Authors: Phoebe Conn
Gabrielle did not even look up as he left her. What chores were so urgent she couldn't imagine, but she thought perhaps he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts too. The fire's warmth was comforting, and recalling the playful bath they'd taken together, she wished he'd suggested she wait up for him. He'd contradicted himself, she realized, for he'd said he wanted their relationship to remain a close one, then he'd told her not to wait up for him. "Oh, Jason, you're as confused as I am aren't you, my darling?"
Jason took a long walk, and he tried to devise some clever plan to rid himself of the aggravation of Beau Ramsey. He threw stones, kicked dirt clods, pulled weeds up by their roots, but none of that frantic activity served to ease his mind. Finally only one solution seemed practical: he'd find Beau and their fists would decide to whom Gabrielle belonged. She was so angry with the young man now, if he never returned she'd not complain. They could get on with the life they'd been leading before that scoundrel had had the audacity to return from the grave to haunt them. Laughing at his own grisly sense of humor, Jason returned home, determined to keep Gabrielle from becoming suspicious. If Beau simply disappeared from the Willamette Valley, he planned to take neither the credit nor the blame.
Hearing Jason come in, Gabrielle moved over to allow him plenty of room in their bed, but she didn't plan to leave him alone. She doubted she could have even had she wanted to
pretend to be aloof. Deciding it would be better if sbegave bim an opportunity to approach her, sbe fluffed up her pillow and curled up in a comfortable pose, pretending to be asleep. She could hear him moving about the living room. Perhaps he'd decided he was hungry after all and was making himself something to eat. She forced herself to wait patiently for what seemed like an eternity before he joined her.
Actually Jason had been plotting the best way to lure Beau off by himself. He wanted any fight they had to be a private one so the story would never get back to Gabrielle. Preoccupied, he sat up a long while; then he went into the bedroom and undressed quietly so as not to disturb his bride. When he lifted the covers and slipped into bed, he listened a moment until the easy rhythm of her breathing assured him she was asleep. He stretched out to get comfortable then, trying to recall whether he'd ever occupied a woman's bed and done no more than sleep. Surprisingly it was rather a pleasant thought to just sleep with Gabrielle. He could tell by the sweet fragrance of gardenias she'd bathed before going to bed, and while that could be construed as an invitation, he decided to ignore it. She was always beautifully groomed, her flowing red hair spar-klingly clean. Even on the trail she'd been a delectable sight. Jason smiled slowly to himself as he thought how easy it would be to remove Beau from her life forever. He'd not kill him— he'd no intention of doing anything so dire as that—but he'd give him a good thrashing and see that he moved on without telling Gabrielle goodbye. By the time she got over her anger and decided she wanted to see him, Beau would not be found.
Exasperated by her husband's indifference, Gabrielle decided she'd waited long enough for him to reach out for her. Stealthily she slid her fingertips toward him, finally raising her hand to draw her nails slowly across the taut muscles of his stomach. When he let out a loud shriek, she sat up and laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. She'd never expected to frighten him and was greatly amused to have done so.
Jason could not believe his bride had such an outrageous
sense of humor, but obviously she did. He began to laugh too, seeing no reason to be angry with her when she'd meant to be enticing. But she'd startled him badly with a touch he'd mistaken for an instant as the wicked claws of a mountain lion. Deciding to beat her at her own game he let his fingertips wander up the inside of her thigh. "You could have tried this," he teased. ''Or this." He moved his hands with tantalizing smoothness until she came into his arms, all thought of laughter gone from her mind. "That is better, my little cat. You've no need to use your claws on me," he whispered in her ear, letting his lips trail tender kisses down the warm skin of her throat until she could no longer stand such play. Weaving her fingers in his curls, she kept his mouth poised above her own as her tongue caressed his with a slow, easy passion, savoring his taste until he was drunk with hers. Her demand was too intense to be misinterpreted, and Jason responded, with a powerful thrust beginning the loving she so obviously craved. He understood the perplexing young woman who was his wife no better than he had before, but when she wanted him, he knew he'd never say no. He felt her pleasure spread as he moved within her, the fiery warmth of her graceful body flooding his senses until her shudder of ecstasy became his. Whatever he had to do to keep Gabrielle for his own, he would gladly do and soon.
The next morning was chilly and by the time they had completed the first of their chores a light mist had dampened their clothes. Jason built up the fire to make certain the house would be warm while he was away. "I've got to return Clay's wagon," he announced, confident Gabrielle would not suspect the real reason he was going to town.
"Can't it wait? What if this mist turns to rain?" She moved to the window, her expression an anxious one as she surveyed the darkening clouds.
"It most certainly will, which is why I've got to be on my way. I'll take Duke and ride him home. I won't be gone all day."
Just long enough to return the wagon and locate Beau Ramsey's whereabouts, he thought to himself. Since Beau had mentioned Sam Willis, he'd start with him and his cronies. Trappers were a close-knit group and he doubted Beau would be difficult to find. He buttoned up his winter coat and pulled his gloves from the pocket. They were made from the hide of an unborn lamb; the outside a smooth suede, the inside snow-white fleece. He slipped them on quickly as he meant to leave immediately.
"You'll be all right here alone for a few hours, won't you?" His smile was a teasing one, the true purpose of his errand completely masked behind his good-natured charm.
"Of course," Gabrielle reassured him, but she still wasn't pleased by the change in the weather. "Just hurry back. I don't want you to risk catching pneumonia."
Jason chuckled as he bent down to kiss her goodbye. "I've never been sick a day in my life and this winter will be no different."
He left her then, with the jaunty salute she'd seen so often when he was leading the wagon train. That made her smile and she went to the window near the front door to wave goodbye to him as he drove away in the wagon. The sky had grown darker still, and she shivered as she approached the fire. The house was so well built there were no drafts. The heat created by the large fireplace warmed the whole room, and she needed no more than a shawl to be comfortable once she'd recovered from the chill of being outdoors.
A slow smile spread across her lips as she thought how good Jason's mood had been that morning. Perhaps she'd discovered a way to make him so gloriously happy his heart would be filled with love. He'd responded to her approach with the most delightful enthusiasm and she'd learned not to wait for him to make the first move when he'd so eagerly make the second. Sitting down for a moment, she considered the possibility that she'd become as manipulative as Iris, but she refused to accept that verdict since her affection was sincere whereas Iris' most
definitely wasn't. She could not help but wonder what would happen to Iris now that John Randolph had married Christina. Judging by Erica's comments. Iris had few suitors left.
'That is Iris' problem," she said suddenly.
That matter settled, she decided it was time to get busy. She'd found a pair of silver candlesticks that needed polishing, and she decided to tackle that chore first, scrubbing them diligently until the silver shone with a warm glow. They'd purchased dozens of candles since Jason didn't want her to have the bother of making her own, and she placed one in each silver candlestick. Then she set the pair upon the mantel. The house was coming along nicely in her estimation, and she was pleased to think Jason thought so too. Preoccupied as she was with plans for their home, the morning passed quickly for Gabrielle. When Jason returned, she ran to the door to greet him, but her pretty smile vanished instantly when she saw the seriousness of his expression. He'd apparently encountered something dreadful in Oregon City, and she feared it might concern one of her friends. "What's happened? What's wrong?" she asked impatiently.
Jason removed his hat and coat, and hung them on the peg beside the door before he began to explain. "The Cayuse attacked the Whitman Mission. Marcus and Narcissa are dead, so are ten others, many of them children who attended their school."
"Dear God, no!" Gabrielle put her arms around her husband's waist, pressing so close she could feel the steady beat of his heart as she tried to comprehend the full horror of his words. 'They were such a dear couple. They gave us such an enthusiastic welcome. What could have prompted the Indians to murder them?"
Jason put his arms around his bride, kissing her soft shiny hair and hugging her tightly as he reported what he'd heard. "A measles epidemic wiped out half their tribe. The survivors blamed Marcus because he provided a stopping place for settlers, and it seems likely that's how the disease was spread."
Gabrielle stepped back slightly to look up at her husband's strained expression as she asked, "Measles? I don't recall anyone in our wagon train coming down with measles."
Jason sighed sadly. "The Cayuse, like every other tribe that's come into contact with the white man, have suffered terribly because they have no resistance to the diseases which have plagued us for centuries. There's no use trying to assess who's really to blame. The Indians trade freely with whomever they can. An Indian might have caught the disease at the Whitman Mission or in a dozen other places. In their grief they forgot the eleven years Marcus had tended their ills and they blamed him for bringing the sickness to their tribe. He provided an easy target for their revenge and they took it." j
Gabrielle closed her eyes as she shuddered. "But they were so wrong, Jason, so terribly wrong to have killed the Whitmans. I'm certain they showed the Cayuse the same kindness they showed to us. That they slaughtered children as well is too horrible to even imagine. How many children did the Whitmans have?"
"Their only daughter drowned when she was four. Three years ago they adopted seven children who'd been orphaned when their parents died along the trail. They seemed to fill Narcissa's need for a family. She was a wonderful mother to them all."
"I don't understand how any man could kill a child," Gabrielle said sadly.
"Unfortunately, it is difficult for an Indian brave who's seen his family die of a white man's disease to think in such a reasonable manner." Jason put his hands around Gabrielle's waist as he stepped back. "An army of volunteers is being formed by men who knew and admired the Whitmans as greatly as I did. They've asked me to lead them and I've agreed."
"What?" Gabrielle's pretty blue eyes clouded with fear. "They mean to retaliate, to seek revenge for the murders, and you plan to lead them?"
436
"Yes," Jason replied calmly. "Can you understand why?''
"Well, yes, the Whitmans were your friends but—"
Jason took her hand, leading her over to the fire to enjoy its warmth as he tried to explain why he'd joined such an enterprise. "I'm a scout by profession, Gabrielle. These men are sincere, earnest in their purpose, but they're farmers who'd soon become so lost I'd have to be seiit out to find them if they went alone. If I'm their leader there will be no bloodbath either. We can chase the Cayuse farther north without killing any more of the pathetic few who've survived." He paused a moment and then continued in a softer tone, "I'd meant to write to Marcus last week to tell him I'd married you. I'd told him about you when we were at the mission and he'd offered the encouragement I really needed. It's too late now to send him the news of our marriage, but I know he and Narcissa would have been very pleased."
The film of tears in her husband's eyes gave their gray color the glow of silver. She gave his hand a fond squeeze, hoping to ease his pain. She'd not believed he'd given their marriage a moment's thought until the afternoon he'd issued his completely unromantic proposal, but she knew he'd not lie about a conversation he'd had with a dead man. Perhaps he had pondered the decision to marry her more thoughtfully than she'd considered possible.
"You know I don't want you to go," she said hesitantly, "but if you feel you must I won't try to stop you."
"I am going." Jason stared into the flames, their crimson glow turning to the deep red of blood in his imagination. He'd known she'd not beg him to stay home, but if she had he'd not have remained with her. "The Cayuse were wrong, but killing off more of them won't bring the Whitmans back to life. White men can be every bit as brutal as any savage and I want to see there's as little bloodshed as possible. Marcus gave the last years of his life to caring for these people and he'd not want their deaths as a monument."
Looking up at her husband, Gabrielle thought his attitude a
most remarkably forgiving one since he and Marcus had been close friends. He'd frequently commented about Indians as they'd journeyed along the Oregon Trail, and she realized he'd studied the various tribes in some depth. As the warm glow of the fire made the bronze of his skin shine handsomely, she thought back over the many times they'd made love under the warmth and light of the sun. His body had a rich even color which simply deepened when he went without a shirt or hat, but his skin was naturally dark and she'd never stopped to consider why. "Which of your parents was the Indian, Jason, your mother or your father?"
Jason's eyes narrowed as though she'd slapped him; he was so shocked by her question. She was regarding him with open curiosity, however. Her question had been a sincere one, not an insult, so he answered her truthfully. "My father's mother was a Cherokee. While others flocked to Oregon for the opportunity to own land, his motivation for moving here was to escape being called a half-breed and it worked. He resembled his father, not his mother. Without gossip to give away the truth of his ancestry it wasn't discovered. If he were alive he'd be mortified to think you'd seen in me something he'd struggled half his life to keep hidden."