Savage storm

by Conn, Phoebe

  "A damned clever one» that's what!" Clayton knew when he was heaten. He didn't persist in his arguments, hut he'd meant what he'd said ahout staying awake. Leaving Gahrielle in Jason's care was like asking a fox to guard the hen house.

  While Jason's smile was a rakish one, he was far more worried about Gahrielle than he'd let anyone see. Pregnant women were prone to fainting spells; he knew that for a fact but he'd not make the mistake of asking if that were Gabrielle's problem. He knew she'd just deny it whether or not it were true. That she'd not give him so much as the satisfaction of raising his own child suddenly angered him so greatly he gave Clayton the first excuse which came to his mind.

  "I want to check with everyone, see how the repairs are coming. I know you can guard Gahrielle adequately until I return."

  "You can depend upon it!" Clayton called out, wanting for once to have the last word with Jason.

  By the time Jason returned to his tent later that evening, he had his temper well in control. He knew it was ridiculous to be angry with Gahrielle for not telling him about a child that might not even exist, but he was deeply concerned about her frail health no matter what the cause. He would have to caution her not to overtax herself again; she was always busy doing something for her friends. He thought back over a few such instances and he realized there were many. She'd taught several to ride, given impromptu dancing lessons, even come to his defense when Iris had made some insulting innuendos. He had to laugh as he recalled that scene. Gahrielle could always be counted upon to be in the thick of things. She'd pulled Sam Duffy out of the pond without a moment's hesitation, and he knew had the Duffys not already asked for her help when Amanda fell ill, she would have been the first to volunteer to go. She seems to have time and love aplenty—for everyone but me, he thought sadly. Seeing Clayton coming out of their tent, he pushed his own jealous thoughts aside and hurried his pace.

  "Is Gabrielle awake yet?"

  **0h, yes. Wide awake and gone back to her wagon. She seemed fit enough to me. I think a nap was all she needed. There was no cause for you to be so worried about her health," the blond man replied confidently.

  "You walked her back to her wagon yourself to make certain she arrived there safely?" Jason asked accusingly, not about to accept Clayton's assessment of Gabrielle's health.

  Clayton shrugged. "No. I offered to escort her but she said it wasn't necessary."

  "Then you don't know if she ever got to her wagon or not, do

  Without wasting the time to tell Clayton what he thought of him for being so careless, Jason dashed through the gathering darkness toward Gabrielle's wagon, half expecting to find her lying in a crumpled heap along the way. He slid to a self-conscious halt when he found her seated alone with Paul, talking quietly while she ate the supper he'd saved for her. She looked up as he entered the circle of light thrown by their fire, her smile a sad, sweet one.

  "Are you truly all right?" he finally had the presence of mind to inquire.

  "Why yes. Didn't Mr. Home tell you I was?" Gabrielle was surprised by his question.

  Jason nodded, feeling like a fool for having been so frightened when there had been no reason. "Yes, but I wanted to speak with you myself just to make certain."

  "As you can see, I am feeling well enough to enjoy Paul's delicious stew."

  "Have you had your supper, sir? I made plenty." Paul gestured toward the savory dish which still simmered in the iron kettle suspended over the fire.

  Jason was hungry. From the looks of it Clayton hadn't bothered to cook anything and he had no talent for preparing food himself.

  "Are you positive there is enough?"

  *'0h, yes. The others have all eaten. My girls never eat all that I prepare and it's a shame to see this fine stew go to waste." Without waiting for Jason to agree Paul ladled up another portion, filling a tin plate until it nearly overflowed. Placing a large piece of cornbread and a clean fork on the plate, he moved out of the way to make room for the wagon master to sit down beside Gabrielle.

  'Thank you. Fve been too busy to eat this evening so I know ril enjoy this." Taking the warm plate, Jason sat down and after one bite he remarked sincerely. "This is delicious, Paul, but where did you get the meat?"

  "Beef can be had at the fort. For a price, of course, but I think my girls deserve a treat now and then." Paul beamed from ear to ear he was so pleased by Jason's praise.

  "We all do," Jason agreed amicably, sorry that he'd left the matter of provisions up to Clayton if his partner hadn't supplied fresh meat for the brides. Gabrielle had been eating alone, but he could hear the other young women practicing a song he'd heard often, and curious, he asked about it between mouthfuls. "That song gets better each time I hear you sing it."

  Laying her half-eaten supper aside, Gabrielle listened for a brief moment and then agreed. "At least now everyone seems to have memorized the lyrics. We want to learn a few songs to perform for the bachelors. I hope they won't think us foolish for wanting to entertain them as best we can."

  "They will be enchanted, I can guarantee it." Jason found it easier to concentrate upon his meal rather than to listen to the words of the song. It was a ballad, a very tender love story, but he'd paid little attention to it until that night. Now the thought of Gabrielle singing the romantic tune to another man filled him with so deep a dread he hoped his expression did not reveal the anguish of his jealousy. Knowing he should say something, he asked the most obvious question. "Do you like to sing?"

  "Yes, I truly do but my voice is not as good as most of the others. It is too low and so many songs require a clear soprano to sound as they should/' That was another of her aunt's many criticisms she remembered. "I think I was the only young woman in Liberty who wasn't asked to sing in the church choir."

  That remark brought a smile to Jason's lips. ''Your speaking voice is unusual, but I happen to think it is very soothing to the ear. Besides, wouldn't you be disappointed if when you sang your voice could not be distinguished from all the others?"

  ''You're just trying to make me feel good, Jason, but I know I sound a bit like a very young bull frog no matter how much I enjoy singing. I understand your question though, for I've never heard anyone play the harmonica the way you do. Your tunes are so melancholy, while most people use the instrument to play light-hearted melodies."

  Finished with his supper, Jason looked around for Paul to pay him a last compliment, but the man had apparently stepped away and he was quite alone with Cabrielle. "I only play when I'm by myself and then my mood is never a light-hearted one."

  "I thought you enjoyed being alone," Gabrielle remarked casually, but she held her breath as she waited for his reply.

  "No. What I said was I like being alone with you." It was a ridiculous game they were playing. He felt like a schoolboy hoping to get his first kiss when what he wanted from Gabrielle was as always the most passionate of encounters.

  His expression was so wistful that Gabrielle could not help but respond truthfully. "I enjoy your company very much too, Jason."

  "Well, then why—"

  Gabrielle raised her fingertips to his lips. "Don't say it, please don't. It is far too difficult for me to live the pretense you insist we must. Clayton saw us kiss, Sam saw much more. The risks we've taken to be together have been worth it to me, but I cannot pretend that we are no more than acquaintances

  while the truth is too shocking to reveal."

  Jason got to his feet and then extended his hand to help Gabrielle rise. "Why don't you join your friends where you can sing love songs until your heart is content with no risk at all? I need a woman, not some romantic child whose head is so full of dreams there's no room for a single thought of me. Tell Paul I enjoyed his supper, will yoii? I don't want him to avoid my company too."

  "Jason!" Gabrielle whispered his name in a menacing hiss. "I think you're the one who's never grown up, not me!"

  Rather than speak the vile word which sprang to his lips, Jason turned away and walked off. He would have
been better off if he'd found her still asleep in his tent, or sprawled in a faint in the dirt. Awake, she was impossible to control, but he knew he was nowhere near ready to give up the fight to try.

  The whitewashed walls of Fort Hall glowed in the moonlight, while the rushing waters of the Snake River provided a soothing lullaby, but Gabrielle was inspired neither to join the singers nor to get ready for bed. She wished she had onegood friend, someone she could trust who would give her the advice she needed now. Unfortunately, Erica knew far less of life than she did, and none of the other girls were closer friends than she. Johanna would simply quote the verses from her Bible which condemned the kind of relationship she and Jason had. Barbara would be so astonished she'd never be able to keep such a secret to herself. Marlene was no expert on men and neither was Margaret. That left Iris, but Gabrielle knew she'd never confide in that shrew. Beau had been the best friend she'd ever had, but quite naturally, he'd given her no advice for dealing with other men. Her situation seemed so hopeless she was near tears when Paul returned and found her sitting alone by the remains of the fire.

  "Mr. Royal wanted me to tell you how much he enjoyed the supper." She spoke softly without looking up from the glowing coals.

  "I knew he would." While Paul busied himself cleaning up the campsite he observed Gabrielle's solemn mood. "He is a most interesting man, that Jason Royal is. I thought you two might like a little time to talk. I hope neither you nor he thought it was rude of me to leave.''

  **No, of course not. We don't need a chaperone." Perhaps that was just what they should have had though, she thought.

  ""Now wait just a minute here, if I thought a chaperone was required I sure wouldn't have left you two alone together. I figure if you're old enough to get married you are a responsible woman, and I sure think Royal is old enough to look out for himself."

  Gabrielle watched the friendly man work. He was a mature gentleman, but what would he say if she asked his advice? If she revealed that she'd fallen in love with a man who took every advantage of that fact without offering any hope of marriage, unless he could not avoid it, she thought Paul would probably be outraged.

  ""Just what exactly is a fallen woman, Paul? Gin you tell

  Paul straightened up to look at her squarely, thinking she must be teasing him. But her expression was quite serious. "Well that's not something I'd ever call a lady. I suppose it refers to a.woman who's suffered some terrible disgrace."

  "Like being a man's mistress perhaps, or having his baby when they aren't married?"

  "Gabrielle, if one of the girls is carrying a child, it would be obvious by now. Why none of them is so foolish she could possibly think she'd be able to take a five-month trip to Oregon and then convince her new husband the babe she had four months later was his. So whatever are you talking about?"

  Gabrielle knew she wasn't pregnant, but were she to conceive Jason's child she'd never consider marrying another man and trying to fool him into thinking her baby was his. That really would be immoral as well as dishonest. "I wasn't

  speaking about anyone in particular, Paul. I just wondered what sort of transgressions qualified a woman to be classified as 'fallen.' I was merely curious."

  "That's a mighty odd topic to inspire your curiosity, miss. I don't think it's proper for a nice young woman like you to be worrying about such matters."

  Gabrielle shrugged nonchalantly. ''I think about all sorts of things, Paul. Doesn't it strike you as strange that there is no similar term to describe a man who keeps a mistress or fathers children out of wedlock? Why is there no such thing as a 'fallen man'?"

  "Well now, that don't strike me as strange at all since there is such a great difference in the way men and women live. Men like to roam all over the world, search for adventure; but ladies just naturally stay put so once gossip starts it's difficult for them to shake it. That's why they have to be so much more careful. Makes perfect sense to me."

  Realizing Paul was not going to come up with anything she'd find useful, Gabrielle excused herself and went to listen to the singers. She covered a yawn, too tired to want to sing herself, and when they all got ready for bed she was the first one to fall asleep.

  Making good on a promise to himself, Jason saw that the brides had double the provisions Clayton seemed to think necessary, and when he knew their stay at Fort Hall could no longer be prolonged, he again gave the order to move on. The fort was six hundred and fifty miles from the Columbia River, a journey of perhaps two months' duration which he knew would tax every ounce of the emigrants' remaining strength. Not being a man to dwell upon possible misfortune, however, he thought only that the trail was nearing its end, and was eager to defeat its coming dangers.

  The trail followed the Snake River now, first crossing a

  swampland infested with dense swarms of mosquitoes which tormented the travelers with numerous stinging bites. The landscape then turned barren, the soil parched, the three-foot high sagebrush so tenacious it could upset a wagon if the driver were not wise enough to avoid it. The rocky soil provided so poor a surface axletrees shattered frequently causing long delays while they were replaced. The jagged path ripped the feet of the weary oxen to bloody shreds until Jason convinced everyone to wrap the beasts feet in hides. The Indians bound their ponies' feet in this way when they had to cross such treacherous terrain.

  Fort Boise, another outpost of the fur trade, supplied a brief respite, but Jason hurried everyone on, giving neither man nor beast more than the minimum time to rest in his rush to complete their journey. He rode up and down the wagon train each day, offering encouragement, taking a turn at driving the teams of oxen himslf if he saw a man who needed a chance to rest. Whenever he had a spare moment he went hunting for whatever game could be found, always giving the meat to the brides' drivers to prepare and saving little for Clayton and himself. He had guided more emigrants on previous trips, but never had he taken so much responsibility for others upon himself. What he was trying to prove he could not have explained to anyone, but he knew driving himself to the limit each day was the only way he could escape nights filled with longing for the beautiful Gabrielle MacLaren who offered him nothing more than an occasional wistful smile.

  Once the trail reached the foothills of the Blue Mountains despair filled the hearts of many, but Jason encouraged them by relating the difficulties of the first emigrants who had taken wagons across the mountains in 1843. It had been necessary then for forty men with axes to labor for four days to blaze the trail which lay ahead. Shamed by the realization of how easy their passage would be compared to that heroic effort, the travelers moved on without uttering another complaint.

  Congratulating them, Jason pointed out that the trip was nearly over and to prove unequal to the challenge of the Oregon Trail at this late date was unworthy of them after they'd conquered so many other far more difficult trials along the way.

  Several of the mountain passes were so steep wagons had to be lowered by ropes to keep them from careening down the inclines and crashing into a thousand fragments on the boulders below. Jason was so skilled a supervisor he organized crews to man the ropes in short shifts, calling directions in a calm easy tone which inspired confidence rather than fear. No unfortunate mishaps occurred despite the dangers inherent in their task. All the wagons were moved safely down the most treacherous of slopes, and spirits soared when the Whitman Mission at Waiilatpu came into view. Fort Walla Walla lay only a short distance ahead. There the wagons, their wheels removed, would be placed on rafts which would carry the emigrants down the Columbia River for the final lap of their journey.

  Dr. Marcus Whitman and his pretty wife, Narcissa, had been at Waiilatpu for eleven years, struggling the entire time against the whims of nature and the shortage of funds available from congregations in the east which supported their venture. A tireless physician. Dr. Whitman found himself caring far more for the Indians' physical ailments than their spiritual needs, but knowing how greatly he was needed, he thought the purpose
of his mission was being fulfilled. In the fall of 1847, the mission consisted of a mill, a guesthouse, a blacksmith's forge, and a building which housed a school as well as the Whitman's home. A robust soul, Marcus Whitman greeted the wagon train enthusiastically while Narcissa, a vivacious blonde, was as gracious a hostess to them as she'd been to the countless numbers of other emigrants who had come her way. She had been one of the first women to traverse the Oregon Trail, and she could provide understanding and compassion to

  all. Delighted when she heard there were twenty-one young women on their way to marry men in Oregon City, she insisted upon meeting each one of them personally.

  Gabrielle liked the charming woman instantly. That Narcissa had joined her husband in establishing a mission on the remote edge of civilization made Gabrielle admire her courage. The Whitmans lived a life so close to the exciting one she and Beau had hoped to have, sharing the challenges of carving a home out of the wilderness, that she could not help but envy Narcissa and her husband their good fortune.

  Jason slept for fourteen hours straight once they'd made camp near the Whitman Mission and he knew everyone would be reasonably safe for a few days. He had the advantage of youth to make his body resilient, but even he had his limits and he'd exceeded them far too frequently of late. He liked Marcus Whitman and meant to talk with him as soon as he'd cleaned up, but inspired by the near completion of the trail, he unpacked his razor and took the time to shave off his beard too. He didn't realize until he looked in the mirror how thin his face had become, and for a moment he was sorry he was again clean shaven. But he decided he looked no worse than anyone else. The Oregon Trail had taken its toll from them all.