Orchids in Moonlight

by Patricia Hagan

  Fury shot through the crowd like a bullet. Cord was adamant. Either they discarded heavy pieces or they risked losing their wagons. Eventually, a few men saw the wisdom of what he was saying and agreed to cooperate. The women, however, remained reluctant to give up their precious possessions.

  In the midst of it all, Wilma shouted, "What about the whores, captain? What do they have to give up? We didn't even know they were coming along till the last minute, and that wasn't right. I'd never have agreed to me and mine being in the company of strumpets."

  Several of the women chimed in to agree.

  "Have any of them bothered you, Mrs. Turnage? Or bothered your family?" he asked evenly, though he could feel himself tensing as she continued to try his patience.

  With a sneer, she fired back. "They know better. They think they're too good to walk anyhow, so all they do is sit in their wagon and primp all day. But if we got to get rid of some of our belongings, they've got to give up theirs too."

  "They only have their clothes. They aren't bringing furniture," he told her.

  Amy Dunbar snickered. "Why should they? All they need is a mattress."

  The crowd broke into gales of mocking laughter. Cord could see the prostitutes standing at the rear and noticed they were exchanging glances of annoyance. Crammed into one wagon, they were uncomfortable enough without being singled out for ridicule and scorn. He watched as they all drifted back into the shadows except for the spunkiest of their number– Imogene Newby.

  Cord groaned inwardly as Imogene started pushing her way forward. Hoping to avoid a scene, he announced the meeting was over.

  But it was too late.

  Imogene stepped in front of Wilma Turnage and jabbed at Wilma's bosom with an angry finger. "For your information we'd rather be outside walking. It'd be a damn sight better than bumping our butts every time the wheels hit a rock. But we stay inside to keep out of trouble, 'cause we're sick of the hateful remarks you make every time you think we can hear you. You leave us alone, and we'll leave you alone."

  Wilma had no intentions of backing down. "You've no right to be among decent folk. Even the Good Book preaches to avoid the temptations of evil, and that's what you are–evil. And you're tempting our menfolk to commit sins of the flesh."

  Cord stepped between them. "That's enough, both of you."

  Imogene wasn't finished. With a look of contempt in Harry Turnage's direction, then at Wilma, she said, "You ain't got nothing to worry about, lady. None of us are that hard up for money."

  It was all Cord could do to keep from breaking into laughter with everyone else. He steered Imogene away, leading her out of hearing range of the others. "You know it's best to just ignore her kind."

  "I can take only so much." She wrested from his grasp. "The others feel the same. We shouldn't have come till there were more of us and fewer of them."

  "Which would be next year," he pointed out.

  * * *

  Warmed by his nearness, Imogene's anger was fading fast. Since the first time she'd laid eyes on him, she had wanted him in her bed. She reached to brush her fingertips down his cheek, felt the roughness of his morning shave growing out. "Let's don't talk about unpleasant things, sugar. It's a beautiful night. I've got a jug of whiskey back in the wagon. We could go for a walk down by the river. Get to know each other better." She stepped forward, pressing her breasts against him. "Maybe I'll even give you a free poke."

  He moved away. "You know my rules. We talked about that when I signed you girls on. I don't mix pleasure with business."

  Her laugh was husky. "But this is my business."

  "Not till you get to California. Another rule is that you don't do it with anybody till we get there, remember? But I think I will have that drink. I need to talk to all you girls to get you calmed down so you won't let Wilma and the others get under your skin."

  "They already have," Imogene whispered, not giving up. "So how about you getting inside it?"

  "Forget it, Imogene." He took hold of her again, this time leading her in the direction of her wagon.

  * * *

  Jaime listened with interest as Hannah and Ella recounted the events of the meeting. She envied their freedom to move about, because the past few weeks had taken their toll. She wasn't able to walk as much as she wanted, because the others did not want to give up their turn. In fact, Ella was the only one who would allow her to walk in her place. Everyone was becoming grumpy and irritable as the trip wore on, and she had grown weary of hiding by day, stiff and sore from the wagon's jouncing.

  She lived for the night when, after the others made sure it was safe, she could slip outside to stretch her legs and every once in a while take a bath in the river if they were camped close enough. But always she had to hurry, limiting her time outdoors, for the risk of discovery was too great. She had to be careful lest Cord see her hair; she had also swapped her drab dress for something bright of Ella's, even though it hung large and loose.

  Hearing of the argument between Wilma Turnage and the prostitute known only as Imogene was fascinating. Jaime also secretly enjoyed hearing how Cord had stood up to everyone. Watching him from afar whenever possible, she had come to respect him, despite her resentment for the way he'd so easily denounced her. His job, she knew, was not easy. It was said he was up before anyone else, and if there was work to be done, he did not make his bed beneath the supply wagon till the wee hours.

  "How much longer?" Ella asked Hannah as they waited together for the right time for Jaime to sneak out.

  Hannah said she had no idea. "I don't know where Austin is. I lost sight of him when the meeting ended. I think he took Imogene off to try and calm her down before she started yanking out Wilma's hair."

  "I wasn't talking about that. I meant how long do you think it will be before Jaime can come out of hiding for good?"

  "Not till after Fort Laramie. He might make her stay there. Frankly," she added with a sigh, "there are times when I wish he'd throw me out."

  Jaime, quiet till now, gasped. "You don't mean that."

  Hannah assured her she did. "I know the trip isn't as rough as it used to be back in the first days of the gold rush, but it's still brutal. And I swear, if I was to meet a man standing alongside the trail who wanted to marry me and settle down then and there, I think I'd do it to keep from having to go all the way."

  "Me too," Ella chimed in.

  She could see their faces in the glow of moonlight and knew they were serious. If she had shared their motives for having left Kansas, Jaime knew she might feel the same way. Still, she hoped they did not change their minds and drop out.

  They moved back as Ruth climbed up in the wagon. She had taken a bath in the river despite its being muddied. "Still waiting for Captain Austin to finish up with Imogene?" she asked, settling down in the spot where she made her bed.

  Hannah said they hadn't returned from their walk. "We can't chance Jaime going outside till we're sure where he is."

  Ruth said airily, "He's right behind you, silly. I saw him follow her into her wagon as I was leaving to get my bath. You all must not have been watching."

  Ella was stunned. "Isn't that rather brazen? I mean, I hate to sound like Wilma, but it doesn't look nice. The wagon master should have some sense of decorum."

  "Oh, I agree." Hannah nodded briskly. "After all, how can he watch out for all of us if he's over there carrying on with a wagon full of prostitutes? You might as well get on out and take your walk, Jaime. He'll be busy all night, for sure."

  Jaime hastily crawled out of the wagon to disappear into the night. As she paced about, giving her stiff legs much-needed exercise, she told herself the anger boiling within came only from indignation over Cord's shirking his duties to yield to the temptation Wilma Turnage preached about, not because she personally cared what he did.

  Finally returning, Jaime squeezed into her space in the wagon. All was quiet. Evidently Cord had fallen asleep with the women. Maliciously, she hoped he continued to sleep till the
wake-up shot was fired in the morning and everyone started getting up and moving about. Maybe they would see him emerge and know what he'd been up to. Maybe they would even be so mad they would ask him to resign when they got to Fort Laramie. With a new wagon master, she could come out of hiding, and Cord Austin could just go to hell for all she cared.

  She drifted away to restless dreams of revenge, mingled with helpless desire for the man she was trying so hard to despise.

  * * *

  Promptly at four, the sentinel on duty fired his rifle. At once, people began to pour out of wagons and tents. Slow-kindling smoke began to rise. Breakfast was prepared and eaten, tents struck, wagons loaded, and teams yoked.

  They had three hours to fall in their places in line, for the bugle to roll sounded exactly at seven. Those not ready were left behind to catch up, and everyone scrambled to keep that from happening, for it was not safe for a single wagon to straggle.

  In the first moments of activity, Jaime stared out at the wagon behind, watching as Imogene and the others emerged to head for the bushes for their morning privacy. There was no sign of Cord, but she had not really expected to see him, anyway. He was far too smart to get caught.

  Imogene spotted her and gaily called "Good morning." Jaime nodded, then ducked back inside. The prostitutes had discovered her presence some weeks earlier but had been sworn to secrecy. Jaime found Imogene to be quite friendly and actually liked her, but that morning, as she watched her walk toward the bushes, she chided herself for actually feeling a twinge of jealousy. Cord Austin's kiss, unfortunately, was still a vivid and pleasant memory, and looking at the woman who had obviously known it last was unbearable.

  "I'll get over it," she muttered under her breath.

  Ella heard and patted her shoulder. "Sure you will. Before you know, we'll be far enough along for you to thumb your nose at Captain Austin, and he won't be able to do a thing about it. Won't that be wonderful?"

  She skipped along toward the bushes with the other women, not waiting for an answer.

  But Jaime had nothing to say, anyway.

  With a sigh of resignation, she settled down, resolved to make it through another day.

  * * *

  On schedule, they reached the steep drop Cord had warned about. There, with many of the women weeping and wailing over being forced to leave family heirlooms behind, the wagons were lowered to the bottom one by one.

  Jaime, wearing a slat bonnet, blended in with the other women. Cord was far too busy to take note of an extra person.

  All around they could see evidence of other wagon trains having gone before them, for the area was littered with discarded items: weather-beaten furniture, rusting iron stoves and cooking utensils, and even luxury possessions, like ornate clocks, fine china and silverware, musical instruments, and books.

  In the valley below they could also see the skeletons of wagons that had broken the ropes and tumbled downward to crash and splinter—a sobering sight that somewhat helped to ease remorse over abandoning cherished belongings.

  A cool woodsy glen awaited where Cord allowed a layover day for everyone to gather up the belongings that had been lowered by separate ropes and repack their wagons.

  For the next fifty miles the trail was an uphill grade, slight but constant. It was late June, and the nights were growing steadily colder with the rising altitude. On the distant horizon, they could see the snow-patched Laramie Mountains, which formed nature's stepping stones up into the rugged Rockies.

  The scenery was spectacular, with strange formations of earth and rock.

  Jaime wondered wistfully if her family had taken the same trail when she was only two. She had no memories of the journey out and only vague recollections of the return.

  * * *

  On they traveled, weeks passing in misery. July came and with it tempers to match the soaring temperatures. They had covered over six hundred miles since leaving Independence. Everyone was tired; both strength and patience were growing thin. Animals were exhausted, as well as a third of the supplies. There were fights among the men, arguments among the women.

  Sometimes, when things got out of hand, Cord stepped in to break up an altercation. As a result, anger was transferred to him, and as the wagon train approached the frontier outpost of Fort Laramie, he found himself the brunt of much animosity and resentment.

  Increasing the tension, some of the men began to share the horrible tales they'd heard of how the trail got worse beyond Fort Laramie. The night Cord overheard Harry Turnage talking about the Donner party, he exploded.

  It was a real horror story. Blocked by snow in the Sierra Nevadas, the pioneers had been forced to resort to cannibalism to survive.

  "Why waste your time talking about something that happened twenty years ago? It was sad, but they made the wrong decision when they tried to take a shortcut that hadn't been proven. They paid the price for their mistake. Things are different now. It won't happen to us, because we're going to keep on schedule, follow the trail, and not let the snows catch us. Why stir everybody up?"

  Harry spit a wad of tobacco juice dangerously close to Cord's boots. "It damn well better not happen to us, captain, 'cause if you get us snowbound and we run out of food, I promise you'll be the first one we put in a stew pot."

  Those around him laughed, but Cord felt the undercurrent and also noted the hatred glowing in Harry Turnage's eyes.

  Fighting the impulse to smash his fist into the scowling face, Cord warned, "Any more talk like that, and you'll find yourself left at Fort Laramie, Turnage. I won't put up with rabble-rousers.”

  Harry snickered. "Well, you might be interested to know me and the missus have been talking about dropping out there anyway. Lots of others, too. We figure we might just hole in for the winter and wait till next spring to make it the rest of the way. My missus don't like traveling with whores."

  Cord stalked away. Damn it, all he'd set out to do, been hired to do, was get the women to California. It had never been his intention to wind up mollycoddling a bunch of whining settlers. In a way, he didn't care if they did pull out, but he knew it was best to have as many wagons traveling together as possible.

  It was late. As much as he needed a drink, he didn't want to join Imogene and the whores as he had got in the habit of doing. They might suspect his bad mood had something to do with more complaints about their presence. But he didn't want to go to bed quite yet, either. It was the perfect time for a swim. Everyone else was afraid of snakes and stayed out of the river after dark, but right then Cord was so blasted mad, he felt sorry for man or beast that dared cross his path.

  He headed for the river.

  * * *

  Jaime saw him and held her breath.

  Only moments before, she had finished her bath at water's edge, retreating to the cover of rocks to dry herself and dress. As soon as he passed, she crouched down and darted through the scrub brush toward the ring of wagons.

  She did not see Wilma Turnage squatting in the bushes till it was too late to keep from crashing right into her.

  Chapter 6

  "Why don't you watch where you're going, you little upstart?" Wilma whispered harshly, righting herself and yanking down her gown.

  Jaime murmured a hasty apology as she tried to scramble away, but Wilma grabbed her ankle and held tight. "Who are you, anyway?" Suspiciously, she scanned her face in the moonlight. "You're one of the whores, aren't you?"

  "Oh, no, ma'am," Jaime was quick to say, afraid Mrs. Turnage was going to start screaming and bring everyone running, including Cord. "I'm with the women going to get married."

  Wilma shook her head. "No, you aren't. I've seen all them. Know them by their names. Who are you? And why haven't I seen you before?"

  Jaime knew she had no choice and admitted she was a stowaway.

  Wilma chuckled as she listened, pleased to hear of a conspiracy aimed at the wagon master she despised. "Well, now." She beamed at Jaime. "I think you're real smart to get away with it all this time.
You sure don't have to worry about me saying anything."

  Jaime needed reassurance. "You promise?"

  "Of course. I got no use for that man and how he brought them whores along, and I'll be looking forward to the day he finds out you tricked him. When do you plan to come out of hiding?"

  "I'd like to make it all the way past Salt Lake; then there wouldn't be any big town to leave me in before Sacramento. I believe he'd let me continue on."

  "You really think you can hide out till then?"

  "I've come too far to fail now," Jaime said confidently.

  "Well, quite frankly, not much gets by me, but you did, so I reckon you'll succeed."

  Jaime turned to go, anxious to end the conversation.

  Wilma called, "You let me know if you need any help, hear?"

  Jaime kept on going, praying she would never have to accept her offer.

  * * *

  She knew something was going on between Ella and Hannah long before they reached Fort Laramie. While everyone else talked excitedly, constantly asking Cord how much farther till they got there, Ella and Hannah hardly spoke to each other and had little to say to anyone else. She prayed they were not arguing about turning back, for Hannah's discontent had steadily been worsening.

  It was their last night on the trail before their planned arrival at the settlement the next afternoon. As the sun sank low in the sky, Cord sent Fletcher ahead to make ready to guide the wagons into a circle.

  The ritual had been performed so many times the measurement was perfect, and the hindmost wagon precisely closed the gateway. In less than ten minutes from the time the lead wagon halted, the barricade for the night was formed.

  Everyone scrambled for the chores they knew by heart. The women busied themselves preparing fires of buffalo chips to cook the evening meal, while older children helped their fathers pitch tents, unyoke the oxen, unharness the mules, and feed all the animals.

  Not too many days after leaving Independence, all the women Cord had signed on had decided to pool their resources and prepare their meals together, including the prostitutes. Usually, they took turns cooking, but this time Hannah found herself alone with the chore as the others took off to the riverbank to do their laundry. They knew there would be soldiers at the fort, perhaps a party and dancing, and they were all anxious to have a clean dress to wear for the festivities.