by T C Donivan
“The boys don’t have need of the company of women,” she told him.
“True Spartans!” I joked.
“In the truest sense of the word,” she replied.
I would have let it go at that, thinking nothing of it, but Spencer spoke up, “Do you mean to say that they behave as man and wife?”
Annie hesitated for the briefest of moments before she answered, “Yes.”
I still supposed she referred to an arrangement that involved the division of duties within the partnership, but Spencer continued his probing like a prosecuting attorney, “They have physical intercourse, like man and woman?”
She startled me with her answer. “They do,” Annie said, no trace of judgment in her voice.
Though I abhorred such behavior, I was not unfamiliar with the habits of men who practiced the same. As a boy I heard my father and brother arguing when Albert had announced his intention to spend his life at sea. One of my father’s chief criticisms had been that such men were prone to unsavory habits. Past incidents in my brother’s life were raised and the two of them had come near to blows. I had understood little of what they had spoken of then due to my tender years, but had come to understand the nature of such liaisons later through the rough talk of my classmates and the patrons of the tavern where my college paramour plied her trade.
Spencer seemed amused by the revelation. “I must sketch them as a couple. They would make a wonderful study,” he said.
Annie shot him a hard look. “If you mock them, they’ll kill you.”
Spencer spread his hands in supplication. “On the contrary, I have only respect for such men. I sampled the life myself while in Paris and found it not to my liking, but I will not criticize one who does.” I was astonished to say the least and felt suddenly defiled, though nothing untoward had passed between us. As if reading my mind, Spencer went on, “You mustn’t think poorly of me Clayton. I was introduced to it at boarding school as a boy. Such things are not uncommon in cloistered institutions of education for youth. I’m told that virtually all the upper classes of European men are conversant with the practice. I was seduced, or more accurately, molested by an upper classman.”
I was at a loss for words, as much for the casual manner in which Spencer spoke of it, as the wretchedness of his experiences. Confusion reigned in my head. Annie seemed not affected by it all. She hooked her arm in mine and squeezed my hand. Rachel craned her pretty face up at Spencer.
“In my religion, mishkav zakhar, relations between men, is not a sin if one contemplates it only in their mind and does not act upon it. I read it in the Torah,” she said.
Annie recited, “If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death and their blood shall be upon them. Leviticus 20:13. Religion is an odd thing, isn’t it?”
“You know scripture?” I asked.
She smiled sweetly at me. “My grandfather was a Methodist preacher. John Wesley commissioned him personally to go to Ireland and convert the Catholics.”
Spencer laughed out loud. “From the state of things in Dublin, I take it he was none too successful.”
“He gave it up and helped the rebels in 1798 when they tried to throw the British out. He had to take his family and flee for his life to America, or he would have been condemned to the scaffold,” she told us.
“We are a colorful bunch aren’t we?” Spencer said.
Though the subject had passed, I wanted both very much to know more about his feelings on the subject of unnatural relations and to forget it had ever been raised. Spencer grinned at me. “Yes Clayton, I have been a sodomite, but no, I never had such designs on you. It was a youthful indiscretion, one I have outgrown, as Rachel can well testify.” The girl giggled. I felt my own face grow warm and Annie stroked by hand.
Sosanna came running to join us. “Isn’t Moze a wonderful musician?” She asked.
“Yes, he’s very talented,” Annie agreed.
Rachel gave her sister a stern look. “You must not have a black baby. Father and mother would not be pleased. How will he care for you? You’re just a girl and he’s little more than a boy himself.”
Sosanna turned sullen. “I’m not stupid Rachel. I know better. Moze is just my friend.”
We passed by a Blackfoot artisan who had wares of beaded pouches, necklaces and pipes laid out on a blanket. Spencer stopped and bartered, purchasing a necklace strung with colored beads and feathers for Rachel. He draped it around her neck.
“With this fetish, I thee wed,” he declared. The girl beamed at him, stepped up on her tiptoes and kissed him full on the mouth.
”And I you,” she answered.
Sosanna applauded.
“You’re a romantic at heart,” I said, a fine edge of cynicism in my words.
Spencer turned to me and spoke with a sincerity I had not imagined he possessed. “I am actually.”
We planned to sup in the apartment Spencer had secured for the Hanisch girls and had started back toward the fort when we saw a string of oxen drawn wagons creeping into the yard outside the fort. I recognized them immediately.
“It’s Kingfish and his bunch,” I said.
I saw Rachel fill with trepidation, her face crumpling like a child’s. Spencer eyed the newcomers and wrapped his arm round the girl. “We have nothing to fear from them my love.”
Chapter 16 – Kingfish
That night an even grander feast than the orgy of wild cuisine we had sampled in the afternoon was held. Meat was served that had been roasted in the ground under simmering coals for two days and seasoned with rare spices known only to Indian shaman. Spirits fermented through the long summer from local berries was passed around while the Cheyenne sang and the Sioux danced. Tree Owl joined his brothers among both tribes, dancing and singing through the night. I cannot imagine a more paganistic bacchanal being matched even in the days of Herod.
Though not a tippler, I gave in, sampling the local wine the proprietors of the fort distributed freely in appreciation of the great fortune they were reaping. Sebastian became falling down drunk and had to be put to bed by Zenobia. Bog Trotter became equally inebriated and lay down by the wall of the fort in his own filth where he had collapsed. Most of the jubilant mountain men were in a similar condition by evening’s end. Within this milieu, I could feel the call of the primordial, hearkening me back to half forgotten memories that reside deep within the cobwebbed corners of the human mind.
Spencer and Rachel and Annie and I wandered from entertainment to entertainment. Mozart and Sosanna had disappeared into the night and were not to be found. Annie’s companions, Hawker and Noah and their tailless dog, Mordecai, sat by the raging bonfire, sipping at a stone jug of St. Louis whisky. We joined them. Spencer situated himself and Rachel next to Hawker while Annie and I sat beside Noah.
I watched the pair, attempting to discern some tell tale clue of their insalubrious habits. None were to be found. I remembered it being said that such men were no different than women. As I watched the grizzled pair, I realized the inaccuracy of that statement. No more masculine pair could be imagined. How I would love to have interviewed them, but they had rebuffed my attempts at conversation beyond the weather and the abundance of the local game.
“What say we match our own songs against the natives!” Spencer shouted over the din of the Cheyenne celebration.
Hawker nodded vigorously. Spencer tucked Rachel beneath his arm and began to sing in a rousing baritone. The ugly little dog pricked up his ears.
In Amsterdam there lived a maid
Mark well what I do say
In Amsterdam there lived a maid
And she was mistress of her trade
I put my arm around her waist
Mark well what I do say
I put my arm around her waist
Cried she young man you’re in great haste
I knew the song. It was a bawdy sea chanty. To my surprise, Hawker knew it as
well and began to sing, his voice harmonizing with Spencer’s.
I took that maid upon my knee
Mark well what I do say
I took that maid upon my knee
Cried she, “Young man, you’re much too free
I kissed that maid and stole away
Mark well what I do say
I kissed that maid and stole away
She wept, “Young man, why won’t you stay
I’ll go no more a roving with thee fair maid
A roving, a roving, since roving’s been my ruin
I’ll go no more a roving with thee fair maid
At the song’s conclusion, Rachel cast a long, loving look at Spencer and ran her fingers through his thick, black hair. Spencer turned to Hawker, “And now I have one for you my friend.”
The cabin boy’s name was Chipper
A randy little nipper
He made a pass with broken glass
And circumcised the skipper
The first mate's name was Morgan
By gosh, he was a gorgon
From half past eight he played till late
Upon the captain's organ
Spencer paused, a wicked grin upon his face. “How do you like it so far?” He asked.
My jaw dropped open in stunned horror, sure that the granite faced mountain man would gut my foolish friend like a fish. Instead the stoic Hawker chuckled and nodded. Spencer struck up the tune again.
The captain's wife was Charlotte
Born and bred a harlot
Her thighs at night were lily white
By morning they were scarlet
The captain's daughter, Mabel
Though young, was fresh and able
To fornicate with the second mate
Upon the chartroom table
And when we reached our station,
Through skillful navigation,
The ship got sunk, in a wave of spunk,
From too much fornication
Hawker shook his head. “Taint heard anything so droll since last I was in St. Louie.”
He passed the stone jug to Spencer who drank deeply of it, then turned and planted a hairy kiss on Noah’s grizzled cheek. Before I could register my surprise, a hulking shape stumbled over Annie and me. I swore and looked up, pushing the drunken lout away. I saw in the flickering firelight Kingfish glaring down at me. It was the first we had seen of the immigrants since their arrival.
“Sorry pilgrim, no offence intended. I only wanted to warm my bones by the fire,” he said in mock apology. His cold eyes took in the scene, lingering on long and cruelly on Rachel. “It’s good to see you boys again. No hard feelings I’m sure,” he said. With an exaggerated bow, he doffed his hat and began to stagger away.
Just then Mozart and Sosanna returned, looking disheveled and happy. Kingfish spied Mozart and reached out a beefy paw trying to grab the boy, but he darted away.
“You little nigger, what are you doing with that white girl?” He demanded.
Mozart laughed at him. “What do you think I’m doing you big ugly white man?”
Kingfish bellowed and lunged at Mozart, at which point all of us, to a man, woman and dog, leapt to our feet in his defense. Hawker and Noah grabbed the bully by either arm. Despite his tremendous girth, they easily restrained him. He shook and stomped to no avail as Mozart and Sosanna disappeared again into the night. Hawker and Noah let him go. Kingfish glared at us.
“You can keep your Jew whores. Enjoy them while you can.” He turned and stomped off casting evil imprecations at us until he was out of earshot.
“Who was that?” Annie wondered. I explained.
A look of sad recognition illumined her face. “I know the type.”
Spencer stood up and stretched his long limbs like a tabby cat in a window, an elongated yawn twisting his mouth. Rachel pulled her shawl close against the chill night. Spencer put his arm around her.
“Well, I must see Rachel home, then I have a Shoshone Medicine Dance to sketch at midnight. We’ll see you in the morning,” he said cheerfully.
“Walk me back to my camp,” Annie said.
The night was gorgeous, the air crystal sharp with a taste to it like sparkling water. I locked my arm in hers, but felt a stiffness in her posture. No words passed between us. I remembered how quickly Rachel had turned against me and wondered if I had someone repeated my error. In a few minutes we stood beside the tent she had pitched at the camp she shared with Hawker and Noah. Neither had yet returned from the gathering. I hesitated, my hand upon her arm, unsure what to do. Her dark eyes were like luminous beacons in the twilight.
“It’s been a fine evening,” I said.
“It was. Goodnight Clayton.”
She turned and slipped into her tent. I started back for my own camp, frustrated. I had wanted to spend the night with her, but my courage had faltered. Where had the audacity I had used to seduce Rachel Hanisch fled to I wondered? I was in no hurry to return to gathering place for our motley company of bachelors and especially did not relish the thought of Sebastian thrashing about sick and Zenobia tending him like a misbegotten child. I trudged along, head down, lost in thought.
A black figure came rushing at me from the shadows. With a savage thrust, a fist was jabbed into my side, knocking the wind from my lungs. A hulking weight fell upon me, pushing me to the ground, hot fetid breath like fire breathing into my face.
“Bastard, I’ll teach you!” A familiar voice growled.
Fists began to pummel me. I tried fighting back, but the advantage was my attacker’s. The best I could do was try and block the fusillade that rained down on me. Suddenly another figure came streaking out of the darkness, sleek as a panther, striking the villain on the side of the head and sweeping him from me.
I was still half stunned and could raise myself only on one elbow. The light was weak. I watched the fantastic tableau as a slim figure rounded on my stout attacker with kicks and punches until he was rendered immobile, the battle taking no more than a few moments. By then, I was on my feet and rushing to the scene.
“Annie?” I asked in astonishment.
The tie had come loose from her ponytail and her long hair splayed about her shoulders. Her breath came in ragged bursts. On the ground lay Uriah Kingfish, groaning in agony, his ugly face bloodied, one hand placed protectively between his legs.
“Are you all right?” I asked her.
She raised one eyebrow and a grin crooked the corner of her mouth. “Who was on the ground and who rescued whom?”
I could not deny the accuracy of her assessment. I touched her face in gratitude and wonderment.
“What shall we do with him?” I asked.
“We can tie a rock to him and put him in the river, or leave him. It’s your choice,” she said.
I could not contemplate the first alternative. “Let him be,” I answered.
Even in the dim light of the stars, I could detect a look of wolf-like disagreement cross her face.
“So be it,” she said.
Chapter 17 – Annie’s Story
Her naked skin shone like alabaster in the moonlight. I kissed her breasts, her body moving sinuously in the grass. She touched me with practiced, confident hands lavishing kisses upon my face and neck. We coupled; our sweat slick stomachs flat to one another. The sweet ecstasy I felt at that moment is indescribable. We lay in each other’s arms, sated, but still hungry for more. We repeated the performance, something I had never done before in my limited experience, the second time seeming a sweet eternity.
“You don’t need to worry about a child. A woman’s not likely to conceive during the time of her cycle,” Annie told me as we cuddled.
I felt a fool for not taking some precaution and quietly thanked God she was more astute in such matters than I. The girl at the tavern had always taken it on herself to provide a sheepskin sheath for the act. I remembered Spencer’s ridiculous claim that Rachel was pregnant with triplets. What if she was and what if they were mine? I
put the thought out of my head as being too ridiculous to consider. We huddled together beneath a soft blanket of elk hide in a stand of birch near the Laramie River. She placed her hand upon my solar plexus.
“I can feel your soul. It vibrates, warm and clear.” I imitated her, placing my hand between her finely sculpted breasts, her warm flesh flooding my senses. “Tell me about your family,” she said. I repeated the tragic tale. Her face was awash with emotion. She stroked the back of my hand with her slender fingers in sympathy. “I’m sorry Clayton.”
“There’s only my brother and me left and we were never close,” I explained.
She drew me to her and looked into my soul. “I will be your family Clayton.”
I kissed her deeply.
“You’re the first man I’ve been with since David,” she said.
“Who was David?” I asked, twinges of jealousy instantly taking hold.
“My husband.”
“And where is he?”
“Dead.”
I wanted to ask more, but remembered her reaction when I had pressed her before. She gave me a fierce and questing look. “You will not let it go will you?” She said softly.
“It’s none of my business.”
“But you have to know. It’s what you do, collect stories.”
I felt ashamed. “I’m sorry. I know I can be obnoxious sometimes. I promise never to ask.”
She gave a small nod. “It will always be there.” She turned her back to me and we snuggled beneath the blanket. “If you hold me close, I’ll tell you.”