Ice Princess

by Judith B. Glad

  "You are hungry. I will prepare food and when you have eaten, I will tell you everything."

  Before he could argue, she was gone, out of his sight. William rolled over, crawled to the edge of the branches that hung low enough that they brushed his back. Once in the open, he found that gettin' to his feet was just about the hardest thing he'd ever done. His legs felt like they'd forgot how to walk and his eyes kept wantin' to roll back in his head. With short, careful steps, he followed Flower, to where she was starting a fire in a ring of round stones.

  The pup leaned against his leg, as if he was sayin' he was happy they was up and about. William scratched his ears lightly, but didn't want to bend down to do more. If he did, likely he'd fall over. He was that weak.

  There was a big, ol' stump laying beside the fire ring. It looked like it had been in the water a spell, but he didn't care. He eased himself down onto it, watched Flower as she blew on a tiny spark until a tendril of smoke rose from the tinder. William caught a whiff of sweetish smoke, the scent of burning sagebrush. He sat, waiting while she set a battered cook pot on three stones, around the reborn fire.

  "I shall return," she told him, standing. She picked up a canvas bag and disappeared down the gentle slope. Soon her figure was lost among the big sagebrush, the tallest William had ever seen.

  Whatever was in the cook pot was steaming, smellin' mighty tasty, when she returned. Her hair was wet and her face shiny, so he surmised she'd washed herself. The canvas bag was fat and dripping, and he realized she was using it as a bucket. Why'd I never think of doin' that?

  "It will be ready soon," she told him after stirring the pot and tasting.

  "I'm ready now," he said, mouth watering.

  William's belly was makin' enough noise to wake the dead when she finally dipped him a full cup of soup from the battered pot on the fire. It smelled of fish, rich and delicious. When she handed him the cup, he grabbed it eagerly, gulped the first, too-hot mouthful.

  "Careful! You have not eaten for many days. Do not eat quickly or too much."

  He took another mouthful, found that there were small, not-quite-soft pieces of some kind of vegetable. He chewed, swallowed, thinking he'd never in his born days tasted anything quite so good. Before he knew it, the cup was empty. He held it out for more.

  "I do not think you should eat more now. If this sits well on your stomach, you can have another cupful after your bath."

  "Bath?" He sniffed. Lawd a-mighty, but he did stink. It was a wonder she'd come anywheres near him. "I can have a bath?"

  She almost smiled. "It will be a cold one, I am afraid. You must bathe in the river. But I have soap, and clean clothing for you."

  William fingered the ragged, filthy pants that were his only garment. "My 'skins?" he asked, hopefully.

  This time she did smile. "Yes, I have your buckskins. But not your belt knife. You must have taken it with you."

  That knife had been his most treasured possession. Buffalo Jones had given it to him, and the gift had told him that he was truly a free man. For a moment William felt as if he'd lost a friend. You's alive, ain't you? Knives is easy come by, long as you ain't dead.

  Feeling stronger now, he rose to his feet. This time when he looked around, he saw what a perfect hiding place they had. It was an almost circular bowl, surrounded by steep, sagebrush covered hillsides. It sloped gradually and a tiny stream flowed in the direction Flower had gone to fetch the water.

  Flower set a large, flat rock across the top of the cook pot and stood up. "The river is that way. There is a place where you can bathe out of the current, but you must be careful. You are still weak." She dug in her pack, pulled out his buckskins, and motioned him to go ahead of her. "I will bring these, and the soap."

  Grateful that there were those big sagebrush bushes to grab hold of when he was feelin' shaky, William made his slow way down the slope. There was a faint trail to follow. How many days we been here, anyhow?

  He saw the bathing place, an eddy where the water swirled slowly over a sandy bottom, as soon as he stepped past the last shrub. With care he eased himself down the steep bank and looked back for Flower.

  She was just setting his buckskins on a big rock.

  "Here is the soap."

  She tossed it to him, and he nearly lost his balance trying to catch it. "I guess I'se...I'm still a mite wobbly," he said, ashamed of his awkwardness.

  "You were very sick," she told him, frowning. "Perhaps I should stay while you bathe."

  "I ain't that weak, woman. You get yourself back up that hill and I'll wash all by my ownself." The very thought of her watching him as he shucked his britches and washed himself all over made his feel like there was a fire burnin' in his innards. He turned away so she wouldn't see the rising of his shaft.

  Wouldn't it be something, to sit in a big tub of hot water with her, both of us nekkid as the day we was born?

  William closed his eyes a moment, but the vision was slow to fade.

  "William? Are you all right?"

  "Just fine. I'm waitin' for you to go on back and let me wash," he told her, keeping his back to her.

  After a short silence, he heard her footsteps. And after a longer wait, he turned to make sure she was gone.

  * * * *

  "Only two of your wounds were deep, and those were what brought on the fever," Flower said. She had told William everything she could remember of events since he had left her to go into The Dalles. He remembered nothing.

  Perhaps it was just as well, for what he'd suffered at the hands of his captors there was better forgotten.

  "They're still pretty sore," he admitted. "But I'm feelin' better all the time. We be able to go on whenever you've a mind to."

  "We will stay until your back is entirely healed," she said. A curious feeling chilled her belly. Regret? Loss? Just the thought of resuming their journey troubled her. They were little more than a week's travel from Oregon City. Their journey was nearly over. And at the end of it, she would say goodbye to him.

  Even if they stayed here for a full month, he would still have time to get back across the mountains to Cherry Vale.

  "What about them fellers that cotched me? We gonna have any more trouble with 'em?"

  Hesitating, Flower chewed her lower lip. "I do not know," she admitted at last. "The one called Muller is known as a brutal, vengeful man. Has Itswoot's people suspected him of killing a woman. No one can prove it, and the whi--the Americans do not care to investigate." She heard the bitterness in her own voice. "She was just an Indian, after all."

  "Ahuh! And that makes killin' her all right? Seems to me you Injuns are 'bout the same as us Nigras to a lot of folks."

  "I...I had not thought of that before," she said, staring at him in surprise. "But perhaps you are right. Partly, at least." She knew little of how the Negroes were treated in the East, but it made sense that a race that was enslaved and sold like livestock would demand little respect from their owners. Perhaps not from anyone.

  "So we'd better keep watchin' our back trail while we goes over the mountain, is that what you're sayin'?"

  Flower nodded. "I believe we will be safe, especially if we remain here until after the full moon." At his look of inquiry, she added, "Perhaps another five nights."

  "I ain't in no hurry," he said. "This looks to me like a place we could stay a spell, long as we can hunt. And there's fish in that river. I see...saw some. Big 'uns!"

  "There is deer sign along the creek. We will not starve."

  He scratched his head. "You got any notion what come of my spear? I disremember whether I took it into town with me or left it with my 'skins."

  "I do not know. I have not seen it. Can you make another?"

  "Sure can. All I needs is a good, strong stick, best if it be straight and still green, 'bout as long as I be high."

  Casting her thoughts back to what she had seen, Flower realized there was nothing in this dell that was suitable. Although there were some shrubs along the river, most w
ere small, less than waist high, a sure indication that spring floods were common here, scouring the banks clean of vegetation yearly. Farther upstream, above the Tygh village, there had been trees marking the river's course. "We will look for one as soon as we leave here," she told him. "I do not think we should go out until we are prepared to travel. Just in case..."

  "Just in case," he agreed, nodding. He scratched at his chin, which still sported the wooly beard he'd grown in the past weeks. "I'd just as soon rest a while before I tackle any more mountains."

  "Yes, of course. You must regain your strength." She looked at his broad chest, covered now in well-seasoned buckskin. The shirt, which had clung lovingly to his body before, now hung loosely from bony shoulders. "And eat well." Once again she reminded herself to see if she could find honey.

  The dried fruit in her pack would not last many meals, nor would the meat. She had already used half the fish. "I will go set snares. We must have fresh meat."

  "I'll come with you," he said, half-rising before she waved him back.

  "No, you will not. You will eat the rest of the stew. Your belly accepted what you gave it, and it is time to give it more."

  It was a sign of his great weakness that he did not argue, but only accepted the cook pot she handed him. The stew was cold, but she knew how hunger could make anything taste delicious.

  * * * *

  Beowulf--he'd remembered what she called the dog--stuck close to William that day, as if watching over him. But come evening, he was off, and a little after sundown, they heard a chorus of yips and howls from the south, with one deeper voice answering from closer in. "He wishes to hunt with his cousins," Flower commented.

  "Too bad we can't talk him into bringin' back meat." Supper had been another stew, this one with dried venison, and more of the roots Flower dug. They tasted a lot like taters to William, but she called them yampah.

  "I set a snare where I have seen deer sign. Perhaps it will trap an unwary one." She turned set the now scoured cook pot aside. "While you were bathing, I cut fresh cedar branches for your bed. It will not be so hard tonight."

  She had been in his bed when he woke this morning. "Where's yours?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "What for? I just asked you where you was sleepin'."

  "Oh!" She sounded flustered. "I have a place, over there."

  Her wave could have pointed to the big white mountain, far as he was concerned. "Over where?"

  "It is not your concern. I have a place to sleep and so do you. And as you are still not back to your full strength, it would be well if you were to go there now. Sleep is good medicine."

  William got to his feet and stepped around the fire ring. "I ain't goin' nowheres, 'til you tell me where's your bed."

  She seemed to huddle into herself, kneeling there on the ground at his feet. William hunkered down beside her. "Flower?"

  Her shoulders twitched, but she did not raise her head.

  "Flower, look here."

  A small shake of her head. It made him notice that her hair had grown longer since he'd first seen her at her father's cabin. Now it moved softly around her head, instead of sticking out like bristles on a brush. His fingers ached to touch it, to feel its silkiness. Once, when they'd been fleeing the renegades, he'd touched her long hair and marveled at the almost liquid feel of it. "Flower," he said again, "look at me."

  Slowly she raised her chin. Even in the dim light, he could see the pain in her face. "What's the matter? Are you hurtin'?"

  She shook her head. Her eyes were enormous, her mouth soft and trembling.

  "Talk to me, woman! If you doesn't, how can I help you?"

  "You cannot! Do you not see, William? You cannot help me. You should hate me for the way I have treated you. For the danger I put you in." She buried her face in her hands, bent over until she was all but folded double. He had to listen close to hear her muffled, "You have been so good to me, and I do not deserve you."

  Not knowing the right words, William hovered, afraid to speak, afraid to touch her. He watched, hurting, while her shoulders shook and soft sounds of weeping clawed at his ears.

  At last he could bear it no more. He laid a hand on her back, lightly, in case she took fright.

  Instead she seemed almost to curve up under his touch, like a cat stropping against his hand. Encouraged, William took her shoulders in both hands, raised her to her knees and held her there in a loose embrace.

  Her sobs died away and she leaned against him, not clinging, but not pushing him away either. Moving carefully, like with a fearful critter, he touched her head, felt the wondrous sleekness of her hair, like one of them white pelts Mist' Em had showed him, the ones he called ermine.

  "Where is you sleepin', Flower?" he asked once again, keeping his voice low, little more than a whisper against her ear.

  "With Beowulf," her answer came, even lower, "over there, under the big sagebrush."

  He'd seen the hollow pressed in the grass where the dog slept. It was partly overhung by spreading branches, but it wasn't any kind of bed for a woman like Flower. "No, you ain't," he told her, his arms tightening around her. "Not no more."

  For one dangerous moment, she clung to him. To stay here, in his arms, would be so comforting, so...safe?

  His embrace was loose, gentle. She felt none of the nauseous fright she had experienced when other men even came close to her. Kneeling here, surrounded by his strong arms, breathing his clean, masculine odor, feeling his breath warm on her ear, she knew that nothing, no one could harm her.

  Flower laid her hands against his chest, and the steady beat of his heart vibrated against them. And for just a little longer, she let herself believe that there might be a future for them.

  And in the next instant she knew that she was once again lying to herself. She would never be safe in this raw land, where civilization was the thinnest of veneers over man's innate bestiality. The few good men--she refused to count them--were forever outnumbered by those, like Muller, who saw other men only as prey. Who believed any woman was theirs for the taking.

  She pushed against his hold. His arms dropped instantly, leaving her with nothing to resist. Flower sat back on her heels, looked up at his dark face, seeing only darker shadows and the gleam of his eyes. "Go to bed, William. You need to rest."

  His head moved side to side. "Not 'less you come with me."

  Fear flared in her belly, drying her mouth, speeding her heart until it pounded in her ears. "No!" She pushed against his chest again, this time with all her strength. "No! You cannot make me--"

  Quickly he moved back, hands raised to his sides. "I ain't tryin' to make you do nothin'. But I ain't lettin' you sleep on the ground with no dog, neither."

  "You have no right to tell me--"

  "God damn it, woman! I got the rights of any man worth his salt. It's my place to care for you, see that you comes to no harm. And I aims to do just that. Now is you comin' to bed, or are we sleepin' out there, with the dog?"

  His anger should have frightened her, but it did not, somehow. Flower refused to examine just how she did feel. "You're being unreasonable!"

  "No I ain't. If I was bein' unreasonable, I'd have you slung over my shoulder quick as a wink, and right after that, you'd be layin' up there under that tree, all wrapped up in a blanket."

  "You would not dare."

  "No'm, I wouldn't, but only because you still got so much fright in you that you'd likely go crazy, was I to grab you and shake some sense into you, like I wants to do."

  His deep voice was mild, with an undertone of misery. Flower realized she had wounded him with her lack of trust. "You will not make me share your bed?"

  "There's two blankets up there, and it ain't cold tonight. I reckon I can use one and you the other. Up under that tree, or down there, under your sagebrush, it don't matter to me. But you're gonna be right there beside me, woman, where I can know you're safe."

  How can I make him understand? I will never be safe again. "Very we
ll. I will not argue with you."

  All night William could feel the heat of her body, even though she slept more than an arm's length away. Sometime before dawn, Beowulf crept between them, but William still was aware of every move Flower made, of her soft breathing, the almost silent slide of her skin against the prickly wool blanket.

  Come morning, he felt like he hadn't shut his eyes all night long. But his body felt stronger, less stiff. The pain in his back had died down to a dull ache, even though the healing stripes still pulled when he twisted and bent.

  Flower was up before him, and when he crawled out from under the tree, the first thing he smelled was coffee. "Where'd that come from?" he wondered out loud, when she handed him a cup filled with the dark brew. They had been almost out of beans when they'd arrived at The Dalles.

  "Hilaire made sure we had some," she said, sounding tired.

  Maybe she didn't sleep no better than I did. I's pushin' her mighty hard.

  William had thought much about how to convince her to stay with him instead of going off to England like she wanted. He didn't really believe he could, but he was surely gonna try his best.

  He reckoned that her biggest trouble was the way she felt about bein' safe. He doubted she'd be any better off somewheres else than she was here, no matter what she believed. But he wasn't gonna convince her of that.

  Nope, what he had to do was show her that there was some things worth takin' a risk on.

  Like love.

  * * * *

  Flower hunted that day. She would have invented something to do, if they hadn't needed meat. Anything to take her from the camp, where William watched her every move, his dark eyes always focused on her.

  He had not argued when she told him she was leaving him alone. Saying only, "Mind you be back before sundown." At least he believed her capable of providing their food.

  Luck was with her. Her snare had trapped a young buck, a yearling, from the look of his antlers. She dispatched him quickly, mercifully, whispering the prayer of thanks her mother had taught her. His meat would feed them for many days.

  Once she had gutted, skinned and quartered the carcass, she caught Beowulf's muzzle in her hand. "Stay," she told him, looking deep into his yellow wolf-eyes. "Guard!" His share had been the offal, but she knew that fresh, warm meat would tempt even the best mannered dog. As long as he kept other scavengers off, he could have whatever he wanted to chew on.