Brides of Prairie Gold (12 page)

"Well!"

Thoroughly angry and offended, Augusta watched Mem stride down the boardwalk with a face so stormy that even hardened soldiers hastened to scurry out of her path.

"Well!" she said again, lifting her chin. It was certainly evident which sister had the breeding in that family.

As if her thoughts had conjured reality, Bootie came rushing out of the store, halted in a swirl of skirts, and inspected a cameo watch pinned to an imitation cashmere shawl.

"Oh, dear. I'm going to be late for Perrin's meeting. Mem will be furious." She looked up and saw Augusta watching with a cool expression. "Have you seen my sister?"

Silently, Augusta nodded toward Mem's retreating figure.

Bootie took a few steps in pursuit, then halted. "Aren't you coming? The meeting is scheduled to begin in a few minutes."

Augusta tossed her head, feeling her blond curls give a satisfying bounce against the top of her shoulders. "That creature has nothing to say that I choose to hear. I can't imagine you would respond to her summons either. Perhaps you would prefer to return inside with me?"

An agony of indecision pinched Bootie's expression. She gazed toward Mem, who had reached the end of the boardwalk, and high color flooded her cheeks.

"Id like to, I really would, but well, Mem made me promise that I'd attend Mrs. Waverly's meeting, and" she shrugged helplessly. "Any other time but I"

Augusta released her with an impatient flick of her fingertips. "Run along, then," she said coldly. She watched Bootie hurry along the muddy boardwalk, taking Augusta's hopes with her. She had counted on persuading Bootie to buy her a dozen eggs.

Involuntarily, she glanced at the little gold watch pinned to her own genuine cashmere shawl. The creature's meeting was due to begin in fifteen minutes. Well, she would not be present.

Inside the store, she inhaled a blend of tantalizing aromas, her mouth watering at the scent of pickles and onions, coffee beans and smoked sausage. After inspecting the tumble of goods tossed willy-nilly on the shelves, she paused before a piled stack of sugar bags, wishing she could purchase something smaller than a ten-pound sack.

"Ain't you going to Mrs. Waverly's meeting?" Cora asked innocently, appearing from another aisle.

"Hardly!" A pungent scent wafted from the black licorice whip Cora was chewing. "And neither are you!" She stared at the bag of licorice Cora clutched in her hand. The rich dark aroma filled her nostrils.

Cora's eyes narrowed. "I am too going! I guess I can go wherever I want when I ain't working!" Turning abruptly, she hurried down a narrow aisle and left the store.

Heartsick, Augusta stared at the bags of sugar without seeing them. Licorice. Cora had spent part of her dollar on licorice. Augusta had surrendered one whole precious dollar so that stupid, wasteful Cora could buy licorice.

A flood tide of rage, frustration, and helplessness almost knocked her to her knees. Despairing, she pressed her purse against her side. Oh, God. What was she going to do?

Cody watched Webb's dark face as he wound through the traffic clogging the post square. He moved forward as Webb stepped onto the boardwalk. "We'll stop in at Rogue Street on the way back to camp. Looks like you could use a drink."

Rogue Street was situated outside the post, a collection of saloons, washhouses, and whores' cribs. They entered the last saloon in the row and took a table near a cracked window that gave them a view of the post's entrance gate. Miles Dawson, the head teamster, would remain at the post until the last of the brides, Augusta Boyd, returned to camp. Cody wouldn't relax until all his passengers had returned to the train.

Tilting his chair against the rough log wall of the saloon, he scanned the faces of the men crowding a faro bank. "I knew the commander of this fort when I was in the army. Willis says Jake Quinton passed through about four days ago."

Webb tossed back a whiskey. "I would have thought Quinton had had his fill of army posts."

"Willis thinks Quinton and his men robbed Jed Lexy's train."

Webb nodded. "I'll tell the watch to keep their eyes open."

They never left the guns and molasses wagons unguarded. Someone was always posted on look out, day and night. Both men were fully aware the freight they carried made the train a target for marauders like Quinton and his gang.

Cody poured a second round of whiskey. "This is none of my business, but I keep telling you she's poison, old friend."

"You're right. It's none of your business. And it's not my place to mention that you regard all women as lethal since Ellen died." Webb turned his gaze toward the window and the view of the post entrance.

Cody didn't answer, but Webb's observation stung as it was intended to. When Ellen and her newborn son had died a day after the birthing, he had gone crazy. The craziness eventually cost him his career in the army, but that no longer mattered. What mattered was he never wanted to endure that kind of pain again.

Webb turned his shot glass between long elegant fingers. "You worry me, my friend."

"You worry about you; I'll worry about me," Cody muttered.

"You're letting what happened poison your thoughts against all women." He tossed back the whiskey. "That's why you're planning to settle in Oregon at the end of this trip."

Cody almost laughed. "Because there aren't many women in Oregon? Is that what you think?"

Webb smiled. "If the cargo we're carrying is any indication, there don't seem to be many temptations in Oregon."

Cody let his chair bump down on the sawdust floor, then stood and resettled his hat. "Heck and Miles will be looking for us to relieve them back at camp."

The two men strode down Rogue Street, accustomed to seeing other men step out of their path.

"You know, Coate," Cody commented as they left the boardwalk and slogged through the mud toward the train. "I hate it when you go analytical on me. That's part of the Indian culture that I really don't warm to."

Webb laughed and returned Cody's grin. "You don't like hearing the truth, white eyes."

"What do you red devils know about truth?" They both laughed.

As they approached the campsite, Cody noticed the Chastity brides had gathered a short distance from the squared wagons. The women's camp chairs were arranged in a half circle to face Perrin Waverly.

"What's that all about?" Webb inquired.

"Damned if I know." A twitch of curiosity furrowed his brow. "I wasn't invited."

Perrin Waverly occupied his thoughts more frequently than he cared to admit. She was beautiful and she was an outcast, two conditions guaranteed to pique a man's interest. What surprised him and aroused his grudging admiration was her quiet fortitude. She was doggedly determined to succeed as the women's representative regardless of how little the other brides cooperated with her efforts or how coldly they treated her.

As he and Webb entered camp, he watched her step to the front of the assembled brides, and it occurred to him that courage came in many forms.

Perrin hadn't known how many, if any, of the women would attend her meeting. She suspected they came largely in response to Mem's cajoling, bullying, and veiled threats. She located Mem's erect figure in the midst of the group and cast her a look of heartfelt gratitude. Unfortunately, Mem couldn't help her conduct the meeting. That she had to accomplish on her own.

Although she had rehearsed for two days, she hadn't realized how unnerving it would be to address a group, especially a group who preferred visiting with each other to listening to anything Perrin Waverly might have to say.

Some of the women darned stockings or mended torn hems while they chatted; Sarah Jennings stirred a cake bowl in her lap. Thea Reeves had opened her sketchbook and kept looking up at Perrin, then down at a stick of charcoal that appeared to fly across the page. Cora gave Lucy a licorice whip, and they whispered together. Ona Norris busily pressed the season's first tiny wildflowers between the pages of her trip journal.

"Excuse me?" It wasn't a good beginning. She sounded timid and tentative. And the suspicion that Thea might be sketching her portrait tied her stomach in knots. Swallowing hard, she began again. "May I have your attention, please?"

Gradually, the women quieted and raised inquisitive faces. All those eyes, resistant and judgmental, drove Perrin's speech out of her mind. The saliva dried in her mouth.

"I've never made a speech before," she admitted in a low voice, floundering, wondering if they could see her lips tremble.

"Louder," Hilda prompted gently.

Perrin cleared her throat. To bolster her courage, she had tucked her most prized possession beneath her bodice. She touched her chest and traced the old valentine lying next to her skin. Over the years the lettering had faded, and now only she could make out the inscription: To my beloved wife, Charlotte . The valentine was all she had left of her parents.

She clasped her hands tightly and cast a quick glance toward Jane Munger, who sat a little apart from the others. Jane's tired eyes fastened on Perrin with hope and anxiety.

Perrin drew a deep breath. "I've asked you here because we have a problem that I can't solve without your assistance."

"What kind of a problem do we have?" Sarah Jennings asked crisply. She handed the cake bowl to young Lucy Hastings, who set aside her licorice whip to take a turn at stirring.

Whatever Perrin did, Sarah was there looking over her shoulder, subtly implying she could have done it better. Nevertheless, Perrin admired Sarah Jennings. Sarah brought cheerfulness to a no-nonsense personality, and she wasn't shy about speaking her mind. During her years as an army wife, she had learned to approach problems as challenges, could cope with whatever obstacles fate tossed in her path. Perrin had to admit that Sarah would be a good ally in a crisis.

"Can you hear in back?" Perrin looked toward the last row where the younger women sat, Thea Reeves, Lucy Hastings, and Ona Norris. Thea glanced up from her sketch pad and nodded. So did Lucy. Ona Norris set aside her pressed flowers and frowned. It was painfully obvious that Ona disliked Perrin. The girl hadn't spoken a dozen words to her since the journey began.

"I believe we're all aware that Winnie Larson is ill." Perrin twined her fingers together and pressed shaking hands against her skirt. "I have recently learned the nature of Winnie's illness, and I've confirmed the information to my own satisfaction." She gazed back at the sea of eyes.

"It's cholera!" Bootie gasped. Lifting the chemise she'd been mending, she used it to fan her face and fell back in her chair in a near swoon. "I knew it! We're all going to die!"

"It's not cholera," Perrin hastily assured them. "Winnie Larson is dependent on laudanum, which is an opium product. She's retaining water, she isn't eating, and she's dangerously weak. She's drifting in a world of her own."

The brides stared at Perrin. She imagined she could see them remembering that Winnie's father was Chastity's chemist, could sense them picturing the row of laudanum bottles on the shelves behind the tall counter at the rear of the Larson apothecary.

"I have something to say." Reluctantly, Hilda rose to her feet and faced the group." I should have told this before." She cast Perrin an apologetic look, then wrapped her hands in the folds of her apron. "My mother and Winnie's mother are friends. I recall my mother saying" Her face flushed and she gazed down at the ground. "This is gossip, and I hate to"