Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (17 page)

He looked at her for a long moment, then walked to her, tilted her face up by putting his fingers beneath her chin, and kissed her gently on the lips. It was a soft, lingering kiss. When he lifted his lips, his face was so close to hers that they were breathing the same air, so close she couldn’t look into his eyes.

“You look like a scared little rabbit caught in a trap. Don’t worry, I’ll not demand anything of you. When we come together as man and wife, it will be because
both
of us want it.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, blinking rapidly to keep her tears at bay.

“You don’t happen to have a comb, do you?” he asked, stepping away from her. She held out the piece she had used. He had to stoop to see himself in the mirror. “One of these days you’ll have to cut my hair, or else I’ll have to braid it.”

Addie was still rattled from his kiss, from the unexpected sweetness of it. She had not known that kisses could be so gentle. Kirby’s had been soft at first, but later they became hard and demanding and not at all to her liking.

Oh, Lord, am I making another mistake?

Addie suddenly remembered something her mother had told her many years ago: “Don’t make yourself miserable over the mistakes you made yesterday. Each morning is a new beginning. Start fresh from there.”

The rap on the door sounded like a thunderbolt. Addie jumped, and her heart began to hammer. John opened the door to admit a small man with white hair and a mustache and goatee to match. He wore a dark serge suit and a white high-collared shirt. He looked exactly the way she pictured a judge would look. The small man closed the door behind him with a loud bang.

“We got papers to fill out.” Judge Carlson picked up the chair and carried it to the washbench. “Get rid of these things, son. I need something to write on.”

John removed the bowl and the pitcher while the judge pulled papers, a pen, and ink bottle from his satchel.

“Well now, young lady. Your full name.”

“Addie Faye Johnson Hyde.”

“Widow?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Age?”

“Twenty-four.”

Judge Carlson took pride in his penmanship, which featured many curves and curlicues as if the document were to be framed and hung on a wall.

“Now you, young man. Full name.”

“John Spotted Elk Tallman.”

The judge looked up. “Any kin to Rain Tallman?”

“My father.”

“Hmm. Widower?”

“No.”

“First time you’ve jumped the broomstick, huh? Age?”

“Thirty.”

They waited for what seemed hours to Addie but could only have been minutes, while Judge Carlson filled out yet another paper; then he set the documents aside and stood.

“Take her hand,” he said to John. Then: “Come to think on it, you look like your pa did thirty years ago.”

“Did you know him?”

“Everybody in the territory knew Rain Tallman. If this boy is anything like his pa, girl, you got yourself a good man.”

At the judge’s use of the term
boy
when referring to John, Addie’s eyes sparkled. Imagine calling the tall man beside her a boy!

The ceremony was so short that it was over almost as soon as it began. Judge Carlson didn’t believe in wasting time.

“Do you take this woman to love and to protect?”

“I do.”

“Do you take this man to love and to obey?”

“I do.”

“I now pronounce you man and wife. What God has united, let no man put asunder. You may kiss the bride. Here’s your paper, Mrs. Tallman. Keep it in a safe place, and if this stud gets to roaming, wave it under his nose. I’ll file the legal document with the proper authorities.”

All of this was said with the man scarcely pausing for breath. A second later he had returned pen and ink bottle to his satchel and headed for the door, where he paused and looked at John. There was a twinkle in his eyes, and he smiled for the first time.

“Don’t reckon you want me hanging around now.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Harumph!” he snorted just before the door shut with a loud bang.

John looked down at Addie’s red face. “I guess we’re married.”

“I guess we are.”

“He told me to kiss the bride.”

Addie lifted her shoulders in a noncommittal gesture that belied the fact that she was almost afraid to breathe.

John lowered his face to hers. When she felt the soft brush of his mustache on her cheek, she wanted to cry. She meant no more to him than a woman who would give him children, keep his house, and work beside him in return for protection for her and her family. As his lips touched her, she closed her eyes.

He settled his mouth against hers and breathed. “Addie . . . Addie—don’t act as if I’m torturing you. Open your eyes and look at me.” He lifted his head and she gazed up at him. “We’ll have a good life together.”

She nodded and slipped her arms around his waist. When his lips touched her again they were warm and gentle as they tingled across her mouth with fleeting kisses. The arms that held her tightened when her mouth moved against his. Addie felt herself being drawn tightly against hard, muscular thighs, yet in no way did she feel threatened by his strength. She was breathless when he pulled his mouth from hers and raised his head only a fraction.

“I don’t take my vows lightly, Addie.”

“I know.”

She felt the strong thud of his heartbeat, smelled the tangy smoke on his doeskin shirt, felt his breath warm on her forehead. He stroked the nape of her neck, then trailed his fingers along the braid that reached the curve of her hips.

“I like your hair like this. A lot of women in New Mexico wear their hair down,” he murmured softly.

It was comforting to lean against him, to be sheltered in this man’s arms. She rested her forehead against his shoulder. It had been so long since she’d had anyone to lean on.

“I know you’re tired,” he whispered against her ear. “But we must go.”

Addie lifted her head and stepped back. John took his hat from the bedpost and opened the door. With his hand beneath her elbow, he held Addie close to his side as they went back into the hotel lobby. The man at the counter stood up as John slapped a coin onto the registration book.

When they stepped out into the sunlight, John’s eyes scanned the street. The same horses were in front of the saloon, the same team and wagon in front of the mercantile. The strong smell of coffee wafted from the eatery when they passed. John paused and looked down at Addie.

“Mrs. Tallman, do you think we dare take the time to bring our family up here for breakfast?”

“You’re the wagon master, Mr. Tallman.” Addie surprised herself with her retort. Then she remembered. “Oh. We can’t leave Trisha. They wouldn’t permit her to eat here.”

“Yes, they will. Trisha looks Indian or Mexican. It’s only back in Freepoint, where they know she has colored blood, that they’d refuse her.”

“All right.” Addie grinned up at him. “Let’s do it. That coffee smells wonderful.”

“I like a woman who’s willing to take a chance.”

He smiled and hugged her closer to his side as they walked companionably down the boardwalk.

His smile made him look younger, less harsh. Addie realized what a fine figure of a man her new husband was.

Dillon and Jane Ann were chasing each other around the wagons. Trisha and Colin leaned on the end, watching the sheep graze on the short grass beside the roadway.

“Muvver! Muvver!” Dillon ran to them. “I’m hungry. Trisha told us to wait.”

John picked the boy up and set him astride his hip. Jane Ann clutched Addie’s hand.

“We’re going to eat in that restaurant over there,” John said. “Trisha, put the rifle under the wagon seat. It’ll be all right. I’ll be able to see the wagons from the window.”

Addie saw the look that came over Trisha’s face and her heart ached for the girl.

“Y’all go on. I’ll watch the sheep.”

“We’re not going without you, Trisha.” John reached for the rifle. “I know what you’re thinking. But trust me in this. The farther west you go, the less your skin color will matter.”

“I is what I is, Mr.
Passerby.
” Trisha tried to act flippant, but Addie saw her lips tremble.

“Yes. You’re a very pretty young lady. One of the prettiest I’ve ever seen. That’s what makes men look at you. You’re allowing a few drops of Negro blood to color your whole life. Now come on. With your black hair and my black hair, they’ll think you’re my daughter.”

Trisha looked at him in astonishment. “Won’t ya be mad?”

“Mad? Hellfire!” John laughed. “I’ll be tickled if my girls are half as pretty as you are.”

At that moment Addie fell a little bit in love.

*  12  *

T
hey were on the road again. The town where Addie and John had married, and where they had eaten in the restaurant as a family, was behind them now.

Suddenly John laughed aloud, then smiled at Addie, looking terribly pleased with himself.

“Colin’s mouth dropped open a foot when we told him we had married and were going to my ranch in New Mexico.”

“Poor child. He wasn’t sure what that meant for him and Jane Ann and Trisha. He and his sister have been shuffled from one place to another since their folks died.”

“He’ll be all right now. In less than a half-hour I got myself two boys and a girl.”

“That pleases you?”

“Hell, yes. Every man wants sons . . . and daughters.”

Addie was mystified by his exuberance over taking on the responsibility of children who were not his.

“But they’re not . . . yours.”

“Yes, they are. When I married you, they became my stepchildren.” His dark brows came together in a frown. “Are you thinking I’ll not be a good father to them?”

“No, I wasn’t thinking that. I’m glad for Colin that you’ll take an interest in him. He’s such a good boy.”

John smiled again. “Amy will be surprised.”

“Amy is your sister?”

“My mother. She’s quite a gal. You’ll like her.”

“Will she like me?”

“Of course. She’ll love you if you’re good to
me,
and if you give her grandchildren. You’ve already given her three.”

“Will she accept them?”

“Sure she will. I’d like to change their names to Tallman, though, if it’s all right with you.”

“I can decide for Dillon, but we’ll have to ask Colin and Jane Ann.”

After a brief silence, Addie said: “Thank you, John.” It was the second time she had called him by his first name.

“For what?”

“For accepting my children and for the way you’ve treated Trisha.”

“Trisha’s part of your family—
ours,
now.”

“How is it that you overlook her Negro blood while other men seem unable to?”

“My father taught me and my brother and sisters that all men are equal under the sun. I was brought up with Indians and Mexicans in our home. My father tells stories about a Negro named Mr. Washington who ran the ferry on the Wabash below Quill’s Station. He was a friend of Tecumseh, chief of the Shawnee. His wife was a Shawnee named Sugar Tree. Mr. Washington was treated with great respect at Quill’s Station.”

“Trisha has never been treated as an equal by whites because of her Negro blood, and not by Negroes because she looks so white. She’s been stomped on, used, and humiliated all her life. You’ve made her feel one of us.”

“Has she been with you a long time?”

“A little while before Dillon was born I found her in the barn, cold and weak from hunger. She was a runaway. She told me that her mother was a beautiful octoroon. When she died, Trisha’s father brought her to live at the big house. Then he went to war, and his wife sold her when she discovered her working in the kitchens.”

Addie told him how Trisha had chopped wood, done the chores, and taken care of her and Dillon when he was born.

“I doubt if the baby and I would have survived without Trisha.”

“You’ve had a pretty rough time.”

“It could have been worse. We had a house and food, which is more than some had. All over the South the Yankees burned homes and stole food and animals.”

“The Rebs probably did the same in the North.”

“Thank God it’s over.”

Although it was pleasant to sit beside John and discuss things that were important to her, she was aware that he was constantly on the alert. One time, Victor, his stallion, warned him of an approaching horse. John took his rifle from the floor of the wagon and placed it across Addie’s lap. Then he shifted so that the gun strapped to his waist could easily be pulled from its holster. As the horseman approached, John handed Addie the reins.

“Howdy,” the man said as he passed. He tipped his hat to Addie and again to Trisha in the wagon ahead.

John eased the rifle back to the floor and took the reins.

“I didn’t think it was Renshaw. He was riding too good a horse. It was a Tennessee Walker, if I’m not mistaken.”

In the middle of the afternoon they came to a plank bridge over a stream. Addie’s horses, pulling the lead wagon, walked right across, but the mules balked. The sound of their hooves on the planks frightened them. Only John’s strong, experienced hands on the reins and the sting of the whip on their rumps forced them over the planks.

Colin had pulled his team to a stop on the other side of the bridge. John stopped behind him and wound the reins around the brake handle.

“We’ll water the teams here. That’ll hold them until we reach the freight camp.”

John stepped down off the wagon and reached for Addie. His hands at her waist swung her easily to the ground. He reached for Jane Ann and then Dillon.

“Stay on the road until I beat the grass with a stick,” he cautioned. “Most likely there are snakes this close to the creek, and they’ll be lying out in the sun. We’ll take a fruit jar and get you a drink of fresh water.”

Colin, carrying the buckets, followed John as he beat a path to the creek. Trisha carried a jar, along with a bucket for the sheep.

Jane Ann tugged on Addie’s hand. “I gotta pee.”

“Do it here while John and Colin are down at the creek. Do you have to go, Dillon?”

“Naw.” He ran to pick up a small terrapin that had started to cross the road but was now closed in its protective shell. “Looky. I got me a turtle.”