by Ana Leigh
More followed, craggy shapes resembling parapets and towers, deep gulches, and rocky trails.
Three days later the wagon train arrived at the gates of Fort Laramie: the last bastion of civilization as they knew it, until they crossed the Rocky Mountains and reached California. Set in the foothills of the Rockies, the fort had originally been a fur-trading station, then converted to a United States army post.
Rebecca was delighted to reach the post at last. After traveling for six weeks and six hundred and forty miles, she could finally take a hot bath.
Mike Scott insisted the wagons form their usual circle outside the fort’s gates. The army had constructed pens and grazing corrals for the stock, but informed them that they were not responsible for guarding them—which meant Clay and Garth would be pulling duty shifts.
Clay had hoped they might be lucky enough to find Melissa at the fort, but that hope was dashed when they found out their train was the only westbound one there. There were more than a dozen wagons heading back East, and in the remote possibility that Melissa was among them, he and Garth checked them out.
“Sure, I remember that gal,” one of the men said when Clay showed him Melissa’s picture. “Mighty pretty she was, too. Long dark hair and eyes the color of a Texas bluebonnet.”
“That’s Lissy, all right,” Garth said. “Was she okay?”
He shrugged. “Never got more than a nod and a smile. Wife talked to her a time or two, though. Hey, Ma, you remember this gal, don’t you?”
The woman came over carrying what appeared to be about a two-year-old girl in her arm, and holding the hand of another a year or so older.
“Ah, yes,” she said, after glancing at the picture.
“Melissa Berg. Sweet little thing she was, too.” She shook her head sadly. “Poor little thing was sick most of the time.”
“Sick?” Clay asked with rising panic. He’d heard horror stories about how often cholera occurred on these wagon trains.
“She’s in a family way. Never saw anyone so sick in that condition. Hate to think of the poor dear crossin’ ’em mountains, as sick as she is.”
“What about her husband?” Garth asked.
“Fine young man. Fretted about her constantly and waited on her hand and foot, tryin’ to make her more comfortable. I sure hope they make it safely to California. Me, I’ve had enough of it. I told Clem here that I ain’t riskin’ our children’s lives anymore. We’re gonna find us a spot right here near the fort.”
“Thank you, ma’am. You, too, sir,” Clay said.
“How does she figure raising a family right smack among the Sioux is safe?” Garth said, when they passed through the gates of the fort. “Those Indians can go on the warpath over a dead horse, if they’ve a mind to.”
Clay had worried about Lissy’s safety, but until now hadn’t thought about her personal health. “That Yankee bastard should have turned back until Lissy was well enough to travel.”
“Maybe he figured we’d be hot on his heels,” Garth said.
“That’s no excuse for him to let her make this trip when she’s that ill.”
“Yeah, but it sounds like Lissy. You know how we all spoiled her, so she’s used to getting what she wants. The poor guy probably found it just as hard to say no to her as the rest of us always did. If Lissy thought there’d be a chance of us catching up and stopping her, she’d push on. The gal’s got a lot of grit.”
“Tell me something, Garth. Do you go through life making excuses for women who don’t care how much their actions affect others, as long as they get what they want?”
Garth chuckled. “With one exception, Brother Clay—that female shark you intended to marry back in Virginia. Ah… what was her name again?” he asked, tongue-in-cheek.
Clay couldn’t help grinning. “Jezebel. Her name was Jezebel, Brother Garth.”
Clay couldn’t believe he was actually making jokes over losing Ellie. What a difference a couple of months made. Slapping Garth on the shoulder, he said, “I’ve thought of another angle. Let’s try the post office.”
After a lengthy discussion with the cigar-chewing postmaster, who lectured them on the sanctity of the United States mail and the integrity of his office in upholding that inviolability, they finally resorted to outright bribery with a bottle of whiskey. Then he let them look through the outgoing letters from people on last week’s wagon. Clay found what he was hoping for—a letter home from Melissa Fraser Berg.
“At least he made an honest woman of her,” Clay grumbled.
“Good, that means we won’t have to shoot him after all,” Garth said.
A box of cigars convinced the good postmaster to let them open the letter. The main body of it described how much she missed all of them, the attributes of her husband, her happiness, and how much she looked forward to having the baby; then she described the sights they had encountered thus far on the journey. In closing, she apologized if she’d caused them any concern and assured them how much she loved all of them.
In the last paragraph Clay struck gold. Melissa had written down the name of her husband’s aunt, whom they would be staying with when they reached Sacramento. There was not one word about how sick she was.
“A real little trooper, isn’t she?” Garth said.
Clay nodded, brimming with pride as much as Garth. “She sure is. But I still might strangle her when we find her.”
Clay wrote Will a short letter to let him know where they were, and where they were heading from there. Then, under the watchful eye of the postmaster, he addressed a new envelope, enclosed his letter along with Lissy’s, and gave it to the man to see that it was posted.
They had no sooner stepped outside when Garth asked, “Do you think there are any whores here?”
“I doubt they’d allow them inside the fort. But this fort’s full of soldiers, so there’s some whores around someplace. You’ll probably find what you’re looking for among the buildings and Indian teepees outside the gates,” Clay said.
“Think I’ll pursue that. See you later.”
Clay watched Garth disappear through the gates of the fort. It wouldn’t have been a bad idea to go with him. That near miss he’d had with Becky at Ash Hollow had stoked a fire that the dozen of dips he’d taken in cold pools since hadn’t succeeded in squelching.
Thinking of that very issue, he spied Rebecca in the company of Etta and Tom. They’d arrived at Fort Laramie about an hour ago. If she was running true to form, it was plenty of time for her to have gotten into trouble.
“Oh, what a find!” Rebecca exclaimed, holding up the orange she just had the good fortune of purchasing. “The Good Lord has blessed the human race with many gifts, and two of the greatest are oranges and hot baths. I can’t decide which of them is the most refreshing, but today, my dear friends, I shall have the pleasure of relishing both.”
Etta giggled. “Oh, Becky, you’re so funny.”
“If you’re hoping for a bath, you’d better go and sign up for one soon, ma’am,” Tom said.
“You’re right. What about you, Etta?”
“No. Mama said as long as we’ll be here for another day, we should wait until tomorrow for the bath.”
“I’m hoping I can take another one tomorrow, too. It’s a long trip over those mountains. Who knows when the opportunity will present itself again? Clay said—”
“What did Clay say?” he asked, walking up and joining them. She’d been unaware of his approach.
“We were discussing the long journey, and that you told me we haven’t even reached the halfway mark to California.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Scotty said the worst is still ahead.”
Suddenly Rebecca did a double-take. “I can’t believe it! Etta, look.” She pointed to several Indians who had just arrived at the fort. “See that Indian with the white feather in his hair? He’s the same one I told you I saw at Ash Hollow.”
“That’s him!” Etta said in awe.
“Yes. Isn’t he magnificent loo
king?”
“Oh, yes indeed! He’s splendid looking,” Etta said.
“I don’t think he’s so great,” Tom said petulantly.
“Do you, Mr. Fraser?”
“I remember him. He’s a Sioux war chief named Eagle Claw. Scotty said at the time to give him a wide berth. He wields a lot of power and can be dangerous.”
“But you said the Sioux weren’t hostile,” Rebecca said.
“Today they aren’t. Who knows about tomorrow?”
“Just the same, he certainly is magnificent looking,” Rebecca said. “Well, I’m going to reserve a bath for tonight. Then I’m going back to my wagon and eat my orange.”
“I’ll come with you.” Clay followed her.
“You could save water and a tub if you shared the bath!” Tom yelled after them.
“The lad’s growing up,” Clay said with a grin as they headed for the bathhouse.
“Good Lord, he’s only seventeen, Clay,” Rebecca scolded. “Don’t you remember when you were that young?”
Clay nodded. “Sure do. That’s why I’d keep a closer eye on those two, if I were Howard and Helena.”
The bathhouse was located outside the turreted ramparts of the fort. A painted sign saying: PUBLIC BATH, $1.00 PER PERSON. OPEN DAILY 5:00 A.M. TO 10.00 P.M. EXCEPT SUNDAYS, CHRISTMAS, AND THE 4TH OF JULY hung above the door of the building. Behind it was a cabin partitioned into two sections marked MEN and WOMEN.
They encountered Mike Scott leaving the bathhouse. He stopped Clay to give him some instruction, so Rebecca went ahead and entered the office.
The room smelled of soap, and a lingering odor of burnt wood that emanated from an unlit pot stove in the corner of the room. Stacks of towels and colorful jars of bath salts lined several shelves behind a long counter, which was encased behind a ceiling-high wire grid.
“I’d like to make a reservation, please,” Rebecca said to the woman behind the counter. A young Indian boy sat beside her.
“Today or tomorrow?” the woman asked.
“Today.”
“Only got one left at nine-thirty tonight. None left for tomorrow.”
“That will be fine.” Rebecca smiled at the young boy. He just stared at her.
“Cost is a dollar for thirty minutes, paid in advance. Includes a towel, washcloth, and soap. Bath salts are fifty cents extra.”
“I’m not interested in bath salts,” Rebecca said. She slipped the money through a coin slot in the grid.
“You with that wagon train that rolled in today?”
“Yes, I am. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to a hot bath.”
“Well, be on time, honey,” the woman said, “ ’cause I close up promptly at ten.”
“I certainly will.”
There was no sign of Clay when Rebecca stepped outside, so she looked around for Etta and Tom. Having no success with that, either, she returned to her wagon, found a shady spot, and sat down to peel her orange. With most of the people shopping or plain gawking at the fort, it was peaceful and quiet at the wagons. It seemed like the first time in two months that she’d been entirely alone. As she savored the succulent sweetness of the fruit, she gazed at the looming peaks of the Rocky Mountains in the distance.
Clay left the meeting Scotty had called to inform his men the train would leave Fort Laramie the day after tomorrow. He wanted to make certain the train was out of the Rockies in the event of an early snowfall. When Clay went back to the bathhouse, there was no sign of Rebecca—not that he expected for her to still be there—and he registered for a bath.
He looked around the clearing, and then went into the fort, but there was no sign of her. He didn’t want her wandering around alone, yet he knew she resented him watching over her like a hawk. Well, the woman needed watching over. And like it or not, he intended to do so until they reached their destination.
Upon seeing Etta and Tom, he hurried over to them, but they hadn’t seen a sign of Rebecca. He encountered the rest of the Garsons and had no luck with them, either.
Clay rechecked the sutler’s store in the event she was doing some more shopping. Now he was really worried. He couldn’t believe she’d go back to the wagon so soon, when there was so much activity centered at the fort. But he’d give it a try.
The wagon area was deserted except for a few guards overseeing the grazing stock. Clay stopped in his track when he glimpsed Eagle Claw standing in some nearby trees, his gaze focused intently on something.
The Indian Chief had always appeared indifferent to those around him, but something clearly held his attention now. For some reason, it made Clay uneasy.
When Eagle Claw suddenly turned and strode away, Clay went over to discover what had held the war chief’s attention.
Rebecca was sitting by her wagon in his direct line of vision.
15
There was no sign of Clay when Rebecca left for her bath. The woman in charge had just finished cleaning up the bathhouse after the previous occupant, and was refilling the tub. She handed Rebecca a towel, a washcloth, and bar of soap.
The small room was steamy and pleasantly warm. Rebecca found the bath mechanism quite inventive— and far more convenient than filling a tub with buckets of hot water, which she always had to do back East.
In the nearby corner was a sink containing a pump. Piping sent pumped cold water from the sink into either the bathtub or to a water back, a tank set in the firebox of a wood-burning stove at the foot of the tub. By opening a valve, the hot water from the water back was fed into the tub.
“My goodness, this is quite ingenious,” Rebecca said.
“Yep,” the woman said. “My husband used to be with the army engineers. He built it when he retired from the army. Sam died a short time after, but, God bless him, he left me with a means to make a living. With thousands of people coming through, now it’s a gold mine.”
“I suspect it would be,” Rebecca said. “How do you dispose of the dirty water?”
“When you’re through, just pull out the plug in the tub. The water drains through the hole and is carried by pipes to a ditch that flows into a nearby stream. As long as the well don’t go dry, I’m in business.”
“What’s that cord for, that’s hanging over the bathtub?”
“It’s connected to that bell on the wall and in my office. Just yank on it if you need something or have a problem. I’ll ring it five minutes before your time’s up.”
“And what’s that other door for?” Rebecca asked.
“Separates the men’s and women’s rooms.” She checked the handle. “Door’s locked and the last customer is just finishin’ up, so you’ve got the whole place to yourself, honey. There, that should do it,” she said, closing the hot water valve.
“Now, when I leave, you lock this door so nobody can walk in on you. If you need anything else, or have a problem, just pull that cord. I’ll be in the office.”
“Thank you, Mrs….”
“Crane. Maude Crane. Enjoy your bath, honey.”
Rebecca couldn’t wait to get into that bathtub. She quickly locked the door, then stripped off her clothes and climbed in. Sighing with bliss, she leaned back and felt the warm water close around her. She never had been one who yearned for luxuries, except for hot baths. Throughout her adulthood, she had gone to the trouble of hauling and boiling water to bathe every other night, instead of only the Saturday night ritual that most folks practiced.
Rebecca lathered and cleansed her body, then leaned back again and closed her eyes. She would savor every minute of it until the water turned tepid, or Maude rang the warning bell.
She woke with a start. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep but it couldn’t have been long, although the water was no longer hot.
Reluctantly Rebecca stepped out of the tub and dried herself off. She felt like a new woman. After pulling on her gown, she gathered up her clothing. Her voice caught in a ragged gasp when a figure stepped out of the shadows in the corner.
�
�How long have you been there?” she asked.
“Long enough,” Clay said. “I was next door in the men’s bathroom.”
“Maude checked that door! It was locked.”
“From my side. I unlocked it.”
“Then I’ll thank you to go right back out that same door. You had no right to come in here, spying on me like a Peeping Tom.”
“I wasn’t spying on you. I was on the verge of leaving when I saw you come in, so I thought I’d wait. It’s late, and I don’t think it’s safe for you to walk around this fort alone. No telling who you might encounter.”
“Apparently. I’ve just discovered that.”
“Becky, I knocked. You didn’t answer. You were quiet for so long, I thought I’d better check to make sure you were okay.”
The amber glow from the lantern flickered across his naked chest when he moved closer. She could see his face clearly now, and at the sight of the passion gleaming in his dark eyes, the pulse in her throat began throbbing, sending a warming shiver through her.
Why try to fool him, or herself? Since they kissed at Ash Hollow, she desired him with a passion as strong as the one she could see burning in his eyes—and she knew he was seeing the same in her eyes.
Clay reached out to her and she slipped her hand into his. The warmth of it closed around her trembling fingers as he drew her into his arms and covered her lips with his. The sweet heat of passion washed through her, and she responded to the persuasion of his moist, firm mouth. And as the kiss deepened, the slide of his tongue teased, mating with hers until she gasped for breath.
He finally broke the kiss, and she leaned into the hard wall of him. Burying her head against the bronzed muscles of his chest, she breathed in the tantalizing combination of soap and man.
“We both knew it would come to this eventually, didn’t we, Becky? Why have you fought this for so long?” His voice was a husky seduction at her ear.
Oh, yes. How well she knew it would come to this. Lately, the thought of this moment had bedeviled her mind with erotic fantasies. She slid her hands to his shoulders and stroked their naked brawn. Trembling with excitement she felt the corded muscle, sensed the potent strength that lay beneath the warm flesh at her fingertips.