Turner's Woman

by Jenna Kernan

  “Something happened and the baby came early, before we even told our folks. But now our secret was out. I overheard my mother talking to Pa. She said the baby was nearly full grown. You understand? It wasn’t mine.”

  Emma’s eyes rounded. “Why did she tell you that you were the father?”

  “She got in trouble with the Kitson boy and tried to pass his child off on me.”

  Emma’s gasp cut the night. He stared at her in wonder.

  “How could she do such a thing?”

  “Desperation, maybe. Worse part was I told her I found out her game and wouldn’t marry her. First she cried and then—” Jake swallowed the bile that rose in his throat “—she tried to take me to her bed again.”

  Shock echoed in her voice. “No.”

  “She did. But I didn’t fall for that same trap twice. I left that night on a barge and made it to Baltimore. Helen went to my folks and told them the baby had been mime and how I refused to marry her. My pa came after me. When I told him my side, he believed me over her. He gave her folks money and they left town. Then he sent me to school in Pennsylvania.”

  “Wicked woman. You are lucky your father believed you. Mine would not have even given me time to explain.”

  “Anyway, I’m not anxious to settle down.”

  “Very good, Mr. Turner. I heartily agree.”

  She agreed with him? He never expected a woman to approve of his wanderlust. Women were constant and practical and settled. They weren’t supposed to go gallivanting about the West, dodging Indians and mountain lions. And she enjoyed it. If that didn’t beat all. Emma should be sniveling and clinging to him like a frightened child. Instead she seemed to have blossomed in this harsh landscape, like a cactus rose.

  Chapter Nine

  Why had she told him? Emma never spoke about her family to anyone. The topic cut too close to her heart.

  She threw her bedroll beside the fire and plunked upon the coiled blanket. They’d reached the spring. She should be joyful. Instead she brewed like a pot of tea. The horses, poor creatures, drank and drank as if they’d never have their fill. So did she, for that matter.

  Jake shook out a deer hide and fell forward onto his belly. Seconds later he gave a soft snore.

  When she finally told the truth, Jake assumed that she exaggerated, that her father acted in her best interest. She knew better. After Mother left, Emma took her place, doing his bidding and receiving his derision. But she was stronger than her mother. She had lasted thirteen years.

  She could marry to escape him. But would she? Her mother and father had shown her the misery of a bad marriage. As a wife she’d be powerless, depending solely on her husband. Through marriage she would only switch one master for another. Her father told her repeatedly that no man would want her, when the truth was she wanted no man.

  When she asked Jake if he planned to stay in the West he cast her a look of suspicion. A chill rolled down her spine as she recalled his admissions about Helen. He had good reason to be gun-shy of women. Now she understood why he raised his guard against her as if she meant to hog-tie him in marriage. He had nothing to fear on that account. She’d sooner swallow her tongue than say a wedding vow.

  The night perched at the brink of morning, relinquishing its grip by slow degrees. His shadowy outline became more distinct by the minute as he slept.

  He was just like her father, or he would be if she were ever stupid enough to give him total control over her. She sniffed. That day would never come. One overbearing male in her life was quite enough.

  At last she lay upon her skin to rest until he roused her. They left the spring and headed away from the sixty-mile desert. That’s what he called it, for the distance they traveled from the river to the spring. He paused at noon to take more measurements. In all this time, he had never trapped a single animal, only shooting what they needed for food. Scouting he said, but for what and for whom? At first she thought one of the larger trapping outfits sponsored him to find new prospects as the beaver east of the Rockies dwindled. But now she wondered. Trappers did not care about latitudes.

  That night he found no shelter, so they camped on the prairie grass, with the horses and mule staked on leads nearby. A shower of sparks from the fire lifted toward the heavens, briefly sending up a glowing spray of orange beneath a million stars. Far off, a coyote called, but there was no answering cry and only the insects broke the night’s stillness.

  “This is a lonesome place,” said Emma.

  His familiar voice calmed her soul. “Not much water, grass is spotty. No elk or moose or buffalo, so no wolves or grizzly. Hell, I haven’t even seen a jackrabbit.”

  She wiggled closer to him. He did not send her away and she stopped before her leg touched his.

  “We need some game. Dried meat is nearly finished.”

  She admired his stillness against the night. After a long silence he rose and retrieved his stargazing instrument. She scowled at the thing.

  In the morning she saw a scrawny rabbit and soon after a lone coyote loped along a ridge. When he sighted them, he disappeared behind the knoll. Soon after, Jake stopped and made his calculations. Emma could no longer contain her resentment, when he returned carrying his chronometer mounted in a padded box.

  “When are you going to tell me why you are out here?”

  “That’s none of your affair.”

  She blinked, her expression unchanged. “So you have said, but when we reach a Mexican settlement, I would think they might have some questions.”

  “I’ll handle that.” He shoved his journal in his saddlebag with more force than necessary.

  “Of course, but did it occur to you that they might question me, as well?”

  His posture went rigid and his gaze turned cold. She tried to control herself, but her heart leaped as if she needed to run. She kept her seat as he strode the three paces that separated them, swallowing her fear before continuing.

  “And if they do, did it further occur to you that my story and yours might not be in complete alignment?”

  He stared up at her as she watched his nostrils flare. He was angry, no doubt about it. Surely he’d shout at her now. What if he ordered her away? A gripping panic seized her and suddenly she could not catch her breath.

  “All right. We’ll talk when we make camp.”

  Emma’s breath came back in a rush. Had she won? She had—he’d agreed to tell her something. She blinked at him as he mounted, still amazed that she had stood her ground and won. It wasn’t until much later, she realized she was smiling.

  Jake shot a small antelope late in the afternoon and busied himself with skinning and trimming the creature. Emma’s pleasure faded as she considered all the possibilities that might bring a man alone into the wilderness. Whatever he was about, it was dangerous.

  They camped against a wall of sheer rock. Emma unpacked the horses and mule while Jake prepared the fire and set the two flanks of the antelope to roast on a spit. Throughout the preparation and the meal, Jake cast her glances as if she had grown a second head. At last he finished his enormous portion and eased back, then he rubbed his hands together as he regarded her with a twinkling bright gaze. She held her breath in anticipation waiting.

  “I thought by not involving you, I might protect you, also I’m under orders to maintain secrecy. But you are involved, willing or not, and your ignorance puts us at risk.”

  “Ignorance of what?”

  “I’m a spy.”

  The air rushed from her lungs. He could not have surprised her more thoroughly if he had told her he had been raised by wolves.

  “A what?”

  “Well, I suppose I am not officially a spy until we enter Mexican territory, after we cross the Sierra Nevada. Until then, I’m just a cartographer and surveyor.”

  “I knew you made maps.”

  “Trouble is the Spanish cannot know. They must think I am a hunter, like Jed Smith. They were mighty ticklish at him popping up in their territory last year. Unti
l then, they felt secure in their knowledge that the overland route was impossible.”

  “For whom are you spying?” She found herself leaning so far forward her face grew hot from the nearness to the fire.

  “The president.”

  “President of what?” She stared in confusion and then a thought dawned. Oh, no—not the president. “Not of the United States!”

  He nodded and her mouth went dry. Who was this stranger before her? This man, she thought she knew, but did not. She didn’t know anything.

  “I’m to categorize flora and fauna, as well, though that’s your job now. I can’t render creatures.”

  Emma thought of all the sketches of badgers, prairie dogs, marmots and antelope she had created since he’d handed over that journal to her. Her eyes widened and her voice escaped in a squeak. “I’m a spy, too.”

  His laugh did not reassure her. “No, but traveling with one is nearly the same. If they discover my purpose, they’ll hang me.”

  Her stomach dropped several inches as this thought landed in her belly like a blacksmith’s anvil.

  “Oh, no.”

  His easy smile did not seem the expression of a man facing the noose.

  “Why did you tell me?”

  “You’ve earned it.” Jake drew out his journal and held it between his two large hands, making a human binder for his precious pages. “The information in this log will open the West. Jackson wants California. I mean to give it to him.”

  The world seemed to be tilting badly beneath her. Emma rocked back, bracing herself against the solid stone behind her. Jake was not a hunter or trapper or even a scout. She knew he’d been charting a course. The truth had been obvious, even to her inexperienced eyes. But never had she for one instant thought that this man, whom she had believed to be a trapper of some sort, was an agent of the President of the United States.

  Considering him with emerging awe, she wondered why she had not. He could read, map, cipher, scout and spoke more dialects than she could count on both hands. The man was supremely suited to this exact mission, as if he’d been born for it.

  “Stop looking at me as if I sprouted wings.”

  She realized then, that her mouth hung open. With effort, she drew herself together and attempted to put her thoughts to words.

  “But you have. I don’t know you.”

  He chuckled at that. “How does anyone know anyone? I thought I knew your father. Now, I wonder.”

  She considered this. Public lives, private lives—secrets and truths.

  “Why tell me now?”

  “You’ve nearly got it figured, anyway, and I trust you.”

  His words brought a strange aching pride to her. No one ever trusted her with anything more important than fetching water. “I’m honored.”

  “Don’t be. I’ve put you in danger. If I could think of a single way to keep you clear of this entire business, I’d jump on it like a grizzly on a newborn elk.”

  She lowered her head. “I wasn’t part of the plan.”

  “Nope.”

  Emma lifted her gaze to meet his as comprehension dawned. He could have left her with the Crow, should have, in fact. Her life was not as important as this task he undertook. Her presence jeopardized his mission. Suddenly she understood the surliness, the resentment. He didn’t hate her. He protected her, adopted her and took her along even when doing so slowed him down. What would her father have done in a similar situation? The answer came immediately, sending a shiver of certainty down her spine. He would have left her behind.

  But not Jake.

  He could have left her in the mountains or in the desert. Instead, he’d done his best for her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  His smile never touched the sorrow in his eyes. “Don’t know why—wasn’t your doing to cross that burial ground. Never thought to admit it, but I’ve enjoyed your company. But we’re near Mexican Territory now. I’ve been puzzling over what to do next. I had a story figured. I’m not sure the Spanish will believe it now.”

  “What were you going to tell them?” She drew up her knees and rested her chin on her palm as she studied him. He impressed her the first time she’d laid eyes on him. But now—the man risked his life for his country. He went alone into the wilderness to blaze a trail for others. How she admired him.

  “I’m the lone survivor of an attack by the Mojave Indians. The rest of my party was killed. I lost everything, but my horse and mule. With certain death behind me and possible death ahead, I chose the desert. I recalled that Jed Smith made it across, so I figured I’d try.”

  “Sounds convincing. But now you have me.”

  “Yeah. Trappers don’t travel with women. Another thing you should know. I’m following Jed Smith’s footsteps, after a fashion. We’re on a different path, but it leads to the same place. You, on the other hand, are going where no other of your gender has ever been. To my knowledge, no white woman ever crossed the divide. Certainly none has ever crossed that desert.”

  He let that sink in. A glowing pride kindled by his words rose within her. Despite the weeks of deprivation, she felt stronger than ever in her life. What she did now held importance beyond herself.

  “Trouble is this mission is so secret that if we do make it home, no one must ever know. There will be no parade waiting for us, like for Lewis and Clark. You understand, Emma? You’ll have to live your life without telling a soul of what you accomplished.”

  Her first thought was that no one would ever believe her. Her second? Neither one of them would survive, so it would not matter. But what if they did? Could she keep her silence? Her answer came with certainty.

  “If I live through this, I most assuredly can hold my tongue.”

  His eyes held doubt. “Women are not known for that particular quality.”

  “Nor are men known for sacrificing duty for compassion. But here I sit as living proof that a man can live counter to his nature.”

  “You’re a most unusual woman, Emma. You know that?”

  She waved a hand at him, brushing away the compliment like bread crumbs from her table. “How will you explain your equipment?”

  “Most trappers carry a spyglass.”

  “The Spanish would recognize the instruments of mapmaking.”

  “I’ll stow some in a dry spot, but the rest—I need some of my equipment to finish the map.”

  Emma nodded. “Is there anything else that might give you away?”

  “Other than you?”

  She recognized the teasing tone, but his words were true. They cut into her heart. “I do not want to put you at risk. Perhaps you can stow me, as well.”

  His eyebrows shot up and she recognized that this was one possibility he had not considered. She waited in silence as a mantle of cold dread fell over her shoulders. How the thought of abandonment terrorized her. But she would not beg to be dragged along. She could do this small thing to help him succeed. A quick shake of his head decided the matter.

  Her insides went liquid from the tiny gesture. She was glad she was not standing, for certainly her knees would have buckled.

  “We’ll stay together, but everything that could be associated with the army will be destroyed.”

  Her coat. She fingered the dark wool, buttons flashing in the firelight as comprehension dawned. Any hint of a military operation would be the kiss of death.

  “Of course.”

  “Everything.”

  “I understand. You can search all my gear. I’ll burn it all.”

  “Not just your gear, Emma.”

  She stared at him, wondering why his mouth now looked so grim. He glanced over her shoulder at the horses and a lightning bolt of understanding struck. Tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Not Scout,” she cried. She stumbled the distance toward her trusted friend. She’d rescued him from slaughter at Fort Leavenworth and secured the commander’s permission to care for him. She was the only one who could manage him which was why he’d been deemed expendable, unwor
thy even to carry gear. In all the bitterness and despair that was her life, Scout gave her a place to pour her heart’s sorrow. The troubles that she’d never told a soul were whispered into his cavernous ears. Those ears pricked as if aware she had something important to say. She turned to Jake who stood beside the creature’s hindquarters. Her hand rested on the soft velvet of his powerful neck. “Please, not Scout.”

  Jake ran a hand over the horse’s flank pausing at the deep scar on his rump. “He’s branded.”

  “We could brand him again, to cover it.”

  He shook his head. “Too risky. A sharp eye would notice a double brand.”

  Emma’s gaze fixed on the dark scar tissue forming the bold block letters, U.S. There would be no explaining away a horse branded by the United States cavalry and no alternative other than to turn back and keep her horse. She swallowed the lump that occluded her throat.

  Jake rested a hand on her shoulder. She curled against him, blinking away the hot splash of tears. One strong arm cradled her shoulders, but he did not draw her in. She felt a new tension in him now. He seemed reluctant to comfort her. If she were to help him, she must be stronger than this. She bit her lip and drew several rapid breaths in a supreme effort to gather her emotions before stepping away. She nodded her head in acceptance. He would shoot her horse.

  Jake lifted his hat and scratched his head, considering. “Maybe I’ll just drive him off.”

  Relief washed through her.

  “Once we get out of this useless territory, we’ll go through your kit. As for right now, I want to get to and over those mountains.”

  “You talk as if you can see them.” Emma gazed west into the darkness.

  “I feel like I can. You’ll see them, too, tomorrow.”

  He was right, as usual. By late morning the blue outline came into view, creeping up the horizon as they journeyed west. The following day, she made out the snowcaps and uncertainty gnawed at her. At last, she could stand it no longer.

  “There’s snow already,” she said, trying to sound very rational.

  “High up the ice never melts away. You’re looking at last year’s snowfall. It’s packed down so tight you could drive a team of oxen over the ice. The new snow is what’s treacherous. When it comes, it falls fast and furious. A man could get trapped up there under maybe twenty feet of snow. Just buried alive.”