Wilderness Courtship

by Valerie Hansen

  “I want Mama,” the boy whined.

  “We’ll go back in a few minutes. Aren’t you anxious to meet your grandfather?”

  “No.”

  Thorne huffed. “Well, nobody can accuse you of not being truthful, can they?” He saw a group of people hoeing in a nearby potato patch and ambled in that direction.

  “Afternoon,” the tallest man called. He removed his straw hat to mop his brow and Thorne could see that behind his thick, gray beard was the lighter but leathered skin of an aging settler.

  “Hello. Mr. White?” Thorne asked.

  “William White. That’s me. What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like you to meet your grandson,” Thorne said with a grin. “This is Jacob Ashton.”

  “Well, well. God bless you for bringing him this far to see us.” William offered his hand. “You must be Aaron.”

  “No. I’m his brother, Thorne. Half brother, to be precise. I’m afraid Aaron has been missing since before we left San Francisco.”

  “Is our Naomi all right?” the older man immediately asked.

  “She’s here, too, if that’s what you mean.” Thorne was sizing up the other farm workers as he spoke. Most were Indian women but a few were older Nisqually men. None of them were looking at him with nearly as much friendliness as Leschi had demonstrated.

  Thorne understood that Rev. White was understandably confused and concerned. “Naomi’s in the house with your wife. I know you want to see her but can we go somewhere private to have a talk first?”

  “Of course, but…”

  “It will all make sense once I’ve told you the whole story. At least I hope it will,” Thorne said. “We made it this far only by the grace of God.”

  The reverend nodded and began to smile as he led Thorne toward the rudimentary barn. “That’s the only reason any of us are here, son. I’m glad to hear you giving proper credit to our Lord.”

  Thorne reentered the house accompanied by Naomi’s father. Jacob ran straight to Charity and hopped up into her lap while Mrs. White, who insisted on being called by her given name of Nancy, made the rest of the introductions.

  “Pleased to meet you, Rev. White,” Charity said, smiling at him. “Nancy tells me you have a preaching planned for tomorrow. You must not postpone it on our account.”

  “Never have and never will,” he replied. “It’s not exactly our usual camp meeting, though. One of my flock is marrying a Nisqually woman over by Fort Steilacoom and I’ve been asked to conduct a brief Christian ceremony for them in addition to the one the Indians plan.”

  Charity was taken aback. “A wedding?”

  “Yes. I’ve seen one other like it since we’ve been ministering here and it’s truly fascinating. I know you’ll enjoy seeing all the Indian folderol.”

  “Oh, we couldn’t intrude,” she said, hoping the excuse was enough to deter the preacher. The last wedding she had attended, with the exception of her sister’s, was the sham of her own marriage. The notion of celebrating the nuptials of strangers did not sit well with her. It had been hard enough to muster the fortitude to attend Faith and Connell’s ceremony back in California.

  “Nonsense,” the missionary said. “The more the merrier is the way these natives feel. I suspect they’ll even invite some of the British from across the sound. I’ve been trying to encourage that whenever the occasion arose. We all need to learn to get along.”

  Charity sensed that Thorne was looking at her as if he were waiting for her to make the final decision. Oh, how she wished everyone would simply allow her to abstain from joining in any such festivities.

  “We—we were going to leave very soon. Mr. Blackwell has planned for it,” she said, hedging as best she could. The silent plea she sent his way via her gaze was all she could politely accomplish. Unfortunately, Thorne did not seem to comprehend.

  “There’s no reason why we can’t spare an extra day or two,” he said. “Now that I see how much trouble Jacob is having settling in, I suspect it would be best to delay for a short while anyway.” He smiled at the Whites. “And there may be questions you have that you’ve not thought to ask us yet. Miss Beal and I would be delighted to join you for the Indian wedding.”

  William White rubbed his hands together with delight. “Wonderful, wonderful. Folks will be coming from miles around. And afterward there will be a big, fancy meal. Nancy’s been baking for days so she’ll have something to offer the Nisquallies for their feast.”

  Sighing, Charity gave up searching for excuses. It was clear that they were all going to attend the wedding celebration whether she liked it or not. And she could understand why the Whites would want someone familiar to accompany Naomi and help them watch out for her, especially since she was going to be in a large crowd of strangers.

  Plus, there was the problem of dear, bewildered little Jacob. Charity reiterated her vow to put his needs first. She would force herself to do whatever it took to help him adjust to becoming a permanent part of his grandparents’ lives.

  She blinked back unshed tears. Somehow, she must help the child get over his undue attachment to her and Thorne, so he would be able to accept his new living arrangements happily.

  The task sounded daunting but she knew she was up to anything. After all, she had been shot, withstood an Indian attack and lived through a fever that could easily have taken her life.

  Given that, how hard could it be to spend a hour or two encouraging the child to be more friendly while they watched some nuptial festivities?

  According to Rev. White, Fort Steilacoom had been founded on the site of a failed farm belonging to an English sheep rancher named Joseph Heath. William had explained that the fort’s construction encompassed quite a few of Heath’s original buildings, as well as added blockhouses for the protection of settlers. At strategic places along the solid perimeter fence there were also observation towers from which soldiers with rifles could easily defend their outpost if need be.

  The Whites owned a spring wagon and several strong teams of workhorses which were much more like those Charity was used to seeing than the Indian ponies had been. She had assumed it would be more comfortable to ride to the fort in the wagon than on horseback until she’d been bounced over the rough, rutted road from Nisqually Flats for what had seemed like hours.

  Poor Nancy had fretted about her cakes and pies most of the way, worried they would be ruined by the buffeting. William had merely laughed and chided her for a lack of trust in the Lord.

  When Nancy had snapped back, “It’s not God I have a quarrel with. He’s not driving this wagon through every pothole on the prairie,” it had brought laughter all around and had further lightened Charity’s anxiety. After all, she reasoned, she did believe in God. And she could see that she had been rescued by divine providence more than once, especially of late. Therefore, there was no reason why she should not be able to accept whatever Rev. White said or did during the ceremony.

  I just hope and pray it doesn’t make me remember my awful wedding too well, she added to herself. There were some people, some things, she might never be able to forgive or forget no matter how hard she tried. And, in the case of Ramsey Tucker, she had to admit she wasn’t trying.

  What she definitely did not want to hear was Bible teaching that might convince her that she was wrong to continue hating a man who was long dead. She wanted to loathe him. It was her right. He had abused her and she wasn’t ever going to get over it.

  Their arrival at Fort Steilacoom was heralded with such excitement Charity had little time to continue to brood. After she had helped Naomi and Jacob from the wagon, she put them both to work carrying Nancy’s baked goods into one of the blockhouses that was being used to store the food the settlers were contributing for the coming feast. Tables inside were loaded with fish, clams, oysters and stews. Besides the usual side dishes of boiled potatoes, onions and bread, there were some strange-looking baked roots one of the soldiers had told her were camas, a wild staple food that the Indians lo
ved.

  It was hard for Charity to keep from staring at the other women who were present. Although they were dressed in calico instead of wearing triangular blankets over their shoulders and traditional bark skirts, their hair and skin were much darker than hers, leading her to conclude that these were the Indian wives of settlers and soldiers.

  She didn’t begrudge them their happiness, assuming they were content, she simply wondered how hard they had had to work to make the transition from their old way of life to this one. Such changes could not have been easy. In comparison, the challenges of her own life seemed almost simple.

  Chatting with the women, Charity learned that some had undertaken more than a day’s journey to get there. Others had rowed across the sound or had taken a steamship from as far away as Whidbey Island, to the north. Their fortitude was certainly commendable, as was their friendliness. When a few of them mentioned being born Nisqually, she was pleased to tell them she had met their chief.

  “Leschi is very wise but not chief,” a young woman explained. “His father, Sennatco, is one of our chiefs.”

  “Oh, I just assumed…”

  The woman smiled. “I understand. Every man trust Leschi, even King George men and Bostons. He is friend to Dr. Tolmie, too.”

  “A medical doctor? Here?” Charity asked.

  Some of the younger girls giggled. “Not here. At Hudson Bay Company. Dr. Tolmie runs it.”

  “Oh, I see. There’s certainly a lot to learn. I’m sorry to say I won’t be staying long enough to figure it all out. We’re leaving very soon.”

  “You and husband?” She looked pointedly toward the place where Thorne was helping unhitch the horses.

  Charity knew she was blushing because her cheeks felt as if they were aflame. “Mercy, no. We’re not married.”

  “You go with him? Stay with him? Reverend White say that wrong. Should marry.” She glanced around at the other Indian women in calico as they all nodded tacit agreement. “We no sin. We marry like Holy Bible teach.”

  “I’m not…Oh, never mind. You wouldn’t understand,” Charity said with a shake of her head.

  “I will pray for you,” the Indian said with a gentle smile. “You not sin. Yes?”

  “Yes, I will not sin,” Charity said, humoring her the way she would have a child.

  Yet something in the woman’s words, in her sincerity, kept nagging at the back of Charity’s mind for the rest of the long afternoon and try as she might, she couldn’t seem to shake the conviction.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Thorne took it upon himself to stick close and keep an eye on the women and Jacob while Rev. White made his way over to the temporary Indian encampment on the banks of the Nisqually River, a stone’s throw from the fort.

  The way Thorne understood it, Indian marriage was arranged by barter between the young woman’s father and the intended groom. Acceptance of the proposal was partly dependent upon the offering of suitable, valuable gifts, such as horses and blankets.

  Both factions had been dancing to Indian drums and singing, accompanied by a soldier’s fiddle music, the previous night. Come morning, an official exchange of the last of the promised gifts was made between the groom’s side and the bride’s side before everyone gathered in parallel lines bordering an aisle of woven reed matting and awaited the appearance of the bride.

  Thorne herded Charity and Jacob into place along the aisle while Nancy White looked after Naomi. Together, they stood quietly, respectfully, and listened to Rev. White speak an opening Christian prayer. Breathtaking, snowcapped peaks of the Cascades and a cloudless sky formed the perfect backdrop.

  Thorne had noticed how quiet Charity had become of late and he was worried that she might be ailing again. When he had asked her, however, she had brushed off his concern as if she had never been racked by fever and delirium. Nevertheless, he held Jacob for her and stayed close enough to catch her if she swooned as a result of the hot sun or a return of her illness.

  Charity pushed her bonnet off and let it hang at her back by its strings as an Indian maiden appeared and started to walk slowly, laboriously down the aisle. She was being escorted by several elderly Nisqually women. “Can that be the bride?” Charity asked aside.

  “I assume so,” Thorne bent closer to whisper.

  “What has she got piled all over her?”

  He stifled a chuckle before he answered, “Those blankets and shawls and all that finery are like her dowry. They’ll take if off her and give it to the groom’s people. Watch.”

  The Indians began to sing as other, younger women stripped away the layers of belongings to reveal a slim, lovely bride dressed in a tunic and leggings made of supple, white, fringed doeskin and trimmed with beads and tiny seashells. Instead of a veil, a closely woven hat of the same material as the mats sat atop her head. Her thick black braids hung below, entwined with thin strips of fur.

  “Oh, my,” Charity whispered. “She’s beautiful.”

  “Aren’t you glad you’re here?”

  “Yes. I must admit I am.” Scowling, she glanced back at him a second time. “You knew I didn’t want to come and you still refused to go along with my excuse. Why?”

  “Because being here is the right thing to do.”

  He could tell she was less than pleased with his honest answer but he knew it was important that Charity be encouraged to share in the joy of matrimony, at least vicariously. It was no secret that her heart was badly scarred by her own marital mistake. He’d hoped that viewing the unusual ceremony would help her see that not all such unions were doomed to failure the way hers had been.

  Charity sighed as she watched the elaborate ritual progress. Rev. White had completed his portion and had elicited the requisite “I dos.” Then the Nisqually elders, all men, took turns speaking of the tribe’s history and what they expected of the newly married couple.

  The feast which followed featured the bride and groom eating from the same plate and sharing a drinking cup, which Nancy had explained was the Indian way of demonstrating that they were officially married. Besides the food the settlers had brought, there was fire-roasted salmon and trout, skewered bits of venison and elk and thick soups of clams and oysters.

  Although Charity had not realized that personal trading among the women was also the custom, Nancy had provided extra ribbons and yard goods for her to offer the Nisquallies in exchange for shell jewelry and handwoven baskets.

  By the end of the day Charity was the proud possessor of lovely trinkets and a small, finely woven basket in which to carry them. She showed her prizes to Nancy and saw the other woman’s eyebrows arch.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Nancy said, smiling. “I just think it’s interesting, that’s all. Where did you get the hat?”

  Charity peered at her treasures. “Hat? What hat?”

  Pointing, Nancy explained, “This isn’t actually a basket. It’s a married woman’s brimless, reed hat like the one the bride had. Any woman who wears one is announcing to everyone that she’s spoken for.”

  “Oh, dear.” Charity blushed. “I know who gave it to me and now I know why. It seems that some of the Nisqually women think I’m rather scandalous for planning to travel back to San Francisco with Thorne. I assured them I was not going to sin but they are apparently convinced I’m a terrible person.”

  “You sacrificed to care for my daughter and grandson. I don’t think you could do anything that would make me think less of you or of Mr. Blackwell. However, I have seen the way that poor man looks at you and I suspect your standoffishness is hurtful to him.”

  “Surely, you must be imagining things.”

  “May I speak freely, as a mother would?” Nancy asked, sobering and taking Charity’s hand.

  “Of course.”

  “My grandson loves you, as does his uncle, that much I know.” She paused and cleared her throat, obviously struggling to continue. “I have seen a miniature of my daughter’s husband. Aaron is fair, like Naomi, and
it seems to me that Jacob…” Nancy’s lower lip trembled.

  Charity patted her hand to comfort her and waited for her to go on.

  “My daughter is not the obedient child her father and I would have wished her to be,” Nancy said. “She wrote to me shortly before she married Aaron Ashton and confessed a sin which I strongly suspect has haunted her ever since.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Perhaps it would be better if you did not, but William and I have talked this over and have prayed about it. We have decided that I should tell you what I know and let you form your own conclusions. But before I explain, let me assure you that Naomi was once a very rebellious girl and was fully capable of seducing any man.”

  Charity stared, wondering, dreading, that Nancy might say what she, herself, had been thinking. More than once she had noticed the resemblance between Jacob and Thorne, yet she had always set those suspicions aside, unwilling to entertain anything so shockingly unacceptable.

  If she could have found her voice, she would have used it to silence the older woman. Unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone sentences, she merely gripped Nancy’s hand more tightly and listened.

  “Almost four years ago, when Naomi was engaged to Aaron Ashton, she—she consorted with another man.”

  “Thorne?” Charity’s words were a hoarse whisper.

  Clearly fighting tears, Nancy nodded. “Yes. And afterward, when she realized she was with child, she confessed it all to me in a letter. I don’t think she ever told Aaron, let alone his brother, but now that I have seen the child, I have no doubts that Mr. Blackwell must be Jacob’s father.”

  Thunderstruck, Charity just stood there, mute, and gazed at the distant, rugged mountains without seeing them. All the details, all the consternation, all the sibling rivalry and all of Naomi’s guilty reactions suddenly made sense.

  No wonder Thorne had seemed so overly concerned about Jacob’s well-being. He wasn’t his uncle, he was his father! Therefore, what about his feelings for Naomi? That was what hurt Charity the most. How could he have fooled her so completely? He’d seemed emotionally distant from Naomi and had pretended he was only looking after her because of a duty to his brother, while in reality he had fathered her only child.