Sweetwater (36 page)

“And, Colleen, I’ll not stand for ya hurtin’ little Cass. She thinks the world of ya and just wanted to see ya happy. Understand me?”

“I’m sorry … I hurt Cass.” Tears rolled down Colleen’s cheeks. “But she had no right to … tell ever’body I’d be livin’ at the Double T when … when ya ain’t even asked me.”

“Ask ya what?” His frown deepened as he shook her gently. “Ask ya to marry me? Hell! Didn’t I tell that ya a dozen times how much I love ya.”

“Ya never asked me to marry ya … or live with ya at the Double T. First I heard ‘bout livin’ there was from Cass.” Her words were strong, not at all a reflection of what she was feeling. She was ashamed of the tears on her cheeks.

A growl came from Travor’s throat. His face was tilted down toward hers and she could see the frustration that narrowed his eyes.

“Do you think I’m the kind of man who would tell a woman he loves her and talk about makin’ babies with her without intendin’ to marry her?”

“Ya never said nothin’ ’bout marryin’ me,” she said stubbornly.

“Did ya think we’d live in sin?”

“I … thought ya was spinnin’ a … windy.”

“Ya thought no such thing!”

“Ya
never
said the words!”

“I’ll say ‘em if it’ll make ya happy!” he yelled.

“Don’t strain yoreself, Travor McCall.”

“Colleen Murphy, will you marry me?”

“Yo’re just askin’ cause of what I said to Cass.”

“Dammit! Yes or no?” he yelled. “Damn you, it better be yes.”

“Yes.” The whispered word came haltingly. She drew a quivering breath and began to smile.

Looking down into her wide tear-washed eyes, he laughed joyously and lifted her off her feet and kissed her. Their lips caught and clung. Their kisses spoke of newly discovered love.

“Tell me, sweetheart—”

“I love ya.”

“Say it again.”

“I love ya, ya flop-eared mule!”

He laughed and hugged her tightly.

“I’m goin’ to town but I’ll be back tomorrow, then I’ve got to spend a few days at the Double T helping Joe. Do ya want to be married here at Stoney Creek with yore granny lookin’ on? Or do ya want to go to Forest City?”

“Here. And … I’ll have to have time to make a new dress—”

“We’ll talk to Trell and Jenny. We might be able to get the preacher to come here. Kiss me again, honey. Before I go we’ve got to talk to Cass.”

They exchanged tender, sweet kisses, then walked, arms around each other, back to the bunkhouse so that Colleen could make peace with Cassandra.

Chapter Twenty-three

“I wish you’d wait until I could sit a horse, Trav. It shouldn’t be more than a couple weeks.”

“We’ll both be married in a couple weeks. I need to know if that killer is still around or if he’s gone back north. I can’t see startin’ married life lookin’ over my shoulder.”

“Colleen’s got a stake in this, too.”

“It’s somethin’ I’ve got to do. She understands that.”

“Might be he’s given up finding me … you, and left the country.”

“He won’t leave without proof that I’m dead. Killin’ is his business. He’s been at it for years, hirin’ out for pay, traveling wherever a man would meet his price. He’s got a reputation to hold up. I’m bettin’ he’s still around.”

“There were two of them, Trav. I don’t like you going up against them by yourself.”

“If he thinks he killed me when he shot you, think of his shock when he sees me. I’ll have an edge. It isn’t Crocker’s style to face a man, and he isn’t known for his speed.”

“If you find him, will you call him out?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll have to play it by ear.”

“It’s going to be hard lying here waiting for you to come back.”

“I know. It would be same for me.”

“I still wish you wouldn’t go.”

“Stop worryin’. Ya got a whole family to think about now. I’ll send a card to Mara Shannon and Pack tellin’ them the news.”

“You hadn’t better send it from Sweetwater. The postmaster there gave Jenny’s mail to Havelshell.”

“He’s more’n likely in the pocket of that slick-talkin’ preacher that was here than Havelshell. There’s a smell about that Longfellow. He reminds me of a snake-oil salesman. I’ve heard about him from someplace, but can’t put my finger on it. When Marshal Stark gets here, he’ll find out.”

“Take Ike with you. He’d be an extra pair of eyes.”

“I’d rather he stay here until you get on your feet. Besides, I’m used to workin’ alone and not havin’ to look out for anyone but myself.” Travor got up and moved his chair back.

“There’s a few good folks in Sweetwater, Trav. Oscar at the saloon is an all-right fellow.”

“I met him. He’s rougher than a cob. I’ve got to get goin’. I want to ride into Sweetwater around suppertime.”

When Travor left the bunkhouse, Colleen was waiting beside his saddled horse. His steps quickened. He had eyes only for her.

Sunlight glinted in her blue-black hair. Her eyes held the beginning of a smile, a soft glow that gave the irises the clear color of a sun-filled sky. He knew her face, he could see it with his eyes closed, yet as he approached she seemed even more beautiful than the image he kept in his mind. Then she smiled at him, an open smile of such startling warmth that an answering flame ignited within him.

“Don’t move, sweetheart. I just want to look at you.”

The tip of his finger moved across her lips. He closed his eyes for a fleeting moment as his palms molded themselves to the contours of her face. His thumbs stroked her eyebrows, her eyelids, then moved down to outline the shape of her mouth. His hand curled around her throat gently lifting her chin.

He kissed her tenderly, sweetly.

“Please come back,” she whispered.

“A railroad engine couldn’t keep me away from you now.”

He held her tightly, not caring if the whole world was watching. She turned her head so that their lips met. His mouth closed over hers with supplicant pressure until her lips parted, yielded, accepted the wanderings of his, then became urgent in their own seeking. Her mouth was warm, sweet beyond imagination.

He lifted his head and looked down at her, his lips just inches from her lips, her breath in his mouth. Each sensed a mystery and loneliness and aching beauty that was precious beyond their comprehension. Their lips met again and again, clung and then parted reluctantly.

“’Bye, sweetheart.”

“Be careful.”

“You too.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He mounted his horse. It pleased him that she didn’t beg him not to go; she knew what he had to do. He looked back once. She was still standing beside the corral. He waved. She lifted her hand. The picture of her stayed with him as he rode away.

“Jenny come quick. Whit has brought your students.”

In midafternoon Cassandra came to the bunkhouse with the news that two Shoshoni women and ten children were in the woods north of the school where the warriors had set up the lodge poles.

With Cassandra beside her, Jenny hurried up the path to the school then beyond to the woods to watch the women unload the travoises that had been pulled by the ponies. They began immediately to lace the skins on the pole structure that had been standing bare for several days. Two of the girls were big enough to help. The others moved out of the way and sat down on the ground.

Jenny almost despaired when she looked at them. Several of them could not have been more than four years old. There were only two boys in the group. One of them had a lame leg. The two girls helping the squaws were Cassandra’s size. It was difficult to estimate their age.

Whit, squatting beside the school building, got up when Jenny and Cassandra approached.

“Why are you just sitting here?” Cassandra demanded. “A
man
would help the women with the hard work.”

Whit glared at her and crossed his arms over his chest.

“A
warrior
does not do women’s work.”

“You’re not a warrior, Whit Whitaker. You’re just a kid.”

“Squawk! Squawk!”

“You make me so mad.” Cassandra put her fist on her hips and glared up at the stony-faced Indian boy.

“Whit, should I try to talk to the women?” Jenny asked.

“No. They not understand you. Wait until they finish work.”

“I fear some of the children are too young for school.”

“Why too young? Young learn fast. No learning to undo.”

“Maybe you’re right. Tell them school starts tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow. Why not now?”

“Well. All right. Tell them to come in.”

Oh, dear. I don’t know if I’m ready for this.
Jenny opened the door to the schoolhouse and stood waiting while Whit talked to the children. When she applied for the job she’d had visions of standing at the door of the school greeting brown-faced, eager-to-learn children. What she was confronting now were eight little Indians staring at her with impassive expressions.

It was difficult to tell which were the girls and which were the boys. All had long, greasy black hair. Two of the little girls wore leggings and loose cotton shirts. Others wore colorless sack dresses. The boys wore an assortment of doeskin and calico. They were all dirty. Jenny wondered if they ever bathed or washed their clothes. Their mothers could have at least cleaned them up for the first day of school.

They stood obediently when Whit spoke to them and followed him into the school. The older girls, helping the women, ignored Whit’s call and continued working.

“Hello, I’m your teacher, Miss Gray.” Jenny spoke in her most cheerful manner. They looked at her curiously. No one uttered a sound. “I am probably strange to you as you are to me. But we’ll get to know each other. I’d like for you to meet my sister. Her name is Cassandra. Ca … sand … ra.” Jenny pushed Cassandra forward. “She will help some of the younger children.”

Whit snorted. “She no teacher. She just kid.” It was an echo of what she had said to him earlier.

“We won’t argue. The children will be confused.”

“They don’t understand a word you say.”

“I knew they didn’t speak fluent English, but I thought they’d get some of it.”

“No.”

“Will you tell them my name and that I’m glad they’re here?”

The children’s eyes fastened on Whit when he spoke in rapid Shoshoni. Jenny caught the words, “Miss Gray.” He talked more, then pointed at Cassandra and said, “Squawk, squawk.” The expressions on the faces of the children changed; some of them smiled. It was encouraging to know they had a sense of humor, even if it was at Cassandra’s expense.

“What are their names, Whit?”

“Wasveke.” He placed his hand on the head of a small boy then went down the line. “Scocequa, Mokespe—”

“Whit! I’ll never remember the names.”

Whit shrugged.

“Oh, hello,” Jenny said to the two older girls who slipped into the room and squatted on the floor.

“Posiqua know some English.” Whit pointed at the older girl.

“I’m so glad. May I call you Posy?” After a long pause, the girl nodded. She was quite pretty and reminded Jenny of the girl Moonrock. The girls were looking at Cassandra. Jenny pushed her forward. “My sister, Ca … sand … ra.”

“Oh, just call me Cass.”

“Squawk,” Whit said. A titter came from one of the small ones.

Jenny looked quickly at her sister. She was glaring at Whit. Suddenly Cassandra picked up a long white feather and poked it into her hair. Then put her thumbs in the corners of her mouth, her forefingers at the corners of her eyes. Stretching open her mouth and pulling down her eyes, she wiggled her tongue at Whit. The children burst out laughing and pointed at Whit. Whit smiled one of his rare, beautiful smiles.

Jenny’s heart lifted. It was going to be all right.

As suppertime approached and she dismissed the class for the day, she wasn’t so sure of her prediction. She had given each of the students a small slate and a piece of chalk. With Whit translating, she tried to explain how they were to be used: how to make a mark and how to rub it out. One child bit off a piece of chalk and chewed it. Another used up half a stick rubbing it on the floor. When she tried to take what was left of the stick, the child hung on to it and snarled at her.

“He fight for what he has. He won’t give it up.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“All of them throwaways. Not belong to anyone and eat at the fire of anyone who let them. They hold what they have or they be hungry.”

“All of the children are orphans?”

“The shaman sent those to you who not needed to care for parents or younger children.”

“That was good of him,” she said sarcastically. “He may have done these children the favor of their lives. I will teach them English first … with your help and … Cassandra’s. Whit, how can I tell them to take a bath and wash their clothes?”

Whit shook his head. “Teacher must crawl before she walk, walk before she run. They not understand.”

“You are clean—”

“My mother teach me. They have no one to care if they are clean.”

“They have me now. I will teach them … later.”

“Sneaking Weasel no longer comes to school to watch.”

“What does it mean?”

“Because of Moonrock. Weasel liked her. He mad at Havelshell ’cause she not at the store.”

“You can come over to your father’s house if no one is watching.”

“I will come.”

“Come tonight for supper.”

“Tonight I eat at the fire with little ones. This a strange place. I will tell them it is good place, and it is good they chosen to learn.”

“Whit, I’m so proud of you. Your father would be proud of you if he were here. You’re more of a man than many I have met. You’ll let me know if they have enough food?”

“It is so.”

“I’m going to marry Trell. We’ll live here on Stoney Creek and hold on to this homestead … for you. When the time comes that you can take over, we’ll move out and build a home someplace else.”

“The land is yours if you stay and teach. It was my father’s wish.”

“There is enough land for both of us. Trell and I may be able to buy more.”

“We will not talk of it now.”

Later, Jenny sat beside Trell’s bed and repeated the conversation.