There was the sound of female laughter from the wagon ahead. Polly’s mouth tightened. What sort of a man was he, that he flirted with a spinster of Lydia Lyman’s years?
In mid-afternoon he returned once more to his horse, and galloped off up the track. When he returned it was to do the same courtesy to the Cowleys. Gratefully the injured Josiah allowed the powerfully-built Major to take the reins. Polly squared her weary shoulders defiantly. The Major could have no ulterior motive for relieving Josiah of the reins. Perhaps she had been wrong. She remembered the graceless, curt way she had refused his offer of help and the way his rare smile had immediately vanished.
She felt unaccountably miserable. Increasingly so as they made camp for the night and his eyes no longer flickered in her direction. When the work was done and the plates were washed and stacked away, she sat on her drum of wheat, as near to the flames as it was possible to get without setting her dress alight.
Nephi played his fiddle, the children danced, Josiah and his wife danced despite the encumbrance of the splints and sling. The Major and Lydia Lyman danced. Susannah and Josiah danced. Sister Schulster commandeered the Major yet again and this time he polka-ed her around the camp fire unselfconsciously, roaring with laughter at one or two of Sister Schulster’s risqué asides. His taciturn, intimidating presence had changed to one that Polly found even more unsettling. Only with her was he coolly indifferent. He spoke to Lydia Lyman of the merits of the United States President, James K. Polk, and of the merits of the Democrats as opposed to the Whigs. Polly felt ignorant and uninformed and was only too glad that the conversation remained between the two of them. Lydia Lyman’s blue-stocking mind had never served to her advantage in Nauvoo. Polly could not think of any other man who would have sat and talked with her with such genuine interest and respect for her replies. It seemed even more surprising considering the Major’s undeniable handsomeness and the fact that, never in his life, would he have had to work for the attentions of a lady.
With Josiah Cowley he spoke of the wars raging among the different Indian tribes. She overheard him saying that the Dakota and Sioux had threatened to wipe out their old enemies, the Pawnees. She heard mention of the Comanches, Kiowas and Cheyenne in Nebraska. Of how the place Brigham Young had destined for a semi-permanent camp was deep in Indian territory. He listened to Sister Schulster’s memories of her youth patiently and with genuine interest. He half carried Sister Fielding back to her wagon when weariness overcame her. He listened quietly and non-committally as Nephi described Joseph Smith’s vision to him. He retrieved Serena Spencer one-handed from a snowdrift and he spent a good half hour keeping the recovering Tom Marriot company. Only Polly did he ignore.
Her cheeks smarted and she stared steadfastly into the flames. She had never been very good at lying, either to herself or to other people. Now she was faced with a harsh truth. She found the Major far more attractive than Jared. Determinedly thinking of Jared, making plans to marry him, had failed to erase the Major from the forefront of her mind. Jared’s kiss could never arouse in her the emotions that the Major’s had. Jared’s presence could never heighten her senses as the Major’s did. Even now, when he so blatantly ignored her, her spine tingled when she heard his deep, rich voice. The lazy laughter, the careless self-assuredness that drew her like a magnet. She had been yearning for a man to love deeply and passionately and now she had found him. Only she did not know what to do. She had rebuffed him and he was no local boy that she could murmur an apology to and wind around her little finger. He was a man of twenty-seven or twenty-eight—possibly even thirty. A virile, handsome, experienced man and she had no idea how to approach him: how to say she was sorry for her rudeness earlier in the day. She knew now why she had reacted so vehemently to the mention of the ladies in St Louis. She had been jealous.
He emerged from the Marriots’wagon and strode back to the little circle around the fire.
‘How many days until we reach Richardson Point, Major?’ she asked, her heart hammering wildly, hoping that by her simple question she could renew contact between them.
He looked across at her uninterestedly. ‘Three. Four.’
Her mouth felt dry, her throat tight.
‘How many miles have we still to cover, Major?’
‘In the region of thirty,’ he said curtly, rising to his feet, and with a slight nod in Nephi’s direction he strode away from them and into the darkness.
Very faintly Polly could hear the sound of the silver flask being unscrewed.
‘From Sugar Creek to Richardson Point is fifty-five miles,’ Josiah Cowley said to a no-longer-interested Polly. ‘We made ten miles yesterday and today, despite the heavy snow. If we keep up this speed we will be there in three days.’
Three days and then he would no longer be with them. Would he ride hard for St Louis or did he have other plans? Polly did not know, but wished that she did. She wished she had the confidence to walk away from the camp fire and into the darkness after Major Richards, and say that she was sorry and that she would have liked it if he had driven a little way for her. She could not. Not only because of the comment it would cause amongst her companions, but because she was certain that if she did so Major Richards would simply shrug and she would be left to feel foolish and childish and utterly mortified.
Her black-buttoned boots were nearly in the embers of the fire, but still she shivered. If her mother had been alive she would have been able to talk to her and her mother would have understood. As she had so often before, she felt utterly alone.
Dart fought down his anger. She was no different from all the rest and he had been a fool to have fallen, even momentarily, for her beguiling, wide-eyed, innocence. He was well used to the curtness with which she had rebuffed his offer to drive for her. Ladies, as he had learned the hard way, did not welcome close physical contact with a gentleman whose parentage was as mixed as his. Only under cover of darkness did they seek him out. He smiled grimly. She had been trying to appease him just now. Two days hard travelling had weakened her strong moral stand and no doubt she would have been only too pleased to have joined him secretly and in the darkness when the others had gone to bed.
He unscrewed his flask and took a deep swig of good quality bourbon. She was in for a disappointment. No woman ashamed to be seen with him by day would enjoy his company by night.
He should never have kissed her. Until then he had thought her nothing but a pretty child. The kiss had made him revise his opinion drastically. He was well acquainted with desire, but her soft, sensual mouth had aroused in him something far deeper than that. Something he had thought dead and buried for ever. Was it because she was parentless and alone that he had felt so unaccountably drawn to her? He screwed the top back on his flask and replaced it in his hip pocket. He had felt her loneliness and had responded to it. He had also responded to pale golden hair, blue eyes, and the trimmest waist his hands had held for many a day. He laughed at himself without humour. Through the long night he had lain sleepless, disturbed beyond all reason by the encounter. And for what? For a jumped-up little miss who looked at him in the light of day as if he were no more than a fly to be brushed contemptuously away.
He waited alone in the freezing night until he heard the last of the goodnights. Then, and only then, did he return.
Lying beside Lucy in the Marriot wagon, Polly heard the quiet tread of his footsteps. She did not lift the canvas to look out in case he saw the movement. Besides, she had no need to look to know what she would see. He would be sitting on his drum of wheat, high-booted legs slightly astride, his military cape around his shoulders, his arms resting on his knees. He would be gazing into the flames as she had earlier, but his thoughts would be his own and she could not even begin to imagine them.
She knew one thing only. Even if Major Richards never deigned to speak to her again, she would not marry Jared. She would not marry until she met a man who affected her as deeply as the man sitting only yards away from her. There was the sound of anoth
er branch being flung on to the flames. She wondered when he slept; if his long nightly vigils were for their protection. The exhaustion of the heavy day’s driving overcame her. With her mind still full of him, still trying to fathom out his true character, she closed her eyes and slept.
The next morning was sharp and crisp, the sky a pale blue with no sign of further snow. Polly made breakfast and fed the animals. From the rear of the wagon she could hear water being poured and the sounds of vigorous splashing. Major Richards was having his morning wash. Polly tried hard not to think of the lean, muscled body oblivious of the sub-zero temperatures. She hurried to the Cowley wagon and checked on Josiah’s arm.
‘The Major says you did a fine job on it,’ he said to her complacently. The bright fine day had lifted his spirits considerably.
‘The Major?’ Polly’s voice was unusually sharp.
‘Why yes. He asked to look at it and said whoever had tended it was an expert.’ Josiah laughed. ‘He thought the praise should be accorded to Sister Lyman, but I soon disabused him. “Polly Kirkham can tend anything from a sick, day-old chick to an amputation,” I said to him. I told him about that time in Nauvoo when old Abe Wisley lost his leg …’
‘Ready to roll?’ Nephi shouted.
Hurriedly Polly clambered out of the Cowley wagon and, holding her skirts clear of her flying feet, ran back to her own. The Major, as immaculate as if he was on parade, was once more dressed and in the saddle.
He noted that she was in the teamster’s seat with expressionless eyes, and then signalled them forward. It was quite clear that where he was concerned, she might as well not exist.
After an hour’s steady travelling, little Jamie Spencer hopped down from the back of his wagon and clambered up beside Polly.
‘There’s a small town a little way ahead. About three miles east of our track. The Major suggests we stop and get fresh provisions there. He says we’ll have very little opportunity for doing so afterwards.’
The prospect of a change from the ceaseless travelling cheered Polly. Ever since the morning that Dart Richards’eyes had flicked over her so carelessly, she had been plunged into a despondency that was unnatural to her. A three mile walk on the hard-packed snow would give her the opportunity of putting her thoughts in order. The little wagon train had become increasingly claustrophobic. She wanted to be on her own for a little while. She wanted to be able to think.
‘Josiah and I will go into Corrington for supplies,’ Nephi said, marching down past Sister Lyman’s wagon to her own. ‘One wagon in the town will be enough. We don’t want to make ourselves conspicuous.’
He had no need to say more. The Saints had suffered enough persecution in the past to know it could be found in the unlikeliest of places. Nephi was taking no chances with his little band.
With crushing disappointment Polly watched as Nephi and Josiah departed in the Spencer wagon.
Major Richards had dispensed with his cloak, and was carrying out repairs to one of Sister Lyman’s wheels. The dark blue cloth of his jacket was stretched tight across his back as he worked, and Polly could see the strong muscles rippling as he braced himself, lifting the wagon in order to free the wheel. She turned away and busied herself with clearing a patch of ground clear of snow so that they could light a fire. By the time she had done so and was on her way to the Cowley wagon for an armful of dry timber, the Major had divested himself of his jacket and his white shirt was open, sweat gleaming on his skin despite the temperature. She averted her eyes quickly, burning with shame at the unfamiliar emotions of desire that leapt within her whenever she saw, or was near, him.
How long before Nephi and Josiah returned and they were back on the trail again? Until then there was no way she could avoid his presence. It was only natural that everyone would eventually gravitate to the fire. It was hard enough avoiding his eyes at night-time. In the daytime it would be impossible.
She marched purposefully across to her own wagon and said to Lucy, ‘I’m going to walk into Corrington.’
‘But there’s no need, child,’ Lucy protested. ‘You will be able to carry very little back, and Nephi and Josiah have taken the wagon.’
‘Nevertheless, I’m going.’
Lucy sighed. It wasn’t often that note of obstinacy crept into Polly’s voice, but when it did, it was not to be argued with.
‘Then take one of the horses.’
Polly shook her head. ‘No, I want to walk and three miles isn’t far.’
Lucy was too tired to protest further. There was Tom to look after and Polly was eminently capable of looking after herself. She turned her attention to her husband.
Polly knew better than to inform anyone else of her decision. The Major was still engaged with Lydia Lyman’s wagon. The Spencer children were still playing, Susannah and Eliza were enjoying the rest, and the warmth of the fire.
She pulled her cloak closer around her shoulders and set off at a brisk pace, following the track left in the snow by Nephi and Josiah.
Polly had always found walking helped her think clearly. It did so now and as the first outcrop of houses appeared in the distance, the last of her doubts and confusion fled. She was in love with a man she knew nothing about and had spoken only a dozen words to. She was in love with Major Dart Richards.
Corrington proved to be so small that it scarcely deserved to be described as a township. It boasted one wide main street, a saloon bar, a dry goods store and a scattering of mean-looking wooden houses. Polly frowned. There was no sign of the Spencer wagon. The snow outside the dry goods store was churned and the indentation of footsteps indicated that a small crowd had recently gathered.
Polly felt a slight tightening of her stomach muscles. There was no one to be seen, the street was deserted, the air too cold for men to be loitering on the steps of the saloon with mugs of beer in their hands. She had taken it for granted that Nephi and Josiah would return the same way they had come, and that there was no way she could miss them and so hold up the party when they were once more ready to travel West. If Nephi and Josiah had left Corrington by a different route and were even now well on their way back to camp, by the time she returned on foot she would have aroused everyone’s wrath, not least the Major’s.
Apprehensively she stepped up and into the dry goods store. A grizzled-haired man sat on a chair, its two back legs tipped against the wall, a cheroot in his mouth. He made no move to rise to his feet when Polly entered, but his eyes sharpened as he looked her up and down, as if trying to discern her figure beneath the covering of her cloak.
‘Have you just served two strangers?’ Polly asked nervously. ‘One of them a man with his arm in a sling?’
Something like amusement flickered in the unpleasant, blood-shot eyes. Without moving or removing the cheroot from his mouth he called out, ‘Clay! Come out front and see what I have here.’
‘Have you, or have you not, just served the two men I have described?’ Polly asked again, trying not to let her unease show in her voice.
A heavily built, bald-headed man emerged from the inner door behind the counter. On seeing Polly he grinned, but it was not a friendly grin. On one side of his temple was the beginning of a large bruise. Dry flecks of blood were on his hand. Suddenly Polly was sure that Nephi and Josiah had been at the store and that their arrival had not been welcome. She backed away.
‘Thank you, and good day,’ she said and was angrily aware of the underlying tremble in her voice.
‘Not so fast.’ The front legs of the chair tipped creakily to the ground. ‘A man with a sling, did you say?’
‘Yes.’ Her momentary halt while she answered was enough. The heavily-built, bald-headed man moved with surprising speed. The door was locked behind her, the shade pulled down.
Polly spun around and gasped in fear. He lounged against the bolted door and this time his grin was wolfish.
‘Seems to me like the lady’s referring to those two Mormons who stepped in here a while back, Clay.’
‘Seems to me we’ve got ourselves another little Mormon,’ Clay replied, and Polly could see the ugly fat hanging over the broad leather of his belt. ‘Reckon she’s wife to one of’em?’
‘Mebbe she’s wife to both of’em. I’ve heard those Mormons have fancy habits. They’re not content with just one wife. Why, my brother Frank in Illinois tells me they like to have a good round dozen to keep’em warm on winter nights.’
‘That so?’ Clay’s eyes ran lasciviously over Polly. ‘Betcha those Mormon women are just as bad. Betcha one man ain’t enough for them either.’
Polly had never known sheer, unadulterated fear before. Her heart pounded. She could feel the sweat trickling down the back of her neck and her knees felt so weak that she could barely stand, let alone walk. Yet walk she must. She held her head high and said again, as if the conversation had been about nothing but the weather.
‘Good day to you,’ and walked terrified towards the door. He must give way. He must. There were only three yards between them. She took another step and another. Still the man lounged indolently in front of her. She was so near to him now that one more step would bring them into bodily contact. She could smell the odour of his breath and the staleness of his unwashed body.
‘Let me pass, sir,’ she said calmly, fighting to keep her fear from showing.
The yellow teeth were bared in a grin. ‘Seems to me like we’d be letting this little lady down if we didn’t show her some appreciation.’
She dared not turn her head for a second away from the monster in front of her, but from behind she could hear the creak of the chair as its occupant rose to his feet.
A Many-Splendoured Thing Page 7
