Brides of Prairie Gold (17 page)

Swearing softly, he returned to the log in front of the fire. The flames had died to a bed of glowing orange and black. Patting his pockets, he searched for a smoke, discovering a small bulge in his vest that hadn't been there earlier. Frowning, he fished in the pocket with two fingers and withdrew a yellowish chunk about the size of his belt buckle.

Bending forward, he stirred the coals into a burst of flame, then held the chunk to the light and turned it between his fingers. He couldn't decide what the hell it was. It might have been a piece of hardened sponge, but that seemed so unlikely that he discarded the possibility. It didn't smell like soap. Crumbs rubbed off on his fingertips as he handled the peculiar object, and he touched one to the tip of his tongue.

Cake. It was a hardened piece of bread or cake. And he knew it had not been in his pocket this morning.

"I'll be damned." He couldn't have been more amazed if he'd discovered a gold nugget.

Standing, he peered through the blackness at Perrin's retreating figure, able to discern only a swaying silhouette. Why in the name of reason had she placed a chunk of ancient cake in his pocket? And when had she done it?

Shaking his head, puzzled, he remembered to bank the coals in Smokey Joe's pit before he strode toward the arms and molasses wagons and the sane company of men. A few steps before he reached Heck and John, he tossed the piece of hardened cake in the direction of the prairie wolf still baying at the moon.

My Journal, May, 1852. Rain, all day yesterday and last night. Our camp flooded, so we went to bed hungry and had to sleep sitting up in the wagons. We've been seeing tornadoes on tile plains for the last three days and everyone worries that one will devastate our camp, but so far it hasn't happened.

One of our oxen drank some alkali water, sickened and died. Lost a day of travel so Mr. Kelsey could repair the cracked axle under Sarah and Lucy's wagon. Only made five miles yesterday because the men's cook wagon and one of the heavy molasses wagons got stuck in the mud in one of the gullies we had to cross.

He hasn't said anything about the cake or the ribbon. I thought surely he would say something.

I started thinking that maybe he isn't sure if I remember. If that were true, it would explain why he hasn't spoken openly to me even though he can't hide the love in his eyes. I started wondering if perhaps we are in the midst of a terrible misunderstanding. That maybe he believes I've forgotten everything and truly intend to marry the Oregon man whose letter I picked. So I put the piece of cake in his vest and pinned the yellow ribbon to his saddle blanket to tell him that I've forgotten nothing. But he didn't acknowledge my messages. I thought he would be touched that I've kept these items for so many years, that he would see them as proof of my love and devotion.

I know his duties keep him occupied, and that harlot, Perrin Waverly, won't allow him to speak to us. Everything must go through her. I know he didn't mean that I have to send messages through Perrin, but I don't know how to tell her that the rule does not apply to me without revealing everything. She becomes more puffed up with herself every day.

Augusta says that she throws herself at every man in her path. This is true.

My love and Cody's is like a secret current, strong and pure. I know he is immune to the harlot's charms. But still, it worries me on occasion. If she continues to flaunt herself at him, well Cody is my man.

"You have the saddest eyes I've ever seen."

Perrin blinked at Winnie in surprise. To the best of her knowledge, this was the first time Winnie had uttered a personal comment to anyone.

"Your eyes are sad too," she said gently, pressing Winnie's hand. "And tired." But now, finally, Winnie's gaze was clear and lucid. The blank, unfocused look had been replaced by quiet sorrow as memory adjusted to returning reality.

"Feeling better?" Perrin inquired, smoothing a drift of dust-dark hair back from Winnie's pale forehead. A year ago Perrin had passed Winnie on the streets of Chastity and she recalled admiring Winnie Larson's tiny waist and delicate features, remembered how pretty Winnie had been. Even then the young woman had been floating inside a laudanum cloud.

"The cramps aren't as bad. Every day is a little easier." Pushing up on an elbow, Winnie peered through the gap between the wagon board and the canvas top. The effort to rise exhausted her and she let her head drop back to the pillow and closed her eyes. "It's blowing too hard to see any trees."

"The emigrants who came before us chopped down most of the trees for firewood. It's hard to find wood for cooking."

The wagon swerved like a boat sliding down a swell and they both braced as iron wheels lurched out of the deep trail ruts and rolled toward a patch of rank grass that would feed the oxen and cattle during the midday rest period.

Winnie gazed up at the canvas, watching it flutter beneath the force of the wind. Dust and sand found the gaps and cracks and settled on her blanket and pillow. Her lips were outlined by a faint muddy tracing. "I know we're going to Oregon. Hilda told me." A moist shine glistened in her eyes. "Billy Morris isn't waiting for me there."

Lowering her head, Perrin stroked the veins evident on the back of the slender hand she cradled in hers. Winnie's wrist was so small, still so dangerously thin. "I'm sorry."

"It's strange" Winnie continued to gaze at the canvas flapping over their heads. A solitary tear hung on her lashes then spilled down her cheek. "I can't remember Billy's face anymore. Or the sound of his voice. I thought I'd never forget the way he held his cigar." Now she lowered her gaze to Perrin. "I've lost three years of my life grieving for a man who wronged me and whose face I can't remember." Her weak laugh was harsh and ended in a fit of coughing. "Can you guess what I do remember?"

In a flash of understanding, Perrin abruptly realized that Winnie's tears were not tears of grief, but tears of anger. Slowly she felt her anxiety subside, and a weight lifted off her shoulders. Winnie was going to make it.

"I remember that he made disgusting noises when he ate. And sometimes flecks of spit bubbled at the corners of his lips while he talked. Once he told me that wives were like children, meant to be seen but not heard. That's what I keep thinking about." She clenched her teeth and her eyes narrowed. "I should have rejoiced when he eloped with Emmy Greene. I should have danced in the streets and celebrated my escape. Instead I turned to opiates How could I have been so stupid?"

"Oh, Winnie," Perrin said softly. She pressed a handkerchief into Winnie's hand and waited while she blew her nose. "The important thing is that you're seeing clearly now."

"I know Lucy will be here soon. But before you go, there's something I want to say." Her fingers tightened around Perrin's hand and her eyes darkened earnestly. "Mem and Hilda told me it was you who saved me from being sent back to Chastity. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for saving my life. I would die if I returned to Chastity, where everything reminds me of Billy. If ever I can do anything to repay you, you have only to ask."

"Winnie do you know that I" Perrin began in a low voice. "I mean, there's gossip that" she couldn't make herself say the words.

A flush of pink stained Winnie's pale throat and cheeks. "I know you're kind. I know you fought to give me a second chance when the others would have washed their hands of me." Her fingers tightened around Perrin's hand and her eyes steadied. "Billy and I we" Her whisper broke on a note of shame. "You and I are not so different."

"Dear Winnie," Perrin whispered, angry tears sparkling in her own eyes. Billy Morris was another man who had taken and used, damn him. She had yet to meet one who didn't. "Billy is behind you and best forgotten. You have a wonderful future waiting in Oregon."

Was that true? Instead of Billy Morris, Winnie would spend the rest of her life with a man whom she hadn't yet met. Maybe he wouldn't make disgusting sounds when he ate, but maybe he'd be quick with his fists. Maybe his tongue would be as sharp as a blade, wielded to carve little pieces out of Winnie's life.

Perrin sighed and struggled to think optimistically. Perhaps Winnie would be lucky enough to marry the one good man in the Oregon Territory. She looked into the girl's tired face and hoped so. For herself well, her expectations were low.