by Sharon Ihle
"See you at first light, Missus McCord." Then he turned her around and gave her a shove toward the White House, adding, "Don't be late."
* * *
The following morning, as Josie finished saddling the mare, Caleb strolled out to the barn to say good-bye. Gone were the nervous gestures and darting glances he'd developed since riding away from his father's home. He almost seemed at peace.
"The nuns wanted you to have this," he said, handing Josie the altar cloth she'd worn as a veil. "They thought every gal would want to have some kind of memento from her wedding. Maybe you ought to put it on now. At least then you'll look a little more like the white girl you used to be."
She whirled on him. "What's that supposed to mean?" Caleb pointed out her apparel. "Criminy, ain't you had a look at yourself lately?"
While she knew she wasn't exactly a female model of decorum in buckskin trousers, Josie hadn't thought of herself as looking particularly different. She just knew that she'd never before known such freedom of movement—a commodity for a future cattle rancher worth all the snickers and stares of polite society.
She gave Caleb a shrug. "You try riding herd or mending fences wearing a skirt and petticoats. See how much you like being trapped in yards of lace and calico."
He dragged his toe in the dirt. "It ain't just your clothes, Josie, it's them braids and geegaws you got hanging off them and your neck. You look like a damned Injun squaw. I thought you hated redskins even more than the rest of us."
She impulsively touched the stone arrowheads in her hair and the tiny medicine bag at her throat. She did hate what the Indians had done to her family—she did. And yet for some reason, Josie hadn't been able to remove the artifacts Long Belly had given to her. It was ridiculous and superstitious, she supposed, but as long as Sweetpea remained on the Cheyenne reservation, it seemed wisest to keep the charms in place.
"These are only temporary, Caleb," she assured him. "Just like the marriage."
"Yeah, well," he complained. "That's another thing. I still don't see how come you had to tie yourself to a no-account half-breed. What if he treats you mean once he gets you back to his cabin?"
Of all the things that could go wrong with the scheme that was the one thing that didn't concern Josie in the slightest. "He'll treat me just fine, Caleb. Don't you worry your head about that. Daniel McCord may be a lot of things—bull-headed and set in his ways among them—but I know he'll treat me right."
"Well... if you say so." He didn't look or sound convinced. "But just in case you get any trouble out of him, I want you to know that I'm gonna be right here at the mission."
Josie had assumed that Caleb would be heading for Miles City about the time she took off for Daniel's cabin. "How long do you figure on sticking around? The next storm could be sitting on tomorrow's horizon."
"Don't matter. I'm staying as long as you're up in them hills. I already talked to Father van der Velden, and he said I could stay on if helped out with the cooking and such to pay for my room and board."
Since Caleb really had no place else to go at the moment, hiring on at the mission suddenly didn't sound like such a bad idea. He wouldn't be earning much money toward the ranch that way, but she doubted he'd do any better in Miles City over the winter, especially given his lack of experience in working with anything except cattle. No point in arguing with him about it anyway. Caleb seemed to be as determined to carry out his plan as she was hers. Her bed was made, so to speak, and now she had to lie in it. So to speak.
* * *
As they rode back to the cabin, Daniel insisted that Josie take the lead so that he could follow along behind to make sure that the mare could handle the large job he'd assigned her. The travois she dragged bowed in the middle under the weight of the supplies Daniel had piled onto its hammock, but over halfway into the ride home, the little brown horse still seemed equal to the task with energy to spare. Following the mare instead of leading the way also gave Daniel an unequalled view of Josie's backside as she bounced along in the saddle.
His wife. Mercy.
Although the thought of getting trapped into yet another marriage didn't set right with him at first, it didn't take long for Daniel to see the advantage in simply going along with Josie's plans to hornswoggle him down the aisle. She'd freely admitted that she was using him to get what she wanted, but damned if he wasn't using her, too.
Not only was Josie an uncommonly handsome female and apparently chaste to boot, she knew her way around household chores a whole lot better than he'd been led to believe at first. Having a woman around the house who possessed such wifely skills would be a great benefit to Daniel's two young sons, a rambunctious pair who desperately needed the discipline and nurturing of a good mother. In that, light, he hadn't walked blindly into Josie's trap. Daniel had practically sprung it himself.
There could be, of course, a small problem with just up and surprising his new bride with the boys. He probably should have mentioned them to her by now, but before today, there really hadn't been a reason to bring up the subject. He hated the fact that the twins had to stay with their mother's family on the reservation, but a man alone wasn't enough of a family to raise two small boys. Having Josie at the cabin might just turn the place into a home, which meant that Long Belly actually did have a damn fine idea when he first set out for Miles City.
At any rate, now that Daniel thought about it, it seemed foolish to worry about Josie's reaction to his sons. Any woman would be thrilled to take over as the boys' mother, at least for a little while. How could she help but fall in love with a pair of adorable four-year-old twins, even if they were little hellions at times?
Convinced he'd handled the situation correctly, Daniel leaned back in the saddle, warmed as he thought ahead to the next few weeks and having his sons back home in time for the holidays. Home with a brand new mother to tend them—Josephine Baum, now McCord, the woman who'd shot their father, lied to him, and kept him up nights from the want of her.
Mercy.
* * *
Surprisingly enough, and even though they were loaded down with supplies, the return trip to the cabin took less time than the journey to the mission had the day before. The little caravan arrived back at Daniel's place well before noon.
While her new husband separated and unloaded their supplies from those that belonged to the reservation, Josie watered the horses, then assured herself that her prized buffalo was still there and doing quite well. Long Belly's horse was missing from the barn, which meant he was off somewhere, probably looking for a bull bison to mate with Sweetpea. This left Daniel to finish his task alone, while Josie headed to the cabin to look for Sissy.
"Guess who?" she called as she crossed the threshold and saw her friend bent over the stove.
From over her shoulder, Sissy replied, "I knew who a good long while ago. I seen you in the yard when you rode in."
"Then why didn't you come on out and welcome us home?"
Sissy gave a stiff shrug. "Too busy cleaning the grease off this stove, I guess. How come you ain't on your way to Miles City no more? Weather turn bad?"
"Nope. Guess again."
Sissy shrugged and continued working on the stove.
"Oh, you're no fun," complained Josie as she fell into a chair at the table. "I came back here because I went and got married—to Daniel."
The scraper Sissy had been using clattered to the floor. She spun around in surprise. "Huh?"
"I am now Missus Daniel McCord, queen of this—" she waved her arm around the room and grimaced—''palace."
"But I thought you was all worked up about getting back to Miles City."
"I was, and I am. Come sit down and I'll tell you all about it."
After Sissy poured a couple of cups of coffee and took a chair across from her at the table, Josie quickly revealed her plans for the buffalo and how it tied in with her future as a cattle rancher. Then she explained why marrying Daniel had been essential to make the plan work.
"An
d so you see?" she said, finishing. "Now I don't have to worry about Sweetpea and what those no-account Indians might to do her in my absence. As Missus Daniel McCord, I'll also stand a very good chance of getting the financial backing I need to get my ranch going."
"Makes sense, I reckon." Sissy frowned deeply. "What I don't understand is why Daniel went along with your plan. What does he get out of it?"
"Simple. I'll be the housekeeper he and this cabin have been wanting for a long, long time."
Josie glanced the room, startled to see that Sissy had already taken charge of the place as if it were her own home. The floor was swept and cleared of male debris, the dishes were cleaned and stacked along the counter, and her clothing now occupied the rack where Josie's yellow dress had been hanging.
Following her gaze, Sissy surmised, "I reckon you're gonna want me outta here pretty quick, huh?"
"Oh, no. Stay, please? I can use all the help I can get."
"I wasn't talking about housework."
Josie studied her expression, noting the raised eyebrow and knowing gleam in her dark eyes. "Believe me, you won't be in the way."
"A newlywed couple don't need no whore sitting around staring at them every minute of the day. Guess maybe it's time I headed back to Miles City."
"But I thought you were happy here with Long Belly, and that you didn't want to go back to whoring for a living."
"I don't, but things is gonna change around here now that you two went and got married." She hung her head and stared down at the scarred table top. "It's best for everyone—even me, I expect—if I go back to Lola's."
Josie moved the coffee cups aside and reached for Sissy's hands. "Nothing's going to change. We're friends, and I want you to stay as long as you like. Who knows? Maybe you and Long Belly will be the next to get married."
Sissy jerked her hands away. "We were friends at Lola's because you didn't have noone else. Now that you're a respectable married woman, you can't go around having friends like me. T'aint fitting."
"Why not?" Josie leapt to her feet. "You're the first real friend I've ever had in my life. Who's going care up here, anyway?"
Sissy glanced up at her, dark eyes slick. "Me, I expect. You get me to thinking about things I got no right to think about. Things like getting married and having stupid birthday parties."
"Stupid?" Josie paced in front of the table. "You think the birthday cake I baked for you was stupid?"
"I didn't mean that exactly. The cake was nice," Sissy amended, softening the blow a little. "And I know you meant well baking it for me, but truth is, Josie, before then I never had a birthday or wanted one. A gal can't yearn for something she never had or even feel sad for the lack of it. Now, thanks to you, I do."
Josie wasn't entirely sure she understood what Sissy was trying to say, but she could feel her sincerity and a little of her pain. "Sorry if I got you to feeling that way. I only meant to do something nice for you."
Staring down at the, table again, Sissy nodded slowly. "I reckon you did. It's just that I can't stand thinking how no one else has ever cared if I live to see another birthday and that no man will ever want me for his wife. I was better off not thinking about those things at all. Understand?"
Josie shrugged. "Not really. Birthdays aren't so blasted important, but I don't see why you and Long Belly can't get married—if he's the one you want, that is."
Sissy looked up, startled, and then burst out laughing. "Honey, don't you know that men, even savages, don't marry women like me? I was born in a whorehouse, raised in a whorehouse, and I expect I'll die in a whorehouse. You saying otherwise ain't gonna change that a smidgen."
Although she sorely wanted to, Josie couldn't argue the point. She even felt a certain kinship there, realizing that Sissy was also trapped, her cage being her own dark skin and the circumstances of her birth. Still, there had to be something she could say, anything to lighten what had to be a terrible burden. Before she could think of the right words, the door opened and in came Daniel. He was limping more than he had been at the mission, making Josie think that the trip had been a little too much for his still-healing leg.
"Morning, Sissy," he said. "Where's Long Belly gone off to?"
She wiped what might have been a tear from her cheek as she looked up and said, "He was gonna try and herd them cattle closer to the cabin. He's wanting to get them penned before the next storm hits."
"Hmm, good idea." He thought on that a minute. "No sense waiting around for him to show up. Long Belly's so good at herding cattle, he could be out there looking for strays until next winter." He paused to laugh at his own joke. "Tell him that we've gone on ahead to Lame Deer to drop off supplies. We'll be back sometime tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" This came as a surprise to Josie. "I thought the reservation wasn't but ten miles from here."
"It's not, but that's going to be about all the riding this leg of mine can take for one day. Besides"—he paused to smile and wink—"when my friends at Lame Deer find out I've got a new wife, they're going to want to congratulate us somehow, maybe even offer a little wedding feast."
Josie backed toward the table. "In that case, I think I'll just stay right here with Sissy."
Daniel reached out and caught her hand. "Relax, darling. This'll be a good experience for you. You might even have a good time."
Then, with a backward glance and a silent plea to Sissy, who was sitting at the table laughing, she let him pull her through the door and out to where the horses waited.
The ride to Lame Deer was everything Daniel had promised and more. The forest got thicker as they rode deeper into reservation land, with pines and oaks in equal abundance. Picturesque streams and ponds seemed to be everywhere, fed by recent snows. They didn't scare up any game, as Daniel had suggested they might, but squirrels were everywhere, racing madly about during the lull in the weather to gather extra supplies for the coming winter. Overhead, magpies chattered on, warning any who cared that there were strangers riding through the forest, approaching from the east. A few concerned Cheyenne were listening.
As she and Daniel crested the last rise before coming to the encampment, Josie spotted a small group of savages standing before a clearing dotted with tipis and horses. Some of the Indians were wrapped in blankets and others were draped in what looked like ceremonial robes adorned with feathers and beads. For all she knew, they were a war party.
"Daniel," Josie shouted in a whisper, twisting around in the saddle. "There's Indians up ahead. What if they don't recognize you and attack us?"
"Take it easy, Josie." He coaxed The Black up beside the mare. "This is a reservation. The Cheyenne are no longer at war. They're just curious about their visitors."
Although she trusted that Daniel knew these people as well as he knew himself, Josie remained wary as they drew closer to the knot of savages awaiting them. Then one of the Indians wrapped in a colorful blanket startled her by breaking rank and running toward them.
"Daniel Two Skins, my friend?" he shouted, still on the run. "Are you well again?"
Daniel slid down off The Black, and then braced himself for the exuberant welcome coming his way.
"Hello, Big Ribs," he said, after a brief, back-slapping embrace with the young man. "I'm pretty well healed. In good enough shape to bring you a few extra supplies to distribute among your families, anyway."
Daniel pointed out the travois behind the mare, but Big Ribs had eyes only for the horse's rider. "And the woman? Is she to be distributed evenly among our men?"
Josie shrank inside her buckskin jacket, terrified by the thought, but Daniel just laughed. "I'm afraid not. This is my new wife. Josie, meet Big Ribs. He's one of Long Belly's many cousins."
As the Indian started for her, she thought of turning the mare and running like hell, but Daniel caught the horse's halter in his hand and led her toward the crowd gathering to welcome them.
As if aware of her fears, he looked up and said, "Remember that no one here means to harm you. Trust me, all r
ight? You'll be just fine."
After that, everything happened so fast, Josie didn't have a chance to be frightened. The crowd swarmed them, everyone talking at once in a language she didn't understand, and then Daniel swept her off the back of the mare. He kept her close to his side, thank God, but was so busy answering the many questions hurled his way, he never had a moment to explain what they were talking about or where they were taking them. Like a big human tumbleweed with Josie and Daniel at the core, the group of braves just kept rolling toward the tipis where the women and children had gathered to stare at the visitors.
A pair of naked young boys suddenly broke out of the pack of children, their bare feet kicking up the snow that remained on the ground, and bounded toward Daniel. Surprising Josie, he not only welcomed them with open arms, but picked them up and crushed them to his chest,
"Oh, Daniel," she said, appalled to see how thoroughly the youngsters were exposed to the elements. "Are these children orphans?"
"Orphans?" Daniel gave her a cockeyed glance from over the shiny black head of one boy. "Why would you say that?"
"Well, look at them." She pointed out the obvious. "It's freezing out here, but they don't have any clothes or shoes. Doesn't anyone care what happens to them?"
"Hell, yes, someone cares—I do." Daniel turned to face her directly, swinging an identical pair of small round faces around with him. "The boys are naked because that's the way Cheyenne children play, even when it's cold."
One of the twin boys shot her a withering look and said something in Cheyenne.
Daniel answered the child in the same language, but Josie did manage to pick out mention of her when he said, "Josephine."
Both boys wrinkled their noses and giggled. But when their father began to speak again, this time in English, the amusement quickly left their faces and they glared at her with something akin to hatred.
"This is Two Moons and Bang, Josie," said Daniel, unaware of their hostile expressions. "They're my sons."