by Norah Hess
"How come you're playing with your food this morning, honey?" He frowned at her. "I thought I heard you vomiting in the necessary before. Are you coming down with something?"
Taylor's innocent question brought on a fit of hysterical laughter. Was she coming down with something? If only that were the case, she would be so happy. Even if it were death-threatening typhoid, she'd welcome that over what the nest several months would bring.
When Pa gave her a puzzled look, she knew that there would be no better time than now to tell him of her true condition. She looked across the table at him and, with shame and grief in her voice, said, "I'm going to have a baby, Pa."
For several seconds, Pa had stared at her, thunderstruck, shaking his head in denial. She reached across the table and gripped his clenched fist lying next to his plate. "It's true, Pa," she said gently. "I'll be delivering sometime in August."
Taylor regained his speech with a roar. "Who is the bastard who did this dastardly thing to you?" he demanded. "Tell me his name."
Laura looked down at her plate; then in a voice proud and scornful, she answered, "Since I have no intention of marrying the baby's father, I see no reason to name him."
"Are you telling me that you let a man you didn't love have his way with you?" Taylor sounded scandalized.
Laura lifted pain-filled eyes to Taylor. "I thought I loved him, Pa. I thought he was everything I'd ever want in a husband." She paused before adding, "I was never so mistaken in my life."
"I still want to know his name." Taylor leaned across the table, his fork gripped in his hand. "I have a right to know."
"No." Laura shook her head stubbornly. "You'd only go after him, and tongues would wag more than they will when people discover I'm going to have an illegitimate child."
Naming her unborn baby a bastard brought tears streaming down Laura's cheeks. It wasn't the little one's fault that his mother was stupid and his father was a cold, no-good, woman-chasing wolf.
She looked at Taylor through grief-filled eyes, then dropped her gaze as she asked in desperation, "What am I going to do, Pa? I am so ashamed." Taylor looked at her bent, black curly head, her shoulders slumped in despair, and wished that he could get his hands on the man who had maybe mined the young girl's life. "Laura," he said gently, "you can feel disappointed in yourself that you loved unwisely, but don't be ashamed that you loved."
Laura made no response, and Taylor stared thoughtfully out the window before speaking again. "Although you've never mentioned it, I know that you're aware of the relationship I have with Butterfly. I want you to get dressed now and we will go talk with her. She will advise us what to do."
Laura lifted her eyes to Taylor, unable to hide her shocked disbelief How could this Indian woman she didn't know help solve her dilemma? She wasn't going to drink some concoction that would kill her baby. What she had said to Pa about not wanting to marry the little one's father didn't mean that she didn't want it.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Pa," she said. "Butterfly and I don't even know each other."
"She knows you, Laura. I've told her about you through the years. She is a very wise woman and she'll know what we should do."
Laura started to object more strongly, then realized all of a sudden that Taylor was frightened. He had come onto something he didn't know how to handle. If mother Marie were still alive, they would ponder over their daughter's problem together. And since Butterfly was the woman in his life now, she supposed it was only natural he'd want to turn to her in an emergency.
She nodded and said; "I'll be ready in half an hour."
The sun was slowly burning off the heavy mist that hung over the lake as Laura and Taylor walked toward the Indian village. They avoided the beaten path that numerous feet had trod, keeping in the deeper forest adjacent to it. Only rarely over the years had Taylor gone to see Butterfly in the daylight hours. It had to be, as now, a matter of importance to chance being seen by his neighbors.
The village of between 20 and 25 tepees lay in a sunny meadow, surrounded by tall pines and shimmering birches. A small fire burned before each one, and the women tending the cooking fires looked at Taylor and Laura as they passed by, several bony-ribbed dogs yapping at their heels. Some spoke to Taylor; others only gave him a stolid stare. But it was plain they were all curious about Laura.
Butterfly's tepee sat apart from the others, and Laura wondered if that was her choice or if she had been ordered to keep a distance from the others because of her relationship with Taylor. She thought irritably to herself that it was always the woman who paid for loving a man.
When Taylor scratched at the rawhide cover of Butterfly's home, and she lifted the flap of the narrow entrance, if she had any curiosity as to why Laura was with him she didn't show it. She smiled with friendly warmth and said, "Welcome to my home."
A small fire burned in the center of the cone-shaped room, contained in a circle of carefully arranged rocks. Blue smoke drifted up from it and disappeared through the opening in the peaked roof where the supporting poles met and crossed.
The floor was covered with thick furs, and against one curving wall was a pallet made from several layers of bearskin. On top were two layers of soft beaver pelts between which Butterfly would sleep. There was no doubt that the Indian woman slept cozy and warm in the winter.
When Taylor sat down in front of the fire Indian fashion, Laura did the same. Then Butterfly sat down on his other side, their knees touching. He laid an affectionate hand on her shoulder and Said, "I guess you know this is Laura. I've bent your ear enough about her all these years."
Butterfly smiled at Laura. "It is good that I finally get to meet your Laura."
"And I am happy to finally meet you, Butterfly." Laura returned the smile.
"Sadly, the cause of your meeting is not a happy one," Taylor said at the end of a long breath. "We have come to you with a big problem, Butterfly. I hope that you can help us solve it."
"I will gladly try, Taylor," Butterfly said quietly, "but first let me offer you and Laura a cup of herb tea. It calms the nerves and brain so that one can think clearly."
In a short while, Laura and Taylor were each handed a small gourd bowl. When Laura raised the tea to her lips she expected the tan-colored liquid to taste bitter on her tongue. She was pleasantly surprised at her first sip. The tea was strong, but it had a sweetish, minty flavor.
When she told Butterfly how much she liked it, the Indian woman smiled, finished her own tea, then turned to Taylor. "You can now speak of this trouble you have, Taylor."
Taylor took Laura's hand and gently held it as he related to Butterfly what had happened to his daughter. He explained that she refused to name the bastard, or to marry him. He ended by asking, "What shall we do, Butterfly? Laura is so young. I hate to think of her spending the rest of her life with such a dark cloud hanging over her, her good name mined."
Butterfly shook her head sadly. "It is a shame what some men will do to a maiden, whether she be red or white." She reached across Taylor and patted Laura's knee. "I will ponder on your problem a moment." She then bent her head and closed her eyes as though she slept. Laura gazed into the fire, doubting, but hoping that Butterfly would come up with a solution for her.
When the black head was raised a few minutes later and quiet words were spoken, Taylor caught his breath and Laura stared blankly at the woman, sure that she hadn't heard correctly.
What Butterfly had said in confident tones was, "There is only one answer, Taylor. So that Laura will not be shamed, you must marry her." After a stunned silence, Laura squeaked incredulously, "Marry Pa? You're out of your mind, Butterfly. I can't marry my father."
"Taylor is not your father by blood," the Indian woman pointed out. "In fact, he is not related to you at all. There would be no sin in marrying him."
"Good Lord, Butterfly, do you realize how everybody would talk?" Taylor said, adding his objections. "They'd be scandalized."
Butterfly shrugged her shoulders. "Th
ey will probably talk some at first, but only for a short time. As soon as something new happens that they can get their teeth into, they will forget your spring-and-winter marriage. In the meantime you have taken the step that will protect Laura's good name. That is more important than anything else. Is it not?"
Her mind in total confusion, Laura gazed unseeing at the dancing flames in the fire pit. Was her good name important enough for her to marry the man who had raised her, had been a father to her in nearly every sense of the word? Then again, what about her unborn child? It deserved to have a father even if that man in actual fact was his grandfather.
Taylor, who had also been thinking over his lover's advice, looked at Laura finally and said gruffly, "It would be in name only, of course."
When Butterfly answered that he would only be giving Laura and her child his name, he grinned crookedly and said, "I've always dreaded losing Laura to some young man. If I marry her myself I can put that fear to rest."
Butterfly laid a hand on his knee and cautioned, "Laura will fall in love again someday, Taylor, and you will have to set her free. It would be selfish of you to keep her tied to your side, wasting her youth."
"You are right, of course." Taylor nodded, then looked at Laura's downcast face. "You haven't said anything, honey. What are your thoughts on Butterfly's advice? It's your future, after all, and what you decide will be the way it is."
Laura heaved a weary sigh and looked up at Taylor, defeat in her dark gray eyes. "I can't think of anything else, Pa, unless I leave Big Pine. I know that is out of the question. I have no idea where I'd go or what I'd do when I got there."
"Don't ever think of leaving your home," Taylor ordered, half in anger. "We'll get married and carry on as usual. If people want to talk, let them. We'll just grow tough hides and let their words bounce right off us." He gave a tickled laugh. "Won't Fletch be surprised when he comes home and finds he has a new mother."
Laura smiled weakly. Surprised wouldn't be the word. Furious would more aptly describe what his reaction would be.
Two days later, on a Sunday, the small church was filled to capacity as Laura and Taylor stood before Reverend Stiles and spoke their marriage vows. All through the service there was a constant hum of whispering voices.
Justine Fraser, Laura's maid of honor and her best friend, stood up with her, full of curiosity, Laura knew, but she also knew the young woman would never question her. Elisha Imus, Taylor's longtime friend, stood beside him. When the ceremony was over, they accepted their friends' and neighbors' congratulations, best wishes that they knew were mouthed only because it was considered the right thing to do regardless of what they might think of the surprising marriage.
One woman didn't wish them well. She wasn't there. The widow Martha Louden. That one had had her sights on Taylor ever since her husband had been killed in a hunting accident three years ago. The plump, 54-year-old widow had been so determined to have him she hadn't even noticed that he paid no attention to her flirtatious smiles when she made unnecessary trips to the store almost every day. When she heard the news that Laura and Taylor would wed, she had been so outraged she had taken to her bed.
Before the newlyweds could escape they had to parry questions for several minutes, giving away nothing, saying only that they had been thinking of marrying for some time.
And since none of their answers had been satisfying, gossip ran rampant, each person expressing his own view on why a beautiful young girl would marry an old codger like Taylor, and him being like a father to her all these years. Some wondered out loud if Fletch had known about their intention and that was why he had gone off to Canada. And if he didn't, what attitude would he take when he returned home?
As Taylor had said would happen, life went on as usual in the Thomas household. There was one exception. Laura took over Fletch's bedroom. It would be more handy than the loft room when the baby came.
And as Butterfly had predicted, Laura and Taylor, after a while, ceased being the main topic discussed whenever two townspeople met. Even when it became apparent that Laura was expecting, it was accepted as the natural result of any marriage.
That was until on a hot August night, after a long, hard labor, Butterfly delivered Laura of a baby girl who she named Jolie. Since the baby was tiny and delicate boned, everyone believed Taylor when he said that Laura had fallen in the barn and brought on an early birth.
However, after the neighbor women had come visiting to see the new baby, and to congratulate the parents, the gossip had started all over again. For Jolie, blond-headed and fair-skinned, looked glaringly out of place in the household of dark-skinned, black-haired Thomases.
Widow Louden was quick to remind everyone that before Laura married Taylor she'd had many young men come courting. "She always seemed to favor that blond-haired, blue-eyed Adam Beltran."
Someone else then pointed out that though he was handsome enough, Adam was built on the small side and was only a couple inches taller than Laura.
And Adam, somewhat lacking in good moral fiber, liked what was being whispered about him and Laura. Consequently, although he never claimed that the baby was his, he didn't deny the rumors either. He left it up to the community to believe what they pleased.
Laura noticed that he was always careful not to come around her with his self-satisfied smirks. She would have set him straight before long. But there wasn't much she could do to combat gossip that went on behind her back.
With a sigh, Laura rolled over and settled herself to sleep. Her last conscious thought was to wonder where Fletch was tonight.
Chapter Three
The day was drawing to an end as Fletcher watched the woman light two candles that sat on a rough-hewn table, then move to the fireplace to light the one on the mantel.
From his bed in the log-walled cabin he had watched Maida do this for three weeks. He lifted his gaze to the smoke-stained raftered ceiling. Maida and her common-law husband, Daniel, had saved his life. Daniel had found him while running his traps and had brought him here. Maida had then dug the bullet out of his shoulder and stopped the flow of blood that was draining the life out of him.
He had fainted in the middle of her probing for the piece of lead, and had remained unconscious as she closed the wound with 13 stitches.
Fever had gripped him then, and it had been Maida's knowledge of herbs and roots that had gradually cooled his burning skin and finally healed him. As Maida moved about preparing their evening meal, stirring a pot of venison stew that hung from a crane over the fire, then mixed up a batch of skillet bread, his mind lingered on the events that had brought him to this place and time.
It had been with mixed emotions he had left Laura and Big Pine that cool autumn morning. Laura had looked hurt and bewildered, and well she might. He had felt lower than a snake's belly for treating her so coolly on his leave-taking. But it wouldn't have been fair to her to do what he wanted to—take her in his arms and ask her to wait for him.
When he was first approached by the fur company he had thought the trip might provide just the breather he and Laura needed. The only reason he had agreed to their request was to get out of Laura's life for a while, give her the time to discover what her real feelings for him were. She was only 16, too young to really know her own mind. He could only pray that when he returned she would still be single and would want to marry him. She could do a lot of growing up in a year. She could change her mind about many things.
And so he had set out with his four companions, certain he was doing the right thing. Strapped on their backs were their bedrolls, a gear of tin cup, fork, and spoon, and the trail supplies they had divided between them. They also earned little bags of tobacco and rock candy in case they ran into Indians, of which there were many tribes between the Upper Peninsula and Canada.
Fair weather stayed with them through the balance of September and most of October with sunny days and cool nights. As they trekked through a forest so thick there were only narrow paths made by deer and
moose that wandered aimlessly, they became aware of Indians slipping silently through the woods, keeping pace with them.
"What tribe do you think they're from?" Hank Manners, the leader of the group, asked Fletch.
"I'm not sure but I think they may be Fox or Sac," Fletch answered quietly.
"Do you think they mean us harm?"
"You never know with them. Some tribes are friendlier than others, and some hate the white man, will kill him every chance he gets."
"What do you reckon we ought to do tonight when he make camp?"
"For one thing, keep a fire burning all night and stay close to it. We could try putting out some tobacco and candy for them. Maybe they'd take it and move on. And of course a couple of us should stand guard over the camp all night."
Pretending that they weren't aware of the ghostlike figures dogging their footsteps, Fletch and the men walked on, their hands close to the butts of their pistols. When they stopped to make night camp, the men went in pairs to gather firewood and to chop pine branches to lay their bedrolls on.
All five set to work clearing a wide area of pine needles, then building a good-sized fire in the center of it. While Dole prepared a supper of salt pork, beans, and hardtack, the others sat close to the fire, surreptitiously keeping an eye on the forest crowding in on them.
Fletch took the first watch after the others had turned in. He selected two pouches each of candy and tobacco and laid them down at the edge of the forest, then secreted himself behind a large boulder a yard or so from camp. From his hiding spot his eyes moved continually, watchful and alert. The Indians might not intend to harm them, but they were known to steal anything they could get their hands on, and the men needed everything they had.
It was nearly midnight and Fletch felt chilled to the bone when an Indian, with stealthy grace, suddenly appeared. By the light of the full moon Fletch watched him walk over to the gifts he had put out, stoop over, pick them up, then fade back among the trees. He waited ten minutes, then shook Hank awake. After a whispered conversation, Hank rolled out of his blankets and took up the watch.