Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (16 page)

Rain rode past her and moved up to speak to Gavin.

“The road is flat for a long stretch. We’ll go at a good clip for a couple of hours, then ease off for an hour. The mules are strong, but at that rate they’ll be worn down by the time we get to the big river. We’ll trade them at Kaskaskia for a fresh pair.”

“Aye. Lead on and set the pace.” Rain rode ahead and the big Scotsman slapped the reins against the backs of the team and yelled, “H’yaw! H’yaw!” Gavin skillfully handled the reins until the mules settled into an easy gait, and the wagon rolled over the hard-packed road.

Gavin glanced at the woman who sat at the far side of the wagon seat with her skirts tucked about her legs as if they would be soiled by touching him. She wore a dark bonnet that shaded her face and a shawl about her shoulders. A grin jerked at his lips as her hand shot out to grab the seat between them when one of the wheels rolled over a stone. He waited until Rain was far enough ahead so that he was out of hearing distance before he spoke to her.

“Well now, lassie. Air ye goin’ to pout all the way to the Arkansas?”

Eleanor turned to look at him with eyes as cold as a frozen pond. She tilted her chin at a haughty angle and spoke in a chilling tone.

“What I do or don’t do cannot possibly be of any concern to you.”

“Aye, but it is. Tis a pleasant journey I wish to be havin’.”

“You are not being paid to enjoy yourself. You’re being paid to drive this wagon. I do not wish to be bored by your inane conversation.”

“And who’s to be sayin’ that ye’ll be bored?” He turned to look at her set profile and studied her briefly. “Ye should be enjoyin’ the wee things, lass. Ye be alive in a big, grand world. It’ll speak to ye if ye listen. Ye can hear the wind whisperin’, the bees hummin’ and a frog ploppin’ into the water. Tis a grand sight to see a bird soar. But ye’ll have to be lookin’ to see it.”

“You may have missed your calling, Mr. McCourtney.” The look she gave him was designed to put him firmly in the place of an inferior. “Perhaps you should be writing sonnets.”

His soft, amused laughter infuriated her. She straightened her shoulders, held her chin at a proud angle and looked straight ahead.

“Ye’ll be wearin’ yerself out sittin’ so ramrod stiff, or is it that corset ye’re wearin’ that’s holdin’ ye up so straight?”

Eleanor’s mouth opened in surprise. She glared at him in icy contempt. “You are forgetting your place!”

“Aye. Tis a habit, I fear.” Gavin chuckled deep in his chest. “Ye’re a wonderin’ how a mon like I be would be knowin’ ’bout women and corsets. Even the women that I know wear corsets, lass. There’s the highbrows such as ye are. There’s the lowbrows, the doxies, the harlots, the chaste and the unchaste—all puttin’ on the things to be coaxin’ a mon to their bed, so he be havin’ to take it off afore he can get down to the real business at hand.”

“Shut up and drive!”

“Tis true, I tell ye, ye’re torturin’ yerself for naught. It matters naught to me or to Tallman if yer middle is small. Take off the thin’ and breathe deep the fresh air. Tis spring, lass—”

“Damn you to hell and back! Shut up or I’ll yell for Rain and he’ll knock you on your ass!”

“Ahh . . .” Laughter rumbled up out of his deep chest. “Careful, lass. Ye be forgettin’ yerself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, nothin’, ma’am. Nothin’ a’tall.” He continued to laugh. “Tis a mighty fine day, I be thinkin’. The sky is blue, the birds are singin’—”

“I don’t give a damn about the birds!” she snapped. Her eyes burned at him resentfully.

“Aye.” He put his hand to his forelock and pulled, as he had done the day before when he was mocking her. She swiveled her shoulders around until her back was to him.

This only confirmed what she had known all along, Eleanor thought. Gavin McCourtney meant trouble. She had known it the moment Rain Tallman brought him and the wagon to her door the morning after Gilda died. He had been a crewman on the boat that brought her and Gilda to Louisville, and she had caught him watching her. The captain had told Gilda he was known up and down the river as a brawler. The few times she had been outside the small house she and Gilda had rented just off the square, she had seen him on the streets or in front of the tavern. If this common Scotsman continued to bother her, she decided, she would speak to Rain.

Amy Deverell was another matter. She had already spoken to Rain about
her.
He had a point, she reluctantly admitted, in bringing along a woman companion for her. It was important that her reputation be protected. But there was something about this particular woman that set her teeth on edge, and she pondered the reason. Could it be, she asked herself, that Amy was the type of woman she had always wanted to be—a woman in charge of her own destiny?

The man beside her began to sing. Eleanor’s attention was captured, although she refused to turn and look at him. His voice was surprisingly good and the ballad he sang was a familiar one.

“Where, oh, where is my true love?

My scalding tears, they burn.

No track or trace of her I’ve found,

Oh, when will she return?

Perhaps the wolves the heart have torn,

that loved me aye so dear;

Should I die of grief, my soul will soar,

straight to the arms of my

El . . . ean . . . or.”

Eleanor heard his soft, throaty laughter. She knew the song. He had revised the last lines to irritate her. She also knew he was trying to provoke her into exchanging barbs with him again. She would not give him the satisfaction, she decided. Nevertheless, it was maddening to have to keep still.

Gavin McCourtney, however, stayed in her thoughts. She could not help but wonder what kind of man he really was. He sang sentimental ballads yet was a notorious brawler, a shiftless ne’er-do-well known up and down the Ohio River only for his strength and his ability to drink and fight. He seemed to be a man with no roots, no ambition. All he had was brute strength and pride, she thought angrily. Brute strength, pride and a glib tongue.

*   *   *

The sun was warm at mid-morning and Eleanor removed her bonnet. They came to a small creek, pausing to let the animals drink. Gavin jumped down from the wagon, lifted the tin cup from the box on the side and carried a cup of water to Eleanor. She drank thirstily and then handed the cup back to him.

“Ye’re welcome, lass,” he said as if she had thanked him. “Aye, lass, ye’re in for a time of it if’n ye don’t unbend a bit and show ye’re not what ye’re makin’ out to be,” he added with a shake of his head.

“Go away,” she hissed.

“Tis gettin’ hard fer ye to keep up the pretense, eh, me girl? To be sure, twill be harder as time goes by. I be tellin’ ye for a fact.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll not be the one to be tellin’ ye, for ye’ll soon be tellin’ it to yerself.”

His words stunned her. When she got over her astonishment and was able to speak, he was walking away. He headed toward the creek where Rain and Amy had knelt to drink.

Amy drank from her cupped hands as Rain did.

“Tired of the saddle?” he asked.

“Not yet. I’ll ride till noon.”

“It’s the first day. Don’t wear yourself out.”

On the road again, Rain set a brisk pace for an hour, then eased off as the terrain became hilly. Gavin gave his attention to driving, keeping the pace yet trying to avoid the deep ruts or stones that would jolt the wagon. He took care not as much for the sake of the woman who rode beside him as for the wear on the wagon. Not a word passed between them; both were consumed with their own thoughts.

When they stopped at noon, Gavin and Rain unhitched the team, let them drink, wiped them down, and staked them out to graze.

Amy was stiff from being in the saddle for such a long stretch. She ignored her discomfort, led her horse and the spare to drink, then tied them so they could crop the fresh green grass growing near the stream. She walked a short distance alongside the creek, and when she was sure she was out of the sight of the men, relieved her full and aching bladder. She then splashed water on her face and hands to rid them of the trail dust.

Eleanor was still sitting on the wagon seat when Amy returned. She paused, intending to ask her if she needed privacy, but the dark-haired woman refused to acknowledge her. Amy moved on to the back of the wagon. The night before she and Liberty had cooked a joint of meat and several loaves of bread. They had packed the meat, bread and hard-cooked eggs in a metal-lined box along with freshly churned butter and a crock of berry jam. It would last the four travelers for several days. Amy spread a cloth on the tailgate and laid out sliced meat and bread.

Gavin returned from the creek carrying a bucket of fresh water. Eleanor lifted her chin and looked away from him when he passed, but stood when Rain approached and waited for him to help her down.

“If you . . . wish to be alone, Miss Woodbury, you can go down along the creek, behind that screen of cedars,” Rain said and pointed toward the stream.

“Thank you.” She held on to his arm for a long moment as if she were not steady on her feet. Then she smiled up into his face. “I’m just not used to such a rough ride,” she said apologetically and grasped his arm with both her hands. “I’m glad Willy sent
you
to fetch me, Rain. I truly am glad.” She looked up into his face, her lavender eyes showing admiration. When he didn’t speak, she looked toward the place he had mentioned. “You’ll wait and see that no one . . . ?” she asked fearfully.

“I’ll wait.”

Behind the wagon Gavin looked at Amy’s suddenly red face. “Pay no mind to the lassie’s wheedlin’ yer man, lass. She be usin’ her beauty to be gettin’ her way with him. Tis all she has.”

“It’s plenty,” Amy murmured.

“Aye. But there be naught to go with it, to me way a thinkin’.”

Amy looked into twinkling blue eyes. “I think I’m going to like you, Mr. McCourtney.”

“Well, now. That be fine news.”

Amy continued working. She stacked the bread and meat together and handed Gavin a large portion.

“Go ahead and eat. We don’t have time to wait until we’re all here and the blessing said.”

Amy looked past him and saw Rain, standing at the edge of the clearing, watching them. She wondered what he was thinking. Did he see her as tall, awkward and unwomanly compared to Eleanor? Feeling tired and a little teary, she poured a cup of water, picked up her own meal and settled herself by a tree. She put her cup down beside her, removed her hat and placed it on her bent knee. Her hunger had left her, but she forced herself to nibble at the food.

Eleanor came out of the woods and took Rain’s arm. Her hair shone in the sunlight. The shawl had slipped from her shoulders and hung in a loop down her back. The neck of her dress was cut so that the white tops of her breasts were visible and pushed high by the tight corset that cinched her small waist. At the end of the wagon Rain waited for her to help herself to the food. She hesitated before taking a slice of bread and a small piece of meat and holding it daintily in her fingers.

“I’m not really hungry at all, Rain. But I suppose I should eat something.”

“It’s your last chance until after sundown,” he said in a disinterested tone that brought her eyes to his face. A slow red crept into her cheeks that deepened when Rain picked up his own food and walked away, leaving her standing alone beside the wagon.

He went to where Amy sat and sank down, Indian fashion, beside her. He pushed his hat to the back of his head and took a bite of the meat and bread.

“Good food. I didn’t know I was so hungry.” His eyes locked with hers and drew all coherent thinking from her mind.

“Me, too.”

“We made good time this morning.”

“The road was smooth.”

While Rain ate, his dark eyes moved around the area, but always returned to her face. Amy finished eating and took a drink from the cup. Their eyes met over the rim. When she lowered the cup, he took it from her hand, lifted it to his lips and drained it.

“I’ll get some more water,” he said and made a move to get up.

“I’ve had enough.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.” Amy’s heart fluttered and she drew the tip of her tongue across her lips. Being with him and sharing the cup of water made her feel all mixed up and shaky inside.

“Farr told me that you can handle the team.”

“I can handle them. I drove one of his supply wagons when we went to Vincennes.”

“Either McCourtney or I will take over when we cross the Little Wabash up ahead.”

Amy nodded. It felt strange to be with Rain away from the station. He seemed different, not so closed and standoffish. She wondered if he thought the same about her. She watched Eleanor walk back and forth alongside the wagon and tried not to think about how pretty she was. She looked down at her own clothes, the buckskin britches and the warm doeskin shirt. A breeze came from behind her and ruffled her hair. Absently she lifted a hand and looped a loose strand behind her ear. At least in her buckskin britches and loose shirt she was more comfortable than Eleanor.

Another thought came to mind that made her smile. She wondered how Eleanor had been able to hold her water since dawn. The breakfast meat had been exceptionally salty, and she had drank several large cups of water. Amy herself had been able to relieve herself at the mid-morning stop and had still been anxious again by noon. Eleanor hadn’t been off the wagon since dawn. She glanced at Rain and found him watching her.

“What are you thinking? What made you smile?” The smile he gave her was wicked, teasing, and jarred her to her senses.

“I . . . can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” He continued to look at her. Her radiant face and mischievous eyes made her look like the Amy of pigtails, freckles and a mouth full of questions.

“You’d think I was . . . shameless.”

“Maybe. But tell me anyway.”

His eyes smiled into hers with warm affection. They were so dark and shiny she could see her reflection in them. It was as if the two of them were cocooned in a small, intimate, happy world of their own. The luxury of being with him like this made Amy want to prolong it for as long as possible, store it up to think about later.