A Gown of Spanish Lace

by Janette Oke

  The man looked disappointed. Laramie let him wait.

  At last he looked up and gave a bit of a nod. “Do need me a bit of a grub stake, though,” he announced. “Takin’ my sister on up to stay with our kin.”

  Even as he spoke the words, his face flushed slightly. He had read in his mother’s Bible an account of someone named Abraham making the same false statement regarding his wife Sarah, many, many years ago.

  But the man behind the counter did not seem to question the remark. Perhaps his thoughts ran only to the sale.

  “You jest pick out what ya want—an’ show me hard cash, mister,” he replied.

  Laramie thought the merchant looked as though he was having a hard time keeping from rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

  “Usual grub stake,” Laramie said. “I’ll be by to pick it up in the mornin’.”

  He hesitated. He had a bag full of stolen coins in the small saddlebag he kept with him, but he was reluctant to squander any of it. Actually, he was feeling uncomfortable even having the ill-gotten money. Still, they needed food and he did need a change of clothes. “An’ you can add this to the list,” he went on, selecting the articles of clothing. “Pay ya fer ’em right now.”

  Laramie felt much better after he’d had a bath and dressed in the clean clothes. He even thought about getting his hair cut but decided against it. He didn’t want to scatter too much money about the little town. There was no use starting tongues to wagging.

  As soon as he had finished his simple grooming, he placed the new black Stetson on his head and picked up his money bag. He tied it carefully around his body under his shirt and strapped on his guns. Then he set off down the hall to see if Ariana was ready to try to find a place that served up supper.

  Ariana waited impatiently, one small foot tapping the worn carpet. She was starved. She had lingered in the hot bath, enjoying the soothing warmth on her aching muscles. Then she had toweled herself dry and dressed in her own clothing from the pack-sack Laramie had left behind for her. The garments had felt strange at first after so many days in the buckskins, and she did deplore the fact of the many wrinkles. Still, she felt a little more herself as she pinned her hair carefully and surveyed her image in the darkened mirror in the room. Now she had been waiting for what seemed hours. Her patience was wearing thin. Had Laramie just dumped her and expected her to fend for herself? Was she to find her own supper—or just do without? He knew she had no money with which to make purchases.

  And then a horrid thought raced through Ariana’s mind. Did Laramie have money? Were they penniless? Would they need to steal their way to Montana—like Laramie had been doing all his life? What if—what if he had been—raiding—and something had gone wrong? He could have been thrown in jail. Been shot and wounded. She might be on her own in this strange little town. Miles from her parents. Miles from the uncle and aunt she did not know.

  Ariana felt the panic rising in her chest. Should she go look for him? Should she deny ever having known him, if he’d been caught? Should she seek out a lawman and explain her dilemma?

  A lawman? Strange. Ariana had not thought of that. Certainly it would be the reasonable thing to do now that she was in friendly environs. Surely this little town had law of some sort. They would help her. After all, Laramie was—was an outlaw.

  Ariana hated to think of him in that fashion. But it was true. True. He was an outlaw. Why had she felt she could trust him?

  She began to tremble. Her face paled. Her eyes widened with fear and concern. “Oh, God,” she prayed, covering her face with her shaking hands. “What do I do? Should I…it would be proper to…escape…wouldn’t it?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  End of Journey

  Ariana rose shakily to her feet. She lifted her chin and looked about her. The room held very few of her personal items, but she carefully gathered them and bundled them into her little pack. Then she pinned her crushed hat carefully in place on her upswept hair and reached for her wrinkled coat and winter gloves. She would do it. It was the only reasonable thing to do.

  She lifted her pack. It felt lighter now that she had emptied it of extra clothing and the heavy coat. There really wasn’t much in it at all. Her few personal grooming aids. Her Bible. She let her eyes scan the room again to be sure she had missed nothing. The travel-worn buckskins were folded neatly and left on the chair, the moccasins placed on top of them.

  Ariana took a deep breath to give herself courage and reached for the door handle. A sharp knock made her gasp and draw back quickly.

  “Ariana,” came Laramie’s voice. “Ya ready?”

  Ariana could not have said whether the intense feelings that passed through her were of regret or relief. Quietly she laid her little bundle on the floor behind the door, took a deep breath to calm herself, and reached to undo the lock.

  Laramie stood there, clean-shaven and polished until he fairly shone, his shirt still stiff with newness. Even the worn, droopy Stetson had been replaced. Ariana’s little gasp caught in her throat. If he had been raiding it seemed he had covered a lot of ground in a big hurry.

  He stood looking at her. Ariana looked down at her own faded, wrinkled garments. When she looked back up he gave her a slight nod as though to express his approval.

  “Thought ya might be nigh starved,” was his comment.

  She swallowed and shifted uneasily. “Yes…yes, I am,” she stammered. “I…I was beginning to think…”

  But Ariana did not finish the statement. She wasn’t sure how much she should say.

  They left the town bright and early the next morning. Ariana was surprised when she went down to join Laramie that he had added another horse to the number. Bulging packs were secured to the pack saddle.

  “Don’t worry,” he drawled, as though reading her mind. “It’s all paid fer.”

  He did not explain how he had come by the money that paid the accounts.

  Ariana was back in her buckskins, her dress repacked in the bundle she handed to Laramie. She noticed a slicker tied behind each saddle. His eyes followed hers. “Keeps out some of the wind and rain,” he offered.

  Laramie settled the bill with the woman who kept the rooming house, and he held Ariana’s horse while she mounted, and they were on the trail once again.

  It was almost a pleasant day. Ariana tried not to think of the little town they had left behind. She tried not to scold herself for not having attempted to find a lawman. She tried not to wonder if Laramie could really be trusted to deliver her to the home of her uncle in Montana. She pushed all of the troubling thoughts as far into the back of her mind as she could and tried to concentrate on prayer, even as she swayed slightly in the saddle.

  Laramie was still pressing the mounts forward at a fast pace. Ariana had thought he would relax a bit. The spring sun was high in the sky before he took the first break. Ariana climbed down stiffly.

  “Sorry to keep pushin’,” he said in apology as he watched her dismount.

  “I…just thought that…that we’d be…rather safe…now,” she suggested.

  He was squinting into the sunlight, studying every direction from their vantage point. At last he turned to her.

  “Should be far enough ahead of…Pa,” he conceded. “Don’t s’pose he’s on our tail but…” He let the words hang on the stillness of the spring day. Ariana waited.

  “I’ve no idee who shares these hills,” he finished at last.

  That was a new and frightening thought to Ariana. Were they never to be out of danger?

  “You mean…?” she began but couldn’t finish.

  “Crow. Blackfoot. I don’t know who ranges here.” He hesitated for a few more moments and then went on soberly. “An’ those hills yonder—bound to welcome stray pockets of malcontents.”

  So they had left one nest of robbers to be threatened by others. The thought was not a pleasant one.

  “No need to tighten up,” went on Laramie offhandedly, using an expression Ariana had not heard be
fore. “Jest pays to keep a sharp eye—’specially at one’s back—take stock now an’ then.”

  Ariana nodded, but the fear that constricted her throat was not so easy to dismiss.

  Gradually Ariana was beginning to think of Laramie not as her captor but as her deliverer. Without realizing why, she was able to relax in his company. She was learning to trust again.

  When they stopped to make camp in the evenings, she was at ease enough to discuss little happenings from the day, to offer to share in camp chores, or to relate small events from her past.

  Laramie responded in his easygoing way, even though she felt he never totally gave up his vigilance. He answered her questions, added comments to her chatter, and gladly shared the duties of preparing an evening meal and setting up camp.

  “You know,” said Ariana one evening as they cleaned up the tin dishes at a small stream trickling past their campsite, “I’ve totally lost track of time. I don’t even know what day it is.”

  Laramie thought on her words and then drawled, “Does it matter?”

  Ariana lifted her head, then laughed softly. “Guess not,” she agreed. “Only it would be nice to know. If I were home…” She did not finish. If she were home it would be important for her to keep track of every passing day. To know school days and weekends, Saturdays and Sundays, holidays and birthdays. Yes, it would matter. It did matter.

  “I don’t even know if…if my mama’s birthday is past,” she went on wistfully.

  “When’s her birthday?” asked Laramie.

  “May the second.”

  Laramie looked at the evening sun just dipping behind the distant hills.

  “I don’t think we’re into May yet,” he answered.

  For some reason Ariana felt relieved. She would like to be home…. She let her thoughts drift. She wasn’t going home. Well, she’d like to be at her aunt Molly’s before her mother’s birthday.

  “When is your birthday?” she asked, turning her attention back to Laramie, who was rinsing the frying pan.

  He shrugged.

  “You don’t know?” she asked candidly.

  “I’ve no idee.” He turned slightly toward her. “Never stopped to think about it, I guess. Maybe never cared. Should I?”

  “Well…yes. Sort of. I mean…I’d want to know. Don’t you?”

  “Never thought on it,” said Laramie as he swung the pan back and forth to dry it in the breeze.

  “Didn’t your father tell you?” asked Ariana.

  Laramie let his eyes look out over the hills wrapped comfortably in gathering twilight. “Birthdays don’t mean much in the camp,” he said casually.

  “Do you…?” Ariana spoke hesitantly now. “Do you know…how old you are?”

  Laramie turned back to her with seeming indifference. “I dunno. Somewhere around twenty, I guess.”

  He seemed totally unconcerned.

  Ariana found it hard to accept his attitude. She was about to speak again when Laramie turned his face toward the west.

  “Looks like it could blow in a bit of a storm,” he observed. “We’ll need to be sure things are rainproof tonight.”

  “There’s an outcroppin’ of rock up ahead. We’ll let the horses graze here and take our meal up there.”

  Ariana welcomed the opportunity. The view would be spectacular. Inwardly she knew it was not the view that interested Laramie. He saw the rocks as a lookout point.

  They ate slowly, savoring the intensity of the sun, allowing its fingers of warmth to ease the aches from wearied muscles. Ariana began to feel drowsy. She wished she could stretch out and sleep—maybe forever.

  Laramie seemed content to let her rest. The horses needed a break as much as their riders. He leaned against the rock at his back and pulled his old Stetson downward over his eyes. The new one rode proudly on the slicker behind his saddle.

  But along with her sleepiness, Ariana also felt restless. They were getter closer and closer to their destination. She felt both excitement and reluctance. She could not unscramble her own thoughts or feelings.

  Nor could she untangle her thoughts concerning Laramie. He was an outlaw—yet why had she learned to feel so secure, so safe with him?

  She longed to study him, but she did not dare lest her searching eyes cause him to stir in recognition of her interest. She decided instead to rouse herself and take a walk.

  She had only taken a few steps when his voice reached her. “Don’t go far,” he said lazily.

  She did not even answer. Just continued to scramble up over the warm surface of the rocks. It was amazing what the sun could do to cold stone.

  She found a spot just above him where she could see out over the whole valley. It was a magnificent sight. First the tall timbers of pine and spruce, dotted here and there with patches of birch and aspen just barely unrolling fresh spring leaves. Then the valley floor with its sparkling ribbon of river that curled and twisted through the greenness, being lost time and again in the lushness of the forest. Way beyond was a slim column of smoke. Ariana could not tell if it came from some small cabin’s chimney or some wanderer’s open fire. It really did not matter. It added something—mysterious—romantic—to the scene before her.

  “Should be movin’,” came Laramie’s soft call.

  Ariana breathed deeply, took one more longing look at the vista before her, and began to scramble back down over rocks to join him.

  She was almost there when she was startled by a sharp command. “Don’t move!”

  Ariana jerked to a halt in unquestioned obedience, though she did not understand why.

  Before she could even draw a breath, two shots rang out through the day’s stillness. Ariana was frozen to her spot. Only her eyes dared move. Laramie was standing, guns in hand, and they were pointed to the place where she stood. Smoke drifted lazily from each barrel. Laramie’s whole body was tensed as though ready for further action.

  Ariana became conscious of movement at her feet. She let her gaze drop down and beheld the most hideous sight she had ever seen. A snake was writhing just beyond her moccasined foot. What was left of its head was ragged raw flesh, spurting blood. It splashed on the hem of her leather buckskin as it swished back and forth in the agony of death.

  Ariana felt the world spinning round. She wanted to scream. Wished to run—but she could do neither.

  “Don’t move,” came Laramie’s voice, but this time it was controlled and gentle, though still urgent. “Where there is one there is often more.”

  Ariana had no intention of moving. She was vaguely aware that Laramie was moving toward her, the smoking guns still in his hands as his eyes darted back and forth among the rocks.

  “Looks okay,” he said at her elbow. “I don’t see any more.”

  Ariana closed her eyes and sucked in her breath—but it was too late. The whole world was quickly going black.

  Laramie had caught her just before she hit the rocks. Gently he carried the young woman down the slope of the hill toward the waiting horses. He eased her down to the softness of the new spring grass and went for the canteen that hung on his saddle. Taking the bandana from his neck, he wet it and began to sponge her pale face. She was so delicate—so vulnerable. Then again he marveled at her strength. A lesser person would have given in long ago under the horrible captivity, the dreadful wait in the cave, and the pressure of the rigorous ride.

  Anger gripped him as he thought of the injustice done to her. Why had his father come up with such an unthinkable scheme? What had given him the right to so grossly interfere with the life of another?

  He wet the kerchief again and ran the dampness over her forehead, smoothing back tendrils of wisping hair.

  He had told Sam he would be willing to die for her. As he looked at her now, he knew he had spoken true words. She was something beautiful—precious. He wondered what his mother would have thought of her. Would she have loved her—like he did?

  The unbidden acknowledgement startled him. What did he know about love? It was ha
te he had been raised to recognize and understand. Hate—and bitterness. Envy and greed. Those were the passions he had grown up with.

  Yet as he bathed her face and ached for her to return to consciousness, he knew that what he was feeling was far from any of those emotions. Love her? Maybe. Maybe he did. But he had no right to love her—that much he knew. And the secret knowledge that he did was not going to make his job any easier, though it was certainly going to make it more intense.

  He was relieved when she began to stir.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him, seeming puzzled by the fact that he knelt over her, supporting her head with one hand.

  “A rattler,” he explained to remind her. She looked as though she was about to faint again.

  “It’s okay,” he soothed. “He’s gone now.”

  She shut her eyes tightly against the memory of the headless, writhing snake. He remembered the blood on her buckskin skirt and wished he had thought to try to wash it away.

  He eased back from her, but she reached out a trembling hand and clasped the front of his shirt. “Don’t leave me,” she begged him.

  “I won’t. I won’t,” he promised, and he pulled her close and held her until she stopped trembling.

  “It was awful,” she whispered against him.

  “It’s gone now,” he reminded her.

  “Its head—”

  “I know. I know.”

  He patted her shoulder instinctively, pushed back the hair from her face. At last she opened her eyes. Her body still felt limp, but she had stopped shaking.

  She pushed gently against him and he reluctantly released her. “We need to go,” she said in a trembling voice.

  “Not ’til yer ready,” he assured her.

  The color was returning to her cheeks. She swallowed hard. Then sat up.

  “Could I have a drink of water, please?” she asked, her voice still trembling.

  He reached for the canteen and held it for her. She drank, then reached a hand to brush a drop from her lips. He noticed the fullness of her mouth. He had never noticed it before.