At last she drew nearer the shore, found footing, though the current kept trying to carry her away. Digging her toes into the rocky riverbed, she took one step, tried another and was snubbed up short by the rope attached to her ankle.
Upstream. I must move upstream before I can go closer to shore.
The river did not yield easily. It pulled at her, sucking her downstream even as she fought to move up. With each foot she gained, the rope grew less taut, and at last she was able to climb the bank and fall, gasping, onto the rocky shore.
Immediately Beowulf was beside her, licking her face, her shoulders. He whuffed and whined until she turned her head. His tongue swiped across her lips. "Pah! That is a bad habit you have. I must teach you not to do it."
This time the tongue narrowly missed her open mouth. "Go away," she told him. "Let me up." But she had to fight him to get upright. He danced around her, whining, catching her wrist, her fingers, even the rope on her ankle, between his teeth.
"Sit!" She might have been talking to a rock, for all the effect her command had.
Wearily she bent to untie the rope around her ankle. The dog hindered, biting at it, pulling. When she finally got it untied, she wrapped it around a stick and held the piece of wood out to him. "You want to help, so pull"
Between the two of them, they got the log, with her pack, across the river without mishap, although it took about all Flower's remaining strength. She dragged the sodden leather bag up past the cobble beach and let it lay in the grass, not even caring that its contents should be taken out to dry. All she wanted to do was rest. Sleep.
Beowulf had other ideas. He grabbed her hand with gentle teeth, tugged. Flower pushed him away.
He caught at her hand. She batted at him.
Undeterred, the dog took her wrist between this teeth, bit down hard enough this time to leave dents in her flesh. He growled. Not a warning growl, but a sound that she had never heard him make before.
At last she realized that he was trying to tell her something. She rolled to her knees, stood.
Beowulf dashed a short distance away, stopped and looked back at her. He yipped, spun around, and dashed farther.
She followed on bare feet, picking her way carefully between patches of a prickly-leaved plant.
At the top of the first rise, she stopped and looked around. The steep hillside she had seen from across the river formed a half circle, enclosing a nearly level area containing scattered tall sagebrush interspersed with a few large cedar trees. From where she stood, she could see no way out but across the river. A hidden dell.
Beowulf dashed away again, out of sight. In a moment she heard him barking, short sharp yips, excited and impatient.
Ignoring the danger to bare feet, she hurried. In the shade of an enormous cedar, nearly invisible in the deep shade, lay a man, prone. Dark and still.
"William!" She ran to him, fell to her knees.
Hesitantly she reached out to touch him, pulled her hand back. What if...?
Beowulf was not so cautious. He pushed her hand aside with his muzzle, started licking at the still face.
William moved.
Something wet slid across his cheek. Weeyum opened his eyes and saw the face from his dreams. Soft lips, half-open, a stubborn chin, and eyes as gray and misty as the rain. And beside that dear face, another. A wolf's face, almost white, with golden eyes. Before he could fight back, the wolf caught him again with its tongue, this time right across the mouth.
Almost afraid to move, lest the dream go away, he shook his head. But the fog did not clear. His thoughts still seemed like they was caught in gumbo mud. All he knew was that she meant him no harm.
"William?" A gentle touch on his cheek, different from the wolf's slaver. "William, can you speak?"
With a tongue dry and stiff as an old board, he tried to lick his lips, lips cracked and swollen. "Water?" he whispered.
"Oh, of course."
She backed away to the edge of the branches that hung over him, and Weeyum couldn't take his eyes off her. Either he was out of his head or the woman was buck nekkid. He watched her walk out of sight, golden sunlight on golden skin. If he was to die right now, he'd be a happy man.
The wolf whined next his ear, like any ol' hound would. Weeyum tried to move his hand, to push the critter away. The dam' thing tasted him again, leaving a trail of slobber along his chin.
Wolf, if you's gonna eat me up, get on with it, will you? He reckoned that the wolf wouldn't hurt him any more'n the woman would lay down beside him and take him inside her. He'd had dreams like this before, where ever'thing seemed bodacious, then when he woke up nothin' was any different than it'd been when he fell asleep.
After a while Weeyum decided he'd woke up from his dream. There wasn't no wolf anywheres about, and no nekkid woman with a pert little bottom and legs just long enough to wrap real nice about a man. He was underneath one of them peculiar trees he remembered from somewheres, and the air around him was warm. It had a odd smell to it, familiar, but yet not anything he had a memory of.
"Must not be dead yet," he muttered, and went to roll onto his back.
"Ahhhh!" Whoever'd whupped him, they'd done a good job of it. Not caring that his nose was flat against the dusty soil, he held hisself still, his whole body clenched against the pain. Gradually the fire in his back died down and he could breathe again.
A rustle off to one side. Was the wolf coming back for his supper?
I ain't good for much else. He might as well eat me.
The rustle came closer, right up beside him. He kept his face in the dirt, his eyes closed. No sense fightin'. He couldn't lick a one-legged bullfrog, the way he felt right now.
"Can you sit?" Her voice was like a song, sung a long ways off.
Turning his head, he opened his eyes a slit. She's real! Not a dream! But she was all dressed up in a fancy, beaded dress that looked like it was made of leather. So I was dreamin', at least about her being nekkid.
Slowly he moved, feeling as if every bone in his body had been broke, every muscle bruised. At last he half-sat, half leaned on one arm. The woman held a cup to his lips, a cup of icy water. He gulped, once. Twice. And she pulled it away.
"Not so fast. You'll make yourself sick." She offered it again and this time he sipped, slowly.
"Thankee," he whispered, keeping his eyes down. He didn't want her to see the tears streaming down his face. There wasn't no reason for him to be weepin', but he just couldn't help hisself. He was alive, a beautiful woman was ministerin' to him, and he'd got away again.
Maybe this time he'd stay free.
When he'd drunk every drop in the cup, the woman set it beside him. "I will get my pack. Your clothes are there."
He had no clothes, save the raggedy pants he was wearin'. Before he could tell her that, she was gone again.
He must have slept again, curled over on his side, because the next time he saw her, she was layin' clothes and blankets all over the tall bushes that grew around the tree he was under. Most of them looked damp, so maybe this was washin' day.
Where's her cabin?
He drifted in and out of sleep then, waking once when the wolf nosed him, again when she dropped an armful of wood just outside the tree canopy. A while later he heard the crackle of a fire.
I oughta be up helpin', he thought. But when he tried to move, he found he had no more strength than a starvin' calf.
Flower cast worried glances at William as she set up camp. His skin had been cool when she had touched him, but he still looked ill. His color was bad, dark putty instead of rich, warm brown. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them still swollen and bruised. The stitched flesh of his earlobe was healing, and his back was mostly scabbed over, with the exception of two or three deep cuts that oozed yellowish pus. They must have been the source of his fever.
Shaving some of the dried salmon into the simmering water, she silently thanked Hilaire for making sure that her cooking pot was in the pack. William was in no c
ondition to eat roasted meat. He needed soup, thick and hearty. She had found both yampa and cattail root on her brief foray after food. He must build up his strength, if he was to cross the Blues again.
The elderberries down near the river weren't as ripe as she would wish, but soon she would follow one of the bees she had seen at the water's edge and see if she could find honey. Even half-green elderberries would be edible if cooked with enough honey. A sweet stew would tempt him, she was certain.
William roused in the late afternoon, when the sun had dipped below the western rim of the hidden dell. She went to help him, but when he finally managed to stand, he refused further assistance. She realized why when he hobbled behind one of the tall sagebrush. At least his body is working, she thought with relief. I feared that they had damaged his kidneys.
She made a bed for William, using the coat on a mound of cedar branches, covered with the better of the two blankets. How I wish I had my father's bearskin, she thought as she smoothed the blanket.
When the soup was ready, he ate slowly, looking as if he relished every bite. She did, for this was the first real meal she had eaten in three days. When he set the cup aside, having finished two helpings of the soup, he said, " I 'members some, but not all. You's Flower, ain't you?"
She nodded.
"What's we doin' here? And where is here?"
For a moment she thought of lying to him. Of telling him that they were chance-met travelers who had been set upon by thieves. When he was well enough, she would go west, he would go east.
His big dark eyes on her made her realize that she could do no such thing. They pleaded for truth. He trusted her.
So she told him as much as she thought necessary of why they were here. But not of why she was going to England. If he never remembered that, he would be a fortunate man. "So, you insisted on going to Oregon City with me, to make sure I get aboard ship safely. Then you will go back to Cherry Vale," she concluded.
He looked at her, his eyes gleaming in the dusk. "I reckon there's a passel you ain't tellin' me, ain't there?"
"Nothing important," she said, avoiding his gaze.
After a pause, he nodded. "Did you say you had some clothes for me? I disremember havin' anything but these here britches and a torn old shirt, but I sure would like to cover up my nekkidness a little better."
Relieved that he had ceased to question her, Flower smiled. "Of course you would. But would you not rather bathe before you put on your clothing?"
"Bathe? You mean take a bath. All over?"
Now she was sure his memory was still faulty. The William she knew had bathed every day, even if he had only a cupful of water. He had told her once that her father's bathtub, fed by a hot spring, was the closest place to heaven he was apt to get.
"All over," she agreed. "In the morning. There is an eddy near the mouth of the stream that will make a perfect bathing place."
"If'n you says so," he muttered.
He did not seem happy over the prospect.
Flower curled up with Beowulf that night on a bed of cedar, with more of the aromatic branches piled atop them. The sky was clear, with a chill breeze rustling the cedars.
She told herself that she should share William's bed. He is ill and should be kept warm. He will not harm you. He would never harm you!
She stayed in her cold bed, because she could do nothing else.
"You are a good dog," she said, drowsily, as Beowulf snuggled closer to her. "How I wish I could take..."
But no. She would not take him to England with her. When she turned her back on her native land, she would leave behind everyone--everything--she loved.
She would take only memories, both sweet and bitter.
Chapter Eleven
"Run! Run, Flower. Don't let 'em cotch you!"
At the first shout, Flower woke. Beowulf sprang to his feet, ears at full alert.
"They got, her. God damn them, the bassards got her."
She listened, knowing he was caught in a nightmare, afraid she knew what he was seeing in his dream. The dog settled beside her, but remained awake, tense.
"Awww, no! No! Let her be!"
Much as she wanted to go to him, Flower could not move. She, too, was remembering the horror of that time, the pain...
They had taken turns with her, two holding her arms to the ground while a third rutted on her. The others had watched avidly, eyes hot, hands rubbing at their crotches. She had screamed. Oh, how she had screamed.
But no one came to save her.
When they were done with her, they tied her hands and feet, left her crumpled in the dirt. She wept until her eyes were dry, until her chest burned. When night came, she welcomed the cool dark, wished she could open her legs so that the air could soothe the raw, bleeding flesh between her thighs. Until one of them came to her again, and took her as a dog mounts a bitch, without even loosening the bonds on her ankles. When he was done, he let her drop and walked away, laughing. Then she knew that there would be no respite. Not ever.
They came again and again, sometimes one, sometimes more. Once two of them worked her together, the one at her head holding her jaws so she could not bite him. But she had not even tried, knowing how badly they could hurt her if she fought.
So for three days and nights, she had let them do with her as they wished, hurting her, humiliating her. Ruining her...
Craven! They left you unbound after the second day, and you just lay there, letting them have you whenever the urge struck. You did not fight, you did nothing to help Silas and William.
You deserved the pain, the shame. You deserve that you will never be a wife. A mother.
Hot tears came then. Tears that she had been unable to shed for so long.
"She went, Miz Hattie." William's low, choked cry was vibrant with pain and loneliness. "She went off and left us!"
Never before had she given thought to the memories William must have of those days when he lay captive, the bonds on wrists and ankles cruelly tight. The renegades had fed her, but they had given neither food nor water to William and Silas. The only attention they paid the two bound men was to kick them in passing, to laugh at how the Blackfeet treated their slaves.
Her hands and feet had been swollen and stiff after a day and a night of being tied. How had the men walked when Emmet had released them? The pain must have been agonizing, yet they had made their way to Hattie and led her and her babe to safety.
He is a fine man, a hero. I am not worthy of him. It is better that I go to England and leave him behind, for someday he will find a woman good enough to be his.
The gibbous moon, just above the rim of the dell, gave enough light for her to see him creep from under the tree, stagger to his feet. His movements released Flower from her paralysis, and she ran to him.
Just in time, for he fell against her, taking her to the ground as well. His sobs shook them both. "I gots to find her," he whispered. "No matter how long it takes me, I gots to find her."
Bitter regret filled her, as she accepted what she had denied for so long. William truly loved her, and his love would lead him to sacrifice his very life for her.
She murmured wordless sounds to him as she slowly eased him from atop her. "I am here, William. You have found me," she said, stroking his brow.
"Don't know where to start," he said, shaking his head from side to side. "I don't even know which way she went." He pushed her hand aside. "Gots to get movin'. Never find her, sittin' on my arse."
"You must rest, first. You will not be able to search if you do not rest." Catching his hand, she pulled, and he slowly got to his feet. She led him back to his bed, covered him when he settled into it. "Sleep now," she told him, once more stroking his brow. "Sleep now, and in the morning you will be strong and can begin your search again."
"In the mornin'," he agreed, and relaxed almost immediately.
Flower did not leave him, even after he slept, for once again his skin was hot, dry with fever. Were he to wake and steal away quie
tly, as he had done before, she might never find him again.
She lay on the edge of his blanket, not quite touching him, but close enough that she would wake at his slightest movement.
Surprisingly she slept. For a while.
His fever intensified that night. Although she tried to keep herbal poultices on the two deep, infected wounds, his frequent delirium made him fight her. At last, after two nights and days during which she more than once despaired of his life, she returned from a quick dash to the river for water and found him drenched with sweat. He no longer burned with fever and his sleep was deep and tranquil.
That night she slept beside him, as she had the past three, but only because she wanted to make certain he did not become uncovered. She no longer wondered if his next breath would be his last.
The rumbling of his belly woke him. William went to sit up, found himself held lightly by an arm across his chest. He turned his head.
"Flower?" he whispered, hardly believing what he saw. "Flower, is that you?"
The dark head at his shoulder lifted, turned to face him. "Oh! Do you remember me?" Quickly she removed her arm and scooted away from him.
"Remember you? Woman, if I was wantin' to forget you, I never could." He reared up on one elbow and looked around, recognizing nothing in sight. "Where is...are we?"
"I do not know. Near the White River. But I do not know exactly where." She leaned forward, until her fingertips barely brushed his forehead. "Cool," she said. "Your fever is gone."
"I been sick?" No wonder he felt like a wet rag somebody'd forgot to wring out. He closed his eyes, trying to recall yesterday.
"What happened?" he asked, when he found he had no memory of anything past the time somebody lowered him into a black hole. Flower had been with him, so he hadn't been a captive, but for the life of him he didn't know why they'd been put there.
"You were taken for an escaped slave," she said. "I don't know how they saw your brand-- "
Once more his belly rumbled, and he wondered how long it had been since he'd had a meal. He didn't know how he'd got loose, but he wasn't gonna worry about it 'less he had to.
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