Forever Ecstasy (36 page)

Ephraim finally got to speak. “He’s gitting furs from them Crow west of here. Ever’ spring he travels around buying up all he can, real cheap. He takes ’em to a boat at Lookout to send downriver to St. Louis. Gits a better price than anybody here, ’cluding Orin. Costs him a mite to boat ’em out.” He asked for two cards, then continued. “I saw him in the Powder River country when I wuz coming down. Said he wuz joining some friends at Rake’s Hollow; they wuz to ride as guards across them Plains. Redskins are on the move this time of year. Been…” He thought a moment, then said, “Two weeks past, so he ain’t had enough time to git back. Don’t know where he’s heading after that. He was in a bad mood, wors’en usual.”

“Probably ridin’ to Lookout on the ’Souri,” Ben guessed. “If you head downriver, you should run in to him along the way.”

“Maybe, but it could be a waste of my time. Zeke might head in any direction from Lookout,” Joe surmised. He assumed the reason for Zeke’s bad mood was his recent deceit and Morning Star’s escape. He could envision an even worse mood after he discovered his cohorts slain.

From the trapper’s words, Joe deduced that the men he and Morning Star had attacked must have been the escort Zeke was to meet. It was a good thing they hadn’t waited around that area! The news told him that Zeke was trading ammo, weapons, and whiskey for furs. But, Joe speculated, for whom? Surely buying Indian pelts was only a cover to get arms and supplies to the Crow with which to battle the Lakotas. He
also wondered if Zeke had ordered his hirelings to rob the Oglala burial ground for possessions to use as falsely incriminating clues, and if Zeke had been using those men to rile each side against the other. There was no doubt in Joe’s mind now that Zeke was working for Snake-Man.

From then on, Joe had trouble keeping his mind on poker and lost two games. He finished his second whiskey to the other men’s fifth drink. He was about to dig for details on the Indians and brewing conflict when Orin McMichael returned.

“If ye boys’re ready tae eat, clear tha table. I have ae fine meal acoming. Good timing; yer game just ended.”

It was dark outside, so only lanternlight brightened the room, adorned only with several tables and two sideboards. Through open windows, crickets, frogs, and nocturnal birds made music in the darkness they loved. George collected and stowed the cards. Mattie Lou cleared away empty glasses. The men stretched and sighed.

A hefty Indian woman entered the room carrying bowls of food. The prostitute fetched plates and utensils, then set two tables. Each man, including George, reached into his pocket for money to pay for the meal.

Joe saw the silent Indian woman go back and forth as she brought in more platters and bowls whose delictible odors filled the room. He wondered how his love was doing, but he must eat before joining her. He was past ready to leave this tension-inspiring chore for a night’s rest.

“I call her Lucy,” Orin told Joe,” ’cause her Indian name is ae foot long. She does me cooking, cleaning, and washing. She’s Pawnee. I traded ae horse-load of goods for her. She’s tight-tongued, but she’s a good worker. If this isn’t tha best meal tae pass yer lips, ye don’t have tae pay.”

Joe tasted the roasted meat and vegetables. He took a bite of a cat’s-head biscuit with butter and honey. Orin had not exaggerated. He licked his lips and complimented, “Delicious.”

“Lucy is tha best cook anywhere. I have vegetables and fruits sent up from downriver. My guests eat better than at any trading post. She’s made apple pie for dessert. Mattie Lou, pour tha coffee, woman, afore tha men choke tae death and I
lose good customers. Help yeself tae all ye want.”

The men feasted on the wonderful meal. Orin and Mattie Lou sat at another table. The Pawnee servant came and went from a kitchen in the other house to replace empty bowls and platters with full ones. Another pot of steaming and aromatic coffee arrived, along with the apple pie. Joe had to admit to himself that it was the best food he had tasted since leaving Fort Laramie, and he wished Morning Star could enjoy it with him.

Joe finished eating. He bid the men good night and headed to his camp. A gentle breeze gave the air a soothing freshness that was effective medicine for settling his taut nerves. A new moon was overhead, so it was dark outside. With the aid of a lantern, Joe strolled toward the dying glow of a small fire. In the shadows beneath several hardwoods, he saw Morning Star on her bedroll. As he removed his boots and pistol, Joe whispered, “We’ll talk tomorrow when we can see our surroundings.”

To let him know she heard and understood his precaution, Sun Cloud’s daughter gave a soft, “Hum.” She wished they could talk, as she had things to tell Joe, but they must wait. She had worried about his safety all evening and was relieved to have him nearby again. She was eager to hear what he had learned, and was eager to leave this intimidating place.

Morning Star watched three visiting men leave the post with lanterns lighting their path and faces. A golden-haired female clutched the arm of one white man and she pressed against his body in a way that needed no explanation. The maiden observed them until they entered the west end of the oblong building. Laughter and voices came her way, but their words were not clear. She saw Orin and the Pawnee squaw go into his home. Light flickered against curtains for a short time, then was gone. Yet she sensed a powerful gaze in her direction. She heard occasional noises from the horses and mules, and heard the rushing of the adjacent river. Soon, she calmed her anxieties enough to go to sleep.

When Joe awoke, he saw Morning Star sitting beside a fire. He hadn’t heard her rise, so he knew he had been in a deep sleep. It was unusual for him to drop his guard so low, even during slumber. He smiled when she turned her lovely face to him. No matter how many times or how long he watched, he never tired of seeing her and having her close. He wished they were closer, but embraces had to wait until they were alone. That time could not come soon enough to please him.

Morning Star noticed how Joe looked at her and realized what trail his thoughts rode— the same one hers traveled. Every day she came to love and want him more; every day she had to remind herself it was impossible. Being around whites and in one of their settlements impressed that reality deeper into her mind. Even though these men were nothing like Joseph Lawrence, other whites were like them. There was no place for her in his hostile world. If only he could—

“Don’t think sad thoughts, love,” he murmured after witnessing the glow in her eyes fade. “No matter how bad things look, there’s always a path to escape.”

Morning Star did not disagree with him at this time. But later, they must speak the truth and accept it. For now, being and working together, and having each other was all that mattered, all they could ever have.

Dawn lightened the landscape and their campsite. Birds sang or took flight to begin their daily chores. Horses neighed and mules brayed in the corral to signal it was feeding time. Smoke rose from the chimney on Orin McMichael’s home.

Morning Star glanced at Joe. She was afraid to look too long in case anyone was watching them, but found it difficult to pull away her gaze. She loved how the early light played on his sunny locks. His hair was longer and thicker than at their first meeting. She yearned to stroke the wavy golden mane. The increasing light seemed to darken his blue eyes. Sometimes she believed she could stare into those sky-colored depths forever. She wasn’t sure if she liked his short beard, as weeks of growth caused it to conceal too much of his tanned, handsome face. She wanted to spread kisses over it. She craved to flee to a place where their differences didn’t matter, where
peace and love ruled.

“If you keep looking at me like that, woman, I’m going to burst into flames. You have me kindled good already,” he teased in a husky whisper.

Morning Star lowered her head to hide her amused grin from any watchful gaze. “I cannot kiss and hold fire,” she whispered back. “Jump into the cold water to save and cool yourself.”

“I’d love to share a bath with you, but not here,” he responded.

“As a good squaw, I will scrub you clean in our next camp.”

Joe caught how well she spoke. Their many lessons on the trail were working. He was delighted and proud. “Your English improves, grows better, my love. Your victory warms my heart and enlarges my pride.”

Morning Star grinned once more. He always made her feel so happy. “I make a good squaw?”

“You make a good anything. I wish you did belong to me. Then, when this task here ended, I’d take you home with me. We’d—” Her head had lifted and she was staring at him, dismay written in her gaze. He inhaled deeply and apologized, “I’m sorry, Morning Star, but you make me forget myself.”

“You make me forget myself. That is bad, wrong, Joe. We have nothing more than many days on the trail together. And many nights.”

He grasped her meaning, and it pained him. He almost declared his love for her, but restrained himself. Yet it was something he— they— must deal with sooner or later.

“I must go into the forest,” she hinted, her look clarifying her words.

Joe explained about the outhouse behind the oblong building. “It gives privacy. I’ll walk to the edge of the building with you. I need it, too.”

He guided her in that direction, then waited while she excused herself. She lingered while he did the same. They returned to their camp.

Just as they reached that area, Orin came out of his home. He stretched his healthy body. “Good morning tae ye!” he
shouted.

Joe returned the cheerful greeting, but Morning Star remained quiet.

“Breakfast in one hour, if ye be eating with us. I bet it’s been ae long time since ye had ae real breakfast,” he said as he joined Joe near the trees. “Scrambled eggs stirred just right, crisp fried pork strips, biscuits with butter and jelly, steaming coffee, grits that slide down yer throat like honey,” he tempted. “Join me while I hay tha stock?” Orin invited.

As they walked toward the corral, the proprietor disclosed, “I get me eggs and milk from farmers downriver, some vegetables and meats, too. I don’t like grubbing in tha dirt, ’r like hearing chickens cluck and leave their droppings all o’er. Ye want some sweet feed for yer horses?”

“I think they’d like a treat,” Joe replied. He took the bucket Orin handed to him. He lingered to inquire, “You do all your chores? Surely you don’t work and live here alone when you don’t have guests.”

Orin lifted a board in a slanting trench to allow water to flow from the river into a sunken trough for the animals. He tossed hay from the barn into a corner of the corral. As he worked, he related, “I have two men who do me work. They’re delivering supplies, tools, and furniture tae local farmers and homesteaders that came on tha boat. They rarely leave me alone, but tha money was tae good tae refuse.” He brushed off his suit and smiled.

“It’s ae good thing they don’t venture far and wide, or you wouldn’t need to consider my proposal. If thunder is in the wind like you said, I don’t blame you for keeping them close.”

“They’ll be back later. They know Mattie Lou is here. She keeps me boys happy when they aren’t busy. She be a good piece of property. She would have worked ye good last night, Joe, but I understand ye didn’t want tae offend yer woman. If ye get tired of her, bring her here. She can help Lucy with me cooking and cleaning. Sometimes it gets very busy. I’ll make ye ae good offer for her, and she’ll have ae good home here.”

“Thanks, Orin, but I doubt I’ll ever sell or trade Little Flower.”

“When it comes time for ae good-looking lad like ye ta marry and settle down, remember me offer. Just don’t bring no babies with ye.”

Joe laughed, because he couldn’t think of a clever or guileful retort to terminate the vexing talk. “I best feed my horses and get washed up for that tempting breakfast. I’ll see you later, Orin.”

He barely finished treating the three horses when Ephraim, Ben, and Mattie Lou left the oblong building. The two men sent greetings his way, which Joe returned in a genial manner. The blond prostitute headed toward him. Joe warned his love about the bold woman.

Mattie Lou eyed the Indian beauty from her glossy black hair to moccasined feet. “This your woman?” she asked the obvious.

Joe didn’t give the nosy female a smile. “Her name is Little Flower. She’s Arapaho. She’s kind of shy, but she’s the best worker I’ve seen.”

Mattie Lou ruffled her curly hair and placed her hands on rounded hips. With pouty lips, she asked, “She speak English? Understand it?”

“A little of both.” Joe was careful with his words, knowing they would no doubt be repeated to her boss. He didn’t like this intrusion, but there was little he could do at the moment. He wanted things to stay calm here.

“Don’t you get bored without talk?” the whore asked in an almost hateful tone. “You need a woman with fire and spirit.”

Joe had to suppress his irritation to reply in a passive tone, “Little Flower has everything I need. She never gives me a hard time.”

“All men need a hard time in some areas.” She licked her mouth in lewdness. “I can give you an unforgettable one today. These hands and lips have skills to take you to heaven. Why not give me a try, Joe?”

“A beautiful and talented woman doesn’t need to rustle up reluctant business, Mattie Lou. I’m just not the kind of man who needs more than one woman. Why don’t you work your magic on George this morning?”

“George left before sunup. He stayed here a day longer than he should. He had to ride fast and hard to make up lost time.”

Joe controlled his reaction to that news. He wondered if Mattie Lou was telling the truth or if she even knew it. He didn’t like hearing that the strange scout had left so early, especially since George knew Zeke. “I have to get finished here, so I won’t be late for breakfast. See you inside.”

“I’m leaving,” she snapped, his words more than a subtle hint.

Joe watched the annoyed woman stalk toward the post. He compared her to his love. Mattie Lou was tough, deceitful, and worn. Morning Star was gentle, honest, and fresh. One was a fake; the other was genuine. Both were strong; both were survivors.