Her sniff told him what she thought of folks who didn't keep their appointments. "Have you found a cow yet?"
"I told you, we're not taking a milch cow over the pass."
"And I told you that Uncle must have his fresh milk. I don't understand, Mr. Bradley, why you must fight me on the simplest matters." She walked closer so she could see his eyes, shadowed as always by his hatbrim. "Surely a cow can go anywhere a mule can."
"I supposed she could," he admitted, "but she wouldn't last long up in the high country."
"Why on earth not?"
He looked up at her, liking the sparks that flew from those violet eyes. "Because a nice juicy cow is a lot easier to catch than a deer or elk. There are wolves in those mountains, Miss Sanders, and panthers and bears."
"You're just trying to frighten me."
He grinned. That was exactly what he was trying to do.
"Are you laughing at me, Mr. Bradley?"
"Me? Why would I do a thing like that?"
"You are! You are laughing at me!" Both her hands made into fists and she lifted that round little chin of hers like she was getting ready to wallop him good.
His grandmother used to stand up tall like that when she was telling the men in her family where to get off. "Well, maybe just a little. But not about the cow. There's just no sense in paying out your money for a wolf's dinner."
"I believe I should be the judge of that."
Malachi shrugged. He had a hunch they'd be taking a cow along, but he wasn't ready to give in quite yet.
The freight arrived the next day and so did Murphy Creek, with no excuse for his tardiness. Malachi put Murphy and Willard to work repacking the contents of the crates, after a set-to with Miss Sanders about who would do what. He won that battle, but not unscathed. She was at the freight depot with the men today, watching them as they put gear and food and all that folderol--what was a vasculi anyhow, and why did it take three thousand blotters to pick a bunch of flowers?--into the canvas and leather packs that would be attached to the frames to be carried by the mules.
The mules and riding horses were being held in a corral about a half-mile outside of town. The ass he'd borrowed from Savage for Miss Sanders to ride was there too, but he hadn't told her yet. Just yesterday she'd told him again she would walk to where they were going.
It's going to be a long, long summer.
* * * * *
Nellie handed the satchel of books to the very young man who'd been introduced as Tom Ernst, apprentice muleskinner and man of all work. He scarcely looked old enough to shave, and yet he carried an enormous pistol in a tied-down holster on his left hip. While he was tying the satchel onto the packsaddle of an enormous tan-colored mule, she watched carefully. The satchel contained their reference materials: Gray's flora, a hand-copied list of the plants collected by Messers Lewis and Clark, and Uncle's Transmontane Flora of North America. She was not nearly so concerned for her own clothing as she was for those books and papers. Without them, she would be lost, for she was unfamiliar with many of the species they would encounter in the mountains.
"Miss Sanders?"
She turned. Mr. Bradley stood behind her, a rope in his hand that led to a donkey's halter. A small donkey, burdened with an enormous saddle. "Yes?" She did not trust him, for there was a devilish gleam in his eyes.
"Your steed, ma'am." He held out the rope.
"My what?"
"Your steed. Her name is Sheba."
"Mr. Bradley, I told you I would not ride."
"She's an a.. a donkey, not a horse. Katie Savage sent her especially for you to ride, when I told her how you didn't like horses." His mouth twitched, as if he were trying very hard not to smile. "She's gentle broke, and used to carrying a woman. And she's sure-footed as a goat."
"I...I don't..." Nellie took a deep breath. "Mr. Bradley, I have told you repeatedly that I do not ride. Not today. Not ever. I am perfectly capable of walking wherever these animals can go."
"No, ma'am, you're not. Now either you agree to ride Sheba, or I'll have to leave you behind. I'm not going to have a woman walking while the rest of us ride. Not in my party." The almost-smile was gone, and his voice held a steely note.
She looked into his eyes, dark blue, deep set, and totally implacable. Chewing her lip, she considered.
A donkey was not the same as a horse. Lupinus, the black donkey she used back in Ohio, was as trustworthy and gentle as an animal could be. He had never, to her knowledge, been ridden, but more because she had trained him to the cart than for any other reason. Right now Mr. Bradley looked about as movable as an oak, and just about as susceptible to persuasion. "You would not leave me behind," she said.
"I'd sorely regret doing so." Again he extended the hand holding the lead rope.
This time she took it.
Now Mr. Bradley smiled. "Take a few minutes to make friends with her. She's a sweet natured little critter, and she'll serve you well, if you're good to her." From his pocket he pulled a lump of sugar. "Feed her this, pet her up a bit, and tell her she's beautiful."
Accepting the sugar, Nellie wondered if his advice was based on experience with females of the two-legged persuasion. For a moment there, he had seemed deliberately...beguiling.
Like the devil in disguise?
Nonsense. He was merely attempting to placate me after getting his own way.
She did as directed, doing her best to resist the donkey's charm. But the beast lipped her sleeve, rubbed a velvety muzzle against her cheek, and gazed at her from enormous brown eyes filled with adoration. Nellie hardened her heart. "Don't think you'll turn me up sweet, you flirt. You could be the finest donkey in creation, and I still wouldn't want to ride on your back."
Sheba nodded, almost as if she agreed.
The confusion and noise lessened as the mules were lined up outside the corral, leads linked to a long rope that kept them in line. Nellie counted twenty-two, each with a high, uneven mound of lumpy canvas across its back. Off to one side stood three saddled horses, Mr. Beckett's Beauty, Dap, the rawboned gray that her uncle would ride, the red horse that belonged to Mr. Bradley, and one other. Two unsaddled horses were attached to Mr. Bradley's saddle by long lead lines from their halters. There were also two mules wearing saddles.
There was excitement in the air, almost as substantial as the fine dust that sparkled in the morning sunlight. At last! We are truly about to embark on our great adventure!
Until now their summer's endeavor had not seemed real. But today, with only the wilderness ahead of them, she might as well be stepping off the edge of the world.
Uncle mounted awkwardly, not like a man who'd spent weeks in the saddle. Nellie wished he had ridden daily since their arrival in Boise, for she just knew that he was going to be extremely saddle sore before noon. As would she, despite her several excursions astride Sheba.
Uncle never was one to suffer in silence.
Not for the first time, she wondered if he might be ill. At home he was a somewhat fussy man, but never one to complain about everyday inconveniences. But almost from the moment they had boarded the train in Cincinnati, he had been as difficult to get along with as his spoiled three-year-old grand-niece.
Nothing had pleased him since they left Germantown. Not the accommodations--they had ridden coach to Chicago and then taken one of the elegant Pullman cars west. Not the food--his dyspepsia had bothered him all across the plains and mountains. And most certainly not the travel conditions--he had grumbled about drafts and dampness on the train, disdained the accommodations at the hotel in Ogden, and despised the heavy, plain food they were fed at the stage stops between Kelton and Boise City. Even here, lodged in a rooming house with comfortable rooms and well-cooked meals, he continually made his displeasure known, until she sometimes was almost embarrassed to admit her relationship with him.
* * * * *
By the third day on the road, Nellie was heartily sick of riding astride, with her bare--well, covered with her black stockings, but
still immodestly displayed--calves exposed to the gaze of five men. Her inner thighs were raw, her bottom felt as if she had been beaten, and her head ached from the hard jogging of Sheba's trot.
Uncle must be as tired as she, for all that. Perhaps he was too tired to complain, for he'd been silent all afternoon.
So had she, but only by an effort of will. Each and every muscle in her body hurt and she was certain there was no skin left between her knees and her hips. The wrinkled fabric of the skirt Uncle insisted she wear had left deep creases in her thighs and calves, had rubbed her raw in places best left unmentioned. Today she simply sat in her saddle like a lumpish sack of meal, numb to everything but the pain in her lower half.
I would give anything, anything at all, for five minutes in a hot bath!
Mr. Bradley appeared through the screen of trees ahead of them, returning from his reconnaissance. She watched him, appreciating the grace with which he sat his horse, his stark black clothing contrasting well with his steed's dark red coat.
He really is a very attractive man, with those deep-set eyes and that dimple in his chin. I wonder... She caught the tenor of her thoughts and immediately directed them elsewhere. The shocked expression on his face the first time he'd seen hers had told her all she needed to know. Malcolm Bradley, like all men, was repelled by the sight of her.
A little while later, Mr. Bradley turned off the trail and led the caravan between stump-covered slopes and into a small meadow beside a gurgling stream. They were well into the mountains now, mountains that had been logged and ravaged to feed the fires and build the houses and stores of half a dozen small mining towns, according to Mr. Bradley. An incredible fortune in gold had been stripped from these mountains in the last decade, but now relatively few people remained in the basin. Tomorrow, he had said, they would pass the largest of the remaining towns, Idaho City.
She accepted Mr. Creek's help in dismounting, finding that her legs would barely hold her upright. The meadow was surrounded by young pines, none of them taller than thirty or forty feet. Shrubby willows banded the stream, forming a dense screen. I wonder how cold the water is. If I can't bathe soon, I shall shrivel up like a mummy. She had never experienced such dry air before. Her lips were cracked, her fingertips felt like sharkskin, despite her gloves.
Willard and young Tom quickly set up the small tent provided for her. Although she wanted nothing more than to enter it and lay herself down on her bedroll, Nellie got Uncle settled first.
When she emerged from Uncle's tent, Mr. Bradley was waiting for her. "There's a pool deep enough to bathe in," he told her. "I've marked the way to it with my kerchief."
"Oh, but I couldn't--"
"Sure you can. I'll keep the others busy until you're done. You'll be perfectly safe."
The willows along the stream were certainly dense enough to provide an adequate screen. You are being unnecessarily missish, she told herself sternly. Before the summer is over, you may well be grateful for that much privacy.
One of the objections Uncle had made when she first broached the subject of accompanying him this summer would be the lack of privacy. As the only woman in the expedition, she could not expect to live separate from them, and would often find her maidenly modesty offended. Not that she need fear for her virtue, he had been quick to assure her. But that the men with whom they would associate for nearly half a year would be rough and mannerless frontiersmen, unused to the tender sensibilities of a lady.
Nellie looked up at Mr. Bradley, studying his features. His face was tanned, with faint lines at the corners of his eyes and bracketing his mouth. The tips of his dark brown hair were touched with gold, as if still holding some of last summer's sunlight. His eyes looked back at her steadily, with no hint of evasion or guile.
A frontiersman, perhaps. But one of excellent manners and address. He might be stubborn to a fault, but he had never, by the slightest word or gesture, offered her insult.
"Thank you, Mr. Bradley. I believe that I shall bathe." Nellie fetched the necessary items from her tent, then made her slow way to the stream. Surprisingly, walking seemed to ease her discomfort somewhat, for the stiffness in her back and hips eased.
She disrobed completely, shaking the dust from each garment as she took it off. The air was surprisingly warm, for all that there had been frost on the ground when she arose this morning. She considered leaving off her petticoat, no matter how her skirt clung to her legs when she walked--something she was allowed to do only in camp. No, that would not serve. Her saddle was about as yielding as a rock and she needed the padding.
Nellie only went into the small pool up to her knees. Her feet rested on fine sand, and through the crystal clear water she could easily see the white patches that marred her naturally tawny skin. As always, she looked quickly away. The sight of her body disgusted her.
With a small sponge, she washed herself quickly. The icy water soothed the hot, raw skin of her inner calves and thighs. Gritting her teeth against the cold, she stepped forward, toward the deeper center of the pool.
With the third step, she fell, for her foot found no bottom. She yelled as she went under, choked, and flailed arms and legs in a frantic attempt to find a place to stand, something to grab hold of. One foot touched sand, then the other, and she found herself standing in water not quite to her shoulders. Cold water flowed gently across her naked body like the finest silk. Her brief fright died and she closed her eyes, enjoying the novel sensation, so different from bathing in a tub only large enough to sit with her knees practically bumping her chin. Her arms lifted, buoyed up by the water, and she left them drift, her hands bobbing slightly at the surface. Now that she was in the water, it seemed only cool, comfortably cool, and so very, very soothing.
"Miss Sanders?" The faint call, accompanied by the sound of snapping branches, gave her only a moment's warning. "Miss Sanders? Are you all right?" Mr. Bradley burst into view, a rifle in his hand.
Nellie turned away from the bank, ducked until the water almost covered her chin, and crossed her arms over her breasts. "I am fine," she called back. "I was only startled, when I stepped into deeper water."
"You're certain?"
She heard a new note in his voice, usually so firm and decisive.
"I am just fine, Mr. Bradley. Now please, go away."
There was no sound, and she knew he was just standing there. Staring at her naked back. Despite the cool water, a wave of heat started in her belly and spread throughout her body. "Go...go away!" Her throat, suddenly tight, turned her voice into a squeak. "Please!"
After a moment, she heard him move away.
* * * * *
Malachi blundered back to camp, heat burning at the tips of his ears. As soon as he'd seen she was unhurt, why hadn't he turned around and walked away?
He knew why. The sight of her white body, not at all concealed by the clear water, had paralyzed him.
Blessed God! He'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life. He could have stood there forever, just looking at her.
He'd wanted her. His perfidious body was still half-aroused, hot blood still pounded though his veins. A hunger such as he had never known gnawed in his belly and weakened his will.
Tom Ernst was chopping wood. Malachi strode to him. "Give me that ax," he said. "I'm needing some exercise."
With each stroke, a little of the deep longing went away, but even when they had more than enough kindling for the supper fire, he kept chopping.
Better that than face her.
* * * * *
Nellie waited until she could no longer hear the sounds of his passage through the willows, then made her way to the shore. Using the rough linen towel, she dried her body, wincing as it scraped across the tender skin of her legs. Her clothing was hot, heavy, and scratchy against her skin, even the clean stockings which felt stiff and rough as they slid up her legs. For a moment she wondered how it would feel if she were to wear light fabrics, light in color and weight, instead of the dark wools that protec
ted her from the sun's rays.
A long time ago Nellie had come to terms with the condition that turned great patches of her skin dead white, had stopped looking in her mirror, had stopped seeing her disfigured skin. Now, for the first time in years, she railed against fate, that she should be chosen for this affliction.
Then common sense returned. She dried the tears from her eyes as she untangled her long, wet hair.
* * * * *
After dinner, Nellie desperately sought a topic of conversation. Mr. Bradley had been silent throughout the meal, and now sat a bit aside from the group around the fire, his deep-set eyes shadowed, his brooding silence almost tangible. As if prohibited, both Mr. Creek and Mr. Willard refrained from their usual humorous recitals of adventures in the wilderness.
"Uncle, now that we're well into the mountains, have you any idea if our destination will be anything like the area in Montana you explored two years ago?"
"All mountains are much the same. I do not expect to find any surprises."
His short answer surprised her. Ordinarily he was expansive about his field work, making light of the dangers, relating humorous anecdotes about the guides, who always seemed somehow inept and ignorant.
Obviously their guides this summer were a cut above the usual. Mr. Bradley was highly intelligent and well-read. Both Mr. Creek and Mr. Willard were polite and helpful, if not quite sure why anyone would journey into the wilderness in search of plants. And young Tom Ernst was helpful and hardworking, even if he did seem to be constantly challenging Mr. Bradley's orders.
"Whereabouts were you in Montana, Professor?" Mr. Bradley said.
"We went north and west from Great Falls," Uncle said, pausing to relight his pipe. "A vast and rugged land, with mountains that almost seem to scrape the sky and canyons so steep and narrow that even the wild animals avoid them. A land only for the strong of heart and stalwart of soul. Even I, with all my experience, was challenged. Why one day, we climbed all morning, seeking a way to a high valley an Indian had told us of. It seemed always to be just a little ways above us, yet we climbed and climbed. At last, when we were certain it was over the next ridge, we came out upon a sheer cliff, above a bottomless canyon. On the other side, as if it were only a stone's throw from us, was our valley. We could see it, but could not reach it." He fell silent, staring into the fire.
Knight in a Black Hat Page 5