The Complete Oregon Series, page 19
Amy splashed water at her.
Nora swallowed some of the water and spat it back out. Ugh. The spring’s water was unpalatable. Sitting in it is much nicer than drinking it. She made a face.
Amy giggled.
“Oh, you want to start a water fight, little lady? You can have that.” She shoved a wave of water at her squealing daughter, who began to splash with her hands and feet, drenching Nora to the very last hair on her head.
“My, my, look at that. The whore and her daughter, the picture of domesticity.”
Nora almost slipped on the slippery rocks as her head jerked around.
There, right in front of her, stood Broderick Cowen, the man who had probably once been one of her customers. So far, she had managed to stay away from him, but apparently, he didn’t plan on staying away from her. He leered at her, letting his gaze wander over her naked body with a grin.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest and tried not to let him see how scared she was. She knew it would only encourage a man like him. “Leave us alone. You shouldn’t be here,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
“I shouldn’t, huh? Who’s gonna stop me?” Cowen took a step closer.
Nora moved her own body in front of Amy’s. She didn’t want her to have anything to do with Cowen or any of her other former customers. “My husband—”
“Oh, yes, I almost forgot.” Cowen laughed. “You got yourself a gullible little husband, huh? Does he know that you used to open your legs for any man who had a piece of silver in his hand?”
Nora’s teeth ground against each other. His insulting words made her cheeks burn, but this was not the time or place for pride. In the last three years, she had trained herself never to show any of the pain or humiliation she might be feeling.
Cowen took another step forward. He was right at the edge of the rocky pool now, and Nora scrambled back as far as she could, wrapping a protective arm around her trembling daughter. She eyed her surroundings, but there was no help, no chance to hide or flee. “Please.”
“Does he know that the bun you’ve got warming in the oven is not his?” Cowen asked. “Hell, for all I know, it might be mine.”
Every muscle in Nora’s body stiffened. The metallic taste of fear coated her tongue, and for a moment, even breathing was difficult. She rested her free hand protectively on her belly. God, don’t let him spread that around. The worst thing was that she couldn’t even rule out the possibility that he had fathered her baby. She hadn’t kept a record on her customers, had always tried to forget about them as soon as possible, so there was no way for her to know if and when Cowen had shared her bed. “It isn’t. This baby is my husband’s,” she said with as much determination as she could muster.
“Mrs. Hamilton?” Bill Larson shouted from some distance away. “Your time’s up.”
Nora had never thought that she would be glad about Larson’s presence in the train.
With one last smirk, Broderick Cowen turned around and was gone.
Her knees shaking, Nora stood and lifted an equally trembling Amy from the rocky tub. She dried them off and dressed quickly. Afraid to be caught alone by Cowen again, she headed straight for the wagon and Luke.
“That was quick,” Luke said from his place by the fire. He didn’t look up from the frying pan that he was watching over.
“There was a bad man,” Amy said as soon as they reached Luke.
Amy, no, Nora wanted to shout, but it was too late.
Luke was already taking the frying pan from the fire and turning around. He knelt down to be at eye level with Amy. “A bad man?”
Amy’s head bobbed up and down as she nodded. “Vewwy bad. He scared Mama and me.”
Still kneeling, Luke fixed his gaze on Nora. “What happened? Who frightened you?”
“Nobody,” Nora said. She didn’t want Luke to know what had happened because it would give him one more reason to send her away. She could tell that one of the reasons why he had married her had been to fit in with the other emigrants of the wagon train. Every other settler was taking his family with him and had someone to care for him. Even with a wife and a child, Luke was already the outsider of the wagon train, and Nora felt that she was somehow a link to the others for Luke. To be able to do that, she had to keep up appearances.
“Nobody?” Luke raised both brows. “Then why do you both look scared to death?”
“It’s just… Mr. Cowen just scared her a bit.” Nora shrugged as casually as possible. “He came upon us bathing. It took us by surprise. That’s all.”
“If you’re sure that’s all.”
“It is,” Nora said.
With a nod, Luke returned to his frying pan.
Nora let a trembling breath escape. For once, Luke’s blind spot where Broderick Cowen was concerned came in handy. For some reason, Luke seemed impressed with Cowen and would never think him capable of tormenting a woman and her child. Luckily, Amy was quiet now, and Nora prayed that she would forget the incident soon. And that it’s gonna stop with this one incident.
Ayers Bridge,
June 26th, 1851
“There.” Brody Cowen reined in his horse on a hill and pointed.
Luke stopped Measles next to him.
A herd of antelopes grazed below them.
Brody hummed. “Finally, we’ll get some antelope steaks for dinner.” He lifted his rifle and aimed.
Before he could squeeze the trigger, one antelope raised its head. Its tail flicked, and then the antelope ran, followed by the rest of the herd. They stopped just outside of gun range.
Luke groaned. “Let’s leave the horses here and try our luck down at the creek.” She settled her rifle in the crook of her elbow and led the way. “Want to see something amazing? There’s a special place not far from the watering hole.”
Brody shrugged. “Why not. So you traveled through here before?”
“I led a few expeditions during the Cayuse Wars,” Luke said.
“You were a dragoon?”
Luke nodded.
“Me too,” Brody said. “Nearly lost a leg—and my soul—in the Mexican War.”
He left it at that, and Luke didn’t ask questions.
They walked along the creek in silence. Many of the emigrants Luke had met along the way told stories around the campfire about how they had single-handedly won the war. Luke suppressed a snort. Most of them had probably never even been in Mexico. Only people who had never experienced war seemed to think it a heroic adventure.
Brady didn’t brag about his wartime experiences. Maybe that was why Luke had taken a liking to him.
Oh, come on, Hamilton. Have you gotten so used to lying to the world that you’re starting to lie to yourself? You know exactly where that sympathy is coming from.
Growing up, she had often asked herself—and her mother—who her father might be. Was he a good man? Was he tall? Were his eyes gray like her own? Did he like horses? Her mother had soon grown tired of the questions and had forbidden her from ever asking about her father again. But the questions in her mind had never stopped. During her years as a cowhand, then as she worked herself up through the ranks of the dragoons and fought in Mexico, whenever she had met an older man who resembled her, she had wondered, Could this be my father?
Brody’s black hair and gray eyes had started these questions again. As a child, she had often dreamed that her father would come and take her with him, but then she had realized that, even if he ever learned of her existence, he probably wouldn’t care. Still, those old daydreams were hard to extinguish.
“So, where is that wonder of yours?” Brody asked.
“There.” Luke stopped and pointed.
Ahead of them, in a hidden red canyon, a natural bridge of solid rock arched across the little stream.
“Nice.” Brody gave a surprised whistle.
They walked closer, fighting through thickets and undergrowth, balancing from rock to rock and over the pebbles in the low-level creek. Wading into ankle-deep water, they stood right under the stone arch that spanned thirty feet high over the water. The singing of the birds swooping into their nests echoed around them.
“Idyllic, huh?” Luke lowered her voice so she wouldn’t disturb the peaceful atmosphere in the little canyon.
“Not bad, yeah, but I think we better hunt down our dinner and rejoin the others before they’re too far ahead.”
He’s not one to stop and smell the flowers, huh? With a suppressed sigh, Luke started up the bank and through the thicket.
They circled back around until they reached the waterhole.
“Look at that.” Brody pointed with the barrel of his rifle. He flashed a grin. “I think your little wife is gonna make some buffalo stew tonight.”
Little wife? Luke’s hackles rose, but she said nothing. She didn’t want to start a fight with the older man. Instead, she looked in the direction he indicated.
A lone buffalo stood at the edge of the creek, his muzzle in the water, drinking heavily.
A few years ago, when Luke had first started riding expeditions along the Platte River, big herds of the shaggy beasts had roamed the prairie. Sometimes, the soldiers had to stop and wait for hours until a herd had passed.
On this trip, there hadn’t been moving masses as far as the eye could see. Instead, the valley of the Platte had been dotted with buffalo skulls. Whenever they had encountered a small group of buffalos, most of the men had abandoned the wagons and rushed off to shoot a buffalo, not for food, but for sport. Luke had never done that. There was no point in killing more than you could eat.
She laid a hand along the raised barrel of Brody’s rifle. “It’s an old bull—very tough meat. We should wait for an antelope.”
Brody shook his head. “That could be a very long wait. I say we seize the moment. I don’t want to return empty-handed.” He looked pointedly at her hand that still rested on his rifle.
Reluctantly, Luke lifted her hand.
Careful to stay downwind of his prey, Brody swung up the barrel and took aim. He didn’t aim at the head—the skull was too hard to penetrate—but set his sights on the spot right behind the shoulder. Brody exhaled, then pulled the trigger.
The shot echoed through the canyon.
The bull threw his head up and started to run. After the second step, his legs collapsed, and he went down. Sand and pebbles scattered in all directions as his massive weight came crashing down.
Finally, the bull lay still.
North Platte Crossing,
June 29th, 1851
“I could do this for you, you know?” Nora said again. She watched as Luke mended his torn pant leg. This was something that she could do for him, offer him in return for his name and his protection.
He didn’t look up from his task. “No, thank you. I’ve done this for years. No need to change things now.”
The grass along the trail had given way to sage and thorny greasewood, and Nora knew the roads would only get worse, so there was still hope that she would get an opportunity to mend his torn pants another time.
Today, they had encountered a bend in the North Platte. The river swung sharply away to the south, blocking their way, so they’d had to cross it. The North Platte with its swift current and deep waters was notorious, leaving them no choice but to pay the overpriced toll of the ferry that the Mormons had established.
The captain had warned them that the next fresh water was twenty miles away, so they had decided to start out for Willow Spring before dawn the next day and camp here for the rest of the day.
While Amy spent the afternoon under the watchful eyes of the older Garfield children, Nora was determined not to stray away from Luke even for a second. Since Broderick Cowen had joined the wagon train, he pestered her the moment Luke’s back was turned, but he was never anything but polite when Luke was around. That made sure that Luke’s odd hero worship for the man wouldn’t stop anytime soon, but at least Nora had some moments of peace while she stayed close to her husband.
So Nora sat back and busied herself with sewing baby clothes while she watched him ladle hot water from the kettle over the fire into a washbasin. What’s this? Is he going to wash up right in front of me? Now, that would be something new. She continued to watch from under half-lowered lids.
He set the washbasin down on the wagon tongue, but instead of unbuttoning his shirt, he took his razor blade and ran it over a broad strap of leather. With nimble fingers, he lathered his brush with shaving soap and spread the thick foam over his cheeks and chin.
“Why do you shave every day?” Nora asked. “Why not just grow a beard like every other man on the trail?” Not that I’m complaining, mind you. She didn’t care for the straggled hair and matted beards of many other men.
Luke paused with the razor blade raised halfway to his cheek. “I don’t like feeling like an unkempt drunkard.”
“You wouldn’t look unkempt even if you didn’t shave every day. For a man with black hair, your beard is very light.” When she’d first met him, the soft downy hairs on Luke’s cheeks had made her think he was young and inexperienced.
Luke’s expression darkened. Obviously, he didn’t like to be reminded of his boyish looks. “Every man in my family had light facial hair. It’s nothing unusual.”
“Of course not,” Nora said. Ouch. I think I’ve hit a tender spot. She watched in silence as he moved the razor blade over his face, carefully removing the lather and whatever facial hair there might be.
When he wiped away the rest of the shaving soap, Nora let her gaze wander over his face. “You could use a haircut.”
Luke lifted a hand and self-consciously touched the hair in the back of his neck.
“Why don’t I cut it for you?” Yes! Finally she had found something that she could do for him. He certainly can’t cut his own hair without risking an ear or looking like a herd of buffalo munched on his head.
“All right.”
His answer came with hesitance, so Nora knew she had to move quickly or he would change his mind. She gently pressed him down to sit on the trunk that held their cooking utensils and grabbed the scissors he had used for mending his pants. She stepped closer until she could rest one hand on his shoulder for balance. Experimentally, she let her fingers glide through his hair, surprised by the silkiness of it. “How do you want it?”
“W-what?”
Nora rolled her eyes and hid a grin. She had often asked that question in a very different context, and Luke seemed to be well aware of that. “Your hair. How do you want it cut?”
“Short.”
Stepping even closer, Nora lowered the scissors to his neck. “Relax,” she said right into his ear. She wanted to run her hands soothingly over stiff shoulders and down rigid back muscles, but she knew it would only chase him away, so she concentrated on her task instead. She fingered a strand of hair, enjoying the way the sunlight danced over it, making it shine like the fur of the panther whose picture she had once seen in a book.
Luke turned his head to see what she was doing. “Are you gonna use those scissors or not?”
Nora gently turned his head back around. “Hold still.” She started with the dark waves that fell onto the collar of his shirt. When she had it all at the same length, she leaned forward to work on the hair around his ears. Her rounded belly pressed against his shoulder, and both of them froze for a second.
“Is that…?” Luke turned and stared up at her with wide eyes.
The childlike awe on the usually stoic face robbed Nora of speech for a moment. “Yeah. He’s really active today, moving around a lot.”
“He?” Luke repeated. “You know that it’s gonna be a boy?”
Nora laughed. For a mature man, he was quite naïve about some things, and to her surprise, she found it endearing. “There’s no way to be sure. I can’t look inside, you know?” She grinned at his embarrassed expression. “But I figure it’s a fifty-fifty chance, and I know most men wish for a boy. A son.” She spoke the last words cautiously, watching his reaction. Would he really accept the baby as his own, now that its existence was no longer just an abstract concept but became more real each day?
“Not me,” Luke said after long seconds of silence.
Swallowing heavily, Nora blinked to fight down threatening tears. She started to turn away, but Luke’s next words stopped her.
“I like girls, you know?” He looked back over his shoulder and winked at her.
The wave of relief swept away the last remains of her composure. She swung around and hit him in the shoulder, laughing while she felt hot tears run down her face.
“Careful.” He caught her as she threatened to fall.
Nora burrowed her face against his neck, deeply breathing in the scent of him and his shaving soap.
“What is it?” he asked. “I was only joking. I would care for a boy as much as I would for a girl. It doesn’t matter to me. I’ll take care of you all until you’ve remarried.”
Nora drew back and sniffled. She didn’t know what to say now that he had seen her blatant display of emotions.
“Do you think you can finish that haircut now?” He fingered the hairs above his right ear. “It’s gonna look a little uneven like this.”
With a smile, Nora went back to work.
Saleratus Lake,
July 2nd, 1851
“Eek! Papa, that smells bad.” Amy wrinkled her nose.
Luke smiled down at the child sitting in the saddle in front of her. Lord, I never thought I would grow used to having someone call me “Papa.” “Yes, Amy, it smells very bad, and it tastes even worse. It’s very important that you never drink that water.”
