The Reluctant Bridegroom

by Gilbert, Morris

  Winslow leaned back and ate slowly, enjoying his son’s company and pleased with the sight of Joe’s lean figure and lively face. The months had stretched his body out. He’s going to be a big man—like his grandfather, maybe. The thought of his father sent a wave of discontent through him, for much as he was enjoying the hunting trip, he knew he was only postponing the inevitable. A nagging sense of lost time disturbed him, for he was no closer to resolving the problem than before. By the end of the trail to Oregon, he had realized that getting a housekeeper was not feasible. And he could see nothing ahead for himself and Joe but more of what they’d had before—and it was not enough.

  Joe was tired after the hard day, but he fought sleep as long as he could. The snow outside blanketed all sound, and it was satisfying to sit there beside the glowing coals. From time to time Sky would poke the fire, sending golden, fiery sparks up the chimney. Joe begged him for stories of his youth, and Sky managed to dredge up a couple he’d never told while he drank strong black coffee. As he told the stories, Sky was amused to see Joe manfully down a mug of the stuff, though he liked chocolate better.

  “Better go to sleep, Joe,” he said after the fifth story.

  “Aw, Pa, we can’t do nothin’ tomorrow anyway! Tell me something about when you was a boy with the Sioux.”

  Sky poked at the fire, and the log shifted with a hissing sound. “Joe, do you remember much about your ma?”

  An uneasy look passed over the boy’s sensitive face, and he mumbled, “Oh, just a little.”

  “Pretty hard for a boy to be without a ma,” Sky said offhandedly. “Lot of things a father can’t do for a young’un.”

  “We do fine, Pa!” Joe insisted, rolling off his back into a sitting position. “Pa . . . ?”

  “Yes?”

  Joe bit his lip, then blurted, “Pa, you’re not gonna marry up with one of them women, are you?”

  “Hadn’t planned on it, Joe. Why?” The thought leaped into Sky’s mind that the boy was about to urge him to marry, but he saw relief on the thin face.

  “Oh, Sam said once that he thought you might—but we don’t need nobody, Pa.” He grinned and twisted his head to one side in a starboard list. “We make out fine like we are.”

  Sky shook his head soberly. “We can’t stay on a hunting trip for the next ten years till you’re grown, Joe. You need education.”

  “I can be a trapper like you!”

  “Time you’re grown, trapping will be over. It’s about that way now. Beaver’s getting thin, and now they’re using silk for hats in England. And the buffalo won’t last—not the way they’re being killed.” Taking a deep breath, he asked, “What would you think of moving back to the Yellowstone country—back to where I grew up?”

  “You mean with your ma and pa?”

  “Yes. Be good for you to be around your kin—and the Mission’s got a good school.” He had already decided that it was the only course that made any sense, but he wanted Joe to like the idea, too, so he did not press the issue. “We’ll talk about it,” he said, then got up and stretched. “I’m tired. Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow we’ll make some snowshoes and scout around a bit. Maybe get an elk.”

  For a week they roamed the hills on snowshoes, finding plenty of game during the day and spending the long nights in front of the fire. The only book in the cabin was a battered old Bible that had been left behind. It had been soaked until the book was thickened, and some of the last pages were missing, but Joe liked the stories of the Old Testament—especially the heroic exploits of David, Joshua, and Elijah. Sky was saddened when he realized how little the boy knew of the Bible. He himself had soaked it up from the time he was eleven, for either his father or Missy had often read it aloud to him. He grimly determined that he would remedy the gap in Joe’s education, which was one more factor that tipped the scale toward his decision to move back to the Mission.

  After a week had passed, he said, “Well, we’d better be headin’ back, Joe.” The boy ducked his head, disappointed, but the snow had melted enough for travel, and they made the return trip with no difficulty. Returning to the house was a bad experience, for it was dirty and damp with mildew. Sky silently surveyed the dirty clothes, the unwashed dishes with food hardened in them, and said, “We’ll go to town tomorrow, Joe. I’m going to sell this place. Look at it!”

  “Aw, we can clean it up, Pa!” Joe protested. While he had come to accept a move to some degree, the house was all he’d known, and the reality of leaving it grieved him. The months of town living had been hard on him, and now he was being asked to give up a life he loved for one he knew nothing of.

  But Sky shook his head, and Joe saw that his father’s mind was made up. “Got to be a better way than living like a couple of hogs!” he said, and from the determined look on his face, Joe knew that it would be useless to argue.

  The next day they rode to Oregon City. The streets were thick ribbons of mud from the thawing ice; and as they went down Main, Sky said, “Have to take care of some business, Joe. You got anything to do until I finish?”

  “Mr. Emory said he’d have the new case for my rifle in a week. Have we got the money for it, Pa?”

  “Sure.” Sky fished several coins out of his pocket and gave them to the boy. “It’ll do till we can get a Sioux squaw to make you the real thing. You can wait at Sam’s when you get through.”

  “Okay, Pa.”

  Sky watched him spur his horse into a gallop, then made his way to Sam’s store. He had an unpleasant chore to take care of, and he wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. Stepping inside, he was surprised to see Karen Sanderson behind the counter. He felt embarrassment redden his face, for she had not spoken with him since the Tom Lake incident, and he figured she was probably still angry for the way he’d behaved.

  She saw his reaction and said evenly, “Hello, Mr. Winslow.”

  “Hello, Karen. Is Sam here?”

  “No, he’s out campaigning.”

  “Campaigning for what?” he asked curiously.

  “He’s running for mayor.” She was a calm woman, but she shook her head disapprovingly, and her blue eyes were troubled.

  “Mayor? I never knew he was thinking about politics.”

  “I don’t think he wants it—but he thinks he’s got to do it.” She bit her lip. “I wish you’d try to talk him out of it, Mr. Winslow. He thinks a lot of you.”

  Sky frowned. “Matthew Poole and Rolfe Ingerson have had this town sewed up tight for a long time. Trying to get Oregon City away from them will be like taking honey from a mad grizzly. They play rough.” Then a thought occurred to him. “Karen, have you married Sam?”

  “No! He didn’t ask me,” she laughed. “But he’s about the only man in this town who hasn’t!”

  “He’s a good man. I’d thought once that you’d make a good wife for him.”

  “I know. You sized us all up for that job, didn’t you? But the rest of us lost out to Edith.” Amusement turned the corners of her broad lips up at his embarrassed reaction. “Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Winslow. Edith laughs about it now—but it hurt her badly at the time.”

  “Is she married?”

  “Well, let me give you a rundown.” Karen began to name off the members of the train and what had happened to them since they’d arrived in Oregon. Most of them were already married, Karen said, then added, “But four of us are still spinsters. Care to guess the other three?”

  “I’d rather hear why you haven’t found a husband, Karen.”

  She looked him squarely in the eye. “I think you know, Sky. Dave and I are going to be married—just as soon as he gets a place. I’d marry him tomorrow, but he’s stubborn.”

  Sky said quietly, “Congratulations—to you both.”

  “Thank you.” The answer was polite but reserved, and he wondered if she was thinking of his skirmish with Lloyd. But she went on, “Rita is working for a saloon man named Dandy Raimez.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that—but can’t say I’m s
urprised,” he replied regretfully. “Edith is the third—who else?”

  “Rebekah.” Her face did not change expression, but there was venom in every syllable. She’s still angry at what I said about Rebekah and Lake, Winslow realized. Not wanting to bring up the subject again, he said only, “I need to see Edith.”

  “She’s teaching school in the community building. Lot Penny’s got a church going there, too. Meets every Sunday.”

  “Tell Sam I’ll be back, will you?” He turned and walked out of the store, digesting the news. He walked by the Silver Moon and was tempted to go see Rita, but instead went directly to the square frame building that sat on a side street at the edge of town. Smoke coiled out of the chimney, and he paused at the door to listen. There was a hum of voices inside, and he hesitated momentarily before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

  Edith Dickenson looked at him with a startled expression, then turned back to the small group of youngsters who sat in front of her on puncheon seats. There were not over ten of them, and they ranged from one who looked barely able to talk, to a tall boy of at least fifteen who looked terribly embarrassed at having to sit with the smaller children. The boy looked up as she called his name: “Henry, please go over these spelling words while I speak with our visitor.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The boy took a book from her, and she came across the room. “Hello, Sky. Let’s step outside and talk,” she suggested.

  She picked up a coat and put it on, and Sky followed her outside. She took a few steps along the wooden walkway and turned to face him. “You’ve been gone a long time.”

  “Had to get reacquainted with my boy.” He searched her face carefully and saw no sign of anger in her eyes. “I came to apologize, Edith.”

  “Well—do it then.”

  He ducked his head in surprise at her straightforward response, then grinned sheepishly. “All right—I’m sorry for the way I treated you. Back on the trail, I mean.”

  “I forgive you.” Then she smiled wryly. “At least you got me to Oregon.” She hesitated, and a touch of red flushed her cheeks as she said with an embarrassed laugh, “It’s just that you’re far too romantic, Sky!” His startled expression caused her to reach out and touch his arm. “Oh, you don’t mean to be! But in those buckskins, you could turn the head of any girl—especially a spinster like me who’s read a few too many Cooper novels! I guess I just got carried away.”

  “You seemed to have gotten over it, Edith,” Sky responded dryly.

  “Oh, it wouldn’t have worked, anyway. It would have been awful, living with you, Sky!” she exclaimed. “I like order—and you’re like the wind. Always will be, I reckon.” She smiled. “I got thirty-two offers of marriage—enough to do me proud for life.”

  “Taking any of them?” he asked.

  “Let me tell you.” She turned, looked out across the town, then back to him. “I was never so bewildered in my life as I was that first week, with all those men running after me. After the first day or two, it was really terrible, Sky! I started hiding in my room just to avoid them. Then I remembered what you’d said about Sam Birdwell—and I kept waiting for him to come and get in line—but he never did.”

  “Not Sam.” Sky smiled at the thought, cocking his head. “So what’d you do, Edith?”

  “I went into his store early one morning and introduced myself.” Edith’s eyes brightened with humor as she related the incident. “He was real proper, but I came right out and said, ‘Sam Birdwell, Sky Winslow thinks I’d be a perfect wife for you. What are you going to do about it?’ ”

  Sky threw his head back and whooped with laughter until the tears ran down his face. “What’d old Sam say to that?” he gasped.

  “Oh, he blushed and hemmed and hawed at first, but then he said, ‘Well, Miss Dickenson, I’ve always admired Sky’s judgment—so I guess I’ll have to come courting’—and that’s what he’s been doing.”

  “He asked you to marry him yet?”

  “No—but he will in a day or two. I can tell that he wants to—but I’ll have to help him along.”

  Sky put his hand out. “He’s a lucky man, Edith!”

  “Thank you, Sky.” She extended her own hand in a handshake.

  “You’ll have to talk him out of this mayor business. He could get hurt.”

  “You know him better than that, Sky.” Edith shook her head. “Sam says it’s a question of who’s going to run Oregon City—the crooks or the decent people.”

  “Let somebody else do it.”

  “Try telling that to Sam! He says somebody’s got to stand up against Poole. I wish you’d talk to him.”

  “Won’t be here, Edith.”

  She stared at him. “You’re leaving?”

  “Got to do something about Joe.” He told her of his plan to go back to the Mission, and added, “I’ll try to talk him out of it—but I never had much luck talking Sam out of things.” He looked at her with admiration. “I guess you can do more than I can, Edith.”

  He left her and went to the feed store where Mike Stevens, the owner, greeted him warmly. They had coffee, and Sky cut right to the point. “Mike, you still want to buy my place?”

  “Why—I sure do, Sky!” Stevens had been buying up land on the outskirts of Oregon City. For some time the two men dickered over the price, but at last they agreed and shook hands. “I’ll need a few days to get the cash, Sky.” Stevens said. “A week from today be okay?”

  “Sure, Mike.”

  Leaving the feed store, Winslow rode back toward the center of town. As he crossed over the muddy street, he heard his name called and turned to see Lot Penny approaching with a wide smile on his face. “Sky! When did you get back?”

  “Just pulled in, Lot. I hear you’ve got a church started.”

  “Sure have! And we been havin’ a real move of God. Come on, let’s have some coffee and I’ll tell you about it.”

  They spent half an hour over coffee at a small cafe, and half a dozen men greeted Sky as they sat there. Lot bubbled over with enthusiasm, saying happily, “I’ve been threatened with a beating if I keep on preaching, Sky!” He slapped his leg and laughed. “I shore do like to get the devil stirred up!”

  “Who’s threatening, Lot?”

  “Oh, feller named Jim Rook.”

  “Rook? Bouncer at the Silver Moon?”

  “Sure. Dandy Raimez got mad ’cause one of his fancy girls got saved and quit. He didn’t say so, but I figure he’s told Rook to see to it that none of his other girls get religion.”

  “Rook’s a bad one, Lot. Kicked a man to death over in Portland before he came here to work for Dandy.”

  “So I hear,” Lot replied, unconcerned, and took a sip of his coffee. “Sky, you was pretty hard on Rebekah—but I’m wonderin’ if you heard what she’s up against now?”

  “Just heard she hadn’t gotten married like most of the others.” He looked at Penny and asked, “Is it because of her kids?”

  “Not a bit! Larry Melton wanted to marry her—and I hear that he’s a good man.”

  “None better. What happened?”

  “You know a man named Carl Morton?”

  “Don’t know anything good.” Morton was a savage man who lived in a shack ten miles out in the woods, with four small children who were shy as animals. He brought the half-clothed urchins with him from time to time, usually when he came to get drunk. He boasted of wearing out two wives and claimed he’d wear out half a dozen more. The huge Tennessean was of mountain stock, and when he drank he was dangerous. He had been in two shootings in Oregon, and the word was he’d come here after he’d killed more than one man back in Tennessee.

  “He got to town last week, Sky. Heard about the women coming for husbands and swore he’d have one of ’em. Most of them was married already, but somebody let slip about Rebekah, and he just barged in and told her she was goin’ to marry him—then went out and got roaring drunk. When he heard about Melton askin’ Rebekah to marry him, he picked a fight with him. Beat
him nearly to death!”

  Sky’s lips tightened. “Ingerson do anything about it?”

  “Not likely!” Lot snorted. “Said it was a fair fight. But no man in this territory’s got the nerve to stand up to Morton. He’s the kind of man that’d ambush a man if he couldn’t get him any other way. Rebekah’ll have to go with him for sure.”

  “Sorry to hear that, Lot.”

  The answer displeased Penny. “That all you got to say, Sky?”

  Winslow looked surprised. “Why, it’s none of my business, Lot.”

  Penny stared at Sky, disappointment etched in his homely face, but he said nothing more.

  “I’m selling out, Lot.” Sky changed the subject. “Going to take Joe out of this mess!”

  “I was hoping you’d stick around and give Sam Birdwell a hand. He’s going to need all the help he can get.”

  Anger touched Winslow and caused him to say sharply, “Lot, I’ve got a boy to take care of. I can’t be responsible for these people!”

  Lot was not a man to give in that easily. “You mean you can’t be your brother’s keeper, Sky?” he asked quietly.

  Winslow got up abruptly, his eyes flashing. He looked down at Penny, and his voice had a hard edge. “Charity begins at home—that’s what the Bible says, doesn’t it?”

  “No, it don’t say that. It says, ‘Bear ye one another’s burdens.’ And I’m thinking you’re less of a man than I figured, Sky.”

  Winslow glowered at him, then turned and left the cafe. Lot stared after him, mulling over his words. After a while he got up and left, his shoulders bowed and his eyes sad. “That boy’s in a bad shape,” he mumbled as he turned toward the church.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “AS LONG AS WE BOTH SHALL LIVE”

  When Joe turned and looked over his shoulder at the house, there was a rebellious set to his shoulders that Sky did not miss. It had been a bad week for both of them; and as they made their way down the trail toward the main road that led to Oregon City, the doubts that had gnawed at Sky all week were stronger than ever. Joe had begged him not to sell, and he could understand the boy’s reluctance to leave the only home he’d ever known; what had come as a shock was his own reluctance to leave. The house he’d built with his own hands had come to mean more to him than he’d realized, and as he’d put the place in shape for the new owner, a hundred times he’d found himself regretting his decision to sell it.