mining towns. But I don't know how to choose things for women."

  "Sure you do."

  "What do you mean?"

  "How about the tea?"

  He grinned. "Lucky guess."

  "Well, I've enjoyed it. And I know Evelyn liked hers." She opened the first catalog. "How long will it take?"

  "To get things? Might be till spring. Mail has to come by dogsled."

  "One certainly learns patience out here."

  He didn't reply.

  "What do you do all winter while the freighters can't get in or out?"

  "There are some stretches of fair weather," he explained. "The rest of the time I organize the supplies, oil all the harnesses and collars, make repairs on wagons and fix up the place. I hunt and check my traps. I planned to work inside the house this winter, too. The loft isn't finished."

  "What's it for? The loft."

  He flipped open another catalog. "Just someplace to store things."

  Chumani brought them lunch and ate with them.

  Time passed much as Cooper had predicted, with the days growing shorter and the nights growing colder. He kept her busy during the day, making lists and counting items. One afternoon she sat beside a crate, the acrid smell of tobacco overpowering her, and called to him. "Are you sure all these cigars need to be counted individually?"

  "I have to know what's here, don't I?" he asked. He eyed the mountain of crates with a frown. "There's more than there should be. I didn't get to move a lot of it because of the robberies. I can only afford so much of a loss before it cuts too deep."

  "And you give away so much," Hallie said, thinking aloud.

  He turned to her.

  "To the reservation," she clarified.

  "That's the whole point. That's why I'm here."

  "I see that now."

  A few nights later Hallie awoke to shouts. She lay for a second, listening to the excited voices, before springing from her bed and peering into the other room at Cooper's empty pallet. She glanced around in confusion. Horses whinnied and she ran to yank open the door. Across the distance to the freight building and the barn beyond, an eerie orange glow lit the night sky.

  Fire!

  Panicked, she ran into her room and fumbled with her boots, pulled her coat over her nightgown and hurried out. Her breath panted out on white gusts as she closed the dis­tance. Horses and mules, having been turned into the corral, reared in fright. Several others ran loose. Cooper, bare chested and sweating in spite of the cold, wielded a tarp and beat at the consuming flames that licked up the side of the barn.

  Hallie stared in horror. Jack shoved a bucket into her hands. "Gather up snow from the drifts," he ordered.

  She obeyed, scooping snow and running it back to the blaze as fast as she could. Chumani and Yellow Eagle did the same, and several times they nearly ran into one another. The stench of scorched wood burned her nostrils. Ashes drifted from the sky and turned the snow gray. Cooper worked like a madman, never pausing until the fire was out.

  An enormous black hole gaped from his barn. He stared at it, his broad, sweat-glistened chest heaving, his square jaw taut. Finally his attention shot to the animals crowded in the corral and he stalked toward them.

  "Chumani!" he shouted, and spoke rapidly in Sioux. The Indian woman turned and ran to the soddy.

  "Hallie!"

  She jumped, surprised that he even knew she was there.

  "Bring clean rags and warm water."

  She turned and ran as Chumani had. With an armful of clean rags, she paused, thinking of Cooper in the cold with­out a shirt. Laying the rags on the table, she lit the lantern and carried it into the bedroom she'd never before entered. There was no bed, no chest of drawers, only several crates, stacks of furs and deerskins, and an enormous trunk covered with animal hide.

  Hesitantly she opened it and discovered neatly folded clothing. She chose a deerskin tunic and her fingers brushed a piece of paper. Withdrawing the envelope, she read the postmark. Boston. Hallie unfolded the letter and quickly read Tess Cordell's letter to Cooper. Nothing special, just the facts about herself and her arrival.

  Guiltily, Hallie tucked the letter back into its envelope, placed it in the corner of the trunk and hurried out. Cooper's surprise showed when she held the shirt out to him.

  "Thank you." He pulled it on over his head.

  She assisted him in dressing the burns on several of the horses. Jack hammered tarps over the hole in the barn wall.

  Chumani leapt astride a mare and led the loose horses back. Dawn streaked the sky by the time they were finished.

  Hallie accompanied Chumani to the soddy and helped her prepare breakfast. Yellow Eagle fell asleep on his pallet. Cooper and Jack came later, washed and dressed in clean clothes. Hallie looked down at her nightgown, and Chumani brought her the green shawl.

  Strain shown plainly on Cooper's face. He held the cup of coffee Chumani handed him without tasting it. "We can thank the spirits it's winter," he said. "If it'd been summer, the entire countryside could have been ashes by tonight."

  "The whole area is a mass of tracks," Jack said to him. "It hasn't snowed fresh for a week, and what with all those horses loose…Could ya see anything?"

  "There were riders down by the river. Shod horses," Cooper clarified. "Boot prints up to the barn and back."

  Someone had deliberately set the fire. A sinking fear slid to Hallie's stomach. It could just as easily have been the log house…or the soddy….

  Cooper's smoke-reddened eyes met hers and she knew he was thinking the same thing. "Why?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "I've asked myself that a hundred times. Could be 'cause I'm considered an Oglala by some." He thought a minute longer. "I supply all the whites from here to Salt Lake City. Why would they do something to cut themselves off?"

  "A competitor, then," she suggested. "Someone who wants your customers."

  "Maybe. I wouldn't know who."

  "The man at the trading post. He gave me the willies."

  Cooper shook his head. "Reavis isn't that ambitious."

  Recalling the state of his filthy, disorganized store, she had to agree. "One of your freighters?"

  "I've thought of that, too. But they're all hardworking frontiersmen who have families or need the work because the beaver are trapped out."

  "The freight wagons, the stage, and now your barn," Hallie said, ticking them off. "It's almost personal, don't you think?"

  Her thoughts slid to Wiley, but she didn't say anything aloud. He'd shown up about the time the robberies were going on. Had he and Cooper known one another before? Hallie wasn't egotistical enough to think that he would take revenge because he thought Hallie was attracted to Cooper instead of him. He'd gotten over her quickly enough and already seemed interested in Chumani.

  "You saw the stage robbers," Cooper said, interrupting her thoughts. "Ferlie wasn't much help in describing them."

  "They were men," she said with a shrug. "They wore gloves and hats and their faces were covered with kerchiefs. I really didn't see any of them."

  "There must be something you can remember."

  "I was terrified half out of my wits," she replied. "I didn't take notes."

  Silence stretched among th
e small gathering. The thought of her bracelet surfaced. She would mention it to him when they were alone. She didn't want to put Chumani on the spot; she didn't have anything to do with the robbery.

  Fortunately, Cooper had a ready supply of wood and nails, and repair of the barn was under way by that after­noon. Hallie observed his deliberate and steady pace. Thank goodness whoever had done this hadn't gone after the other building at the same time. They obviously didn't know the value or extent of Cooper's holdings. They had, however, known the importance of his livestock.

  Before they went to supper, she caught him alone at his workbench. "There's something I need to tell you."

  He hung his hammer, weariness evident in his move­ments. "You didn't really know how to ride a horse."

  "No!" She frowned. "Whatever made you think that?"

  He shrugged, exhaustion lining his features. "What, then?"

  "Remember I told you about the stage robbers taking my jewelry?"

  "Yeah."

  "I had a silver filigree bracelet with my initials engraved on it."

  He waited.

  "Chumani wore that bracelet home from the reserva­tion."

  His brows lowered into a thunderous frown. "What are you saying?"

  "I'm not saying anything. I'm just telling you the facts. It was stolen from me that day and now Chumani has it."

  "Why didn't you say anything before?"

  "I didn't see any purpose. I know she's not the one who stole it. I'm sure it was a gift or a trade. It could have changed hands any number of times before she ended up with it."

  Cooper lifted the lid from a pottery jar, dabbed ointment on his palms and rubbed them together with a rasping sound. "All right," he said. "Do you want it back?"

  She shook her head. "The bracelet itself isn't important. It's hers now."

  But at supper he asked Chumani about it. She went to her neat stacks of baskets and rolled furs and returned with the silver bracelet.

  "This is yours?" Cooper asked Hallie, holding it up.

  "It was."

  Chumani met her gaze, her eloquent black eyes question­ing.

  "These letters don't spell anything," Cooper said.

  "They're initials," she explained. "H for Hallie, C for Clair, W for Wainwright."

  "They're all curly."

  "It's script."

  Cooper spoke to Chumani again.

  "She got it from her sister, Standing Deer. Standing Deer got it in trade from Not Help Him for a tin of beans. Before that, who knows?"

  "That's what I figured."

  He turned. "No lessons tonight, Yellow Eagle."

  "Aww!"

  "You had a nap this morning. The rest of us only slept a couple of hours last night. Jack and I are going to take turns getting up and checking all the buildings."

  "I can help!" Yellow Eagle offered, eagerness in his young voice.

  "You can help by doing exactly as your mother says and not going out alone after dark."

  The boy pouted.

  "Maybe Hallie will let you come help her with her work tomorrow," he offered, as though taking pity on the youth's boredom.

  Hallie cocked her head. What would she be doing to­morrow?

  "I have some beaver pelts that need bundling. I'll show you how to do it. You just lay them flat and place them one on top of another in the press. Once they're all stacked, you crank it down and clamp a piece of wire around. It's easy, you'll see."

  "Sounds like I'll need help." She patted Yellow Eagle on the shoulder, still uncertain of her tenuous new accep­tance. He hadn't said anything rude to her since she'd re­ceived her spirit stone.

  Seemingly pleased with the arrangement, the boy wished them good-night.

  "Tell me about Yellow Eagle's father, Cooper," she said on their way to the house.

  "Plenty Wolves was much like Running Elk," he said. "He was a brave warrior, a good husband and proud father. We trapped together every winter." Cooper opened the door and ushered her in.

  They hung up their coats, and Hallie checked the fire in the big room while Cooper laid one in the fireplace in her bedroom. "He was killed during one of our last attempts not to be placed on the reservation. He was taking a message to the army and was shot."

  "That's awful. Do you know who killed him?"

  "I know what killed him. An army rifle."

  Hallie thought back over all the things Yellow Eagle had said to her upon her arrival. His bitterness made perfect sense.

  "It sure changes the perspective to see both sides of a story," Hallie said.

  Cooper studied the way the fire caught highlights in her hair. He'd been unwilling to look at both sides of her story when she'd arrived and set his orderly life akilter. Now that he'd had a deeper look at the woman inside, his perspective had changed, too. "Most people are too narrow-minded to even look at any side but their own," he replied.

  She surprised him at every turn. She wasn't the helpless, dependent lily he'd supposed her. No, she'd proven herself capable, hardworking and equal to any task. Angus's wife, Evelyn, hadn't even tried to make adjustments. Hallie, on the other hand, had learned the life with an almost obsessive drive.

  Part of her being raised with less worth than her brothers, he guessed. He wished he had the right to tell her exactly how beautiful he thought her—and not just on the outside. Her loveliness ran clear through, like the vein in his spirit stone.

  She wouldn't want him to appreciate her just because she was a woman. He could say he admired her strength. He could tell her he considered her smart and gutsy and full of wit. But his heart wouldn't allow him the words. She had a goal, and he'd never known anyone more determined. She would take her stories of her Dakota adventure and sell them back East.

  "Hallie?" he said, before he knew he was going to say it.

  "Yes?"

  She wasn't for him. She had a wealthy family waiting. "I hope your stories bring you everything you want."

  Her smooth forehead puckered into a frown. "Like what?"

  "Your father's approval," he said.

  She blushed. "I'm that obvious, am I?"

  "I've had time to figure it out."

  "I guess you have." She brushed a fold from her skirt. "I hope you get everything you want, too."

  "Like what?"

  "Enough profit to help the Oglala. A wife."

  The word held little appeal, especially coming from her lips. He'd all but changed his mind.

  "You still want one, don't you?"

  He thought of all the lonely winters stretched out ahead of him—the winters after Hallie. But this life wasn't meant for women like her. Refined women grew discontent, mis­erable. He didn't know what desperation had come over him to place that notice. He'd known better. He knew firsthand that love wasn't enough to keep a woman here.

  Love. That must have come from thinking of his parents' troubled relationship. There was no other reason for the word to enter his head.

  He studied the soft, alert smile on her lovely face. She waited for an answer. "I'll be able to read and to figure. If I need a woman I'll probably bring one from the reserva­tion."

  Her expression flattened and she avoided his eyes. "At least you know she'd be grateful to you."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means just what I said. One of those women will be glad to get off the reservation and live here."

  Cooper looked around. Not like her, who saw this house as a pitiful excuse for the luxury she was accustomed to.

  Hallie stood. "I'll see you in the morning."

  He nodded.

  She closed herself in her room, wondering why his de­cision disturbed her so. Her chest ached with an emptiness that swelled and filled her throat. Retrieving a nightgown from her trunk, she sat on the bed's edge and stared into the fire. What unspoken glimmer of an idea had she been harboring? That he would ask her to stay? That he would find he couldn't live without her?

  Hallie buried her face in the folded gown as if sh
e could hide from herself. Ever since that night here—on this bed— he'd found numerous tasks to keep her busy.

  The realization of his purpose pierced her to the quick. She'd thought that counting cigars and tobacco pouches and square-headed nails a trifle unnecessary, but she'd figured he'd had his reasons.

  He had, all right. Just the way her father and brothers had found reasons for the tasks they set her to. He wanted to keep her busy—throw her a bone and distract her from what she really wanted.

  Did he think she really wanted him? Hallie cursed her boldness. She'd asked to touch him, asked him to touch her! She'd thrown herself at him!

  And he'd found things for her to do, distracting her from the physical relationship he thought she wanted. Here, Hal­lie. Keep busy and stay out of my hair until I can get you back on that stage.

  He'd needed her as long as she could teach him and his nephew to read and write. And she'd done that. She'd served her usefulness and was once again a nuisance.

  Well, she'd show him! She didn't need him or his smelly cigars. Angrily she stood and changed clothing, checked the fire then slipped into bed. She was a writer! She had plenty of experiences, stacks of paper and a full bottle of ink. She would write, and to hell with Cooper DeWitt.

  "I'll press your furs because I promised Yellow Eagle he could help," she said the next morning. "But then I would like some time to work on my stories. I realize I owe you room and board. But I need some time for myself, too."

  He'd worked her morning, noon and night, Cooper thought with a pang of guilt. She helped Chumani cook and do laundry. He loaded her down with trivial tasks because he didn't want her bored, and she coached their studies every evening. No wonder she needed some time of her own. "I understand."

  He'd said a few pelts, but actually, it took her and Yellow Eagle a day to press and secure the furs. After that she spent her afternoons in the house.

  For the better part of a week the weather remained mild and Wiley danced attendance on Chumani. Once Cooper's sister-in-law realized Wiley's visits were for her, she obvi­ously enjoyed the attention.

  Cooper made a visit to the reservation, inquiring about the origin of the silver bracelet.

  During his absence Hallie made herself tea and sat before the fire with pen and paper. After a bite of lunch, she visited the privy. Upon her return, she saw that a tall figure waited in the house. Her heart prepared to lift at Cooper's return, but instead plummeted to her feet.