The day started much too early for her. She kept waking up from fretting about the animals and Daggart. Considering how much he liked his comfort, she was sure he’d found a warm place. Beth changed into her new dress, the only clothes dry. She took care of the animals while eating some dried fruit for breakfast.
Firewood in the wagon was soaked, making coffee impossible. Even without the luxury of hot drinks, atmosphere in the camp seemed extra lively. When the captains decided to stay put for a day, getting supplies at the fort was the only topic of conversation. She shared in the anticipation but also had feelings of dread. Beth wondered how much money Daggart allocated for whisky. He’d not been drunk since the men stopped playing poker for rotgut, no one willing to part with enough to intoxicate him.
With the Platte River at almost four feet instead of the estimated three, only those on horseback bothered crossing to the store. Most people sent a family member or two over while others remained behind to dry out possessions. Beth also stayed, hoping Daggart did too. She emptied the wet beans and rice into a pan for cooking, and added some bacon and spices for flavor. Beth wished the wood was already dry. The mix would keep until evening when she could cook.
She was busy cleaning out the wagon when Claude peeked inside. Beth squeaked, startled, and he laughed, showing her his hands in surrender.
“Bonjour, madam.”
“Bonjour?” She asked, thinking he might be saying hello.
“Oui. Pour vous.” He held out a skein of yarn in a light grey.
“Oh! All right.” Beth climbed out of the wagon and took the yarn. “Hm.” She pointed to his feet. “For you?”
“Oui, pour moi, s’il vous plait.” Claude smiled, gave her a wave, and went on to his next task.
She ran the back of her hand across the wool, liking the softness. Beth smiled to herself. The man had good taste. This would be a joy to knit. No sooner than she’d placed Claude’s future socks in her knitting bag, Beth was surrounded by the other hands in the Granvilles’ company.
The three dismounted, each greeting her with a tip of the hat and a “ma’am.”
“I don’t suppose you all have a request?” Mr. Lucky and Lawrence each held a ball of yarn, while Chuck held two. Beth laughed, asking, “I didn’t notice you having extra large feet, Mr. Chuck.”
“I don’t so much, ma’am. This here’s from Mr. Sam. He said he didn’t want Mr. Nick getting ahead of him in the favors.”
“Ah, I see. Very well, I’ll get started on these sometime today.” She gathered the wool, every man having picked a different natural color. They each thanked her as she took the yarns, afterward getting back on their horses. Beth smiled as they rode off to duty, happy to have such lovely yarn to knit. She’d take more pleasure in working with their choices than they’d enjoy wearing the product.
Beth ate a quick lunch then organized her knitting. Whose socks to start first? All the wools tempted her. She chose the grey, almost black, from Mr. Lucky. She cast on and knitted a couple of rows to establish the cuff. A shadow darkened her work, causing Beth to look up at the source. She noticed with a start Amelia stood in front of her.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Bartlett.”
“Hello, Miss Chatillon.” She stood. Even in a new dress, Beth felt dowdy next to the younger and more stylish girl. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”
“Likewise.” Amelia smiled. “I would like you to join us this afternoon. A group of ladies are getting together, working on various projects while we’re resting.”
“Thank you, I’d love to, but…” Her face warmed when she thought of all the women looking at her knitting. They were all possibly far beyond her in skill and would later laugh at her.
“No, you must join us. Don’t be shy.” Amelia made a little gesture. “Don’t think about it, just come along.”
After shrugging in mock defeat, Beth said, “How can I say no, now?” She followed Amelia to the hen party where everyone seemed welcoming. Being observed by so many pairs of eyes made her shy and unfocused. She listened to the women chatter about the personalities of the others, some biting, others amusing. She paid particular attention to various clever solutions to problems caused by the travel.
As she picked up stitches along the heel flap of Mr. Lucky’s sock, Daggart and Mr. Chatillon walked up to them.
“There’s my girl!” Daggart said.
Hearing his voice, Beth looked up to see him addressing Amelia. An embarrassed hush fell over the group as the ladies waited for Beth’s reaction. Daggart’s cheeks reddened. She wanted to laugh at his discomfort, humiliating himself instead of her for a welcome change. Standing, her sense of empathy won over orneriness. “You’re right, here I am. I’d not realized it grew so late. You must be starved.” To Amelia, she said, “Thank you for including me this afternoon. I had a lovely time. Ladies.”
He glanced around at all the people staring at him. “Uh, yea, I am hungry.” He went to her, taking Beth by the elbow in a gentlemanly fashion. “Tell me about your day, and I’ll tell you everythin’ about Fort Kearny.”
Letting him lead her away, she said, “I had a grand time. Dinner won’t take long either. That’s all so now may I hear about the Fort?”
“It’s bigger than I imagined with more people.” He glanced back. “Thank you, Beth. I really put my foot in it over there.”
She wanted to reassure him, but couldn’t. “Yes, you did.”
He gave her a wary look. “You must be angry.”
“I should be, don’t you think?” She shook her head. “But I’m not.”
“Yea.” Daggart gave a forced chuckle. “I didn’t mean she was my girl, not like Lizzy.”
Didn’t she want him to like Amelia enough to let her go? Beth asked herself, did she want to play matchmaker? “She can’t be yours, not while you’re married to me.”
“I’m married to Lizzy.”
She glanced over to see that stubborn set of his jaw. Maybe planting a seed of an idea would take root in that sparse field of a brain he had. “And I’m supposed to be her, unless you’d prefer me not to be.”
Shrugging, he said, “I don’t know what I want.”
She watched as he walked away, out of the wagon circle. Her eyes narrowed. Pushing him toward Amelia was like shoving the girl under a wagon wheel. Unless Daggart treated her as he had her sister. Beth tried ignoring a sudden fury. Lizzy received all his love and care, while Beth received his resentment and hate. She dumped the beans and rice mixture into a cooking pot with an angry shake. Her father and Daggart may have thought differently, but Beth wanted to be a man’s first love. She didn’t deserve to be a consolation prize. Not only that, he’d not noticed her dress. A childish thing, to be sure, but if Daggart was the only one allowed to notice her, then he needed to do his job.
Adding water to the pot, she stirred dinner. She’d not paid attention to the quantities and made too much for just the two of them. Beth straightened. Instead of throwing out the excess, maybe the Granvilles and their men would help them eat all of it this evening. They’d shared their food last night, after all, and so offering to return the favor was only right. Nervous at the possible refusal, she looked at the beans and rice. It already smelled too good to waste. Beth took a deep breath. If she didn’t have to ask Samuel himself, she could do this.
Beth went to the Granvilles’ wagons. All of them sat around a campfire, Lawrence playing a banjo while Claude sang. Her heart beat faster, anticipating interrupting their fun. She leaned against the wagon, enjoying the song.
Once done, Claude waved her over to them. “Bonjour, madam!”
“Bonjour, Mr. Claude,” she greeted, pleased to understand this much at least.
“Monsieur Claude, s’il vous plait.”
Nicholas and the others laughed. “Aren’t we so proper? Mrs. Bartlett, he would like to be called Monsieur Claude, if you please.”
“Ah, Monsieur Claude, then, and gentlemen, it seems I’ve made way too much dinner for us two ton
ight.” She wrung her hands at so many people seated and staring at her. “In fact, I would be grateful if everyone helped me by having dinner with me. Us.” Beth made sure she glanced at each man, but not too long for fear they would think her forward.
Samuel spoke first. “A lovely woman wants to serve us dinner, men. Do we need to be asked twice?” They all grinned like cats in the cream and spoke over each other.
Claude stood, stretching. “Non!”
“Not me,” Chuck replied, taking Claude’s banjo and putting it away.
Mr. Lucky bounded to the front of the group. “I’m in! Let’s go!”
Lawrence shook his head, following Claude.
“I can’t say no.” Nicholas grinned, bringing up the rear with Beth.
As with the afternoon, Beth contented herself with listening to the news and gossip from her guests as they ate. Daggart stumbled over halfway through the meal. He dished up some dinner, which seemed to sober him a bit. She appreciated everyone’s efforts to ignore his drunkenness. Claude made an effort to sit by her when seeing her get his sock to work on in the firelight.
During a lull in the conversation, he pointed to her work. “C’est pour moi.”
She looked to Nicholas for a translation when Samuel said, “For you? What about us?”
“Oh! Yes, this one is for him.” She held up what little she’d done so Monsieur Claude could see. “Don’t worry. I plan to make sure all of them are done by the time we reach cold weather.”
“But why is he first?” Samuel asked.
Beth laughed at how much he resembled a petulant child. “Because he’s special.”
Claude winked. “Et Monsieur Nick?”
She felt her face burn, knowing what he meant. Beth stared at her knitting for a moment and glanced up at him. “Monsieur Nick may be special, too, but was also the first to request.”
Mr. Lucky quickly translated for Claude, who laughed and clapped, saying, “Bonn, bonn.”
“Yea,” Daggart interjected. “He’s not special, or first. I am. She made me socks before I married Lizzy.” He rose, unsteady on his feet. “I’m sick of all of you having fun and laughin’. ‘M goin’ t’ bed.”
Everyone stood, parting so Daggart had a path to the wagon. Her husband reached in, fumbling for his bedroll. Finding what he needed, he hugged the side of the wagon, groping around to the darker side to sleep.
Beth snapped out of her shock at Daggart referring to Lizzy and her in the same sentence. He’d slipped up before, but every time continued to surprise her. Heart still beating hard in her chest, she said, “Thank you, gentlemen, for coming to dinner.” She grabbed a bucket by the wagon. “Put your dishes in here and I’ll have them ready for breakfast tomorrow.”
Nicholas stepped forward. “I can wash these up for you tonight.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Granville?” She shook her head. “I think not, since you were my guest this evening.”
“Let’s compromise,” Samuel said. “Nick, you can see to our bedrolls while I help Mrs. Bartlett clean up.”
She didn’t want to hear a possible lecture from him. “No need, I can do this myself,” Beth argued.
Samuel smiled at her. “Nonsense. With the two of us, it’ll be short work.”
“I’ll leave you two to it, then.” Nicholas nodded to her. “Thank you again, and goodnight.”
None of the plates had so much as a grain of rice remaining, leaving them easy to wash. The pot also had been scraped empty. She let him lead her to the water’s edge and settled in beside him. Not wanting to say anything, she washed as Samuel rinsed.
“I’ve noticed you and Nicholas aren’t as cozy as usual,” he quietly stated.
“No,” Beth replied.
“I dislike saying this, but maybe that’s for the best.”
She pursed her lips, trying to remain neutral in tone. “I’m happy to please.”
“I’m not pleased. I’d rather Nick found a woman to love, even if it’s you.” Samuel took the plate she handed him.
Even if, she thought, trying not to be offended. He didn’t need to reiterate her second choice status. “Oh? I appreciate your approval, such as it is.”
“Now, don’t misunderstand me.” He dried the dish with a cup towel she handed him. “You’re very lovely and I’m glad you’re able to be a good friend for my brother.”
“Despite Daggart, of course.”
Raising an eyebrow, Samuel said, “He is an obstacle.”
Beth clamped a wet hand over her mouth to stifle giggles. She restrained herself enough to say, “He always has been.”
Samuel paused before asking, “This is very forward of me, but I want to ask, why did you marry him?”
She bit her lip, wanting to be honest, but afraid to be. “I made a promise to my father to take Daggart as a husband and let him take care of me.”
“I assume your father passed away?”
Nodding, she said, “Yes, soon after I made the promise.”
“It seems he made things difficult for you with his death.”
“He did, not knowing how much I’d…” she paused to hand him the last fork, then changed the subject. “Um, we’re all done.”
Samuel took the utensil. “Mrs. Bartlett, tell me. Not knowing how much you’d what?”
She swallowed a lump in her throat. “How much I’d regret making that particular promise to him. Both Daggart and I deserve much better.”
“Interesting.” He dried his hands. “Your secret is still yours to tell Nick.” Samuel handed her his towel. “My concern for him in this hasn’t changed. I’d prefer you remember your marriage before befriending him too much.”
“The other Mr. Granville and I are acquaintances, not friends, we’ve decided.” She stood when he did and headed back to camp. Before they parted, she added, “A friendship would be very improper, considering.”
“Considering, yes,” he said. “I’ll bid you good night, Mrs. Bartlett. Sleep well.”
“Thank you.” Beth wanted to throw a plate or something in sadness and frustration. Nicholas seemed to seek her out, not her catting around for him. She needed to stay far away from both Granvilles. Otherwise, she’d tell them everything about her and Lizzy despite her husband’s orders. Daggart staggered from around the wagon, startling her. Beth knew the drink usually changed him to meanness, not to weakness. “Dag, are you all right?”
He rubbed his eyes like a child. “No, I’m not,” he replied, his voice small.
“What’s wrong? Will a little sleep help you? Maybe some coffee?”
Daggart shook his head and went to her. He hugged her close, sobbing. “I miss her, Beth. I miss Lizzy so much.” Burying his face in her neck, he mumbled, “She can’t be back, can she?”
“No, dear, I’m sorry.” She patted his back, stunned that he showed true grief at last. He’d not cried at Lizzy’s funeral. Daggart had spent the last two years clinging to Beth as a replacement for her sister as if she were a sturdy oak in a storm. She didn’t know what to say to him to help, so she just let him hold her.
“You can’t be her, can you?” he asked in a wavering voice.
Beth assured him as gently as she could manage, “No matter how hard I try, I can’t.” She began to feel a little hope for them both. Maybe he could see reason and release her from the chafing vow they’d made.
“Miss Chatillon is so much like her.”
Continuing to pat his back, she replied, “I know.”
Daggart sniffled, saying, “I don’t think she cares for me like Lizzy did.”
She made shushing sounds, saying, “No one could. Lizzy loved you so much.”
He started bawling in earnest, his sobs louder. “She, she likes that Granville, Nick.” Daggart hiccupped. “They’re always together, talking that French stuff. I hate him.”
Beth paused, suddenly not too fond of Amelia, herself. She took a deep breath, knowing jealousy colored her feelings. “Daggart, you only hate him because you care for her. Isn’t that
right?”
“Yea.” He sniffled. “I love her. She’s so pretty.”
“She is, I agree.” Beth stepped back, saying, “How about we go to sleep so you’ll look good tomorrow, in case you see her.”
Daggart wiped his nose on a sleeve. “All right.” He let her lead them to his bedroll, letting go of her arm to slide into his blankets. She retrieved hers, setting up to sleep a little ways away. Beth worried he could change his mind about preferring Amelia. In that case, he would try to make love to her as Lizzy. She shuddered with revulsion, unable to bear him touching her again.
Her brother-in-law turned husband had cried for his wife. She lay on her side and stared at the dying fire. He also found another woman appealing. He’d promised to take care of her while she was Lizzy. But now, she’d see to her own care if it meant no more pretending. For the first time since her sister’s death, Beth hoped they could both walk away from each other.
The next morning, while doing both sets of chores, she saw Daggart helping the Chatillon’s with their large tent. She snorted, her sympathy for him evaporating. Of course he helped them. Amelia resembled Lizzy so much, Daggart had to play gentleman to her. Let him play the hero to her, she quietly seethed, but only after he did his own work.
While getting water for their coffee, Beth overheard someone say buffalo were nearby. Plans for a hunt were in progress, and they’d start traveling in the herd’s direction soon. She cut her eyes at Daggart. He’d go hunting for fresh meat if it meant impressing Amelia. First, she needed to convince him that being manly in front of her by hunting was a good idea.
Strolling up to him with his gun, Beth smiled at Daggart. “Did you know? The men have seen buffalo over the next ridge and are going hunting late this morning. Only the best shots and strongest are going, so I’m assuming that includes you?”
He glanced at Amelia and winked at Beth. “Sure am, Lizzy. I’ll bring back the biggest, and we’ll share with the Chatillons.”
She smiled and looked modestly at the ground. “Good, I’ll make sure everything is ready for traveling this morning while you go with the men.”
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