White Dawn

by Susan Edwards

  But that had been nothing compared to his rage when he’d learned what her father had done in the wilderness. He’d been incensed that any man could leave a woman alone and unprotected in the wild. He’d pulled her into his arms when she cried, the pain of it still raw in her mind and heart.

  He’d grown quiet when she told him how her warrior had saved her from wolves. The rest didn’t need much telling. He knew, or could assume, the rest.

  She and John had fallen asleep then—him weakened from his bout with fever, and her from the sleepless nights spent worrying about him as she bathed his skin.

  Knowing it was time to get up and go find something to eat, Emily eased away from John’s body. His arms tightened momentarily, then released her. He yawned as he came awake. “Looks like we slept the day away.”

  “I’ll go—” The sound of Fang’s deep growls and loud barking cut her off. The wolf never barked or growled—not like this! Scrambling to her feet, Emily grabbed the rifle from the tabletop. Behind her, John cursed and called her back. She ignored him and went to the doorway to glance out. The wolf was standing near the ring of trees around the shack, tail down, head lowered, fur standing on end.

  “Emily, get back here. Give me the rifle!”

  She continued to watch, aware that John was trying to stand. When she heard voices, she lifted the rifle, pointing it in the direction the wolf stared. When two figures came into view, she shouted, “Stop! Don’t come any closer.”

  The pair stopped, mouths gaping open at the sight of her. One, a trapper nearly as tall and wide as John, stepped forward, then stopped when Emily trained the rifle on him. “Name is Ben. This here’s my wife, Mary. We’s lookin’ for John.”

  Behind her, Emily felt large, warm hands settle on her shoulders heavily, as if John needed to lean on her just to remain upright. “It’s okay, Emily. Ben’s a friend.” He reached around her and took the rifle from her shaking hands.

  Over her head, John called off his wolf. Ben and Mary joined them. Each of the two newcomers led a mule and wore heavy packs on their backs.

  Emily tried to hide her shock. From a distance, she’d never have guessed that the person with Ben was his wife. Mary, though shorter than her husband by a good foot, was still several inches taller than Emily. She wore a cotton shirt, buckskin breeches caked with mud, and moccasins. Her dark hair was cut short, and she wore a floppy hat on her head and a red kerchief around her neck.

  Mary and Ben stared at her, too, just as speechless as she. Emily flushed, becoming acutely aware of just how little she wore—and what: John’s shirt. And John… She glanced back and groaned. He was standing behind her with only a blanket wrapped haphazardly around his waist. To anyone looking at them, it would surely appear as though they’d just… Heat and shame ran through her. “I’m sorry… This isn’t what it seems.”

  John’s fingers tightened. “It’s all right, Emily. Ben’s a good friend. He’ll understand.”

  “So will his wife, you big oaf,” the woman added. She turned to Emily, her face open and friendly. “Pleased to meet you, Emily. It’ll be nice to visit with another female out here—one who speaks English, anyway. Most of the women out here come from Indian tribes.”

  John leaned more weight on Emily. She tipped her chin up and smiled. “I’m pleased to meet you, too, Mary and Ben. But I need to get John back into bed.” At the two pairs of startled eyes, Emily realized what she’d said. She threw her head back against John and groaned. His eyes twinkled down at her.

  “What she means is, if I don’t sit back down fast, I’m going to fall flat on my face.”

  For the first time, Mary seemed to notice his pallor and the sweat dripping down the sides of his face. “John, what have you done to yourself?”

  “He tried to chop his leg off.” The thought of John nearly dying still made Emily sick. She turned to lead him back to the bed.

  Mary stepped to his other side. “Let me help. If this big oaf falls on you, you’ll be squashed like a bug.”

  “I can get myself back to bed, both of you.” John looked to Ben for support, obviously hating the weakness in his body.

  His friend shook his head. “Don’t think I want to have to pick you up when you collapse.” His dark eyes sparkled with laughter as he moved both women out of the way, then started John walking the few feet back to his pallet.

  Mary snapped, “Men. Can’t stand to appear weak, but that big lug looks like he’s gonna pass out any minute.”

  Emily grinned at her as they watched. Ben, equal in size to John, perhaps a tad taller, wider and heavier, brooked no argument from John, who was still insisting that he needed no help. He ushered the other man along like a naughty boy being led back to his bed.

  As soon as John had stretched back out on his pallet and was decently covered, Mary rushed forward, insisting on seeing the wound. John protested. It did no good; she just shoved aside his hands. Emily earned herself a dark look when she pulled the blanket up past John’s ankle, his knee and over his thigh to reveal the wide bandage. Mary’s capable hands unwrapped the cloth, and Emily winced at her sharp intake of breath.

  “Holy mother of God, John.” Ben’s wife gently prodded the reddened flesh, ignoring John’s muted groan of pain. “You did a good job, Emily. I’ve got some ointments and herbs we can use—we just stocked up in St. Louis.” She turned her head. “Ben—” Her husband had already anticipated her needs and he handed her a rolled pack.

  Emily worked alongside Mary, ignoring John’s ill temper. In truth, she felt relieved to know she’d done things right and was grateful for the additional help and advice.

  Mary finally stood. “Come with me to the river. I need a bath. We’ll leave the men.” It was an order.

  John met Emily’s gaze. They both knew Mary wanted to get her alone to talk. Emily didn’t mind, though, and the thought of a bath sounded all too good. She’d been afraid to leave John alone unless absolutely necessary.

  In the cool, refreshing water, they bathed in silence. After she dried, Emily put John’s buckskin shirt back on. She frowned. As much as she loved the freedom of going about clad in his clothes, she needed to do something about obtaining some of her own.

  “Mary, this is going to sound odd, but do you have an extra dress…or something?”

  Mary’s eyes widened. “I don’t bother bringing dresses out here—pants and shirts work better to hide the fact that I’m a white woman. Indians usually don’t bother us if they think we’re just two men, and from a distance no one can tell.”

  “I see.” Emily wrung her hair out.

  Mary used her fingers to smooth her own short black hair. Already it was starting to curl around her head. “So…would I be considered rude if I were to ask you what a young white girl like you is doing out here, dressed only in John’s shirt?”

  Emily laughed, nervously. Yet she felt surprisingly fond of this blustery woman. “I have a feeling even if it was rude, you’d ask.” Mary didn’t respond. Taking a deep breath, Emily gave a brief version of the events that had led to her being here.

  When she was finished, Mary stood. Apparently the explanation was enough. She said, “I don’t mean to be disrespectful of the dead, Emily, but I can’t feel sorry for your father. He sentenced you to death when he left you! If you ask me, and even if you don’t, that man got what he deserved.”

  Emily’s eyes swam with tears. “But not my mother,” she whispered.

  Mary put her arms around her. “No. Not your mother. Wish I could say she should have been stronger, Emily. But she, too, was a victim of your father’s fanaticism.”

  She turned toward the house, suddenly all business. “I’ve got some material—trade cloth and such for the natives. We’ll whip up a dress for you. In the meantime, I can loan you something to wear.”

  That sounded great to Emily but for one thing. “Mary, I can’t pay for the material. I don’t have any money!” She ran to catch up with her new friend.

  Mary rounded on her,
her brownish-green eyes fiery her expression indignant. “You saved John’s life. That’s enough.”

  Emily stopped the other woman. “Yeah, but it was because of me that he was careless.” She still felt guilty about it.

  “Nonsense. He’s going to be all right now—that’s what’s important. Sometimes things just happen. There’s no telling why.”

  Emily thought about that. Maybe Mary was right. But doubt still lingered in Emily’s mind and heart.

  Chapter Eight

  Ben didn’t waste any time once the women left. “Well? Spit it out. Where did that beauty come from?”

  Seeing Ben’s bemused expression still trained on the door, and Mary and Emily walking away, John growled low in his throat. “Best remember you’re married, old man.” At the warning tone in his master’s voice, Fang lifted his head and glanced from one man to the other. John motioned for the animal to be still and sent his friend a hard glare.

  Ben, in his early thirties, had been one of the first trappers John had met when he’d first joined his grandfather out here. John hadn’t known the first thing about surviving in the wilderness; he’d been as green and cocky as they came. But Ben had taken him in hand and, as a result, the two had formed a fast friendship. Like most trappers, Ben was single in those early days, and they’d all made the trip downriver together. John and Ben had shared more than one night of drinking and carousing. Two years ago, Ben had surprised them all when he’d returned from St. Louis with a wife.

  Grinning, Ben just lifted his brows. “Married don’t mean a man can’t look or appreciate beauty when he sees it.” His smile turned to a grimace. “’Course, best if Mary don’t know that!”

  “Your wife would skin you alive,” John agreed, pleased and relieved. Not that Ben actually posed a threat. Of course, it seemed he had given away more of his feelings than he’d planned.

  Uncomfortable under his friend’s speculative stare, John pulled himself up to sit, shifting his body so he could lean against the wall. “Women! Always fussing and carrying on.” Though he had to admit all this moving around had started a painful throbbing in his thigh. Once settled, he turned back to Ben, hoping to distract the man so he wouldn’t have to explain Emily’s presence. “So what’s new in St. Louis?”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not sidesteppin’ this one, pal.” Ben settled on a stool and waited.

  John sighed, then gave an account of how he’d found Emily. He still remembered his reaction when he’d seen her sleeping on the bed of furs: disbelief followed by wonder. She’d looked so young. So vulnerable. So beautiful.

  Then, when she’d opened her eyes, the world had seemed to stand still. One glance into her eyes and he’d felt like a man drowning in those blue pools. In that instant, John knew this woman was something special. Why she was there, who she’d been with—none of that mattered. Only that she was there, a gift to be treasured.

  He’d never believed in love at first sight. He’d figured Ben had exaggerated his first meeting with Mary. But he believed now. He could only hope that she’d allow him to court her and prove to her that he would never hurt her.

  A shirt landing in his lap jerked John back to reality, and to Ben, who sat staring at him, his eyes wide, his jaw slack. “I don’t believe you! You just found her? You know how incredible that sounds?”

  John nodded. “Couldn’t believe it myself.” He closed his eyes. “I’ve dreamed of finding someone like her. Then one day I return home, and there she is. I felt like someone had left me a gift, you know?” His voice softened without his even being aware of it.

  His friend let out a long whistle. “Fallen hard, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah. Guess I have.” And he knew he had. How could he bear to take her back to society, knowing he’d never see her again? Yet how could he not? In the days since he’d found her, he’d discovered a core of steel hidden beneath that fragile, lost-girl look Emily wore.

  Yes, he was impressed by this woman. Aside from surviving the fate of her parents, having had the presence of mind to keep herself hidden from the attacking Indians, knowing not to run from the wolves, she’d kept her wits about her when he’d injured himself. Though her own life had been in shambles, she’d taken charge of his—and saved it.

  He admitted, “She’s incredible, Ben. I couldn’t ask for more in a wife.”

  Smiling, his own eyes glazed with some fond memory, Ben sighed. “Yep, you got hit hard, pal. Just like me when I first saw Mary storming into that saloon—all piss and vinegar. Lord, was she a handful. And a vision.”

  John met Ben’s amused and besotted glance. His friend’s story was unique. Mary had thought Ben responsible for her brother’s death, and she’d been prepared to take her revenge. Luckily for them both, Ben had convinced her that she had the wrong man.

  John’s friend gave him an interested look. “So you’re gonna take her back to the mission. Then what?”

  Heaving a big sigh, John ran his hands through his hair and grimaced. He needed a bath desperately. He felt grimy, and didn’t like feeling that way around Emily. Maybe he would shave, too. “I don’t know. Guess it’s up to her. I’d like to court her properly. But can’t do that unless I gain her trust. She’s been hurt badly. And used.”

  Ben shook his bushy head. Worry shadowed his gray eyes. “She’s not one of your many animals to be nursed back to health, you know.”

  John knew that only too well. True, he’d found her lost and alone, with a broken heart and an injured spirit. But unlike the wild animals he healed, then set free, he didn’t want to let Emily go. Deep inside, he’d discovered a very primitive core: a part that urged him just to claim what was his.

  And she was his. She was meant to be with him. “Can’t explain it, Ben. I feel like I’ve known her all my life, like she’s a part of me here.” He thumped his chest.

  Ben grinned, a silly, lopsided expression. “Same as when I met Mary. Wasn’t no one else for me after I saw her. Even when I hauled her out of trouble and got nothing but a slap for my trouble. Had to have her.” He rubbed his cheek as if remembering that first meeting.

  Deciding now was a good time to change the subject, John asked, “Where are you and Mary off to? Going to your usual place?” He was glad Ben had arrived, and the help was a boon. But he wouldn’t presume to ask him to stay any longer than Ben wanted; the man had his own living to see to. He needn’t have worried.

  The trapper snorted. “You’d like to get rid of me, now, wouldn’t you, John? Well, think again, pal. Somehow I think we’re gonna be staying right here for a while. Don’t think I could drag Mary away. Besides, someone’s got to hunt for you. You’re not gonna be up and around anytime soon.”

  Relief washed through John. “Might be nice to have you around for a few days,” he admitted. “Do some hunting and such. Then I’ll be fine.” He winced at Ben’s booming bark of laughter.

  “Haven’t looked at yourself lately, have you? You look like hell, buddy. Mary and I are staying until your grandfather and cousin return. Don’t think they’re too far behind us.”

  John nodded. “They’ll be home soon, then? I was starting to get worried. They’ve been gone much longer than usual.”

  “Well, your grandpa isn’t lookin’ so good, John. Got sick and was laid up in St. Louis, though he was doing better when we left. Between you an’ me, John—the doc said he’d make it back but doesn’t give him much more time. Mebbe another winter.”

  Sadness settled in John’s heart. He loved the gruff old man. Months after his parents had died, his grandfather had arrived to take both him and Willy back to the wilderness. Gascon Cartier had sworn that the harsh life would make men of them both. There was little argument that it had not. The memory made John smile. His grandfather had no use for soft, pampered cityfolk.

  Ben’s next words brought him back from his thoughts. “Stubborn old fart.” A tinge of sadness edged the trapper’s laughter. “Tried to talk him into staying behind for the winter. Said I’d let yo
u know what happened. Hell, even your cousin tried to get him to stay in St. Louis. Still, you know the old man. Says he don’t want to die in some fancy boardinghouse. Wants to go out here, to be buried beneath the land he walked.”

  Silence fell for a few moments as they both thought of the formidable man whom no one dared defy. Gascon Cartier, born into a wealthy family, had left that rich life behind for the adventure of living in the wilderness. A man more fitted to this wild land didn’t exist.

  Thinking of the savage beauty of the land around the cabin, John understood. He, too, loved it out here. And yet… “We’ll be leaving next year. I—”

  Ben nodded. “It’s a lonely life.”

  He’d hit the nail on the head. Staring over Ben’s shoulder out the window at the trees beyond the cabin, John felt torn. Unbidden came the thought that with Emily at his side, he wouldn’t be lonely. What would it be like to share all this with her?

  “The old man is proud of you. Spoke a lot about you when I saw him.”

  “Bet Willy loved that.”

  Ben shrugged, a look of distaste coming over the man’s features that said he didn’t much care what Willy did or did not love. “Don’t much care for your cousin. Shifty. Self-centered. Out drinking and carousing every night, leaving your grandpa alone—and Gascon being sick and all! That boy hasn’t earned his grandpa’s respect, nor mine. Why should he get it?”

  “He’s stuck it out here, same as me.”

  Ben rolled his eyes. His fingers plucked at his beard. “Only ’cause if he left, he’d have to make his own way. Boy’s too lazy to get honest work elsewhere and knows Gascon won’t just pay his way.”

  John sighed. “I know.” It was the truth, but he still felt guilty for having all his grandpa’s respect—and for the fact that Gascon had left everything to him. Yet he knew whatever was given to Willy would quickly be gone in a binge of gambling, drink and women. Then his cousin would come around looking for more. It seemed a horrible conundrum.