Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 01] (2 page)

Fortunately, Berry had inherited none of her father’s personal characteristics, except for his mid-night-black hair. And although she wore hers braided and swirled in a coronet on top of her head, she couldn’t conceal its rich luster. It sparkled in the sunlight as if embedded with a thousand stars. Small wisps of curls broke free and framed a face of high sculptured cheekbones, a complexion like alabaster, and a full, soft mouth that was quick to smile. Her gray-green eyes gazed frankly and inquiringly from beneath curving dark brows, but it wasn’t her facial beauty and long supple body that made her striking. It was her bearing. Her head rode on her slim neck proudly, as if she were a princess. She was slender to the point of appearing fragile, but the set of her chin, the candor in her dark-lashed eyes, and her carriage all combined to show strength of character.

Rachel watched the slim body that was undeniably shapely beneath the worn dress. Berry is totally unaware of the eyes that follow her, she thought with a stab of fear. Asa is plotting something. I’ve seen him watching her, him and that crowd of no-goods he rides with. I’ll not let him ruin her life. I’ll not!

The wagon train reached the outskirts of Cahokia and their camping area at dusk. The town was one of the three old French towns that George Rogers Clark and his frontier militia had wrested from the English back in 1778. The English had inherited the towns after the French and Indian wars and used them as a base for Indian raids south into Kentucky. Now, Cahokia was used as a trading center and a ferrying port for settlers crossing the Mississippi to Saint Louis, the gateway to the West.

The slave, Israel, unhitched and hobbled the team and came back for the ox. Berry helped Rachel to get down from the wagon, then began to build a cookfire. The bugs and mosquitoes swarmed about her face and she waved them away impatiently. A welcome gust of wind from the river whipped a curl across her temple and billowed her skirts, giving momentary relief from the insects.

With slow patience Berry squatted beside the stones left by a previous camper and arranged dry leaves as tinder. On top of this she spread rotted, crumbly pulp from the center of an old, weathered log. She took a scant handful of gunpowder from a leather bag, closed the neck carefully against the damp air, then squatted down and poured the gun-powder over the rotted pulp, being careful to leave a trail. She took a flint from her pocket and struck expertly, igniting the powder. The blaze raced across to the leaves and punk. The fire caught. Berry hunched her shoulders and nursed the tiny blaze, feeding it handfuls of leaves, then twigs. Smoke billowed up and she squinted her eyes against it. Soon she heard the crackling of the burning twigs. When the blaze was steady she laid larger pieces of wood over them, building them into a pyramid so there was room for a draft underneath.

While Rachel sliced cold cornmeal mush to fry, Berry fried the last of the venison that Mr. Benson, the organizer and leader of the train, had given them from his kill the day before.

“Have you seen Asa since nooning?” Rachel stood aside so Berry could pour fat from the skillet onto a flatiron grill.

“No. But he’ll show up for his vittles. He’s riding ahead with those two men who joined up when we crossed the Kaskaskia.”

“I don’t like their looks.”

“They look like something the hogs throwed up. Pa says they’re trappers. He’s swallowed whatever they’ve been telling him hook, line and sinker. They’ve got some hair-brained deal cooked up to get Pa’s money. I’m not doubtin’ that!”

Rachel’s eyes wandered around the camp. She felt a shiver of dread. The wagons were scattered, each family taking advantage of the safe campsite to have a little privacy.

“Don’t go far from the wagon tonight, Berry,” Rachel murmured as she bent over to place the slabs of mush on the griddle.

“I already thought of that.”

The big black man approached with arms filled with dead branches for the fire. He bowed his head several times before he spoke. “Ah got the wood, missy.” The shaggy head turned from side to side, as if in silent warning.

The man’s face was so black that when he spoke, Berry could see only the whites of his eyes and the gleam of his teeth and none of his facial expression. For some time now she had been convinced that he was smarter than he let on to be. He seldom spoke, did the work of two men, and gave Asa little cause to reprimand him.

Asa was more than glad to leave the care of the wagons and the teams in the hands of the women and the slave and ride ahead of the train on his sorrel mare.

“Thank you, Israel. I understand what you’re telling me.” She smiled, and his broad face split in a wide grin. “Are you hungry?”

“Yass’m.”

“There’ll be plenty put back for you.”

The slave beamed. “Yass’m. Ah put the hog fat on the wheels.” He backed away still bobbing his head up and down.

Rachel, chuckling softly, got down on her knees beside the fire. “Don’t it beat all? When Asa brought him home, I didn’t think he had a brain in his head.”

“Haven’t you ever looked into his eyes?”

“His eyes? I’ve had no reason to.”

“He’s not as stupid as he lets Pa believe. I think he hides his feelings behind that blank face.” Berry turned the meat with a long-handled fork. “Wouldn’t it be terrible to be a slave, Rachel?”

Rachel put her hand on Berry’s shoulder so she could get to her feet. “What do you think we are, honey? All my life I’ve been at the beck and call of someone who paid someone else for me. All your life you’ve had to do for Asa and to put up with his meanness. Women are slaves so they can have a roof over their heads and food to eat.”

Berry rocked back on her heels. “It won’t always be like this. I’m not goin’ to walk around on eggs for the rest of my life. And . . . if Asa touches us again . . . I’ll brain him!”

Rachel set the tin plates on the box beside the fire. “He’s comin’,” she murmured. “He’s got three men with him. I hope he don’t expect us to feed them all.”

“He will, but I’m gettin’ Israel’s out first.” Berry grabbed a plate and piled it high with meat and fried mush. “Throw a cloth on it, Rachel, and set it aside.”

Asa Warfield was a short, thickset man with coal-black hair and a clean-shaven face. Years of heavy drinking had bloated a face that had once been handsome; now it was constantly flushed and perspiring. Asa never worked when there was any other way to get what he wanted, and it was evident by the smile on his face as he walked proudly up to the fire that he was working on a scheme that would put money in his pocket.

“Howdy, daughter, Rachel,” he said with honeyed exaggeration. “I brought company fer supper.”

“I’ve cooked just enough for us,” Berry said impatiently.

Asa’s anger flared. “Then cook more, girl. What’s the matter with ya? Where’s your manners?”

Berry looked across the fire. Two of the men were the trappers her pa had been riding with for the last few days. They stood grinning at her. They were dressed in buckskins and wore knee-high fringed moccasins. One was picking his teeth with the blade of a long, thin knife; the other, an older man with a bushy beard and rotted teeth, leered at her openly. The third man stood apart from the others with his face in the shadows. He too was dressed in buck-skins, but instead of the fur cap he wore a brimmed, flat-crowned hat pulled low over his eyes. Berry gave the three men a scornful look, picked up the plate of food, and went to the end of the wagon, out of sight of those who stood beside the fire.

Her eyes searched the darkness for the black man and found him squatting beside a large oak. She waved and pointed to the plate of food she had put on the tailgate of the wagon. Then she dug into the food box for the salt pork and another loaf of cornmeal mush.

Rachel dished up the food. Asa swaggered forward and took the plates from her hand and passed them to the men. She could tell by his smell that he’d been at the whiskey jug. Apprehension caused her to move with guarded calm as she sidled away from him.

The men hunkered down at the edge of the circle of light with their plates. One of them began telling Asa a tall tale about a happening on the river. When he finished, he laughed and elbowed one of the other men, who made a crude remark and grinned inanely across the campfire at the women. Rachel was filled with a growing uneasiness.

Angry because she and Rachel would have to eat salt pork instead of the venison steaks, Berry slapped the meat into the skillet and moved it over the blaze. She lifted the lid of the iron teakettle, dropped tea leaves into the boiling water, and set it on the edge of the fire to steep.

“They’ve been passin’ the jug,” Rachel murmured.

“They won’t pester you,” Berry promised. “Sit down on the box and stay by the fire.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

“Hand me the plates and don’t look at them.”

Berry was forking the long strips of greasy meat out of the skillet when one of the men left the group and came to the fire.

“That thar tea done yet, girlie?” The man smelled like a wet goat, and Berry turned her head away, repulsed.

She lifted the kettle. He held a tin cup in his hand and moved close. He rubbed his knee against her leg. Berry backed off and turned to the side; he followed her movement, keeping his leg against hers, and blew his foul breath in her face. Her stomach churned and her body went icy cold, then hot. Seething with rage and indignation, Berry retreated a second time. He followed, pressing closer. Her control snapped. She tilted the kettle toward his cup, then with a jerk of her wrist she moved it. Hot liquid flowed out onto his hand.

“Ye . . . ooo!”

The cup fell to the ground and simultaneously his arm lashed out and struck her across the breast. She staggered back and flung the kettle from her. It hit the ground and the boiling water splashed into the fire, causing a hissing sound. Berry struggled to regain her balance and keep from falling. By the time she had done so, the man, roaring with anger and pain, was reaching for her. “Ya bitch! Ya goddamn bitch! Ya burnt me!”

Berry jerked a long, thin blade from her apron pocket and held it in front of her. Her small body tensed with determination. She’d suffered her last indignity at the hands of trash!

“You touch me, you mangy, flea-bitten polecat, and I’ll cut your liver out and feed it to the buzzards!”

“What’s this? What’s this?” Asa yelled from behind her.

The trapper made a grab for her and Berry lashed out with the knife. He jumped back, shouting curses. “The goddamn bitch ruint my hand on purpose!” he yelled.

Asa lashed out and grabbed Berry’s arm and jerked it up behind her. “What the hell’s wrong with ya, gal? You’re due a whippin’.” He tried to pry the knife from her hand, but she held on to it stubbornly.

Rachel jumped up and hit Asa on the arms with her fists. “Leave her alone! She’s got to protect herself if you won’t do it.”

“Get away from me, woman!” Asa roared. “You’ve shamed me!” He was so angry that his voice cracked. He shoved Rachel aside and she stumbled against the wagon.

Berry twisted away, the knife still in her hand, and ran to Rachel. She stood in front of her, her hand curled around the shaft of the knife, the tip pointed at her pa. All caution left her. Anger, resentment, and disappointment in her father boiled up inside her, and hostility flowed out in angry, unguarded words.

“Don’t talk to me about shame,” she shouted. “You’ve shamed me all my life, and my mother before me! What kind of man are you to let this worthless riffraff come in here and rub up against me? And . . . don’t you hurt Rachel. If you do, you’d better not sleep in this camp, or I’ll cut you! I swear it!”

Stunned by her outburst, Asa stood with his mouth open. His face turned an even darker red as he realized the import of his daughter’s words and that other men had heard them.

“Hush up!” he roared. “Don’t you be tellin’ me what you’ll do, you ungrateful little split-tail! You belong to me till I pass you to another man. You’ll do as I say . . . both of ya! I’ll do with ya what I want, by gawd!”

“We’re not slaves, or animals!” Berry hissed. “You’ll not treat us as such. We’ve put up with your meanness and cuffing for the last time.” She drew a deep breath, and her next words came out loud and clear so they could be heard by all. “And we don’t have to put up with the trash you haul in, neither! So get ’em outta here!”

Asa couldn’t believe Berry was saying this to him. Humiliated almost beyond endurance, he lifted his fist to strike her. She didn’t flinch or back down. The blade flashed out in front of her and Asa’s fist paused in mid-air. The snicker behind him caused him to spin on his heel.

“I ain’t heared of no man ’round here what couldn’t handle his womenfolk.” It was the bushy-faced man who spoke. “Thought ya said they’d come docile-like, Mr. Warfield.” He spit into the fire.

Fear circled Berry’s heart. What was he talking about? She blurted her thoughts: “What’s he talkin’ about?”

Asa turned to her with a look of pure hatred. “You’ll find out, missy. You’ll be sorry for shamin’ me like you done.”

“I gotta get me some bear grease on my hand, George. Mr. Warfield’ll have to get his women in line afore we can get down to real talkin’.”

“They ain’t goin’ to get away with it,” Asa promised. “Israel,” he shouted. The slave appeared like a shadow at the end of the wagon. “Fill my jugs with Kaintuck’ for my friends. Be fast about it or I’ll lay a whip to your back!” Asa turned his back and Berry allowed the hand holding the knife to drop to her side. “I’m right sorry my women raised up a ruckus.” He tried to put some dignity into his voice when he spoke. “I ain’t had a firm hand on ’em. I jist been too busy what with gettin’ things sold and bein’ on the trail and all. They’ll be whopped back in line soon’s I get settled.”

“What they’s needin’ is ridin’.” The crude remark came from the man with the burned hand, and Berry felt another surge of anger toward her father when he allowed the remark to pass. She heard Rachel gasp when Asa chuckled.

He picked up the two jugs Israel had set on the ground beside him and followed the trappers out of the circle of light. “You comin’, Witcher?” he said to the third man, who stood motionless in the shadows. The man murmured something. Asa shrugged and disappeared in the darkness.