Turner's Woman

by Jenna Kernan

  Her eyelids drooped and she surrendered to her resolve to slumber. In the deep of the night she heard the wolves call. Their echoing cries brought her shivering awake. She clutched the blanket and stared past the dull glow of the dying embers into the blackness of the cloudy night. The urge to crawl to Jake’s side came again, stronger this time, with the need for protection from the night’s predators. She held herself apart, stubbornly refusing to move in his direction. She trembled in the rough wool of her blanket cradling her holstered pistol to her bosom. Freedom required sacrifice.

  She slept fitfully. At long last birdcall signaled the dawn and she crawled out of bed, stretching. Jake fried the antelope’s liver for breakfast as Emma saddled Scout and packed the horse and mule. They spent the morning riding in a wide loop around the valley at the base of the eastern cliffs. There seemed no way down other than the route Jake found on the southern edge. He took readings at noon showing Emma how to use the compass. Later, he let Emma ride point and navigate their return to camp.

  “I love this valley,” she said.

  “This is still mountain country, high up. Inhospitable come winter, but my, it’s a sight now.”

  “I’d put a cabin right over there.” She pointed to a spot beside the stream on the low ground.

  His smile disappeared. “I just told you. Come winter this valley will be snow up to here.” He lifted his hand over his head. “And come spring the rising water would sweep your cabin into the river. Why are women always chattering about building cabins, anyway?”

  It was the first time she’d mentioned it. The first time she’d ever found a place in which she longed to linger. She didn’t understand his quicksilver moods. Men always complained that women were moody. But here they were enjoying the day one minute and now he looked positively peeved.

  “I like it here.”

  “Well I’m not building you a cabin, if that’s what you’re asking.” He scowled at her as if she would challenge him. A menacing smile twisted his lips. “Actually, I should build you one and leave you to it. See how you like it when you can’t open your cabin door because of the snow.”

  “Make the door open in and I shall be able to open it regardless of the weather.” Drat the man. He acted like a child.

  He shook his head in disgust. “Women,” he muttered, drawing Duchess to a walk.

  “Men,” she echoed. This brought his head around and he gave her an irritated scowl.

  “What’s that?”

  “I was just saying I like this valley. I didn’t ask you to build me a cabin or stay here with me. I don’t want you to stay with me.”

  “Why not?” Now his expression held a touch of indignation. So he didn’t want to stay here, but he also didn’t want her not to want him to.

  “I’m not linking up with a man.”

  “Looks like you already have.”

  “Not permanently. When I can get a chance, I most certainly plan to get clear of you.”

  Now he stopped his horse. “That’s ridiculous. First, you have no place to go and, second, all women want a permanent arrangement with a man.”

  He was as irritating as sand in her boot. “Says who?”

  “I do. Women want houses and children and husbands, but not in that order.”

  “All women?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  “And what do men want?”

  “Peace and quiet.”

  “Well Mr. Turner, I am sad to say you are misinformed. This woman, for example, most certainly does not want marriage. In fact, I am heartily opposed to an institution that makes a woman no better than a slave—worse, in fact, for she has no hope of emancipation, save death.”

  “What are you on about?”

  “Marriage. A way for a man to get a woman to pick up after him, clean his clothes, feed him and raise his children, while he enjoys his peace and quiet. A situation to be avoided at all costs.”

  He looked at her as if she were mad. But now she felt sane and strong and angry. He’d started this one, but she was more than ready to finish it. The blood coursed through her making her ears pound. She felt ready to strike him; he upset her so.

  “That’s ridiculous. All women want—”

  “Not this one! This one watched her mother’s marriage most closely and I will never, ever marry.”

  He straightened in his saddle as if unsure how to proceed against her vehemence.

  “You just haven’t met the right man. Sooner or later you’ll want to hog-tie some beau.”

  “I perceive it rather the other way around and plan to avoid the noose.”

  “So you don’t plan to marry.”

  “Now you begin to hear me.”

  “Ever.”

  “Correct.”

  “What about children?”

  “What about them?”

  “Don’t you want children?”

  She hesitated only long enough to make a face. “No.”

  “That’s unnatural.”

  “Do you want them?”

  “I’m a man,” he said.

  “I realize that. Answer the question.”

  “Maybe a son.” He considered her. “What will you do then?”

  “I only know what I won’t do. I won’t marry and I won’t return to my father. The rest is uncertain.”

  “Most things are.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Jake didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand her. He thought last night would be easier, with Emma sleeping on the other side of the fire. But now he missed her.

  He pictured her by the waterfall and shook his head in dismay, admitting he would rather face a grizzly than Emma with her hair down. The sight made all his high ideals dissolve like lard in a hot skillet. All he could think of was kissing her and she seemed agreeable. Then she’d rejected him. He couldn’t believe it. Never had a woman declined his advances. Most women threw themselves at him. But not his little Emma. Oh, no. She didn’t want a man or marriage. Ridiculous. If he could only figure out why she’d said those outlandish things, he could understand her game.

  And he was certain she played some game. Maybe it was hard to get, making him chase her. Well, he wouldn’t, because if he caught her, he would love her and then everything would be ruined. So why was it all he could think about?

  He spotted the herd of elk grazing by the meadow and slid from his mount. Behind him Emma did the same, without him uttering a word. He secured the horses and crept to the edge of the pines. A moment later, Emma lay on her belly beside him, taking aim.

  This didn’t look like the same woman who had gripped her tattered blanket against the cries of wolves. Last night she had trembled, her eyes flashing as she searched the menacing darkness. He’d been smug with confidence that she would come to him. But she hadn’t.

  She’d stuck it out in her thin wool blanket and in the morning told him she didn’t want him. Well, he didn’t want her, either.

  But he did. Damn those traders for crossing sacred ground.

  “Which one you aiming at?” he whispered.

  “On the left, with the rack.”

  “Fine. On three, then.” He counted down and squeezed the trigger, his shot coming with Emma’s. His elk reared up and then fell hard on his side. Her target looked about a moment then sunk to his knees as blood poured from his nose. The herd sprang to motion at the gunshots and dashed away.

  He stood. “Good shot! We’ll be restocked inside a week.”

  “So soon?”

  He was unprepared for the sorrow reflected in her eyes.

  “I need to make you buckskin trappings. That will take some time.”

  Even her smile was sad.

  “Time to destroy my army gear?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Even my saddle?”

  “Eventually.”

  After skinning and butchering the elk, he guided them to camp and set about the process of smoking the thin strips of meat for travel. Finally, the fire did its w
ork and he sat back.

  “Lay out your gear so I can go over it,” he said.

  He proceeded to take the sheath for her knife, the holster for her pistol, jacket, boots, belt buckle, saddle blanket, cooking kit and hat.

  “I need my hat,” she protested.

  “I’ll make you one.” He considered her long, dirty skirt.

  “What about that?” he asked.

  “What about it?”

  “It’s the same color as a soldier’s trousers.”

  She lifted her chin, her gaze turning defiant. “I’ll have you know I purchased this fabric in a mercantile in St. Louis.”

  “What’s beneath the skirt?”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “That is none of your affair.”

  He lowered his chin. “It is if there is anything army issue under there?”

  “Do you think they branded me like a horse?”

  He smiled. “A bit of that lion did rub off on you.”

  She faltered at the compliment.

  “All right then,” he said. “I’ll take your say-so.”

  She inched toward her horse and her eyes misted. His ribs seemed to constrict his breathing as he watched her with her damn horse. He stifled a curse.

  “Scout?”

  “Soon.”

  The afternoon was spent smoking meat and preparing the hides. In the days that followed, they hunted together. The valley teemed with game: elk, deer, antelope and moose. He never saw the wolves, but the evidence of their scavenging on his kills was clear enough. Denuded trees told him there were grizzly about, but so far he’d avoided them.

  Emma learned to use his compass to navigate and at night he even taught her how to use his sextant to measure the angle of Polaris. She learned to fashion moccasins and smoke the buckskin to make it water resistant. Gradually the green hides changed from bone-white to golden-brown and were ready for fixing. She knew how to sew and had a simple shirt finished in no time. He made himself a new pair of breeches and shirt, happy to discard the old. On the fifth day, they found a small herd of buffalo. He shot a mother and yearling calf, sure that would be enough to make a sleeping robe and a new coat for Emma.

  He replaced her saddle blanket with a thick sheepskin. She said Scout would prefer that to the coarse woolen one he wore each day. Next he created new leather reins for her bridle.

  They were nearly ready.

  Emma looked fine dressed in her new buckskin shirt. He’d given her trade beads and showed her how to thread them through the fringe. They flashed in the sun, red and blue.

  He burned her army coat and buried the buttons, then turned to assess her transformation. Emma stood before him dressed in an ankle-length elk-skin skirt and matching fringed shirt. The strap of her new pouch and the cord of her powder horn crisscrossed between her full breasts. He admired the fringed holster he’d created for her pistol and the little pouches for her other necessaries hanging from her new belt.

  “You look like a mountain man’s woman.”

  She scowled.

  “I’m not your woman.”

  He scratched his chin. “Suit yourself.”

  Jake turned to the clean tanned hide of elk. He’d prepared this skin with great care, scraping the leather very thin. He crushed ash from the fire and mixed it with a powder made from ground elk’s hooves and then added water to make a kind of rough ink. He dipped the nib of his pen into the brew and began to copy at one end. Emma sat beside him sewing her buffalo coat. He was working on the Great Salt Lake, when she glanced up.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “I’m copying my map.”

  She leaned forward to study the work as he flipped to the page in his journal recording the desert.

  “It’s very good. But why do you need it?”

  “In case the Spanish find the journal.”

  Her eyes grew cautious and she sat in silence for a time. At last she could no longer contain her uneasiness. “That will be easier to find than the journal.”

  “Not when I’m finished with it.” He focused on the work and Emma returned to lacing the great coat, but she came back to stand beside the skin several times throughout the afternoon. Once he finished he trimmed the hide and doubled the thickness, then used his awl to punch holes for the tethers.

  “A bag?” she asked.

  He held the leather as he would carry it.

  “Very clever. You can’t see the map unless you deconstruct the bag.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  The next day he made a paper copy and stored it in the hollow stock of his gun. When he locked the secret compartment he found Emma’s gaze upon him once more.

  “What about your journal?”

  “I’ll hide that in my saddle.”

  “The sextant and clock?”

  “I have to bury the chronometer, but I can store the sextant in the stock, as well.”

  Emma’s eyes held all the apprehension she did not voice.

  “Well?” he asked at last.

  “What if they find it?”

  Emma dawdled over packing. “I was thinking about Scout. Wouldn’t this be a wonderful place to leave him?”

  He shook his head. “Without other horses, he’d be easy prey for wolves. Plus, this valley is buried in snow most of the winter. He’d starve to death. Better to wait until we are out of these mountains. We’ll trade him to the first Indians we see.”

  She gazed out at the yellow grass as if struggling to picture this place blanketed in snow.

  “I’m worried about him.”

  And so she should be.

  “Why’s that?” He kept his tone casual.

  “He won’t let anyone ride him but me. Who would buy him?”

  Jake smiled at this. “Oh, come now.”

  “Truly. He threw the sergeant at arms and the smithy and even the bronc buster. That’s why they gelded him, but it made no difference. If anything, it made him worse.”

  “I’d feel the same way about it myself,” he muttered.

  “What?” she said.

  He turned to face her. “He won’t throw me.”

  Her expression carried doubt. “I think you should trust me on this.”

  “I can handle him.”

  He held his hand out for the reins. She tried to speak again, but he raised his hand.

  “Let me take him for a ride.”

  Her eyes widened. “He doesn’t like men and no woman but me has ever dared to mount up.”

  He extended his hand. She hesitated and then laid the reins in his palm. She pushed the lion head off her own and moved away. He turned his attention to Scout and smiled. He knew how women exaggerated such things.

  As he placed one foot in the stirrup, Scout’s head swung about. He whacked him with his hat and the gelding’s head veered forward once more. Show him who is boss, he thought, gathering the reins tight, so the horse could not lower his head and buck. Then he transferred his weight to the stirrup. He got one foot halfway over the saddle before Scout erupted into wild crow hopping. Jake grabbed the saddle horn, but lost one rein in the process. That was all the leeway the big animal needed. His head dropped and his hind feet lashed the air. Twisting and bucking, Scout careened toward the rock. Jake leaned away to keep from colliding with the stone face, thus losing his center. One more buck and he sailed up and over the horse’s neck. He landed heavily on his side, lifting a cloud of dust.

  Scout trotted toward his mistress who gathered his reins.

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  “If it makes you feel any better, you lasted longer than any of the others.”

  Jake rubbed his bruised shoulder. “It doesn’t.”

  “You see the problem?”

  He thought the gelding might make good eating, once he fattened up a bit, but he kept his opinion to himself.

  “That is one ill-mannered creature.”

  She stroked Scout’s muzzle and whispered into his ears. Jake scratched his head. He could swear the animal und
erstood what she was saying.

  Recovering his hat, but not his dignity, he headed over to where she stood between him and the brute. The picture she made standing before the huge chestnut as if her skirts might protect the creature from his retribution, made him laugh.

  “I’m not going to shoot him.”

  She sighed, obviously relieved.

  “Yet,” he added.

  Her look told him she was uncertain if he jested and in truth, he did not know himself. Now he had two good reasons to dispose of the animal, their safety and his pride.

  “Come on,” he said. “We’re burning daylight.”

  As they climbed the western slope, he felt a tug of regret. The valley held a certain majesty and made a natural place to rest a train of wagons. The plentiful game, water and lumber made it ideal, but Jake’s reluctance was not practical. It was sentimental. Here the waterfalls fell from the sky down granite cliffs high enough to brush the clouds. Here he and Emma hunted and talked and tanned leather. He wondered if he’d ever capture such a time of peace again?

  The journey from the foothills took three more hard days travel. Jake picked the route and carefully noted it in his journal. At last the craggy hills dissolved into rolling lowlands. Duchess halted and tried to eat, but he steered her along the rock until he found a stream. Here he drew up.

  The time of meeting grew near. He needed to dispose of Scout and her army saddle.

  After the camp was set up and a fire prepared, they sat together enjoying the last of the turkey Emma had bagged the day before. Jake waited until she finished before beginning the matter at hand.

  “We might see Indians tomorrow and soon we will be on land owned by the Spanish missionaries.”

  Emma’s expression turned solemn. “We’re close, then.”

  “Three or four days at most.”

  “Will you try to go unnoticed?” Her tone sounded hopeful.

  “If I am caught sneaking around there will be no doubt as to my purpose. Better to approach the government officials and petition for assistance. We have to get our stories aligned exactly in case we are questioned separately.”

  She stared a long moment into the fire. “Funny, but for a time there, I nearly forgot why you came. The journey began to seem like a grand adventure.”