Janet Quin-Harkin (15 page)

She climbed into the wagon beside the girls and pulled her blanket over her, shivering in the bitter night air, but she lay wide awake, watching a new moon rise over black hills, listening to the moan of wind in sagebrush and the sound of an immense silence. It must have been past midnight when she thought she heard rocks tumbling on the path above. She leaped out of bed and watched a dark shape coming down the gentle incline toward them. The dark shape defined itself into a man leading a horse. “Thank God,” Libby muttered and let the canvas fall quickly back into place. She heard the chink of a harness, the soft snort of a horse’s breath, and the scrape of Gabe’s boots on rock as he came past her wagon. The footsteps paused for a moment, then kept on going.

T
HEY STRUCK THE
Sweetwater next day. Men and beasts alike went crazy splashing and drinking in the good, icy water. The men fished and gave Libby two beautiful trout for dinner. She grilled them over the fire and they looked truly appetizing, with moist pink flesh showing through crisp, wood-smoked skin. Finally I should get a compliment from the Old Bull on this, she thought as she put the fish on a bed of rice and handed it to one of the men to take in to Sheldon. But the meal came back half eaten.

“Mr. Rival’s not feeling good,” the man said, putting the plate down beside Libby. “He’s got the fever bad and he’d like some of that spruce-needle tea.”

“Very well,” Libby said. She put water on to boil and then carried the tea into Rival’s tent. Rival was lying on his cot, already in his nightshirt. His face was flushed and he scowled as he looked up.

“There you are at last,” he said. “I could have died before you got here.”

“Water takes a long time to boil up here,” Libby said. “I made it as fast as I could.”

“I need some company,” Rival said. “It’s damned lonely for a man, all alone when he’s feeling ill. Feel my forehead—do I have a fever?”

Libby knelt to put down the tea then reached across. “A slight one,” she said.

“My head aches like the devil.”

“They say that’s from the altitude,” Libby said. “We’re supposed to be very high here.”

“Altitude, my foot,” Rival said. “It’s a sickness you’ve brought to this camp from stopping with that dying fellow.”

“The man was shot in the side. He had no sickness.”

“Poppycock. I’m the fittest man on earth, usually,” Rival said. “Either you brought in the fever or you’re poisoning me with your cooking.”

“Mr. Rival, I eat what you eat and I am perfectly healthy,” Libby said. “If there’s anything wrong with you, it probably comes from drinking too much.”

“Nonsense. I’ve not been drinking enough,” Rival said. He propped himself up on one elbow. “In fact that’s what I need right now. Not any pansy-boy tea, but another glass of brandy. Bring the bottle over here.”

“Have you already been drinking?” she asked as he picked up an empty glass.

“Of course I’ve been drinking.”

“It’s really not good for a fever or a headache.”

“Woman, don’t tell me what I need,” Rival said. “Hand me that bottle.” He indicated the half-empty bottle on a packing case.

“I really don’t think that’s wise, Mr. Rival,” Libby said, but Rival leaned over. “The bottle, dammit,” he said.

“Careful, you’re going to fall out of bed,” she said, bending to grab him as the cot teetered. He put out a hand to steady himself, holding onto her shoulder. Suddenly, it was as if he had become aware that a woman was kneeling beside him and he had his hand on soft white flesh. The bloodshot eyes moved slowly down her body. “On second thought,” he said, slurring his words slightly, “maybe I don’t need another drink.”

“Very sensible,” Libby said, reaching to pick up the tea. The pressure on her shoulder increased.

“And I don’t need any tea either,” he said. “I know just the way to work off a fever.” Libby had taken to leaving the top buttons of her dress undone because of the heat. As she bent over, Rival suddenly grabbed at her, trying to force his hand down inside her dress. Libby was so shocked that she opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out. She grabbed at the hand, trying to drag it away, but he laughed as he fought to undo her buttons with his other hand. “So soft,” he murmured. “Do you know how long I’ve gone without . . .” He lost patience with the buttons and jerked the fabric so savagely that the buttons came flying off, pinging like missiles against the tent side. The light fabric of her dress front ripped. His hand slid inside her camisole and closed around her breast.

“Stop it, let go of me,” Libby gasped, trying to lift away his hand and push his face away from her at the same time.

“Come on, don’t play coy with me. Don’t pretend you don’t want it,” Rival murmured, his mouth open hungrily, like a fish gasping for air. He tried to pull her exposed breast toward him, the cot tipped, and he fell heavily on top of her. His weight knocked the breath from her as she tried to scream and immediately he crushed his lips on hers, one hand still trapped around her breast, the other scrabbling wildly to lift her skirt. Libby tried to turn her head this way and that to get herself free. Rival was moaning with impatience, already moving on top of her.

Get the tea, Libby was telling herself. Find the hot tea. Throw it over him. It must be right here. She reached out her hand over the floor, trying to locate the mug without knocking it over, trying not to give in to panic. Rival was already tugging at the fastenings on her undergarments.

Then the voice spoke, loud and clear from the doorway.

“Mr. Rival, sir?”

“Go away, dammit,” Rival growled.

“I distinctly remember you asked me to come and play cards with you at nine,” Gabe’s voice came clearly across the tent, “and it is nine. So I came. But I can see that you’re otherwise engaged at the moment.” Libby looked across at him imploringly. “Good evening, ma’am,” Gabe said easily. “So I’ll come back later, will I?”

“Get lost, Foster,” Rival muttered, half moving off Libby to glare up at him. Libby finally managed to get a hand free and struggled to sit up.

“Get away from me, you animal,” she said, her voice breaking into a sob.

“It’s just that you did say nine, and I know how you value punctuality,” Gabe said. “So I gather you don’t want to play cards this evening?”

“Don’t be a fool, Foster. Can’t you see we’re busy?” Rival demanded.

“It’s just that I get the impression that the lady isn’t as interested in being busy as you are,” Gabe said. “Am I right, ma’am?”

“If she knows what’s good for her,” Rival mumbled. “She’s my property right now, Foster. Mind your own damn business.”

“I didn’t think the duties of a cook included so much,” Gabe said. “Remind me to hire myself one.”

“I said get out, Foster. Remember who you’re working for.”

Gabe’s hand played with the silver pistol at his belt. The crisp click as he cocked it made Rival look up in alarm. “Get your hands off her, Rival,” Gabe said evenly, “or one little bullet will mean you’ll never do it again. Do I make myself clear?”

Reluctantly, Rival rolled over and sat up. “Go to the devil, Foster.”

Libby scrambled to her feet, trying to smooth down her skirts and hold her ripped bodice up over her breasts.

“I’ll walk you back to your wagon,” Gabe said.

“I can manage,” Libby mumbled, ashamed as if she had been the cause of the scene.

Gabe ignored her and fell into step beside her. “Are you all right?” he asked gently.

“Thank you, yes,” Libby answered, looking away. “Really, I don’t need you to walk with me. . . .”

“That’s all right then. I’ll just accept your undying gratitude, then I’ll go.”

“I got the impression you were enjoying yourself at my expense,” Libby said.

“I was rather,” Gabe answered, “but I fully intended to rescue you.”

“Did it occur to you that I didn’t need your help?” Libby demanded. “You love to interfere, don’t you?”

“So you were enjoying it? I didn’t get that impression.”

“I meant that I was perfectly able to save myself. I was about to throw a mug of hot tea over him when you walked in.”

“And if he had liked being bathed in hot tea?” Gabe stopped and put his hand on her arm. “Libby, you’re not in Boston now. There are no more gentlemen and there are too few women. It’s no good thinking you can appeal to decency because we’ve left it behind, and any man can take what he wants from you in a struggle—even a flabby specimen like Sheldon Rival. You have to face the fact that you’re not invulnerable. You need protection. You’re a woman.”

His grip on her arm tightened so that he was almost shaking her. “Libby, you can’t act as if you’re made of stone all the time. It won’t work. You’ve got to bend. . . .”

Tears that she had suppressed for so long sprang stinging into her eyes. “I can’t bend,” she managed to say in a choked voice. “If I bend, I’ll break.”

Then she ran to her wagon and climbed in before he could see her cry.

They followed the Sweetwater upward for a week and, at the end of July they crossed the Great Divide.

“South Pass,” Jimmy said excitedly, riding up the column on a slim little piebald he had got in trade from an Indian.

Libby looked around at the desolate jumble of bare rocks and weather-worn hills. It wasn’t even clear that the trail beyond went down again. It was not what she had expected of a mountain pass, especially not of the crossing from East to West. “How can you tell?” she asked.

Jimmy screwed up his eyes against the harsh light. “We experienced scouts learn to recognize every inch of the trail,” he said. Then his face creased into a grin. “Besides,” he said, “someone before us has scribbled South Pass on that rock over there.”

Libby laughed with the relief of knowing that they had reached the top of the trail. She peered ahead almost expecting to see the Pacific Ocean between the peeks. “That’s good news,” she said.

“Isn’t it just?” Jimmy said happily. “It’s nice to know we’ve made it halfway.”

“Halfway?” Libby blurted out.

Jimmy looked amused. “Didn’t you know that the Rockies are halfway? At least we get to go downhill for a while now, although we’ve got the worst part ahead of us.”

“Oh,” Libby said, turning away in disappointment. She already felt as if she had been in this world of unreality for half her lifetime. She had been strong and brave for as long as she could and she really longed for a return to the civilized world of afternoon tea and carriage rides and new bonnets. Then she remembered how she had chafed at that world, impatient with its pettiness and smallness. “Where do I belong?” she muttered to herself. “What do I want?”

She sent Sheldon Rival another trout in for his dinner, refusing to go anywhere near his tent. After her terrible experience she had acted as if he did not exist and it appeared that he too was somewhat embarrassed by it, since he seemed to take pains to avoid her as well. After the dinner was cleared away and the men had settled into a card game around their fire, Libby told the girls a bedtime story, then wandered around, strangely restless. A fat, yellow moon was rising over black peaks and the night was completely still. Coarse laughter came from the card game. Horses whickered, oxen snorted, and hooves clattered on the hard ground. Libby had a sudden desire to be away from it all. She began to walk up the slope of the nearest hill until she stood on its bare summit and looked back at the pinpoint of red glow that was the fire. Above her stretched an immense canopy of black velvet sky, hung with stars so thick and bright that she almost felt she could reach up and pluck one.

How insignificant we are, she thought, looking back at the firelight in the sea of blackness. Nobody in the world knows we’re here. Then the thought went one step further. Is there anyone in the world, back where the lights are on the other side of the blackness, who is thinking of us right now? Are my parents worrying about me? Does Hugh think I’m safe in my Boston bed?

But even Hugh and her parents seemed more unreal than the granite under her feet and the stars above her head. She sat down on a boulder, leaning back to study the stars. Up here the Milky Way made a clean line across the heavens. She remembered her first governess, Miss Danford, saying that the stars were the cracks in the floorboards of heaven. She had always found that a comforting thought when she was a small child. Later, when Miss Danford still persisted in saying it, she had thought it stupid and babyish. Now she was no longer sure that Miss Danford hadn’t been right. After all, Libby thought, it was she who predicted I’d come to a bad end if I didn’t curb my impulsiveness, and look where I am now. A million miles from anybody who loves me or even knows me.

She could not have imagined it possible to feel so completely alone. She had not let herself give in to fear until now, but up here, away from the noise of the camp, the fear and the hopelessness threatened to swallow her up. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her and started to go down back to the noise and the fire, when she saw a dark shape, coming up the hill toward her. She realized at once that nobody would hear her if she called out and she had not gotten into the habit of taking a gun with her, as all the men did. She picked up a rock, holding it firmly in her right hand. If it was an animal, a thrown rock should scare it off.

“Who’s there?” she asked, her voice sounding unnaturally loud.

“Libby, is that you?” Gabe asked.

“What are you doing, following me around?”

“I didn’t know you were here,” Gabe said, coming the last few steps up the slope in large strides. “I came to look at the stars and to get away from the camp. What are you doing up here? It’s not very wise, you know.”

“I came to get away too,” Libby said, “but I was just on my way down.”

“Don’t go because of me,” Gabe said. “I can find myself another hill if you want to be alone. One thing we have enough of around here is empty hilltops.”

“I really was on my way down,” Libby said. “It was just too lonely up here. It overwhelmed me.”

Gabe sat on the rock Libby had been sitting on. “Yes, it is daunting, looking out over so much empty land, knowing there is not a soul who cares whether we live or die.” He leaned back. “But the stars are beautiful up here, aren’t they? They look near enough to touch.”