Orchids in Moonlight (10 page)

Chapter 6

"Why don't you watch where you're going, you little upstart?" Wilma whispered harshly, righting herself and yanking down her gown.

Jaime murmured a hasty apology as she tried to scramble away, but Wilma grabbed her ankle and held tight. "Who are you, anyway?" Suspiciously, she scanned her face in the moonlight. "You're one of the whores, aren't you?"

"Oh, no, ma'am," Jaime was quick to say, afraid Mrs. Turnage was going to start screaming and bring everyone running, including Cord. "I'm with the women going to get married."

Wilma shook her head. "No, you aren't. I've seen all them. Know them by their names. Who are you? And why haven't I seen you before?"

Jaime knew she had no choice and admitted she was a stowaway.

Wilma chuckled as she listened, pleased to hear of a conspiracy aimed at the wagon master she despised. "Well, now." She beamed at Jaime. "I think you're real smart to get away with it all this time. You sure don't have to worry about me saying anything."

Jaime needed reassurance. "You promise?"

"Of course. I got no use for that man and how he brought them whores along, and I'll be looking forward to the day he finds out you tricked him. When do you plan to come out of hiding?"

"I'd like to make it all the way past Salt Lake; then there wouldn't be any big town to leave me in before Sacramento. I believe he'd let me continue on."

"You really think you can hide out till then?"

"I've come too far to fail now," Jaime said confidently.

"Well, quite frankly, not much gets by me, but you did, so I reckon you'll succeed."

Jaime turned to go, anxious to end the conversation.

Wilma called, "You let me know if you need any help, hear?"

Jaime kept on going, praying she would never have to accept her offer.

* * *

She knew something was going on between Ella and Hannah long before they reached Fort Laramie. While everyone else talked excitedly, constantly asking Cord how much farther till they got there, Ella and Hannah hardly spoke to each other and had little to say to anyone else. She prayed they were not arguing about turning back, for Hannah's discontent had steadily been worsening.

It was their last night on the trail before their planned arrival at the settlement the next afternoon. As the sun sank low in the sky, Cord sent Fletcher ahead to make ready to guide the wagons into a circle.

The ritual had been performed so many times the measurement was perfect, and the hindmost wagon precisely closed the gateway. In less than ten minutes from the time the lead wagon halted, the barricade for the night was formed.

Everyone scrambled for the chores they knew by heart. The women busied themselves preparing fires of buffalo chips to cook the evening meal, while older children helped their fathers pitch tents, unyoke the oxen, unharness the mules, and feed all the animals.

Not too many days after leaving Independence, all the women Cord had signed on had decided to pool their resources and prepare their meals together, including the prostitutes. Usually, they took turns cooking, but this time Hannah found herself alone with the chore as the others took off to the riverbank to do their laundry. They knew there would be soldiers at the fort, perhaps a party and dancing, and they were all anxious to have a clean dress to wear for the festivities.

"I never want to see another potato as long as I live," Hannah grumbled as she dropped them, one by one, into a kettle of water to boil.

She was talking to Jaime, who crouched inside the wagon, counting the minutes till it was dark enough to slip outside and join the others. She ached all over from the cramped, bumpy ride. Everyone had wanted to keep going, anxious to cover the remaining distance to Fort Laramie, so they had not stopped as long during the noon time for lunch and to water and rest the animals.

Hannah continued her griping. "It wasn't my idea to join up with those whores," she said.

Jaime knew then that Hannah was really at the breaking point. Normally, she was more tolerant.

"They're just anxious to get their laundry done, too," Jaime said in an attempt to pacify.

"That's not what I'm talking about. If it weren't for them, some of the husbands would give us some meat when they kill a buffalo or a deer. All we have is potatoes and onions and what's left of the meal to make johnnycakes. I can't remember the last time I had a bit of meat, but the men aren't going to come near us, thanks to the whores. Their wives would have a fit."

Jaime tried to lighten her mood by teasing, "Would you even know how to cook buffalo, Hannah?"

"Of course I would. I see the other women. They cook it just like regular beefsteak, only a little bit longer. It smells wonderful." She swiped at her hair with the back of her hand, pushing it back from her forehead, then reached for the bag of onions, wincing as she began to peel them and wailed, "Look at my hands. It makes no difference if I wear those hot and heavy buckskin gloves. I still get blisters. Somebody else needs to take a turn with those reins—"

Jaime's eyes bulged and every nerve went taut as she shrank back into the shadows. Hannah had not seen Cord approaching, but she had, thank God, in time to keep him from spotting her. But a chill of horror swept as she thought of the consequences if Hannah wasn't soon aware of his presence, for she might speak her name, and he was staring at her like she'd gone daft anyway, thinking she was talking to herself.

"…not right I have to do all the work around here, anyway. If you—" Hannah turned to glare at Jaime, and tell her once again it was time she let her presence be known, and saw Cord standing there, a strange look on his grime-streaked face. "I... I didn't know anyone was around," she stammered.

"Obviously." He flashed a crooked smile and held out a bowl containing a hunk of dark red meat. "Here. One of the sentinels killed a buffalo earlier in the day and just caught up with us. You and the other ladies should enjoy some meat."

Hannah broke into a grateful grin and without thinking blurted out, "I was just saying how we never have any meat—" then caught herself and countered self-consciously, "There I go. Talking to myself again. I guess I'm more tired than I thought."

"We all are." He reached out, gently took her wrist, turning her palm up, and frowned to see the oozing blisters. "I'm going to try and hire some extra teamsters at the fort to help out, and I'll try to take a turn at your reins myself. Meanwhile, it's time the other women on your wagon started taking turns whether they like it or not."

She drew her hand back. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

After he walked away, Hannah angrily turned to the wagon, knowing Jaime could hear. "See what trouble you cause? If he can't hire extra men, I'll have to keep at it myself. The others won't do it; they've said so. And it'd be taking too big a chance for him to do it with you hiding inside. He'd probably roll back the cover like he's been after me to do anyway. I'd sure get a better breeze coming up behind me, but no, we have to keep it up 'cause of you."

She railed on and Jaime kept silent, washed with guilt to be the cause of such discomfort. Still, she had come this far and felt compelled to hide out a little longer. It would be horrible to have to turn back now, and Cord might just be angry enough to see that she did.

* * *

Toward sundown the next day, slightly above the gently rolling prairie, whoops and cries went up from the weary pioneers as the turreted and picketed ramparts of Fort Laramie came into view.

An adobe wall, fifteen feet high, surrounded the fort. Long before the wagons began to roll into a circle on the green meadows just east of the wall, those walking broke into an excited run and fell into the welcoming arms of strangers amid shouts and laughter of greeting. Cord had announced at the previous night's meeting that he would allow two layover days, instead of one, and everyone was in a festive mood.

Jaime could only stare wistfully from inside the wagon as activities got under way inside the fort. During the day, wearing the big slat bonnet, she didn't worry about being noticed so much anymore, but she still dared not mingle socially. Through the open gates, she could see the dancing as the soldiers were given liberty to socialize with the unmarried women. The lively music of banjos, guitars, and harmonicas filled the air, along with the tantalizing odor of pigs being roasted over open pits.

She had hoped Ella and Hannah would bring her a plate of food, but as soon as they found out there were bath facilities—barrels of water with pull ropes positioned over a neck-high wooden pen—they grabbed up the gingham dresses they had washed in the river the night before and took off. Joining the merriment, they forgot all about their hungry stowaway.

But Wilma Turnage remembered. As soon as it was dark, she carried Jaime a tin plate, heaped with meat, boiled cabbage, crispy fried bread, and a delicious mug of cold cider.

Jaime ate ravenously as Wilma enthusiastically described the inside of the fort. "The men have the means to mend both wagons and harnesses, shoe horses and oxen, and there's also a trading post. Flour is going for fifteen dollars a hundredweight, and a dollar will get two cups of sugar or two cups of coffee beans."

"Oh, I wish I could go inside. I'd give anything to be able to dance—not that I even know how," she added.

"Well, your friends certainly know how. Hannah latched up with one of the army scouts and hasn't let him out of her sight. Ella is just as bad. It's a sight. And I can tell you, the captain doesn't like it. I saw him standing off to one side watching, face like a thundercloud, because all them promised brides are having themselves a time. I'll bet he's wondering if he's going to be able to get any of them out of here."

Jaime shivered, but not from the chilly night of late July.

Cord didn't know it, but he wasn't the only one concerned.

Feeling terribly worried, she wrapped a blanket around herself and finally drifted off to sleep. Sometime later, she was abruptly awakened by angry voices outside and hurried to peek out. Cord, she soon realized, was telling three irate soldiers they could not enter the prostitutes' wagon. And once again, despite everything, her heart went out to him for the burden of the responsibilities he had inherited.

"I've got an agreement with the commander that the ladies won't conduct any business on the post," Cord informed the men.

"This ain't the post," one of the soldiers grumbled. "We're outside."

Cord told him it didn't matter. "He agreed they could visit inside. That's all. If I let you boys come here for pleasuring, the ladies living on the post are going to raise hell, and I've heard enough already from the ones on the train."

"Well, you shouldn't have let 'em come in, captain, and get us all stirred up," another furiously protested. "You seen the way they was dancin' and flirtin' and carryin' on. If you wasn't gonna let 'em take care of us, you shouldn't have let 'em inside in the first place."

The others grunted in agreement.

The first man who had spoken complained again. "Some of us ain't had a woman in months."

At that precise moment, Imogene stuck her head out and laughed shrilly. "Oh, come on, Captain Austin. We need a little fun. Besides, we could use some money to spend at the trading post tomorrow."

Cord swore. She was deliberately teasing them, allowing her breasts to spill from her robe as she held it together just enough to cover her nipples. "Get back inside," he ordered harshly, reaching to yank the canvas closed.

"Hey, you leave her alone."

Cord was caught off guard by the man's sudden shove.

Stumbling backward, Cord rebounded to clip the man's jaw with his fist before whipping out his gun, all done so quickly that those watching would later swear they never saw him move.

"All of you. Out of here," he commanded through tightly clenched teeth. "And don't come back around this wagon."

Wilma Turnage, having heard the commotion, came rushing up. Seeing Cord with his gun pointed at the soldiers, she shrieked hysterically. "I knew it. I knew sooner or later there'd be trouble over those strumpets. You had no business bringing them along with decent folk."

Cord kept his eye on the enraged soldiers as he quietly directed Wilma to get back to her wagon and mind her own business.