by T C Donivan
“You insult me. Do you wish to end our friendship? As I said, I would have gladly have married her if that was what wanted, but she didn’t.”
“Things didn’t work out in the sack, eh?”
My felt my face turn red and hot. “You like to live dangerously. What did she tell you?”
Spencer grinned. “Nothing. You can’t lie to me Clayton. We’re old friends now. If she had professed her undying love for you, you’d have abandoned me and been over the Rockies and headed west to California even as we speak. You were secretly relieved she turned you down. You called me a beast for wishing to exploit her, when it was you ruined the girl after all,” he said.
I was flabbergasted at his thesis. “I did not ruin her.”
“Then I suppose I must finish the job,” he said.
“Your jokes are sometimes not funny,” I told him.
His face belied no humor. “I’m not joking.”
“I tire of you always testing me. You never did explain why you behaved so abominably back at the immigrant camp. You could have gotten us all killed. As it was, they pillaged what few possessions the Hanisches had,” I said turning the conversation back on him.
“I did it to save our necks. In case you hadn’t noticed, they were going to hang us.”
“You said at the time, there was nothing they could hang us from.”
“When in a murderous mood, people can be most innovative.”
“It was horrible what you did, turning them against the Hanisches.”
“They were never in any danger,” he scoffed.
I stared glumly at the fort and the legion of frontier pilgrims entering and leaving. “It was my fault. I did bring Running Wolf to their camp.”
“He would have staged the raid regardless,” Spencer stated authoritatively.
“You don’t know that.”
“It was written,” he said.
“Where?”
“In the book.”
“What Book?”
He recited, “Act only in accordance with that maxim through which you can at the same time, will that it become a universal law.”
“Kant’s Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals,” I replied.
“The first formulation of the categorical imperative of Universal Law. The moral imperative requires that the maxims be chosen as though they should hold as universal laws of nature. Always act according to that maxim. It is the only condition under which a will can never come into conflict with itself,” he said.
“How does that explain Running Wolf’s raid?” I asked.
“The savage minded simply behaved according to the universal laws of nature, as do I,” he answered.
“You’d make yourself a law unto yourself,” I asked.
“I am,” he said. You remember the five steps of Kant’s test?” I nodded in agreement. “One, find the agent's maxim, the action paired with its motivation. Example, I will lie for personal benefit. Lying is the action; the motivation is to fulfill a personal satisfaction. Paired together, they form the maxim. Second, imagine a world in which everyone follows that maxim. This is in order for you to hold people to the same principle required of yourself. Three, decide whether any contradictions or irrationalities arise as a result of following the maxim. Fourth, if a contradiction or irrationality arises; acting on the maxim is not acceptable. Finally, if there is no contradiction, then acting on the maxim is permissible and sometimes required.”
“Your logic frightens me,” I said.
“I have second sight. My vision is greater than yours,” he said.
“You believe that – truly?” I asked.
“I see the future in my dreams Clayton. The details are not etched in stone, they move like the course of a river, but the banks are cut deep. We move on it like bread cast upon the waters. Mozart interprets the dreams for me. He is a link to the spirit world.”
I looked into Spencer’s eyes attempting to discern if he was serious, or constructing an elaborate hoax. His face was sober as a priest’s.
“What do you see for me?” I wondered, afraid at the answer.
“The outcome is clear. We shall arrive at our destination. Only the choice of paths is uncertain. And within that is the journey and the adventure and the misadventure for our fellow travelers. We had to get Rachel away from Kingfish. He’s a fool. His company will starve in the mountain passes this winter and eat each other,” Spencer proclaimed.
“What a ridiculous thing to say,” I told him.
“It’s true,” he assured me.
Though it was midday, the hot sun bearing down upon my back, I felt a chill run up my spine as if confronted by a dark angel. Then he flashed a winning smile at me breaking the spell.
“I will not be drawn into a philosophic debate. Rachel’s parents are dead, and as you have stated, we are charged with the well-being of their children,” I replied forlornly.
“What would you do with them?” He asked.
“There are immigrant caravans everyday. Surely one of them will take them on to Oregon. It’s not our job. Rachel cannot stand the sight of me and Sosanna needs to be parted from Mozart before something happens. Besides, Sebastian is leaving and I want to go with him,” I said.
“Rachel likes me well enough and Sosanna is Mozart’s business, not yours,” Spencer stated.
“I’m happy for all of you,” I said sarcastically.
“You remember our bargain? If you did not sleep with her, I meant to.” I said nothing. “Your interpretation of Casanova did not seal the arrangement, only forestall it.”
I felt my blood run cold. “You don’t mean you still intend to defame her?”
“Are you blind? I already have. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, I’ve impregnated her,” he said proudly.
“What?” I sputtered.
“I have set her up in a lovely honeymoon cabin complete with trundle bed and cook stove. She will have triplets and everyone shall be a boy. I shall name them Joseph, Nimrod and Alcazar.” He gave me a fiendish grin. “There now, don’t go on about it Clayton. There’s no harm done. The girl wanted me from the start. I only allowed you your tryst that you wouldn’t be wondering what it was like later on. She was meant to be mine. I forecast that in a dream as well.”
“You are a beast,” I said.
“Not at all dear boy. I shall ruin and pamper her in concordance. She will enjoy every moment of it and pine away for me when I am not in her bed.” He pulled out the gold pocket watch he carried in his vest pocket and inspected it. “Now then, I must be off. I’ve enjoyed our little talk, but I’m expected for dinner. Sorry I can’t invite you. Though the old girl has forgiven you, she hasn’t come round to having a former beau at the table just yet. Makes her nervous you know. And don’t worry about Sebastian, he isn’t going anywhere. In fact, I doubt he ever leaves the vicinity of the fort as long as he lives.”
With that, he turned Blue away toward the fort. Elijah shifted restlessly. I got down and sat upon the Earth. Elijah nuzzled me with his snout, his wet nose caressing my ear. I am ashamed to say I thought bitterly of Rachel, jealously eating away at my innards despite everything that had happened. I looked to the west. Three buckskin clad figures on horseback were approaching.
The sight was not unique, as dozens of travelers came and went every day, but something about the figure on the left held my attention. It was lithe and graceful in the saddle like no other I had seen, seeming as one with the lovely, black pony it rode. I watched as they came nearer. They were clearly trappers. Four pack animals trailed them while a tailless black and white mongrel dog circled the party restlessly. The center figure was tall and lean, with long gray beard. The third rider was nondescript.
Though it was uncommon rude, I could not take my eyes from the figure who had captured my attention. The face was beardless and tanned. A long, ponytail of raven hair bounced behind it like a coiled snake. Elijah and I waited, the sun baking into us, purifying our spirits. Finally they arrived, the taille
ss dog bounding about me like a maddened dervish.
“Mordecai! Heel!” The leader called out. He touched the brim of his wide hat and nodded. “I’m Hawker. We’ve come for the Rendezvous.”
“They’re gathering on the far side of the fort near the river,” I informed him.
“Who might you be? The gatekeeper?” He asked with good humor.
“Clayton Donegal, writer,” I said.
With a motion, he indicated the man on his right “This here’s Noah.” He turned to the figure that had so captivated me, the faintest hint of a smile upon his lips. “The one you’re staring a hole through is Annie Kestrel.”
I stood up and removed my hat in deference. The sun had burnt her skin of her face and hands near dark as the fringed buckskins she wore. Where the cuffs rode up, I caught glimpses of flesh milky white as snow. She wore a look of trail weary exhaustion. I guessed her age to be no more than twenty. She stared back at me with eyes deep and soulful as if they had seen the troubles of ten lifetimes. I knew her, but from where? Then I remembered. She was the girl who had stood by the path in heaven when I had fallen in the buffalo herd. The details of the dream had been lost to me until that moment. I stared at her in awe.
“It is my pleasure ma’am,” I said.
She smiled down at me from the back of her Indian pony, the effort shy and questing and I felt I had met my destiny.
“And mine as well,” she answered in a voice that resonated within the canyons of my soul.
Chapter 15 – The Rendezvous
Annie Kestrel was a woman like no other I had met. She was adept as any of the male trappers in her trade, equally skilled with a rifle, or skinning knife and nimble as a Cheyenne on the back of her black pony, but every bit a woman with no mannish qualities as one might expect of a female who had taken up such an unorthodox trade. She was tall for a woman, but delicate boned with fine features, articulate, well-read and gentle mannered. How she had come to such an occupation was a mystery she would not reveal, though I had used every device in my arsenal to coax it from her.
This much I knew, her place of birth was New York and she had lived in the Republic of Texas as a girl, but beyond that, she would not speak of her past. She gently rebuked me at first, then, wordlessly, with a simple expression, told me that if I were to continue to press her, there would be consequences. Though my natural curiosity demanded resolution to such an intriguing tale, our budding friendship was more valuable, so I fought against my inquisitive nature and restrained myself.
As it was, I was hardly at a loss for local color as the annual trappers’ rendezvous was now in full progress. Over a hundred mountain men with twice that number of natives representing a score of tribes had descended on the fort loaded with their year’s collection of pelts for trade and shipment back to the settlements in the east. In exchange, the trappers received the necessary staples of rifle, powder, lead balls and traps that would keep them alive for another year in the pursuit of their vocation. Beads, cloth, steel knives and muskets were much in demand by the Indian tribes. Whisky flowed and contests of strength and skill involving marksmanship and horse racing were the entertainment. Annie and I walked among the throng, heads bowed, deep in conversation like two monks discussing scripture.
“Who is your favorite author?” I asked.
She gazed off at the foothills of the Rockies. “It’s so wonderful to talk about these things again. I do love the classics. Have you read The Mysteries of Udolpho by Ann Radcliffe?”
“I’m not familiar with it.”
“It’s a wonderful, romantic tale set in medieval Europe. It touches on the supernatural, but does not rely on the fantastic, or morbid,” she told me.
“A woman author?” I asked.
“Yes, like Jane Austen. I believe they were contemporaries.” She smiled. “But I’m not obsessed with women writers. I actually prefer the male author. Milton and Dante come to mind immediately.”
“You know much about literature.”
“My grandparents had a bookshelf when I was a child. How I wish we could have brought it with us to Texas. It was like an old friend,” she explained.
“I understand. My father collected every article of the written word he could find.” I stabbed my finger at the air and spoke as if addressing an invisible multitude. “Our history is dependent upon those who record it. Without it, we are little better than the savages who populate the wilderness. Those were his words.” I gestured at the feathered enclave that surrounded us. “I wonder what he would make of this?”
“You must have loved him very much,” she said.
“I did,” I answered, emotion choking me. “He tried to drum Cervantes and Milton into me, but I preferred Fenimore Cooper. It wasn’t until I went away to Harvard that I came to appreciate his taste. On my last trip home, before he died, we sat up one night talking till dawn about the merits of Chaucer and Voltaire. It was the first time we connected in such a manner and the last time I saw him.”
We had wandered off from the multitude and found ourselves among a stand of birch trees. We fell silent. Annie reached out and took my hand in hers. Her palm was rough, but her touch gentle. I held it tight, an electric current coursing through my veins. Though I had known her for only a day, I felt a well of emotion as deep as the salt sea at her nearness.
“You’re headed for California – you and your friends?” She asked.
I laughed. “Yes, in a round about way. We have no schedule. Our true destination is only a point on the compass and even that may change if the wind blows a certain way.”
For a moment, her eyes filled with some unfathomable vision, or memory. “A man must have an internal compass, or he will blow away like a leaf in the wind.”
“Cryptic. Is it a quote?” I asked.
She shrugged. “No, just something I remembered.”
I began to recite:
“How warm this woodland wild Recess
Love surely hath been breathing here
And this sweet bed of heath, my dear
Swells up, then sinks with faint cares,
As if to have you yet more near.”
“That, I remember,” I said. She answered:
“Eight springs have flown, since last I lay
On sea-ward Quantock's heathy hills
Where quiet sounds from hidden rills
Float hear and there, like things astray
And high o'er head the sky-lark shrills.”
“Coleridge, you know it” I said with delight.
“Yes.”
“You skipped ahead, that was… the fourth stanza?”
“The appropriate one,” she said with authority. Our eyes locked and she continued:
“No voice as yet had made the air
Be music with your name; yet why
That asking look, that yearning sigh
That sense of promise every where
Beloved, flew your spirit by.”
I answered:
“You stood before me like a thought
A dream remembered in a dream
But when those meek eyes first did seem
To tell me, Love within you wrought
O Greta, dear domestic stream.”
I cupped my hand behind her neck and drew her face to mine. The world fell away as I kissed her lips, time without end engulfing my soul. In that instant I knew immortality, for such love cannot perish from the Earth.
A cacophony of sound awoke us from our bliss. Mozart had struck up a band of sorts, sawing away at a jig on his fiddle with accompaniment from a Frenchman who played an accordion and a Mexican who puckered his chapped lips about a hand carved flute. We stared at each other in embarrassed silence then slowly turned away from the birch grove and back toward the rendezvous.
****
The air was thick with the smell of charred meat as every shape of four legged beast and winged foul was roasted above smoky fires. Flat bread was smeared with sweet jams made of berries and deep fried Me
xican dishes were dipped in honey for dessert. We sampled the delicacies until we could eat no more. Whisky was proffered, but we declined, preferring the sparkling waters of the nearby Laramie River that had been bottled in hollowed out gourds and animal skins.
With Annie as my guide, I became acquainted with all the participants. The trappers, or mountain men, were much alike in their habits and histories, varying only in their eccentricities which were considerable. Among them were former military scouts, soldiers and wanderers who had, for one reason or another, opted out of civilized life in favor of the freedoms and hardships of life in the Rockies. Some worked alone, while others set up camp in pairs or groups, the latter consisting of pragmatists with an eye to someday returning east with their profits.
Bog Trotter knew many of the rough men, having plied the trade himself before turning to guide work. I noticed he was none too popular among his fellows, who were quick to ventilate him with sharp jabs aimed at his lack of ambition and skill. When Titlark’s sad demise came up, no one appeared to shed any prime sentiment for him either. Annie’s friends, Hawker and Noah, were, on the other hand, immensely popular and respected by all their peers.
The natives mingled freely, the fort being, apparently, a nation of unspoken neutrality where all races and tribes put aside their internecine hatreds. Mexican traders from Santa Fe and Americans from St. Louis were the chief agents with whom the trappers bartered their wares. The tenants of the fort were a mixed bag that included former representatives of the Canadian Hudson’s Bay Company, semi-retired mountain men and capitalist entrepreneurs.
Spencer and Rachel joined Annie and I as we wandered about the gathering, relishing the lovely fall air, all past recriminations and injuries we had served one another apparently forgotten, a new sense of camaraderie among us as male and female couples sometimes enjoy. Sosanna had attached herself to Mozart, the pair of them having become inseparable since the incident at the immigrant camp. Thankfully, no one paid them any mind amongst the mixed racial throng of this far flung frontier outpost.
Annie and the Hanisch sisters were the only white women in attendance, but Indian wives, or more accurately concubines, were not uncommon among the trappers. These were loose arrangements that produced many children and armies of ragtag brats with no more discipline than a pack of wild dogs as they roamed the enclave, some revealing startling blue eyes in their otherwise dusky faces. One toothless bearded trapper boasted of having fathered twenty-three children with three different Indian women. While I could not confirm the veracity of his statement, an entourage of loving children aged from toddlers to stout young men clad in breechclouts and feathers served him in attendance as one would imagine the squires of the king of a medieval court. As we strolled about the camp, Spencer asked Annie if Hawker or Noah brought women into their camp.