Even as they stood on the hill above the outskirts of the camp, the trappers and Indians in their party began to shoot their guns, signaling their arrival.
The Indians in the valley below began to run toward them, whooping and calling out with a shrillness that sent chills up Priscilla’s backbone. Holding rifles in the air, the young Indian men drew nearer, their brown faces fierce. Most of them wore only breechcloths that revealed far too much of their firm legs.
Trappers abandoned their whiskey and card games to stare at the caravan. Even from this distance she could see that the camps were dotted with hard-earned beaver pelts compressed into packs and encased in wrappers of deerskin. The mountain men had gathered to trade the sixty-pound stacks to Fitzpatrick and Black Squire for enough money to buy supplies for the next beaver-trapping season. Apparently the Rendezvous had become an excuse for the area Indian tribes to congregate too.
She clutched David against her.
Eli’s horse whinnied near her, but she refused to turn toward him. She grabbed on to the back of the wagon. She wouldn’t impose on him again. More than ever, she wanted to prove to him that she could take care of herself.
She hefted herself onto the wagon bed.
“This isn’t the time to hide,” he called.
“I’m not hiding.” She scrambled to smooth her skirt, stained and dirty again.
“I want you to ride with me.” His voice behind her left no room for argument.
“I’m not able to ride and hold David.”
At the mention of his name, the boy gurgled.
“You’re riding with me. On my horse.”
She turned and met Eli’s unflinching gaze. “I couldn’t possibly—”
“Now.”
“You don’t have the proper saddle.”
He held out his gloved hand.
The shrill Indian cries grew closer.
She hesitated. She’d told herself she wouldn’t be afraid the next time she encountered the natives, that she wouldn’t look to Eli to protect her.
“Get on, Priscilla, before you get mobbed.” The command held the hint of a plea.
She placed her hand into his, and in an instant he’d hoisted her and David onto his saddle in front of him.
Heat rose up her neck. She was practically sitting in Eli’s lap.
“You’ll be more comfortable if you straddle.”
“That wouldn’t be the least bit proper.”
His breath fanned the skin beneath her ear. The hard muscles of his thighs pressed against her softness. Was anything about her predicament proper?
“Then hang on.” He kicked the horse forward.
The jolt propelled her against his torso and forced her to slip an arm around his waist to keep her balance. David gave a whimper and clutched the bodice of her dress. She tightened her grip on the baby.
She leaned her head against the solidness of Eli’s chest, knowing she shouldn’t relish the security of being in his arms. . . .
But she couldn’t stop herself. She breathed a long sigh and nestled against him. Now, within the circle of his arms, she couldn’t pretend she didn’t care. He was a good man, and she loved so many things about him—she loved his dreams about the mission, his determination to make it to the West, his steadiness in leading them, his bravery against the elements, his willingness to sacrifice for everyone, the tenderness of his skilled hands.
His breath warmed her temple, and the scruff on his chin scraped at her tender skin.
The Indians closed in around them, their wild cries sending shivers through her. Everything about them was frightening—the strange hairstyles, the half-naked bodies, the harshness of their language, the dark eyes staring at her with curiosity.
“When we get to Oregon Country, will the Indians get used to us eventually? Or will we always be a fascination to them?”
“They’ll settle down.” Eli slid a hand around her waist, and his fingers spanned her hip.
She knew he meant nothing by the hold except to keep her from sliding off the horse. But the intimacy sparked a flame in her middle.
“Now you can imagine how John and Richard felt when they were visiting the East—attracting attention wherever they went.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Her mind flashed back to the first time she’d seen the boys, when they’d walked into the meetinghouse that fateful Sabbath in February, the day that had changed the course of her life. Eli was right—they had attracted attention, fascination, even fear.
She glanced over the faces surrounding them, women and children joining the men.
“John and Richard had to adapt while they were living among us,” Eli said. “And we’d be wise to follow their example while we’re among the natives—do what we can to learn from them.”
“But I thought we were going so we can teach them our ways.”
“You mean our superior ways?”
“Yes, of course.”
He snorted.
“Don’t we want to save them from their heathen practices and help them have a better way of living?”
“Their way of life might be different from ours, but that doesn’t mean it’s inferior.”
Ahead, John and Richard were riding straight and proud like returning heroes. She had to admit that the more she got to know the boys, the less savage they became.
“What of their pagan practices?” she asked. “Surely you don’t condone those?”
“They still need the saving grace of the gospel. But they’ll accept the message much better if we share it with love. Not with prideful superiority.”
His reasoning was strange, especially when all she’d ever heard in revival gatherings and Home Missionary Society meetings was how the heathen needed the benefits of a civilized culture.
He pulled on the reins to keep the horse from rearing amidst the overwhelming commotion surrounding them. He nodded a greeting to the natives who’d left their camps to come out to meet them.
She forced her lips into a smile and followed Eli’s example in nodding a greeting. She clutched David tighter as Eli paraded her through the Indians and trappers. Once again, she and Mabel were the first white women the Indians had ever encountered.
Even though she longed for the safety and seclusion of the back of the wagon, she began to see the wisdom in Eli’s plan to give the Indians their first look at her from a safe distance.
The trappers whistled and shouted calls that burned Priscilla’s ears.
“Better watch her good, Doc,” Squire shouted from his mount. “Some of these here fellas been out in the mountains for years and ain’t seen a purty woman in all that time.”
Eli stiffened.
“They gonna be downright starvin’ for a taste of a real lady.”
Priscilla shuddered, and Running Feet’s knife weighed against her leg. Would she have need of it?
“Better keep her hidden in your wagon.” Squire’s grin mocked Eli.
“And you and every other lustful idiot better keep away.”
David bounced on her knee, and she buried her burning face into the soft strands of his hair.
Squire didn’t say anything else. But when she peeked at him over David’s head, his dark eye was fixed on the baby.
She shivered and hugged David closer.
Squire gave her the hint of a smile.
A chill crept through her heart.
Eli muttered under his breath. “Once I make sure every one of them knows what I did to Old Ephraim, they won’t dare touch you.”
She prayed he was right.
They found a spot for their camp close to the Snake River, east of Fort Bonneville, which was nothing more than a square log pen covered with poles and brush. There Squire and his men unloaded the caravan and stored the freight they’d brought from St. Louis, preparing to sell the goods to the trappers in exchange for the furs.
Priscilla soon learned that close to one hundred fifty trappers had made camp in the valley and the number of Indians who h
ad joined the Rendezvous reached upward of two, maybe three, thousand. Snake, Bannock, Flatheads, Nez Perce—the various tribes had separate camps clustered with their buffalo-skin tepees.
The first night as she lay on her sleeping mat inside their tepee, the drums, dancing, and shouting kept her awake—the same drunken revelry between the trappers and Indians that she’d heard at Fort William, only then she’d been inside the palisades in the safety of her room.
Now, all that separated her from the wild partying was a flimsy canvas cover.
Of course, Eli was sleeping outside the flap door of the tent, but that didn’t stop her from shivering in the stale heat of the darkness and wondering if she’d been wrong about God calling her to the West instead of to India.
For two days she didn’t venture outside their camp and was content to visit with the Indian women and children who wandered over to get a glimpse of the white women. After hearing Priscilla sing during the morning devotions, the Indian women were continually asking her to sing for them. She’d tried to teach them a line of one of the hymns, but they seemed content to listen rather than to join in.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go with us?” Mabel asked one morning, holding a basket of Bibles and tracts she carried with her whenever she went visiting.
Priscilla wrung the river water from David’s miniature leather tunic. “You go ahead. I’ve plenty more to wash. And I promised John and Richard another English lesson.”
On a nearby blanket David babbled as he played with the stones Richard had gathered for him from the river. Washing clothes and listening to David’s baby talk could almost make her believe she was a real mother.
“Maybe tomorrow, then?” Mabel smoothed a hand over her growing stomach.
“I’m sure I’ll be ready by then.” Priscilla flapped the cloth to shake out the wrinkles. She waited for the usual sting that came whenever someone reminded her of her empty womb, but lately, the pain had diminished to a dull prick.
“Let’s go,” Henry said, swatting the dust from his trousers.
Mabel opened her mouth but then closed it.
“Go on. I’ll be fine.” Priscilla glanced at John and Richard perched on the open end of the wagon, swinging their feet, their rifles across their laps. They’d been content to swim and wrestle and play together the way any brothers would. But she could also tell from the anxious questions they’d asked Eli that they were ready to continue on to Oregon Country, back to their home.
They were worried about making it over the Blue Mountains before the first snow fell. And although it was only July, their small group still had six to eight weeks of hard travel before they would reach the last imposing ridge that separated them from the valley where they would build their mission. No one talked about what would happen to them if they couldn’t make it over, but the worry on the boys’ faces was a constant reminder of the danger.
And now that Samuel Parker had deserted them, they couldn’t leave without finding someone else to guide them through the wilderness.
“Come along, dear.” Henry finished polishing the tip of his boot with a handkerchief. “I’m to meet Dr. Ernest at the Nez Perce camp to talk with the elders.”
Mabel smiled at him, and when she reached his side, she wrapped her hand around his.
Priscilla’s gaze lingered on their intertwined hands swinging between them as they walked toward the Indian camps. She wouldn’t want to follow them around anyway. She’d only get in the way. And she’d have to deal with the uncomfortable tension that surfaced whenever she and Henry were near each other. Even though he’d remained polite about her situation with Eli and the rejection he’d witnessed in the tent, she couldn’t shake the feeling he was secretly gloating over her misfortune.
At David’s squeal of delight, she tore her attention away from Mabel and smiled at the baby. His chubby fingers piled one rock on top of another until they toppled and earned his giggles.
She might not have a marriage like Mabel or a baby growing inside her, but at least she had David. When they reached Fort Vancouver in Oregon Country, the first thing she’d buy would be material to make him new clothes.
He clapped his hands and chirped a babbling of words. He held out his arms toward her. “Ma-ma-ma-ma.”
Priscilla’s breath caught in her throat. “Ma-ma?” She often referred to Running Feet as his mother. Did David now think she was his mother?
“Oh, my sweet, sweet baby.” She crossed to him and knelt on the blanket, scooping him into her arms.
He laid his head against her chest, and his eyes drooped.
He’d called her mama. She squeezed back tears and tried to swallow the painful lump in her throat. She’d given up her dream of having a baby. But maybe God was giving her the chance to be a mother after all.
A lump in her throat ached but in a tenuously joyful way.
The warmth of the early morning sun poured over her head and sent rays all the way to her heart. She lined David’s breeches with fresh moss and rocked him until he fell asleep. With a prayer of thanksgiving in her heart, she laid him in the shade inside the tepee.
“I think I shall join Mabel in the Indian camp today.” She tied her bonnet in place. Why should she cower any longer? She’d told herself that she’d just been busy with long-neglected chores and with taking care of David, but the fact was, she was more nervous about meeting the natives than she cared to admit.
And it was past time to put aside her fears and do what she’d come west to do.
Richard and John jumped off the wagon bed.
“Would you tend to David if he awakes while I’m gone?”
“Mrs. Doc cannot go alone.” Richard crossed toward her.
She hesitated. The memory of Old Ephraim’s filthy hands strangling her wasn’t something she could forget. Ever.
“Doc tell me not to let Mrs. Doc go anywhere alone.”
“I’m not worried about what Dr. Ernest wants.” She’d managed well enough while he’d been visiting the sick and injured among the trappers and Indians.
“Where is the Nez Perce camp?” She started past the tent and wagons and then stopped, trying to ignore the trembling in her legs. “If you could just point me in the right direction, I’ll be fine.”
“I go with,” Richard said. “I take you to camp. John stay with David.”
Even though she didn’t want to admit it, she was glad to have him accompany her. They made their way along the river, past several other tribes, until they reached the edge of the Nez Perce camp.
Through the haze of campfires, she spotted Mabel amidst a group of women and waved.
Mabel stood. “Sister Ernest!”
Beyond Mabel, Eli and Henry were in a deep discussion with a party of Indian men. At Mabel’s call, they looked to Mabel and then to her.
Worry flashed across Eli’s face before he could hide it. For a moment, he started, almost as if contemplating coming toward her. But then something Henry said brought his attention back to the circle of men.
She smiled at the cluster of children that followed each step she took. Their greasy fingers clutched at her skirt. She couldn’t look at their mostly naked bodies without flushing with embarrassment.
Half-clad dirty children. She couldn’t understand Eli’s reasoning. Surely these children would benefit from learning a more civilized manner of living—proper clothes, good hygiene, healthy foods. Wasn’t that what God had called her to do—to teach them how to better themselves?
As she reached Mabel and the native women, she bent over and patted the heads of several children, earning giggles.
“They’re teaching me to make pemmican,” Mabel explained.
The stench of stale buffalo meat assaulted Priscilla, and she pressed a hand to her nose.
The Indian women greeted her with shy smiles and their gibberish speech. One of them passed her a grinding stone and another a thin dried strip of buffalo meat.
It was similar to the strips they’d hung to dry from th
eir wagon. Theirs had attracted more dust and maggots than she could stomach, and she couldn’t imagine how she would ever be able to eat it.
“Grind the meat into powder,” Mabel instructed. “Then once it’s fine enough, we add chopped huckleberries and melted buffalo fat.”
Priscilla tried to hold back a shudder.
One of the Indian women broke off a piece—the same muddy brown and crumbly texture as dried dung. She held it out to Priscilla and motioned for her to eat it.
“Try it,” Mabel said. “I know it doesn’t look appetizing, but it’s actually quite sweet.”
The Indian woman grunted at her and motioned again for her to eat it.
Priscilla said a silent prayer and then stuffed the piece of pemmican into her mouth, trying to breathe through her nose. The rotten stench was enough to drive out the fruity flavor.
She chewed, forced herself to swallow, and resisted the urge to think about how much dirt and how many insects she was eating. Instead, she smiled at the women who’d stopped their work to watch her.
Had she made a mistake coming? She certainly didn’t want to spend the morning grinding dirty buffalo meat and trying not to get sick from the odor.
“I thought you were passing out Bibles and tracts,” Priscilla said, pressing her fingers against her nose again.
Mabel laughed. “Oh no, dear. Not here. The Bibles are for the trappers. You know the natives can’t read yet.”
“Of course.” Heat fanned into her face.
“I’m just trying to befriend the women,” Mabel explained, “and learn more of their language and customs.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Eli and Henry making their way toward them. Mabel’s words echoed those Eli had spoken recently. “But shouldn’t we be attempting to teach them something useful, like sewing clothes for their children?”
“Perhaps, eventually. But I’m sure they’ll have just as many things to teach us as we will them,” Mabel said. “Don’t you think?”
Priscilla tried to smile at the Indian women who were watching her while they worked. Could she really learn from them? If so, what?
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