River Bend

by Barbara Shepherd

  Hopeful to find buyers for quilts in a settlement as small as Horseshoe Bend, she maintained a positive composure but tried to brace for failure. She planned to approach Mr. Owens to consign a couple of them for her in his trading post, now growing into more of a general store. Or perhaps, she could trade one to someone else, trade with anyone for almost anything. Desperate to stock up on supplies, she needed money. Her quilts were the only valuable items worth bartering.

  She tasted salt when tears started to fall, sliding down her rounded cheeks into tiny crevices at the corners of her mouth. She blinked the tears back, then stood and stamped her booted foot.

  “I will not cry over quilts,” she said, choking out the words. “I won’t.” But selling the quilts hadn’t triggered the tears. She wondered how she was going to survive. Most of her money had been spent on the trip out west. After she arrived in Texas, Michael was to have provided for her and for the child she was carrying. Dejected, she sat back down and cradled her face in her hands.

  Finally, she gave in to her pent-up emotions and wailed, “Michael, you weren’t supposed to die.” Then in anger, she beat on the trunk. “Damn you, you need to be here. Why did you have to die?”

  After a few moments, she stood, her back straight, her chin out, and wiped the tears from her face. “I will survive,” she said, solemn, yet determined. “Damnation, I will.”

  She took long, confident strides toward the dugout. Once inside, she washed her tear-stained face and hoped her company wouldn’t notice she’d been crying.

  By the time the Campbell clan arrived in their creaking wagons, Belle was in control of her emotions and cheerful, hoping the chilly air would be blamed for her red cheeks. While they all exchanged greetings, the two oldest Campbell boys loaded her trunks onto the wagon, which overflowed with arms, legs, and smiles. Belle climbed up and sat on the bouncy wagon seat, and the boys hopped up to sit on the trunks. Noisy chatter from the happy family created music for Belle’s lonely soul. The party struck out for Horseshoe Bend.

  As the Campbell caravan creaked along in the quiet settlement, they saw no one until they pulled up in front of the trading post that sported a new sign: Owens’ Mercantile. Three old, grizzled trappers lounged near the doorway of the building, stirring enough to propel their coffee-colored spittle into the dirt street. They nodded a greeting toward the group, then reached up to pull down the tip of their hats in respect to the two women.

  Stephen Owens stepped out of the mercantile onto a new, split-board sidewalk and greeted the Campbell party. They made their way to the sidewalk and into the store, each one anxious to choose a treasure that would keep them occupied for the coming months of winter.

  Belle walked past Owens and, glancing at his face, recognized the look of rage. He was staring at her pregnant belly. Alarmed, she stiffened.

  He relaxed the tense muscles in his face and spoke as if nothing had happened. “Mrs. Strong, it’s good to see you again. I see you’re surviving out here in the Province of Mexico.”

  Confused at the changes in his demeanor, Belle wondered if she had misjudged him. “Oh yes, I’m doing fine,” she said, her voice sounding more sure of her situation than she felt. “Especially with wonderful friends like the Campbells.”

  “Indeed.” Owens raised an eyebrow.

  “I do have one concern, though.” Belle tried to appear nonchalant in her sales attempt.

  Owens regarded her with a frown. “What might that be, madam?”

  Belle looked straight into his eyes with as much pride as she could muster. “I need supplies for the winter, but I don’t have enough money to buy them.” She braced herself for the next statement, taking time to moisten her lips and swallow the lump in her throat. “I have quilts for sale. I wondered if…” She paused. “May I barter some of them for supplies?”

  Owens rubbed his fingers up and down the length of his cheek while he pondered an answer. “Wish I could help you out, but I have no market for quilts and coverlets,” he said, his voice brisk. “These men coming through here to trade are used to sleeping on robes made from bear and buffalo. Any animal with fur or long hair keeps them warm. Why, they would destroy a fine quilt.”

  Belle felt her pride slip away, letting desperation creep in. “Possibly at your fine plantation?”

  “No,” Owens said, wearing a smug look. “I have plenty.”

  Embarrassed from baring her soul to this man, Belle looked away. She had once thought him handsome when he befriended her at the ferry, but he could now bore holes through her with resentful eyes. She wondered why.

  To make matters worse, she noticed Trader Jake amid the men crowded around the open doorway. Why does his presence bother me so much? She had not forgotten his actions from the ferry, although that seemed like a long time ago. But there’s something else about him. She recalled a dream where he had slugged her with his huge fist. When she woke with a very sore jaw no one could explain to her satisfaction, she was puzzled about the whole issue. If it was a dream, why should I want to strangle him? Confused, she had been staring at him.

  He smiled and tipped his hat, his tall frame blocking her retreat.

  She nodded in his direction.

  Owens interrupted her confusing thoughts. “I can offer you an alternative solution,” he said, unable to conceal a taunt. “I could extend you some credit.”

  “Thank you, no. I’ll make do,” Belle said, with as much dignity as she could rally. Inside, her private terror ran rampant. How am I going to make do? How will I survive?

  She looked around. Jake was gone. Well, that’s a relief. I can at least walk through this crowd and get out of here before I cry.

  Seated in the wagon, a patient Belle waited on the Campbells to make their final selections. She sat as proud and straight as she could, but inwardly, she seethed.

  “I will starve before I beg,” she said in a tight whisper. “Credit sounds fine.” Her whisper became almost a whimper. “But how would I ever pay him back, anyway?” She wanted to cry but chose to hold her tears until she returned to the dugout, promising herself a loud, wailing fit if she still wanted one by then. She would wait until she was alone. No one will ever see me cry over money.

  Startled by a gentle touch on her hand, Belle looked down from the wagon into a gentleman’s face, topped with wavy, gray hair.

  “Madam? I’m Burcham from the hotel,” he said in a pleasant voice.

  “Yes?”

  “About your quilts,” he said. “Would you show them to me?”

  “Of course, I will.” She adjusted her skirt and hurried over the wagon seat to unlatch one of the trunks.

  “These will really brighten up your hotel rooms.” She recalled the worn and frayed coverlets on the hotel bed she had slept on when she first came to Horseshoe Bend. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I am mortified. I shouldn’t have judged your bedding. Please forgive me.”

  Burcham waved her words aside with a liver-spotted hand. “Don’t apologize. I haven’t had the responsibility for caring for the hotel until now, so you haven’t offended me. I do agree they need replacing, and that is precisely what I want to do.”

  Belle opened one trunk to reveal bold poppies in bright reds and soft pinks with green stems. Tiny stitches outlined appliqued flowers and formed colorless rainbows on the background of unbleached muslin. She enjoyed the boldness of this quilt and thought it would appeal to a man. It was no accident that it lay on top of the stack. She started to unfold it, but Burcham refused to let her.

  He examined her fine stitching and checked the quilt’s thickness. “Four dollars each, and I’ll take them all,” he announced.

  No sound came forth when Belle opened her mouth. She stared at him, and when she could breathe normally again, she answered, “That’s way too much for them. Why, that’s a fortune. And besides, I have ten of them.”

  “Take it or leave it,” Burcham said. “All or none.” His blue eyes twinkled.

  “Sold,” Belle said. She liked th
e sound of two, twenty-dollar gold pieces clinking together when Burcham dropped them into her outstretched hand.

  “Just deliver them to the hotel when it’s convenient.” Burcham turned and walked back to the hotel.

  Marveling at her good fortune, Belle watched him go until movement caught her eye. Jake stared down at her from a second-story window of the hotel, his muscular arms folded across his broad chest. She stared back, wishing she knew why he unnerved her so.

  She turned away and went into Owens’ Mercantile, anxious to share her good news with Margaret. Now, I can buy all the supplies I could possibly use this winter and have money left over! Although saddened to sell quilts that contained memories and countless hours of hand sewing, she felt a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. After buying supplies, she treated the Campbell children with horehound candy drops and a sarsaparilla each. Then, she purchased an iron skillet as a thank-you gift for Margaret and George for all the help they had been to her.

  After delivering the quilts to the hotel, Belle and the Campbell family prepared for their return trip. Her trunks rode home empty, but her heart was full. She had conquered one more obstacle in her quest for survival on this raw frontier. Reality broke into her reflections as she envisioned how many more hardships she might need to face in the near future. She brushed wispy tendrils from her face and, in turn, brushed away negative thoughts.

  “Tomorrow is soon enough to worry,” she whispered. “Let me glory in my new wealth for a few more hours.”

  Chapter Twelve

  A kaleidoscope of intense color greeted Jake when he walked into the hotel room where Burcham was unfolding and inspecting the new quilts he had purchased from the young widow, Mrs. Strong.

  “Mr. Jake, this was a brilliant idea,” he said, beaming. “My hotel, that is ah, your hotel, sir, will sport the prettiest beds in the West. That is, some of the rooms for ‘real guests.’ We can’t put something this nice in rooms rented by our scruffy trade.”

  “That’s ‘our’ hotel.” Jake let a smile play on his lips.

  Burcham nodded. “There’s hours and hours of work in each one of these lovely coverlets, and the workmanship is exquisite. I can’t wait for my wife to see them.”

  “She will soon. I’ll leave you to your work, and remember,” Jake said, “never breathe a word to any living soul that this was my idea.” Jake took his leave before Burcham could question him, for the less Burcham knew, the less he would be able to divulge, and Jake didn’t want to embarrass the proud widow.

  “Why am I drawn to this woman, anyway?” Jake asked himself for the umpteenth time. He had always been attracted to beautiful women and enjoyed pleasures of the flesh with many of them. “Lust, Jake. No need painting a pretty face on it. That was pure, animal lust.” He frowned and felt his brow knit while he pondered why Belle Strong stirred such conflicting emotions within him.

  It seems like I want to love her, cherish her, comfort her, and protect her. Then, I’m tormented because I want to possess her, control her, and dominate her. She didn’t look the type that would appreciate complete control or domination; however, possession might be another story. He was certain there was passion lying dormant under that proud exterior, but how much passion he refused to speculate on.

  “Perhaps, it is just a physical attraction. Maybe, it’s just lust. But he knew better. Though he didn’t understand it yet, he knew he could get lost in her beautiful eyes. That little lady possesses an unexplained, compelling force.

  “Trader Jake.”

  Jolted from his interior reverie, Jake looked down the dirt street to see two of his ship’s crew, lashing down the final wagonload of furs and pelts. Time had come to ship the last load south before the river froze over for the long winter. Then, from the gulf, they could sail anywhere. That thought cheered him.

  “Go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you by the time you get to Little Creek,” he yelled from the window before returning to his packing.

  “Maybe I can get that vixen out of my mind now. I’ll replace her in my dreams with a real woman in my bed, a lusty wench with flashing black eyes from the first tropical isle where we lay anchor.” He laughed then, his booming voice echoing out into the narrow streets of Horseshoe Bend.

  ****

  Three weeks on the high seas had done nothing for Jake’s usually calm temperament. His crew avoided him when possible, and he missed their camaraderie, one of the major reasons he always had a waiting list of crewmen.

  Laden with fine furs and tanned skins, wheat, and some of the purest milled flour, his ship approached the warm tropics where they would trade a portion of their cargo for sugar, coffee, and spices.

  He and his crew looked forward to the stopovers, to step on land again, not to mention the fringe benefits of lovely, brown-skinned maidens dancing along the shorelines. In these islands of paradise, many a crew member debated long and hard before returning shipboard. Jake looked up from his maps when two crewmen walked by his quarters.

  “Mebbe this’ll help our cap’n get his mind on the trip,” a burly sailor said.

  Another sailor, who looked almost his twin, answered, “Mebbe so, mebbe not, but it shore is gonna get my mind off’n it.” They both snickered.

  “He’s right. I’ve got to get on with my business,” Jake vowed. “That green-eyed vixen is as safe as she can be with my Indian friends and my trusted trapper, Samuel, keeping tabs on her.” He added, frustration apparent in his voice, “She’s the one who decided to stay out there in that damnable wilderness.”

  He got up, stuffing his hands in his front pockets. Fuming, he paced inside his cabin.

  “She refused to go back to civilization and would have starved if I hadn’t hired Samuel to provide meat for her.” He looked skyward before he asked of the ceiling, “Why do I even care?” He stopped pacing before admitting, “But, I do.” Closing his eyes and remembering the feel of her pliant body and the smell of her even after all this time, he gave up his fight. “For some unknown reason, I care.”

  A deep, heartfelt sigh came forth. That hadn’t been so bad. I admitted that I can care that much about someone. That shouldn’t be an earth-rattling discovery. Somehow, for Jake, it was.

  He brushed it all aside with a wave of his suntanned hand. “For crying out loud, Jake,” he admonished himself. “The poor lady must be heavy with child by now. Try to put her out of your mind.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I have never been this cold, such a bitter cold. Warmth from a crackling fire eased the chill and stopped the trembling of Belle’s body. Thankful for the last dry wood that popped and crackled, sending up sparks and shooting out tiny embers that soon died, reminded her of fireflies on a warm, summer night. Using caution, she added a new log, still wet from the snow outside.

  When the fire did not go out, Belle knew her prayer had been answered. The blaze sputtered for a breathless moment with the addition of wet wood, then hissed as the flames licked off the remaining ice crystals and smoke surrounded the saturated log. It would take a while before the flames would dry out the log enough for it to burn well, but by then, the dugout should be warmer. She hoped the other wood brought in would be dry enough to feed the flickering flames, one piece at a time.

  The blizzard came as a great surprise, and Belle remained shocked she had survived several hours out in it. She sat on a rag rug in front of the small fire and watched flames eagerly licking away at the drying wood, praying it would soon be warm enough in the dugout to take off her heavy wrap and crawl into bed. Her limbs were stiff, and her joints creaked with the slightest movement. Too cold to feel pain, she winced at the grating sound for fear her bones might break. Her mind seemed frozen, too.

  Whatever possessed me to try to make my way out of this wilderness alone?

  She recalled the snowflakes when they began to fall. Only a few, at first, they were quite lovely. Sheer white and fragile, they wafted down to her on gentle air currents and landed on her upturned palm. She stuc
k out her tongue to catch the flakes and reveled in their pure, clean taste.

  Without warning, a wind howled from the northwest, and the sky stained dark, obsidian in its abrupt change. After the temperature plunged in a matter of minutes, Belle felt the icy sting on her face as the snowflakes diminished in size, becoming white dots mixed into a cruel, pelting sleet. She lowered her head and placed her hand on her forehead to shield her eyes from the freezing onslaught, but it didn’t help. Her teeth chattered so much it was impossible to lick her chapped lips for relief.

  Bone-chilling wind almost blew her body down to the ground. She sought refuge behind a blackjack tree. Icy fingers and freezing gusts of wind snaked around the trunk and bit into her. Desperate, she began her frantic search for bigger tree trunks, each one larger than the last, until she realized how futile her search had become. No haven existed from the ruthless winter storm, huddled behind a tree, no matter how great a one she might find. She had to forego her earlier plan of trying to walk to one of the bigger bends of the river and wait for a ferry or trapper to help her into the settlement. Her only hope was to return to the dugout and weather the storm, so she searched for the trail that had brought her this far.

  Fear clutched her heart when she realized she was lost. The swirling white mass enclosed her like a frozen cocoon. She chided herself for her tree-hopping foolishness.

  “Now the fool must pay,” she whimpered through the uncontrollable chatter of her teeth. She fell to her knees on the hard earth, wet and slick with frozen crystals, and wanted to give up.

  But a far stronger force prevailed, a desire for survival that had surfaced before when she felt doomed, a pioneer spirit tested and true. That enduring will to survive, inherent in her soul, came from her faith in God—as much a part of her as her numb extremities and her lips, chapped raw and lined with red cracks. She struggled to take a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh, and prayed.

  “Dear God, I beg the use of your beloved ear that you would hear my plea. I pray that you would look down on me, your unworthy soul, one who has tried to do things my own foolish way. I sought to leave this place. All alone, just one woman out here in the wilderness and faced with the harsh elements of nature.”