South Pass Brides

by Sterling Scott

  Pulling the blanket around her shoulders, she attempted to reconcile the deep heat that had formed between her thighs. Exhausted as she was, she could not get Thomas out of her mind. His proclamation that he would take care of her had clearly implied more than merely switching her bottom. Certainly his fingers touching her private lady parts had not been accidental. His warm embrace as he held her had been so much more comforting than any embrace from Peter had been. And then, there was his kiss. Her belly quivered whenever she thought about his lips tenderly touching hers.

  She lifted her underskirt and slipped her fingers to her mons. She was puffy. Her lady bits were swollen and moist. Her tender nub tingled as she touched herself. She allowed the image of Thomas touching her pussy to fill her mind.

  A crescendo of distant thunder distracted her from achieving her personal pleasure. She had experienced the plain’s ferocious thunderstorms already. The canvas forming the sides of her little tent was not anchored to the ground and it had done little to keep out the rain when the wind blew. She eased open the canvas flap to watch the lightning on the horizon and wondered if the rain was coming their way.

  In the dying embers of the campfire, she watched Thomas prepare for the storm. He spread his buffalo hide out flat and staked the four stubs where the animal’s legs had been. With a short stick, he propped open the front to create a small tent and crawled inside. The hide would be impervious to rain. Although it would get heavy as it soaked up the rain, he would stay dry.

  A sudden, closer crash of lightning startled her, and before she was aware of what she was doing, she dashed outside her tent. Running through the early drops of rain, she crawled into the small tent beside Thomas.

  In a subsequent flash of lightning, she watched the surprise on his face.

  “I’m sorry, the lightning scared me. I’ll go back.” Olga started to crawl out from under the buffalo hide, but his warm hand stopped her.

  “No, you can stay, Mrs. Graus. I know that your tent does not do well in the storms.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Meyer.” She nervously ran her tongue across her lips. “But I-I would rather that you call me Olga,” she stammered.

  “Mmm, when you are not being naughty, you should call me Thomas.” His voice was slow and confident. “Are you being naughty just now?” He added, with a light teasing tone to his voice. “If so, Olga, you are to address me as Mr. Meyer, or Sir.”

  She swallowed the lump that had just formed in her throat and tried to decide exactly what her intentions were. Her swollen pussy throbbed. Peter’s lovemaking had been enjoyable, but she had never felt the yearning that she now had for Thomas. She felt vulnerable, but ready for him to take her.

  “Yes, Mr. Meyer, I think that this behavior is rather naughty.”

  He rolled onto his side and cradled her face in his palms. He pulled their faces together. She closed her eyes and parted her lips. Her tongue touched his as they kissed. She inhaled his aroma and pressed her lips tightly against his mouth. Slowly, he pulled away.

  “Do you need another spanking?” he asked.

  Her belly clenched and droplets of dew oozed from her womanhood with the sound of his words, but she could not force words of her own to form. When she said nothing, he released her.

  Why does he not take me now?

  Olga could not reconcile her emotions with what she knew to be decent common sense. She wanted him to make love with her, but she knew this would be completely inappropriate. It was totally improper for her to even be in the bed beside him. She wanted him, but she could not say the words.

  He’s being such a gentleman.

  A flash of lightning revealed his face, his eyes watching her. In the next flash, his eyes were closed. She watched as he fell asleep. She felt his body shift as he slumbered, his hip pressed against hers. She moved closer and absorbed his comforting warmth.

  Chapter 9

  June 21, 1848

  Company

  In the predawn hour, Thomas nudged Olga.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “It’s time for me to go.” However, he didn’t move. They stared at each other in the darkness. Embarrassed, Olga wondered what they should do, waking up together. Hesitantly, he kissed her and crawled out from under the buffalo hide tent. He glanced around. Seeing no one he gestured to her. “You should go, too.”

  Bundling her underskirt about her thighs, she scampered to her own tent.

  “Goodbye,” she whispered as she closed the canvas flap. “Don’t worry with the bedding, I will dry and pack your things.”

  She listened to the familiar sounds as he strapped on his revolver and picked up the saddle. After his footfalls drifted into silence, she pulled on her blouse and skirt. Tying the lacings of her shoes, she reemerged from under the wagon and lit the campfire.

  Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a cup of coffee.

  As the cooking pans warmed, she watched a wrangler help Thomas catch his horse. Saddling the stallion, he mounted and joined the other scout. Together, they rode west. She rolled his buffalo hide and disassembled her tent, and waited for the Smoot family to arise.

  While still in the Cheyenne Indian territory, the wagons progressed close together. Fearful that her face would reveal her secret rendezvous with Thomas, Olga was reluctant to ride in the wagon with Martha.

  “I wish to stretch my legs,” she told Mr. Smoot.

  This was the truth. Her derrière was still a bit sore and her legs were cramped from the twisted position in which she had slept under the buffalo hide. As she walked, her skirt flowed back and forth. The movement brought back the memory of her spanking as the cotton fabric of her underskirt slid across her bottom with each step.

  Two hours into the day, as the wagons steadily rolled along the trail, Thomas galloped back to the wagons. Olga watched as he frantically spoke with Mr. Hatch. Mr. Rees joined their conversation. Moments later, Hatch gathered two of the wranglers, and the three men followed Thomas at a gallop.

  Rees hastily rode along the two parallel rows of wagons. “Prepare for Indian attack. Men take your rifles in hand. Women and children into the wagons. Keep your teams moving and stay close together.” Rees continued down the line stopping to repeat the message.

  Abram took Martha’s place on the wagon seat. Olga gathered the two children and hoisted them into the wagon. She jumped up behind them.

  “Here,” Martha handed her the gunpowder and shot, “after Abram fires, he will hand the rifle to you. I’ll hand him a fresh rifle while you to swab the recently fired one. Then, I’ll reload it.”

  The two women crouched atop the pile of supplies, covering the children with their bodies. Olga could see nothing outside the wagon. Abram fiercely whipped the oxen to urge them along faster. At noontime, they paused only long enough to water the oxen. Martha passed around some dried meat, but no one got out of the wagon.

  An hour later, they came to a halt. Pushing the canvas covering aside, Olga observed four new wagons beside the train. A group of women were sitting on the ground, crying beside three graves. “Oh, my God, what has happened?” she exclaimed.

  “Wait here and water the oxen,” Abram commanded. He walked to a gathering of men.

  Olga searched for Thomas and found him on horseback along the crest of the hill to the south. He had his rifle in hand and was studying the distant hills.

  He’s watching for Indians.

  Mr. Rees rode along the line telling everyone, “Do what is necessary, but stay near your wagons. We won’t be staying here long.”

  Olga and Martha took the children to the latrine.

  “What has happened?” Martha asked of Abram when they returned.

  “Cheyenne attacked them early this morning.” He nodded toward the four new wagons. “Their leader, Mr. Clark, and his son were killed along with another man. Mr. Hatch has offered to allow them to continue to Fort John with us. We are going to get moving soon, and ride until dark.”

  Worried for Thomas's safety, Olga tur
ned her gaze to the south. Thomas was riding along the ridge, heading west. His rifle cradled in his arms.

  Mr. Hatch assigned two of the oldest boys among the settlers to work the oxen teams for the two widowed women, Mrs. Clark and Mrs. Howe. And then, they were back on the trail.

  It was dusk when they stopped again. They did not light any fires and ate only dried venison. Everyone gathered around their new companions.

  “Yes, it was positively terrible,” Mrs. Clark began telling her story. “I never heard such an uproar before. They attacked us from the hillside,” she pointed south. “Singing their war songs with their shrill war whoops. It was a sound that I shall never forget.” She shuddered. “While those Indians drew our attention, others crept out from the trees along the river and stole our horses. When he spotted the vermin, my husband stood to fire his rifle.” She paused to wipe her eyes. “That’s when he was shot dead. My son was killed too.” She hugged her daughter. “Once they had the horses, they rode away to the south as quickly as they came. Beth’s husband,” she nodded toward Mrs. Howe, “was shot dead as well.”

  “Mrs. Graus?” Mr. Hatch pulled Olga aside.

  “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Howe is all alone. I was wondering if you might be able to offer some comfort to her tonight.”

  Olga approached the grieving woman. “Excuse me, I’m Olga Graus. Like you, I lost my husband and I am now traveling alone.” Olga waited until the woman’s eyes registered her comprehension. “Would you like some companionship tonight? I could stay with you.”

  “Why, yes. Yes, thank you.”

  Olga shared a portion of the dried meat with her. “I’m sorry, but we’ve been instructed not to light any fires tonight.”

  “Yes, I know.” She accepted the food from Olga. “Thank you.” She tugged off a bite and chewed it. “I see that you are not Mormon?”

  “No, I was traveling with a different wagon train. My husband and I had turned back, but he was murdered.” Olga paused. She found it difficult to recall Peter’s face. “I had known Mrs. Smoot— Martha—while we were camped in Independence. She and her husband invited me to travel with them, but, of course, that was westward.”

  “I see. My Christian name is Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Beth.”

  “I’m Olga.” The two women lightly shook hands. “I’m not exactly sure what is to become of me when this train turns southward towards the Great Salt Lake.” Olga’s thoughts turned to Thomas and she hoped that their fates would remain entwined. “The Smoots are a wonderful family. I’ll introduce you to them tomorrow.”

  “I’m not at all sure what is to become of me either. However, there is no choice but to continue west—for now.”

  Mrs. Clark and her daughter joined them.

  “Grace, this is Mrs. Graus. She lost her husband a while back.” Beth turned to Olga. “Mrs. Clark’s husband is—was—my brother. And this is their daughter, Marjorie.”

  “It is very nice to meet you, Mrs. Clark,” Olga said. “I’m very sorry about the loss of your husband.”

  Wiping a tear from her eye, Mrs. Clark said, “Please, call me Grace. We three can travel together—eh, Mrs. Graus? The merry widows,” she strained a brief smile. “We can help each other.”

  “Indeed, but you must call me Olga.”

  When they finished eating, Grace and Marjorie returned to their wagon. Thomas walked up carrying his bedroll.

  “Here you are, Mrs. Graus,” he said.

  “Mrs. Howe, this is Mr. Meyer, the man who rescued me. He has been courteously looking after me along this journey,” Olga introduced Thomas.

  “Yes, Mr. Meyer and I are acquainted.” Beth sniffled and wiped her eyes. “It was he who discovered us and buried my husband.”

  Oh, my word, how many men will be buried along this trail?

  Thomas removed his hat. “Ma’am, I was wondering if I might camp beside your wagon tonight?” he asked.

  “Certainly, Mr. Meyer, you are always welcome here.” Beth climbed into her wagon. “Uh, Olga, would you care to join me? Or, do you have other accommodations?” She glanced toward Thomas.

  How could she know about us!

  “Certainly, I will stay with you,” Olga responded, hiding her eyes. “I have been sleeping under Mr. Smoot’s wagon. It will be very nice to sleep inside a wagon.” She climbed into the wagon. She took one last glance at Thomas before tying the canvas flap closed.

  Beth and her husband had fashioned a very comfortable bed in their wagon. They had used boards to construct a shelf atop their supplies and had a real mattress. Olga experienced her soundest sleep in several weeks. When she awoke, Beth was gone. Climbing out of the wagon, she found her companion cooking breakfast.

  “I have coffee,” Beth said, and offered a cup to Olga.

  “Oh, yes, thank you.” Olga accepted the cup and sipped it. “This is delicious. The Mormons are such wonderful people, but I can’t see how they manage without coffee in the mornings.”

  “Mr. Meyer left earlier, before I had the coffee prepared.” Beth glanced to see the impact of her next words upon Olga’s face. “He is not Mormon either. Is he with you?”

  “Uh, yes, to some extent. He has taken responsibility for me. He has experience with Indians. Mr. Hatch hired him to help see us through the Indian territory.”

  “I see,” Beth said. “If you have no better situation here, I would like for you to stay with me. I have food and supplies for two people. Of course, Mr. Meyer is welcome to camp with us as well.”

  “Thank you, I am grateful for your offer. I was getting very cramped, sleeping on the ground.”

  “He is, uh, the same size as my husband.” Beth looked away. “I offered my husband’s clothes to Mr. Meyer and he accepted.” She again paused to watch the expression on Olga’s face.

  “With the coming hot summer days, I’m sure he will be most grateful to get out of his hot leather Indian clothing.” Olga instantly regretted her phrasing, but she did imagine what Thomas might look like as he undressed—naked. Saying nothing more and trying to hide her smile, she sipped more of her coffee.

  Two wranglers arrived and hitched two yoke of oxen. Olga wondered why they had such angry scowls on their faces. When the wagon train stopped at noon, she found out why.

  “Mrs. Graus, Mrs. Howe, may I have a word with you?” Mr. Hatch approached with Mr. Rees. Olga noticed the same scowls on their faces.

  “Yes, Mr. Hatch, how may I be of service?” Beth asked.

  “I’m sure you are aware, Mrs. Howe, that we Mormons do not drink coffee.”

  “Yes, but surely—“

  Oh, darn, that’s what this is!

  “I, that is, we are most distressed that, after graciously taking you into our company, that you would be so disrespectful of our ways. And you,” he turned his angry eyes to Olga, “I certainly expected far more respect from you, Mrs. Graus.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. I just wasn’t thinking,” Olga attempted to express her contrition.

  “Indeed, you do have a problem thinking things through,” Hatch cut Olga’s apology short. “Additionally, you were instructed not to light any fires and this endangered the welfare of everyone.” He glanced back and forth between the two startled women. “I’m sure you remember what I said would happen if you required discipline a second time?” He snapped the leather tip of his riding crop against the hard leather of his boot. The sharp snap sent a shiver down Olga’s spine.

  “Yes, sir, I do recall, but it was not Mrs. Howe’s fault. I knew better and did not stop her. She should not pay for my mistake,” Olga responded.

  “That’s not so,” Beth interrupted. “I did know that the Mormons don’t drink coffee, but I never imagined that you would impose your beliefs on me.”

  “It’s not a matter of imposing our beliefs. It is a matter of respect for those who saved your life.”

  “Well, however you look at it, Mrs. Graus is not carrying the blame alone.”

  “Mrs. Howe, you can
either take this opportunity to learn respect for our rules,” he focused his icy star on Beth, “or you can leave our company. You have until we camp for the night to decide.” He returned his focus to Olga. “I will instruct Mr. Meyer to take responsibility for what must be done. He will take care of this.”

  Spinning on his heel, he and Rees walked away.

  “What did he mean by discipline?” Beth asked.

  “Did your husband ever spank you?”

  Beth swallowed, and then stammered, “Why, yes. Yes, he did.”

  Olga drew in a deep breath and sighed. “That is what they intend. Evidently, Mr. Meyer is to spank both of us. As this is my second offense, mine is to be witnessed. I don’t know what Mr. Hatch has in mind for you.”

  “My God, this is incredulous! They can’t mean it. I’ll certainly not allow it. I’ll turn back now.” She stomped her foot and kicked up a cloud of dust. “Are you coming with me?”

  The wagons-ho command passed down the row of wagons. Olga watched the dust lift as the wagons resumed their travel. The teenager assigned to manage Beth’s team snapped his whip on the haunches of the oxen and the wagon lurched forward. However, the two women remained rooted in place.

  Olga looked into Beth’s eyes. “No. It was a thoughtless act to drink that coffee this morning. I am very sorry that I succumbed to my weakness, and I do deserve to be punished. I would think you might feel the same if you pause to think of it from their perspective.” Olga followed the wagon.

  Beth took a few quick steps and caught up with her. “You will allow Mr. Meyer to spank you, publicly?”

  “I certainly won’t like it. But, yes, I will. I’m sure that you will not be treated so harshly. I would think that you might consider how it might be should you turn back into Cheyenne Indian territory,” Olga gestured eastward, “alone.”

  The two women followed the wagon in silence.

  When they camped for the night, Olga began preparing their meal of cold foods. Beth sulked beside her wagon with her arms folded. She warily watched the people walking along between the two rows of wagons. As the four new wagons were positioned at the end of the train, the foot traffic was minimal. Olga did her best not to make eye contact with the Mormons.