Tilly Trotter Wed (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy)

by Cookson, Catherine

  They were the first real Indians that Tilly had seen and it appeared that she was the first kind of white woman they had seen for those who were sitting rose from the ground and those who were leaning stood straight and with unblinking stares they watched her and the white man dismount. They watched the Mexican take their horses; then, their heads slowly turning, their eyes followed the progress of the tall thin woman whose walk was unsteady and who had to be aided by the sturdy young man up the steps and into the post; and slowly they drew together and gathered round the open doorway.

  ‘Hello there. Pleased to see ya. How do you do, ma’am? Hello there, Manuel.’ The man had inserted himself between Tilly and Matthew and was shouting through the doorway, ‘Didn’t know you were coming this way again. Thought you had settled with Portes. Hello, sir.’ He had turned his attention to Matthew. ‘What can I do for you?’

  The tall, thin middle-aged, clean-shaven man who spoke with a strong Scottish accent and, unlike his countrymen, was anything but dour, now brought forward two wooden chairs, one swinging from each hand. The first he placed with a thud just behind Tilly’s knees and she found herself sitting down without the effort. Then she looked to where Matthew was now seated and telling their host why they were here, where they were bound for, and that they would like to be put up for the night.

  Tilly said nothing, she merely looked about her, all the while trying not to sneeze or to put her hands to her buttocks in an effort to ease the pain. She had been in a trading post before but not one as well stocked as this. Against one wall was a rough wooden table and on it were stacked piles of skins which apparently had been graded into sets. Lying at right angles to it was a smaller bench on which was a jumble of pelts; on the other side of the room was a counter at the end of which was a pair of large brass scales and below them, on the floor, a weighing machine. In front of the counter was a row of sacks with their tops open, full, as far as she could guess, of grain or meal; and behind the counter were shelves holding an assortment of tins and bottles.

  Against the other wall was set a line of tools: shovels, picks, hoes and ploughs. Behind this, high up on the wall, were a number of guns, large and small. The only two she could recognise were a Colt revolver and a German rifle. The latter type Matthew had already tried to get her to handle but she had found it difficult, cumbersome; the Colt he always said was for men, most useful when fighting on horseback. But what caught her eye and held it by its very incongruity in such a place was a glass case.

  In this rough store it looked as much out of place as did the china cabinet in Alvero Portes’ sitting room. From this distance she could just make out that it held a number of trinkets, mostly strings of beads and cards studded with bright buttons.

  ‘Well now, ma’am, have you viewed everything?’

  Somewhat startled, her attention was brought to Mr Ian Mackintosh, for there could be only one such man to correspond with the name on the board at the door. ‘You’ve had a good look round?’

  ‘Yes; it’s . . . it’s fascinating.’

  ‘That’s the word, that’s the word’ – he wagged his hand at her – ‘fascinating. Aye, Aye, that’s the word. Everything about here is fascinating. But now I suppose you’d like to get the dust off you. Are you sleepin’ in or out?’ he said, turning to Matthew, and he, getting to his feet, asked, ‘Have you accommodation?’

  ‘That room there.’

  He did not indicate the room by either a toss of his head or his thumb over his shoulder but with his heavy leather-booted foot which he scraped on the floor in a backward movement very like a horse pawing at the earth, then went on, ‘Dollar a night, including bedding. Or you can use your own. Soap and towel provided.’

  Tilly could see that Matthew was striving not to laugh outright and he spoke politely, saying, ‘Thank you, Mr Mackintosh; we’ll be pleased to take it.’

  When Tilly was shown into the room she did not endorse Matthew’s last remark, for it was quite bare except for three beds and a rough, a very rough handmade wash-hand stand with a tin dish and jug on it, a piece of blue soap in a saucer, and a towel that would have been used for taking hot dripping tins from the oven back in the Manor.

  But once the door was closed she smiled at Matthew and, pointing to the three beds, she said in a whisper, ‘Is it likely we’ll have company?’

  ‘I shouldn’t be surprised . . . ’

  She had taken off her hat and coat, washed her face and hands, and was now sitting on the edge of the bed watching Matthew sluicing the water over his head when she said, ‘Oh, I am stiff, all I want to do at this moment is lie on my face.’

  ‘Tomorrow will be better.’

  ‘So you say. Well, I hope so. By the way, those Indians out there, are they all right?’

  ‘What’s that?’ He turned towards her now, blowing into the towel.

  ‘I said those Indians out there, are they all right? They look . . . well . . . ’

  ‘Oh yes; you needn’t worry about them, they’re from the reserves. A number of them will be scouts.’

  ‘Scouts?’

  ‘Yes; they scout for the army; all the forts have their Indian scouts. They can pick up a trail like a bloodhound, they know all the signs.’

  ‘You mean they lead the soldiers on to their own people?’

  ‘Aw, Tilly.’ He now drew a comb through his thick stubbly hair as he said, ‘It’s no use, it’s hardly any use explaining, I really don’t understand it myself. There are so many tribes and so many different camps inside a tribe and as far back as anybody can remember the tribes have been fighting each other, in places they’ve almost wiped each other out. I understand at one time there might be five thousand in one camp and that would be only one section of a tribe; and their rights and their laws would fill a hundred books. Someone some day will get down to it. I only hope it isn’t a politician, because they will only hear one side of it. Anyway, let’s go and see what our friend, Mr Ian Mackintosh, has to offer us in the way of supper.’

  As she rose stiffly from the bed, she asked quietly, ‘How is your arm?’

  ‘Not as bad as I thought it would be; it’s still strong enough to put round you.’

  They stood close for a few moments looking at each other, until he said, ‘I love you. Do you know that, woman? I love you. I love you more every day. I thought that when we married my feelings couldn’t possibly grow stronger, they were so intense then, but now . . . well, it is strange but the intensity has taken on a kind of . . . ’ He paused and turned his head away and she asked gently, ‘Kind of what?’

  ‘Fear.’

  ‘Fear?’

  ‘Yes, fear. I’ve never really known what it was to be afraid until now and I have this strange fear on me that I am . . . well, too happy where you are concerned; even with what happened back there and the irritations that he’s forced upon me during the last few months, these should have been predominant in my mind, but no, they have been pressed down by this real kind of fear that—’ again he bowed his head, but now she didn’t speak she simply waited and when he looked at her again he ended, ‘that I may lose you.’

  ‘Aw, don’t be silly, my dear.’ She was now holding him tightly. ‘You’ll never lose me. Nothing or no-one can separate us. If he didn’t, and Josefina didn’t, no-one can, not now. The only thing that can separate us is death, and not even that because we’re so joined, we’re so one in every way that if I go first I’ll wait for you. I know this inside myself.’ She tapped her breast. ‘Perhaps that really is the witch part of me . . . and you’ll do the same. I feel that wherever we’re meant to go after death we’ll fight against it until we can go on together.’

  ‘Oh, Tilly! Tilly, there’s no-one in the whole world like you, no-one.’ His voice had a catch in it; and now they hid their faces in each other’s shoulder and remained still.

  It was just after first light next morning when they left the trading post. Tilly was so stiff she didn’t know how she rose from the bed, and when she stumbled and
almost upset the single candle that was their only form of light Matthew caught her, and pressing her down on the bed again, he massaged her limbs, laughing at her as he did so. She had always been amazed at his good humour first thing in the morning, so different from his father’s, for Mark’s temper had been taciturn during the early part of the day.

  They hoped to reach their destination in three hours’ time, do what business had to be done and be back at the trading post this evening. In fact, Matthew had not only paid for their bed in advance but had paid for the entire room. They had been lucky last night to have the place to themselves, but as Mr Mackintosh had explained that was unusual.

  The countryside had changed again. They were riding now among low hills, crossing streams, some small and some not so small. They were surprised, at least Tilly was when, passing through a narrow gully, to see stationed on one of its heights a man in uniform with a gun at his side. Matthew and Manuel had also seen the man. They drew rein for a moment; then Manuel, turning to Tilly, smiled as he said, ‘He’s the soldiery, one of the new cavalry.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Matthew asked.

  ‘There are bands of cavalry about now, sent to fight the Indians.’

  As they rode out of the gully, they came upon a company breaking camp. The situation was in a depression bordered on two sides by hills and Manuel, looking about him, spoke now in rapid Spanish, then turning to Matthew, he said, ‘Good bed to die in.’

  Before Matthew had time to make any retort a young man marched smartly up to them. By his uniform he looked to be an officer and he spoke as one in command in a rather high-falutin manner, saying, ‘Captain Dixon at your service, sir. And may I enquire your destination?’

  Matthew stared down at the man for a moment; then with a wry smile, he said, with not a little mimicry in his tone, ‘Matthew Sopwith at your service, sir, and our destination, as I understand it, is about five miles from Cameron.’

  ‘Oh yes; Cameron. Well, that’s all right.’ He now turned and looked up at Tilly and, bowing slightly, he greeted her with one word, ‘Ma’am,’ and she in return merely inclined her head towards him.

  The officer again turned to Matthew and said, ‘I’d be obliged if I could have a word with you, sir.’

  Matthew glanced first at Tilly and then at Manuel before dismounting and walking away with the captain towards where the men were now standing by their horses.

  Tilly gazed at the soldiers. Most of them looked young. They were all staring towards her except for a sergeant who now began to shout unintelligible orders.

  Within a few minutes Matthew returned, the officer with him. After mounting his horse again he looked down into the clean-shaven face and said, ‘I wish you good day.’

  The officer said nothing, he merely stepped back and saluted, then waited for them to ride on.

  As they passed the group of soldiers the sergeant was still barking his orders at them, but it didn’t stop the men from casting their glances in Tilly’s direction, and when she smiled at them she was answered instantly by wide grins.

  But they were hardly out of earshot of the men when she rode abreast of Matthew and said, ‘What did he want to say to you?’

  ‘Oh, nothing. It strikes me he’s very young to the game and he wouldn’t have much chance of keeping that rabble in hand if it wasn’t for the sergeant.’

  ‘Matthew’ – the tone of her voice brought his head round – ‘don’t keep anything from me, please.’

  He blinked his eyes, then wet his lips before he said, ‘Well, I’ll tell you what he said. He suggested that we didn’t go back to the trading post tonight, he thought we should make for the fort.’

  ‘Because of danger?’

  ‘Oh no!’ He shook his head. ‘I happened to mention that we stayed at the trading post and he didn’t think it was any fit place for a lady such as you.’

  She stared at him for a while before she said, ‘Honest?’

  ‘Honest; why should I lie?’

  Yes, why should he lie.

  ‘Come on,’ he said; ‘let’s put a move on. I want to see this place.’ And at that he galloped ahead while she urged her horse after him and Manuel came up in the rear. Manuel, she had noticed, like most Mexicans, became part of the animal he sat on. She had heard it said that it was from the Mexicans the Indians first learned how to ride and were now so famous in their handling of horses that they had become known as the horse Indians and, besides, so infamous that the very name of them chilled the blood.

  They neared the homestead about eleven o’clock. They stopped on a rise, the three of them in a row, and looked down on it, and Tilly’s eyes brightened and her face went into a broad smile before she turned to Matthew and said, ‘Oh, isn’t it nice?’

  The house was long and low, with a verandah running along its front. This was supported by stout pillars. It had a wood shingle roof, and one end of it was covered with creeper. On three sides there was a white railing and on the fourth a large stockade, but dominating the whole scene was an outsize barn. It was higher and wider than the house and the other outbuildings all put together.

  She felt Matthew letting out a deep sigh and when she looked at him his eyes were waiting for hers and he said simply, ‘It was made for us; and if the outside’s anything to go by, the inside should be all right too.’

  ‘That won’t matter, I’ll make it all right.’ She smiled at him, then turned her head to Manuel and said simply, ‘It looks good.’

  ‘Good. Yes, good. Hans Meyer good man. Work along here one time . . . good man but no more.’

  When he shook his head she said, ‘He has gone?’

  He now pointed towards the earth and she put in quietly, ‘Dead?’

  ‘Dead.’

  She turned to Matthew saying, ‘Did you know this?’

  ‘No; I know as little about them as you do. But come, we’ll soon find out.’

  It was as if Frau Meyer were waiting for their approach for she met them outside the white railings and, extending her hand first to Matthew and then Tilly, she spoke with a strong German accent. ‘You velcome, very velcome. You kom sooner than I expect.’

  ‘You expected us?’

  The small woman nodded at Matthew, her round face one bright smile as she said, ‘Oh yes, I knew early tis morning.’

  Both Matthew and Tilly looked at each other, and it was Tilly who asked now, ‘But how?’

  ‘Oh, scout on his way to fort, he told me of your presence.’

  Matthew gave a brief laugh now as he said, ‘Quicker than smoke signals.’

  ‘Yes, yes, quicker ’n’ smoke signals, but do to kom in. You are very velcome, very velcome.’

  Tilly found the inside of the house as pleasing as the outside. The furniture was all wooden and hand-made but with a difference, for there was a touch of artistry about every piece in the room from the dresser to the row of wooden mugs arranged on a shelf to the side of the fireplace, very much like the pieces of brass that used to bedeck the mantelpiece in her granny’s cottage. The floorboards had been sand-scrubbed and were covered here and there with bright hand-made rugs.

  Tilly saw that the room was both living room and kitchen. There were two doors going off it that spoke of other rooms, and at one end a steep wooden staircase that led to the floor above.

  ‘I have meal ready for you, I am sure you hungry . . . You vill eat?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, thank you very much. It is so kind of you, but tell me.’ Tilly now glanced at Matthew, who had seated himself in a rocking chair and was looking silently about the room, evidently pleased with everything he saw. ‘Are you really thinking of selling this place, your . . . your home?’

  ‘Yes.’ The answer was brief; and then she put in, ‘Your name is?’

  ‘Mrs Sopwith.’

  ‘Me, I am Anna Meyer. And yes, I must sell, for my children I must sell. Big Hans, my husband, he die two years. Little Hans he is twelve years and not strong, never like big Hans and Berta. She is nine years. No life for s
mall children. Be very strong to stand life here.’

  ‘Have you no men, I mean hands around the place?’ It was Matthew who asked the question now, and Frau Meyer turned to him and said, ‘We had two, Johann Braun and Franz Klein. They very good ven big Hans was here but not so good ven he was gone. Then they leave like that’ – she snapped her finger – ‘to go to gold mine. Gold rush been on a long time and they don’t go, but sudden they go like that.’ Again she snapped her finger.

  ‘They just walked out and left you?’ Matthew’s brows were puckered now, and she nodded at him and said, ‘Yes, they valk out. Vanted double pay. I couldn’t pay double pay. They say that ven they came back I’d be glad to pay double pay, place get in bad state, but I von’t be bullied or frightened so I sell and take my children back to Germany. I have been here twenty year but it is not home. I long for home. I have sisters and brothers my children have not seen.’

  ‘Did you build all this yourselves?’

  ‘Yes, nothing here when ve came. Big Hans and me ve vork all time. Ve make small huts first, not this.’ She smiled now as she waved her hand. ‘Then ve buy cattle, and horses, one, two and three, four, and on and on. Then ve build barn. Many hands to build barn but many hands come by this way in those days ’fore gold rush, and lots of help from good friends. Then last, ’fore my son is born twelve years since, ve build again.’ She waved her hand. ‘This vas not finished ven he kom, and he saw first light there.’ She pointed to a space before the stove. ‘But now’ – she turned away and walked towards a table that was fully set for a meal – ‘all is finished. Life is split ven man goes, power leaves your arm. But kom, you vill vant to refresh yourself ’fore you eat, and I vill call my Hans and Berta to the table.’