Angel Train (21 page)

“Well, that stopped them.”

“Are you bleeding much?” Emily asked.

“No, I don’t think so. Not very comfortable!”

“We’ll have to get you to Dr. Wingate.”

“I hope the thing’s not poisoned. That would be a sorry way to end my life out here.”

They made the trip back to Oregon City. Tremayne had come into town to pick up the saw blades. He helped Elsworth down and into Wingate’s office. He watched while York removed the arrow and suggested that Wingate cut the arrowhead off to pull the arrow out. York finished by dressing the wound and gave Elsworth laudanum for the pain.

“No damage done. It went through the thick muscles here over the neck.”

“You were pretty lucky, Elsworth.”

“I was lucky to have Emily there.” He shook his head. “She drove like a trouper.”

“It could have been worse,” Tremayne said. “We’ll have to do something. I’ll find out if there are any war parties in this part of the world. You be OK?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Tremayne found a group of men waiting outside.

“What’ll we do, Tremayne? You fought the Indians before,” Gwilym said.

“I’ll get some of the men who know the country to help. We’ll comb the area and find out if there are any war parties around. The rest of you stake out here as much as you can. If we need an armed band, we won’t have time to round you up.”

“How long will it take?” Evan asked.

“Not long. I know exactly where they ambushed Elsworth and Miss Russom. I can backtrack from there.”

He left at once, and, indeed, he found the signs where Elsworth indicated they had been attacked. He scoured the country quickly, and he found a group of Klamaths. They were rather peaceful Indians with whom Tremayne was in good standing. He knew the chief, a very old man with wrinkled features, but his eyes were still sharp. Tremayne explained what had happened.

Running Bear said, “There’s a Blackfeet war party to the south of us. I expect it was them.”

Tremayne tried to find the tracks of the Blackfeet party, but there was too much ground to cover. He returned to town and gave his report. “The Klamaths are all right. They’re peaceable. These Blackfeet—they’re different. They’re a tough people, so we’ll have to keep watch. If they’re in this territory, I’ll find them.”

“You better! We don’t want them running around and picking us off,” Jack Canreen said. “Can I help you?”

“Sure, Jack. You’ve done some tracking. We’ll go together.”

“Good enough.”

* * *

THE NEXT DAY TREMAYNE rode out with Canreen and three other men. They left Charterhouse to be cared for by the doctor and Marzina. The wound did become infected.

“Doctor, is it dangerous?” Emily asked.

“We just don’t know about these poisons if that’s what it is. Some of them are pretty rank.”

“I’ll help care for him. I know you’re tired, Marzina.”

“That would be kind. I have my hands full with these two boys.”

Each night Emily sat with Elsworth. He developed a fever, and she put cool cloths on his head and upper body. She also learned to change the dressing, and the wound seemed to be healing well by the fourth day when Tremayne and the scouting party returned.

Elsworth was awake. “Did you find them, Casey?”

“No, but they’re here somewhere. They’re pretty stealthy. We’ll have to be on guard. How are you doing?”

“I think I’ll get shot with an arrow every once in a while. I’ve never been so pampered in all my life. They cook me anything I want. Emily reads to me from some soupy poet.”

“He’s not a soupy poet! It’s Alfred Lord Tennyson, a great poet.”

Elsworth winked; he was recovering. “We argue about that, but I’ll win her over, yet, to the Latin classics. We got the saw blades.”

“I wasn’t worried about the saw blades.” Tremayne put his hand on Elsworth’s shoulder. “You take care, old hoss. I can’t do without you.” He turned. “Nice of you to take care of him, Emily.” He left the room.

“What a stalwart, virile man,” Emily said.

“
Virile
isn’t the word for it. He’s the real article. I wish I was like him.”

Emily brushed his hair back from his forehead. “No, you don’t need to be like him. You need to be like yourself.” She smiled, “Be happy with what you are, Elsworth.”

“I never have been.”

“Then I will teach you.”

EVAN MORGAN MOVED THE plane carefully over one of the planks that would form the floor of his cabin. He had honed the blade razor sharp so that with each stroke a tiny wisp, thin and smooth, curled upward and then fell off. For a moment, Evan stopped, brushed the shavings away, and then ran his hand over the smooth board. It pleased him to make this floor, and he was aware that all his neighbors had been satisfied with a bare earth floor. Evan had better plans—or so he thought. He had planned the cabin to dovetail into a larger house, and this small cabin would eventually be a larder and a washroom and would have a fireplace for the wintertime.

Outside a brisk wind brushed against the cabin, and Evan looked out the door. Christmas was only a week away, and the weather had turned bitterly cold earlier in the week, but now the temperature had warmed, and he wore a light coat. Thankfully it was not raining. It seemed to rain more in Oregon in a day than it had in Pennsylvania in a week. It didn’t bother him, however, and he moved back with a sigh, swept up the shavings, and put them in the fireplace. They made good kindling.
There was no fire now, but he would build one when he came back to spend the night.

He felt restless, and he left his cabin with his rifle and bullet pouch and walked toward the Morgan cabin. They had adjacent homesteads, and as he approached, he saw Charity was boiling clothes in an iron pot. He hailed her, and she looked up.

“Well, the old man of the mountains,” she smiled. “We haven’t seen you lately.”

Evan shoved his hat back on his head. “Been busy putting the final touches on the cabin. You’ve got to come over and see the floor I put in, Charity. Not a splinter in it, smooth as glass.”

“I envy you. I don’t feel at home with a dirt floor.”

“When we catch up a little bit, I’ll come over and put one in for you and the others. You can walk around barefoot all you please.”

As they talked, Charity stirred the clothes boiling in the black pot over the fire. “You’ve worked so hard, Evan. Why don’t you take some time off?”

“And do what?”

“Go call on a young lady.”

“Don’t know any.”

“Don’t be foolish!” Charity exclaimed. “You know Alice Brand.”

“She’s seeing Louis Manning.”

“Alice has always liked you. You can beat Manning out if you put your mind to it.” She put her arm around him and squeezed him; they were an affectionate brother and sister, close enough to share most things. Charity knew her brother was lonely, and it would get worse. He was living on his own
homestead now, as the law required, and being accustomed to his family and lots of activity around, he found the solitude hard. “I’d love to see you get married and have a dozen children. That’s what you’d like.”

“Well, maybe not a dozen.” Evan displayed a crooked grin, and a small dimple on his left cheek popped out. “Maybe you’re right.” He shrugged. “I’ll go calling on Alice.”

“Put on your best clothes and shave. A good-looking, young fellow like you—how could she resist?”

“All right. I’ll give it my best shot. But Louis is a stout young fellow and hasn’t been known to lose any fistfights. He may beat me up.”

“I’ll tell you what. If he starts for you, run and hide behind Alice. We women love to protect our men.”

“Like fun you do!” He suddenly kissed her on the cheek. “You smell good,” he said.

“You go see Alice.”

* * *

ALICE BRAND WAS A pretty girl. Her parents, Nelson and Kate, had had one other child, Tom, but after his death from cholera, Alice was their pride and joy. She was eighteen years old, the same age as Evan. When she opened the door, she looked surprised, “Why, Evan!”

“Hello, Alice. Can I come in for a moment?”

“Yes, come on in. My folks are gone. My pa went to see Dr. Wingate.”

Evan removed his hat. He was struck immediately by Alice’s attractive features—warm dark eyes and an expressive mouth. Her dark brown hair was arranged to expose her white
neck. Her demeanor was self-possessed, and he knew she had a great deal of imagination. Wearing a blue dress, she displayed a mature figure.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “I hope your pa doesn’t have anything serious.”

“I don’t think so. Some of these winter colds have plagued us,” she said.

“Yes, my pa got a case of that.”

Silence followed, and Evan felt awkward. He had never shown any particular interest in Alice, no more than he had in half a dozen other young women, nor had she seemed to be drawn to him recently. But when the silence grew uncomfortable, he said, “I hear there’s going to be a dance in Oregon City next Saturday. I’d like to take you. It might be fun.”

“Why, Evan, I’ve already agreed to go with Louis Manning.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t know that.”

Alice smiled archly. “It’s a secret, but Louis and I are talking about getting married.”

“But you’re only seventeen.”

“No, I’m eighteen. You’ve lost count, and Louis is twenty-three.”

“Why, I haven’t heard a word about it.”

“No, I guess you might say, Evan, we’re engaged to be engaged. My folks want me to wait for another six months.”

“Well, he’s a lucky man, Louis is, and a fine fellow. I’ve always liked him. He’ll make you a fine husband.”

“What made you come over here and ask me to that dance? You never asked me to go anywhere?”

“Just lonely,” he said. “I’m used to being around people, family of course, and when I’m out there on my claim all by myself, I get lonesome.”

“Well, maybe I can help you pick out a girl. How about Eliza Schultz?”

“Why, she’s so skinny she could take a bath in a gun barrel!”

“That’s an awful thing to say! She’s a nice girl. You’d like her.”

“Well, if I can’t go with you, I’ll stay home. Congratulations to you and Louis.”

“Don’t breathe a word of this, Evan. It’s a secret.”

“I won’t.” He shrugged. “I’m always a day late and a dollar short, but I’m glad for you.”

He left the Brand homestead, and the thought of returning to an empty cabin wasn’t pleasing. There was plenty to do— trees to fell, trim, and haul away to make the fields for spring planting and final touches to make on the chimney. But the loneliness felt overwhelming, so instead, he got on his horse and rode to the Krisova homestead. He found Stefan and Zamora working on the corral. Evan stepped out of the saddle, and they both greeted him.

“Hello, Evan,” Stefan said. “That’s a sorry-looking horse you’ve got there. Why don’t you trade him to me? I’ve got a nice sorrel that’ll suit you.”

Evan laughed. He liked Stefan very much. “I’ve got better sense than to bargain with a horse trader like you.”

“Why, I’m as honest as a man can get.”

“Except with horses. I think that’s in your nature, isn’t it?”

“He’s honest about half the time. You come and ask me, Evan,” Zamora said, “and I’ll tell you what day is one of his honest ones. Then you can trade horses.”

“Good, you do that.”

He looked at Zamora, still beautiful as a grown woman. She still wore more colorful clothes than any of the other women. Her dress was bright green with yellow trim, and her black hair was bound with a green scarf. He knew she was his age.

She displayed self-assurance and self-reliance, and she knew more about life, Evan realized, than he did. He had lived a sheltered existence while the Krisovas had come from the old country and had traveled extensively in the East. Evan admired her vitality and wished he had more of that quality himself.

An impulse overcame him. “There’s a dance in Oregon City next Saturday. I’d like to take you if it’s all right with your brother.”

She laughed and asked, “Brother, is it all right? Do I have your permission?”

Stefan shook his head. “Since when did you ever ask my permission for anything? But I’m going to be there. I’ll be playing my fiddle. Come on over. We’ll go together and maybe stay over—make a night out of it.”

“All right,” Evan said, suddenly feeling good. “Let’s see what you’ve done to the inside of your cabin.”

Zamora led him inside, and he appreciated their craftsmanship. He touched a table Stefan made and said, “Your brother is a good carpenter.”

“So am I. I’m making the chairs. See?” She showed him her work, and he was impressed. She poured him a cup of scalding coffee from a pot over the fireplace and poured herself one, and then they sat on boxes and talked for a while.

He finally said, “I never did tell you how sorry I was about your loss, the death of your grandmother. I know it was hard on you.”

“She was such a wonderful woman. So wise. She had done everything, Evan. I could always go to her, and she always knew what to say.”

“You are a little bit like her, I think.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. You know, the night before she died, she talked to me a long time about what I ought to do.”

“What did she say?”

“We’ve always been wanderers in our family, but when she was a girl she told me about how she lived in a house on a farm with her parents and with her brother and sister, and she talked about how wonderful it was to have roots. That’s what she told me—to have roots.”

“Well, this is a good country for that,” he said.

She laughed and grasped his hand. “Now I’ve got to find a rich man—a good-looking one who likes Gypsy girls.”

Evan was intensely aware of her hand. Then, revealing his own streak of humor and wit, he turned her hand over and said, “Let me read your fortune.”

“I’m the one who reads fortunes.”

“No, listen to me.” He looked at her hand and said, “Ah, I see you have a long lifeline, and you’re going to have a long and happy life and many children.”

“What about a husband?”

He looked down to her hand, kept his eyes away from hers, and said, “You’re going to meet a tall young man with red hair. He’ll make you a good husband. Don’t you let him get away.”

“You fool! You’re the only redheaded man I know. Wouldn’t we be a pair? You’re a farmer, and I’m a traveling Gypsy.”

“Remember what your grandmother said.”

“Maybe it’s so. You’ll have to come courting me. Do you know any love songs?”

“No, not a one.”

“I wouldn’t marry a man who couldn’t sing me a love song. You go learn some.”

“How would I do that?”

“Ask Stefan. He knows hundreds of them. He’ll teach you. You can come and serenade me outside the cabin some night. Who knows? Maybe I’ll fall in love with you, and we’ll run off and get married. I’ve got to go to work.”

He got to his feet and realized he was still holding her hand, and she didn’t pull it away. He squeezed it then, “Never known a woman like you.”

“You’ve never known a Gypsy.”

“No, I haven’t, but if you’re a sample, I’ve missed something. I’ll be here early Saturday to go to the dance with you and Stefan.”

* * *

THE TROUBLE CAME SO suddenly that York had no time to react. He and Marzina had left the two young boys with Malcolm Douglas’s daughter, Elizabeth, a reliable young lady of fourteen who loved babies. They stepped out of the office and headed toward the general store to buy supplies. York was telling Marzina about ordering drug supplies when suddenly a hulking figure blocked their way.

“Well, if it ain’t the doctor and his lady friend.”

York knew there had been gossip about him and Marzina. They lived on different floors of the house—but still it was the same house. He had seen this man before, a rough-looking
character with an imposing bulk and a loose mouth. He had been drinking, and his tone was crude and loud.

“Let us pass if you don’t mind.”

“Well, ain’t you got pretty manners now, Doc! I bet you show this woman here some pretty manners, too, don’t you?” He grabbed Marzina by the arm. She tried to move, but he had a grip like a vise.

“Turn me loose, please,” she begged.

“Why, I don’t know why you’d be satisfied with a scrawny-looking specimen like this here doctor. He can’t satisfy a woman, but I can.”

“Turn her loose,” York said. He knew he had no chance in a fistfight with this man. He’d never been good at that and never wanted to be, but now there was no choice since the bully was pulling Marzina away. He swung and struck the man on the forearm, and immediately a fist struck him in the forehead. The world turned to flashing whirligigs. He felt himself hit and tried to get up, but the blow seemed to have disconnected his brain from his muscles.

“Now, sweetheart, me and you will go have a drink.”

“Let me go!” Marzina cried.

“Not likely. We’re gonna—”

Suddenly, almost miraculously it seemed to Marzina, she saw the big man crumple and fall forward. She lifted her eyes and saw Sheriff Joe Meek replacing his pistol in his holster. “Hate to use my hands on scum like that. I might break a finger. He ain’t worth it. Kind of hard on weapons though.”

“Oh, thank you, Sheriff.”

“Why, I wouldn’t let this scum do anything to hurt our doctor or you either, missy.” He pulled the big man to his feet. “Come along, Jed, and we’ll put you where the dogs don’t bite you.”

Marzina asked, “Are you all right, York?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“You’re bleeding over your eyebrow. I think you’ll need stitches.”

“Well, I better go do it then.”

He got to his feet, and the two of them made their way back to the office. He went straight to the room where he saw patients. He looked in the mirror. “It will take a couple of stitches.”

“I can’t do that,” Marzina said.

“I can.”

Marzina watched, fascinated, as he used a strange-looking needle and, standing before the mirror, sewed up the cut without any sign of pain.

“Doesn’t that hurt, York?”

“No, I think he numbed it. I’ll put antiseptic on it. I’ll be all right.”

Marzina was troubled. York snipped off the end of the gut he had used to close the wound and said, “Don’t let it bother you.”

“The man was partly right, York. We are living together.”

“Well, not in the way that usually happens.”

Marzina shook her head, “I’ll have to leave. I can’t stay here. It doesn’t look right.”

Suddenly York Wingate knew he must make a decision. Her presence, as it had for some time, stirred a desire in him he couldn’t ignore any longer. He had never loved his first wife as he thought a man should love a woman, although he had treated her well. But this woman was a treasure. He dreamed of her and didn’t want to lose her. He took her hands, which were long, slender, supple, and very strong.