A Many-Splendoured Thing

by Margaret Pemberton

  ‘I can manage,’ she protested, seizing hold of the rope, knowing how intolerable his pain must be.

  His arm did not release her. Together they hung exhausted on to their frail lifeline.

  ‘You can’t,’ he said at last, shaking the water from his face. ‘You damned well nearly drowned.’ His eyes were black pits in a ghastly white face.

  ‘Would it have mattered?’ Her voice was bitter. She had nearly died and her emotions were naked. The roaring water tossed and buffetted them.

  ‘Of course it would have God-damned mattered!’

  Polly’s feet made brief contact with the river bed and then slipped, her heavy skirt fanning out in the water. She clutched at the rope so tightly that she could feel it cutting into her frozen flesh. Struggling to regain her balance, she said savagely,

  ‘Is your pride so intolerable that you would take even my death as a personal insult, Major?’

  His eyes were frightening. The blazing anger was extinguished. Only cold fury remained.

  ‘I would take no action of yours personally,’ he spat, gasping for breath. ‘You’re not fit to wipe the shoes of those you travel with. You’re shameless. A tease and a flirt of the worst kind—showing one face to your companions by day and another at night when none can see.’

  With a cry of rage Polly let go of the rope to slap his face. The torrent seized her, swirling her away as if she were a leaf, the gushing waters closing over her head. Her ears pounded, her heart felt as if it would burst. She struggled vainly and then he had hold of her, dragging her above the surface, his face a barely recognisable mask of pain and anger.

  ‘You little fool! Are you trying to drown us both?’

  She tried to speak and could not. She could no longer breathe. Her hands clutched him, her eyes agonised.

  ‘No …!’ The words tease and flirt rang in her ears. She heard him shout her name and then the roaring blackness engulfed her and she lay limp in his arms.

  ‘Here!’ Nephi had plunged in, one hand on the rope, the other stretched out to Dart. ‘Take hold, man!’

  Twice Dart stumbled. Neither time did his grip on the inert body in his arms weaken. Step by painful step he struggled to the bank. Eager arms stretched out to take Polly from him, but he would not let her go. Swaying on his feet, he carried her to the nearest wagon and laid her on dry bedding. Rasping for breath, he rolled her over and began to press down on her back, releasing the pressure, pressing again.

  ‘Please … Please …’ His words were incoherent. It was the first time in his life that he had prayed. ‘Please Lord. Please!’

  Nephi and Josiah stood by, their eyes anguished as tears merged with the water streaming down the Major’s lean, hard features.

  There was a moan and then a gasp and then Polly was violently and convulsively sick. Dart’s legs buckled and he sank to his knees as Josiah and Nephi gave thanks to their maker and Susannah Spencer said authoritatively:

  ‘Out of here, all of you. If she isn’t stripped of those wet clothes she’ll die of pneumonia!’

  Reeling with exhaustion, Dart allowed Nephi and Josiah to help him to his feet and to lead him away.

  ‘If we don’t get those breeches off you soon, they’ll be frozen so hard they’ll have to be chipped away,’ Nephi said gruffly.

  Dart nodded and staggered. Together Nephi and Josiah helped him into the Lyman wagon and stripped him of his sodden shirt and breeches.

  ‘Here,’ Nephi said, as Josiah wrapped him in warm blankets, ‘I reckon you’ll be needing this.’

  Dart grinned weakly and accepted the silver flask of bourbon from the non-drinking Mormon.

  ‘I reckon I will,’ he said, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  When he awoke the wagon he was in was moving. He swung his legs to the floor and looked around him with the immediate reflexes of a soldier. Five pairs of eyes gazed at him with interest.

  ‘We’re pretty bunched up,’ Serena said, perched comfortably on the end of what served as his bed. ‘Pa says to thank you for saving my life. I wish you’d woken earlier, though, as he was awful mad with me.’ She rubbed her bottom reflectively. ‘Brother and Sister Cowley are travelling with the Marriots. Ma said it wouldn’t be proper for you to travel with them, though I don’t know why. Anyhow, you’re in here with us and Sister Lyman.’

  Dart was relieved to find that Nephi had had the foresight to dry his breeches and reclothe him. He dragged on his shirt and jacket and shouted to Lydia Lyman as he pulled on his boots.

  ‘How far have we travelled?’

  ‘A good twenty miles. We had freezing weather and have ridden far. It’s Tuesday today.’

  ‘For the love of God!’ He burst out of the wagon. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’

  ‘There was no need,’ Lydia said complacently. ‘Never wake a sleeping babe or a tuckered-out man.’

  He grinned and jumped to the ground and found his horse reined alongside.

  ‘How you managed to remain a spinster beats me. Someone should have snapped you up years ago.’

  Lydia laughed. ‘It was completely voluntary, Major. But don’t tell anyone else. They might stop feeling sorry for me.’

  He mounted his horse, wheeled it around and paused uncertainly. His memory of the last few minutes of the river crossing was hazy. He remembered quite clearly the sight of Polly struggling to save the Spencer child, and he could remember his own horrified reactions, the sensation that he was about to lose all that he had ever longed for. He remembered his plunge into the icy torrent and his relief when he had caught hold of her and they had clung together, choking and exhausted. His lips tightened. He remembered her contemptuous words: her loathing to have him anywhere near her when all could see. Her reaction had been very different when he had rescued her from the dry goods store in Corrington. Then, with no watching eyes and under cover of darkness, she had surrendered to him willingly and warmly. He remembered his feeling of savage bitterness, his desire to wound and hurt her. And then she had let go of the rope and been swept away, and he had thought she was drowned.

  Time had spun out in an eternity as he had struggled to seize her, to drag her above the surface and back to the bank.

  Miss Polly Kirkham owed him her life. He wondered if she would be grateful and doubted it. The knowledge of such a debt would only make her more hostile. The sensible course of action would be for him to ignore her. To carry on as if the incident had never taken place: as if the angry words had never been spoken. His knuckles clenched till they showed white. He could not do it. He had to speak to her. The need to see her again was insurmountable.

  With every muscle in his body taut, he cantered towards the Marriot wagon. She was up front, perched precariously on the edge of the wooden seat as Tom drove and Josiah sat next to him.

  Her face had flushed with colour the minute he had emerged from Lydia Lyman’s wagon. Her eyes avoided his, her fingers twisting torturously in her lap as he asked in a voice feigning indifference,

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Major.’

  Tom and Josiah cleared their throats and began to take an uncommon interest in the countryside they were passing through. The silence stretched uncomfortably.

  ‘I …’ Polly swallowed and wished that he had not ridden so close. If she reached out her hand she could touch him. ‘I believe I owe you my life, Major Richards. I … I … am most grateful for it.’

  Beneath the broad brim of his hat, Dart’s face remained impassive. It was not her stiffly spoken words of gratitude he wanted. He stared broodingly ahead of him. The sun was shining and they were making good progress. They would be at Richardson Point by dusk. Polly Kirkham would soon be nothing but a memory. The knowledge brought with it a pain that was like a knife wound. He cursed himself silently. He had made a fool of himself once over a woman and had vowed never to do so again. It was a vow he had kept. Until now. They had only a few hours left in each other’s company. It wo
uld be easy to dig his spurs in and ride away. He need barely set eyes on her again. Instead, he found himself saying curtly,

  ‘You look pretty cramped up there. How about riding with me for a while?’

  Polly gasped, her heart beating wildly, her cheeks burning. ‘I’m sorry … I don’t think … It would not be proper …’

  ‘T’will do no harm,’ Tom Marriot said easily. ‘And it will give Josiah room to breathe for a while.’

  Polly gazed from Tom to the Major helplessly. A slight smile curved the harsh lines of Dart’s mouth. She looked prettier when she was mortified than she did when she was angry.

  Tom reined in and, still protesting, Polly allowed herself to be swung in front of Major Richards on his powerful black stallion. It evoked memories that were all too clear and recent. Memories of the ride from Corrington, of his mouth on hers, hard and sweet. Of the blissful strength of his arms as they had held her, protecting and shielding her. Of the cold reality when he had removed her arms from around his neck. In the icy torrent of the creek he had accused her of being shameless. With her face primly averted from his, she knew that what he said was true. With the heat of his body against hers, the rough feel of his uniformed arm around her, she was overcome with a longing that was unbearable.

  They left the Marriot wagon behind them and cantered beside the Spencers. Nephi eyed them with affection and seemed to see nothing amiss in Polly sitting in such close proximity to a man she was not betrothed to.

  ‘How come I slept and you didn’t?’ Dart asked Nephi, already regretting his unwise impulse. He could not be so near to her and not touch her. Her hair smelt of lavender. He longed to take her cumbersome cloak and cast it aside, taking her slim, supple body in his arms, feeling the softness of her lips once more beneath his.

  Nephi grinned. ‘I only woke four hours ago. Sister Lyman got things moving. Susannah drove our team, and at the rate of progress we’ve made, I reckon Brother Brigham should install Sister Lyman at the head of one of his convoys.’

  ‘Will Brother Brigham still be at Richardson point?’ Polly asked tentatively.

  ‘That depends on the weather they’ve had. I know that he intends to leave as soon as possible with a pioneer party for Council Bluffs.’

  ‘Is that in the Rocky Mountains?’ she asked, acutely aware that however straight she sat she could not avoid contact with Major Richards’uniformed chest.

  There was dry amusement in Major Richards’voice as he said,

  ‘Council Bluffs is only the beginning of the trail Brigham Young intends to blaze. From there he can follow the Platte River and make for Fort Laramie. Then he intends crossing the south pass over the mountains into the desert beyond.’

  ‘To the Promised Land,’ Nephi said cheerfully.

  Dart shook his head in exasperation. ‘There’s no Promised Land in the desert, Nephi. Mr Young talks of settling at the Great Salt Lake. You’ll never build a city there. It’s a waterless desert.’

  ‘We’ll make the desert bloom,’ said Nephi confidently, and began to whistle his favourite tune.

  Dart listened to him with half an ear. His thoughts were centred entirely on Polly. There was only one way to free himself from the unremitting desire he felt for her, and that was to satisfy it. In doing so he would lose the respect of Nephi and Josiah and Tom. That would be a pity, but could not be helped. She had teased and tormented him enough. His decision made, he bade goodbye to Nephi and tightened his hold of Polly. Then he dug in his spurs, and, as Polly gave a gasp of surprise and fear, he galloped furiously off up the snow-bound track until the three wagons were out of sight.

  ‘We have some unfinished business to attend to,’ he said grimly, reining in at a copse of beech trees.

  Polly gazed at him like a rabbit at a stoat. Was he going to vent his anger on her here? Was that why he had asked her to ride with him? So that he could abduct her and vent his anger on her, out of earshot of any that might intervene? He had ordered her to remain on the far bank and she had disobeyed him. In doing so she had nearly lost both their lives. Major Richards was not a man who would take disobedience lightly. Her mouth felt dry. She wanted to cry, but knew that to indulge in tears would be the lowest form of weakness.

  He swung lightly to the ground and when he seized hold of her waist and her frightened eyes met his, she knew that her fears were unfounded. It was not anger that Dart Richards wished to vent on her. Her heart began to beat wildly and irregularly.

  She opened her mouth to make a cry of protest, but it was silenced by the heat of his lips. His arms were around her and with a sob of capitulation she made no effort to free herself.

  ‘Polly …’ The words were strangled in his throat. He had anticipated resistance, outrage. Now his anger and hurt were lost in a rush of passionate tenderness. He swung his military cape to the snow-covered ground and lowered her beneath him with infinite tenderness.

  ‘Polly …’ The words he wanted to say were never uttered. She was in his arms and his mouth was on hers, warm and demanding, sliding down to the hollow of her throat so that she gave a little cry of pleasure, and then returning to her mouth, kissing her with increasing urgency and hunger until her senses reeled.

  The fever possessing her rose higher and hotter. His warm hand was on her breast, his fingers gentle and caressing. Her hands moved up the length of his back, burying themselves in the thick black hair as he lowered his head, kissing her throat, opening the buttons of her gown, kissing the soft flesh of her bared breasts. She was oblivious of the sharp, cold air, of the improprieties, of the liberties he was taking with her body—for he was taking none. She was giving to him freely, locking loving arms around his head as his mouth burned hers like a flame. With a small gasp she pressed herself closer and closer to him and then she felt him freeze, and heard the unmistakable sound of approaching wheels.

  Slowly, carefully, he re-buttoned the bodice of her gown. She traced the harsh contours of his face with her forefinger, gazing up at him in wonder and love. This time there could be no mistake. The expression in his eyes reflected the expression in her own. She loved him and he loved her. He had not said so, yet there could be no other explanation for what had passed between them. As he lifted her to her feet she was trembling. What would happen to them? Where would they go? There could be no question of her continuing to the Rocky Mountains with the Latter-day Saints. Her place was with him.

  Dazedly she rejoined the wagon train, unaware of the curious glances Susannah and Eliza were giving her. Even her voice had changed, imbued with an emotion that had previously been foreign to it.

  ‘A wagon! A wagon!’ little Jamie Spencer called out suddenly as they made camp at midday.

  Lucy dropped the ladle with which she had been spooning beans and ran to Jamie’s side. ‘Praise the Lord!’ she shouted exuberantly. ‘It’s Jared and the Merrills!’ and despite her husband’s protests she picked up her skirts and ran to greet them.

  ‘Now there’s a funny thing,’ Josiah said, sitting on a water cask and continuing with his meal. ‘Richardson Point is only a couple of miles away. What have those plum idiots been up to?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it hardly matters, seeing they’re safe and with us again,’ Tom said jubilantly.

  The Merrill wagon came towards them at a rattling pace. Polly could see Jared at the reins, Emily beside him. With the others she ran forward, overjoyed at seeing him again, knowing he was safe. The horses slithered in the snow and Jared leapt to the ground, hugging his mother tight.

  ‘Son, son, I’ve been so worried. You’ve been in my thoughts every minute of every day.’

  Polly had the grace to feel ashamed. He was part of her adopted family, yet she had taken it for granted that he would be able to look after himself and her mind had been too full of Dart to have room for Jared.

  Emily had already sprung to the ground after Jared, and Charity and Fletcher Merrill followed more slowly. Fletcher Merrill’s face was emaciated and he looked a poor replica o
f the vigorous man who had departed from Nauvoo.

  ‘Come near the fire. Where have you been? Why are you not at Richardson Point with the others?’

  Question followed question. Jared disentangled himself from his mother, clapped his father stoutly on the back and then his eyes immediately searched for Polly.

  She ran towards him, her arms wide, all the constraint of the last few months vanishing. They were brother and sister again, for now she knew that she had never been in love with him. Love was what she felt for Dart.

  He swung her round in his arms and only when he kissed her on the lips did realisation flood Polly. Jared had left the camp in the belief that she was on the point of marrying him. She pushed her hands against his chest and he released her gently.

  ‘It’s good to be back, Polly. You should have your hood up. The cold is biting.’

  Tenderly he lifted the hood of her cloak and tucked the golden ringlets out of sight.

  Dart, leaning negligently against the Lyman wagon, watched the scene through narrowed eyes. He had not taken Jared into account. He was a mere boy who had left camp before his own feelings for Polly had manifested themselves. Now, with pristine clarity, he saw that not only did the boy love her, but that he fully expected a like response from Polly. How long had she lived with the Marriots? Four years? Five? It would be only natural that two young people, living together in close proximity, should fall in love; especially when the young man was as personable as Jared and the girl as breathtakingly beautiful as Polly. His eyes shifted to Emily Merrill. She was watching the reunion with agonised eyes, the lines around her mouth white and painful.

  Jared loved Polly: Emily loved Jared. Who did Polly Kirkham love? He remembered the way she had kissed the Marriot boy on his departure and frowned, reflectively unscrewing the top from his flask and swallowing a mouthful of bourbon.

  ‘Why did you not head on to the camp at Richardson Point if you were only a half day’s travelling away?’ Josiah was asking Jared.

  ‘We had food enough and were relatively sheltered by a hill and a handful of trees. Brother Merrill was reluctant to travel until he was fully recovered. The slightest movement made him nauseous. I saw you from the top of the hill an hour ago, and as Brother Merrill was feeling more like his old self we thought we’d surprise you and join you. We can all enter Richardson Point together now.’