Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 01] (7 page)

“What are we goin’ to do? I remember how it was in the tavern, the pawin’. . . pinchin’.”

“I don’t know . . . yet.” Berry looked beyond their camp to the cheery campfires of the other settlers. Children played happily, and women stirred the contents of steaming cook pots and called out to their men. One family nearby had made a home spot for the night. Soon the campfire would die down and the children would be put to bed. The man and his wife would snuggle into the blanket beneath the wagon and whisper about the happenings of the day. With a sad, haunted look of lost dreams and pitiful resignation, Berry said again, “I don’t know.”

“You mean everything to me, Berry,” Rachel said suddenly, quietly. “I don’t know what would’ve happened to me if not for you. I guess I’ve got to thank Asa for that. He’s mean, sometimes worse than a rattler, but I don’t want you to kill him.”

The tip of Berry’s tongue came out and moistened her dry lips. She was more upset over the fact that she’d almost shot her pa than she wanted to admit. “I don’t want to. It’d bear down hard on me for the rest of my life. But he’s not goin’ to whip us again!” There was an iron-willed determination in her voice.

Rachel and Berry ate their meal and sipped at the hot tea. Lost in their thoughts, both women had forgotten about Israel until he came out of the woods, where he had taken Asa’s food. His eyes were rolling with fear and his full-lipped mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

“What’s the matter, Israel?” Berry set her cup down on the ground and squinted up at him.

“They’s . . . come, missy!”

“Who?” Berry asked, but she knew who, and icy dread closed around her heart.

“Them . . .” The slave gestured with a trembling hand.

Berry glanced beneath her pa’s wagon. She could see the shadows of two pairs of legs beside Asa’s. She strained her ears but could hear only a murmur of voices. She took the musket from Rachel’s lap, placed it on the box between them, and covered it with her skirt. She jerked her head toward the woods and Israel hurried away.

“Oh, Berry! Sometimes I think the workhouse or a brothel would be better than living like this. At least we’d know what to expect.”

“Don’t talk like that!” Berry hid her own fear behind curtness. “If I shoot one of ’em, the other one’ll think twice before he comes at us. And . . . maybe that woodsman is still watching.” She reached down and put more fuel on the campfire. It blazed immediately and lit up the area.

The three men moved out from behind the wagon and stood in full view. They talked for a minute, then Linc Smith came cautiously toward the women. He had scraped the whiskers off his face and the cloth shirt he wore was clean. There was a silly, guilty grin on his face. He stopped several yards away then moved closer, hesitantly.

“Howdy . . . ah, ma’am.” His small, close-set eyes never left Berry’s face. She glared at him and watched his every move. When she didn’t answer, he shifted from one foot to the other. “I . . . was wrong ta scare ya like I done. I was drunk,” he blurted, and grinned, as if that were all the excuse he needed. A venomous flash lighted Berry’s eyes, and she swallowed the curses she wanted to scream at him. Linc snatched the fur cap off his head, as if he had suddenly remembered it, and glanced over his shoulder to where George and Asa stood at the front of the wagon.

It suddenly occurred to Berry that it was possible he didn’t remember her throwing the chamber pot on him and being hit on the head. He had been so drunk that all he remembered was coming to the wagon. She could see that her silence was more effective than all the words she could hurl at him, so she remained quiet.

“Ah . . . your pa said ya could walk out wid me.” He said the words with difficulty and stood expectantly.

At first Berry wasn’t sure she had heard correctly. When the words finally penetrated her senses, she actually felt like laughing. So she did. She laughed long and loud in contemptuous snorts that even Linc Smith recognized as ridicule. His mouth clamped shut and his nostrils flared in anger.

“I’d rather walk out with a scalded cat!” she hissed.

“You’re turnin’ me down?” There was a different quality to his voice. All his muscles seemed to tighten and he thrust his head forward.

“Are you deaf as well as stupid?”

Linc came up on the balls of his feet and his hands clenched and unclenched. Never before had he humbled himself before a woman. He’d even washed himself, scraped off his whiskers, stolen a clean shirt. The wench was throwing his invite back in his face. Who in hell was she but a scrawny bitch? He glanced back at the farmer and saw that George was pushing him forward. He’d goddamned well better do somethin’ and quick, or he’d wring the bitch’s neck.

Asa sauntered up to stand beside Linc, and Berry’s hand found the barrel of the musket where it lay on the box covered by her skirt.

“She ain’t goin’,” Linc said stupidly, as if Asa weren’t aware of what had been said.

Asa hitched up his trousers. “Ya go on out wid him.” He tried to put some authority in his voice. “I done give my word he could court ya.”

“Court me?” Berry’s voice squeaked with astonishment. “Court
me!
” she repeated with so much revulsion and surprise that she was hardly able to speak. Surprise gave way to anger. It welled inside of her until she thought she would burst from the force of it. “I’d rather die than have that belly-crawlin’, yellow-backed, shit-eatin’ buzzard court me!”

“Hush your mouth!” Asa shouted. “It’s time ya took a man.”

“You call that a
man!
” Berry spit toward Linc. “He looks more like a flap-jaw, warty toad! If you’d scraped the river bottom you wouldn’t-a got more scum!” She jerked out the musket and pointed it at them, gripped in both hands. “Get ’em outta here or I’ll kill . . . somebody!”

There was silence. The men stood as if nailed to the spot. Then George and Linc, acting in unison, sidestepped, leaving Asa standing alone. They moved to surround the women. Berry’s heartbeat accelerated with fear and the hands holding the heavy gun trembled. Her eyes swung from one man to the other.

Suddenly both men stopped and sauntered back toward Asa, their eyes darting behind her. Berry knew someone else had come into the camp, but she didn’t dare take her eyes from the men in front of her. She heard Rachel’s long intake of breath and the slow release just as the buckskin-clad figure in the brimmed hat walked past her to stand beside the campfire. Fain stopped beside Rachel.

“Evenin’,” Fain said. He stood with feet spread. He had a musket thrust in the belt at his waist, and a knife hung in a scabbard at his side.

Asa’s eyes swung to Simon and back to Fain. “Who’re you?”

“I come to collect my thanky for gettin’ ya ’cross the river.”

“Ya got it,” Asa said begrudgingly. “Much obliged.”

“How’s your head, Smith?” When Simon spoke, Berry took her eyes off the men in front of her long enough to glance at him. He looked the same as last night. He had a musket in his belt and a long rifle in his hand. He was holding it by the barrel.

Linc seemed surprised for a moment. “Ya done it? Why’d ya bash my head?” Anger made him lose his caution and he took a step forward before he caught himself.

“’Cause it needed bashin’ then, just as it needs it now.”

Fear gripped Linc. The trader was goading him. He’d like nothing better than to kill him so that he could have the woman. Witcher was a man who didn’t know the meaning of the word
quit.
He not only was rich, he was deadly in a fight. Linc never fought in the open if there was an easier, safer way of getting what he wanted. He had the girl’s pa on his side. He could afford to back down this time.

“Let’s go, George.” He turned his back to walk away. “Ya comin’, Warfield?” When Asa hesitated, he snapped, “Is the deal on or not?”

“It’s on. I ain’t sure if I oughtta leave the women.”

Berry stared at her father with utter loathing, hating him with every ounce of her strength. Her hate forced the words out of her mouth. “Go! It’d be the happiest day of my life if I never set eyes on you again!”

“Watch your tongue, gal! I’m your pa.”

“Much to my shame!”

Rachel’s hand gripped Berry’s arm. She leaned close and whispered, “Shhhh . . .”

Berry was instantly sorry she’d let her hate carry her away and embarrass Rachel in front of the trader and his friend. She clamped her mouth shut and looked down at the musket.

Asa followed George and Linc down the trail toward the river and the taverns that lined its muddy bank.

“That gal’s got too much piss ’n’ vinegar fer my notion,” George muttered as soon as they were out of hearing distance.

“I’ll tame ’er, by gawd! I’ll take the fight outta ’er,” Linc bragged.

“Leave ’er be,” Asa said. “I’ll bring ’er ’round. They ain’t never stood again’ me fer long.”

“They ain’t comin’ docile, like ya said.” There was bitter accusation in Linc’s voice. “That’n needs ta be screwed, by gawd! Them keelboat men’d give a good bit ta get under ’er skirts.”

A spark of decency, long suppressed, surfaced in Asa. “Hold on. I ain’t agreed to my gal bein’ no whore. The other’n can do the whorin’. Ya asked ta court my gal, ’n’ she turned ya down. Let it set a spell. She’ll come around.”

“Humph!” Linc snorted. “She ain’t gonna come ’round less’n you whap ’er butt. Whatta ya think them other’ns are hangin’ ’round fer? They c’n smell a bitch in heat same as us. I ain’t waitin’ ’n’ takin’ Witcher’s leavin’s. Ya get ’er in line or the deal’s off.”

Asa walked in silence. His greedy mind was working fast. Linc had planted a seed that was growing by leaps and bounds. It might suit even more if Berry took to the trader. He had a whole building full of trade goods, and hadn’t he and that big feller helped get them across the river? Maybe he was the one who had dosed the whiskey, what with his wanting to get next to the gal. Linc and George said their whiskey had been dosed too. It must’ve been the trader, Asa decided. He almost chuckled out loud. There’s no means a man won’t go to ta get him a spot o’ tail! he thought.

“Whatta ya know ’bout Witcher?” he asked with as much indifference in his voice as his inner excitement would allow. “Who buys his goods?”

“Stores. Here ’n’ upriver in Saint Charles,” George answered.

“He got land?”

“Upriver a piece. Ya thinkin’ a tyin’ in with ’em?”

“It’s a thought.” Won’t do no harm ta let ’em think I got other irons in the fire, Asa thought slyly.

“He ain’t wantin’ no tavern,” Linc said.

“He might. I’m a-thinkin’ I got somethin’ he wants.”

Linc’s head swiveled slowly to look at Asa. The beady eyes hardened and his chest swelled with wounded pride. Ya bastard, he swore silently. Ya gawddamned bastard!

*    *    *

It was midnight. The tavern was noisy with the loud voices of drunken rivermen. Asa sat on a bench beside Linc and George and matched them drink for drink. His blurry eyes could scarcely focus on the tavern wench who carried the jug slung over her shoulder as she made the rounds to fill the tin cups and to collect the coins. He wasn’t too drunk, however, to slip his hand beneath her skirt and pinch her bottom. She squealed and danced away from him.

He’d have the wench, he decided. He’d not had a woman, except for a drunken Indian gal, since he’d left Ohio. But first he would go outside and let water. He was about to burst. He lurched to the door, pushing his way through the crowd.

George looked at Linc and nodded. Linc sauntered carelessly toward the door, then darted out into the darkness. Minutes later he was back and the tavern wench was filling his cup with whiskey. He pulled her down on his lap and plunged his hand into the neck of her dress. She giggled, and wiggled on the hardness that pressed against her thigh.

“Thar’s a settler out thar with his throat split open.” A slurry voice made the announcement. “It was enough to make ’im wet his britches!” he said, snickering. He slouched against the plank that served as a bar.

There was an instant of quiet, then the voices rose again, as if the news was of no concern. Linc played with the woman on his lap and a satisfied look settled on George’s face. The farmer ain’t oughtta’ve said nothin’ ’bout tyin’ in with the trader, he thought. He glanced with admiration at his partner and watched him as he ran his hand up under the woman’s skirt.

Linc and George stayed in the tavern until someone came and took away the body.

I
’m hankerin’ fer a spot of tea.” Fain was the first to speak after the men had left the camp.

“Help yourself.” Berry laid the musket on the box. “I’ll get a cup.”

“I can use this’n if Miss Rachel’s done with it.” He poured from the teakettle into Rachel’s cup, then sank back down on his haunches.

A long quiet settled on them. Simon leaned on his rifle, Fain sipped his tea, and Rachel tried to pull out her apron so that it didn’t fit so snugly across her swollen stomach.

Berry stooped to dish up the food in the skillet beside the cookfire. She heaped the plate. “I’ll fix some supper if you can wait for it. This is for Israel.” She stood and waited for one of them to speak.

“We already et, ma’am, but thanky,” Fain said.

Berry nodded and carried the plate to the wagon and set it on the tailgate. She knew Israel wouldn’t come to the fire to get it. She returned and sat down on the box again.

“There was a man here tonight,” Rachel said. She looked at Fain and he swiveled on his heels to face her. “He was here in the camp almost before we knew it. He looked Indian, but he talked French.”

“Was his hair clubbed, slight build, ’n’ moved fast ’n’ sure?” Rachel nodded. Fain glanced at Simon and back at Rachel. “It was a scout called Light. He works for Simon some.”

“We wasn’t scared of him.” Rachel glanced at Berry’s set face. She’s worried I’ll tell that Asa was going to whip us with the strap, she thought, and wished she hadn’t mentioned the man.

“Some folk think Light’s kinda crazy.” Fain threw the dregs of his tea into the fire. “He’s part French and part Indian. His ma was killed by the French, his pa by the Indians. His young Indian wife and baby murdered by rivermen. Light kinda turned in on hisself. He’s a quiet one, but he’d fight his way outta a sack of wildcats. He’s the best woodsman, tracker, and knife man I ever knowed. He’s got no fear and no doubt ’bout killin’ if it’s what’s got to be done. But he’s gentlelike with womenfolk.”