In the Shadow of the Hills

by Madeline Baker

  “Well, I don’t!” I retorted, then swore under my breath as two large tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized gruffly.

  “I’m sorry, too,” she said, dashing the tears from her eyes. “Sorry I ever wanted to know you better.”

  And with that, she jabbed her heels into her pony’s sides and headed back toward the wagon camp at a gallop.

  Racing after her, I hollered, “Laurie, wait!” but she was mad clear through and not about to stop.

  And that made me mad.

  Scowling, I asked the Appaloosa for more speed, and in minutes Laurie and I were running neck and neck across the plains.

  “Are you gonna stop?” I shouted, and when she stubbornly shook her head, I reached over and dragged her from her saddle over to mine.

  She was too startled to struggle, or maybe too frightened. At any rate, she held on to me good and tight until I reined the Appaloosa to a halt.

  “What’d you do that for?” she demanded. “I thought you wanted to be alone.”

  “I did, until you showed up. Come on, let’s light a spell.”

  Dismounting, I lifted her from the saddle. We sat quiet for a while, giving each other sidelong glances while our horses nibbled at the yellow grass.

  The sun shone in Laurie’s hair, streaking her wavy locks with flame, touching her cheeks with gold. She looked undeniably lovely sitting there with her hands folded demurely in her lap.

  The silence between us grew suddenly awkward, and we began to talk about the weather and the other people on the wagon train, and then, before I knew it, I’d told Laurie about Clarissa and Angela. And Laurie told me about a boy she’d loved back east who had been killed in a carriage accident, and the next thing I knew, she was in my arms, holding on for dear life.

  I held her for a long time, my body absorbing her nearness, my senses reeling from her nearness. She tilted her head back to look at me and I took one look at her mouth and kissed her, gently at first, and then with greater urgency, until I found myself wanting more than kisses.

  It wasn’t easy to let her go.

  “We’d best be heading back to camp,” I suggested.

  “Not yet,” she said, reaching for my hand. “Please?”

  “Now, Laurie,” I insisted. “Right now, before I get you into trouble.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “Well, I am. Come on, let’s catch up your horse and head for home before your father comes looking for you.”

  As it turned out, McDougal was looking for Laurie when we got back to the wagon train. I knew an angry man when I saw one, and McDougal was plenty angry, but Laurie just smiled up at him.

  “John, this is my father, Patrick McDougal. Pa, this is John McKenna.”

  McDougal and I had met before, of course, but now we seized each other up pretty good as we shook hands.

  McDougal was a spare man, but he was made of iron, with a grip to match. He had the same red-gold hair as his daughter, the same disarming smile, but the similarity ended there, and I guessed Laurie took after her mother, who had died back in Pennsylvania.

  McDougal and I exchanged a few meaningless remarks, and then he said, “I’m not a prejudiced man, McKenna, but I’ll not be taking it kindly if your intentions toward my daughter be anything but honorable.”

  “I can assure you I have nothing but respect for Laurie, Mr. McDougal,” I said, somewhat coldly. “I wouldn’t do anything to shame her.”

  McDougal’s eyes bored into mine. I could see him weighing my words against the color of my skin, remembering all the stories he’d ever heard about Indian men lusting after white women. He was quiet for several minutes, and I began to grow uneasy.

  And then he nodded. “I believe ye, McKenna,” McDougal said. He grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Since ye be Indian, I expect ye’ve been west before?”

  “Yeah, but not for some time.”

  “Tell me, is the land as bonny as they say?”

  “You won’t be disappointed.”

  McDougal nodded, and I could see he was already imaging himself building a soddy and plowing the land. “Be ye a farmer yourself?”

  “No.”

  “A businessman, perhaps?” he queried dubiously.

  “Wrong again.” I wondered what McDougal would say if he knew I’d been in jail, or that I’d once been a hired gun. I suppose the man had a right to know what kind of man was about to court his daughter, but I wasn’t in the mood to discuss my past.

  McDougal gave Laurie a hard look. “Next time ye take off with Mr. McKenna, ye’d best be lettin’ me know, if ye ken my meaning?”

  “Yes, Pa,” Laurie answered contritely. “I’ll come fix your supper in a few minutes. Ask Ian to start the fire. He’s really a dear man,” she said, watching her father walk away. “You’ll like him when you get to know him better.”

  I nodded. I doubted McDougal would care for me if he got to know me better.

  * * *

  Seth Thomas got his fiddle out the next night after dinner, and Laurie and I danced together. She felt good in my arms and we danced effortlessly, speaking little. I could feel a few sour looks from some of the single men, and I couldn’t blame them for being jealous. Laurie was a lovely young woman. I heard one or two snide remarks about “some half-breeds thinking they were as good as white folks” but no one said anything to my face, and I let their remarks go, not wanting to start any trouble

  Between sets, Laurie and I sat side by side, not quite touching, though a shadow would have had trouble squeezing between us.

  I saw Lucy Stoddard watching us from the sidelines, a hurt look in her soulful brown eyes, and I felt a little guilty because I hadn’t asked her to dance. None of the other men ever asked her, either, not because she wasn’t a comely woman, but because there seemed to be an unspoken law on the train that husbands danced only with their wives, and single men danced with the young ladies.

  I was about to break that law, and the next time Thomas picked up his fiddle, I asked Lucy to dance with me.

  She blushed as I took her hand, but I could see she was pleased by the way she smiled up at me, and I was suddenly conscious of many pairs of eyes watching us.

  I muttered a mild oath under my breath and Lucy laughed softly.

  “What’s the matter, John?” she teased. “Afraid people will talk about us?”

  “They can’t hurt my reputation any,” I retorted. “It’s yours I’m worrying about. I never should have asked you to dance.”

  “Don’t be silly” she scoffed. “I’m not afraid of a little gossip.”

  “There’d be more than a little gossip if they knew we’d been doing more than just dancing together,” I muttered. “They’d like throw us off the train.”

  “Well, I won’t tell if you won’t,” she promised in a conspiratorial tone. “Stop worrying, John, it’s only one dance.”

  She was right. I was worrying too much. But I didn’t want to see her hurt by a lot of malicious gossip. And I didn’t want to see Lemuel Stoddard subject to it, either. The news that his wife had been unfaithful would likely kill him, and I didn’t want that on my conscience.

  I was feeling pretty disgusted with myself when I walked Lucy back to her wagon. It didn’t matter that she came to me. It was still wrong. And yet, I knew as sure as I was standing there that if she came to me later that night, I wouldn’t turn her away.

  It was dark at the Stoddard wagon. Lemuel was inside, asleep. His breathing was harsh and uneven. I could hear Jimmy stirring inside, calling for his ma.

  “Goodnight, John,” Lucy said. Conscious of others in nearby wagons, she kept her voice cool and formal. “I enjoyed our dance.”

  “My pleasure,” I replied. “Goodnight, Mrs. Stoddard.”

  I didn’t see Laurie when I got back to the dance, so I figured she’d gone back to her wagon, likely pouting because I had danced with Lucy.

  With a sigh, I left the dance area and walked outside the circled wagons.
Laurie was much in my mind as I made my way through the darkness. She cared for me quite a lot, and it bothered me some because I wasn’t sure if her affection was genuine, or just a lot romantic nonsense blown all out of proportion by the fact that I was an “older” man, and part Indian.

  My feelings for Laurie were mixed up, too. I cared for her more than I cared to admit, and that bothered me. I had lost Snow Flower and Clarissa, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to risk my heart a third time.

  I was nearing the far end of the camp when I heard a muffled cry, followed by a man’s angry cursing.

  Drawing my knife, I padded noiselessly forward, my eyes and ears alert. I guess I had gone about ten feet when I saw two dark shapes scuffling in the dirt.

  “Let her go, Roberts,” I said, keeping my voice pitched low.

  Frank Roberts jumped to his feet and whirled around, a guilty look on his face. When he recognized me, his guilt turned to anger.

  “Get lost, ‘breed!” he hissed. “This ain’t none of your business.”

  “I’m making it my business,” I retorted.

  “This here’s a white woman,” Roberts said with a sneer. “And she’s no concern of yours.”

  “Is that right?” I glanced at Laurie, who was brushing the dirt from her hair and skirts. “Are you out here wrestling in the dark with this bum of your own free will?”

  “No,” Laurie answered. She walked over to stand beside me. “Mr. Roberts begged me to come out here with him. Said he had something pretty to show me. A plant my father could cultivate in Oregon. And then he started kissing me, and telling me how much he admired me, and how his wife didn’t...didn’t make him happy anymore.” Laurie blushed furiously. “He said vile things, John. Nasty things about what he wanted to do to me.”

  “She’s lying!” Roberts exclaimed. “She was asking for it, only she got scared at the last minute and changed her mind. You know how some women are...”

  “Shut your filthy mouth!” I warned, “or I’ll cut your belly open and feed your miserable guts to the coyotes!”

  Roberts licked his lips nervously. His gaze darted to the knife in my hand and back to my face, but he didn’t say another word until Al Phillips and Willie Ryan came running up.

  “What’s going on here?” Phillips demanded.

  “That damned ‘breed threatened to gut me!” Roberts said, his voice crisp with righteous indignation.

  “Gut you?” Phillips exclaimed. “What for?”

  Roberts swallowed hard. “Well, it’s like this, me and Miss McDougal had a little misunderstanding, and...”

  “Misunderstanding!” Laurie shouted. “Is that what you call it?”

  “It doesn’t matter what went on between me and Miss McDougal,” Roberts argued. “That ‘breed’s got no business drawing a knife on a white man!”

  “That’s right,” Willie Ryan agreed. “Let’s string him up before he kills somebody.”

  I got a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach when Ryan started talking about a lynching. Slow as I could, I dropped my knife and eased my hand over my gun butt. I didn’t want to kill anybody, but no one was going to string me up.

  “Simmer down, men,” Phillips said sternly. His gaze raked the crowd that had gathered around. “There’s not going to be any lynching on this train. McKenna, what the hell happened here?”

  “Roberts made a pass at Miss McDougal, and I advised him to leave her alone.” I shrugged. “That’s all there was to it.”

  There was a strangled sob as Doralea Roberts lurched forward to stand in front of her husband.

  “What’s happening, Frank? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, Doralea,” Frank said.

  “Is it true?” she asked, her face as white as her apron. “Did you...?”

  She couldn’t say the words. With a last look of stunned disbelief on her face, she turned and ran back to her wagon.

  “McKenna’s lying,” Roberts accused weakly. He jabbed a finger in Laurie’s direction. “It was all her fault!”

  Laurie stamped her foot angrily. “You’re the only liar here, Frank Roberts, and you know it!”

  Al Phillips muttered an oath, and then he threw Roberts a look of pure disgust. “I think I’ve got the picture,” he said wearily. “If there’s any more of this kind of trouble, Roberts, I’ll throw you off the train. Now, get back to your wagons, all of you. We’ll be moving out at first light.”

  Laurie and I hung back until we were alone.

  “I’m so glad you came when you did,” she said, blushing a little. “I don’t know what made him think I wanted him to.... to...you know.”

  “Forget it. He won’t bother you again.” I picked up my knife and slid it back into the sheath on my belt, wishing Roberts had given me an excuse to use it. “Come on, we’d better get back.”

  “I never knew you were an Indian,” Laurie remarked as we walked toward her wagon.

  “What did you think I was?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I never thought about it much. I guess I thought you were a foreigner or something.”

  “Does it matter?” I asked stiffly.

  “Not to me. I think it’s romantic. Kind of exciting, actually. Would you really have cut Roberts?”

  “Damn right.”

  “Then you do care for me a little, don’t you?”

  “You’d better turn in, Laurie. You heard what Phillips said. We’ll be making an early start in the morning.”

  “Okay, John,” she said softly, and kissed me hard on the mouth before climbing into her wagon.

  * * *

  Laurie and I were close as cockle burrs after that. Often, she caught up old man McDougal’s spare horse and rode beside me as the wagon train made its way across an endless sea of grass. A few of the women disapproved of Laurie for riding astride, like a man. The others disapproved simply because she was riding with me.

  Most of the men had accepted the fact that I was a half-breed and forgotten about it. Out here, where survival was a constant struggle, there was little time to belabor my heritage. Most of the men didn’t like the idea of a half-breed courting a white girl, but since Laurie’s father didn’t object, there wasn’t much the men could do about it.

  The women were another matter entirely. They always had time for a little gossip, and the fact that I was a half-breed made me the most popular topic of conversation around cook pots and wash tubs. My riding with Laurie, and dancing with Lucy Stoddard, who was, after all, a married woman, spiced things up all the more.

  Some of the women went out of their way to avoid me, and I heard one woman warn her eldest daughter not to get too close to me or something terrible would happen.

  I ignored the furtive glances and speculative looks cast in my direction and went about my business as usual. Hell, I’d been through it all before, in New York.

  As we neared the Platte River, Lemuel Stoddard grew suddenly worse, and I spent every day driving the Stoddard wagon. I didn’t see Laurie much anymore, because most of my free time was taken up helping Lucy. I unhitched the team when we made camp, tended the stock, and did the heavy chores. I knew Stoddard couldn’t last much longer, and late one muggy summer night, he died in his sleep.

  It was Lucy Stoddard’s sobbing that woke me that night, and I knew even before I climbed into the wagon that her husband was dead.

  “Oh, John,” Lucy wailed, and fell into my arms.

  I glanced at Jimmy Stoddard, still sleeping soundly, before I gathered his mother into my arms and held her tight.

  “Take it easy, honey,” I murmured, “everything will be all right.”

  “Oh, John, I loved him so much! You don’t think he knew about...about us, do you?”

  “I’m sure he didn’t.

  “I never meant to hurt him.”

  “Don’t tear yourself apart, Lucy. You’ve got to be strong, for Jimmy. He’ll need you more than ever now.”

  Lucy nodded, and then began sobbing again. I talked to her quietly, assu
ring her that I would look after her and Jimmy, that I’d see she made it safely to Oregon or California or wherever she wanted to go.

  Eventually, her tears subsided and she stood still in my arms. I made no move to leave her, knowing that she needed someone to hold her, someone to hang on to.

  I put her away from me for a moment to draw the blanket up over Lemuel’s face, and then I sat down in the corner and drew Lucy into my lap.

  I held her in my arms until dawn.

  * * *

  We buried Lemuel Stoddard first thing in the morning. The men who dug the grave dug it deep, and then lowered the blanket-wrapped body into it.

  Lucy and Jimmy Stoddard stood beside me, both crying softly as Al Phillips read some words from the Bible. Some of the settlers sang the first verse of “The Old Rugged Cross” and when they were through, I took Lucy’s arm and led her and Jimmy away from the graveside.

  “John, what are you doing?” Lucy protested.

  “You don’t want to be there when they fill in the grave,” I said. “Trust me.”

  Lucy looked up at me, her eyes wet with tears. “You buried someone you loved, didn’t you?

  “Yes. Don’t ask me anymore, Lucy. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  * * *

  We crossed the Platte the next day. The Stoddard wagon was one of the first wagons across. Jimmy Stoddard sat beside me on the high front seat, his sorrow at his father’s death momentarily forgotten in the excitement of crossing the river.

  The Platte was low that year, and all the wagons made it safely across. We made camp on the far side.

  Some of the women congregated at the Stoddard wagon to look in on Lucy late that afternoon. I knew I wasn’t welcome there, so I wandered away from the camp, looking to spend a few minutes alone, but I wasn’t alone for long.

  I was still in sight of the wagon train when I heard a rustle in the grass behind me. Turning, I saw Laurie running toward me, calico skirts flying.

  “I haven’t seen you alone all day,” she said petulantly.

  “I’ve been busy helping Mrs. Stoddard.”

  “You like her, don’t you?”