It occurred to him that she could live with him. He didn’t dislike her company, not yet anyway, and he reckoned any trouble she gave him could be swiftly dealt with, judging by how punishment straightened her right up. He was surprised that the idea of her living with him crossed his mind. He wouldn’t have thought he’d be open to living with a woman who wasn’t his wife.
Sadness wrenched at his heart as his wedding night suddenly flashed through his memory. He could tell how nervous his lovely bride was when he took her to bed, but it wasn’t for the reason he figured, which was that she was about to know a man’s touch for the first time. When he moved inside of her and felt no barrier, the realization that she’d been with another man prior to him felt like a punch in the gut. It brought a wave of fury and nausea.
“You’re not intact,” he said, staring at her from his position over her.
Her legs tightened around his hips, drawing him into her. Tears formed in her eyes as she whispered, “Please don’t hate me, husband. I didn’t love him like I love you.”
He plunged into her roughly and took her that night in a frenzy of anger and desire. He loved her, but he couldn’t cope with the idea of her with another man. For the next six months until he left for the war, he made her pay for what he perceived as betrayal. He treated her like a whore every time he took her to bed. She enjoyed it. He could tell by the way she screamed his name and shuddered her releases. Her passionate responses to his bawdy actions fueled his anger and resentment, for he couldn’t experience her passion without imagining her having the same response with another man.
He could see the sadness in her eyes whenever she looked at him, waiting and hoping for him to forgive her. Before he left, he held her close to him. He loved her so much it hurt, but still he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that all was well and good between them. He walked away, leaving her alone with her shame. Jack never thought she’d be the one to die while he was at war. When he returned home with an understanding of what true immorality and betrayal looked like, along with a deep need to hold the sweet woman he’d left behind, she was already dead and buried.
Nettie folded her arms in front of her chest and spoke, bringing him back to the present. “I suppose I should thank you for saving my life and getting me out of that hole, but seeing as how it was your fault I fell in it to begin with, I don’t reckon I need to thank you for that.”
Of all the cheek, he thought, shaking his head.
“I’d like to repay the debt I owe you for feeding me,” she continued. “I’m good at sewing, if you have something that needs mending. I’ll do as much as I can around here before returning to the cave.”
When he didn’t say anything, she walked to his dresser and opened it. She removed his clothes and draped them over her arm. He stared at her as she did this, not sure whether he was pleased or annoyed by her initiative. Then he felt sad again. It had been a long time since he’d been around a woman and her ways about the house.
Nettie found the sewing supplies, such as they were, at the bottom of one of the drawers and brought everything to the sofa, where she sat and got to work fixing the seams that were torn, adeptly plunging the needle and thread in and out of the material.
When Jack dunked his plate in the basin and grabbed a rag to wash it, she said, “Please, Trapper Jack, allow me to do the cleaning up.”
He hung the rag over the side of the basin. “Very well. I’ll be back,” he told her.
“Where are you going?”
He retrieved a length of rope from a hook near the door and placed his wool hat on his head. “Out,” he said, and left the cabin. He summoned Cager with a whistle, preferring not to leave him behind with the woman in case she was afraid of him.
Jack visited each of his traps. He’d trapped three rabbits and a small beaver, which wasn’t bad. He mostly used the box traps, since he disliked the cruelty of the clamps, reserving those for only those times when he wasn’t having luck with the boxes. Grasping each animal by its back legs and holding it upside down, he snapped their necks in less time than it took to reset the trap, giving them a quick death. He wound the rope around their legs and slung them over his shoulder.
Chapter Three: Talking Sense
It was late afternoon by the time Jack returned to his cabin. As he neared, the scent of baked bread caused his mouth to water and his stomach to rumble. When he walked inside, Nettie looked over from where she stood cleaning a window and flashed a smile at him. “Welcome back, Trapper Jack. How was it, being out?”
The way she smiled at him like she was happy to see him stirred emotions in Jack that he hadn’t felt for some time. He took off his hat and tossed it aside. “It was fine. You don’t need to bake and clean, Nettie.”
She shrugged. “I don’t like bein’ beholden. I also washed all your clothes in the river and hung them on some rope out back. I told you I would do what I could before going back to my cave.”
He shook his head. The thought running through his mind was that she was a damn fine woman and damn fine at doing womanly things, yet she’d gotten it into her head to live a man’s life of survival in the woods. His frustration grew the more he thought about it. He had to convince her to change her mind about living in that cave, one way or another. Jack saw her studying the animals dangling from his rope.
“Do you know how to skin a rabbit?” he asked.
She shook her head, and Jack had to work hard to suppress his annoyance once again at her insistence of living in the woods, when she didn’t have even the most basic of skills. “I’ll show you then.”
She must have heard the exasperation in his voice because she said with a proud lift of her chin, “I reckon it’s not hard. I figured out what to do with the chickens, you know.”
Jack grunted. “That’s completely different, woman.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but then seemed to think better of it when he shot her a warning look. She followed him to his worktable outside and watched in silence as he skinned the first two rabbits. When he handed her the knife to skin the third, she took it and mimicked his movements.
“Not bad,” he admitted when she finished.
She beamed at him and looked very proud of herself.
He frowned at her. “Not good either.” He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea about her ability to exist in the woods.
Her smile faded. She returned to the cabin, and Jack carried the pelts to his woodshed. An hour later, the two of them were eating rabbit stew and bread. She ate stew from the bowl, and he ate bread from the plate. Then they switched. He found the ease in which they did so interesting, and not at all unpleasant.
Toward the end of the meal, Nettie asked, “How did you get your flour and other goods out here? You’re an awful long ways from town.”
He stirred his stew. “I take a trip to Helena every year with my pack mule. There I trade pelts for things like flour and sugar.”
“That’s a good idea.”
Jack grunted. “I didn’t come up with it. It’s what trappers do. We exchange pelts with grocers, blacksmiths, and tailors for supplies we need to live.”
“Oh.” She tore off a piece of bread. “What about your oven? Did you pack that on the mule to get it out here as well?”
He shook his head. “The last trapper who lived here left it behind. He moved to California to seek his fortune in gold. He also built this cabin, so things were pretty much set up when I moved in.”
“You don’t own this place?”
“That’s right. It’s owned by Pete’s Pelts. Pete’s a merchant, and I pay him through a share of trappings.”
“I see,” she said, looking around. “It’s a pretty good setup. I don’t reckon Pete would consider hiring a woman trapper? I’d like to get a cabin like this and make my way.”
Jack cocked his head and studied her, unsure of whether she was serious or pulling his leg. He was almost certain she spoke in jest, but just in case she didn’t, he answered her seriously.
“There ain’t no such thing as a woman trapper.”
She sighed and looked deflated. “That’s what men say about every job. Doesn’t leave a woman with many options.”
Jack had never thought of that. He frowned. “You could get married again and do women’s work.”
Nettie let out an unladylike snort. “Me, a woman over thirty? Drunks and sluggards, that’s all I would attract. ‘Sides, I already told you, I don’t want to get married again.”
Jack didn’t say anything, and an uncomfortable silence followed.
Nettie ate her last bite of bread and said, “If I can impose on you one more night, I’d be ever so grateful. My clothes should be good and dry come morning. I’ll leave then.”
Jack stood and walked to the sofa, where he sat while she attended to the dishes. He watched and waited for her to finish before he said, “Come here, Nettie.” He needed to talk some sense into her, and now was as good a time as any.
She frowned and didn’t look like she wanted to obey, but she traipsed to him after a moment’s hesitation. He pointed to the spot next to him. She sat and self-consciously tugged at the hem of his shirt that she was wearing. Then she folded her hands in front of her on her lap and looked at them instead of at him, seeming to know that she wouldn’t like whatever he had to say.
Jack rubbed a hand around the beard on his face. “I won’t allow you to go on living in that cave.” His words came out exactly how he hoped they wouldn’t, as an order. A strict upbringing, followed by six years in the military, meant orders were what he was used to, both giving and receiving, and he wasn’t sure how to get his point across to the woman any other way.
She scowled at her folded hands. “You ain’t my husband or pa, Trapper Jack, and you don’t own that cave. I’m not obliged to obey you.”
His jaw clenched. This wasn’t going to be an easy task, convincing her to listen to reason. He found her argument downright infuriating. “I know a thing or two about living in the woods,” he said, raising his voice a notch. “I can see you’re real good at some things, like baking, mending, and cleaning. You’re even all right at skinning a rabbit, but none of that will matter if you can’t catch your food and you don’t have proper shelter come winter.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he held a finger to her lips. They felt damp and soft, and he felt the sudden desire to kiss her stubborn mouth, if for no other reason than to prevent her from saying another foolish word. The fire in her eyes died when he touched her, and she gazed at him dolefully. He continued his lecture. “Don’t waste your breath saying you’re gonna shoot the grizzly. That’s a fool’s notion. I imagine you’re about as good at shooting as you are at trapping, and you can’t afford to make a mistake there. You miss the bear or only injure it, you’re dead.”
Jack let his finger fall from her lips, and Nettie looked down again and didn’t say anything.
“Do you even have a gun?”
She shook her head slowly. “No, but I know how to shoot. My husband taught me.”
Her words exasperated him further. “A lot of good knowing how to shoot does without owning a gun. Look, the way I see it, you have two choices. You can either go live in town again, or you can live here with me until you figure out what you want to do.”
Her head snapped up at his words. “You want me to live with you?”
“Why not? I reckon you’d be a lot of help around here.” He thought that was something she might want to hear. He was wrong.
Her eyes turned suspicious and she seemed to shrink away from him. “Right, I’m sure that’s what you’re wanting. My help. I think you’d expect quite a bit more than my help,” she spat at him.
Jack’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at her tone. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t force myself on you, if that’s what you’re thinking. You have a real low opinion of men.”
“Look who’s talking,” she snarled. “I imagine it’s not your love of men that keeps you so far away from them.”
“You’re right,” he said, trying to hold his temper in check. “Men can be cruel. Men are also more suited for living in the woods than womenfolk.” After a few moments, he pronounced, “You’ll go back to town then, but as I said, you’re not going back to that cave.”
“We’ll see about that,” she hissed, her eyes flashing with anger.
It seemed that both of them had a bit of a temper, Jack thought to himself. He considered what to do next. He thought about turning her over his knee again, but instead he stood and walked to the door to let Cager inside. He decided that bright and early the next morning he’d pack some supplies and a little money for her, then take her to town, even if he had to truss her up and throw her over his shoulder to get her there.
Cager entered and trotted directly to Nettie. When she looked at Jack fearfully, he said, “Don’t worry, he likes you.”
Nettie reached out tentatively and touched the wolf’s head, and he responded by licking her hand. Nettie squealed with delight and fell to her knees. She wrapped her arms around his neck in a big hug. “How did you get a pet wolf, Trapper Jack?”
Jack observed her on the floor, hugging his wolf like one would a child, and he couldn’t help but smile just a little. “I found him eating a rabbit from one of my clamp traps when he was a pup. He followed me home and never left.”
Nettie scratched behind his ears and talked to him in an affectionate tone. “You look scary, but you aren’t so scary, are you, boy? Just like your master.” She grinned at Jack.
Jack’s smile vanished and he glowered at her. He wasn’t pleased by her lack of fear. Fear is what kept people alive, and this was one woman who needed to acquire a healthy dose of it to survive.
Chapter Four: Nettie’s Freedom
The next morning, Nettie woke up before Jack and stared at the beams of the ceiling for a few minutes to collect her thoughts. She glanced warily at the man sleeping beside her and felt conflicted. One moment he seemed decent enough, but then he’d get to bossing her around and demanding that she do his bidding. She’d be damned if she ever let a man have power over her again. It had taken running and nearly starving to death to get away from men, and that was preferable to being under a man’s thumb. If he ever found out she’d been whoring for two years before meeting him, he’d have all the convincing he’d need to force himself on her.
Then again, Jack hadn’t made any move to hurt her, except for that rather thorough thrashing she’d received upon first meeting him. Even then, she could tell that he didn’t intend to truly harm her, only to teach her a lesson. She reconsidered his offer of allowing her to stay with him. It would make life easier for her, at least to begin with. She would have access to food and a reliable shelter. Would it be worth it, though? No, she thought sadly. He was a man. She knew it would only be a matter of time before he demanded that she earn her keep in the way that pleased a man the most.
She sat up slowly and maneuvered around Jack off the bed. She removed her clothes from where they hung near the fire and stepped into them noiselessly. She’d stolen the britches and shirt from her last john, and she’d modified the clothing to better fit her using her now-neglected sewing skills. Nettie walked to the wall and pulled out the Springfield musket from its place behind the dresser. She’d spotted it when she mended Jack’s clothes the day before. Surveying the room, her eyes lingered on the leftover bread on the oven top. She considered eating it but then decided against it. She wouldn’t accept any more help from Trapper Jack. Because she’d cleaned his house and cooked supper, she felt like she’d paid her debt, but taking anything else from him would make her beholden. She recalled the moment she decided to free herself from men and never be beholden again.
“Two dollars,” the saloon owner told her, as he wrote out the expense in his ledger on his desk. Nettie’s page in the book was filled with various debts, which over the last two years she’d accrued faster than she could pay off. The tips from her customers were never enough.
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nbsp; Nettie stared at him, surprised despite his consistent swindling throughout their acquaintance. Just when she thought she was finally making enough money to be in the black, Mr. Smith would find another expense she owed that would keep her trapped into service. This time he was charging her for new curtains.
“Please, Mr. Smith,” she said in a pleading tone. “I didn’t rip the curtains in my room. They were quite old and worn when I started staying there.”
Her boss glanced at her with a mixture or contempt and impatience. “If you don’t want to pay for the upkeep of your room, you can feel free to find another place to live.”
She wasn’t free to do any such thing, and he knew it. In the time that she’d been working there servicing his patrons, she’d made no money to call her own and was no better off than when she first started. In fact, she was worse off if the red minus signs in the ledger were any clue. Mr. Smith collected the money from her johns, and she never saw a dime of it. He’d managed to acquire all her tips too, by inventing various debts she owed.
Nettie turned and stormed out of his office abruptly, suddenly feeling like she would suffocate if she stayed there a moment longer. She sat on a step near the base of the stairs and hyperventilated, trying to get air to her strangled lungs. She hated working as a prostitute, and she felt panicked that there didn’t seem to be any way out. She shook her head in dismay. Even if she were able to somehow pay off her debts to Mr. Smith and leave, it was unlikely that anyone in town would consider employing her. Never had she felt so alone, so miserable, and so hopeless as she did sitting on that step.
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