Brides of Prairie Gold

by Maggie Osborne

For the first time in her ladylike life, Augusta Josepha Boyd swore. Hearing the sounds of voices returning from the grave sites, she slapped down the lid of the cache and jumped to her feet, kicking dirt over the lid. Hiding the stuffed gloves in the folds of her pelisse, she walked around the Eagglestons' wagon and fell in with the others as if she had been with them from the beginning. Perrin threw her a cold stare and Bootie lifted an eyebrow, but no one else seemed to realize she had been absent from the grave site.

  There was enough time to empty the coins into the hatbox before Cora's head appeared in the oval of canvas.

  "Oh! You startled me." She pressed a bare dirty hand to her throat and inhaled deeply. "How many time must I tell you not to creep up on people?"

  "What on earth were you doing out there?"

  "Can't a lady relieve herself without having to make an account of it?" she snapped. Cora's disbelieving silence plucked at her nerves. "Really, Cora. Shouldn't you be in the driver's seat? Mr. Snow will be wanting to get under way immediately."

  Cora's sharp eyes slowly inspected the interior of the wagon bed. "Ain't you coming?"

  "I have a fierce headache. I believe I'll put down some blankets and try to rest back here."

  Cora's gaze settled on one of the gold coins that had fallen to the planks. She nodded slowly. "Whatever you say."

  "Exactly," Augusta answered sharply. Bending, she curled her fingers around the coin. "How careless of me. Now, where did I put my purse?"

  "It's in the canvas pocket above the sourdough jar. Where it always is."

  Augusta stiffened. "How curious that you would know that."

  Cora rolled her eyes. "Like I ain't turned this wagon out countless times, then repacked it on the other side of a gully or a stream or a deep draw."

  Cora disappeared from view and in a moment Augusta heard her skirts flapping as she passed along the side of the wagon. Another minute elapsed, then she heard Cora shout, "Gee haw! Giddap, you lazy beasts!" The wagon lurched forward and turned into a long curve that would take them back to the trail. The first fat splats of rain struck the canvas above Augusta's head.

  Cora peeked inside, then pulled the front drawstring to close out the rain. Augusta did the same at the back flap. The rain was a stroke of luck, she thought. Now she didn't have to worry about Cora spying on her.

  Kneeling, she fumbled in the dim light for the hatbox and pulled it to the rocking floor. Wind buffeted the canvas, and the light was watery inside the closed wagon. But what light filtered inside glowed on the pile of gold coins filling the crown of her best Sunday hat.

  For a long moment, she simply stared. Then, reaching a trembling hand, she counted the coins. There were two hundred and sixty-two gold pieces. Which, added to the money in her purse, elevated her fortune to two hundred and ninety-two dollars.

  Stuffing a fist in her mouth, she smothered a shout of jubilation. Had there been more space, she would have leaped to her feet and danced with joy. She felt an insane urge to split open a sack of sugar and fling handfuls out of the back of the wagon simply because now she could buy more.

  Sitting on the floor of the wagon, unaware of the rain pelting the canvas, oblivious to the sway and jolt of the wheels, she gazed down at the coins in her lap and burst into tears.

  At that moment Augusta couldn't have said whether she wept with gratitude for the coins filling her lap, or with regret for the coins she had been forced to leave behind.

  On Thursday they camped near other trains at the base of Chimney Rock, one of the trail's most famous landmarks. Soaring Chimney Rock, and the formations at its base, had become the great guest book of the plains. Travelers carved their initials or names on the rocks, and left messages with a former trapper who charged a nickel to pin a note to his communication board.

  After milking Hilda's cow and scouring out the breakfast skillet, Perrin washed at the rain barrel, then combed the dust out of her hair before pinning it in a knot above her collar. She chose her second-best bonnet, the one adorned with silk roses, and since the day was bright and warm, she wore a lightweight paisley fringed shawl.

  "Are you ready to go?" she called to Hilda, excited by the prospect of an excursion and the novelty of new faces from the other trains. Also, Cody had told her people used this gathering spot to sell items they had discovered were too heavy to continue transporting or that they had decided they didn't want. There would be lemonade, and possibly pemmican, which everyone wanted to sample. Chimney Rock offered an atmosphere and turmoil as exciting as a country fair, and was as eagerly anticipated.

  Hilda pushed their tent poles inside the wagon and dusted her hands across a gingham apron. She tucked a strand of blond hair beneath the braids crossing her head. "You go on ahead. I promised I'd wait for Winnie."

  "Oh." Perrin leaned close to the mirror, hiding her disappointment. Hilda was friendly and cheerful, a good traveling companion, but she hadn't become a friend as Perrin had secretly hoped. The fact that Hilda was welcome anywhere in camp but Perrin was not, opened a subtle but wide rift between them.

  Instinctively, she turned toward Mem's and Bootie's wagon, and considered asking Mem to accompany her to the Chimney Rock. But Mem had been uncharacteristically distant and withdrawn for several days.

  For a moment Perrin wavered. Maybe she should just forgo a closer look at the Chimney Rock rather than subject herself to the awkwardness of going alone. She could, after all, see the Chimney Rock's tall, craggy profile from here.

  But she would miss reading the names carved in the rock and posted on the old trapper's message board. She would miss the lemonade and browsing the array of items for sale.

  Giving herself a shake, she straightened her shoulders and her backbone. She had been alone all of her life; why should today be different? After giving Hilda a wave, she set out on her own, lingering well behind the other brides, lest it appear that she hoped to join them. She knew better than to court rejection.

  In the end, the discomfort of being unaccompanied was offset by the pleasure of the outing. Sipping cool sugary lemonade, made with real lemons instead of citric acid and a few drops of essence of lemon, Perrin strolled along a row of impromptu stalls, dubbed Heartbreak Alley. Here she inspected various wares, bought a jar of blackberry jam, and exchanged stories of the trail with a tired-looking woman standing behind a display of china lovingly set out on a blanket.

  When a family appeared who seemed interested in buying the china, Perrin moved on to examine a long plank that was pinned edge to edge with hundreds of messages. Some were amusing, some were sad, all were interesting, a small glimpse into someone else's life, someone else's problems.

  A blacksmith named Hank Berringer declared himself a wronged man and sought information about his runaway wife. A man from Illinois had lost a mule named Ornery and would wait a couple of days in Fort Laramie in case anyone found her. There were dozens of messages of encouragement from people traveling ahead of following relatives. It was impossible to read all of the papers fluttering on the pins.

  "Mrs. Waverly?" Cora called to her from the opposite end of the board. "Can you read?" she asked when Perrin joined her. "Would you read this here message to me?"

  Perrin leaned to the note Cora tapped, squinting to decipher crabbed misspelled handwriting. "'Urgent. Anyone with information concerning Mr. and Mrs. Edgar Eaggleston, post here. Will return in a week.'" The date at the bottom was Monday, two days previous. The message was unsigned.

  Cora nodded sharply as if the message confirmed something she had been mulling in her mind, then she turned away from the board and scanned the crowds. Her thoughtful gaze settled on the folds of mauve silk banding Augusta's straw bonnet. "Interesting," she murmured.

  "We should call this to Mr. Snow's attention so he can post a reply," Perrin commented. Then something occurred to her. "Cora, if you can't read, how did you chance to select a message about the Eagglestons from hundreds of others?"

  "Someone else was reading this one and I wondered wha
t was so upsetting about it," Cora replied absently, her gaze following Augusta's mauve ribbons along Heartbreak Alley.

  Perrin watched too. Augusta moved from stall to stall, seemingly insensible to the stir her beauty caused. She didn't appear to be enjoying the day. A frown tugged her pale brow, and even from a distance she appeared distracted. When Ona touched her sleeve to catch her attention, she jumped and glared as if she'd been struck by a rattler.

  Cora glanced over her shoulder at the message Perrin had read, then contemplated Augusta with a sulky expression. She seemed particularly interested in the net over Augusta's arm, filled with small items purchased from the desperate vendors along Heartbreak Alley. As if she'd forgotten Perrin, she moved into the crowd and in a minute was lost from sight.

  Perrin lifted on tiptoe and scanned the throngs of people, searching for Mem's auburn hair or Bootie's fluttery little figure. She spotted one of the teamsters from the bride train, John Voss, she thought it was, who waved to her, and she noticed Sarah and Lucy waiting in line before the lemonade stand, but she didn't see Mem.

  Mem would have been the perfect companion with whom to explore the rocks. Mem would have insisted they carve their names and would have made the event a great adventure.

  But even after joining the multitude of people scrambling among the rocks at the base of the chimney formation, Perrin didn't spot Mem's tall figure. After a time, the names carved in stone absorbed her interest and imagination to the extent that she didn't mind viewing them alone. But she did wish the lemonade stand wasn't so far away. The rocks captured the sun's heat and every breath drew in hot dust kicked up by the crowd on the ground below.

  Sitting on a rock that bore the inscription California or bust, Perrin blotted her forehead and fanned her flushed face with the edge of her shawl.

  "Shall I carve your initials?" a deep voice said above her.

  Shading her eyes, she gazed up at Cody Snow. He lifted his hat to her, letting sunlight shine through waves of dark hair. It was such a bright warm day, and she'd had such a fine time so far, she couldn't stop the smile that curved her lips. "I'd like that very much. If you wouldn't mind."

  His gaze dropped to her mouth and something flickered in his eyes, eyes so blue that she thought of summer skies and periwinkles. Perhaps it was his tanned skin that made the blue appear so intense. "You should smile more often," he said. His own smile was wide, engaging, and slightly lopsided.

  The compliment caught Perrin by surprise. Feeling the heat of the sun on her cheeks, she looked toward the broad plains. "There's a message on the board inquiring about the Eagglestons."

  "I left a reply." Bending down beside her, he removed a knife from the sheath on his belt. "Full name, or just initials?"

  He turned his face toward her and she realized how closely he knelt to her skirts. She could feel the exciting heat of him, could glimpse a nest of dark curls peeking from the bottom of his opened collar. The dizzying scent of strong soap and sunlight rose from his skin. Blushing, she shifted her gaze.

  "Initials will do." She tried to concentrate, tried not to think about the solid maleness of him. It occurred to her that Cody Snow completely dominated the space he occupied. There was no room for anyone else.

  "And thank you. It's nice to think there will be a record that I passed this way," she said, watching his hands on the knife and the rock. An odd certainty popped into her head. Those strong callused hands would be as skilled with a woman as they were with a knife or a gun. "Are you married, Mr. Snow?"

  At once she was horrified by her blurted question. As gossip traveled swiftly in small groups, she had heard his story weeks ago. Learning his history had done nothing to quiet the strange restless longings that troubled her in his presence.

  "My wife died in childbirth three years ago," he said tersely, leaning to blow dust out of the P appearing beneath his blade. "The infant died also."

  "I'm sorry," Perrin commented softly, gazing down at her lap. His words were clipped and brief, but she sensed anger and pain behind them. After a pause, she inquired, "How long were you married?"

  "Four years."

  "I was married to Garin almost four years."

  Here against the rocks, the sun fell on them heavily enough to draw a zigzag of sweat from Cody's temple. Fascinated, Perrin watched the tiny stream trickle toward his jawline. She experienced a sudden shocking urge to brush the perspiration away with her fingertips, then press her fingers to her lips and taste him. The intensity of this thought scandalized her and she quickly turned her head away, fearing her thoughts were writ large across her face.

  "Cody?" she asked in a low voice. "Why do you always seem so annoyed and angry? Do I do something that irritates you?"

  He rocked back on his heels and his eyes darkened. "Ellen died giving birth to a baby that was not mine. I trusted her completely, and she betrayed me."

  Slowly, Perrin nodded. "So now you dislike all women?"

  "About as much as you dislike all men."

  She wet her lips and tried to look away from him, but found she couldn't. They gazed into each other's eyes, measuring, making assumptions. "If you expect the worst, you're never disappointed."

  "That's how I see it," he said.

  Their locked eyes created a tension between them that drew her nerves taut, made her hands tremble to the extent that she tightened them around the jar of blackberry jam. The hard speculation in his gaze dried her mouth and she couldn't swallow.

  Once she wouldn't have understood what was happening between them. But that was long ago, before Garin, before Joseph.

  Now she understood what it meant to think about a man day and night, to hear his voice in dreams, to lose herself in thoughts of his hands or while remembering the glow of sunshine among the small dark hairs shading his jaw. She recognized the tension in her lower stomach, the aching in her breasts.

  The odd thing was that she had seldom felt this level of arousal with Garin and never with Joseph. But she could not look at Cody Snow without yearning to touch his hard lean body, without wondering how his mouth would taste or how his hands would feel on her naked skin. She didn't know when this had happened, but it had.

  Dropping her head, she watched her gloved fingers nervously smoothing her skirts across her thighs and she caught a deep breath. In Clampet Falls, Oregon, a farmer named Horace Able awaited her arrival. Perhaps he tried to imagine her, thought about her, was planning his life around her.

  Shamefully, she had not entertained a single thought about Horace Able. She knew she would marry him regardless. But Cody Snow with his strong tanned hands and jaw, with his dangerous cobalt eyes that probed and challenged, him she thought about all the time.

  And he didn't want a woman in his life any more than she wanted a man in hers. Yet there was something electric that vibrated the air when they were together, as charged as the heat lightning that flashed across the vast prairie skies.

  "It's finished," he said in a thick voice. When she turned to him, his shoulders had swelled against his shirt, as hard as the rocks surrounding them. Serge trousers pulled tight around his thighs and cut a deep V around his crotch.

  "What?" she whispered, feeling faint. The sun beat down on her bonnet and perspiration dampened the sides of her waist. When she noticed droplets of moisture glistening in the crisp dark hair curling from his shirt collar, her head reeled and she couldn't think.

  "Your initials," he said, staring at her mouth.

  Blindly, she dropped her gaze to the raw cuts in the rock. "Yes," she said in a low voice, swaying toward him. "Yes, thank you."

  "Perrin." He spoke so low that only she could have heard. But what she heard in his voice caused a shiver of apprehension to trace down her spine. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't.

  "Mr. Snow?"

  They both jerked at the shout, then turned toward Thea Reeves, who was climbing toward them, with Ona Norris immediately behind. Sunshine and pleasure flushed Thea's pretty face.

  "Will y
ou carve our initials in the rock?" Thea called cheerfully, adjusting the strap of the canvas bag that held her sketch pad and pencils. "I'll give you a sketch of the Chimney Rock in exchange for your labor."

  It wasn't until Perrin noticed Ona's stern gaze that she remembered how close Cody knelt by her side and realized how his proximity might be interpreted.

  Springing to her feet and blushing furiously, she thanked him again for carving her initials, then she murmured something to Thea and Ona before escaping and scrambling down the formation to the crowds below.

  With a shock of truth, she recognized the excursion had ended for her. Today had not been about viewing the Chimney Rock or inspecting Heartbreak Alley. It hadn't been about reading the names carved in the rocks or leaving her own mark there.

  She had come in hopes of seeing Cody, of spending a few minutes alone with him. And this was not the first time she had tried to maneuver time alone with him.

  Admitting that her thoughts and actions had begun to revolve around Cody Snow made her feel heartsick. That she could be so deeply attracted to one man when she had promised to marry another shamed her. Her growing desire for Cody made her as sinful and as debased as the other brides believed she was.

  But she couldn't help herself. Her woman's body didn't understand that Cody was forbidden to her.

  The pleasure vanished from the bright day, and she felt like weeping. Perhaps Augusta was right to label her a harlot.

  * * *

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  My Journal, June, 1852: We've only traveled six hundred miles, but we can no longer pretend to ignore the hardships, the lack of privacy, the dirt, no fresh food, terrible weather, exhaustion, and the tedium of daily sameness. Sometimes I wish I hadn't come. Papa wanted this marriage. I'm no longer certain that I did.

  Lucy Hastings

  Mem blinked down at Lucy, horror dampening her eyes. In the ghastly shadows cast by a flickering lantern, Lucy's skin seemed to shrink over her bones, creating gaunt hollows and peaks. Tears rolled out of the girl's eyes as she pitched forward, gripped by another series of agonizing cramps. Her body writhed in convulsive spasms.