And then, as though some powerful spirit had read her mind, her thoughts took form. The white Indian appeared in the trees just beyond where Luke and Tommy stood. Emma was unable to stifle a gasp, and it made everyone else turn.
He stood so still at first that one would hardly have noticed him, the way a deer would do to keep from being seen. Yes, Emma could see it was the same man, the same magnificent body and buckskin clothing! His nearly waist-length hair was tied to one side of his head and hung down his broad chest, nearly reaching the wide, leather weapons belt he wore. His skin was tanned dark, and even from a distance Emma could see he was as handsome as ever.
“My God! It’s that white Indian,” Jake Decker exclaimed.
“What!” Tommy Decker stared. “Hey you!” he shouted. “What the hell are you doin’ there watchin’ us?”
To Emma’s disappointment, the stranger turned and disappeared. Her heart pounded with excitement, and suddenly she felt hot and sweaty. He had come back! It had been a whole year, and he was back again! Why? She had thought she would never see the white Indian again. How ironic that she should see him now, in this sad, dark moment of her life.
“You sure that was River Joe?” Luke asked Jake.
“Sure I’m sure! I seen him once—last year—tradin’ with Hank Toole.”
“Kind of gives you the shivers.” Luke scowled.
“Probably sneakin’ a look at Emma,” Tommy said. Emma felt his eyes on her again. She refused to look back at him. “All that pretty blond hair probably fascinates him, after livin’ around them savages all his life.”
“Not all the Cherokee are savages, son,” the preacher cut in. “Most are quite civilized.”
Tommy looked darkly at the man. “You preachers and your missionaries are always on the side of people like that. But they’re still savages as far as I’m concerned—me and most others around here. We’ve already chased them higher up into the mountains, and if we’re lucky they’ll get out of Tennessee altogether. The government is gonna make some laws that will chase all of them pesty buggers clean to Indian Territory where they belong.”
The preacher breathed deeply, and Emma could see he was struggling to control his temper. “I do believe they were here first, Mr. Decker.”
“Maybe they were, but this land is meant for us whites. We know what to do with it. They waste it.” Tommy clenched his fists. “And I don’t like that white Indian goin’ around peekin’ at my woman.”
Emma felt her pride and anger rise quickly at the remark. “I’m not your woman!” she blurted, fighting her terror.
“You will be soon!”
“Mr. Decker, this is a funeral,” the preacher interrupted. “This poor girl’s mother has just died, and I have not finished the service yet.”
“Then hurry up and finish,” Tommy yelled. “I want to go find that River Joe and find out what the hell he was doin’ around here!”
Emma burst into tears and dropped to her knees beside the grave.
“I’m sure he was just coming here to trade something or look for a job. He has worked other places. He means no harm, Mr. Decker. I’m sure he left because he realized there was a funeral taking place.”
“You calm yourself, Tommy,” said Jake, the young man’s father. “Let the preacher finish his service.”
Emma sniffed and wiped at her eyes with a shaking hand. How she wished her mother would just wake up and come back to protect her. The preacher continued his little sermon, and soon it was time to shovel the dirt into the hole.
Emma wanted to scream. She wanted to tear at the box and pull her mother out. She almost hated Betty for leaving her now. Why had her mother not just left Luke? In her heart Emma knew the answer: remote mountain life was all the woman had ever known; she was afraid of the outside world.
Emma wondered then if her own fate would be the same. Would she end up abused all her life, married to a cruel man, finally dying young, never knowing anything else? She wept as Luke and Jake filled in the grave.
Tommy watched Emma, hungering for her. She was the prettiest girl in the mountains. Her blond hair was the color of cornsilk, her eyes big and blue. Over the past year her breasts had filled out to a roundness that made them seem too big for her tiny body. She was so small for her age that she always seemed too young to marry, even though she was older than most married mountain girls.
But Tommy wasn’t really sure he wanted a wife at all. If he could have Emma Simms without marrying her, that would be even better, for he wasn’t certain he wanted to settle in these mountains and be just a homesteader. He liked adventure, wanted to go to a big city like Knoxville. He liked riding with young men from other settlements, liked heading into the mountains to raid Cherokee settlements.
Tommy Decker was sure he knew all he needed to know about women. He had taken most of his own by force, finding the fight stimulating, convinced that they all actually enjoyed it. But he had not been able to conquer Emma, and it frustrated him. She was so stubborn and proud, and would hardly look at him. Other girls had fought him, but not with the same determination in their eyes. Most of the others had given up in the end, but something told him Emma would never give up, never submit to him willingly.
He wanted badly to break her down. It was becoming obvious that even if he married her, she would still not be willing. And for some reason Luke Simms still had not given his final permission to marry Emma. Tommy could not imagine why the man was putting him off, but it didn’t matter anymore. Tommy didn’t really want to be married and tied down. He had considered it only in order to get under Emma’s skirts, but more and more he was determined to do that without the bonds of marriage.
Now that Emma’s mother was dead, perhaps it would not be so difficult. Emma’s mother had always gone along with Emma’s refusal to marry Tommy. But now if Tommy took what he wanted without the legality of marriage, Luke probably wouldn’t do a thing about it. Luke didn’t care one whit about his stepdaughter.
That girl needs a good lesson, he thought. He was sure, with all his experience, that once he got inside her she would like it. She would probably wish she had given in sooner, and then he would get the ultimate revenge. He would break her down and then refuse to marry her, just as she had been refusing him. He smiled at the thought of it, almost laughed out loud.
Emma got to her feet, still sniffling, and walked toward the woods to pick a few wildflowers to put on her mother’s grave. She wiped at her eyes, staring into the trees for a moment, wondering where the strange white Indian called River Joe had gone, and why he had finally made another appearance. For some reason, the vision of him would not leave her mind, and she almost hoped that he might be somewhere near, still watching her.
She turned and walked back to the grave, which was now completely covered, and laid the flowers on it.
“I’m gonna get on Smoke and see if I can find that River Joe,” Tommy said then.
“You’d be better off leavin’ him be,” his father told him. “You don’t know nothin’ about that man. He might be dangerous.”
“He isn’t dangerous if he isn’t pushed,” the preacher told them.
“We’ll see,” Tommy answered, walking over to his “fine black.” That was what he called his horse, a gelding called Smoke. Tommy was very proud of it, the only thing of value he had to call his own. But Emma hated the animal, which was as cocky and unpredictable as its owner. Tommy had deliberately chased her down once with the horse, and when she fell, he threatened to ride right over her.
He walked over to the animal now and mounted up. Emma was glad he was leaving.
“Ain’t no white Indian can get the best of Tommy Decker,” he announced, sitting straight and sure on his “fine black,” trying to make an impression on Emma. “I’ve raided many a Cherokee settlement. They don’t even fight back.”
He rode off into the woods, and the preacher shook his head. “I wouldn’t count on River Joe not fighting back,” he commented. “But I doubt Mr. Decker
will find him. River Joe is the kind of man who is found only if he wants to be.”
Emma stared into the woods again, at the spot where River Joe had disappeared. She felt that seeing the white Indian had been some kind of sign, a vision that somehow consoled her.
“Give the girl some time,” she heard the preacher say to her stepfather. “It is a great shock to a girl when she loses her mother. Don’t force her to marry right away.”
“It’s time,” Luke Simms answered. “The girl is sixteen years old. Tommy wants her. And with her ma gone, I’m thinkin’ of sellin’ this farm and gettin’ out altogether. Got no future here. I been talkin’ to Hank Toole about jobs in Knoxville. Hank will be comin’ by on his riverboat again soon and I’ll have him tell folks up and down the river that my place is for sale. If I leave here, I ain’t takin’ that girl with me. I’m on my own then. And if Tommy don’t want her, Hank says he’s got some ideas for what I can do with her.”
Emma didn’t wait to hear the rest. Terror filled her heart. Her future was being decided for her, and there would be nothing she could do to change it. Why had Luke been talking to Hank Toole about her? Hank operated a riverboat called the Jasmine, running it up and down the Tennessee and Hiwassee rivers, trading with the mountain people and taking their wares and produce back to Knoxville where he sold them for a profit.
Hank came by about once a month. He had always been friendly to Emma, acting like a jolly friend, telling her tall tales about city life; but there had been something about his attitude the last couple of years that made Emma uneasy and almost afraid. She could not imagine what kind of “ideas” Hank could have for her if Tommy didn’t want to marry her. Emma was curious about the world outside her farm but sometimes terrified of it, and now she wished the Jasmine would not come by this month at all.
She walked off in the opposite direction from that in which Tommy had ridden, wanting to be alone, to think, to decide what she could do to avoid having to marry Tommy, without having to go away with Hank Toole. Most of all, she wanted to think about seeing River Joe again.
She headed for her little hideaway, the raft that still lay lodged along the riverbank, wanting to get away from Luke and the depressing grave. As she stumbled and climbed over vines and fallen trees, someone watched, his dark eyes following her. He moved behind her then, his moccasined feet making no noise, the dancing fringes of his buckskins and his quick movements blurring into the background of quivering leaves. He studied the golden hair, her exquisite shape;
its perfect roundness obvious even under her loose cotton dress. She was older now, a budding young woman. And she was beautiful, the prettiest white girl River Joe had ever seen. He silently followed her to the raft.
Chapter Two
Emma wept. She had no idea how long she had been sitting on the old raft, but the tears of sorrow and terror would not stop. It felt good to cry, but so terribly lonely, for there was no one to care, no one to comfort her.
Finally she leaned over and reached into the water, splashing its cool refreshment onto her face and washing away the tears. She was afraid of the river’s rushing waters and would not go in to swim. Luke was always talking about how many people had drowned in this river, and when she was smaller Tommy Decker had hung her upside down in the water so that he could see under her dress when it fell away from her. She would never forget the humiliating and terrifying moment as he held her legs and kept her under the water until she was sure her lungs would burst and she would drown. Nor would she forget the day she saw the body of a little boy who had drowned at a settlement farther upriver and had floated to shore at her farm.
But she felt safe on the raft. She could watch the river from it, and for years she had sat there to watch for the Jasmine, and Hank Toole, who always brought her some trinket from the big city. She no longer watched for Hank with much enthusiasm. Now she just wished she could stay in her little hideaway forever. But that was impossible, and she knew she must think hard now, plan; she must consider what she should do now that her mother was dead.
She could not run away on her own. She would most likely die in the mountains, for she did not have the slightest idea where to go or how to survive alone in the forest. A wild animal might eat her alive, or she might die from exposure and hunger. Even if she survived, what would she do when she got to a city? She had no skills, no money, and no knowledge of the ways of city people.
But Hank Toole did. Hank knew Knoxville well. A terrible helplessness swept over her when she realized Hank might be her only choice.
She stared downriver. He had always been friendly to her. In spite of the discomfort she felt in his presence, maybe he would be kind enough to take her on his riverboat to Knoxville, where Mrs. Breckenridge might be living now. Surely Hank would do at least that much for her. Then she could get a job in Knoxville and pay Hank back.
She felt almost sick at the few choices she had. Could she really trust Hank Toole? In his most recent visits, he had insisted on putting an arm around her, giving her squeezes, calling her “honey,” and commenting on how Luke’s “little girl” was getting all grown up. She wished she knew why Hank made her feel so afraid, wished she understood people better. Hank was the kind of man whose words and gestures were always friendly, but his dull blue eyes were hard to read. He wore fancy suits, but they never fit his short frame quite right. His belly hung out over his pants, and he always needed a shave. Still, it wasn’t his appearance as much as his eyes and his gestures that bothered her.
Maybe it would be best just to give Hank a letter to deliver to Mrs. Breckenridge. The woman would come for her then, Emma was sure. Mrs. Breckenridge would insist that Emma be allowed to go home with her and her husband. The only obstacle was that Hank was friendly with Luke. Emma wasn’t sure the man would help her if it meant going against what Luke wanted.
As she picked a wildflower, her racing mind came up with yet another idea. She could sneak aboard the Jasmine and stow away until it was too late for Hank to turn back. Then, no matter what Luke wanted, Hank would have to take her on to Knoxville! Maybe her fear of the man was silly. After all, she had known Hank since she was a little girl. He certainly wouldn’t hurt her. She took hope in the thought, and she decided that she would start packing her things into a gunnysack that very night so that she would be ready. It might be a week before Hank came, but then again it could be tomorrow.
She breathed deeply to keep from crying; she must be strong and brave now. Her mother was gone. There was no one to fight for Emma Simms but Emma Simms herself.
She fought the panic that kept trying to edge into her soul. Her mother was dead. None of it seemed real. She had just put flowers on the woman’s grave, yet she expected to go home and find Betty Simms breaking open a jar of home-canned cherries or hoeing up a new spring garden.
She stood and turned to go back. She wanted to be alone beside her mother’s grave. She did not look forward to the rest of the day. Tommy, his father, and Luke would probably all get dead drunk tonight, and she would have to cook for them and wait on them. Emma had to be nice to Luke’s “guests,” rude as they might be, or Luke would hit her. And she could only hope that Tommy would get so drunk that he would pass out. That was the only way he would leave her alone. Until he passed out, she would have to find ways to stay away from him.
She started off the raft, then stood still, watching, listening. She felt the presence again. Her heart pounded with curiosity and anticipation, a sixth sense telling her she was again being watched.
A moment later River Joe moved out of nearby trees that camouflaged him. For several long seconds they just looked at each other, and again Emma felt a pleasant warmth and a surprising absence of fear.
“Siyu,” he greeted her.
Emma swallowed before speaking. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice squeaking from surprise and caution.
“I heard you crying. And I saw you on that old raft,” he answered. “It is dangerous to stand on old, rotten woo
d.”
His perfect English surprised her. His voice was calm and sure. She told herself she must be crazy to trust him, to be speaking to him. “You…you’ve got no right here. This is my private place. Nobody else has ever come here.”
A faint smile passed over his full, finely etched lips, lighting a face so utterly handsome she could not help staring.
“Places like this do not belong to one person,” he answered. “They come from Esaugetuh Emissee, the Maker of Breath, and they are for everyone.”
“The Maker of Breath?”
He nodded. “God.”
She studied the woods all around him. Could she get past this man if he meant her harm? He looked very powerful, and he wore a big knife at his waist, as well as a pistol.
“Well, I don’t know about your Maker of Breath. All I know is I have to get back, and—”
Suddenly a board snapped, and she screamed as her right foot caved through the underside of the raft. The river was high from spring runoff, and Emma’s struggles to get her foot free set the raft in motion. Before she could scream for him to help her, River Joe was there grabbing on to the raft as it began to float into the cold waters.
“Don’t let go! Don’t let go!” Emma yelled. “Don’t let me go into the water!” She struggled vainly to get her foot loose from the splintered wood as River Joe fought against the strong current, trying to get the heavy raft back up onto shore.
“Sit still!” he told her. “Wait until I get this thing out of the water!”
She clung to the edge of the raft, watching him strain to pull it higher onto the shore. He tugged, dragging it up onto the bank with strong arms, then leaned close, breaking the boards with his bare hands to release her foot.
“I told you this thing was dangerous,” he said.
She watched in surprise, amazed at his quick movement, his clear speech, and the strength of his big hands as he pulled her leg free of the boards. Then he reached around her waist and lifted her off the raft.
The Bride Series (Omnibus Edition) Page 2