Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 01]

by Wild Sweet Wilderness

  “Missy!”

  Berry stepped away from the ox and looked back. Fear took her breath away. A rider was coming up fast. She squinted her eyes, but all she could see was the running horse, its rider bending over its neck. She ran to the end of the moving wagon and reached for the rifle.

  “What is it?” Rachel asked anxiously and started to crawl to the end of the mattress.

  “Rider comin’. Stay where you are!” It was all Berry had time to say. In another minute the rider would be on them. She almost fell beneath the hooves of the mules Israel had speeded up to get close to the other wagon. She glanced back, then ran ahead to catch up with the ox and pull it to a halt.

  She could hear the pounding of the hooves and the labored breathing of the horse by the time the wagon stopped. She turned and pointed the rifle at the rider. Black hair was blown back from a wild, angry face. Simon glared down at her. Why hadn’t the fool worn his hat so she would have known who it was? The crazy thought flashed through her mind as he pulled the lathered horse to a halt.

  “Where the hell are you going?” he yelled.

  Angry because he was angry, and angry because she was so relieved, Berry shouted, “None of your damned business!”

  “Stop pointing that rifle at me—it might go off!” He swung down from the horse.

  “Nobody invited you to get down!” She followed his movements with the end of the rifle barrel.

  Simon reached behind his saddle for his hat, snatched it from beneath a strap, and pushed out the crown. He slapped it on his head.

  “Berry!” Rachel called from inside the wagon.

  “It’s that . . . trader. He ain’t stayin’.” The eyes she turned on Simon were as green as a stormy sea. “We don’t need nothin’ from you. Get on your horse ’n’ get!”

  He walked straight toward her, grasped the rifle barrel, and pushed it upward. “Have your lost your mind? What in hell do you mean striking out alone? Why didn’t you stay in town? Why didn’t you send for me when your pa was killed?”

  “You got as many questions as a dog’s got fleas!’ Berry said comtemptuously. “You get this straight, Mr. Trader, I’m never going back to that town! Never! My pa filed on land and Rachel and me are going to live on it. We don’t need nothin’ from you!”

  “Berry . . .” Rachel had crawled to the end of the wagon.

  “It’s all right, Rachel,” Berry called, but she kept her eye on Simon. “Mr. Witcher’s just passin’ by. We’ll be goin’ on as soon as we give the team a little rest.”

  “I’m not passing by, goddammit! I’ve been on that river all night and got down to Saint Louis to find you gone. If you’d had the gumption you were born with, you’d’ve let me know your pa was dead before I took off upriver. Hell . . . women got no more brains than a speckled hen!”

  “We got enough brains to take care of ourselves. If you went up to that wagon ground you’d’ve seen that! You . . . mule’s ass! Nobody asked you to come here and . . . stop us!” It was beginning to be too much for Berry. Her lips trembled, and she looked away from him, not wanting him to see the tears in her eyes. She left the rifle dangling in his hand and went quickly to stand beside the ox.

  “Mr. Witcher . . .” Rachel called.

  Simon was looking at the bedraggled figure with the slumped, tired shoulders. Her hair, damp from sweat, had broken loose from its braid and curled on her neck. He turned his attention to the woman who called out to him.

  “Ma’am,” he said and stepped nearer.

  “We need your help, Mr. Witcher,” Rachel said carefully. Her eyes were full of tears and she drew her lips between her teeth to hold them steady.

  Simon’s eyes traveled past her face to the mattress where she had been lying and saw spots of blood. He looked back into her pleading eyes. “Is it your . . . time?” He spoke as softly as he could.

  “The pain isn’t regular yet. But it won’t be long.”

  “Go on back and lay down.”

  Simon screwed his hat down tighter on his head and picked up his horse’s reins. He had gone upriver early yesterday morning to see Zebulon Pike. Light had sent word to him by a French fur trapper who was headed upstream that the Ohio farmer was dead and that he was leaving on an important mission for Jefferson Merrick. Simon knew that Fain would stay in town no longer than necessary, so he had paddled most of the night and part of the morning to get back to Saint Louis. After he’d gotten his horse at the livery, he’d ridden up to the wagon ground. There he had seen three dead bodies within a fifty-foot radius of where the wagons had been; the only man he had recognized was George Caffery. Tracks showed that an ox-drawn wagon and one pulled by mules with a horse tied on behind had made a hasty departure. There had been no sign of Linc Smith, and Simon had naturally assumed he was with the wagons. Pain had knifed through him at the thought.

  He came up behind Berry now where she leaned on the patient ox. “What happened to Linc Smith?”

  “I shot ’em in the face ’n’ he run off in the woods.”

  “Did he hurt you or Rachel?”

  “No. We didn’t give ’em a chance. The rifle knocked Rachel down when she fired it. She says it didn’t hurt her. What do you care anyway?” She lifted her head and turned it slowly. “You’ve held us up long enough.” She gave the ox a resounding slap on the rump.

  Simon jerked on the harness before the animal could move. “Get in the wagon. You’re so tired you’re about to drop.”

  “I’ve a mind to do no such . . .”

  “Hush up, and mind me! Linc could be on your trail right now. He won’t come alone, he’ll bring a bunch of river rats with him. Besides that, we’ve got to get Rachel somewhere, and quick. The nearest and best place is Fain’s.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s spotting blood. Don’t that mean her time is near? If you wasn’t so bull-headed you’d’ve seen it.”

  Berry’s arm lashed out to strike him. He caught her wrist in mid-air. “I’d never do anything to hurt Rachel! I was doin’ the . . . best I could.” Her voice dripped hurt and desperation. Sobs began to constrict her throat and her words came out jerkily She had no control over the tears that blinded her. She covered her face with her hands and turned her head away. Her pride kept the racking sobs locked inside her.

  “I know you did. And you done good.” His voice was close to her ear. “Get in the wagon and sleep awhile. You’re worn out.”

  “No. We got to go on.”

  “I’ll lead the ox. Get in the wagon. We’re wasting time.” Simon didn’t wait for her to answer. He swung her up in his arms, carried her to the back of the wagon, and set her down inside. “Make her lay down and get some sleep, ma’am,” he said to Rachel. “She’s so tired she’s not showing good sense.”

  He left them and Berry crawled to the feather tick and sank down beside Rachel. Her head ached with a dull, persistent throb and her heart was a heavy lump in her breast. She buried her head in her arms and began to shake as reaction set in. Rachel’s hand moved up and down her back in a soothing motion.

  “Get some sleep, honey. We’re in good hands. Mr. Witcher knows what to do.”

  “But . . . I hate him!” she said, sobbing.

  Rachel was quiet for a long while. “Even if you do hate him, we’ve got to accept his help. Go to sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

  Simon told Israel to keep up, then tied a lead rope to the halter on the ox and mounted his horse. He was more worried about Rachel than he was about Linc catching up to them. He didn’t know anything about birthing, but he knew enough to know things were not natural and right with the woman.

  A grimness settled on his expression. He’d kissed a fair number of women in his day, most of them in New Orleans—dance-hall girls and high-class whores who were experts at pleasing a man in a variety of sexual ways—but none of them had stirred him as much as this beautiful little Ohio farm girl, with her musical laughter and innocent curiosity. She was the only woman he’d ev
er met who was completely unaware of the effect her beauty had on a man. From the very first he’d felt a strange urge to protect her, to keep this harsh wilderness from crushing her bubbly spirit.

  Simon had always known that someday he wanted a wife and a family to take care of. When he thought about it, it was always something for the future, not now. He still felt that way. He wasn’t going to be stampeded into taking over the care of these women. For too long now he had planned to go upriver with Zebulon Pike. He couldn’t very well tie himself to a woman and then go off and leave her. It would be a dangerous journey, one that might very well claim his life, but the adventure would be well worth the risk.

  Simon hadn’t believed that Asa Warfield would be stupid enough to try to start a tavern on the waterfront. He had fully expected Asa to pull out of Saint Louis with the emigrant train and settle on land as hundreds of other settlers had done. That would have made it easy to find the girl if, after a time, he decided she was the one he wanted. That fool Warfield, by getting himself killed, had ruined Simon’s plan. Whom did he know who would take the women in and look after them? There were any number of unwed men in the territory who would jump at the chance. The thought didn’t settle pleasantly in his mind.

  He watched the trail and selected it with care. This close to the river there were only rocky hills, and the comparatively level part of the trail was sandy. He halted the ox at the top of a hill and waited for the mules pulling the heavier wagon to catch up. It was getting on toward evening, but the sun was still hot. He took off his hat, wiped the sweat from his face, and dismounted. The women were still lying on the bed in the wagon. Berry slept, her arm curled under her head, one hand on the musket that lay beside her. Rachel’s eyes were open and watching as he tied the flap higher to allow the breeze to pass through.

  “Are you making out all right?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Can I trouble you for a drink of water?”

  That woman is hurting something awful, Simon thought as he walked back to the big wagon and the water barrel attached to its side. Her face was covered with a clammy sweat and her hair was glued to her head with it. Fain had told him about the woman. Asa Warfield was a bastard. No doubt about it.

  Simon filled his canteen and took it to Rachel. “Take this, ma’am. It won’t slosh. The trail won’t be so rocky from now on. I’ll try . . .” He stopped speaking and squinted as he looked out the front of the wagon over the ox’s back.

  Two horsemen had topped the hill and were coming toward them. There was no doubt about who they were. No one rode a horse like Fain. He hated to ride, and sat in the saddle as if he were going to his execution. Lardy was with him, riding ahead. Simon went to stand beside the ox and wait for them.

  Fain got stiffly out of the saddle. The horse blew its lips and tossed its head in relief to be rid of the weight on its back. “I thought you’d gone up ta Kaskaskia ta see Pike.”

  “I did. Light sent word Warfield got himself killed. I came back downriver to town.” Simon jerked his head away from the wagons and Fain followed him toward the trees. Simon told him about the killings, about tracking the wagons, and about Rachel. Fain told him about Israel coming to town to find Lardy and Lardy paddling all night and half the morning to fetch him.

  “That woman’s in a bad way,” Simon said with a worried frown. “I never thought I’d be glad to see the day I’d welcome Biedy Cornick’s chatter. But she’s the only woman I know of that’s good at a birthing.”

  Fain turned away from him. Damn! He didn’t want to be anywhere near a birthing! He didn’t want to like the woman, didn’t want to care about her suffering. But hell . . . “What’re you goin’ to do?”

  “Well . . . I thought we could send Lardy for Biedy. Her boys’ll bring her downriver. If we get the wagons ’cross the Missouri before dark, we can be at your place before morning.”

  “It’s the best we c’n do. C’n she wait that long?”

  “I don’t know. She’s bleedin’.”

  “Shitfire!”

  “I tell you, Fain, that woman’s got spunk. She killed one of them river rats with the rifle. When she fired it, it knocked her down.”

  “The other’n ain’t short on spunk if’n she killed George and sent Linc to the woods.” Fain felt a little spurt of something he didn’t quite know what to do with when Simon talked about Rachel. Simon wasn’t much for getting familiar with womenfolk. Did that mean he fancied her? “Wal . . . we’d better shake our tail. But I ain’t a-ridin’ on that damn horse. My tail’s all buggered up as ’tis. I’ll walk with the beast. You go on and get down to the river and get the raft to this side. The ol’ Missouri’s low fer this time o’ year. If’n she gets lower’n she is, we c’n almost ford her.”

  Berry heard the male voices beside the wagon and woke with a start. Her hand closed around the musket and she sat up. Her mind was drugged with sleep and she looked down at Rachel with sleep-swollen eyes. “Who’s out there?”

  “Fain.”

  “Fain? How’n tarnation did he get here?”

  “I don’t know.” Rachel closed her eyes wearily.

  Berry placed the musket on the floor and got up on her knees beside Rachel. “Rachel? Are the pains comin’?” Fear knifed through her. Rachel lay on her side, the bulk that was the unborn child resting on the feather tick. The back of her dress was . . . bloody! “Rachel? Oh, Rachel . . . we shoulda stayed in town!”

  Rachel opened her eyes. “Don’t worry, honey. The pains aren’t spaced out yet. Mr. Witcher said he’d get us somewhere. . . .” Her voice trailed away and she sucked her lips between her teeth. Oh, God, she prayed. Don’t let me die and leave Berry out here all alone until she finds a good man to take care of her. “Women have younguns all the time and I ain’t no different than anybody else,” she said with a sudden brightness in her voice. “Now, stop pullin’ that long face. You ’n’ me’ll have to do this together like we’ve always done.”

  Berry jumped out of the wagon, more frightened than she’d been when she faced the men bent on attacking her. Please, God, don’t let nothin’ happen to Rachel . . . she couldn’t help what my pa done to her. . . . “Fain!” she called. Then: “Fain!” Fain stood beside the ox, and Simon was mounting his horse. Berry ran past him to Fain. “We’ve got to find a place to camp! Rachel’s time’s near!”

  Simon got off the horse and went to the back of the wagon. He climbed inside and knelt beside the woman on the mattress.

  Rachel opened her eyes, looked up, and tried to smile at him. “Berry’s scared for me,” she whispered. “You go on and do what you have to do. I’ve been watching that cloud bank yonder. It looks like we could have a storm.”

  “I know. I’ve been watching it too. We’re going to try and get you to Fain’s. Do you think you can hold off for a while?” He squeezed the hand she held out to him. “Fain will lead the ox. Berry can ride in here with you. You sing out if you think they ought to stop and boil water or whatever they do at a birthin’.”

  “I can hold on. But . . . hurry . . .” she whispered, and a tear rolled out of her eye and lost itself in the blond hair at her temple.

  Simon climbed out of the wagon and mounted his horse. “Let’s get the wagon rollin’,” he said to Fain. Then, to Berry: “You get in there and stay with her.” He spoke curtly, angrily.

  Simon didn’t know why he was angry. He glared down into stormy green eyes that glared back at him. She had ignored him and run to Fain! Fain could have her! Let her work her wiles on him for a change. Damn Asa Warfield for getting himself killed! Why in the hell had he let himself get into this situation in the first place?

  With unnecessary force, Simon kicked the horse and rode off up the trail toward the river.

  Chapter Seven

  Silent heat lightning flashed the promise of a storm.

  Not a breath of air circulated beneath the canvas top of the wagon to cool Rachel’s sweat-drenched face. She had been lying in the same position, on her side, during the long
hours since they had crossed the Missouri and taken the track through the forest toward Fain’s homestead. She had cried out once when the wheel of the wagon passed over a rock. The jolt had been painful to Berry’s bottom as well. She sat beside Rachel, dread and fear knotted in her stomach. The feeling had been there since she had awakened from the sound sleep and discovered Rachel’s time was so near.

  A backlash of lightning showed momentarily against the blackness overhead. Berry had always been excited by the spectacle of lightning slicing across the sky, running wild and free. But now she felt utterly detached from the approaching storm, although the bulging clouds were lower and the wind had begun to stir.

  A blaze of lightning showed a horse and rider at the end of the wagon. Berry could see only a blurred outline of the man in the hat.

  “We’re just about to Fain’s place. There’s a family squatting down the creek a few miles. They’ve got a couple of womenfolk. One is old. She’ll know about birthin’. I’ll go and fetch her if she’s willing to come. Biedy Cornick won’t be here until sometime tomorrow.”

  “We’re obliged,” Berry said woodenly, politely. At that instant a dazzling flash lit up the area, followed by utter darkness and a tremendous clap of thunder. Berry shut her eyes; when she opened them, Simon was gone.

  When it seemed that they had been moving forever, and the soft moans of pain rose almost continuously from Rachel, the wagon stopped. Berry peered out into the darkness. Fain was talking to a much smaller man who had come out of a small log house beside and back from a larger double cabin. Fain pointed to the second wagon and the man went to the head of the mules. Israel climbed down. He and Fain came to the end of the wagon.

  “We got to get her in afore the rain starts.” Fain let down the tailgate, reached in, and pulled the feather tick toward him. He gently picked Rachel up in his arms. The almost continuous flashes lighted the sky weirdly as Berry followed Fain to the double cabin with a dogtrot in between. He nudged open a heavy slab door and went inside. The room was so dark that Berry couldn’t see her hand in front of her, so she stood beside the door. She could hear Fain’s sure, quick steps and then a small gasp from Rachel as he laid her down.