White Nights

by Susan Edwards

  “She can’t stop me from claiming my property. Neither can anyone else.”

  He watched Zeb absently finger his scar. “Sure is an ugly scar. Someone ought to teach that Jones girl to mind her own business.” Birk knew it had come from Jessie Jones and her damn whip. It hadn’t taken Zeb long to discover that the “boy” who’d stopped Zeb from having fun with some woman out wandering alone—obviously some whore, seeing as no decent woman went wandering in the dark—and sliced his cheek open with a whip had really been Jessie Jones. Whenever Zeb got drunk, he talked on and on about getting his revenge.

  Birk’s own resentment against the Jones girl reared its ugly head. Jessie had butted into his own affairs as well, and for that, he owed her.

  Zeb shook his head. “Ain’t gonna be me. I ain’t gonna mess with that half-breed husband of hers. Me and the boys keep far away from him and his party. Don’t wanna mess with him.”

  Birk paused in taking another drink. “Husband? She ain’t married.”

  “Boy, you’s been gone too long. Should’ve been at Fort Laramie when all hell broke loose. That damn woman got herself and some kid kidnapped. Me and the boys was there, you know, enjoyin’ the fort and some of the willin’ women when all these injuns showed up—family of that breed. No sirree, I ain’t messin’ with him.”

  Birk digested this news. Besides getting his wife back, he had a score to settle with both Jessie and Wolf. Maybe, just maybe, he and Zeb could team up. “Folk should still mind their own business. After all, a man’s entitled to a bit of fun,” he said, the words calculated to rile the other man into anger.

  Zeb took a long drink, then spat on the ground, narrowly missing Rat, who’d bedded down a short distance away. “Yep. A man’s entitled. I’d have had me a beaut that night. Was out all alone, jest sittin’ on the bank, all lonely-like. Now, you and me, we knows no decent woman goes wanderin’ by herself. Nope. She was lookin’ fer action and I’d have shown her a good time. Then that damn boy—Jones woman—ruined it all.” Zeb fell quiet, then closed his eyes. His voice turned wistful.

  “Ah, what a woman that li’l angel was. All this long red hair that felt like silk.” He grinned and squinted at Birk. “Had a nice set too, what with that bun warmin’ in her oven. But man, I ain’t never seen a face like hers. Like an angel. An angel, I tells ya, came down from heaven that night jest waitin’ fer me. If that woman belonged to me, I wouldn’t let her out’a my sight for a moment.”

  Birk froze with the flask halfway to his lips. Zeb had never described the woman he’d tried to rape that night. Just called her his angel. But now, listening to him talk, it suddenly sounded like his pal was describing Eirica, his own wife.

  Suddenly, it all made sense. Eirica and that damn Jones woman were friends. Hadn’t Jessie Jones come to Eirica’s aid with her whip the night Birk had decided to teach his wife a lesson, the night he’d been banished? He also knew that Wolf had warned Zeb away. Birk had just assumed that Wolf was once again butting in where he didn’t belong. But if Eirica and Jessie had been there together, it made perfect sense.

  He also recalled the few times he’d woken to find Eirica gone from the tent. When she’d come in, she’d claimed to have gone out to relieve herself. Her being with child, he’d never doubted her. He’d just taken her again to help him get back to sleep. But now, he wondered.

  What had she been doing out wandering around so late? Had she gone to meet someone, another man? Had she and that Jones woman been plotting to get rid of him? Red edged his vision and his heart sped up. It was just too much of a coincidence that Jessie had been there for it to be anyone but Eirica.

  And what about Wolf? Had he been in on it, too? He’d warned Birk to lay off his wife. The gall of the man to dare tell him what to do still raised his anger. But all this pointed to the fact that it had to have been Eirica Zeb found near the river that night.

  Then it hit him that the man sitting across him had lusted after his wife—had tried to rape Eirica. No one looked at his woman, let alone touched her. And now, listening to the lecher go on and on about what he wanted to do to his “angel” made Birk want to smash the bottle he held over Zeb’s ugly head.

  He lowered the bottle, fighting to keep his rage under tight control. Right now, he needed a clear mind to think. He passed the bottle back to Zeb, then pulled his knife from his boot. Cleaning his nails with the sharp tip, he thought maybe he could use the man’s desire for Eirica to his advantage. His grip on the handle tightened.

  “I’ll make ya a deal. I have a score to settle with both Jessie and Wolf. Best way to get Wolf is by using his wife. Ya let me travel with ya, share yer supplies, and I’ll find a way to get her for ya.”

  Zeb stared at Birk with drink-dulled eyes. “I dunno. I’d really like to find that woman, that angel. Sometimes, I think I must’ve dreamed her.” He ran his finger down his face. “Till I feel this.”

  Birk stuck the knife into the dirt in front of him. “Ya know, ya never said much ’bout that woman. What if I know who she is?”

  “Ya know?”

  “Well, my wife has red hair and is with child. She’s also friends with that damn Jones woman.”

  Zeb straightened, his gaze on the knife within Birk’s reach. “Hey, I didn’t know that angel was yer wife. Maybe it wasn’t. The woman was sitting all alone, crying. All I tried to do was comfort her and she panicked. I didn’t do nothin’.”

  “’Cause you were stopped.” Birk hid his fury. If he played his cards right, he’d get what he wanted. Then he’d take care of Zeb. The man was as good as dead for touching Eirica. He shrugged. “Don’t worry. I won’t hold it against ya even if that woman was Eirica. The bitch probably went out to meet someone. Seems ta me she was askin’ fer trouble. Now what about our deal? I’ll get ya the Jones woman and some money when I get my wagon and family back.”

  From the other side of the fire, Rat poked his head up and smirked at Zeb. “Hey, Zeb, seems that ugly scar on yer face is his wife’s fault, too. She’s the one who done led ya on, playin’ the helpless female. She owes ya.”

  Birk stilled, the implication burning through the fog of his mind. But he wasn’t drunk enough to give in to the fury building inside him. If he did, he’d be back on his own. He glared at Rat then turned neutral eyes back on Zeb whose eyes had widened. “If it were her, she’ll git what’s coming to her.”

  This time, Pete added his comments. “Seems ol’ Zeb should get ta do the punishing.”

  Though it went against everything in Birk, he had no choice but to agree. The growing lust in Zeb’s eyes gave him the perfect weapon to use. “Ya boys has a point.”

  Zeb leaned forward. “What’re ya sayin’?”

  “If yer Angel was my wife, I’ll let you punish her for what she and that Jones girl done to you.”

  Distrustful, Zeb pulled back. “I wants one night with my angel. Tha’s what I want. Seems ta be fair. If I can even the score with that Jones woman, fine. But as I said, I ain’t messin’ with her husband or his injun family.”

  Birk picked up the knife and fiddled with it. To get Eirica back, to have what he needed in order to bide his time, could he agree to Zeb’s demands? No one said he had to allow the other man to go through with it. As far as Birk was concerned, Zeb was a dead man already.

  Then he thought of Eirica’s punishment. What if he let Zeb have at her? That’d teach her not to go out lookin’ for trouble. Just imagining her fear as he watched sent the blood surging between his legs. Then, before the man actually raped her, he’d kill him. He’d kill him for even thinking about her, let alone touching her.

  “Might teach the bitch a lesson she won’t never ferget.” He allowed a long silence to stretch, then poked the fire with the tip of his knife, stirring the embers. “But ya has to wait till she births the kid. Don’t want no son of mine damaged.”

  He watched the flash of lust in Zeb’s eyes grow, eyed the man’s trembling hands that he rubbed together, and knew he had him. “Might have
to wait till we reach Oregon. With all them friends of hers, might be hard to git her back, and even if we does, they’ll find us too easy on the trail. Too many people to try and stop us.”

  Zeb’s eyes narrowed with mistrust. “How do I know you’ll really share yer wife? Ya don’t seem the type.” He eyed the knife in Birk’s hands and licked his fleshy lips.

  Birk shrugged, resisting the urge to shove the blade deep into the other man’s gut. But he needed Zeb—at least for a while. More than once, he’d been run off by men and women, suspicious of a lone man traveling with just a pack of supplies. And it was getting near impossible to steal food. Since word of his thefts had spread, folk were locking up their stuff and standing guard. No. He needed to belong to a group, have food and supplies and not be out wandering alone. Zeb had several pack mules instead of a wagon. He’d fit in just fine with this group of ragged-looking men.

  “The bitch took my wagon, children and money. I want ’em back. Don’t much care ’bout her, she’s jest a woman and a man’s got ta have hisself a woman to cook, clean and warm his bed at night. Let’s jest say this is part of my revenge for what she done to me. If she wants to spread her legs fer another man, might as well be ya.”

  “What if she don’t wanna?”

  Birk stared at the knife, mesmerized by the firelight bouncing off the metal edges. “What she wants or not has never been important. She spreads herself when I says, or she pays.” He glanced up, cold and calm. “The bitch will do as she’s told or she won’t see them brats again.”

  Zeb nodded and licked his lips. “We has lots of supplies with Matt gone. Ya can have his share.”

  Birk put his knife away and lowered his voice. “Deal is, we takes our own supplies and follow. Let them other two go on. Don’t want too many people knowin’ I’m following or what I’m plannin’.”

  “Well, I dunno. Rat and Pete and me, we’s a team.” Zeb frowned, eyeing the other two men snoring on the far side of the fire.

  Birk shrugged. “Fine. Long as you don’t mind sharing yer night. Seems they’s gonna feel they’re owed fer sharin’ and all, and I’m only giving ya one night with that bitch. Ya might have ta share with yer buddies.”

  Zeb took another swallow, his movements turning jerky. He stood, swaying. “Nope. That angel is mine. I gits one night with her, alone.”

  Birk reminded. “And maybe some fun with that Jones woman.”

  Zeb’s head wagged side to side. “Deal. One night with yer woman, and if we gits the other, she’s mine, long as I wants.”

  After Zeb settled down to sleep, Birk continued to stare into the fire, making his plans for revenge. He glanced over at Zeb and fingered his knife.

  No one touched his woman but him. Not ever.

  The next day of rest came one day before the trail turned southwest toward Fort Bridger. Men took advantage of their free day to do maintenance on their wagons. During the night, they’d soaked the wagon wheels in water. With the wood swollen, the rims were replaced. This kept the wheel from drying out and the rims from falling off during the hot, dry days. While some men oversaw chores, others grabbed their rifles and shotguns and headed out to try their hand at hunting. Still others gathered together with greasy, well-thumbed packs of cards to settle in the shade of wagons or tents and played Pinochle, Euchre or Old Sledge.

  After the morning meal, the women put pots of water on to boil and started in on the long, tedious process of doing laundry. Knowing the routine, the single men in Wolf’s party arrived early, bringing their dirty garments to Anne and Eirica to wash, each man eager to pay rather than do his own. No male wanted to be seen scrubbing his own clothing.

  Jessie and Coralie split Wolf’s, Jordan’s, James’s and Jeremy’s soiled clothing between them. Sofia joined them with Catarina at her side. She had Rook’s in addition to her own family’s wash.

  Eirica smiled at the dark-haired girl who held herself aloof. Her smile wasn’t returned and Eirica knew why; Catarina regarded Eirica as a rival for James. How could Eirica blame her? James was more than easy on the eyes and his deep baritone was enough to send shivers up her spine, especially when he sang. She swallowed a sigh of pure pleasure. Watching James had become her favorite pastime, especially when he played his guitar or mouth organ—and last night, she’d had ample opportunity to watch and listen to him.

  For the first time, she’d been free to attend one of the impromptu dances held on the trail. In the past, Birk had refused to allow her to go. While everyone else went to have fun and meet fellow travelers, she’d had to stay in camp with the children. But last night, she’d taken the children and gone with Coralie and Sofia.

  The dancing and music had lasted far into the night. What fun it had been to dance and feel carefree. She’d danced until her condition had forced her to sit and rest. A small grin hovered on her lips. Both Dante and Alberik had made sure they’d each gotten their share of dances, until James had claimed her, then ordered her to sit and rest. For once she hadn’t minded his bossiness. She’d been exhausted but hadn’t wanted to turn down any of the hopeful men looking for a dance partner and a break from the dreary days of travel. She’d sat the rest of the evening out, content to listen to the music and gossip with other women.

  To her surprise, James and his siblings had provided the music with mouth organs. Several men had joined in on fiddles, including Lars. Then, to the surprise and delight of all, Sofia’s grandsons had shyly produced their instruments and performed a folksy tune to which Catarina had danced. Eager to learn new dances, a horde of women and young girls had talked the shy girl into teaching them the intricate steps.

  Once more, Eirica eyed the sullen girl and tried to befriend her. “I really enjoyed your dancing and your brothers’ music last night, Catarina. It was a lot of fun.” Eirica meant the words. She really liked the girl and her mother. Even Dante was nice, and Marco was a funny child who had a gift for making others laugh.

  Coralie glanced up at the black-haired girl. “I think Elliot had a good time, too. I haven’t seen him laugh or smile in a long time.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Not since that preacher’s girl gave him the mitten.”

  Catarina blushed, then looked at Coralie with interest. Jessie jabbed her elbow into Coralie’s side. “What?” Coralie demanded.

  Eirica exchanged amused looks with Anne as Coralie, ignoring Jessie, lowered her voice and told Catarina about her brother’s broken heart. They, too, had seen Elliot dancing with Catarina, and when Dante put her on the spot by asking her to sing to one of his tunes, Elliot had looked as though someone had pole-axed him.

  Leaving Coralie and Jessie to their sparring while a much more animated Catarina held her own against them, Eirica turned to Sofia. “How’s Rook?”

  The older woman smiled. “Grouchy. He snaps and snarls and complains.”

  Anne chuckled. “Most men don’t like being laid up.”

  “He will just have to get used to it. Foolish man. He should know better than to run around in a storm.” Sofia rolled up her sleeves.

  Sighing, Eirica started the long, dreary process, too. Talk turned to general topics, then died altogether as the sun beat down on them and the heat of the water left everyone too hot to talk. By the time Eirica—accompanied by both Alberik and Dante who’d insisted, to the amusement of all the other women, on helping Eirica by lugging the heavy, sodden laundry—finished hanging the clothing out to dry on the line strung between the wagons, her back ached, her feet hurt, and her hands felt chapped and raw. And beside all that, she was starving; she hadn’t stopped for a noon meal, wanting to get the work done.

  Both Alberik and Dante insisted Eirica sit and let them finish. She was too tired to argue. Moments later, Jessie and Coralie joined her with their last armloads. Sofia and her granddaughter had left to start cooking the evening meal for the hired hands. Rook’s bellows could be heard as he argued with the De Santis woman.

  “I’m not, I’m telling you, I’m not going to help those two tonigh
t. Listening to them bicker drives me crazy,” Coralie stated, shuddering.

  “I don’t know, I think they’re kinda sweet together,” Jessie said, plopping down on the ground. She stroked Sadie who reclined beside her, panting. Under her mistress’s lavish attention, the dog rolled onto its side, resting its head in Jessie’s lap.

  Coralie rolled her eyes. “Now I know the sun has finally gotten to you, Jessica. Will you listen to them carry on? I do declare, one would think they were children the way they argue.”

  Jessie grinned. “Yeah. So do you think Rook’s sweet on her?”

  Coralie giggled. “I don’t know but I’ve never seen him get so worked up with anyone else.” Both looked to Eirica for her opinion.

  Eirica loved being included. After so many years of being on the outside, never being allowed to have friends—let alone asked to give her opinion—she felt as though she belonged, as if she mattered to these people. “I think Rook doesn’t stand a chance. I think Sofia is smitten.”

  “But she’s only been a widow a month.”

  Eirica smile faded. “So have I,” she whispered, keeping her voice low so Alberik and Dante wouldn’t overhear. What would others think if she allowed James to court her after so short a time?

  Jessie threw Coralie a glare, her hands stopping in mid-rub, to the dog’s annoyance. “I don’t think it matters, especially out here. First, there’s no one to know when and how each of you lost your husbands, and it’s not like we’re going to a settled town like Westport or St. Louis. Oregon is primitive and needs are different. Besides, I think Rook and Sofia will be good for each other. I’d really like to see Rook find someone to love again. He deserves a bit of happiness.”

  While Eirica privately agreed, she also decided she had to think a bit about her widowhood status and how others might view her and her children. Sofia was older, her grandchildren nearly grown. She patted a cold cloth against her cheeks and the back of her neck, scanning the area for her kids. Alison and Lara were sitting in the shade of a wagon with Hanna and Kerstin, playing with their dolls. The two Svensson girls, faced with the choice of tending the youngsters or helping their mother with laundry, had quickly chosen to mind Eirica’s children. Anne’s youngest son, Rickard, along with Marco, chased after Ian.