Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 01] (12 page)

“I don’t know. I’ll go see, and I’ve got to get the guns I left by the tree. Are you sure you’re all right?” “I’m fit for the shape of me. Let’s leave this place! Tell Israel to hitch up. We can go down to the town.” Moving carefully and awkwardly, Rachel eased her bloated body over onto the feather tick. Her face completely drained of color, she looked at Berry pleadingly.

Berry crawled to her, her heart hammering with fear. “Is it the baby? Is it coming?”

“I don’t think so. I’ll be all right if I can rest here for a minute. Load the guns. We can talk later.”

Berry put the musket beside Rachel and loaded the rifle. The look of pain on Rachel’s face filled her heart with dread. Carrying the rifle by the barrel, she climbed out of the wagon, looked around cautiously, then walked over and peered down at the man Rachel had shot. He wasn’t anyone she had ever seen before, but from his dress he looked to be a riverman.

Morning light was flickering through the forest. With the rifle pointed in front of her, her finger on the trigger, Berry carefully skirted George’s body and grabbed up the two muskets and the quilt. Afraid to turn her back on the woods, she backed away, while her eyes searched for movement among the trees. Back at the wagon, she threw the quilt inside and quickly loaded the guns. She thrust one into the waistband of her apron and placed the other and the rifle within easy reach in the back of the wagon. Rachel lay with her eyes closed and Berry thought she was asleep, until she spoke.

“I can’t help you, honey. I wish . . . I could. . . .”

“Don’t worry! There’s nothin’ you can do. We’re goin’ to hitch up and get out of here. Israel!”

“Missy . . .” Israel had untied the mules and moved them into position to be harnessed. He had the gear slung over his shoulder. His long arm and pointing finger directed her gaze to a humped bundle in the grass. “Him was gonna take the mules, but ah bash ’is head. The mules kick ’im.”

“Is he dead?”

“Yass’m.”

“There was four of them? Oh, Israel, you done good! If he’s dead it’s his own doin’! Hitch up as fast as you can so we can get away from here. There was one of ’em I didn’t kill. He ran off in the woods ’n’ he might be comin’ back.” A chill rippled along her spine as she realized what would have happened to her and Rachel if they hadn’t armed themselves.

They were ready to leave in record time. Berry tied the mare on behind the big wagon, then moved up beside the ox and switched it lightly on the rump. As the ox pulled the wagon out of the meadow, past the bodies of the men they had killed during the early dawn, a hatred of men, of the river, and of the town began to burn in Berry. Since they had crossed the river, life had been an ugly dream. A small part of her mind argued against this. The few intimate moments she had shared with Simon were the exception. But, she realized now, she had blown the importance of all that out of proportion. He would have come to them if he had been as interested in her as she had hoped he was.

Berry strode along beside the ox, one hand on its halter, the other on the musket tucked in her belt. It was heavy and uncomfortable to carry, but it was a comfort to know it was there. She let her hand wander down into her pocket where the paper-wrapped bit of sweet Simon had given her remained. She brought it out and, without looking at it, crushed it in her fist and threw it into the grass alongside the trail. She would not be won over with a few treats and a kiss or two. He was more like Linc than he appeared to be, she thought angrily. He wanted the same thing, but he went about getting it differently.

Somewhere off in the trees behind the dense foliage, a blue jay squawked, a wren in the trees overhead scolded, and a squirrel scrambled away as the creaking wagons approached. The sun came up over the trees beyond the river and struck Berry in the face. She could see nothing of the town. She squinted against the glare and listened to the sound of hooves striking the hard-packed trail and to the jingle of the harnesses.

Berry debated what to do as they neared the crossroads in the trail. They could turn south and go down through the town’s main thoroughfare and endure the stares of the locals as they poked one another with their elbows and snickered at the poor eastern deadbeats, or they could take the trail north in the direction of the land her pa had filed on. Except that Rachel’s baby was due. . . . In Saint Louis there was no place for them to stay but at the wagon grounds, and they couldn’t settle down
there.
More than likely they would have to handle the birthing alone anyway. But, Law! If anything happened to Rachel . . .

She knew she had no right to make the decision alone, so she pulled the ox to a halt and climbed up into the wagon.

Rachel raised her head. “Is something wrong? Why’re we stopping?”

“How are ya feelin’?”

“Better,” she said and smiled.

Berry was to remember, later, that Rachel always said “better” when she was asked the question.

“We’ve got to decide if we want to go into town or turn north ’n’ try ’n’ find the land Pa filed on. If we go on we may run into some settlers who’ll show us the way.”

“We can’t go back,” Rachel said with her calm reasoning. “It’s best if we get as far from here as we can. We can’t be sure the people in town will help us after they find out what we did.”

“But what about you? We’ll need help when you . . .?”

“We’ll manage like we did before. Let’s go on.”

“Linc’ll look for us. I shot him, ’n’ he’ll come for me.”

“He won’t be in any shape to look for us for a day or two. We can be far away by then.”

Berry leaned over and kissed Rachel’s cheek. “You sure you feel like goin’ on?”

“Stop worryin’ about me. Just keep on movin’ north.” Rachel carefully controlled her face to show none of the pain she was feeling.

“I’ll try to keep the wagon out of the ruts so it won’t jar you,” Berry promised.

As soon as Berry left her, Rachel groaned and wondered how she could get through the day.

“We’re goin’ on, Israel,” Berry called. “We’ll stop for a early nooning ’n’ I’ll fix us a meal.”

“Yass’m, missy.”

By the middle of the morning Berry’s feet hurt and she was so tired she wished she were able to handle the mules so she could ride part of the time. Sometimes she rode in the wagon pulled by the ox, but to keep the beast to the side of the trail and away from the deep ruts she had to walk beside it. As she stumbled along, there was a trembling in her bones and her head echoed with long, dull throbs. She tried to estimate how many hours had passed since she’d had a peaceful night’s sleep, then put it out of her mind as other thoughts crowded in.

How glad she was now that she’d not taken Simon’s offer to court her seriously. Damn, damn him! Damn Fain, too. Surely in a place the size of Saint Louis word had spread that her pa had been killed. If those men had cared what happened to them they would have come, or at least sent the half-breed scout. Berry straightened her back and stuck out her jaw stubbornly. She would find the land Asa had filed on. It was theirs now. They’d build a cabin with Israel’s help, and raise a garden. She’d teach Israel to shoot so that he could hunt meat. They’d make a place for themselves without help from anyone.

Shortly before noon she spotted a rabbit huddled beneath the brush that lined the trail. She took the musket from her belt and held it with both hands while she sighted down the barrel and pulled the trigger. The rabbit jumped and fell. She had hit it, but it wasn’t dead. She ran back and held the mules while Israel ran it down and killed and skinned it.

At noon they pulled to the side of the trail and Berry quickly built a cookfire and started the rabbit roasting on a spit. Israel watered the stock and loosened the harnesses so they could lower their heads and nip at the grass beside the trail. Berry reloaded her pistol, all the time watching behind and ahead of them. Her eyes burned and she had to hold them wide to keep them open.

Rachel was sitting with her back against the trunk when Berry went to the end of the wagon. “Do you want to get out for a while?”

“I think I’ll stay here if you don’t need me. I could use a spot of tea.”

Berry turned away. She couldn’t help thinking she’d never seen Rachel’s face so drawn or her lips so bloodless. She forgot her own discomfort. She poured tea for herself and Israel, then took the teakettle and a cup and set them in the wagon near Rachel. As soon as the meat was done they would move on. They could eat it while they were moving.

The air was warm and scented with the blossoms of flowering trees and vines. Berry was unconcerned with the fact that it was a glorious summer day and the breeze lifted her hair and cooled her neck. She was so tired that she had let down her guard and seldom glanced behind them. She had to concentrate on putting one foot before the other so that they could reach a spot where they could camp for the night. It had to be a place where they could defend themselves again if necessary. They were out here alone and had not seen another human being, not even on the river the few times the trail curved and they had seen it.

An hour had passed since they had stopped for nooning. More than anything Berry yearned for a cool drink of water. She decided to put it off until they reached the next hilltop. Israel’s shout jerked her out of her lethargy.

“Missy!”

Berry stepped away from the ox and looked back. Fear took her breath away. A rider was coming up fast. She squinted her eyes, but all she could see was the running horse, its rider bending over its neck. She ran to the end of the moving wagon and reached for the rifle.

“What is it?” Rachel asked anxiously and started to crawl to the end of the mattress.

“Rider comin’. Stay where you are!” It was all Berry had time to say. In another minute the rider would be on them. She almost fell beneath the hooves of the mules Israel had speeded up to get close to the other wagon. She glanced back, then ran ahead to catch up with the ox and pull it to a halt.

She could hear the pounding of the hooves and the labored breathing of the horse by the time the wagon stopped. She turned and pointed the rifle at the rider. Black hair was blown back from a wild, angry face. Simon glared down at her. Why hadn’t the fool worn his hat so she would have known who it was? The crazy thought flashed through her mind as he pulled the lathered horse to a halt.

“Where the hell are you going?” he yelled.

Angry because he was angry, and angry because she was so relieved, Berry shouted, “None of your damned business!”

“Stop pointing that rifle at me—it might go off!” He swung down from the horse.

“Nobody invited you to get down!” She followed his movements with the end of the rifle barrel.

Simon reached behind his saddle for his hat, snatched it from beneath a strap, and pushed out the crown. He slapped it on his head.

“Berry!” Rachel called from inside the wagon.

“It’s that . . . trader. He ain’t stayin’.” The eyes she turned on Simon were as green as a stormy sea. “We don’t need nothin’ from you. Get on your horse ’n’ get!”

He walked straight toward her, grasped the rifle barrel, and pushed it upward. “Have your lost your mind? What in hell do you mean striking out alone? Why didn’t you stay in town? Why didn’t you send for me when your pa was killed?”

“You got as many questions as a dog’s got fleas!’ Berry said comtemptuously. “You get this straight, Mr. Trader, I’m never going back to that town! Never! My pa filed on land and Rachel and me are going to live on it. We don’t need nothin’ from you!”

“Berry . . .” Rachel had crawled to the end of the wagon.

“It’s all right, Rachel,” Berry called, but she kept her eye on Simon. “Mr. Witcher’s just passin’ by. We’ll be goin’ on as soon as we give the team a little rest.”

“I’m not passing by, goddammit! I’ve been on that river all night and got down to Saint Louis to find you gone. If you’d had the gumption you were born with, you’d’ve let me know your pa was dead before I took off upriver. Hell . . . women got no more brains than a speckled hen!”

“We got enough brains to take care of ourselves. If you went up to that wagon ground you’d’ve seen
that!
You . . . mule’s ass! Nobody asked you to come here and . . . stop us!” It was beginning to be too much for Berry. Her lips trembled, and she looked away from him, not wanting him to see the tears in her eyes. She left the rifle dangling in his hand and went quickly to stand beside the ox.

“Mr. Witcher . . .” Rachel called.

Simon was looking at the bedraggled figure with the slumped, tired shoulders. Her hair, damp from sweat, had broken loose from its braid and curled on her neck. He turned his attention to the woman who called out to him.

“Ma’am,” he said and stepped nearer.

“We need your help, Mr. Witcher,” Rachel said carefully. Her eyes were full of tears and she drew her lips between her teeth to hold them steady.

Simon’s eyes traveled past her face to the mattress where she had been lying and saw spots of blood. He looked back into her pleading eyes. “Is it your . . . time?” He spoke as softly as he could.

“The pain isn’t regular yet. But it won’t be long.”

“Go on back and lay down.”

Simon screwed his hat down tighter on his head and picked up his horse’s reins. He had gone upriver early yesterday morning to see Zebulon Pike. Light had sent word to him by a French fur trapper who was headed upstream that the Ohio farmer was dead and that he was leaving on an important mission for Jefferson Merrick. Simon knew that Fain would stay in town no longer than necessary, so he had paddled most of the night and part of the morning to get back to Saint Louis. After he’d gotten his horse at the livery, he’d ridden up to the wagon ground. There he had seen three dead bodies within a fifty-foot radius of where the wagons had been; the only man he had recognized was George Caffery. Tracks showed that an ox-drawn wagon and one pulled by mules with a horse tied on behind had made a hasty departure. There had been no sign of Linc Smith, and Simon had naturally assumed he was with the wagons. Pain had knifed through him at the thought.

He came up behind Berry now where she leaned on the patient ox. “What happened to Linc Smith?”