White Wolf

by Susan Edwards

  Anne glanced heavenward when her son continued to call for Jessie to come see him. “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt—but only for a minute. Just don’t get too close with your cold. Maybe if he sees with his own eyes that you’re truly all right, he’ll settle down. He’s been hankering to talk to you all morning.”

  Jessie grinned and went to the front of the wagon. Hopping onto the wooden tongue, she peered inside. Rickard struggled to a sitting position. Levered above his bed, his leg rested on a pile of pillows and bedding. A white bandage covered his left shin. “I’m here. What do you mean by getting in the way of a bullet, you ninny? Don’t you know better? You’re supposed to dodge them. Who hit you?”

  Rickard smiled sheepishly and fingered the edge of his bandage. “Um, I guess I did it to myself. The gun just went off all by itself, and, boy, was Pa mad. I’m not supposed to touch his guns ’cause I’m not real good with them.”

  Jessie rolled her eyes. She was fond of Rickard. He was several years younger than she and was eager to learn the things she knew, like hunting and using a whip. Looked like she’d be adding gun-handling to his education. “Tell you what, when you’re up and about, I’ll teach you the proper way to use a gun—if it’s all right with your parents.”

  His eyes grew wide. “Really? Damn, you sure know how to do lots of exciting things.”

  “Rickard, you mind your mouth in the presence of a young lady.”

  “Yes, Ma. Sorry, Jessie.” Rickard’s apologetic demeanor fled when Anne left them alone. With his eyes shining with anticipation, he leaned forward and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I wish I were you, Jessie. I ain’t gonna be no farmer. I’m gonna learn to use my whip as good as you and shoot too. You were great last night,” he said. “Is there anything ya can’t do?”

  Jessie sighed. In Rickard’s eyes, she was just one of the boys. Surprisingly, it didn’t bother her. In fact, she kinda liked having someone look up to her. She stuck her head inside the wagon so Anne wouldn’t hear her. Grinning, she confided in a conspiratorial whisper, “Yeah. I can’t sew worth a damn.” They burst into giggles.

  “You fool!” An angry voice behind her interrupted them. “Risking your life isn’t enough? Now you’re trying to catch your death running around sick.”

  Startled by Wolf’s voice, Jessie jerked around and fell from her perch. Strong arms reached out and caught her. She jerked out of Wolf’s arms and scowled up at him. “I’m fine,” she lied, her voice ending on a croak. Truthfully, she was beginning to feel downright awful, but she wouldn’t admit it to him.

  Wolf glared at her. “Rook says you’re ill.”

  “And it’s all your fault for keeping me out in the rain last night,” Jessie shot back, her chin jutting out.

  She tried to push past him, but he blocked her exit. Hands on her hips, she sent him a look of contempt. “It should relieve your mind to learn that I don’t take sick often, so don’t worry that someone else will have to do my share of the work.”

  Wolf stepped forward, forcing Jessie back. His blue gaze sparked with fury. “I don’t give a damn about your chores. The trail is unforgiving to those in poor health, so you’re going to return to your wagon and stay there for the rest of the day—tomorrow too, if you’re not better.” Scooping her up into his arms, he headed for her wagon.

  Though there was nothing Jessie wanted more, she struggled. “Put me down,” she said angrily, embarrassed to have everyone watching them. Even though her secret was out, she didn’t like the attention they were drawing.

  Wolf ignored her. “You still take your orders from me,” he reminded her. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t forget the contract James signed.”

  “You’re nothing but a big bully, Wolf,” Jessie said in a croak, laying her head on his shoulder, too worn out to argue with him. Her head had started to pound painfully, exhaustion blurred her vision and she was cold.

  The anger vanished from his eyes, replaced by an amused glint. He grinned. “You wound me, Jessica. You didn’t think I was so bad last night when you kissed me.” His eyes darkened as he stared at her lips.

  Jessie’s flush deepened. “Go kiss Rosalyn. She’s more than willing. The two of you deserve each other,” she shot back.

  “Tsk, tsk, Jessica. Temper, temper.”

  Jessie’s mood darkened when he called her by her given name again. Jessica was a prissy name, a name for someone who wore frilly clothes, fancy hats and slippers. She wasn’t that type of person and never would be. The thought hurt. Her temper flared. “My name is Jessie!” She was proud of the haughty disdain in her voice, but the effect was lost when she went into a sneezing fit. She groaned in pain. Her throat was on fire.

  Wolf tightened his hold. “Serves you right. Now maybe you’ll shut up and do as you’re told.” When they reached her wagon, Wolf dropped her to her feet and removed the back gate to the wagon.

  Jessie glanced inside. It was empty, except for some fresh dry bedding that Rook had scavenged from somewhere. Suddenly Jessie wanted nothing more than to crawl between the covers. As if he knew how tired and weak she felt, Wolf put his hands around her waist. He lifted her and sat her on the edge of the wagon bed, then removed her boots. She blinked in surprise. “What are you doing?”

  Boots in hand, Wolf stared at her with undisguised amusement. “Making sure you stay put for the rest of the day. Now get under those blankets and sleep.”

  Speechless, she stared at Wolf, torn between anger at his gall and pleasure that he cared. She narrowed her eyes. Anger was the safer emotion. Just because he now knew she was a woman didn’t mean he could up and run roughshod over her. Tipping her chin, she flashed him a look of utter defiance. “You just love to play the big, bad bully, don’t you? Well, take my boots, but you can’t make me sleep if I don’t want to.” Though it was childish, she crossed her arms in front of her.

  When she just sat there staring at him, he lifted his hand to her face and ran the back of his fingers down her flushed cheek, his calm gaze holding her glazed one. “Stubborn to the end, eh, Jessica? Listen well, then. When I take on a responsibility, I do my job, no matter what it takes. Seeing you and every member of this wagon train to Oregon safely is my highest priority. If you won’t get under those covers on your own, I’ll put you there myself.”

  His blue eyes gleamed with devilment. “And if you don’t stay put, I’ll just climb in with you and see that you stay in bed, even if it means sharing your bed to keep you there. Of course, if you’re real cold, there’s nothing like sharing body heat to warm a person.”

  Jessie gasped and swallowed nervously. Just the mere thought of him sharing her bed chased away the chills. She felt her cheeks flush. “You wouldn’t!”

  “No?”

  He would. Of that Jessie had no doubt. He’d do it just to humiliate her and embarrass her in front of everyone. She whipped her head around with a huff of displeasure and scrambled inside. Pulling the warm weight of the quilts over her shoulders, she thumped her pillow and lay down with her head facing the back of the wagon so she could watch the activities if she wanted to. She refused to look at Wolf. He might have won this battle, but there’d be others.

  Then Wolf did something that shocked her. He reached out and fingered one tightly curled lock of hair, rubbing the softness between his thumb and fingers. “By the way, Jessica Naomi Jones, your brothers may forget you’re a woman and treat you like a younger brother, but not me.”

  Jessie narrowed her eyes. “Who told you my name?”

  Wolf shrugged. “Does it matter? I like the name Jessica. It’s beautiful. Like you.” He then turned on his heel and strode off, leaving Jessie with her mouth wide-open and a glow of warmth and happiness spreading through her as she snuggled contentedly beneath the blankets.

  Wolf wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or amused. Jessie’s outrage whenever he addressed her by her full name amused him, satisfied his wounded male pride. But her shocked expression when he’d told her she was beautiful annoyed
him. It confirmed that, raised by her brothers, she had no idea of her worth as a woman.

  He stopped and stared out into the steaming prairie. And she was beautiful, with her mischievous gamine’s grin, bright, lively eyes, kind heart and wild spirit that drew him to her. Something tickled his arm. He glanced down and saw a single black strand caught in the curly hair on his arm. He plucked it off and curled it around one finger. He sighed. Her hair was so soft, and he loved the way it framed her face and drew attention to the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

  He stared out across miles of prairie, the bright green grass reminding him of her mischievous eyes when she had something up her sleeve. Little did she know her eyes were so expressive. They were a mirror to her soul, luring a man into their depths. And her lips. Against his will, he recalled the feel of her soft mouth, the taste of her and the womanly softness of her body pressed against his hard maleness. He drew in a deep, ragged breath when the blood pooled in his groin. No, there was no doubt about it. Jessica Jones was one hell of a woman, and she scared him senseless.

  Forcing thoughts of their passionate kiss from his mind, Wolf resolved to keep his distance. Jessie was an innocent, and though he knew she wasn’t out to use him as Rosalyn was, he feared she could hurt him far worse than Martha had. There was no place in his life for a woman, especially one who was high-spirited and who took perverse joy in challenging him. He rejoined his men, feeling thoroughly depressed.

  The trail followed the Little Blue River; water, wood and grass were plentiful and the days were uneventful—paradise compared to the first three weeks of travel, with their difficult river crossings and rainy days. The emigrants were once again filled with hopes for the future as they continued up the pleasant valley of the Little Blue, heading for the famous Platte River.

  By now the homeless emigrants had adjusted to life on the trail and considered themselves seasoned travelers. But even with their newfound confidence, not a day went by that they weren’t reminded of the hazards of trail life. The hundreds of hastily dug graves along the rutted trail were constant reminders of the fragility of life.

  Early morning of day twenty-three found Anne, Eirica, Jessie and Coralie staring down at a grave that had survived the ravages of time and nature. Jessie and Anne cleared out the choking weeds while Eirica and Coralie gathered armfuls of wildflowers to lay beside the grave site of one George Winslow, who had died June 8, 1849. It made no difference that the man was unknown to them; their need to pay their respects was stronger so far from civilization.

  A shrill whistle sounded, signaling that it was time to roll. They hurried back. Coralie grabbed a long, thick walking stick from her wagon. She’d been surprised when Rook had presented it to her, along with an offer to teach her how to cook and build her own fires.

  Coralie smiled to herself, pleased with the way things were going. Pride filled her as she thought of the meal she’d cooked for Jordan last night. It had been nearly perfect. Only her bread had been burned and Jordan had pretended not to notice that. Ready to begin another day’s march, she took her place next to Jessie, wishing Jordan didn’t have to watch over a bunch of stupid cows all day. She missed her husband during the long, tedious trek.

  Admiration filled her as Jessie cracked her whip and steered the oxen into line. Because of Rickard’s injury, Jessie had taken command of the team. Coralie was glad. It gave her someone to talk to during the day, as Anne and Eirica were usually busy with their children.

  The very idea that she actually enjoyed her sister-in-law’s company seemed so strange. She smirked. If only Becky and Sarah could see them now. Who’d have ever believed that she and Jessie would actually become friends?

  Their truce had turned into mutual admiration and respect. Gone was the fighting and feuding. She no longer taunted Jessie for looking like a boy, and Jessie shared her knowledge and helped her whenever she needed it, which was pretty often. She chuckled softly. Her father would be so pleased. He’d always liked Jessie. She had a letter full of news to mail when they reached Fort Kearny, and she wished she could be there when he read it.

  Jessie turned her head. Her voice still held a hint of her cold. “What’s so funny, Coralie?”

  Stretching her arms overhead, Coralie yawned. She still didn’t like getting up so early. “I was thinking about us, the way things used to be.”

  “Oh.”

  “Doesn’t it seem strange, Jessie? After all those years of us fighting, now to be friends?” She held her breath, praying Jessie wouldn’t deny their friendship. For some reason she really wanted it to be true. She admired her onetime nemesis and envied her abilities. She frowned briefly. What good were all the social graces that she’d spent years perfecting?

  When Jessie didn’t answer, she licked her lips nervously. “We are friends, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, Coralie. We are definitely friends.” The corners of Jessie’s lips curved upward in a mischievous smirk. “I kinda miss things the way they were, though. Gotta admit, it wasn’t boring between us.”

  Shuddering, Coralie jabbed Jessie in the ribs. “I for one don’t miss it. You were pretty awful. I still don’t know if I can forgive you for ruining my pretty pink dress. It was my favorite.” She wrinkled her nose. “And ridding myself of that horrible stench—”

  Jessie swatted the lead ox and pulled him back into line when he veered to the right. “Ah, but Coralie, you looked so pretty sitting on that manure pile—like icing on a cake.”

  The two women stared at one another, then both burst out in giggles. “You’re incorrigible, Jessica Jones, but I forgive you. I wasn’t very nice, either.”

  Jessie bent down, pulled a blade of grass from the ground and stuck it between her teeth. “What’s done is done, Corie. It’s what’s ahead that counts. You’re not so bad.”

  Coralie for once did not object to her newest nickname. In fact, she kind of liked it. It meant she was accepted. Up ahead, Elliot was having trouble with one of the oxen. Her mouth dropped open when Jessie thrust the leather leads into her hand.

  “Here, hold these.”

  “Jessie, wait. I can’t—” But Jessie was gone, leaving her to grip the reins gingerly. She eyed the oxen nervously. “Nice cows,” she muttered, keeping as far from the lumbering beasts as possible. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Anne walking between Kerstin and Hanna, who were herding the four sluggish milk cows in front of them. In one hand Anna held a slate and was busy writing. Each morning she insisted on conducting lessons. Sometimes Jessie helped.

  Up ahead and to the left, Eirica trudged behind her wagon, holding Ian by the hand. The toddler wore the sweater his mother had just finished knitting. Coralie grimaced. Both Eirica and Anne were trying to teach her how to knit, but so far their efforts had failed dismally. Even her sewing skills were far beneath the talents of these women. Faced with her lack of useful skills, Coralie felt depressed. She was useless. What good would she be in a new land where homemaking skills were required for survival? Her steps slowed. The oxen followed suit. She dreaded Oregon. She didn’t want to disappoint Jordan, and she feared his love would turn to contempt. She pressed a hand to her middle. She could live with anything but that.

  “Why the glum face, Corie?” Jessie asked, returning.

  Coralie handed over the leather leads and thrust her stick into a small hole in the ground.

  “You’re lucky, Jessica.”

  Jessie raised her brows. “Oh?”

  “Look at you. You can do it all. Drive the oxen, hunt for food and cook decent meals. Even stampeding cattle didn’t scare you. But what good am I? I’m not even pretty anymore.” She sniffed. “My clothes are plain, I’m always dirty and my skin is turning brown! I even have freckles!” she wailed. Staring at her hands, Coralie voiced her worst fear. “I won’t have anything to offer Jordan by the time we reach Oregon. I’ll be so ugly he won’t want me anymore.” Her voice fell to a whisper.

  Jessie started to laugh, then sobered when she realize
d Coralie was serious. She turned and walked backward. “Come on, Corie. Don’t you think you’re being too hard on yourself? You’re not ugly. You’re still the prettiest woman around, even in boots and calico.” She leaned close, her voice confiding.

  “Besides, I know my brothers. I’ll bet Jordan likes your freckles.”

  Coralie looked skeptical. “Then why hasn’t he said anything?”

  “Because, you ninny, if he had, you’d just start to bawl.” She winked. “Don’t forget, I know you too.”

  Coralie narrowed her eyes and stared hard at Jessie to see if she was just funning with her. She relaxed when Jessie seemed earnest. “Really? You’re not just saying that, are you?”

  “Really.” Jessie turned back around to snap the reins to keep the oxen moving.

  Coralie felt better, but she still worried over the changes in her life. “Well, that doesn’t help me with the rest. I don’t know how to make cloth, knit or even sew, let alone all the other stuff I’ve heard the pioneers have to do just to survive.”

  Jessie rolled her eyes. “Come on. Coralie, don’t borrow trouble. Jordan knew that when he asked you to marry him. And besides, by the time we reach Oregon, we’ll have time to build only one house for all of us, so for the first year or so, we’ll be living together.”

  “And you’ll help me?”

  Jessie hooked her arm through Coralie’s. “I’ll make you a deal. You teach me all that lady stuff—you know, how to dress nice and do my hair, after it grows out—and I’ll teach you how to manage three—no, make that four—men living under one roof.”

  Coralie brightened and grinned happily. “Deal!”

  Three days later, the pace slowed to a crawl as the emigrants encountered their first real bottleneck along the trail: the Narrows. On one side of the trail the Little Blue flowed, and on the east bank, tall rugged bluffs rose high above them. The trail became so narrow in places, the wagons were forced to proceed single file.

  By afternoon, the emigrants made camp when it became clear that they wouldn’t make it through the Narrows before nightfall. In the morning, they continued on with their journey, and soon after leaving the Narrows behind, the emigrants said farewell to the Little Blue and trudged over the sandy hills that separated them from the Platte River.