Chapter 6
Nick swung the hook out to the middle of the creek’s eddy. He wanted to catch something for Beth to fry. When he’d found the fishing hole, he kept it quiet from the children and others in the camp, wanting to see what he’d catch before they scared away any fish. Once he’d casted out the hook, he sat, waiting for a nibble. The insects hummed around him as new leaves rustled in the breeze.
He held the cane pole, focused on the slightest movement. A different sound than the usual caught his attention, but not enough to cause him to look away from his fishing line. He frowned, thinking some children wandered nearby. They must be sneaking up on him, he thought, not hearing anything more. Then, he heard a couple of whimpers, then a hard slap and grunt. It sounded like a fight to him, so he stood, disgusted at the interruption, and went to find the cause.
Ducking through the brush, he picked his way to the sounds, now more frequent and louder. Nick glanced up from the log he stepped over to see Beth kicking and fighting with an Indian. The man sat on her, pinning her to the ground. He held her mouth with one hand and her right wrist with the other. She fought, kneeing his back and punching him with her left hand. Nick drew his gun and pulled back the trigger. “Stop what you’re doing and get away from her.” With each word, he took a step forward, close enough to press the barrel against the man’s temple.
The Indian held up his hands, slowly standing. “I don’t want to harm the lady. She needs me.” Beth scrambled away from her captor and sat at a distance, staring at them both with big eyes.
“I doubt that.” He didn’t want to take his stare off the man, turning his head but not his eyes to ask, “Are you all right, Beth Ann?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” She crossed her arms in a hug. “He didn’t hurt me.”
Smiling, the darker man said, “I wouldn’t. I see the woman needs me and I came to trade.”
Every time the stranger said Beth needed him, Nick wanted to shoot him. “Is that so?” What did this stranger know about her? he scoffed to himself. “Sneaking up on and fighting with her is a bad way to show it.”
“Yes, you are correct. But I am Jack and I have my goods to trade. Let me show you.” The Indian whistled. A little shaggy pony trotted into view, down into the creek and across to the man. “If you will allow?”
Nick kept the gun aimed at him. “No, I won’t allow,” he said even as the man dug around in a saddlebag. “You can’t just come in here and attack a woman like that and expect to trade afterwards.” He took a step back. “Why did you attack her?”
“I didn’t attack but kept her from alarming others. No harm to her or me.” He rolled up a sleeve and displayed a scar. “Women scream and I get shot, but not this time!” Jack gave them a prideful and toothy grin, and then went to the other saddlebag, still searching for something. “I see your woman walk in the water. I also see her feet and shoes.” He pulled a pair of moccasins from the bag. “She will walk in these and smile.” Like a salesman back east, he turned the shoes first one way, then the next. “My wife makes them for us. She is very good, everyone tells her so.” The Indian held the moccasins with one hand and pointed with the other to Beth’s shoes beside her. “If she takes these, I take those? Your woman will walk better today and be happy for you tonight.”
Beth gasped before exclaiming, “I’m what? He can’t have my shoes, not even for those.”
Nick shook his head at her. This man hadn’t been tracking them for very long, he knew, or he’d not have assumed Beth was his woman. He glanced at Beth’s feet poking out from her skirt. Lines from where the leather pieces had been sewn together still left an imprint on her insteps and arches. He saw her blush, pulling her feet under her dress so he couldn’t see.
“She has bad feet.” Jack shrugged and had spread open his hands in a “See?” gesture.
“No, Nicholas, he cannot have those shoes.” She limped a couple of steps over to scoop up the disputed property. “I’ll be in trouble if I let them be traded.”
He gave her a stern look. Beth’s feet wouldn’t last to the Platte River in what she currently wore. “I suggest you take his trade. It’s best for you.”
“No, it isn’t.” Anger flashed in her eyes. “What is best is I keep wearing these as Daggart prefers.”
The Indian looked from one to the other, clearly confused. “I have other items to trade.”
Nick shifted his weight from one foot to the other when Beth mentioned her husband. Every time she said his name, Nick hated Bartlett more. He spat, “He’s a fool if he prefers you wear these. Does the man particularly want your feet amputated?”
“Of course he doesn’t!” She frowned at him, hands on her hips. “He needs my help with getting to California.”
Nick smiled to hide the cold hate he felt inside for Bartlett. Her first thought wasn’t of being without feet or legs but of Daggart’s inconvenience. Nick wanted her able to walk for the rest of the trip as well as the rest of her life. Keeping Beth safe and free from her husband’s anger being a priority, he changed tactics. “What do you think will happen to his plan if those blisters get gangrene? If he does get to the gold fields, you’ll be riding in the wagon the whole way, unable to ever walk again.”
She bowed her head. “You’re right, but I’m sorry, Nicholas. I can’t let them go to this man. Daggart will notice and be furious with me.”
He released the trigger, placing the gun in his holster, unable to believe what he’d heard. “Do you mean to say he’d rather keep the shoes than keep you?” Nick walked over to her and searched her face for a lie.
She lifted her chin and replied, “Yes, he’d rather. They’re one of the few things he has left from the woman he loves.”
Frowning, he didn’t care for the riddle in her answer. Better to think about it later, when the camp was quiet and nothing needed doing. “Keep the shoes, then, and keep your feet in the water. This won’t take long.”
Nick turned to Jack. “I’ll trade you something else for the moccasins. Come over to my supplies and let’s talk.” He walked with the man, the pony following them. Nick figured if everyone saw him with Jack, no one would suspect the Indian of attacking. Enough of the Kanza people lived near St. Joseph; the sight of a single native wouldn’t cause a panic.
Some did stop to stare as he and Jack passed by, as they would have for any unfamiliar person. The Indian nodded to everyone, grinning. Nick smiled at his friendliness. Jack seemed to be a true trader, never offending anyone who might have something he wanted. Still, he wanted to keep an eye on the other man, just to be sure. They reached his wagon, and Nick gathered what he’d be willing to hand over to the man. “I have a lot of extra coffee, some tea, a lot of tobacco, beads, and hard crackers.”
“Good, good.” Jack leaned back, inspecting everything, touching nothing. Finally he said, “I’ll take coffee and crackers for the moccasins.” With a shrewd look he added, “And will tell you where to find fresh game for the beads. I want a present for my wife.”
Nick laughed. “You’re a good man. It’s a deal.” Nick handed over the string of beads, a small jar of coffee beans, and a tin of crackers.
“Before I find others to trade with, I’ll tell you about the pond.” Jack glanced around, checking for eavesdroppers before continuing, “Walk east to a pond alone, not far. There are no trees, but some hills to hide. At dusk, all sorts of game come to drink for the day.”
Nick shook his head. “No tricks?”
He frowned and stomped his foot. “No! No tricks. I use this information for trade, not for trapping the whites.”
Searching the man’s face for deceit, Nick saw none and relented. “Thank you, Mr. Jack. I look forward to better meals tomorrow.”
Bowing, he asked, “Is it all right if I talk with others about trading? Ladies besides yours might want moccasins.”
He laughed, hoping no one overheard how Jack referred to Mrs. Bartlett as his. “Yes, it’s all right if you do business here. Be fair or all trad
e stops and I warn everyone I see about Dishonest Jack.”
Jack held up his hand as if to give an oath. “No need for warnings. I will deal fair.”
He watched as Jack meandered away as if he couldn’t decide which settler to target first. Nick looked at the moccasins and smiled. Beth might not want to wear something so primitive. He had another solution she might prefer. Nick went to the back of his wagon, getting his new boots. With those and the moccasins, he went to the Bartlett’s campsite.
She saw him first and stood. Daggart lay sleeping against a wheel, hat pulled low to blot out the sun. “Hello, Mr. Granville. I’ve told my husband you saved my life.”
He grinned. “I don’t think that’s quite accurate. Jack is mostly harmless.”
Daggart sat up and pushed back his hat. “He’s an Indian, right?”
Nick nodded his assent. “Yes he is.”
He threw him a disgusted look. “Then he’s not mostly harmless. He’s mostly a cold blooded killer who’d as soon scalp my wife as look at her. After that, they’d cook us up for dinner.”
The comment felt like a kick to the gut. His Sally had been the warmest person he’d ever known. Nick ground out, “Is that so? I’ve met a few on the warpath, but none truly cold blooded.”
Snorting, Bartlett retorted, “Thought you knew what you were doing out here. Everyone knows Indians roam around, preying on whites as if we were buffalo.”
Nick struggled to keep the rage building up in him from spilling into his voice. “You have firsthand knowledge of this?”
“Not first hand.” He shrugged. “The only people knowin’ for sure are nothin’ but bones.”
To drive home the point, he asked, “So no one you’ve ever met has ever been shot or scalped by an Indian?”
Daggart cut his eyes to Beth and said as if Nick were a child, “No, I heard this from those who’ve seen the bones.”
He knew what Bartlett meant. Wolves, coyotes, and feral dogs often dug up those who died along the way. In an effort to keep up with others in the journey, the family buried their dead in graves too shallow to elude predators. While the folks had good intentions, sun baked ground, rock, or simply not bringing a shovel or spade meant the dead lay above ground. Attempts to cover them with stone or branches often failed when faced with a hungry animal’s determination. “Who, exactly, told you this, Bartlett?”
“It doesn’t matter, Granville. I just know these things from people probably smarter than you.” Daggart stood. “Damn! What does it take t’ get some sleep around here?”
Nick let the man toddle off, knowing this was an argument he couldn’t win. He wanted to convince Bartlett not all Indians wanted him dead. Maybe if Beth understood, Bartlett would fall in line too. He went to the front of the Bartlett’s wagon for her. “Mrs. Bartlett, may I have a word with you?”
She kneeled on the ground, milking Erleen. “Yes, if you don’t mind doing so while I finish here.”
“I’ll be glad to wait.” Nick sat on his heels, happy to have the excuse to look at her. He hated her brown dress; the color muddied her eyes instead of showing off their deep green.
Beth looked up at him while continuing her work. “Good, I need to get this done. Daggart likes milk with his meals.”
Nick caught her expression of dislike. “You don’t care for fresh milk?”
She chuckled, “Not so much. I enjoy butter softening the bread and that’s all.” Beth stopped milking and tucked wisps of her hair escaping the braid behind her ear.
He grinned, noting she had new freckles across her nose and a bit of pink to her cheeks. Beth must not have worn her sunbonnet this afternoon when she rested beside the creek. “I enjoyed you cooking fish for Sam and me the other evening.”
Laughing, she said, “I’m sure you did. We did, too. As long as you share the food, I’ll be glad to cook for you.”
“Sam will be pleased to hear it.” He stood as she did, bucket in her hand. “I need to offer you something else.”
She shifted the milk bucket from one hand to the other. “Oh?”
“The Indian you met today, Jack, found something he wanted other than your shoes.”
Concern creased her face. “He’s not angry? Daggart said he might be back to knife us all in our sleep.”
He smiled in reassurance. “Not at all. He’s very happy with the outcome. In fact, he’s going through camp, seeing if anyone else wants to barter for his goods.”
She fidgeted a little. “Do you trust him? I’m not sure we should.”
Nick shrugged. “As much as I can trust anyone. He’s not given me a reason to distrust just yet.” He smiled at her still nibbling her lip, not reassured by his words. Leaning in a little closer, he quietly said, “Beth, nothing will happen to you on my watch.”
She didn’t look convinced. “Daggart said I was lucky he didn’t slit my throat right there, or worse.”
Worse? He knew what the man had meant, but nothing was worse than her death. She still seemed worried. Nick didn’t blame her. Seeing her fight with the Indian had been scary for even him and he was armed. He suspected there was more to her fear than a native with bad judgement and believed he knew why. “That isn’t all he said, is it?”
Beth pursed her lips at first as if she didn’t want to say but then admitted, “He said if you, Mr. Granville, and your men had been doing your jobs properly, our lives wouldn’t have been in danger.”
Damn him. Nick didn’t want to admit Bartlett was right but had to be fair. “Your husband raises a good point. The men and I are keeping a lookout all the time. Jack only wants to make a profit from us, but someone should have seen him before he confronted you. We need to make changes.”
“What will you do?”
“Step up the guard, first. The people here are all friendly and comfortable with civilization. Attacks are no more frequent from here to Fort Bridger than they are back east.”
Beth shook her head, blushing. “I’m hoping to be done with Indian attacks, Mr. Granville. Once was quite enough.” She set down the bucket, peering into the wagon before reaching in.
“I agree, ma’am.” The wind shifted, carrying a scent of warm cotton and her skin. He swallowed hard against the sudden interest in her spreading through him. Nick looked away from watching her rustle through her belongings. He needed to focus on Beth’s true needs and not on how pretty she was. “First, I’d rather talk with you.”
She stopped her search. “Oh, talk with me still? Why?”
He pulled the folded shoes from his back pocket, holding them out to her. “I traded for the moccasins because you need shoes better suited for your feet.”
Beth examined them, tracking her finger along some of the beadwork. “Thank you for the offer. They are very lovely.”
“They might save your life.” He saw the yearning in her eyes for the shoes. “If you could, I’d like for you to wear these after your feet heal.” Nick shifted from one foot to the other. “In fact, I have a favor to ask of you. I bought a pair of boots in town and can’t wear them. They’re too tight and I’d like it if you could break them in for me. Walk in them for a while, maybe with thick socks to help them fit better. Your skirt would make sure no one would have to see them.”
Laughing a little, she asked, “My wearing them would loosen them for you? I can’t imagine.”
He’d stretched the truth a little, sure, and needed to add more to convince her to take them. “You’d help me a lot, ma’am. I have these boots and they’re good but I want to switch back and forth for rainy days.” He held out the moccasins for her. “Take these for now and I’ll go get my spare boots for you.”
Shaking her head, Beth poured milk into a jar. ”I don’t think I’ll be allowed to. Daggart prefers Lizzy’s smaller shoes to my, um, he prefers my smaller shoes.”
Her reference to herself puzzled him. She’d said something earlier about her shoes as if they’d not belonged to her but to some other woman named Lizzy. Nick asked, “What do
you mean, exactly? Aren’t they your smaller shoes and aren’t you Lizzy to him?”
“Oh, yes, you’re right.” She glanced around. “I need to get water for dinner. Please excuse me.”
He frowned, watching her make her way to the creek. In the back of his mind, he noticed how the sun edged closer to the horizon, bringing the day to an end. She’d run off and so far, no one seemed to take Beth’s feet seriously. He’d seen gangrene before, watched as limbs had been amputated. Nick couldn’t bear such a fate for her. Damn it, he had to do something. His only solution was a successful appeal to Bartlett. He glanced around the camp, seeing others busy with chores or enjoying the rest.
Nick went to the back of the couple’s wagon. Bartlett lay on his bedroll, sleeping by an unlit fire. The way he treated Beth angered him, and the man’s attitude toward Indians only served to infuriate him more.
“Mr. Bartlett?” he said, resisting the urge to nudge him with his foot. The man lay there, unresponsive. “Bartlett?” Nick repeated, a little louder.
Startled as if jabbed with a sharp stick, Daggart yelped, “What? What the hell’s going on?”
The guy seemed hung over despite the lack of alcohol. Suppressing a chuckle at maybe causing him pain, Nick replied, “Nothing, I just needed to talk with you and wanted to do so before dark.”
“Didn’t we already talk?” Not bothering to open his eyes, Bartlett put his hands behind his head.
Nick felt foolish just standing there while the other man lay there as if asleep. “We did, but this is something serious.”
Sitting up, Bartlett gave him a smug grin. “It’s those damned Indians, isn’t it?”
“No. It’s about your wife’s feet.”
He squinted his eyes, shrugged, and laid back down as before. “So what about them?”
Nick wondered if his own eyes shot glares of hate as much as Bartlett’s did. “Because her shoes are too small, she has difficulty walking.”
Letting out a snort, Bartlett retorted, “Who doesn’t except the lucky few on horses?”
Nick could take the jab at what the other man saw as a privileged status. He’d dealt with that all his life from a lot of people. What he didn’t accept was Bartlett’s lack of empathy for his own wife. He had half a mind to grab the man by his lapels and shake him. “Yes, most do, but hers have open sores with the potential of infection.”
With a groan, he said, “I don’t care as long as she can still walk to Fort Kearny. We can get some whisky to dab on there. By then she might be able to ride in the wagon, unless she wants to leave her stuff on the road before then.”
Unacceptable, Nick thought, staring at the man. Sixteen to twenty days were a long time to walk with bad feet and he would not let Beth do such a thing. “You don’t have whisky here to help her feet heal now? Wasn’t that on the list we gave you of things to pack?”
“I bought some the day before we left.” Bartlett sat up, still resting on his elbows behind him, not looking Nick in the eyes. “It just so happens, I got thirsty walking back from town.” Having the grace to look ashamed, he added, “Next time I’ll know to buy two bottles.”
He had been and probably was still hung over from last night, Nick surmised, giving him a hard stare. “You do that. Until then, I think it best if she wears my boots or some moccasins until she’s healed enough for her own shoes.”
Standing, Bartlett pointed at Beth as she walked back to the camp. “No. My wife is not wearing a man’s shoes or a dirty Indian’s.” He crossed his arms. “Lizzy will wear Lizzy’s little shoes and have Lizzy’s little feet.”
The need to choke the life from Bartlett propelled Nick a step forward. To set aside his anger, he took a breath and instead of violence, he settled for being practical. “If she wears what I’ve suggested, we’ll make better time.” Gold seduced the man more than his wife, so Nick pushed that agenda. “I’d hate for you to be delayed on your way to California by a woman who is lame.”
Bartlett shook his head. “We’re dillydallying around too much as it is.” He gestured in surrender. “I suppose she could wear the boots at least. We can keep Lizzy’s shoes for when her feet heal up.”
Nick smiled when seeing her peeking from around the wagon. He struggled to keep his expression more neutral than his heart felt. Also feeling Bartlett watching him, Nick said as though he accepted Bartlett’s decision, “I’ll make sure she gets them until then.” If he had his way, Beth would never wear anything ill fitting again. He turned to her standing by the campfire. “Do you have a moment to retrieve the shoes?”
She looked at Bartlett who nodded then answered, “Yes, I’ll go.”
He handed her the moccasins, unable to resist flashing a triumphant grin. She made a face at him and put them in the wagon. Nick led the way and Beth followed. He slowed to let her stroll beside him. As they walked, he asked, “Do you have socks to wear with the boots?”
She laughed. “Yes, I have plenty. They’re my favorite thing to knit.”
“Hmm. I might have to commission a pair from you, then. I can’t keep my own from wearing thin.” At his wagon, Nick retrieved the boots, handing them to her.
Beth hugged them to her chest. “I’d be glad to knit you up a pair. Would you want them thinner for summer?”
He thought about what to ask for that would keep them talking longer than usual during the journey. “I’d like to pay you for a summer and a winter pair.”
“Pay me?” She shook her head. “Oh no, you’re doing enough getting us across the country.”
“I’ve already been paid for doing so and will be glad to buy socks from you instead of purchasing them elsewhere.” While Nick was sure he had ordinary feet, didn’t he want perfect socks? He smiled, anticipating the need for fittings and several reasons to see her beyond the necessary.
She smiled back at him. “Very well, I’ll charge you a fair price, same as you’d pay in St. Joe.”
“Thank you.” He saw Sam from the corner of his eyes. “Be sure to let me know how the boots fit. Even the slightest promise of a blister and we can find another solution for you.” He tipped his hat.
“I will.” Beth turned and went back to her camp.
Sam strolled up to their wagon with a bucket and jar of milk. “Did I hear your new friend refer to your woman while at the river?”
“Yes.” Nick, not wanting an interrogation and the lecture sure to follow, derailed his brother’s train of thought. “We need to keep a better watch on our party.”
Sam stopped, raising an eyebrow. “Here?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I’ve been given the order by Mr. Bartlett in no uncertain terms.”
Laughing, Sam set down his things. He stopped after glancing at Nick’s expression. “You’re serious? The man is more likely to die from someone in camp than a Kanzas or Delaware.”
He held his hands up in surrender. “Preaching to the choir. The man doesn’t think much of the natives. He gave me an earful, all of it hearsay and none of it true. He also doesn’t think much of us letting Jack run loose in the camp.”
“Jack? I thought he looked familiar. He made the rounds on my last trip west. He’d barter with a tree for the joy of doing so.”
“I believe it. He wanted Beth’s shoes in the worst way this afternoon.” Nick said before thinking then cursed himself for using her casual name.
Sam gave his brother a sharp glance, emphasizing her name, “Mrs. Bartlett is lucky Jack only wanted to exchange for shoes. He’s offered several ponies for a woman, I’ve heard.” Sam paused and then asked, “You didn’t happen to trade for a squaw, did you?” he asked. “Although, if bartering for one helped you leave the Bartlett woman alone, I’d applaud your choice.” He scooped salt into a cup.
Nick glared at him. “A what?” He caught the joke after seeing Sam’s ornery expression and cooled a bit. “I don’t trade for women, you know that.”
“There is always a first time,” Sam retorted, rummaging around in their belongings.
“Not for me.” He knew his brother taunted him. Sam knew how Nick felt about Sally and now Beth. He wasn’t going to rise to the bait.
“I think you have a soft spot for Mrs. Bartlett because she reminds you of how beneficial a wife can be.” Sam climbed up into the wagon, still searching. “Have you seen the lid to this jar?”
“Do you have nothing better to do than goad me into a fight?” Nick went to the front, reached in for the lid, and handed it to Sam.
He laughed, putting the lid on the jar and shaking the contents. “Not at the moment.”
Nick leaned against the wheel as his brother hopped off the wagon. “No fish to clean or cook, no horses to care for, or small animals to torture like you do me?”
“There is that. After you left, I found a fish at the end of your hook. Since then, I have been catching and cleaning.” He grinned. “I’ve also taken the liberty of asking your woman for butter and her cooking skills while we fished. She caught some of these before running off to care for Erleen.”
He sighed, hungry, irritated, and wanting the fish to be frying already. “She’s not my woman.”
“I know, but the Indian roaming the camp doesn’t.” Sam, still shaking the milk into butter, picked up the bucket full of fish and water. “You seem to forget who she belongs to every once in a while.”
“I do not forget.” He kicked a dirt clod, angry at his helpless feeling. “Even if I wanted to, her bruises and constant worry over what Bartlett wants of her continually reminds me she’s married to him.”
Sam shrugged his shoulders. “While I don’t approve of a husband using fists to discipline his wife, I also don’t approve of you being used as an accomplice to some woman’s escape. And heaven help you if she has your bastard child while Bartlett’s wife.”
He whirled, grabbing the front of Sam’s shirt. Water sloshed from the bucket and Sam stopped churning butter. “That’s too far, Samuel. Beth isn’t seducing me and you’ll not speak of her like that.”
Eyes narrowed to slits, Sam ground out between clenched teeth, “I’m glad you defend Mrs. Bartlett from my wit and hope you’ll extend the guard of her to yourself.”
Nick let him go with a slight shove. “Damn. Yes, I do try to guard her. Even from myself.”
Sam put down everything he held. “Good, because the last thing we need is a half-crazed husband hunting for you with a rifle.” He straightened his shirt, tucking what pulled loose back into his pants. “Did you get a trade on those moccasins for Mrs. Bartlett?”
“Yes.” Nick handed the butter jar to him, and then took the bucket of fish.
He nodded. “I’m glad. She has limped for the past couple of days when no one’s watching.”
“You saw it too?” Nick was annoyed, wondering how many people noted her walking lame.
“Yes. I noticed when she took the cow to water and a few times since then.” Sam began shaking the butter jar. “Others are sore from the march too, but when I see her, I’m very concerned.”
Nick tried ignoring the sudden rush of jealously. Not wanting to, but unable to stop himself, he asked, “You watch her walk a lot?”
Sam followed his brother to the back of the wagon, watching and making butter while Nick cleaned the fish. “Not a lot, but yes, some. While, unlike you, I usually don’t stare at the wives too closely, I do ensure they’re healthy during the trip.”
“Damn it, Sam! I don’t stare at any other wives. I just watch out for Mrs. Bartlett.” Nick raised his hat brim, scratching his forehead with the back of his hand. “I keep an eye on her since so far, she’s the only one who’s in camp with a black eye. Also, Bartlett has her in shoes too small. She has blisters bleeding and I don’t want to see Elizabeth’s feet amputated because her husband is dim or careless.”
He whistled, saying, “Damn.”
“Exactly.” Nick cleaned with long practiced moves. “I’ve already explained to Mrs. Bartlett she could lose her feet if they become infected.”
Sam held up the milk to see if any butter had formed yet. He frowned and resumed his work. “The moccasins won’t keep her from limping if her soles are bruised and sore.”
“I know.” Nick hesitated for a moment, unwilling to admit to Sam he’d recommended something a little too intimate to Beth. “I’ve suggested she wear my new boots until she heals.”
Sam’s eyebrows rose. “I see.”
“She’s breaking them in for me.” His justification sounded weak once said aloud. “I can barely get them on, they’re so tight.”
“Yes, that’s as good an excuse as any,” Sam nodded, smirking.
The other man’s grin left Nick feeling defensive. He didn’t look up from the fish. “It’s not just an excuse.”
“It is, and if it works, so much the better.” He gave Nick a slight punch in the arm. “I don’t want to see her lame any more than you do. She doesn’t deserve that.”
Done cleaning, he asked, “Is it settled?”
Sam shrugged. “It is to me. I think Mrs. Bartlett is waiting on our fish. If you want to hunt before dark, we need to get dinner eaten first.”
His brother still shook their butter jar, compelling him to ask, “Didn’t you say the Bartletts were to supply the butter?”
With a nod, Nick washed his hands in the leftover water and emptied the bucket. “Yes, but when I asked Mrs. Bartlett to cook for us, I’d not caught so much. She might need more.” He put the fish in and followed Sam to the Bartlett’s fire.
They strolled up to the couple’s campsite, most of their hands already there. Nick greeted everyone, tipping his hat to Beth in particular. She grinned at him and lifted her skirt just a bit to show him the toe of his boots. He winked in approval and sat down around the low campfire with the others. As Beth readied their dinner, she was the only female in the group and the only one not deeply drinking of the whisky bottle being passed.
Chuck, the most jovial in the group, took advantage of the captive audience to tell a few jokes. Nick gave him minimal attention after the first line. He’d heard all of Chuck’s best. Instead, he took a drink of whisky and passed it to Lawrence.
Once he heard the group’s laughter, Chuck launched into another of his tall tales. Since he’d been there when the story happened, Nick covertly watched Beth fix their dinner. She’d already strained the butter from Sam’s efforts and had it melting in a large iron pan. Now, she peeled a few small potatoes. He removed his knife strapped to his boot. When he caught her eye, Nick held up the knife and crooked his finger. Smiling, she held up the last potato to show him he was too late and began to peel it herself.
Lawrence nudged Nick for the whisky bottle, stopping him from watching Beth. He tried to pay attention to stories the men told, each one wanting to outdo the man before him. Instead, Nick pretended to listen as he saw Beth place a sauce pan of sliced potatoes near the larger skillet.
When the whisky made its round yet again, he held up a hand in dismissal. “No more for me.” Nick laughed when a chorus of disappointment rose from the group. “I have it on good authority there’s a watering hole with plenty of game nearby.”
Claude eyed the fish, watching as Beth gingerly laid each fillet in the pan. He spoke up, mesmerized by the food as he asked, “How far?”
“He didn’t specify exactly, only that it is east of here,” Nick answered.
While the others nodded, Daggart laughed, clapping his hands. “East? That could damn near be anywhere.”
Nick gave the man a cold look. “I doubt it. It’s within walking distance.”
“Hell, the whole world is within walking distance if you go far enough.” Bartlett held out his plate, addressing Beth. “Get a move on, woman. Food’s gettin’ cold. Get my milk, too.”
He knew his face must have looked murderous when Sam shook his head. Nick gritted his teeth to keep his mouth shut. He forced a smile at Beth when she spooned his potatoes and placed a fillet on his plate. She smiled back, giving him a little extra potato. He start
ed eating, pausing to add, “I’d like to go hunting tonight. I expect the watering hole is nearby since Jack said it isn’t far from here.”
“Jack?” Bartlett’s head whipped to face Nick. “You’re sayin’ that old Indian told you where to hunt?”
Swallowing his bite before replying, Nick said, “He suggested a place to find game, yes.”
“You go and you’re walkin’ into a trap, plain and simple.” Daggart took a couple of long drinks of whisky.
Nick noticed Lawrence shifting with impatience beside him. It wouldn’t hurt him to wait a little while more for the whisky. “Is that so?”
Bartlett pointed his fork at Nick. “Yeah, any fool can see that Indian is going to lure us over there one by one and pick us off like rabbits in a cage.”
Sam cleared his throat. “I have a long-standing acquaintance with Jack and know for a fact he’s a good man.”
“Then you’re a bigger fool than your brother.” Bartlett waved Beth over to take his plate and refill his cup. “The ‘man’ as you call him, is an Indian. Indian and good don’t go together. There’s a reason they’re called savages and animals.”
Nick clenched his fists. He’d known many more women and children murdered by more savage whites than any red. All of his Sally’s family were killed in one afternoon. He stood. Sam also standing caught his attention, stopping him from getting Bartlett in a headlock so strong he couldn’t breathe. Nick’s brother shot him a warning glare and nod. When glancing to where Sam indicated, he saw Beth staring at him with wide eyes.
Lucky fidgeted at the tension, took a huge drink of the whisky and passed on the bottle. “Y’all want to play cards tonight? We don’t even have to bet for money if you’re chicken about losing to me.”
Beth stepped up to Nick while holding out her hand. “I’ll take your things for washing.”
“Take this too,” Bartlett said, lifting up his cup.
She shyly smiled at the sudden attention from everyone as they followed Bartlett’s lead. Taking their dishware as needed and glancing from Sam to Nick, she asked, “Would it be a good idea if you gentlemen went in a group to hunt instead of one by one?”
Nick swallowed his anger, not wanting to believe she thought of Indians as brutal animals. What he felt for Beth ran deep but couldn’t last if she agreed with her husband. If so, any feelings for her would be like rain in the desert, gone before it hit the ground. “In case there is an ambush?”
Beth finished gathering dishes as she answered, “I suppose.” Indicating her husband with a wave of her hand, she continued, “Daggart is expecting one, but I’m thinking more for strength in numbers.” She paused when her husband snorted, adding, “You’ll need help in bringing particularly big game back, won’t you? I’m sure that’s much more of a possibility.”
Sam smiled at her and picked up the heavier of the pans. “She’s right, gentlemen. The more of us going, the more we bring home. Chuck, Lawrence, help me spread the word. Claude, aren’t you done eating yet?” The man nodded while handing over his dishes and Sam continued, “Lucky, we’ll play cards when we get back. Nick, let’s make sure we have enough cartridges for our rifles. Not the 50s, I doubt there will be buffalo there.” Their men scattered to complete the tasks Sam set to them.
Bartlett lay back with his legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankle. “I’ll just stay here and hold down the fort for you all. This party will need someone to protect them since this is a trap and you’ll all be scalped and left for dead.” He put his hands behind his head, looking very relaxed.
The lout’s opinion left no impression on Nick, since he knew Beth didn’t agree. His heart felt like he’d been drinking soda water at the thought. Unable to resist a glance before leaving, he took a quick look at her once more. He caught her glare at Bartlett whose eyes were closed. Seeing his hatred for the man reflected in her expression, he almost felt her anger as a physical thing. Nick cleared his throat, startling Beth into rattling the plates.
Bartlett opened one eye. “You two still here? I thought you had somethin’ to do all important like. I know Lizzy Lou can’t be standin’ there gapin’ all day.”
Hunting required long stretches of sitting and waiting, giving him plenty of time to plan on how to get her for himself. “You’re right. I have something very important to do. Good night, then.” He smiled at her and she nodded, blushing. As they left together, Nick held Beth’s gaze. “Thank you for dinner. The food was good and the company even better.”
“You’re welcome and I’m glad you think so.” She indicated where the other men now gathered. “Good luck tonight. I’m sure Jack is right and you’ll all do well.”
Damn. He didn’t want to leave her side, not even for fresh game. With a sigh, he tipped his hat and joined everyone else.
The Granvilles, their men, and a few others from the camp scattered out and walked to the watering hole. Jack had been right. They flushed out a few coveys of quail, which the men carrying smaller gauge guns shot.
All of them wanted fresh meat bad enough that whoever scared away tomorrow’s meal might be shot themselves. This way of life was second nature to him on the trail, leaving his mind free to focus on Beth and how to get her away from Bartlett for good. He worked hard with the rest of them, and although loaded down with fresh meat, no one lagged behind. Everyone wanted to reach camp before the night grew too much darker. The men didn’t chatter as much on the walk back as they did during dinner.
They made quick work of butchering the game, distributing it among themselves and those unable to hunt. Nick set up as much of his own as he could to dry. There was an unsaid agreement to leave the Bartletts out of the division. Nick hated leaving Beth out of the spoils. Doing so strengthened his resolve to rid her of Bartlett, if she desired.
Nick went to Beth’s campsite to retrieve his and his men’s dishes for the morning. Knowing his reasoning as an excuse to see her, he found her knitting as she had done the first day they met. She sat by the fire, cross legged. He grinned when she looked up at him with a smile, and he asked, “Is that mine?”
“I’m thinking so.” She motioned him to her. “If you’ll come closer, I’ll check your foot to make sure this fits.”
He went over and sat, putting his foot near her knee and pulling up his pant leg at the same time. “Do I need to take off my boot?”
She put her hand over her nose and mouth. Through her fingers, she said, “Heavens no. Not until you have clean socks.”
He laughed. “You’re a very smart woman.”
Beth put her hand on his boot, squeezing first the instep, the arch, and then his ankle. “Thank you. I don’t hear how smart I am very often.”
As she compared the sock with his foot, Nick enjoyed the chance to watch her work. He liked seeing her long eyelashes against her cheek when she looked down. The sky reflected colors from the setting sun on her, giving Beth a warm glow. “You should be told at least once a day.”
She blushed, the pink in her cheeks visible even in the waning light of evening. “I have a good idea of how big your foot is, so this’ll fit.”
Nick couldn’t resist teasing her. “Sounds like you need to see my legs to be sure. I can take off my boots and roll up my pants if you like. Or just take them off entirely in case you’d like to knit me long underwear.”
Beth pressed on his knee as if to push him away. “You tease me. I can’t say such things to you!” She picked up the knitting, making a show of focusing on each little stitch and ignoring him.
He wanted to laugh as she tried to concentrate with him watching. Nick found he enjoyed taunting her. “Sure you can say you need to see my naked legs. I don’t mind hearing that at all.”
She gasped and said, “Not your ‘naked’ legs!”
“Yes, my very naked legs. Do you need to?” He leaned in to whisper. “Or just want to see them?” He loved watching Beth’s feelings show on her face. A little closer, Nick thought, and they could kiss.
A hunger in her eyes matched his own, making it difficult to resist giving her what she asked from him. She paused and looked up at him. “It might be both want and need. If you don’t want these to sag around your ankles, I’ll need to check your calves.”
He frowned at her calling his bluff. She laughed at his expression as he sat back, arms folded. Nick thought it just as well; he’d been pushing the intimacy a little too much. “Where’s Bartlett? Why isn’t he here protecting you from bad-mannered men like me?”
After giving him a disgusted glance, she stared into the waning fire. “Mr. Lucky’s talk of cards incited him to find a game. He’s hoping to win whisky, if not money. I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”
He caught her disgust like the weak catch a cold. Nick couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice, asking, “He’s nowhere around and you’re alone? What if Jack scalps you tonight?”
Beth laughed, and giving him a wry smile retorted, “I’d rather Jack didn’t return without warning. His holding me down scared me today more than him being Kanzas ever would.”
“Why, Mrs. Bartlett, you don’t hold the same opinion as your husband?” He nodded at a passing Chuck on his evening watch.
She matched Nick’s sarcasm with a mocking stare. “No. I rarely ever do.” Beth glanced around and leaned in closer to him as if to share a secret. In a quiet voice, she said, “Since we’re alone, you do have permission to call me anything but Lizzy Lou or Mrs. Bartlett.”
His gaze swept her face. They weren’t truly alone; he couldn’t do anything he wanted, but he could say anything he wanted. Fighting the urge to kiss her until they both surrendered, he instead said, “I’ll be sure to remember that, Beth.”
She closed her eyes and shuddered. “You should go.”
“I should, before I embarrass us both.” He paused, not wanting to leave, saying “Goodnight, Elizabeth Ann.”
Taking his hand and giving him a squeeze, she replied, “Goodnight, Nicholas.”
He stood and went to his own bedroll, seeing Sam already there and pretending to sleep. Nick grinned. His brother had never been able to fool him even once. “We’re on second watch?”
With a sigh, the younger man replied, “Yes. And how is your woman?”
“Sam,” he warned, laying out the blankets.
“Exactly. I’m as tired of saying it as you are of hearing it.” His eyes open and glaring at him, Sam went on, “She isn’t available and if Bartlett catches on how you’re sniffing around her, he won’t be happy.”
Nick settled into bed and closed his eyes. “I don’t care how he feels.”
“Nor do I, but if you accidently or intentionally kill him, the others might let you swing.”
Grinning because he already knew his brother’s reaction, Nick retorted, “Fine. I’ll wait until we’re on the prairie before letting him have a fatal accident.”
“Pardon?” Sam propped himself up on one elbow. “His death isn’t a subject for you to plan. If something does happen to the cretin after you’ve courted his widow, you’re the guilty party and the facts won’t matter out here.”
Pausing, hesitant to say aloud a thought from the meanest part of him, he said in a quieter tone, “Even if it’s an accident?”
“Nick, don’t even pull somebody's leg by saying that.”
Unable to help smiling at his brother’s warning, Nick said, “You know me better than to think I’d kill a man in cold blood.”
“I do and know you wouldn’t.” Sam settled in for sleep with a rustle, adding, “It’s the hot blood I’m more concerned about.”
“You have a point.” He paused for a second before confessing, “All joking aside, I want her, but not at anyone else’s expense, not even Bartlett’s.”
A few moments passed before Sam replied to the admission. “I understand. I had the most difficult time not boxing him in the nose after his comment about Indians. If he’d known Sally, she might have changed his opinion.”
The words felt like salve to Nick’s broken heart. Not a day passed yet that he didn’t think of his wife and child. Wanting to hear more, he asked, “Think so? Men like him have closed minds the truth can’t pry open.”
“Everyone loved Sally. They couldn’t help themselves,” Sam murmured in the quiet. “Even our mother accepted her after a while.”
The lump in Nick’s throat ached and he swallowed. Four years of forced existence without her hadn’t healed his wound entirely. His heart hurt when he wondered how different his life would be if she and their son still lived.
He’d rather distract himself with thoughts of Beth. With her, he felt like a dormant tree in the spring, as if life held possibilities unimagined before meeting her. Nick grinned. She seemed so shy and quiet until flashing a bit of wicked humor. Beth surprised him every time they talked, and every night since they’d met, he fell asleep thinking of her.
He woke with a start to Sam shaking him. “Second watch. Let’s get going.”
“Ug. I’m there.” Nick shook the slumber from his head. He and Sam relieved Lawrence and Claude from their watch, taking the same circular path around the wagons as the prior two men had walked. He hated second watch, preferring first or third’s opportunity for unbroken sleep. Once awake, he had a difficult time napping until dawn.
This late in the night, everyone slept except for the nocturnal animals creeping up to the camp due to curiosity or scraps. Some people snored while even the most ornery of sleeping children appeared like angels wrapped in blankets. The late rising moon gave a ghostly glow to everything. Nick hesitated as he and Sam drew near Beth’s wagon. He wanted to make sure Bartlett kept some sort of protection over her.
They cleared the back of the wagon to where the couple’s fire was. When he saw Bartlett on Beth, her skirt hiked up to her waist, Nick felt as if shot in the chest and gut. In the back of his mind, he’d known they had to be intimate, but when faced with reality, his stomach roiled in protest.
“Damn,” Sam whispered. “Let’s go.” They stepped back to where the wagon lay between them and the couple.
The crack of a palm against skin captured both men’s attention. Nick heard Beth’s voice growl, “I said no, damn you!” Another smack sounded.
He glanced at Sam. “If that’s Beth being hit, we have to—”
His brother grabbed his arm, shaking him quiet, and called out, “Ma’am, are you all right?”
After a long minute, Nick couldn’t resist asking for himself, “Ma’am?”
“Oh heavens.” She walked to them, smoothing her skirts and carrying a thin blanket. “You two weren’t—you didn’t see…?”
Sam spoke first. “I saw you slap him. Nick, however, missed the pleasure.”
“This is very humiliating.” She put her hands over her eyes.
“You two aren’t the first married couple to have relations on the trail,” Nick said more to himself than her, wanting to reinforce the idea that she belonged to Bartlett. “It happens.”
“He’s right,” Sam added. “It’s a long way to California and a long time for a couple to wait for privacy.”
Beth took her blanket, wrapping it around her and giving them a glare. “You’re very kind to reassure me. I could wait for privacy easily.” She went toward the wagon’s front.
Nick cleared his throat. “Um, ma’am?”
“Yes?” Her muffled voice sounded from the cart’s other side and he followed her, his brother close behind him.
He rounded the corner, stunned into silence. Nick fought against laughing when seeing Bartlett by the fire face down, his butt bared. He indicated the man’s undress to Sam with a gesture. His brother chuckled and told Beth, “Well, ma’am, your husband isn’t quite covered.”
She faced them, hands on her hips. Each word dripped venom as she said, “He’s too drunk to care and can stay that way.”
With a sigh and a glance heavenward, Sam said, “I’m more concerned with women and children seeing him in this state.”
; “Very well. I shall take care of it.” She grabbed the back of his trousers and gave several sharp pulls until the pants covered his behind. Beth then took his blanket and flipped it over him. Without another word, she went back to her seat at the front of the wagon.
As if it were their own mother angry at them, Sam gave Nick a “Should we talk to her?” look. He shook his head at his little brother, unwilling to say anything and give Beth another focus for her anger. Sam made a let’s-go motion with his chin and Nick nodded, ready to continue their guard.
Walking on around the wagons, he couldn’t remember the last time jealousy consumed him so much as now. The idea of Bartlett making love to Beth angered him. He took a deep, calming breath. She didn’t seem to care for the man tonight, either.
Nick wondered, was only her husband’s drunkenness repulsive to her, or was it Bartlett in general? He wanted to think Beth desired him too and now pushed away her husband. Would he do the same if Sally still lived? Lost in thought, he shook his head. Even though he adored and wanted Beth now, Nick still considered Sally his true love. Had she survived, they’d be at home in Oregon raising their children.
The next two days passed in a blur of routine for Nick. Beth avoided him, not meeting his gaze. When their paths did cross, she gave him a quick greeting before finding a justification to start or finish a task. He brushed off the thought of how she only treated him this way. After two exhausting days of traveling twenty miles or more, he didn’t want to ponder their feelings so much as have her in his arms at night as they slept. Still, he’d see her chatting with various people in the camp more than she did with him. Her distance bothered him, but he understood her embarrassment.
At day’s end, he’d broached the subject of Beth with his brother. Sam found her as difficult to talk with as Nick did, barely able to share some of the game hunted around the watering hole. She tried to decline, saying they’d not earned it. Sam pressed her to take some, saying the meat would spoil if she didn’t. He convinced her, but wasn’t able to charm her into anything more than a distant politeness.
The shallow Wolf River ran swift and clear. People took advantage of this by scrubbing themselves and their clothes. He went through his things and gathered up his worn shirts and pants. Every time Nick ran across the material he had bought in St. Joseph, it nagged at him. Running across the fabric frustrated him because he’d not yet invented a reason to give it to her. He hated how each day passed without him inventing a good excuse to give her such a gift. It bothered him to see how other ladies dressed in their Sunday best as their everyday clothes dried. Beth wore her freshly cleaned everyday clothes damp. The day warmed as the sun hit noon, yet Nick knew she had to be chilled. She sorely needed a new dress, even as impractical as the white print was. He regretted the color choice but knew she loved what he’d purchased.
He went to the river, intent on washing his own body and clothes. A soft breeze blew, carrying the hum of insects and chirps of nesting birds.
Sam was already there and almost done and met him at the bank. “Nick, I noticed how Mrs. Bartlett never received her material for a new dress.”
At first, the coincidence that Sam should bring up the very source of his frustration even as he pondered it himself startled him, but then an odd sense of shame crept in that Nick knew he had no right to feel. It hurt him to see Beth’s need so plain that others noticed it too, particularly when such a simple thing as giving her fabric for a dress would help her. His own need to step in warred inside him, like he’d failed her somehow, but the job of providing for her belonged to her husband, bitter as it was for him to admit. He pretended indifference for Sam’s benefit. Shrugging, he said, “I’ve not found a reason to give her something so personal just yet.” He pulled off his boots and socks, placing them in separate places.
“I see.” The younger man buttoned his crisp shirt before asking, “Do you mind if I make sure Mrs. Bartlett has the fabric today?”
Nick removed his suspenders and his own grubby shirt. He attracted dirt as much as Sam repelled the stuff. “Not at all. It’d be a relief if you did.”
“Great, I’ll be glad to do so.” Sam gave him a carefree salute and went off in their wagons’ direction.
Nick continued to strip down to his long underwear, wanting to get done before the day grew much older. He washed his clothes first, using a plain bar of soap, and then laid them to dry on the grass. The river too shallow to truly bathe in, Nick regretted not having the foresight to bring a bucket or water pitcher to pour over his head. He glanced at the camp, wondering whether anyone would see him in his underwear if he ran and found a container of some sort.
He saw a young woman walk toward the stream, her own bucket in hand. Quickly, he searched for bushes, a tree, anything to cover his lower half at least, but nothing around could hide him. Nick sat in the mid-calf deep water. He smiled at the woman as she stepped to the river.
“Hello, Mr. Granville,” she greeted.
“Hello.” He pretended to wash, just wanting her to leave. Nick watched her out of the corner of his eye as she scooped up water for her family.
She looked around at his belongings and then grinned at him. “Did you forget something?”
The woman knew he had. Still in shock from almost being naked in front of her, Nick couldn’t remember her name. He had to admit after a few moments, “I’m afraid so.”
Laughing, she said, “How about I lend you our bucket and you bring it back full of water? Not soapy, please.”
He grinned. She had a kind heart. “Thank you, ma’am. I do appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll leave it here on the bank for you.” She returned his smile and backed away to the wagon circle.
Since someone now waited on him, Nick made short work of cleaning up. He finished, folded the wet clothes and grabbed the bucket to return to Amelia Chatillon, Robert Chatillon’s daughter. He remembered her more now not having to hide his underclothes from her. She and her family traveled to Oregon hoping to help farmstead the eldest son’s land.
Beth smiled at him as she walked toward him and the river. Nick smiled back. She said, “Mr. Granville said you’d be here but to be cautious. You might still be filthy.”
Showing off his clothes, Nick retorted, “He’s actually wrong. I’m nearly as clean as he is.”
She laughed, continuing, “I’ve already thanked him and now I’m here to thank you as well.”
He knew by seeing what Beth held why she sought him out. But after several days of not hearing her voice, Nick wanted to do everything possible to keep her talking with him. “For?” he asked.
“Oh honestly!” She laughed, “For this.” Beth held out the fabric. “Sam told me you’d bought this at Henry’s, thinking it might come in handy later for some woman on the trip.”
“And it has, hasn’t it?” He hid a grin at her reference to “some woman.”
“It will, as soon as I cut and sew a dress from it.” She ran her fingertips down the material as he’d seen her do the first day they met. “It’s the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. I’m so happy you picked it out of the others.”
Nick decided his new vocation had to be making Beth happy. Seeing her joy brightened his day, if not his entire life. Her approval felt like the machine moving the blood in his body. Struggling to maintain a distance, he said, “I’m glad you like the color. I thought it the prettiest there too.”
A slight blush stained her cheeks as she replied, “I tried to refuse the gift. It’s too extravagant for me.”
“I don’t think so. It’s perfect for you.” He leaned in closer to speak softly. “I’m also glad Sam turned down your refusal.”
Beth smiled up at him. “Secretly, I am too.”
Undeniable - Book One: The Oregon Trail Series Page 6
