His sarcasm and anger infected Nick like a common cold. Despite working to keep the tone light, he became more irritated at his brother. “You’re not being fair and don’t know everything in this case like you think you do.”
Sam was silent for a moment, as if mulling over his next words before speaking. In a calm voice, he said, “I know you’ve missed Sally. We all do and your loss must pain you still. Mrs. Bartlett is a fine woman, but if you need a lay—”
Nick interrupted him, his hands in fists, his body ready for a fight. “Choose your next words carefully.”
“As I was saying…if you need a lady to court, there are quite a few in the group less encumbered with a husband.”
He wanted to confide in Sam, but his stomach chose that moment to growl. “After I eat and before we sleep, there’s a lot I need to tell you.”
Chapter 12
The sun shone, birds sang, and Beth’s favorite flowers bloomed in profusion. Even Erleen seemed happy on a farm too bright and colorful to be real. Beth snuggled into the bedroll, trying to block out sounds of a camp waking for the day. She didn’t want to leave her subconscious, especially since Nicholas, not Daggart, was her husband. Like trying to hold fog, she grasped at the last bit of an idyllic life before giving up the fight. A bit angry at having to leave such a dream, she rubbed her eyes and wiggled out of bed.
Fort Laramie loomed so close, no one hurried breakfast. She wanted to snap at everyone else’s lighthearted mood. Most looked forward to some sign of civilized life, but she fretted over Daggart’s potential drunkenness. Beth dreaded his touch before last night, but after the shared intimacy with Nicholas, she felt ill at the thought of Daggart making love to her.
While she fixed the same old breakfast, her husband sat opposite Beth with a plop, asking, “Where were you last night?”
“Here, mostly.” She made coffee, not wanting to indulge in small talk with her husband.
He watched her every move. “I stopped by and you weren’t here. No one was guardin’ the wagon. I checked, no one stole anything. Lucky for you.”
A pang of guilt hit her as to why he’d not found her last night. “You’re right, I should have been here, watching our things.” Beth lifted the coffee pot and Daggart lifted his cup in response.
He slurped the coffee, stopping to say, “I hope you weren’t out cattin’ around for that one Granville.”
Beth tasted fear in the back of her throat. She forced herself to remain calm. While handing him his breakfast, she willed her hands to be steady. He couldn’t really know anything. If Daggart knew for certain what had happened between her and Nicholas, he’d have done something by now. “I wasn’t out cattin’ around, not for anyone.” Which was the truth, she reassured her conscience. She’d not planned on a simple chore to be so thrilling. “I had to get water for this morning’s coffee.”
In between bites, he said, “Good, because you promised your Pa to replace Lizzy, not chase after men not interested in you.”
“Not interested in me?” Did Daggart see something in Nicholas she’d missed in her bias, Beth wondered.
He laughed, “Granville couldn’t be. I’ve seen him more and more with Miss Amelia this week.”
Beth stood, taking his dishes and empty cup. “Since she’s so much like Lizzy, of course every man loves her. Including you, I suppose?”
His face flushed. “I dunno. Probably. Even the gals love her.”
“She is nice,” she agreed and added, “Do you think she’d be a better wife than me?”
Not looking at her directly, he replied, “Hadn’t thought about it.”
The idea of releasing her had played out in his mind, judging by his guilty face. “Of course not. But, since you and I aren’t really married, I suppose there’s nothing stopping you from courting her.”
“Nothin’? I promised your pa I’d take care of you as I’d have done for Lizzy for the rest of our days.” He stood, crumbs clinging to him. “That ain’t nothin’, Lizzy. That’s a promise and whatever else I’ve done, I’ve not gone back on a promise.”
She didn’t want to cause an argument but had to press home her point. “But are you happy? I think Pap would want both of us to be happy in our lives.”
He pointed a finger at her, not bothering to walk over and poke her in the chest like usual. “I’m not going back on a deathbed promise, Lizzy, and I’m not allowing you to either. It’s wrong.” He stomped away from her, yelling at the oxen as he hitched them to the wagon.
She put the back of her hand to her mouth, fighting the tears burning in her eyes. Beth didn’t want to go back on a promise either, but surely if her father had known about Nicholas, he’d allow her to stop playing as Lizzy. No, she admitted dismally, Pap would have held Beth to her promise. He’d appreciated her, but cherished Lizzy more. Tears leaked out from under her lashes. She’d always known it, and so had Lizzy. Her sister tried to make up the inequality, but it remained between them. She knew he had her best interests at heart, making Daggart swear to take care of her. Beth would never understand how he thought she could ever replace Lizzy.
The wagon lurched forward and she hurried to put away their belongings. To break up the monotony, she tried to engage Daggart in conversation. Beth pointed out the spring green valleys with Laramie Peak far away and snow capped. She knew he didn’t comprehend the beauty. He nodded but his eyes remained blank as if unable to focus on the distance. She started knitting mittens, not quite believing they’d be useful before winter. Someone with a thermometer said the high temperature hit the 90s. As drenched with sweat as her hat was, Beth believed it.
The train lunched just south of Fort Laramie along the banks of the Platte. A few men swam their horses across to the Fort while others jumped in a wagon and split the ferry cost.
“Hey Lizzy, is there anythin’ we need at Laramie?” Daggart swayed from one foot to the other.
“I’d prefer you not go,” she replied.
“And I’d prefer you to stop yappin’ if you don’t have anythin’ useful to say.” He took off a dirty shirt and climbed into the wagon. “We need whisky, maybe some pickles.” After putting on a clean shirt and vest, he jumped out of the wagon.
She crossed her arms, bracing for an argument. “We do need pickles, but don’t need the whisky.”
“Doesn’t matter what we need, I want whisky.” He put a hat on his head, his expression one of defiance.
“I’m sure you’ll get what you want. Something we do need is more wool. I have half of what we need for the higher elevations. The ladies were talking about how cold it is past South Pass. We’ll need warmer things and I don’t have the materials.”
“Wool and pickles, got it,” he said, staring past her. “Hello, Mr. Granville! Are you all ready to go?”
“I am,” Nicolas replied. “I think a few of the others ferrying over with us aren’t gathered yet.” He nodded to Beth without a smile. “The ladies want to wear their Sunday best.”
Beth’s face grew warm. His steel grey eyes looked through rather than at her. Her cheeks burned as she remembered last night’s pleasure. How could he be so cool after such a heated encounter? She still tingled when thinking of how he’d felt against her. Unnerved by his presence, she squeaked “So would I.”
Nicholas looked her up and down, stating, “I’m assuming you’re not visiting the Fort.”
Since Beth wore her sister’s brown dress, she felt the need to explain. “I’m taking advantage of the wind and water for clothes washing.” Indicating the skirt, she added, “This isn’t my best, obviously.”
“Obviously not.” He turned back to Daggart. “We’ll see you there. Some of us are swimming our horses over. If you’ll excuse me.” He left, with Daggart trailing after him.
She wasn’t surprised neither said anything before leaving. Although, she recalled, Nicholas had excused himself and there was no excuse for Daggart. Beth snickered then felt guilty for her uncharitable thoughts.
While carting b
uckets of water for the washbasin, Beth dwelled on Nicholas. She didn’t blame him for being angry with her. If their situation were reversed, Beth felt sure she’d argue with him over a sham marriage.
She washed clothes and gave the wagon a good cleaning. All the while, Beth argued with herself over her promise to Pap. The good side of her honored the vow to her father, while the bad wanted to forget ever uttering a word of consent. The inner war raged as she sorted her trunk of belongings. She took out and stacked the three books the others left behind on the farm. Lizzy’s shoes, cleaned earlier, she put on the bottom, placing a couple of quilts over them. She left out the sewing box, wanting to sort through it as well. The works of Shakespeare and their school primer went back into the trunk, but she kept out the Bible, tracing a finger on the cover’s gilted lettering.
Sad and knowing the family events recorded within, Beth hugged the Bible as she sat in the shaded wagon bed, missing her sister. Most days, her resentment of having to pretend to be Lizzy kept Beth’s feelings busy. She’d forget how much she missed her sister until having a quiet moment like this. She knew what her twin would think of the situation with Pap and Daggart. Lizzy would have told them both where to go long before now. Beth shook her head and placed the Bible back in her trunk. In this case, she wished she were identical to her sister.
A few of the group had returned to camp by evening, giving those who stayed behind a chance to visit civilization. With Daggart not being among those who came back to camp, Beth went ahead and did his part of the chores. Drink must be cheap there, she thought, knowing whisky kept him so long. Beth ate a quick dinner, cleaned up, and settled in to work on Samuel’s socks until bedtime.
Later, raucous laughter from Daggart woke her from a dozy sleep. She sat up as he crawled into their tent. He slumped halfway on the threshold, his eyes closed. Beth heard Samuel outside, shaking Daggart’s legs.
“Come on, Bartlett, let’s go.”
Her husband woke a little, looked around through half-closed eyes, and crawled into his bedroll.
She didn’t move until she heard his snores. Once sure he slept, Beth left the tent. Samuel stood there as if knowing she’d wake and thank whoever dragged her husband back to camp.
He nodded in greeting. “Mrs. Bartlett.”
“Mr. Granville.” Beth joined him beside their wagon. “I’m glad you brought back Daggart in one piece.”
Chuckling, Samuel replied, “You make my task sound easier than it was.” Going to his horse, he quietly said, “I’m glad you’re awake. I was ordered to bring you a couple of things.” Samuel retrieved two items from his saddlebags. “You requested pickles, I heard, and wool.” He handed over a jar, and a middling sized flour sack.
She set the pickles in their wagon then opened the sack. “Oh my!” Beth couldn’t help but exclaim. She clamped a hand over her mouth, certain she’d been loud enough to wake everyone. He’d given her a sack full of spun wool, just waiting to be knitted into hats, mitts, and socks for the mountain traveling. She examined the various yarns, tilting the sack to where dimming firelight showed her the colors. “These are beautiful! They’ll be fun to work.” Beth smiled at him. “I don’t think Daggart picked these out, and whoever did has my eternal gratitude.”
“I’ll be sure to let Nick know he chose well. He fretted for a good half hour before deciding on one of everything.”
“Nicholas did this?” His thinking of her thrilled Beth. In front of his brother, however, she kept her tone even and impartial. “How very nice of him. I’ll have to ask him how much we owe.”
“I think he has enough of Bartlett’s money to pay for that and then some.”
Her happiness evaporated like dew on a dry day. “Uh oh,” she sighed.
“I’m afraid so. Nick won most of the hands at the saloon with one of the soldiers winning the rest.”
Wanting to keep Samuel talking, she asked, “Did you lose a lot as well?”
“No, I know better than to bet against my brother. He wins most hands he plays. What Nick lacks in a poker face, he makes up for in luck.”
Beth knew the hour grew later, but she didn’t want to face Daggart, even if he slept. She put the wool in the wagon and retrieved his socks. “These are done and I hope they fit.”
He took them. “They’re perfect and just in time.”
“I’m glad.”
“Thank you, my dear.” He held out his hand and she placed hers in his.
She knew she blushed when he kissed the back of her hand in a courtly manner. “You’re very welcome. I enjoyed making them.”
Samuel let her hand fall. “Are you next in the queue?”
“Not quite.” Beth paused, not wanting to wake Daggart by saying his name. Then, too, she didn’t want to refer to him at all. Despite her reluctance, she replied, “First my husband, then me.”
His eyebrows rose as Samuel crossed his arms. “Your husband, hm?”
“Yes.” She sighed, disgusted at having to classify their relationship as such. “My husband.”
He nodded, uncrossing his arms. “Goodnight, Mrs. Bartlett. I’ll give Nick your regards.”
“Please do.” She went back into the tent and crawled into her bedroll. Beth heard the soft sounds of him walking past them. Lying there, thinking of Nicholas and smelling Daggart’s sick drunkenness, Beth tried imagining how different circumstances would be if her family still lived. She fell asleep imagining meeting Nicolas in town as Beth, not as Lizzy.
Next morning, she tried not to laugh at every wince of Daggart’s. He grimaced at every clang of metal, bellow of the hands, and beam of sunlight. “Too bad you didn’t think to save a hair of the dog that bit you,” she said, trying to keep a sympathetic tone. He replied with only a grumble she barely heard. “Would you want breakfast? Or maybe just coffee?”
“Only coffee, please.” He shielded his eyes from the morning sun. “I need my hat too.”
Beth tried to feel sorry for him. She shouldn’t even smile at his pain, much less want to laugh at the groaning and whining he did. If he’d not spent most of last evening drinking until sick, she might have more pity.
“Here,” she handed him a fresh poured cup. “Speaking of a need, thank you for remembering to send back pickles and wool. You’ll be glad we have both in a month or two.” Beth meant her thanks since snow fell in August in the higher elevations. He had last year’s winter wear; hers needed more replacing than mending.
“No, no pickles. They make me sick.”
She couldn’t help a smirk at how green his skin appeared. “I’m sure everything is making you ill at the moment.”
He hugged his coffee as if to never let go. With closed eyes, Daggart added, “The wool ain’t makin’ me sick. Nick reminded me you’d asked about it.”
“Oh?” Beth concentrated on drinking, trying to be calm. “That was nice of him.”
“I guess.” He held his cup out to her. “Any more coffee?”
“Certainly.” She poured more for him, wanting to ask more about Nicholas. More drink meant more chances to hear about the elder Granville. “He didn’t pay for our purchases, did he?”
Back to hugging his coffee in a worshipful way, he replied, “I don’t remember. All I know is whatever the man spent at the fort, he and Jon won at the Hog Farm Saloon.”
Sick dread filled her. If he’d not brought home more whisky last night, they might be out of money entirely. “You lost money at cards to Mr. Granville and some person named Jon last night?”
Giving Beth a red-eyed glare, he snapped, “Are you goin’ to ask me to repeat myself every time I say something?” Daggart blinked from the sun and went back to keeping his eyes closed.
“No, of course not.” His evasiveness and mood said everything. Beth considered learning how to play cards. If nothing else, she’d win her money back from either Nicholas or Daggart.
“Good.” He drank, slurping, and afterward said, “Nick and this Lieutenant Stiles, Jon, first won everyone else’s money. Th
en, they spent the time I knew of winnin’ and losin’ to each other. I don’t know for how long. Most of the night is a blur.”
Beth knew the answer before asking, but wanted to hear it from him. “Did you happen to bring back any whisky for the trip?”
He had the grace to look ashamed before replying, “Not so much.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t think so.”
“I just figured a small bottle would do. Then, we walked a long way from the fort and I got real thirsty.” He drained the last of his cup as if to emphasize his point. “After losin’ some at the tables, we can’t afford any more liquor until we’re past most of the ferries.” He shrugged. “So I couldn’t turn around and buy more, now could I?”
Beth began packing up their breakfast and camping supplies. He followed, moving at a quarter of her speed, so she worked around him. “You do know there’ll likely be ferries all the way to California.”
He glanced up at her sideways and then turned away from her. “Probably so.”
She watched as he left their campsite. At least now he had the idea to save some of the money for future water crossings. They’d been lucky so far. She’d heard of entire families drowning in an attempt to save ferry fees. Beth shuddered. She didn’t want to die like Lizzy had, struggling against a relentless current.
With breakfast dishes in her medium pail, Beth led Erleen to the river. Children played in the water, splashing each other while under their mothers’ watchful eyes. She nodded, smiling a greeting in return to several of the ladies. Glancing around the riverbank, Beth saw the bare ground along the water’s edge. An island in the Platte grew new grass. A lot of others swam their stock over to run loose on the isle. Many of the men chatted while grazing their stock. With the rumor of lean grazing, she had to find the best for her animal to eat.
She walked with Erleen a little way along the shore. The clearer water revealed the bottom of the shallow flowing river. Reassured, she led Erleen into the water. Beth didn’t glance down; instead, she focused on her destination. Once across, she smiled at the men who greeted her with nods. They didn’t know how great a victory she’d experienced. Not wanting to appear a bigger baby than the playing children, she kept to herself and didn’t brag either. She rather wished Nicholas had seen her success.
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