She smiled, her face feeling hot. “That’s what I asked him, actually. How may I help with this?” She pointed to the current wagon being unloaded.
Nicholas addressed Claude, “Je serai là dans un moment. Allons.” He frowned at her, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t help with this. Just stay out of the way and we’ll handle it.”
“Oh. I see.” Beth chewed a little on her lower lip, fretting. She couldn’t go back to her own wagon, angering Daggart. He’d say she didn’t try to be useful. His horse snorted, and with a start, she realized Nicholas still stood beside her. Beth smiled up at him, “You will tell me if I can be useful in any way?”
He dismounted. “I appreciate you asking, but the men can take care of this much faster.”
“Of course. I was being silly to ask.” She looked down, hiding her face with her sunbonnet and feeling very foolish.
He sighed, smacking gloves against his hand, “If you must do something constructive, I’d prefer you wait over there.” Nicholas gave her his reins. “Hold mine and the others’ horses while we get across. Make sure they get something to eat while waiting.”
“I will. Thank you for letting me help.” She turned to lead his horse out of the way.
“Hold up.” Checking to make sure Claude was out of earshot, Nicholas leaned in a little, speaking in a lowered voice. “I can’t let anything happen to you, Beth. If the animals spook and pull free, you’d be crushed. Please stay back while we get everyone up the embankment.”
She nodded, better understanding his unfriendly reaction to her offer. “I will, but what about you? I couldn’t let you get hurt either.”
Nicholas’s chin went up and his eyes narrowed. Someone called his name in the distance. Holding his hand up in a wait gesture, he took a step closer. “Elizabeth.”
The stormy grey of his eyes drew her in, leaving Beth unable to look anywhere else but him. She couldn’t break her gaze any more than he could seem to break his. “Yes?” she asked, lifting her face for a kiss. Her lips parted as she realized what her guesture subconsciously told him.
He laughed. “No, no kisses.” They heard him called again, more insistent this time. “Please keep an eye on the horses.”
She nodded in assent as he answered the demand for his attention. She did as he’d asked, going up the incline to the mounts. Beth patted their necks, cooing at them to trust her and scratching their foreheads. She took two sets of reins in each hand, leading them around to give her a better view of each wagon’s struggles uphill. Beth used the distance from everyone as a chance to watch Nicholas as he worked. He’d read her expression correctly. She’d wanted to kiss him and didn’t know how to feel about him telling her no. By the time she spotted Daggart standing to the side, also watching everyone else, the men worked like a machine—unloading, driving up the incline, reloading, then moving the wagon for the next in line.
People milled around ahead of her as she waited, women searching for firewood, men wandering off to hunt, children playing or sitting in the shade. Beth took the horses along the dry creek bed while searching for new grass or hay. She scanned the ground for animal tracks, pretty stones, or anything else interesting as the animals ate. Every so often, upon hearing a holler, she peeked out from under her sunbonnet, knowing which man she wanted to see. Not Claude with his hairy face and neck, nor did she watch for Lawrence, his hat pulled low over his eyes and long white hair braided down his back.
Samuel caught her attention a couple of times; he looked enough like his brother. Her heart hadn’t raced upon seeing him as it did when she merely thought of Nicholas though. Remembering how her name sounded in his voice sent shivers through her. He’d said no to her accidental request and recalling the sound left her hungry to hear a yes from him. Seeing the softening in his eyes even as he refused her, the affection there left her unable to think.
Once everyone had been pulled up the embankment, Nicholas, Samuel, Lawrence, and Claude came to her for their horses. Every man was polite as he took his mount and rode away, Samuel more so than Nicholas.
“Thank you, my dear. Nick told me you’d care for them well.” He tilted his head to peer at her under the brim of her bonnet.
She smiled at Nicholas’s name and at the compliment. “I don’t know how much care I gave them. They’re very self-sufficient.”
“Nonsense, Mrs. Bartlett. Lawrence and I are to scout ahead for camp and needed our horses fresh for this afternoon and evening. You are a true angel of mercy for them.”
Beth laughed. “A true angel would have given them water, apples, and sugar cubes.”
“True. I’m sure if you had those items, they would not have wanted to see me coming.”
“Probably not,” she replied, hearing Lawrence whistle.
“Until we break for camp.” He tipped his hat and rode toward the other man. Both gentlemen headed in tandem to the northwest, the lead wagon slowly following.
On the other side of the shallow canyon, the country grew hilly and the road roughened from prior wheel ruts. Nearly everyone who preferred riding to walking now strolled in the fresh air away from their wagon. Only the ill stayed under their oilcloth cover. Some canopies were raised to let in the cool breeze. Other women walked with her, herding the children as they ran and played among the spring flowers.
Beth listened with inattention to the conversations flowing in the air around her, shyness keeping her quiet. She didn’t feel able to chat about anything. The farm she loved was gone and too painful to discuss, as was her family. She loathed even thinking about Daggart.
The wagons ahead slowed to a halt. The front wagon turned into the familiar circle. She wondered at their stopping for the day so soon. To the north grew a grove of trees with more scattered along a creek. People already unhitched horses, oxen, and mules, leading or riding them to the gully. She caught up with their wagon. Daggart had already taken the oxen, but only them. She grabbed the larger bucket and untied Erleen to take her for a drink.
Beth searched until she found a quiet, shallow part of the river where she could see the bottom. She soon tied Erleen to a tree close to the water, thrilled at the prospect of wading. After setting down the bucket for later, she pried off Lizzy’s shoes with a curse under her breath. She threw them on the bank, lifted her skirt, and walked into the shallows. Beth sighed, raising her head heavenward in silent thanks.
Her feet stirred up silt in the cool water. A little choke of panic crawled up her throat until currents drew the clouds away, calming her. She wiggled her toes, not minding how they disturbed the creek bed and instead enjoyed freedom from the cramped leather. The blisters didn’t sting anymore, the cold numbing them a little. Beth enjoyed watching crawfish scurry. Minnows darted around, some nibbling her toes and tickling them. She smiled from their touch. Wanting to rest, she searched for some sort of seat allowing her to still bathe her feet.
A little way down from the sand bank was a cliff cut into the earth. Beth waded over and sat, thinking this the perfect spot. She reclined on her elbows and let the sun shine on her face despite her husband’s warning to keep her skin pale. Enjoying the icy comfort flowing over her feet, she laid down on the warm ground. Beth closed her eyes, listening to the birds chirp and rustle around her, smelling the fishy river, and soaking up the late afternoon warmth.
The birds must be fussing, she thought, hearing more of a rustle than usual. Beth hoped Daggart wasn’t sneaking up on her to complain about something ridiculous. She only wanted a few moments to let her feet feel a little better before tending to chores. Better to be Nicholas sneaking up on her. She’d love him whispering her name in her ear. How wonderful if he were so near. She couldn’t stop a small grin while wondering how much closer he’d have to be before she protested.
She heard a horse snort, and opening her eyes in surprise, Beth looked up into an Indian’s face. Before she could scream a warning to everyone, the man clamped a hand tight over her mouth.
Chapter 6
He held the cane pole, focused on the slightest movement. A different sound than the usual caught his attention, but not enough to cause him to look away from his fishing line. He frowned, thinking some children wandered nearby. They must be sneaking up on him, he thought, not hearing anything more. Then, he heard a couple of whimpers, then a hard slap and grunt. It sounded like a fight to him, so he stood, disgusted at the interruption, and went to find the cause.
Ducking through the brush, he picked his way to the sounds, now more frequent and louder. Nick glanced up from the log he stepped over to see Beth kicking and fighting with an Indian. The man sat on her, pinning her to the ground. He held her mouth with one hand and her right wrist with the other. She fought, kneeing his back and punching him with her left hand. Nick drew his gun and pulled back the trigger. “Stop what you’re doing and get away from her.” With each word, he took a step forward, close enough to press the barrel against the man’s temple.
The Indian held up his hands, slowly standing. “I don’t want to harm the lady. She needs me.” Beth scrambled away from her captor and sat at a distance, staring at them both with big eyes.
“I doubt that.” He didn’t want to take his stare off the man, turning his head but not his eyes to ask, “Are you all right, Beth Ann?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” She crossed her arms in a hug. “He didn’t hurt me.”
Smiling, the darker man said, “I wouldn’t. I see the woman needs me and I came to trade.”
Every time the stranger said Beth needed him, Nick wanted to shoot him. “Is that so?” What did this stranger know about her? he scoffed to himself. “Sneaking up on and fighting with her is a bad way to show it.”
“Yes, you are correct. But I am Jack and I have my goods to trade. Let me show you.” The Indian whistled. A little shaggy pony trotted into view, down into the creek and across to the man. “If you will allow?”
Nick kept the gun aimed at him. “No, I won’t allow,” he said even as the man dug around in a saddlebag. “You can’t just come in here and attack a woman like that and expect to trade afterwards.” He took a step back. “Why did you attack her?”
“I didn’t attack but kept her from alarming others. No harm to her or me.” He rolled up a sleeve and displayed a scar. “Women scream and I get shot, but not this time!” Jack gave them a prideful and toothy grin, and then went to the other saddlebag, still searching for something. “I see your woman walk in the water. I also see her feet and shoes.” He pulled a pair of moccasins from the bag. “She will walk in these and smile.” Like a salesman back east, he turned the shoes first one way, then the next. “My wife makes them for us. She is very good, everyone tells her so.” The Indian held the moccasins with one hand and pointed with the other to Beth’s shoes beside her. “If she takes these, I take those? Your woman will walk better today and be happy for you tonight.”
Beth gasped before exclaiming, “I’m what? He can’t have my shoes, not even for those.”
Nick shook his head at her. This man hadn’t been tracking them for very long, he knew, or he’d not have assumed Beth was his woman. He glanced at Beth’s feet poking out from her skirt. Lines from where the leather pieces had been sewn together still left an imprint on her insteps and arches. He saw her blush, pulling her feet under her dress so he couldn’t see.
“She has bad feet.” Jack shrugged and had spread open his hands in a “See?” gesture.
“No, Nicholas, he cannot have those shoes.” She limped a couple of steps over to scoop up the disputed property. “I’ll be in trouble if I let them be traded.”
He gave her a stern look. Beth’s feet wouldn’t last to the Platte River in what she currently wore. “I suggest you take his trade. It’s best for you.”
“No, it isn’t.” Anger flashed in her eyes. “What is best is I keep wearing these as Daggart prefers.”
The Indian looked from one to the other, clearly confused. “I have other items to trade.”
Nick shifted his weight from one foot to the other when Beth mentioned her husband. Every time she said his name, Nick hated Bartlett more. He spat, “He’s a fool if he prefers you wear these. Does the man particularly want your feet amputated?”
“Of course he doesn’t!” She frowned at him, hands on her hips. “He needs my help with getting to California.”
Nick smiled to hide the cold hate he felt inside for Bartlett. Her first thought wasn’t of being without feet or legs but of Daggart’s inconvenience. Nick wanted her able to walk for the rest of the trip as well as the rest of her life. Keeping Beth safe and free from her husband’s anger being a priority, he changed tactics. “What do you think will happen to his plan if those blisters get gangrene? If he does get to the gold fields, you’ll be riding in the wagon the whole way, unable to ever walk again.”
She bowed her head. “You’re right, but I’m sorry, Nicholas. I can’t let them go to this man. Daggart will notice and be furious with me.”
He released the trigger, placing the gun in his holster, unable to believe what he’d heard. “Do you mean to say he’d rather keep the shoes than keep you?” Nick walked over to her and searched her face for a lie.
She lifted her chin and replied, “Yes, he’d rather. They’re one of the few things he has left from the woman he loves.”
Frowning, he didn’t care for the riddle in her answer. Better to think about it later, when the camp was quiet and nothing needed doing. “Keep the shoes, then, and keep your feet in the water. This won’t take long.”
Nick turned to Jack. “I’ll trade you something else for the moccasins. Come over to my supplies and let’s talk.” He walked with the man, the pony following them. Nick figured if everyone saw him with Jack, no one would suspect the Indian of attacking. Enough of the Kanza people lived near St. Joseph; the sight of a single native wouldn’t cause a panic.
Some did stop to stare as he and Jack passed by, as they would have for any unfamiliar person. The Indian nodded to everyone, grinning. Nick smiled at his friendliness. Jack seemed to be a true trader, never offending anyone who might have something he wanted. Still, he wanted to keep an eye on the other man, just to be sure. They reached his wagon, and Nick gathered what he’d be willing to hand over to the man. “I have a lot of extra coffee, some tea, a lot of tobacco, beads, and hard crackers.”
“Good, good.” Jack leaned back, inspecting everything, touching nothing. Finally he said, “I’ll take coffee and crackers for the moccasins.” With a shrewd look he added, “And will tell you where to find fresh game for the beads. I want a present for my wife.”
Nick laughed. “You’re a good man. It’s a deal.” Nick handed over the string of beads, a small jar of coffee beans, and a tin of crackers.
“Before I find others to trade with, I’ll tell you about the pond.” Jack glanced around, checking for eavesdroppers before continuing, “Walk east to a pond alone, not far. There are no trees, but some hills to hide. At dusk, all sorts of game come to drink for the day.”
Nick shook his head. “No tricks?”
He frowned and stomped his foot. “No! No tricks. I use this information for trade, not for trapping the whites.”
Searching the man’s face for deceit, Nick saw none and relented. “Thank you, Mr. Jack. I look forward to better meals tomorrow.”
Bowing, he asked, “Is it all right if I talk with others about trading? Ladies besides yours might want moccasins.”
He laughed, hoping no one overheard how Jack referred to Mrs. Bartlett as his. “Yes, it’s all right if you do business here. Be fair or all trade stops and I warn everyone I see about Dishones
t Jack.”
Jack held up his hand as if to give an oath. “No need for warnings. I will deal fair.”
He watched as Jack meandered away as if he couldn’t decide which settler to target first. Nick looked at the moccasins and smiled. Beth might not want to wear something so primitive. He had another solution she might prefer. Nick went to the back of his wagon, getting his new boots. With those and the moccasins, he went to the Bartlett’s campsite.
She saw him first and stood. Daggart lay sleeping against a wheel, hat pulled low to blot out the sun. “Hello, Mr. Granville. I’ve told my husband you saved my life.”
He grinned. “I don’t think that’s quite accurate. Jack is mostly harmless.”
Daggart sat up and pushed back his hat. “He’s an Indian, right?”
Nick nodded his assent. “Yes he is.”
He threw him a disgusted look. “Then he’s not mostly harmless. He’s mostly a cold blooded killer who’d as soon scalp my wife as look at her. After that, they’d cook us up for dinner.”
The comment felt like a kick to the gut. His Sally had been the warmest person he’d ever known. Nick ground out, “Is that so? I’ve met a few on the warpath, but none truly cold blooded.”
Snorting, Bartlett retorted, “Thought you knew what you were doing out here. Everyone knows Indians roam around, preying on whites as if we were buffalo.”
Nick struggled to keep the rage building up in him from spilling into his voice. “You have firsthand knowledge of this?”
“Not first hand.” He shrugged. “The only people knowin’ for sure are nothin’ but bones.”
To drive home the point, he asked, “So no one you’ve ever met has ever been shot or scalped by an Indian?”
Daggart cut his eyes to Beth and said as if Nick were a child, “No, I heard this from those who’ve seen the bones.”
He knew what Bartlett meant. Wolves, coyotes, and feral dogs often dug up those who died along the way. In an effort to keep up with others in the journey, the family buried their dead in graves too shallow to elude predators. While the folks had good intentions, sun baked ground, rock, or simply not bringing a shovel or spade meant the dead lay above ground. Attempts to cover them with stone or branches often failed when faced with a hungry animal’s determination. “Who, exactly, told you this, Bartlett?”
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