by Debra Samms
He shook his head slightly. "Brought what on us?"
"This danger. This threat. It is my fault."
"The Indians? How could that be your fault?"
She shook her head emphatically, trying to find a way to explain it to him. "I fear it is the price I must pay for – being so drawn to you the moment I met you. For being so – so very ardent when alone with you."
William simply stood and stared at her. Even in the darkness she could see the incredulous look on his face. And then he laughed, very gently. "Molly . . . Molly! Is that not what a husband and wife are meant to do when they are alone with one another?"
She nodded. "But I never felt so strongly before. I was never so attracted before – I was hardly attracted at all – to Ted." Molly turned and tried to hide her face in her shoulder, weeping once again.
"Ohh . . . said William, under his breath. "So there it is." He drew her close to him and patted her shoulder. "You are not feeling fear, Molly. You are feeling guilt."
She raised her head. "Guilt?"
"I believe so. You believe you will be punished for your attraction to your husband – your second husband – as though it is wrong to feel that way."
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, that is exactly so." Her voice began to break again. "It is wrong of me to feel that way. What sort of woman am I, to be so drawn to another man so soon after her husband's sudden death? It has been little more than two years!"
"Molly." His voice was gentle, and he placed his hands on her shoulders. "You need feel no guilt over anything that you do, quite properly, as a respectable married woman. We are drawn to each other out of love, as husband and wife. It is right that we should feel that way. Many consider it a gift from God."
Molly nodded, keeping silent as she wiped away her tears.
"Think of it, now. If we had been the ones to die, Molly, and not those we were married to – do you think that Ted and Sylvia would have lived alone their entire lives, or remarried and felt nothing but guilt? Of course not. And we would not begrudge them their new lives – would we?"
She hesitated, and then looked up into his shadowed eyes in the darkness. "But I am sure that Sylvia would not have found her new husband to be far more handsome than the old!"
After an instant of shocked silence, William laughed. "Please don't think of it again, dear Molly. Life is for those who are alive, as we are. It is a miracle that we found each other. There is so much in life that can end the tie between a husband and wife, as we know all too well. Please do not sever ours all too soon."
"Never," she whispered against his chest. "Never again."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
For the next two days, Captain Strong led the patrol out each morning. Both Private Ross and Private Fisher rode with him. And each evening they came back with reports of more fighting and more skirmishes and more threatening behavior between the Indians and the U.S. Army, as the men followed their orders and tried to push the Nez Perce back to the small and distant reservation that the Indians had been told was theirs.
One evening at twilight when the patrol came back, Molly watched from the front porch as she always did when William was gone. Abigail and Lydia were with her. As she had promised William, she made herself wait at the house and not run out to him.
But then, after the men had all dismounted and others walked out to lead their horses away, she noticed that one man ran inside one of the buildings and came right back out with Dr. Bernard, the post surgeon. And Dr. Bernard walked straight over to William and Nathan Ross and another man from the patrol, who all stood together at one side of the parade ground.
Then she saw William sink slowly to the earth and sit there, leaning on one arm, while the others gathered around him.
Molly instantly began to run down the front steps and almost fell as Lydia grabbed her by the arm. "Molly. No. No! You must not. You promised."
"But – look! He's been wounded!"
"All three of them are wounded. I can see the blood on them from here." Lydia kept a tight hold on Molly's arm.
"But I must – he's my husband! And he's hurt!"
"Molly! Nathan Ross is wounded, too," said Abigail, taking hold of Molly's other arm. "And Lydia is still waiting here. Come back up to the porch. We'll wait there together."
"Yes," said Lydia. "Come up here now." The two young women forcibly walked Molly back up the steps and then stood with her at the porch rail. "We will wait until the surgeon has looked at them, and then it will be our turn."
All three of them sat down in the chairs on the porch and waited in silence as darkness descended over the fort. The torches were lit and they snapped and popped in the quiet. Then, at last, to Molly's great relief, the door of the infirmary building opened and four men walked out.
Molly immediately stood up, but once again Lydia and Abigail held Molly's arms as the men crossed the parade grounds towards the house. "Sit down," said Lydia. "We will all sit down right here, as calmly as though we didn't even know they were gone."
Molly did as she said, feeling almost relieved to have someone else make the decisions about this. All she could think of was how she had seen William sink down to the ground when he'd dismounted and how the other men had had to help him get inside.
At last the little group reached the house. John Fisher walked alongside Nathan Ross, who had his arm held fast in a sling, while William hobbled along leaning on the shoulder of a fourth man.
"Ah, that's good, Private Butler. Thank you." William stepped away from the man and caught hold of the step railing, slowly climbing up to the porch.
Molly quickly stood up, but Lydia caught her hard by the back of her apron where no one else would see. Then she, too, slowly rose to her feet. "Nathan," said Lydia calmly. "How is your arm?"
He grinned at her, and shrugged – wincing only a little. "Not too bad. We had a little dust-up out there. I fell on the shoulder. Doc said to keep it in the sling for a couple of days and it'll be fine."
"That's what I thought. Are you ready to go home?"
"I sure am. Had about enough of being out for today."
At that, Lydia walked down the steps and then took her husband's free arm. Abigail and John followed them, and soon they were gone.
"Good night, Mrs. Strong," said Private Butler.
Molly nodded to him. "Good night." The man walked away, following the others towards the enlisted men's tents.
Molly and William were left alone on the porch. "Oh," said Molly, as calmly as she could. "Did something happen to your leg?"
"Not much," he said casually. "Come inside. I'll tell you about it."
Molly imagined she could still feel Lydia's tight grip on her apron as she followed her husband inside the house, and was determined not to give in to her feelings this time – even as her heart beat fast and the panic rose within her. Nathan had said that they'd gotten into "a little dust-up," but it was clear that William had been injured badly.
She followed him closely as he slowly hobbled inside, but kept silent and did not touch him. Molly was greatly relieved when he sat down in his usual place at the dining room table and she quickly lit the lantern for him.
"I'll get you some coffee and some food," she said, and hurried into the kitchen still determined to keep calm. He was obviously alive, she told herself sternly, and the post surgeon had already seen him and taken care of him. The best thing she could do for him now was bring him his supper and give him a chance to relax and rest.
Molly gave him his coffee first. In a few moments she brought him a large bowl full of thick chicken stew with potatoes and white beans, along with a few chunks of cornbread with plenty of butter. She got her own dish of chicken stew and sat down across the corner of the table from him.
He ate steadily for a little while. "This is good," he said, with his mouth still full. "Very good. You could make this for me anytime you like."
She smiled. "I will. I'm glad you like it." Then she drew a deep breath. "So," she began. "I noticed
that you spoke to the post surgeon when you got back this evening."
"I did." William picked up the cornbread and took a huge bite.
Molly continued to wait patiently. "So, what did he say? Is anything wrong?"
"Well, you see," he said, "we did run into a little trouble today. Some of the Indians are quite hostile about being ordered to move to their reservation, and don't mind showing it."
"What did the surgeon say about your leg?"
William shrugged. "I took an arrow shot."
Molly thought her heart would stop. "Arrow shot?"
"Yes. As I said, there is some hostility towards us from the Indians. But the arrow just grazed my thigh. It'll hurt even more tomorrow, but will heal after that."
"I see." She began to breathe again. "I'm glad it wasn't too serious."
He smiled at her, going back to the chicken stew once again. "You weren't worried, were you, Molly?"
She opened her mouth to speak, but then merely smiled politely. "I suppose I was, a little. But I can see now that you are all right."
"Good. Nothing comes from worrying. Just follow the rules and you will be safe."
"Rules?"
He glanced at her as he ate. "Yes. Of course. Just as I know I said to you in one of my letters. You must take my direction in matters of safety, just as my men must follow my orders. That is why all of us came back today. We all followed orders and did not try to break free and go our own way. That is what gets people injured. That is what gets them killed." He reached for another piece of cornbread.
Molly took a drink of her coffee. "William," she ventured. "I am making certain that I do not worry about you overmuch."
"That's good, too. It would do nothing but distress you."
"I know that. But I will admit that I wonder about something sometimes. Do you – do you ever worry about me?"
William stopped eating. Slowly he turned his head to look at her, and then set down his fork. He started to speak, but then looked away again and she could see that he was becoming angry.
"I'm sorry," Molly said. "I should not have asked. If I am not to worry about you, then of course you are not to worry about me." She went back to her coffee.
She jumped a little as he suddenly stood up and began moving towards the darkened hallway and the stairs, walking stiffly on his injured left leg as he went. He stood there for a moment, watching her, and then placed one hand against the doorway and leaned against it.
"I will tell you what happened to my first wife." His voice was low, but Molly could hear the tension in it. "And then I don't believe you will ever ask me again if I worry about you."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"It was some two and a half years ago," said William, standing in the shadows of the hallway. "One of Sylvia's great joys was cooking. She devoted herself to that as much as to anything else. That was why, on a cool autumn morning, she walked alone to the stand of trees along the creek. That same stand where the three marriages were conducted on the day you arrived.
"But Sylvia did not stop at the edge. She went far inside the trees to the creek itself, which cannot be seen from this side. It was watercress that she was after, for a honey-glazed beef dish that she wanted to make.
"I told her to wait until either I, or a couple of strikers, could go with her. I had told her that she was not to go into the forest by herself, since no one could see her – and she could not see what might be hiding behind those trees. But she went in there anyway, entirely alone."
He was silent for a moment, looking away. "I believe that she only wanted to surprise me with her new beef and watercress recipe that evening. But I can only speculate as to what, exactly, happened to draw her so far away into the forest.
"I do know that she was always quite particular as to exactly what sort of watercress she wanted, whenever she went to gather it. It had to be at just the right stage of growth, you see. Most likely she did not find it at first and continued walking and searching along the cold rushing waters of the creek . . . and probably never heard, or saw, the renegade Indians that found her. Not until it was far too late."
Molly closed her eyes and let out her breath. "William . . . I am so sorry."
"We found those two Indians later that same morning. They never harmed anyone again."
He straightened at that, and came striding slowly towards her. "Do not be sorry. Learn from this. Understand why you must listen to me when I warn you against doing something, or tell you why you must do it. There are very good reasons for my instructions to you."
She turned to him, trying to see his eyes beyond the soft lanternlight. "How you must despise them," she said. "The Indians, I mean. You must hate and fear them, after – after – "
"Despise them?" He shook his head. "No. I do not. Those were renegades in the forest that day, driven out of their own tribes for their crimes. We have our criminals and so do they. Most of the Indians are just trying to survive, as we are."
"I understand, William. And I promise you – I do understand. I know you are trying to protect me. I will listen to you in matters of safety, as I said I would do in my letter."
"I am glad to hear it, Molly." He walked slowly back to the table, favoring his left leg, and sat down again.
Molly picked up his cup and went back to the kitchen to get him some more coffee, and then sat down again.
"Thank you," he said, as she passed him the cup, and then took a long drink of the hot coffee.
"William," she said, watching him closely, "I would like to ask you to do something for me."
He set down the coffee cup and went back to his chicken stew. "Yes?"
She took a deep breath. "I want you to teach me to shoot."
He glanced up at her with a small frown. "You were a farm wife, Molly. Are you saying you've never fired a gun?"
"Well – yes, I have. My first husband – I mean, Ted – taught me to shoot a rifle."
"Have you ever had to shoot to protect yourself?"
"No. I haven't. I shot at a couple of raccoons that kept coming around the henhouse, but that was about all."
"I see. Did you hit them?"
"Well – no. But I did frighten them away."
He smiled, and just shook his head as he took another forkful of chicken and potato.
But Molly only frowned at him. "I am very serious about this," she said. "I am making every effort not to worry unnecessarily. It would help me greatly if I felt I could protect myself."
The fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He set it down again. "You are saying you don't feel I can protect you?"
She sighed. "William – of course you can. But you are not here all the time. On many days, you are very far away."
But he only shook his head. "No. I don't want you to learn to shoot."
"You don't? But – what do you mean? You would leave me helpless, at the times when you are gone? I don't understand!"
He picked up his coffee cup in both hands and seemed to study it. "That's right. You don't understand. You see – when Sylvia went to the creek that day, she was armed. She had a pistol that I gave her. I taught her to load it and to shoot it."
"So . . . why didn't she use it?"
William shook his head. "No one knows. It was still in the holster at her belt. But those two braves would have been expert at moving silently through the forest. They could walk up to a deer if they'd wanted to. No doubt they were able to creep up on Sylvia very easily, especially when she was beside a rushing creek with the wind blowing in the trees. She probably never knew they were there until it was too late.
"But I am convinced that that is why she thought she could go into the forest alone that day – because she was armed. That made her overconfident. She thought she could handle a threat. She was wrong. If she had not had the gun, she would almost certainly have stayed at the fort."
He looked up at her with a cold hard glare. "I will not risk losing you, too. Do not ask me again."
But Molly raised her chin. "I have
just promised you – again – that I would not disobey your word on anything to do with safety and security. Teaching me to load and shoot properly will not change that."
She reached across the corner of the table and covered one of his hands with her own. "It is not just my own safety that I am thinking of. There are two other women here and they are usually with me. Their husbands are gone just as much as you are."
William glanced at her, and she could see that he was thinking about what she was saying.
"And there is one more thing," Molly continued. "I want to know that if it should ever come to this, I want to be able to help you, too. I don't ever want to be dead weight on you. Please don't take that away from me, too."
He sighed, peering sideways at her. "All right. I will trust you not to ever go off alone, whether you have a firearm with you or not."
Molly smiled, and let go of his hand. "I will never go off alone. I promise."
"All right, then. What kind of gun have you fired? You said it was a rifle? What kind?"
"Well – I don't know what it was called. I was taught to shoot the small rifle that Ted owned."
"A small rifle."
She raised her chin again. "Yes. A small rifle. I was fairly good, if I may say so. I could usually hit what I was aiming at."
"Usually." He shook his head, and then smiled. "In that case, I've got just the weapon for you."
***
The next day passed with William leaving early to go out with the patrol. His leg was bandaged up tight against the pain and any further bleeding. To Molly's great relief, they all came back unscathed, but since he was quite tired and in no small amount of pain from his leg she did not question him about the promised firearm.
But before dawn on the following morning, William left early and went outside. Molly finished dressing and went downstairs to start breakfast. She kept one eye on the front door, and very soon she smiled to herself as it opened and William came back in.
