Turner's Woman

by Jenna Kernan

  “What do you mean? There is nothing wrong with his mind.”

  MacInnes snorted and ducked out of the lodge. Emma did not understand why a cold sweat broke out upon her forehead.

  “Jake, did you hear him?”

  Jake extended the empty bowl to her. “That was good.”

  After his meal, he slept again. She watched over him, waiting for him to wake. To fill the time she worked tanned buckskin into a shirt to replace Jake’s ruined one. She could not look at the bloodstains or repair the damage done when the garment was cut away. Sparrow helped her cut the leather and bore the holes for lacing. Rain fell on the cabin roof. MacInnes reappeared, shook off the water and sat beside the fire smoking a pipe. Talks to Wind arrived and began grinding dried roots into powder beside the fire.

  Finally Jake stirred. Emma stroked his head.

  His eyes opened and his smile reassured. Then he glanced around and started up to his elbows.

  “Where the hell am I?”

  “What?”

  “Where’s Nikki?”

  “Nikki? We escaped him.”

  “Then whose cabin is this?”

  “I don’t know. It belongs to the Indians.”

  “What Indians?”

  MacInnes stepped forward and gave her a hard stare. “I told you the tea clouds the mind.” Then he turned to Jake. “I’m Alexander MacInnes from Fort Vancouver. You were injured in a knife fight.”

  “I remember.”

  “But not what came after. This woman was discovered in the woods above this village with you. Your wound was putrid and your fever high. This man is Talks to Wind.” He motioned behind him at the medicine man.

  Emma’s stomach knotted, as understanding seeped into her mind. No, it couldn’t be.

  “He cared for your injury. You were unconscious for several days. When the fever broke he gave you a healing medicine. As you see, the wound is better.”

  Jake glanced at his shoulder and his eyes widened to see the wound closed. “Why don’t I remember?”

  “The medicine affects the mind—temporarily.”

  Confusion filled his eyes and he turned to Emma. “How long?”

  She could barely draw a breath. He didn’t remember, them, last night. All gone.

  Jake turned to MacInnes. “How long?”

  “A month.”

  Jake gaped at him. “What’s the date?”

  “January first, eighteen thirty-one.”

  He fell back to the bed. “My God.”

  Emma swallowed the lump in her throat. Her voice squeaked when she finally found it.

  “I’ve been so worried.” She gripped his hand. He didn’t pull away.

  “How did we get out of the camp? How did we do it? The last thing I remember is getting on Duchess. A month. It can’t be.”

  Emma cried for the loss. He did not love her or if he did, he did not remember their night of loving.

  Jake rubbed his ear absently as he studied her.

  “It’s all right, Em. I’m well again.”

  All she could do was nod stupidly as her heart broke in two. Nothing had changed, except now she knew she loved him with the shattered remains of her beating heart.

  Did she regret giving herself to him?

  No—only that he did not remember.

  He stared at his wound, taking in the puckering red scar that sliced along his collarbone. With one finger he traced the track left by the Russian.

  Then his gaze locked on hers. “How did we get out?”

  “The fog. It was so thick they couldn’t find us. You got on your horse and…”

  “You led us to safety.”

  She nodded.

  He took her hand. “Amazing.”

  “These people—they treated you. The wound festered and your fever was so high. They saved your life.”

  MacInnes stood behind her. She cast him a look.

  “I think it’s time for our patient to be up and about.”

  Jake nodded. Upon sitting, however he swayed dangerously. After some moments he rose and walked. He wanted to leave immediately, but recognized his weakness.

  It took three days for Jake to recover enough to ride. Then he thanked his hosts and left them with knife blades, ribbon and beads. Trading with the British made these things more common, but they were gracious in acceptance.

  He bartered for dried fish for their journey. Emma helped him pack their belongings. She stood beside MacInnes, a short distance from Jake.

  He rested a hand upon her shoulder. “I know you love this man, but he does not seem to feel the same.”

  Emma swallowed her grief. “There is nothing more common than that.”

  “True, because I love you.”

  She felt she must deny his feelings, but realized she could not.

  “So you must ask yourself if it is better to journey with a man you love who does not love you or stay with a man who does. Perhaps in time you might love me, too.”

  “You and I share the same lot. I am sorry for us both.” She kissed his cheek and mounted Scout. When she lifted her head she found disapproval in Jake’s gaze.

  “Let’s ride,” he said.

  He seemed annoyed with her and did not speak again until that evening.

  “What exactly went on between you and that Scot?”

  “Nothing.” She could not keep the sorrow from her voice.

  “Didn’t look like nothing. He make advances?”

  “Yes.”

  Jake’s face turned red. “I knew it.”

  “He asked me to stay with him.”

  That stopped him. His mouth gaped and he blinked for a moment.

  “Can you remember any of it?” she asked, desperate to know.

  “My recovery? No. It’s like a dream. You can almost remember before it fades.”

  She lowered her gaze to the flames.

  The irritation faded from his voice. “You wish you stayed?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak.

  The fire crackled as the silence stretched on. That night they slept on opposite sides of the fire.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  They crossed the Sierras and the rolling grasslands beyond. Emma wondered what her mother would say about her daughter’s adventures? In her mother’s condition it was doubtful she would even understand Emma’s predicament. Their last conversation had been so bizarre. Her voice came again, urgent, secretive and hoarse from the shouting.

  “For you, for you…” said her mother.

  Her mother had pressed the gold earrings and necklace into her hand. Emma had stared down at the glinting metal. That was the last time they had spoken. Shortly afterward, her father had discovered her playing with the treasures and taken them.

  Her mother had been a wealthy woman, disowned when she married beneath her. Now in her madness she had no one but her husband.

  How similar their situations.

  Emma had no one.

  She did not know what to do. But she must tell Jake. Even if he thought her a loose woman or her actions some kind of plot designed to trap him, they were not.

  Something was wrong with Emma. Jake pondered what had changed. It must be that damn Scot. Since leaving the Pacific Indians, she’d grown silent as a ghost and had thrown up several times.

  They’d crossed out of California, stopping only to recover his chronometer and struggled over a new pass in the Sierra Nevada in early March. Everything went well so he could not explain the gnawing uncertainty that filled his belly.

  He also couldn’t explain the dreams.

  At first he’d thought them just some fantasy, Emma naked beside him, whispering she loved him. Holding her, loving her. But then he remembered the Indian woman, the wife of the medicine man, changing his poultices. Other details that he could not know emerged like bubbles from dark water and he began to wonder if these were not dreams, but lost memories.

  The idea filled his veins with ice chips. Could he have loved Emma in his condition? He
didn’t know, but as more and more images flooded his mind he could not dismiss them any longer.

  You need to focus on this damn desert. Remember the last time.

  This time he guided them north of their original passage. They’d left a spring three days ago and found more water yesterday. Holes in the surface revealed a stream running beneath the rock. He’d used ropes to lower his pot and fill his skins. The water was sweet, better than what he carried.

  No sign of water today and he concluded that they would find none until they reached the Great Salt Lake. Emma threw up again this morning.

  He wondered if her mood made her sick. She grew pale. Porridge seemed the only thing she held down. Odd that she could not tolerate the sight of raw meat.

  When he asked her about it, she said it would pass in time. Could this be some female disorder?

  That thought sent a chill down his spine.

  What if she—she was… My God, it happened again? Could he possibly have been stupid enough to get a woman with child?

  No. He had not. He glanced at Emma and found her gazing dully at the horse’s mane. She could have orchestrated this, just like the other one. But then why not tell him?

  This was Emma, not Helen. She told him she did not want to marry.

  “I love you.” Her words came to him from somewhere in his mind.

  Just like Helen.

  That evening he threw the supplies into a pile with more force than necessary. Emma stood watching with cautious eyes.

  He made no fire, preferring the light of the orange moon rising full above them, as it cast no heat. He offered her the dried elk and water and she ate in silence.

  Jake watched her, glancing at her middle on occasion. If she did carry his child, why didn’t she say so?

  Why didn’t she say?

  Emma woke and lay completely still. She knew from experience that once she moved, she would likely be sick.

  Eventually the pressure of her bladder forced the decision and she sat up, waiting for the wave of nausea that preceded her losing the contents of her stomach.

  It never came. She swallowed tentatively. For six weeks she had carried this child. Perhaps her body now grew accustomed to the task. Rising with caution, she felt no worse. She sighed in relief as she made her way behind the rocks for a little privacy.

  When she returned, Jake faced her, hands on hips as if fixing for a fight.

  “Not sick today?”

  She shook her head; a tingle of apprehension crawled up her neck. She wiped her palms on her leather skirt.

  “There something you want to tell me?”

  She stared at his rigid expression and resentment simmering in his eyes like boiling water. Not like this, she thought. She’d been waiting for the right time and place. It never came.

  Now he demanded answers. She breathed deep gathering her courage as a feeling of defeat pressed down upon her.

  “You slept with me. Didn’t you?” The accusation was evident in his voice.

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  He dared her to say it, to verify that she wanted to tear off his wings and close him in a jar.

  “Because I love you.”

  Confusion rippled over his face then it settled into granite again.

  She pressed on. “That night you told me you loved me, as well.”

  “I was out of my head!”

  “I didn’t know that until afterward.”

  He threw up his hands and turned away, then rounded on her again.

  “You with child?”

  She nodded.

  “God damn it!” He slapped his hat against his leg.

  Her head sunk. “I never meant for this to happen.”

  “I told you, we needed to take precautions. But you still grabbed the first chance to slip into my bed.”

  “That’s not what happened.” The defeat vanished, replaced with white-hot anger, like the fog dissolving in the brightness of the sun.

  She raised her chin in defiance.

  Why did he admire her, even now? He did love her, though he never meant to tell her so. He even thought they might come to some arrangement, perhaps continue on as they were, traveling, exploring the West and each other.

  But a child…

  He couldn’t. They couldn’t. A child needed a home, a place, one place. His stomach constricted, slowly turning to stone. The air pressed from his lungs. He couldn’t do it. He’d lose Emma and the child. My God, why did he have to choose his freedom or her? Fear swallowed him whole. In desperation he lashed out.

  “I’ll not marry you.”

  Her eyes narrowed and he felt hunted.

  “Have I asked you to? I am not Helen. My entire purpose in life is not to see you hamstrung. I shared your bed because I love you and I stupidly believed you felt the same. I accept my mistake.”

  “It’s our mistake now.”

  “Leave me alone.” She turned away and he snatched her back.

  “That might be a little hard to do out here.”

  “Mr. Turner, you do not have any rights to me, nor shall I be giving you any, so take your hands off me now.”

  He did, releasing her with such speed, she stumbled.

  “What are you saying?” he growled.

  She threw her arms up. “Did it ever occur to you that I might not want a man who feels marriage is a trap? That I might not want to be bound for life to a husband who sees me as some kind of evil seducer who ensnared him at a weak moment. The only thing of which I am certain is that I don’t want to marry you.”

  Confusion etched his forehead. “What do you mean?”

  She took a step toward him, lifting a finger to stab him in the chest with each word. “I won’t marry you. Clear?”

  “What about the child?”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s mine.”

  She lowered her chin preparing to defend her own. “Are you saying you wish to take it from me, because you won’t.”

  “You won’t marry me?”

  Finally he understood.

  “Is that such a shock? You’ve treated me like a leper since you first suspected I might be with child.” She laughed at his scowl. “You didn’t think I noticed how you stared at my stomach and searched my face.”

  “What will you do?” he asked.

  “Once we part ways, that will no longer be your concern.”

  Jake stood speechless. Good, serves him right, the arrogant man. She’d be better off alone than with a husband that hated her.

  “I could give you my name, but not stay.”

  He watched her lips thin as if refusing some bitter pill. At last she swallowed.

  “I don’t think so.” She turned to retrieve her saddle and found it lifted from her hands.

  “I’ll do that,” he said.

  What did she mean, she didn’t want to marry him?

  Duchess made her way up the foothills of the Rockies toward their final test, South Pass. He had no one to consult about the winter’s snowfall. No word from any traveler of what he might find there.

  From the looks of them, the snowfall had been heavy. He should be studying the mountains, instead of dwelling on Emma.

  Since she’d said she would not marry him, it was all he could think about. She was his. Hadn’t he saved her from Indians and snatched her out of the desert? Hadn’t he taught her to use a compass and figure their position? She’d become a part of him and he couldn’t imagine life without her.

  Now she talked as if she hated him. Funny way to treat a man you said you loved.

  And if she loved him, why did she want to part from him?

  He let his mind take him to possibilities. What would it be like to be married to Emma? Certainly she would not castrate him as Helen would have.

  She told him that she hadn’t planned for this to happen. God help him, he believed her.

  Had he told her he loved her?

  She said he had, said it was the only reason she’d surren
dered to him. Flashes of memory heated his skin and made him ache to hold her again.

  Since she’d spurned him, she had not broached the subject of marriage. That confounded him. He could offer his name and the safety of his arms.

  And that was about all.

  Perhaps this was why she wouldn’t have him. Did she think he had nothing? That he was some wandering vagabond without the wherewithal to support a wife and child.

  He was still a lieutenant in the army. He had his commission. If he chose to leave the military, he could find work as a surveyor or guide. Soon wagons would thread through these mountains like pearls about a woman’s neck.

  He planned to be part of that.

  Where would Emma fit in?

  Could he ask her to wander about like a gypsy with a child strapped to her back? The Indian women did. But she was not an Indian. Surely she would prefer to stay at home and wait for his return.

  He might be gone for years.

  The idea of being separated from her so long made his gut twist. To think he once thought of her as baggage. Now he could not imagine his world without her.

  What the hell would he do now?

  The more Emma thought of it the sadder she became. Jake seemed perpetually annoyed with her. Just a sample of what she could expect if she did agree to his ridiculous marriage proposal.

  Seeing her mother in an unhappy marriage made Emma sure she would never repeat her parents’ mistake. But for a time there, when she lay in Jake’s arms, she’d forgotten that and believed it was possible to love a man and be loved in return.

  Thoughts of her mother resurfaced. What had she meant when she pressed the precious gold chain into Emma’s hand? It was the first time Emma ever saw the necklace and she knew by her mother’s actions that she wanted the gift to be a secret.

  Had her mother meant for Emma to use the jewelry to escape her father’s tyranny? That possibility stuck and she could not shake it. Suddenly the words made sense.

  “For you, for you.” What else had she said? “You’ll need them to escape, to find me. Hide it, don’t let him see.”

  But how could a mad woman be capable of such forethought?

  A chill ran up Emma’s spine. Was she mad or had she used the madness to escape him?