Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 03]

by Almost Eden

  “The man be sick a’right. Take a look, Aee. If she don’t figger it’s a catchin’ sickness,” he said to Paul, “we’ll help ya pole upriver to our landin’ if ya wants. My woman is a smart hand at doctorin’, but Miz Mac ain’t in no shape right now to be traipsin’ ’round. Her time’s nigh to drop the babe.”

  Aee knelt down beside Eli and looked closely at his face and neck. She pulled down the neck of his shirt to look at his chest, then his upper arms.

  “There’s no spots on him, Pa.”

  MacMillan nodded and spoke to Paul. “What’ll it be, man?”

  “We be glad fer help, mon ami.”

  In response to a wave of MacMillan’s hand, the two men in the canoe scrambled aboard and took up a pole. Paul slipped the mooring line holding the craft to the shore and the boat began to drift out from the bank.

  Kruger jumped to his feet and shouted. Paul ignored him.

  “Verdammt!” The German let out a bellow of rage and leaped to the deck of the boat, leaving the keg of whiskey beside the tree. “Sonabitch! Ya’d leaf me!”

  “Dieu! Be glad to be rid of ya!” Paul shouted with more anger than Light had heard from him before.

  “Ya vant I kill ya?” Kruger started for Paul, his ham-like fists clenched. He stopped suddenly when he felt the prick of Light’s knife in his back.

  “Pole or go over the side.”

  The whiskey Kruger had consumed made him brave. He moved to turn on Light but was stopped when the pressure of the knife increased.

  “I cut yore t’roat den I take yore voman.”

  “Touch her one time and I’ll cut your heart out.” There was a deadly menace in Light’s voice. He prodded Otto again with the tip of his knife.

  “Mein Gott! I vill kill ya.” Kruger’s eyes met those of MacMillan, then drifted to the Negro and on to the stoic face of the Indian. They were both ready and waiting to jump him if MacMillan gave the nod. The German was not so drunk that he couldn’t figure the odds.

  “Vatch yore back, breed,” he snarled and moved away to pull a pole from the slots.

  The six men poled the craft, leaving Maggie to work the new steering oar and Aee the job of tending to Eli.

  She dipped a cloth in the bucket of water and bathed Eli’s head. She had never been this close to a young and handsome white man. This one was helpless as a babe, which both thrilled and scared her. As she bathed his head, she studied his face. His forehead was broad, his nose straight, his mouth thin and firm. Thick, light-brown hair grew back from his forehead and fell down over his ears. He looked younger than he had the day before—almost boyish.

  Eli muttered a few unintelligible words, opened his eyes and looked directly into hers. Aee was so startled that she backed away before she realized that although his sky-blue eyes were clear, they were not seeing her.

  “Pretty,” he murmured and lifted a hand toward her face.

  She grabbed his wrist and forced it back to his side. He groped for her hand and held it tight. She could barely speak for the excitement that crowded her lungs.

  “Be . . . still, mister.”

  “Hoist the sail, Paul,” Eli whispered hoarsely, then bitingly, “Goddamm bastard. A slutty savage! Got ta see—Got ta know—”

  “Shhh . . . Be still.”

  “Bitch! Injun . . . bi . . . tch—” Eli’s lids closed, and his voice faded.

  Aee was taken aback by the cruel words and blinked moisture from her eyes. The hurt was there even though she knew that he was out of his head. Fever did that to a person.

  “Ya’ll be a’right.’ Aee spoke without a trace of sympathy in her voice. “Go t’ sleep,” she said when his eyes flew open and he continued to look at her.

  “Mag . . . gie,” he murmured. “Mag . . . gie,” he said again as his lids fluttered down over his eyes.

  He wanted Maggie! Aee tried to pull her hand from his, but his fingers tightened. She decided to leave it there until he was completely asleep lest she rouse him again. It was exciting to have her hand held even though she knew that he didn’t realize it was her hand he was holding.

  Aee remembered how his eyes had passed over her and rested on Maggie the day before, when she had come with her father to invite the travelers to the homestead. He had haughtily refused the invitation, saying he had to stay near his boat and guard his goods.

  “He wants her!” The words came from under Aee’s breath. She couldn’t blame him. Maggie was so beautiful. Did he want her badly enough to fight her husband for her?

  She had really wanted this handsome young man to come to their home. Pa had said their place was as nice as any along the river. Her mother’s father had been a rich merchant who had had his daughter tutored to live in the white man’s world. She had taught her daughters proper manners.

  Zee would have watched his goods. But . . . she reasoned, looking down at him . . . Mr. Nielson didn’t know about Zee.

  With six men at the poles the craft moved upriver, and soon MacMillan was directing them to a bank below his homestead where thick willows hung out over the water, partially concealing the mouth of a creek that flowed into the river. The flatboat glided smoothly into the opening. Inland a quarter of a mile, completely hidden from river traffic, was MacMillan’s mooring site.

  “Ya want Caleb to tote the man to the sickroom?” MacMillan asked as soon as the boat was secured to the dock.

  “Tote him?” Paul echoed.

  “It won’t be no chore fer Caleb.”

  “Then we’d . . . be obliged.”

  The huge man moved lightly up onto the wooden platform. Light judged him to be close to six and a half feet tall. He was one of the biggest men Light had ever seen, but raw-boned big, without an extra ounce of flesh on his body. A doeskin sleeveless shirt stretched smoothly across his broad chest. Around his bare upper arms, as big and as muscled as an ordinary man’s thigh, were tied bands of red cloth. He stood on legs as sturdy as tree trunks. His face was ebony black, smooth-skinned and shiny as hard coal.

  Caleb’s large golden eyes swept the area, taking in everything. Light had the impression that he was making a thoughtful evaluation of what he was seeing, especially in regard to Kruger. After the two women had walked past him up the path to the homestead, he stepped back onto the boat and picked Eli up in his arms, carrying him as easily as if he were a child.

  Paul hesitated. Although he was anxious about his friend, he didn’t want to leave Light alone on the boat with Kruger.

  “Mr. Deschanel,” MacMillan said, “ye and Mr. Lightbody be welcome in my home.” He ignored Kruger as if he were not there. Then, after he had received a nod from Paul, he spoke in Osage to the Indian. Paul didn’t understand what he was saying, but Light remembered well the language of his mother.

  “Watch the bald one. If he starts up the path, kill him.”

  The Indian made no sign that he had heard, but when they left the boat, he followed them for a few yards, then turned off into the brush and disappeared.

  * * *

  A bed for Eli had been prepared in a small room attached to the side of the house where Mrs. MacMillan treated anyone who came to the homestead seeking help. The narrow bunk attached to the wall was several feet off the ground. The mattress of heavy duck cloth filled with straw was clean, as was the feather pillow placed beneath his head.

  The Osage often brought their sick and were taken in if it were determined the sickness was not catching. Occasionally a trapper or an injured riverman occupied the room. A small cemetery on a nearby rise was the resting place for a half-dozen strangers.

  “Miz Mac and the girls’ll tend him,” MacMillan said to Paul. “We take off his wet britches.”

  After that was done and his private parts were covered with a sheet, Mrs. MacMillan came into the shed. Although her belly was huge with the unborn child, she walked with her shoulders squared and her back straight. Aee followed her with a basket and a pitcher of water.

  “Leave us,” Mrs. MacMillan said to the men in
a tone that left no room for argument. Paul was reluctant, but he followed MacMillan to the well, where the homesteader drew up a fresh bucket of water.

  “If anythin’ can be done, Miz Mac’ll do it,” he said matter-of-factly to Paul while handing him the dipper. “Have a drink a this and tell me if it ain’t the best gol-durn water to go down yore gullet.”

  The younger children were delighted to see Maggie again so soon. Their faces were flushed with excitement. The two smallest, Dee and Eee, hung onto her hands. Cee and Bee lingered at the entrance of the shed ready to run and fetch when their mother gave an order.

  Light leaned against the trunk of the giant elm tree and watched his wife play a game of squat-tag with the little girls. At times, he thought, she was like a child. But only at times. It was not a child who had killed the Delaware in the cave. She was not a child when they were in their blankets. Light felt a stirring beneath his buckskins at the thought of how quickly her passion could be aroused. He wanted to be alone with her, longed for the time when they would be free to continue their journey to their mountain.

  He also felt a nagging unease about Maggie’s interest in the Swede. Had her feelings for him changed now that she had met this white man? Light had never been uncomfortable living between the Indian and white world. He had not stopped to consider what Maggie’s feelings might be in the years to come.

  After he had killed the man attempting to rape her, he had wanted to take her with him, keep her with him, protect her. It had not occurred to him that he would come to love her so desperately, love her with every fibre of his being. She was truly his life, his treasure.

  When morning came, he would look for a place along the river and build a winter shelter. He would trap, then sell his furs to MacMillan for enough money to buy horses from the Osage to take them across the plains in the spring. He had hoped to winter with the Osage across the river, but it was time to stop. They would be safer near MacMillan should the Delaware or a raiding party of river pirates attack.

  He watched Maggie frolicking with the children. No man would take her from him. No man would understand her free spirit as he did. She was his woods sprite, his pretty butterfly. He would kill the Swede before he let him have her.

  Bee went to the well for a bucket of water and hurried back to the sickroom. Light realized that Nielson was very sick, but he felt that Eli was strong enough to weather the fever. Paul had told him something of the man’s background. Eli’s Swedish mother had been in this country only a year when she had given birth to him. At age eleven he had been left to fend for himself. Nothing was said of his father.

  Paul had explained that he and Eli had spent the last few years on the Ohio, so unlike the great Missouri with its turbulent currents, strings of small islands and the sudden surges of muddy water. He admitted that they were ill-prepared to tackle the savage river and the untamed wilderness. It had been foolish of them to come upriver with only six men to pole or man the oars. The two crewmen who had deserted the flatboat a week from St. Charles had had a chance of making it back. The other two had more than likely provided entertainment for the Delaware.

  Light liked the Frenchman and admired his devotion to his friend, but he felt no obligation to stay with Paul until Nielson was well again. Light hoped that MacMillan could furnish the Swede with a crew of Osage to enable them to continue on up the river. He would be willing to bet, however, that after the settler sized up the two rivermen, he would dangle his older girls under their noses in an effort to persuade them to settle here.

  MacMillan was a hard man. Hadn’t he ordered the Osage to kill Kruger if he came toward the house? With river pirates on one side, the Delaware on the other and bands of restless Indians prowling the land, the settler did what he had to do to survive and protect his family.

  In the deepening dusk the fireflies had come out. The croaking of peeper frogs down at the creek was joined by a choir of crickets. Birds flitted restlessly in the treetops as they settled for the night. Downriver an owl hooted. It was a lonely sound that reminded Light of his life after his family had been killed and before Maggie had come into it.

  Caleb came up from the dock with Light’s packs, crossed the yard and dropped them at his feet.

  “Mista say Caleb fetch ’em.” The voice was exceptionally soft considering that it came from such a large man.

  “My thanks.” Light had to tilt his head to look into the man’s face.

  “Caleb! Caleb!” MacMillan’s youngest child, Eee, ran across the yard. “Swing, Caleb.” Maggie and Dee trailed behind her.

  With a delighted grin, the giant held out two large hands. Eee ran to him with arms raised. He grasped the child’s wrists and swung her off the ground. Around and around they turned . . . Eee’s merry laughter rang out confidently; this was a game they had played before.

  “My turn, Caleb!” Dee screeched and ran to him when he stopped and Eee stood upright once again.

  It was difficult to decide who most enjoyed the game, the huge man or the children. Eee was jumping up and down by the time Caleb finished swinging Dee.

  “Maggie’s turn! Swing Maggie’s turn!”

  “No! No!” Maggie ran behind Light, wrapped her arms about his waist and buried her face between his shoulder blades.

  “Caleb won’t let ya fall, Maggie.”

  Mrs. MacMillan came out of the shed. “Don’t ya be pesterin’ Mrs. Lightbody.”

  “We ain’t, Ma.”

  “You’re spoilin’ them again, Caleb.” Mrs. MacMillan clicked her tongue and shook her head in mock anger.

  “Yass, Miz Mac. I guess I is.”

  “It’s time to come in, girls. Say goodnight to Mr. and Mrs. Lightbody.”

  “Ma—”

  “Caleb was goin’ to catch us a firefly. We was goin’ to show Maggie.”

  “Come. You’ll see Maggie tomorrow.”

  The girls went reluctantly to the house and Caleb loped back toward the dock.

  When they were alone beneath the tree, Maggie threw her arms around Light’s neck and snuggled her mouth against his in a long deep kiss.

  “Where will we sleep, Light?”

  “I’ve already picked out a place where I’ll have you all to myself.” He kissed her again, then held her away so he could look at her.

  “I’ve got that hurty feelin’ I get when we kiss. I’m all wet between my legs too. Will ya give me lovin’ t’night?” Maggie asked, wrapping her arms around his waist and wiggling closer to him.

  “As much as you want, chérie.” He chucked her beneath the chin with his fist, then held her tightly to him for a long moment.

  Maggie moved out of his arms. “I’ll see ’bout Eli, then we go.”

  “No! Stay with me.” Light held tightly to her hand when she would have left him.

  “Light?” She moved back to him, tilted her face to his, her eyes questioning.

  He shook his head. “He doesn’t need you, chérie. He has others to tend him.”

  “I want t’ see how he is, Light.”

  “It’s been a while since we’ve been alone. I want you to come to our bed.”

  “Why ya saying this? Why don’t ya like Eli?”

  “It’s not important, my pet. We go from here in the morning.”

  “Ya said we’d stay.”

  “Not here, ma petite. We’ll make a place for ourselves and stay the winter.”

  “We can’t stay here?”

  “Not in another man’s home, chérie. I’ll make a place for us. It will not be so far away that we can’t return here if trouble comes.”

  “But . . . Eli and Paul—”

  “—will go their own way. Come, my treasure. I’ve been longing to have you alone.”

  “Ya liked Eli. Ya saved him—”

  “I would have done the same for any man.”

  “Even Kruger?”

  “Oui, sweet pet, I would have tried. Even knowing that later I might need to kill him.”

  Maggie’s face wore a puz
zled frown. “I don’t understand, Light, but I’m yore woman an’ I do what ya say.”

  She was his woman. Light experienced a queer stab of fear. He had not wanted to love her. He had not wanted to expose his heart to the pain of loving and losing ever again. He pulled Maggie to him, held her tightly, and rocked her in his arms.

  * * *

  Aee lifted Eli’s head and held the cup to his lips. In his fevered state he craved water and obediently drank cup after cup of the tea her mother had brewed from willow bark. After examining his ankle, Mrs. MacMillan proclaimed that it was not the cause of the fever. The gonoshay poultice was working. Nevertheless, she had given her husband orders to kill several squirrels in the morning so that she could make a poultice of squirrel brains and crushed ginseng leaves to apply to the wound.

  His illness, she believed, was due to swallowing so much river water.

  The homestead was quiet. Aee would be relieved of her duty in an hour or two. In the flickering light from the candle, she studied Eli’s face. What would it look like without the whiskers? Hesitantly, she lifted her fingers to touch his beard. It was as soft as her hair after she had washed it in the rain barrel. She fingered the hair that lay on his shoulders. It was fine and silky too. Never had she seen such a handsome man. Hearing a sound, she quickly jerked her hand away and looked guiltily toward the door.

  Eli moved his arms to the top of the blanket, baring his shoulders and chest. Aee wasn’t sure what to do. Her mother had said to keep him covered and warm. The fall night air had a bite in it. She had thrown a shawl about her own shoulders. She stood, leaned over him, gently lifted an arm and put it back under the blanket.

  “Who’er you?”

  The whispered words startled Aee. She straightened. His eyes were open. A bead of sweat was on his forehead. She gaped at him in surprise.

  “I’m hot,” he said before she could answer.

  “All the more reason to keep covered.”

  “You’re that . . . girl.”

  “Aee MacMillan.”

  “Where am I?”