Deep as the Rivers (Santa Fe Trilogy) (46 page)

   
“While they wuz fixin’ me up, them Injuns whut found me offered me one o’ their secret caches below them bluffs up yonder. Got a canoe, food, even a few furs to keep a body warm...not thet I do believe yew two’ll need ‘em.”

   
“With a canoe we could make good time, be back in St. Louis in a few days,” Shelby replied, excited at the prospect. “Livy wouldn’t have to walk on her injured feet either.”

   
Micajah nodded his head. “Hit’s settled then. Yew ‘n·’ me go dig up th’ cache whilst Sparky fixes breakfast.” He turned to grin at her as she climbed sleepily from beneath the covers.

* * * *

   
God above, St. Louis was a squalid and barbaric outpost clinging to the banks of a wild, treacherous river. Richard Bullock despised it, just as he despised the jowly pompous merchant perched on the chair across from him like a giant green toad. But Emory Wescott did have his uses. At present, he was Bullock’s only link to Colonel Samuel Shelby. “And you say this ward of yours has married Colonel Shelby,” he repeated, sipping fragrant tea from a delicate china cup as he stared across the rim at Wescott.

   
Emory set his cup down with a slight clatter, angry beyond words at the latest piece of news he had just received from upriver, another complication he did not need. Pardee had failed. Perhaps Bullock would be the man to rid hin of the impediment of Olivia’s husband.

   
“Yes; Olivia was always a headstrong girl, reckless and spoiled just like her mother. She ran off on a lark. I was able to send word to one of my acquaintances who located her in a godforsaken outpost on the Missouri. She and the colonel had just been wed by a Catholic priest in Ste. Francoise.”

   
With Pardee now dead and their last shipment of contraband lost, Wescott’s interest in the British war effort had taken a decidedly cool turn. If only he could get his hands on Olivia, free and clear of Shelby’s meddling, he would hurry her down to New Orleans where the fabulous wealth of the Durand estate would be his.

   
“Then you expect the honeymooners to return here soon?” Richard asked neutrally.

   
“I would imagine Olivia and her soldier will arrive shortly. As you can well imagine, her marriage will create all sorts of embarrassing complications—complications I wish to avoid. After all, I am still her guardian and I do have her best interests at heart.”

   
Bullock smiled, a chilly curling of his thin, beautifully sculpted lips, but it was a smile that never touched the pale ice in his eyes. He could well imagine how sincerely solicitous the cagey old bastard was toward the chit. “I’m certain you do, Mr. Wescott. And I have an equally strong interest in the colonel...for entirely different reasons. Perhaps we can reach some accord regarding a resolution of this situation,” he purred, setting down his cup as he rose to take his leave. “I shall attend to Colonel Shelby in due course, never fear.”

   
After the icy Virginian had departed, Wescott stared moodily into the tea leaves at the bottom of his cup, then rang for a brandy, although it was barely past the noon hour. Bullock was a cipher. Wescott understood his professed reasons for wanting Shelby dead, but he had never been one to trust any man’s superficial motives. They had met at a social function at the home of the acting governor, Frederick Bates, honoring territorial militia general William Clark.

   
Wescott rubbed his forehead, not even wanting to contemplate his fate if General Clark learned about his involvement in gun running among the Osage. If only he knew how much Pardee had revealed before he was killed. One thing was clear—Emory Wescott had no time to wait for Richard Bullock’s due course.

* * * *

   
In spite of the long overdue turn in the weather, Samuel and Olivia’s journey downriver was an idyll of smooth currents and crisp but sunny days. They paddled on the open river, only once having to portage past a dangerous embarras. On the first day out, they ate from the dried fruits and meat from the Osage cache, but the second morning, Samuel shot a pair of rabbits before they set out. Olivia efficiently cleaned and cooked them over the campfire, throwing a fistful of wild sage onto the coals to add a wonderfully pungent flavor to the meat.

   
At night they pulled the canoe up on the bank, and slept out beneath the starry canopy of the sky. To waken every morning in each other’s arms was a new experience for both of them. Samuel had never slept with Tish even in the early days of their marriage since she had always insisted that a lady deserved the privacy of her own bedroom. From Olivia’s childhood in lavish European accommodations to her months in Micajah’s cheery cabin, she had always spent her nights alone. Never had she dreamed how wonderful this could be, how warm and reassuring the feel of her husband’s heart beating in rhythm with her own.

   
She wished they could drift forever on the river, living off the bounty of nature, picking wild gooseberries and currants, shooting fat rabbits and watching the brown and gold grandeur of the woodlands around them. Otters and muskrats played in the current, diving and chasing one another, putting on a show for their human audience. From the shore a black bear peered at them from behind the carcass of a deer, his mouth smeared with blood. Olivia had watched, fascinated by the stark contrasts of nature, beautiful and brutal in alternate turns.

   
“I’ll miss Micajah,” she said pensively on the third afternoon as they moved swiftly in the main channel. Samuel paddled skillfully while she lay in the bottom of the canoe, basking comfortably in the midday sun. “Saying good-bye was harder than anything like it before. I was ten when we left the Count of San Giomo’s estate in Tuscany. He was the one who taught me to ride. I called him Uncle Angelo.” She smiled in fond remembrance. “I cried inconsolably for days.”

   
“Why did you have to leave?” Samuel had a pretty good idea but he wanted to learn more about her family.

   
“My
péré
was bored living so far out in the country. He longed for witty conversation and ladies decked in jewels, for the city life. In truth he longed for the gaming tables in Rome. And so we made our way across Europe. It seemed the longer we traveled, the more rootless we became, the less time we spent in any single place.”

   
He could understand now why Micajah’s simple cabin had meant so much to her and felt guilty for his accusations about getting bored with the adventure and longing to return to her easy life in St. Louis. “Micajah was a better father to you than Julian St. Etienne,” he said.

   
“Yes, that’s true, although I would never have believed it possible before. I adored
Péré
...but I never knew who I was until I met Micajah Johnstone.”

   
“We’ll see him in the spring, Livy. He promised to come to St. Louis for a visit. I’m sorry we had no time to return to the cabin with him, but I have to send a report to my superiors and arrange for the Osage to meet with my brother-in-law.”

   
“I said I would miss him, not that I would be lonely, Samuel.” She reached up to take his hand, distracting him from paddling. “Let the canoe drift with the current. It’s moving fast enough,” she said with a lazy chuckle.

   
Shelby scanned the river ahead. As far as he could see, it flowed free. He set the paddle down and then slid from his seat to settle in the bottom of the small skin-covered craft, drawing her into his arms. Together they watched as meadows of prickly pear and tall stands of cottonwoods on the shore passed by, content just to hold each other in the dying light of the late afternoon sun.

   
They reached St. Louis at dusk the following day. The waterfront was crowded with moored keelboats and flatboats. Samuel eased their canoe in between two of the heavy flatboats and as soon as they had jumped ashore, he pulled the light craft up onto the bank lest it be damaged. The riverfront was deserted but up on the hill the noise of drunken revelry from Main Street could be heard echoing across the black stillness of the Mississippi.

   
“We’ll go to my house first. I need a clean uniform before I can report to Bates and Clark.” He grinned at her, the dim light showing the white slash of his teeth as he said, “Maybe I’ll even carry my new bride over the threshold.”

   
“Maybe I’ll hold you to that—and a bath. I am not only filthy; I’m freezing. Lord above, how I long for a hot, lazy soak with real soap.”

   
They made their way up the steep hill, avoiding the rowdy district where the rivermen caroused, heading south toward his rented house on Plum Street. “While you’re luxuriating in my tub I have quite a bit of business to attend. I don’t think we should let your so-called guardian know about our marriage until I’ve made my report to the acting governor and General Clark. If he sent Pardee after you, I want to find out why.”

   
“You’re afraid he might hurt me, aren’t you?”

   
She was far too perceptive. “It’s possible. Just stay inside the house until I return. It may be late. I’ll also have to explain to Santiago about the parlay he’ll lead.”

   
“Will he be willing to do it? I thought you said he distrusted the American government.”

   
Samuel grinned. “Liza will see to it that he does. Hard-bitten Spanish outcast that he is, Quinn will do anything for his wife.”

   
“I’m anxious to get to know my new sister-in-law,” she said primly.

   
“Just don’t go letting her fill your head with crazy ideas. I’m not as indulgent as Santiago.”

   
She smiled secretively but made no rejoinder as they trudged down Second to Plum. When they arrived, he did carry her across the threshold amid laughter and tenderness.

   
Samuel quickly cleaned up and shaved, then donned a fresh uniform while the elderly man he had employed to watch over the house drew a hot bath for Olivia. Samuel left her soaking blissfully and headed straight to the Quinns’ home. Liza and her canny Spaniard knew more about what went on in the city than anyone.

   
Won’t she be amazed that I married again.
But then he reconsidered. Perhaps she would not be. His sister had been the first to notice the attraction between him and Olivia. He climbed the well-worn stone steps to their front porch and knocked eagerly.

   
When Orlena Quinn opened the door for her uncle, a broad smile of joy wreathed her cherubic face. “Unca Samuel!” the five-year-old squealed in delight as he picked her up and swung her around in the air.

   
Elise stood in the doorway down the hall watching fondly as her eldest child bombarded her brother with questions. She bit her lip worriedly.
How shall I break the news to him?

   
Samuel looked up and caught sight of her the same time that little Orlena did. “Mamma, Mamma, Unca Samuel’s back all the way from visiting the Osage.”

   
At once he sensed something was amiss. “Is Santiago all right—the boys?”

   
She nodded. “Yes, of course, they’re all fine. And so it seems, are you. Oh, Samuel, I was so worried. You’ve been gone for months with only that one sparse note.”

   
“I didn’t know if it got through or not. I had to entrust it to a French-Canadian trader I met headed down the Missouri last summer. He was the only white man I encountered until the Englishman.”

   
She paled. “You found him then.”

   
“He’s dead,” he said flatly. “So are his schemes to take the Osage into a British alliance.”

   
Knowing they had serious business to discuss, Elise picked up Orlena and rang for the nanny to get her ready for bed, promising to come in later to hear the child’s prayers and tuck her in. Samuel waited for his sister in the library, wishing Santiago had not chosen tonight of all nights to work late at the warehouse. Then again, perhaps it was better to enlist Liza to his cause before the Spaniard returned home.

   
Hearing her at the door, he turned, glass in hand and asked, “Does Orlena forgive me for precipitating her, early bedtime?”

   
“She knows well enough she can only remain up half an hour past her little brothers,” Elise said smiling. “She was greatly mollified by that pretty quilled Osage necklace you brought her. You do spoil her outrageously.”

   
“Maybe it’s practice for having children of my own,” he said lightly, watching with relish the poleaxed expression on her face. “While I was upriver I got married again, Liza. Olivia St. Etienne is now Mrs. Samuel Shelby.”

   
She paled. “Oh, Samuel, no.”

   
Seeing her dismay, he set down his brandy glass and walked over to her in consternation. “I thought you favored the match, Liza.”

   
“Oh, I do, very much I do, but...”

   
“But what?”

   
Her shoulders slumped as she took his hands in hers. “Tish is alive, Samuel. She’s here in St. Louis with her stepbrother. They arrived several months ago. I had no way to send you word. I’m afraid the colonel’s lady has become quite the toast of local society in your absence,” she added bitterly.