Brides of Prairie Gold (31 page)

Swallowing in panic, she had just reached the frightening conclusion that no one was going to save her when she spotted Perrin Waverly walking toward her. Lord in heaven, this was the last thing she needed right now. If her legs could have moved, she would have sped away.

Perrin stopped a few feet in front of her. "Mr. Snow instructed me to inquire if you wish to return to Fort Laramie this evening or before we depart in the morning?"

This should have been the satisfying moment when Augusta displayed her new maid, proving Perrin's prediction wrong. But everyone in camp knew there was no new maid.

She glared, hating Perrin with every fiber of her being.

"I'm not leaving!" she snapped, spitting the words in a low shaking voice. "You're not going to abandon me in that filthy fort!"

Perrin's hands closed into fists. "You would have left Cora there!"

"If I have to drive those damned oxen myself, I'm going to Oregon!" There was no choice. The realization made her sick.

They stared at each other, fingers twitching with the urge to rip and tear.

"I'll inform Mr. Snow of your decision," Perrin said abruptly. She spun in an angry swirl of faded calico.

Augusta stood rooted to the ground, unable to move. Someone nearby was cooking rice and dried apples for supper. The scent made her salivate. From behind came the fragrant smoke of a roasting hare. Augusta's stomach rumbled, and she recalled hopelessly that she hadn't eaten since dawn.

Bootie's voice drifted from the nearest wagon. "I swan, Mem, washing all that laundry plain wore me out. Would you mind setting up the tent tonight?"

Laundry. Food. The tent. Panic blotted Mem's reply.

Legs snaking with trepidation, Augusta listened to the evening sounds of supper being prepared, tents being erected. From the far side of the square, she heard Thea singing, heard Smokey Joe's mouth harp. Voices called from wagon to wagon and someone, maybe Hilda, was laughing.

One of the new teamsters stood beside a juniper bush, smoking and talking to Cody Snow.

When Augusta realized Cody was watching her, she made herself move, lurching forward on wooden legs. Toward the fire that had burned out in her fire pit, the fire she didn't know how to rekindle. Toward a stack of disgusting buffalo chips that she dreaded to touch. Toward a tent packed somewhere in the back of her wagon, a tent she had no idea how to erect.

Tears swam in her eyes and she felt herself slowly strangling.

Cody walked up behind the knot of women standing in the darkness watching Augusta. "It's time you ladies returned to your wagons," he said sharply, startling them. "We leave at dawn."

Thea, Ona, and Jane looked at each other, then smiled and walked toward their wagons, whispering in gossipy undertones.

When they'd gone, Cody lit a cigar and stood in the deeper shadows alongside the arms wagon. She'd managed to get a half-assed fire going, but it wasn't large enough or hot enough to boil a cup of water. Unless she'd found some dried fruit among her provisions, he guessed she would go to bed hungry tonight.

He waited to see what she would do with the tent. She'd pulled the poles and canvas to the tailgate of her wagon, and there it sat in a jumbled pile.

Dragging on his cigar and frowning, he watched her approach the scant light given off by burning twigs and buffalo chips. She extended shaking hands to the flames and stared down at them, then she covered her face and slowly sank to her knees, shoulders heaving.

"Damn it." His frown deepened. Those were not tears designed to manipulate, wound, or impress.

It crossed his mind that one person could never truly know another. He hadn't supposed Augusta Boyd possessed genuine tears. Nor had he anticipated that she would try to continue on her own.

This pampered, spoiled woman had never done a lick of real work in her entire life. He couldn't imagine that she would be successful driving a team of caring for herself. If he allowed her to try, she would slow his train and he'd lose time he could not afford to lose. Her health would suffer from inevitable exhaustion and malnutrition. He didn't intend to lose another passenger either.

He straightened, flicked his cigar toward a clump of sage, and started forward, but something stopped him.

She had jerked her head up and turned toward the tailgate. Wiping her eyes, she started to rise, then stopped. Pressing her hands to her cheeks, she closed her eyelids and whispered something, then tilted her head as if listening to a reply.

Curiosity piqued, Cody hesitated, then watched her push to her feet and stumble toward the tailgate. She spoke again, then placed her hands on the tent poles and waited. Looking at the poles as if she'd never seen them before, she finally lowered them to the ground, her expression helpless. She waited.

Straining to see and hear, Cody scanned the shadows moving in darkness behind her wagon. Her cow was there. He spotted the gray bulk of grazing oxen. That he saw no hint of another person first puzzled him, then suggested who stood on the far side of the wagon. Confirmation arrived in the next minutes.

Augusta dragged the tent poles to a spot not far from her puny fire. She waited, then glanced toward the tailgate. After sighing and swaying on her feet, she returned to the wagon and fumbled inside until she located a hammer. Weeping with frustration and self-pity, she went back to the tent poles and tried to hammer one into the baked earth. She missed the pole altogether, struck her thumb with a yelp, and dropped both the pole and the hammer.

A patient whisper encouraged her to try again. Shoulders sagging, she bent toward the tongue of the wagon. Cody clearly heard her reply. "I can't! You do it!"

He didn't hear Webb's answer, but it wasn't hard to guess. Webb would instruct her, but he wouldn't perform the work for her. If she was to remain with the train, she had to become self-sufficient. She stamped her feet, pounded her fists against her thighs. A choking sound emerged from her throat, then she wiped tears from her eyes and bent to retrieve the fallen hammer.

Cody watched until she managed to drive the first pole into the ground far enough that it remained upright.

Considering, he contemplated the patch of darkness where Webb must be standing. There was something wrong here. If Webb wanted to help her, why didn't he step forward and show her how to set the tent instead of hiding in the shadows, half-whispering instructions that she was having a hell of a time following?

After reflecting, he decided Webb must have a reason for not wanting anyone to know he was helping Augusta remain with the train. Reluctantly, Cody decided to give her a week. He would do that for his friend's sake.

If Augusta wasn't holding her own by the time they reached Emigrant's Gap, Cody would send her back. Someone at the gap would be headed east. He wouldn't have a choice. His train was too far behind schedule already. He couldn't risk further delay while she learned what she should have learned two months ago.

He watched another minute, then moved away in the darkness. He didn't notice Mem Grant until he crashed into her and almost knocked her to the ground.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you."

"I couldn't sleep," she said in a low agitated voice. She looked past him, watching Augusta's dimly lit form.

Both of them clearly heard Webb's voice. "Position the second pole on a direct line four feet behind the first."

Mem spun so abruptly that her skirts whipped around Cody's legs. She walked rapidly, staying in front of him until they reached the corner of the square, then she turned.

"None of us will help her!" When Cody didn't say anything, she spoke again, her voice strained. "There isn't a person on this train whom Augusta hasn't offended!"

Her vehemence surprised him. "Miss Boyd was wrong to suggest your sister is responsible for Jake Quintan's attack." Perrin had related Augusta's painful remark. "I'll speak to Mrs. Glover if you think it would help." He was shooting in the dark, trying to guess why the usually levelheaded Miss Grant sounded so bitter.

"Augusta is she's so Oh, never mind!"

A long coil of auburn gleamed in the starlight, spinning out from her shoulder, then she was gone, swallowed by the deep shadows along the back side of the square. Cody could have sworn she was crying, but tears were so foreign to his impression of Mem Grant that he decided he must be mistaken.

He glanced back toward the sound of pounding. From what he could glimpse and guess, he doubted Augusta Boyd would have much of the night left by the time she assembled her tent. She wasn't going to be at her best tomorrow morning when she learned how to drive two yokes of stubborn oxen.

There was one bright glimmer lining this particular dark cloud. At least this time, Perrin Waverly wouldn't pace after him pleading the case of a bride about to be returned home.

He was almost disappointed. Their meetings had been brief and terse since the incident he privately thought of as the Great Whiskey Debacle. To his utter surprise and immense irritation, he missed the few minutes they spent together after finishing the business of the day.

Moving in the darkness, he strode toward his bedroll. This had been one hell of a day. First, he'd learned at the fort that Jake Quinton had sold a wagonload of whiskey two days previously. Second, he'd had to sell the remaining whiskey against his better judgment. Third, since Quinton had gotten there first, Cody's profits were soberingly lower than what he had expected, only a fraction of the gain he would have realized in Oregon. Fourth, there was the problem with Augusta Boyd. And finally, he couldn't stop thinking about Perrin Waverly's cinnamon eyes and strawberry mouth.

And now, what was this? Frowning, he knelt beside his bedroll and peered through the darkness.

Someone had used his knife to pin a handful of dried twigs to his blankets.

He couldn't really accept that someone had driven a knife through his blankets until he carried the bedroll to Smokey Joe's fire and examined it in the light.

Son of a bitch. Lifting his head, he listened to the silent camp. Who in the hell had done this? And why?

My Journal, June, 1852, Augusta is suffering as she deserves to. Every night her wagon comes into camp an hour after the rest of us have finished supper. Her face is beet red from the sun and peeling like a lizard. Jane said her hands bleed from driving all day without anyone to relieve her at the reins. I'm glad.

I'm still furious that Cody didn't tell me about the molasses being whiskey. He can keep secrets from the others, but he should not keep secrets from me! I defended him in front of the others! He made a fool of me!

I was so angry that I used his own knife to pin the dried flowers where he couldn't fail to find them. A week has passed and still he hasn't apologized.

I get so furious that I shake all over. He looks at the whore the way I want him to look at me. I can't bear to see them together. It makes my stomach heave. Last night I vomited behind the wagon.

What does he want from me? Why is he waiting and tormenting me?

I've done everything I had to do to open the way for our love, and it was not easy for me. I loved Ellen, he should know that. I turned down two offers of marriage while I waited for him. I traveled after him when he didn't come for me. I joined this train. I have endured great hardships for his sake. Since this terrible trip began, I have been hungry, thirsty, exhausted, and frightened. I've done all this for him. I've forgiven him again and again and again.