The Reluctant Bridegroom

by Gilbert, Morris

  Missy put her hand on his arm to stop her husband’s flow of indignation. “Be still, Chris.” With interest, she turned to her son. “What’s the trouble, Sky?”

  “Oh, it’s not trouble, Ma. I’ve just got a job to do and the weather won’t wait.” He felt a pang of guilt. I should have brought Joe with me, he thought. But he had known that the trip would be too rough for the boy, and had left him with Sam. He knew that his son would be all right—but the disappointment in the faces of his parents hurt him.

  “Sure would like to see that boy again,” Christmas said wistfully. He and Missy had children of their own, two girls and a boy, but they were all married and gone.

  “I’ll bring him next year, Pa, I promise,” Sky assured him. “This was just too rough a trip.”

  “No, we’ll be there with you,” Missy said firmly, glancing at her husband. “We haven’t been away from the Mission for ten years—and your father’s promised to bring me to Oregon next year. He’ll do it, too, or I’ll take a war club to him!”

  “That’s great!” Sky said. “Joe needs to know his grandparents.”

  “Well, what’s this job, Sky?” Christmas asked.

  “Now don’t laugh, either of you,” Sky warned. “I’m going to bring a wagon train of women from New York to Oregon—mail order brides, I guess you’d call ’em.” He smiled at their reactions, and quickly explained the plan to them. Finally he said, “I need a little help, Pa. It’s pretty risky crossing some of that country; I thought it might be safer if I got a few of the young men from different tribes to go with me as scouts and hunters.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Missy nodded. “You could take White Hawk. He still misses you.”

  “Sure, and Kieta would like to go,” her husband added. “He’s married a Sioux squaw, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a Chiricahua Apache in the train when you cross Apache country.” He named a few more and said, “It’ll take a couple of days to get them.”

  “Just have them at Fort Kearney by the middle of April, Pa. It’ll take me that long to get the women sorted out and the train put together. There’s plenty of money, so they’ll be well paid.”

  “Get the women sorted out?” Missy repeated. “How do you mean that?”

  “Well, I’ll have to talk to all the women who want to make the trip, and decide which ones to take.”

  “Be a little harder than picking out riding stock from a herd, won’t it, Sky?” Chris asked innocently. “You going to get their weights and so on?”

  Missy didn’t smile. “I don’t see how you can do it. If a woman comes and says she wants to go, and you tell her she can’t, you could have a real problem on your hands, Sky.”

  He stared at her. “I never thought of that, Ma, but somebody’s got to make the decision.”

  They talked long into the night, and when the fire burned low Sky got up to put another log on. He listened to the news of the Mission with interest—marriages and new babies and the like. It was only natural, for he had grown up among these people. “Five years is a long time,” he commented after they had finished. “I guess some of the converts must have fallen away these five years I’ve been gone—some I grew up with.”

  “It’s always that way,” Chris said sadly. “But the Lord’s blessed us with many real converts—the lasting kind.” He smiled broadly. “Long Bow, for one.”

  “That reprobate!” Sky exclaimed. “He never did anything but steal and fight in his whole life!”

  “Not anymore,” Missy said. “He never misses a service. Wouldn’t be surprised if he became an evangelist. He’s won lots of his old friends to the Lord in the last year.”

  “Never thought I’d hear that.”

  Christmas took a deep breath and exchanged a quick look with Missy. “Sky, we’ve been much in prayer for you and Joe—since Irene died. How are you?”

  This was his way, Sky knew, of asking if he was going to church, and he had to be honest. “Pa, it’s ten miles to a church. But if this trip works, a lot of things will be different. I’ll move to town, and Joe and I can go to church all the time.”

  He explained his plan to hire a housekeeper, and when he was through his eyelids were drooping.

  “Let Sky get some sleep,” Missy said quickly. “We’ve got all day tomorrow to talk.”

  After Sky had gone to the small room in the attic, Chris and Missy sat and talked for a time.

  “He’ll never marry again, Chris,” she said sadly. “That woman hurt him so—he’ll never trust another one.”

  “Too bad! That boy needs a mother.”

  They talked it over from every angle, and finally Chris said, “Nothing we can do but pray, Missy.”

  “There never is, Chris,” she smiled and then they went to bed.

  The next two days passed swiftly as Sky went around to meet his old companions. When he explained the situation, White Hawk said with a gleam of humor in his eyes. “I need wife myself, Sky. Maybe I buy one from you.”

  “You heathen!” Sky laughed. “They’re not mine and they’re not for sale.”

  “You just making a hard bargain with your brother,” White Hawk scowled. “We look these squaws over good, eh, Kieta?”

  The murderous-looking Apache nodded gravely. “I got one woman now. Brave warrior needs at least two.”

  Sky realized that they were laughing at him, and he grinned. “One look at you two, and the whole bunch will probably scream and run back to New York.”

  Sky felt much better about the train once they had agreed upon the wage he would pay the scouts. The rest of the time he spent with his father and Missy. At the Sunday service he sat with Missy and listened to his father preach. It was not a large group, not over a hundred—the fruit of twenty-six years—but he knew what a monumental task it had been, preaching the peaceful gospel of Jesus Christ to the fiercest tribe of Indians on the face of the earth.

  Sky knew that his father’s success among the Sioux was due in part to the fact that Christmas Winslow had been initiated into the Sioux tribe, and had married White Dove. Still, if he had not been a man of iron convictions and absolute honesty and courage, his ties to the tribe alone would not have brought these people around. Looking at the dark faces, he remembered many services when he was but a child, when the only ones at a service would be the family—not a single Indian. But the Sioux had gradually been won over, some of them at least, and now he was prouder of his parents than he had ever been before.

  After the service they had returned to the house, and as he was packing his saddlebags, Missy came out with some dried meat and cakes. “Put these in, Sky.”

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  “You know, Sky, I’ve thought a lot about your mother lately.” She put her hand on his arm, drawing him around, and there were tears in her eyes. “I loved her so much, Sky. Do you think of her at all?”

  “Sometimes, Ma.” He paused and thought for a moment. “I remember when she was dying, she told me you’d be my mother—and you have been. I’d never forget her.”

  Missy tightened her grip on his arm. “You’re a man now, Sky, and you’ll make your own way. But I want to say something to you—and you can’t get angry with me.”

  He smiled and put his arms around her. “No chance, Ma. What is it?”

  She said slowly, “Your mother was a Christian, Sky—and one of the last things she said to me was, ‘I want my boy to follow Jesus.’ I’ve told you that before, but it’s been a long time.”

  “I remember.”

  “Sky?”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  “One more thing—about Irene.” At the mention of the woman’s name, Missy saw his face harden, and she reached up to touch his cheek. “I know she cut your heart out, Son, but you’ve got to forgive her,” she pleaded. “Not so much for her, Sky. She’s beyond all that—it’s for your sake.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes, and for Joe. Because if you keep that hatred in your heart, the bitterness will poison you. And if that happen
s to you, Joe will drink it in; he’ll be filled with hate just like you.” She pulled him close and said fiercely, “Oh, Sky, don’t let that woman drag you down!”

  He felt her body shake with weeping, and held her awkwardly, not knowing what to say. She had touched on the truth. He had never forgiven Irene for her betrayal; whenever he tried, the memories burned inside him like hot irons.

  Finally she drew back and wiped her eyes. “Your father and I have prayed for you—and we always will.” She turned to leave, and then she gave him one smile. “God won’t let our prayers fall to the ground, Sky—but you must fight this thing! It’s the hardest thing a human being is ever called on to do—to forgive someone who’s wronged him. But that’s what Jesus died for—for all of us, for the way we’ve wronged Him!”

  When he rode out of the Mission that afternoon, his last sight was Missy standing there, her eyes begging him to forgive.

  ****

  “Do you have a room for Winslow?”

  The desk clerk turned to find himself looking into a pair of blue eyes set in a bronze face. “Ah—I believe so.” Looking into a book on the desk, he put his finger on a name. “Mr. Sky Winslow of Oregon City?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Yes—Mr. Sellers has made all the arrangements. If you’ll just sign here, Mr. Winslow, I’ll take you up to your room.”

  Sky took the quill and signed his name in careful strokes. “Is it always this busy in town?” he asked.

  The clerk, a thin man with sleek black hair, smiled as he walked from behind the desk. “Actually, this is the slowest time of the year, sir.”

  “Hate to be here when it’s busy,” Sky commented. “Never knew there could be so many people in one spot.”

  “Ah—yes, indeed, sir!” The clerk led the way to a wide stairway, where a well-dressed couple stared at Sky as they passed. He felt self-conscious, for he still wore his trail clothes, and had neglected to take his pistol off. Have to dress like a city man, he thought as he followed the clerk to a room on the second floor.

  “Room 206,” said the clerk, opening the door and entering the room. “You also have room 208, which has been fitted according to Mr. Sellers’ instructions. That is the door that joins the two rooms.” The clerk gave him two keys. “I hope you enjoy your stay. We have a very fine restaurant downstairs if you’d care to eat with us.”

  “Thanks.” Sky waited until the man left before he looked the room over. It was a large room, the nicest he’d ever been in. The walls were papered and there was a thick rug on the floor. An oak bed with a feather mattress took up most of one wall; and there was a washstand, a desk with a straight chair and an overstuffed chair as well. He opened the other door and saw that it was much the same except for the furnishings. The bed had been replaced by a dozen straight chairs neatly set around the room.

  Closing the door, he walked to the window to stare down at the flow of traffic on the busy street. He watched the carriages, cabs, draught wagons, buggies, and delivery wagons as they rattled down the street. The sidewalks he watched even more closely, for he had never seen so many people. They were a mixed lot, and many of them were obviously foreigners. While everyone in Oregon City dressed in more or less the same fashion, the sidewalks of New York produced everything from a Chinese laundry man with a black cap and pigtails to a well-stuffed couple who strolled along in fine furs. Looking at the man’s hat, Sky wondered if perhaps he had trapped the beaver it was made from.

  Tiring of this, he washed and lay down to rest. The job of buying wagons, horses, and equipment for the trail had been hard work; and he had spent two weeks in Independence, Missouri, making arrangements for the trip west. The goods that his backers wanted had to be purchased, and he’d had to line up a dozen men to drive the wagons. He hired them in exchange for a small wage and free transportation to Oregon. One man, Dave Lloyd, seemed a higher cut than most, and Sky put him in charge of the men and the equipment.

  “I’ll be going to get our passengers tomorrow, Dave,” he’d said on his last night. “I want to pull out as soon as I get back, so keep a tight rein on things.”

  Lloyd was a blond man with close-set blue eyes and a scrapper’s jaw. He had been around a bit in his twenty-eight years, and had some of the scars of his education on his face, which was why Sky had chosen him to hold the train together. One of Dave’s ears was misshapen, and his shuffling gait told Sky the man had done some professional fighting. His guess was confirmed when one of the drivers, a burly man named Simms, challenged Lloyd’s authority and had been promptly put on his back with a single blow. Since then, the other drivers had walked carefully around Lloyd. Still, Dave knew a challenge when he heard one. “There might be some trouble, Mr. Winslow, with that many women—most of our drivers are a pretty hard-nosed bunch.”

  “Guess I already know that, Dave.” Sky shrugged. “It’s mostly losers who get to Oregon our way—rich people usually pay their own way. But I promise you, there’ll not be much trouble over these women. I’ll put a bullet in the first man who fools with one of them!”

  “Better take plenty of ammunition,” Lloyd answered dryly. “When you figure to be back?”

  “I want to get out of Independence by the middle of April, so you’re in charge of keeping the men sober about that time—oh, and by the way, you’ve got to find a preacher to go along.”

  Lloyd stared at him hard. “Mr. Winslow, that’s a big order. Don’t think there’s many preachers waitin’ to make a trip like this.”

  “I don’t care what kind of preacher he is, Dave. But the notice said that we’ll have a chaplain on the trip—so you best dig one up.”

  Lying there in his hotel room, Sky wondered if Dave had found a preacher, and was glad it was a problem he didn’t have to face for a few days. He slept for four hours, then got up and went down to the restaurant. The food was strange to him, fancier than what he ate most of the time, but he enjoyed it. Afterward he walked around the city, stopping in at a brightly lit building that proved to be a mission building.

  Inside, a short muscular preacher was working up a sweat, preaching to a poorly dressed group of thirty people. Sky thought about asking him if he’d ever considered going to the coast to preach, but decided against it. Walking out of the chapel and onto the street, he entered a saloon that had a bar longer than any two buildings in Oregon City. The light from the chandeliers dazzled him, and several times he was approached by women with brightly painted cheeks and fixed smiles. He turned them away quietly, and walked back to his room in the hotel. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was nearly eleven. The interviews would begin at nine, and he wondered if anyone would come. Would be a big joke on Sam if nobody showed up! he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

  He rose at six the next morning, went downstairs and ordered a breakfast of pancakes and bacon, then drank coffee and read the New York papers while he ate. When he was done, it was a little before eight—still early. For an hour he walked the streets, returning to the hotel at ten minutes before nine. By that time, he was angry at Sam and at himself. It’s a fool idea—and it’ll never work! he grumbled as he climbed the stairs. Going into his room, Sky put his hat and coat on the rack, then squared his shoulders and went to the door. He listened and heard nothing, so he opened the door expecting to find the room empty.

  To his utter amazement, all the chairs were filled, and at least six women were standing.

  Covering his surprise, Winslow stood in the door and swept their faces with a quick glance. “Well, I’m glad to see you ladies—” Even as he spoke another woman came in, a thin girl, poorly dressed and very nervous. “Come in, miss,” Sky said quickly. “We’re just getting started.”

  He waited until the girl had shut the door before he continued. “First I want to tell you the purpose of the association. Some of you may want to leave. That’s fine, of course. We’re only interested in those who really want to go. After I’ve had my say, I know you’ll have lots of questions, and I’ll do my best
to answer them. Then I’ll want to talk privately to those of you who’re still interested. All right?”

  No one moved, so he went on. “Now, then, let me tell you about the trip and what you can expect. I’ll give it to you with the bark on; it’s not like going on a Sunday school picnic.”

  For the next hour he went over the problems they would face, both on the trail and after they got to Oregon. As he had promised, he left nothing out, and when he finished he said, “Now, I know that some of you may have changed your mind, and we’ll give you time to leave before we go on.” As he had predicted, five of the women got up and left the room quickly. After they had gone, Sky was quick to assure the remaining women, “Any one of you ladies can change your mind at any point—even after you get to Oregon.”

  Most of the women were poorly dressed and very plain, except for one. Sky had been acutely aware of her the entire time he was speaking, for she stood out like a peacock in a barnyard full of chickens. She wore a fashionable dress that was a bit gaudy over a figure that was full, and would soon be overripe. Her dark complexion was emphasized by too much makeup, and her bold dark eyes drew his, taunting him. “You mean if I don’t find a man I like, you’ll pay my fare back here?”

  Sky saw that she was amused by the whole thing, and felt unsettled by it. “That’s the way it is, Miss—?”

  “Duvall. Rita Duvall.” She must have known that the other women were staring at her, but she obviously didn’t care. “Well, if it’s question time, I’ve got a few.”

  “Miss Duvall, it’s my job to get you safely to Oregon. I’ve got printed agreements here that you can take to a lawyer. They’re very simple—and I’ll do my best to answer any other questions you may have.”

  “Just one. What kind of men are in Oregon that causes them to get their women this way?”

  He liked her audacity, and smiled in spite of himself. “Just men, Miss Duvall—some of them good, some bad. But it’s a new country, and it’s full of men who had to go alone. Now things aren’t so rough, and they want wives and families.”

  “Are you one of those men, Mr. Winslow?”