“I’m not sure what to do.” Panic began to mount inside her. She clutched at her cameo, protecting it with one hand while trying to keep David on her hip with the other.
Somehow in the bumping and elbowing, the natives pushed her away from Eli and the wagon.
More hands groped at her. The women giggled.
Priscilla tried to step away from them, but they pressed in from all sides, boxing her into the center of their attention.
“Eli,” she called.
Someone pulled at her bonnet, and before she could rescue it, her head was bare. She gasped and clutched her cameo tighter.
Fingers pawed at her hair, her skirt, her face. She yelped at the pressure against the tender bruises on her cheek and nose.
“Stop!” Panic rose and threatened to knock her to the ground. Her hair came loose and tumbled about her face. At once, fingers gripped it.
A swift jerk brought tears to her eyes.
Would they tear her apart piece by piece? In all her grandest plans, she’d never imagined she’d die the first time she encountered the natives in their land.
The stench, the pain, the press of bodies, the clutching fingers—everything surrounded her and threatened to suffocate her.
“Stand back.” Eli broke through the circle. His strength and size forced the women away from her. He reached for her, his eyes flashing with worry—the same worry she’d seen earlier when he’d rescued her from Old Ephraim.
“They just want to touch you and see you.” He wrapped his arm around her and sheltered her against his broad chest. “But there are too many of them right now.”
She ducked into him and wished her heart wasn’t quivering with fear of the Indian women.
He pushed through the crowd, protecting her and David in the shelter of his arm. When they reached the back of the wagon, he lifted her into the confines of the canvas.
“I want you to stay inside until the natives have a chance to get used to seeing you.” He slipped off his hat, revealing his crinkled brow.
She lowered David onto a pile of blankets and gasped for breath. Tangled masses of hair fell across her face.
“That’s twice today that you’ve been mauled and man-handled.” His voice dripped with frustration. “I shudder to think what could have happened to you if you’d been by yourself.”
“Thank the Lord for His constant protection.” She shivered, not daring to think about it. “And I thank Him that He’s given me you.”
“But what if I’m not there next time? The threat of danger isn’t going to get any better,” he said, almost regretfully. “If anything, it’ll get worse.”
“Yes, I’ve encountered danger today, but once we get going again, I’m sure everything will work out.”
Eli’s gaze pierced into her. Something about the intensity sent a quiver of fear through her belly.
“I was right from the start. . . .”
She turned to David and tugged down his long leather tunic. “Please don’t say anything.”
“I know you don’t want to hear it.” Misery threaded his voice. “And believe me, I wish I didn’t have to say this—”
“Then don’t.” The ache in her throat echoed in her voice.
He was silent a long moment.
She fingered the beads on the fringes of David’s garment, and agony rolled through her insides.
Finally Eli gave a long sigh and jammed his hat onto his head. “You’ve known how I’ve felt since the beginning, that I thought this trip would be too dangerous for a woman like you. After Old Ephraim this morning . . . and now this mobbing . . .”
She wanted to cover her ears.
“I can’t help thinking I made a mistake to marry you and bring you out here into the middle of constant danger.”
Even though she’d known what was coming, his words pierced her anyway, and she sucked in a breath at the pain they brought.
“And especially now,” he continued, lowering his voice into an anguished whisper. “Now after getting to know you and . . . and . . . seeing just how special you are . . .”
She blinked back the tears that were rapidly pooling in her eyes.
“I just want to keep you safe. That’s all.” He backed away. “And if I have to, I’ll send you back to New York, but it won’t be in a coffin.”
With that, he pulled the canvas shut.
She stared at the blank space where he’d stood and let the tears spill onto her cheeks.
David whimpered, and she reached for him.
She caught the sob that rose in her chest.
The boy nestled into her, and the warmth of his little body was her only comfort in the coldness that settled around her.
“Oh, Lord.” Her throat constricted painfully. “Surely he doesn’t regret marrying me?” Especially not after the way he’d kissed her last night.
“He’s just frustrated,” she whispered, trying to ignore the pain pulsing through her heart. Once he had the chance to put the recent dangers into perspective, he’d surely remember how well she’d endured the rigors of the journey thus far. And if she’d made it this far, she’d certainly be able to travel the rest of the distance and survive the rigors of the West.
She would show him he hadn’t made a mistake—that he hadn’t been foolish to marry her.
Priscilla ran a hand over Eli’s bedroll next to hers, and she stared through the dark at the top pointed center of their tent.
She and Mabel had sewn the tent in conical form, similar to the ones the Pawnee used during their buffalo hunts. It was raised with a center pole and fastened down with pegs, and it was big enough for both couples plus John and Richard.
They hadn’t had the opportunity to use it before because of the hectic pace of their travel. But now that they’d joined the caravan, their first day of travel had been much slower, even leisurely. After the first frightening encounter with the Pawnee, they’d passed several more villages, until finally the caravan had stopped for the night.
The Pawnee had followed them and hadn’t stopped peeking into the tent at her and Mabel until darkness had blessedly given them the privacy they’d lacked all day. Eli had taken turns with Henry watching over them, attempting to keep the natives from overwhelming them.
Priscilla took a deep breath and settled herself against the blankets she’d rolled out on top of the India rubber cloth.
In the silence of the night, the chirp of the crickets was a loud chorus, broken only by the occasional nicker of one of the horses penned into the large circle they’d made with their wagons and tents.
Even though they’d passed safely by most of the Pawnee villages, they still faced the ever-present danger of horse theft. At least now that they were traveling with the caravan, the men of their party would share guard duty with the trappers.
She hoped their group would rest easier. John and Richard had fallen asleep the moment their tired young bodies had fallen to the ground. Mabel, too, had already closed her eyes in exhausted slumber. But their even breathing hadn’t been able to lull Priscilla to sleep.
Her heart flipped in anticipation and nervousness, and she fingered the edge of Eli’s blankets next to hers. After the difficult words they’d exchanged earlier in the day, she wanted a chance to try to make things right between them, to somehow convey the depth of her feelings for him. Yes, they’d made an arrangement, but now, couldn’t she explain to him she was ready for more than a business partnership?
He’d said she was special. And if she could just tell him how much she cared about him, then surely they could have a real marriage. She wanted to continue with him every step of the journey, and to serve by his side and nowhere else for as long as God gave her life.
At the stirring outside the tent, she held her breath. They hadn’t had the chance to lie side by side since the night at the inn, which seemed like years ago after all they’d been through.
The tent flap lifted. First Henry crawled through, and then Eli slipped in after him.
Her breath hitched deep in her lungs and every nerve in her body sprang to life.
Henry stumbled through the dark to his bedroll, and Eli worked at fastening the flap shut.
When he turned and began to make his way toward her, her heart pattered faster.
He tossed aside his hat but didn’t bother taking off his boots before he flopped onto the blankets she’d spread close to hers.
Her body froze and she could hardly breathe.
He crossed his arms behind his head and blew out a weary sigh.
From the other side of the tent, Henry’s snore was instant, almost as if he’d fallen asleep before laying his head down.
Priscilla squeezed her eyes shut. She had to talk to Eli before he fell asleep.
Eli’s breathing was deep and steady, and she had no doubt after the exhaustion of the past weeks, he wouldn’t be awake long either.
She rolled to her side and stretched out her hand. Her trembling fingers made contact with his.
His breathing quickened, but he didn’t move.
She wrapped her fingers around his, letting the mixture of softness and solidness caress her hand.
“Eli?” she whispered.
“Hmm?”
“I wanted to talk.” She leaned closer into the crook of his neck, and the scruff of his cheeks scraped against the flesh of her nose, still tender from earlier. Suddenly, more than anything, she wanted him to hold her and tell her they would be fine, that everything would work out between them the way it should.
She nuzzled her lips into the soft, smooth place below his ear, tasting the smokiness of his flesh against the tip of her tongue.
His body tightened. “What do you think you’re doing?” His breath came fast and ragged, as if he’d just swum across a river.
What was she doing? How could she explain what she wanted from him? Maybe if he kissed her again. Maybe then he’d feel her desire to be more than just his partner.
She tipped back her head and gave him access to her lips.
The heat of his breath bathed her cheek, then her mouth. His lips hovered above hers.
For a long aching moment, she waited for him to give her what she longed for: his heart.
But in one shattering instant, he gripped her upper arms and wrenched her away. “No.” His whisper against her ear was hoarse.
She sucked in a sharp, painful breath.
“We had an agreement.”
“With all the danger, I realize you probably think it’s wise for us to guard ourselves against getting too close, but—”
“You’re right. There’s no sense in complicating things. Not now.”
“But after these many weeks, after getting to know each other. Surely you aren’t holding on to your prejudices toward me. . . .” Frustration pulsed to life inside her.
He hesitated. “You’re still a beautiful, fine lady. And the West is still just as harsh and demanding.”
“If I must suffer, then I shall do so gladly.”
“I won’t stand back and watch you suffer.” His voice tightened. “I’ve had to watch those I care about suffer too many times in my life. And I won’t do it again.”
Was he thinking of his sisters? Of the torment they’d endured at the hands of Walt? “But I chose to come, to suffer of my own free will.”
“No.” His whisper was low and taut, and it crushed the delicate bloom inside her. “I won’t go back on my word. If living in the West is too dangerous for you, then I’ll send you back home. With an annulment.”
Her heart grew silent. An annulment?
“Then you’ll be free to marry someone else and go serve the Lord in India, like you wanted.”
At that moment, she couldn’t imagine ever wanting to marry someone else or go to India. Not when she wanted to be with Eli more than she’d ever wanted anything else.
“It’ll be best for both of us if we keep to our business arrangement,” he continued hoarsely. “Easier—less complicated—less painful.”
She wanted to argue with him more, to convince him that he was wrong, that it would be infinitely more painful to live with the knowledge that he didn’t want her love.
But she was a fine lady, after all. Hadn’t he just said so? And ladies didn’t throw themselves at men, hoping for their love. And ladies most certainly didn’t plead and beg for affection, especially after a man refused them.
Humiliation blew from her heart to her face, and she was glad for the cover of darkness to hide her embarrassment.
“Besides, we both need to remember why we’re doing this—why we’re here.” He pushed himself up. “We’re missionaries, and our top priority is starting the mission and ministering to the natives. We can’t let other things distract us.”
His reprimand was like a cold slap against her hot cheeks.
“I have to clear my head.” He grabbed his bedroll and crawled toward the door.
She sat up and wanted to call after him. But through the faint moonlight that illuminated the tent, Henry’s snoring ceased, and he pushed himself up on one elbow, glancing from her to Eli and back.
Horror pummeled her down to her mat. She closed her eyes and wished she could disappear. Of all people, did Henry have to witness Eli’s rejection? Now Henry would know that her marriage to Eli was nothing . . . truly was nothing at all but a business deal.
She listened to the flap of canvas and knew Eli was gone.
Pain ripped through her heart with the sharpness of Running Feet’s knife. It sliced up her throat with an intense burning that brought tears to her eyes.
He’d left her. . . .
She shuddered and wrapped her arms across her chest. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, and the pain in her throat swelled to an unbearable lump. The awful truth fell across her.
He didn’t want her.
She’d only wanted to tell him how much she cared about him—about them—but he’d pushed her away. . . .
Chapter
18
Above the Forks
of the Platte River
The ground vibrated with the pounding hooves of buffalo. Eli took aim down the barrel of his rifle. He stood in his stirrups and squeezed his horse with his thighs, trying to steady himself.
“Hold on, boy,” he urged his gelding. Eli was sure the tremor of excitement that pulsed through his own blood radiated into his horse, making it shimmy and snort as it galloped at top speed across the hard-packed prairie.
Shots from the other hunters had already stirred the herd, and Eli had little time left to make the kill before the buffalo within his aim escaped to safer ground.
His muscles tightened and his finger was taut against the trigger.
Squire’s whoops carried over the snorting and stomping of the beasts.
In the past week since leaving the Pawnee villages, the fur company’s food supplies had dwindled to nothing. Of course Squire hadn’t thought twice about asking the missionaries to share some of their extra calves. Eli had obliged the double-crosser, and the passage about forgiving seventy times seven had taken on new meaning.
Squire was pushing them hard to get to the Rendezvous on time, not allowing them a day’s rest, even on the Sabbath. They’d traveled along the Platte River close to two hundred miles and earlier that day had finally moved beyond the fork and entered buffalo country. For once, Squire had allowed them to stop early. After they finished their hunt, they would butcher their kills and feast on steaks.
Eli closed one eye and tried to focus on the nearest bull through the rising swirls of dust. A shot broadside into the lungs would bring the beast down the quickest. Even though their group still had cattle to eat, they would need to dry some of the buffalo meat for later, when they moved far beyond the plentiful prairies into the dry hills and deserts that lay northwest of the fertile valley of the Rendezvous meeting spot.
He steadied his arm and waited a second longer before pulling the trigger.
The crack was followed by a puff of smoke and a jerk to
the pit of his arm where the gun kicked back. An instant later the buffalo gave a pained bellow and crumpled to the ground with a thump that sent puffs of dust into the air.
Satisfaction settled across Eli’s shoulders, and he lowered himself into his saddle. Hunger gurgled through his stomach. He could almost smell the smoky meat and hear the fat sizzle against the cast-iron skillet.
He wiped his sleeve across the sweat making trails down his temple, and glanced toward the flat bluff rising out of the prairie, where Priscilla stood with Henry, Mabel, and Running Feet. From their position, they could watch the buffalo in safety.
For an instant, envy gnawed him—envy at Henry for getting to be the one to take the women to the bluff and witness the amazement that was sure to have transformed their faces at the sight of so many enormous, wild creatures. He didn’t doubt Priscilla was feeling the same awe he’d experienced last year at his first encounter.
At least he could console himself that she cared about him more than Henry. He never liked thinking about what had transpired between the two in the past, but certainly Henry didn’t hold her affection anymore—not after the way she’d responded to his kiss, not after the way she’d reached for him in the tent.
Eli’s stomach tightened. She was his now, wasn’t she?
The breeze rippled her skirt, and against the blue evening sky she looked like one of the delicate white flowers that grew in the long waving grass all around them. She was as poised and graceful and beautiful as always, holding her chin high and her shoulders straight.
With a mental shake, he ripped his gaze away from her. Like any flower, all it would take was one misstep, and she would be flattened into the ground and crushed. He had only to remind himself of how close Old Ephraim had come to raping her, and frustration wrapped around his gut with a hard squeeze.
The deep places in his soul ached with the echoes of his sisters’ helpless whimpers in the dark. Priscilla’s voice had held the same terrified note when she’d screamed for him.
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