Ice Princess

by Judith B. Glad

  "I did not forget!"

  "Looked that way to us. We could have helped you, could have healed you, if you'd give us time. But no, you go runnin' off believin' you was dirtied somehow."

  "I was! They raped me, William! You were there. You saw! And I killed them." Her hand clawed, as if around the hilt of a knife. "In cold blood!"

  "Bullshit!"

  She opened her mouth, gaped, and shut it again. "What do you mean? Of course I killed them in cold blood. One was sleeping when I cut his throat. The other was stunned. I gave them no chance." Her hands twisted together, and she lifted them to her mouth, bit hard on her thumbs.

  William caught the clenched fists, pulled them away from her mouth and held them. "Sit down, Flower," he said, guiding her backwards toward the fallen log. "We gonna talk about this, once and for all."

  Maybe they should have made her talk it out long since. Him and Hattie, they'd figured she was hurtin' too bad to stand relivin' her ordeal, and they'd treated her like she was gettin' well after a long sickness. They hadn't asked her how she felt about what happened to her, and now he believed they should have.

  "No. We are not." But she sat.

  He sat beside her and pulled her against his side, held her there. "You said more'n once that you was soiled when them renegades got done with you. How you figure that?"

  "I was virgin. Untouched. They took what should have been my husband's."

  Much as he wanted to commiserate, he knew it wasn't what would do her the most good. He made his voice hard, like he thought she was acting foolish.

  "And you're thinkin' you're the only woman that ever happened to?"

  "Of course not. But in polite society, a woman who is not a virgin is considered ruined. No decent man would marry her."

  He was so amazed, he forgot to get mad all over again. "That's the biggest pile of hog-wash I ever did hear. What happened to you wasn't no fault of yours. Anybody who'd believe it was, you wouldn't want to marry anyhow." But I'd marry you in a minute, if you'd have me. "Seems to me," he said after he'd got himself together again, "that these fellers you call 'decent men' ain't got any idea what's important."

  "You do not understand!"

  "No'm, I don't. Maybe I never will. But what I do understand is that you're a good woman, one of the goodest I know. You got to believe that, Flower, else you're never gonna be happy with yourself again."

  "How can I? When I cannot forget killing them?"

  "They needed killin' worse than anybody I ever seen." He thought back to that dawn...

  Mist' Em had come sneakin' out of the brush, moving real slow, snakin' along the ground with his knife in his hand. He'd cut William and Silas loose first thing, warning them to lay still as they could while the blood got back into their hands and feet.

  Lawd a'mighty, but that did hurt!

  Then Mist' Em had crawled back into the brush. William had wondered why he hadn't took care of the renegades right then. Later he figured out that it was to give him and Silas time to be able to move...

  "If you hadn't took care of that one renegade, Mist' Em and you might not have got away," he said. "Wasn't there still two others left when one woke up and hollered?"

  She nodded. Her expression showed that she hadn't thought of that.

  "And up there in Cherry Vale. That Pyzen Joe, he was all set to take Hattie away with him. You too. I wasn't no good, bein' still wobbly on my feet. I thought I'd fall on my face when I reached out to take rock outta' Hattie's hand. If he'd come awake right then, we'd all been dead."

  He remembered feeling like he was reachin' through molasses, he was so slow. And weak as a starvin' pup, to boot. "You ever thought about what would have happened to all of us if you hadn't killed him?"

  Her eyes grew enormous as she stared at him. "He would have killed you," she whispered. "And if Ellen had cried out, he would have killed her, too."

  "Even if he hadn't found her, how long do you reckon a babe that little would have lasted without her ma's milk?"

  She bit into her bottom lip so hard he expected to see blood. Her face was white and strained, old-looking. After a bit, she buried her face in her hands, and he heard her take a deep breath. Then another.

  William waited.

  Finally she raised her head. On her lips was a little, bitty smile, one that trembled like it was doin' its best to hang on. "Thank you," she whispered. "Oh, William, thank you for giving me back my honor." She leaned forward and kissed him.

  It was a sister's kiss. A friend's kiss.

  * * * *

  After that, she kept herself apart from him, for William's eyes no longer gleamed with desire. He seemed to have retreated somewhere within himself, to a place where she was not welcome.

  Each day he disappeared into the woods after their morning meal --eaten in silence, for the most part.

  "Goin' huntin'," he'd say, but when he returned late each afternoon, he brought no game.

  He is sulking, Flower told herself with self-righteous indignation. Yet in the still, dark night, when sleep eluded her like the prey of a clumsy hunter, the truth forced itself way into her thoughts.

  She had hurt him with her disregard for his feelings, his need. She had ignored all the many ways he had shown her respect and regard. In her carelessness, in her self-absorption, she well might have damaged a precious friendship beyond redemption.

  When daylight came, she found she had no words to speak of what was in her heart. So she said nothing.

  Three days later they went back into Oregon City again. There was no word of a ship bound for England. Doctor McLoughlin once again hinted that Flower should reconsider her plans.

  She did not argue, but she did not agree either.

  Perhaps she should do as he suggested and move into his house. There would be a place for William, too. As her servant, he would be made welcome.

  She could not. She was slowly accepting what William had forced her to admit--that choosing to live was far better than fighting to inevitable death, that she had killed two men in self defense, not murdered them in cold blood. It did not matter. She still found her heart pounding and her mouth going dry whenever a strange man looked at her with sexual interest in his eye.

  So William hunted and she fashioned new clothing for him from soft, golden doeskin she had purchased from Doctor McLoughlin. She planned to decorate it with porcupine quills--Beowulf had cornered one but, fortunately, had not tried to catch it--and with richly blue glass beads.

  I had forgotten how pleasant living close to a trading post can be. Whatever I want is available. There is not even a need for William to hunt, except that it pleasures him.

  She insisted on waiting four days before their next trip into town. Enough time for her to finish the shirt. She had pretended it was a dress for herself, never letting him see how wide-shouldered it was, or how long. When they said goodbye, she would give it to him.

  How I will miss him! He is such a good friend. It is too bad...

  "I have a surprise for you," Doctor McLoughlin said after greeting her. "I received word yesterday that a British ship will call at the Fort within the month. They are bound for England, by way of the Sandwich Islands."

  "At last!" But the elation she should have felt was curiously missing.

  "The ship that brought word--an American trader I have dealt with for some time--picked up mail for me." He smiled. "And for you." His hand held a slim, oiled-silk packet.

  "For me?" Flower took it, saw familiar handwriting. "It is from Everett."

  "I thought as much. I have work to do, so I must leave you. But when you have read your letter, and when you have made a firm decision..."

  He held up his hand, chuckling, as her sputter.

  "Read your letter, my dear, and think long and hard about what you plan. I still think you are making a mistake." He bowed, and before she could say a word, left her alone.

  Flower turned the packet over in her hands, almost afraid to open it. In his last letter, written so
long ago, Everett had told of his growing family, of his plans to diversify his investments, his hopes for the future. And of the new, young queen who had changed the tone of society in England.

  "I will wait," she said to herself, "and read it tonight." She wanted to savor the anticipation a little longer. After all, she might have to wait a month more.

  She said nothing to William as they walked back to their camp. Instead she told him the news. "And they are talking now of establishing a post office at Portland," she concluded. "Doctor McLoughlin says that some think it will someday be larger than Oregon City."

  "This ain't no big city," William said. "Why, when we took that cotton down to Mobile, we coulda' walked near half a day and never got outside of town."

  "You did not tell me this. Where is Mobile?" All her life she had wanted to see a place with tall buildings, restaurants, hotels, dress shops, bookstores. "When were you there?"

  "I disremember when. I wasn't full growed yet, though. And I don't know much about it. We went there in a big wagon, along with the cotton the marse was shippin' and when it was all loaded, we went back to the plantation." He frowned. "It's by some ocean or other."

  Nothing he had ever told her came so close to showing her how impoverished his childhood had been. Oh, William, how you have suffered. And I will hurt you more. I must.

  After supper was done, she bought out the letter.

  "What's that you got," William asked, looking at it curiously.

  "A letter. From Everett."

  "Your Earl." His tone came close to a sneer.

  "He is not my Earl," she told him. "But he is my godfather, and I love him dearly." She slit the sealed packet, carefully pulled the letter out. There were several pages, written on heavy, smooth paper.

  Holding it in a slanting beam of sunlight, she looked at the date first. November, 1846. It arrived much more quickly than they usually do.

  My dearest Flower,

  As always I hope that all is well with you and your father. I have not heard from you for some time, and his last letter-- his usual brief epistle--arrived more than a year ago.

  We are all well. Florence presented me with another son just last month...

  Is that two boys, or three? And two daughters, I think. Florence must feel as if she is pregnant all the time.

  She skimmed the next few paragraphs, an account of his children's adventures, the neighborhood gossip, his wife's social life. Everett knew how she enjoyed hearing about everyday things, about how the English lived.

  Then she stopped. Went back. Read slowly and carefully, her hands trembling so that she could hardly see the words.

  I had intended to send this off sooner, but it is well that I did not. This may be the last letter you receive from me, dearest child, for I do not know if I have the will to go on living. Yet I must, for the children need me yet. Perhaps someday...

  My son is dead. Earnest, my eldest son, that bright, happy child, is dead. And Florence, my beloved wife, lingers in twilight, perhaps never to emerge again. They were in London, having gone up so that Earnest could have a tooth drawn. I insisted, for I do not trust the dentist in our village. Would that I had!

  I told you many times, have always believed, that England is the bastion of civilization. Now I know that barbarians thrive even here.

  It is ironic that I was never injured, save for a splinter or two and an occasional scrape, during my nine years in the wilderness. Yet my wife and son were attacked in the most enlightened city in the world by savages more bestial, more merciless than any I met in North America...

  Flower read those few paragraphs over and over, was still reading them when the light grew so dim she could scarcely see the paper.

  "...savages more bestial, more merciless..." She let the pages drop to the ground.

  If England is not safe, perhaps there is nowhere in the world that is.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When he got back from checking his snares, William saw Flower sitting on the log, all hunched over like she was hurtin'. On the ground in front of her was a piece of paper with writing all over it.

  He took a second look and saw how her hands were clenched together in her lap, holding tight to each other until the knuckles were white. Quickly he crossed the clearing, tossing the two birds he'd caught down by the fire pit.

  "What's wrong? What happened?"

  She only lowered her head even more.

  William knelt in front of her, caught her upper arms in both hands. Gently he forced her to sit up straight. That was when he got a look at her eyes, her face. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her mouth was turned down, and her chin was quivering.

  "Flower...?"

  She said nothing, just shook her head, side to side.

  Carefully he pulled her into his arms, waited for her to push him away.

  But she clung to him, like a babe clinging to its mammy, and her body was stiff as a locust post.

  He soothed her, rubbing his hand along her backbone, massaging between her shoulders. Gradually she relaxed against him. "Tell me."

  "Everett...new baby...so happy...then...his son.. his wife...oh, God, William, is there nowhere safe?" Her head fell against his shoulder and she sobbed like her heart was fit to break. He didn't know what else to do, so he just kept on rubbing her back, holding her close.

  When she calmed a bit, he reached down and picked up the letter. But it was writ in a spiky, bold hand and he couldn't make out many of the letters that was all strung together.

  She wept in his arms for a long time, until he wondered if she wasn't going to be sick. Finally she drew a deep, shuddering breath. When she pushed against his chest, he let her go, long enough for her to sit back down on the log. Then he sat beside her and put his arm around her, pulled her up tight against him.

  "You better tell me what was in that letter," he said, "no matter how much it hurts to say it. Anything makes you hurt that bad needs to be shared."

  Another hiccup, another breath. "It is from Everett..."

  "Your Earl." He handed her the paper, which she laid on her knees, and smoothed, running her hands over it again and again like she wanted to wipe the writing from it.

  "His wife and son were...are...oh, William." She raised the paper and read from it, slow, with lots of waits for her voice to steady.

  William felt himself go cold as he listened. He didn't know her Earl, but he still had feelings for any man whose son was taken from him. And it didn't sound like his wife was gonna get better, either.

  But it was Flower he was most worried about. He'd never thought she'd be all that much safer in England than anywhere else, but she had believed, and that was what mattered. Now she'd lost that hope.

  He'd seen a woman once who'd had three of her babies die, one after another, then her man sold away from her. She'd just give up. Took to her bed, and in a while she wasted away.

  As she lowered the paper, Flower pulled herself away from his arms. "Now I have nowhere to go," she whispered.

  "Yes, you do," he said, doing his best not to hold her tighter. "You can come home with me."

  She pulled back and stared at him a long time. "Why not?" she said, at last. "One place seems as good as another." There wasn't any life in her voice. It sounded like she didn't care no more.

  Lest he show her how worried that made him feel, William stood up. "Well, fine. That's good! We can start tomorrow."

  There was another one of those long silences. "No, William, I must go back and tell Doctor McLoughlin." Her words came slowly, like she was half asleep. "He is still trying to make travel arrangements for me. And the money from my father...I must decide what to do with it, as well."

  "We'll do that first thing tomorrow, then." Pulling the paper from her hands, he folded it and stuck it in his possibles bag. "Now, let's get some supper. I got us a couple of nice quail to roast. And some blackberries, too." Even to himself he sounded over-hearty and false.

  Flower wouldn't talk to him that night. She j
ust sat on the log and stared into the fire. A while after full dark, she said, "I am going to bed." Moving slowly, she disappeared into the woods.

  He waited, worrying, but she came back in a little while. Without a word she crawled into her bed and turned her back on him and the fire. William wanted to go to her, to hold her and tell her he'd keep her safe all her life. Instead he snapped his fingers at Beowulf. "Go to her," he whispered into the dog's ear. "She needs warmin'."

  As if he understood, Beowulf went to Flower and lay down beside her. A little bit later William saw her arm go around the dog.

  The next morning Flower felt less numb, less stunned. But she still had no idea what she was going to do. She had counted so much on Everett, on the refuge he represented. Deep inside she wanted to weep and wail, to cry out at the unfairness of life. But her father's voice spoke in her head. "Nobody ever told you life was fair, leetle gal. What you got to do is make yourself so strong you can handle anything it tosses your way."

  I tried, papa. But what life has tossed me is almost more than I can bear.

  Had she agreed to go home with William? She remembered something about it, but last night she had been so numb, so dazed, that nothing seemed real after she had read Everett's letter.

  "You 'bout ready to go?"

  Flower turned. William wore a pack and beside him sat the gunnysack they had obtained at the mercantile. He leaned on his spear, Beowulf tugged at his leash. "Where are we going?"

  "You said you had to go talk to Doctor McLoughlin. Let's get movin'. We got lots to do if we're gonna get out of here tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow? Where--" She had agreed, then. "William, I am sorry. I should not have said...should not have promised..."

  "If you're tryin' to go back on your word, I never figured you meant it nohow. But we can't stay here. I seen bear tracks along the trail to the creek. Pretty soon he'll be up here lookin' for food."

  Stung at his assumption that her word was not good, Flower said nothing. Instead she gathered her clothing, tossed it onto her blanket every which way, and rolled everything together. She tied it with a thong, sat back on her heels, and said. "There. I am ready to travel."