Tender Touch (19 page)

“Well, at least there’ll be plenty of water,” Marc said, noticing the rainwater that stood in every buffalo wallow and swale. The air, hazy from cookfires, hummed with the noise of insects hatching in the stagnant pools.

“Not good water, though,” Nigh said. “Looks like them pilgrims have been digging wells, trying for a better source. If they’re smart, they’ll let it sit for a few hours with a little bran or cornmeal on top to help it settle, then scoop off the wiggle-tails. River water’s not much better. Both can bring on the flux.”

Reaching the valley floor, the wagons turned west to follow the river bank. As usual, Lilith and Brianna walked together sharing their thoughts and keeping watch over the children, while Nigh, Marc, and Tobias drove the wagons.

Camp that night was opposite Grand Island, a hundred and fifty yards from the south bank. The island blocked the emigrants’ vision of the north bank, almost two miles away. The men waded across to search for wood. Since the road from here on would be sandy and difficult to maneuver, Magrudge ordered emigrants with overburdened wagons to lighten their loads. Those with extra bacon used it as cooking fuel rather than throw it away.

At bedtime, Col made a show of studying the sky where clouds had obliterated the moon and stars. “Gonna rain,” he said. Brianna busied herself with the dishes and said nothing.

After she had retired, Col climbed into the wagon and repeated the routine of the night before. Lying on Brianna’s bed with her snuggled in his arms, he told her what to expect when they reached the fort, and described the trail they would follow for the next few weeks.

“Worst thing about the trail along the Platte is that it doesn’t rain much,” he said, smiling down at her. “Think folks would notice if I just kept on sleeping in here?”

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea, Col.”

He tipped her face up to his with his hand and peered into her blue-green eyes. “Why not? You don’t want me in here with you?”

She lowered her lashes to hide her expression. “What I want has nothing to do with it. I’m a—”

“It has everything to do with it. Fact is, what the two of us want is all there is to the matter. I want you and I think you want me. Am I wrong?”

She looked him in the eye. “But all you really want is my body, Col. Even if I could get past the fact that I’m married and that letting you touch me would be a mortal sin, I can’t give myself to someone who’s going to go off and leave me once we get to Oregon.”

Nigh’s turn to mask his feelings. He wanted her body; that was true. But he wanted more. Her love. Her respect. Her.

Even so, he couldn’t shake his doubts about his ability to truly settle down, never to roam his beloved mountains again, or laze away the summer on a river bank doing little more than witnessing the life going on around him. To live the Indian life, close to the earth and the spirits. To sleep when he chose, eat when he chose. Make love when he chose. A piece of paper and a few words spoken by a preacher meant nothing to him. Only Brianna had the right to give herself to him and if that’s what she chose to do, what business was it to anyone but him?

But if she thought she needed the paper and the words, what then? He was sure he loved her enough to do it up legal, the white man’s way. It was the forever part that scared him. If he found the need to roam too strong to ignore, would she go with him? Would she wait?

With a silent snort, he told himself he was likely getting way ahead of himself. Brianna Villard Wight had never given him any indication that she would want to tie the knot with him. With an uneducated squawman. When he thought about it, there didn’t seem much chance she would want anything permanent with him. Or even temporary.

Gazing at her, he ran his thumb along her lower lip. “1 want more than your body, that much I can tell you. But only you know what’s in your heart, and only you can decide in who’s hand you want to place that heart.” He bent and kissed her. “As for the future, that’ll just have to take care of itself when the time comes. In the meantime, I’ll be waiting.”

He rose and went to his own bed, leaving her with the echo of his words to keep sleep at bay throughout the long, stormy night.

Eight miles of travel the next day brought them to the upper end of Grand Island and Fort Kearny. Situated on swampy bottomland south of the river, the fort was made up of sod-roofed adobe buildings, tents, and sod huts. Vegetables struggled to grow in the deep sod of one roof. The soldiers were unshaven with patched uniforms and shaggy hair. As the wagons passed, several ran alongside asking for whiskey. A small cluster of Indian tipis stood nearby, the dark-skinned inhabitants lounging in their shade.

Magrudge led the company a half mile beyond the fort and signaled a halt. Time would be allowed for trading at the sutler’s store and posting letters, as well as for the noon meal.

Lilith was appalled by the crude structures of the fort. The muddy grounds were so churned up by wagon wheels and livestock it was impossible to tell whether they were walking in mud or animal manure. Naked Indians with blankets draped casually about them lounged against the walls outside the store. Lilith kept a hankie soaked in French perfume to her nose to fend off the odor and gathered her skirts close about her to keep from brushing against the savages as she passed inside.

The sutler’s store was a shabby affair with a muddy, dirt floor and a roof of poles, brush, and sod. Compared to Beaudouin’s Mercantile in Bowling Green, Kentucky, the goods were shockingly expensive. Rope was four dollars a pound; salt, ten cents; kettles, fifty cents; whiskey, fifty cents a pint. Only staples like flour and bacon, bought by the sutler from overstocked emigrants, were affordable.

Lilith bought a few tins of sardines, baking powder, soda, coffee, and syrup. Marc bartered with the sutler’s assistant for a
n
1839 Walker Model Colt revolver that could be loaded without removing the cylinder. Nigh traded two of his carved figures for horehound candy for the children and Brianna posted her letter to Mrs. O’Casey.

As they left the store, three carts loaded with furs and drawn by mules pulled to a stop in front of them. One of the drivers leaped down and hitched up his greasy leggings. He wore a patch over one eye and a beaver skin hat dangling with shells and feathers. Telling Brianna to go on with Lilith and Marc, Nigh walked over to the man and slapped him on the back.

“Wal, dog my ears if n it ain’t old Columbus Nigh,” the man said. “Hey, Pappin, lookee-here who I found.”

A dark man swung down off a short sturdy pinto pony. “Columbus, it is good to see you, mon ami. You are headed for the mountains, no? You want job? The Company can always use a good man such as you.”

Brianna stopped, holding her breath for Columbus’s answer. The small Frenchman noticed her watching from the front of the store.

“Ah, the beautiful woman,” Pappin said, leaning closer to Nigh. “She is yours, oui?”

Nigh looked at her over his shoulder and his mouth quirked up in a smile. “Let’s just say she’s not available to any of you buffler-witted jackasses.”

“Ah, I do not blame you, she is
magnjfique
.” Embarrassed, Brianna ducked her head and hurried to catch up with Lilith and Marc. The three of them hadn’t gone far before they were stopped by a young hunter in buckskins, accompanied by an Indian.

“’Scuse me, ya all know that tall man over there with them traders?” the young hunter asked Marc.

“Columbus Nigh? Yes, he’s a friend.”

“Nigh, I thought so.” The hunter spoke then to the Indian: “He’s the one we heard Hatchet Face palaverin’ about up at Wind River. Five Piegan warriors jumped Nigh once. He kilt ’em all with nothing but a knife.” The Indian only grunted but his expressionless eyes lit up with interest as he stared at the man in question.

The young hunter turned back to Marc. “Thank ya, mister. My friend here and me, we been hopin’ to meet up with this Nigh feller. Up in the mountains the Injuns and old trappers call him Grizzly Heart cause he’s kilt more white b’ars ’n anybody and never got more’n a scratch on his belly. They say he’s about the bravest of the mountain men left alive. Ya must be right proud to call him friend. He’s some, he is.”

Marc laughed. “Well, yes, he is ‘some,’ isn’t he? This is his sister, Brianna Villard.”

The young man whipped off his skin hat and nodded to her. “Proud to meet ya, ma’am.”

Still nodding, he took several steps backward, staring at her as though he’d never seen anything like her. Then he turned, slapped his hat back on his head and scurried over to join the men at the carts, the Indian following behind.

When the trumpet sounded for the wagons to start the afternoon’s journey, Nigh had not returned. Brianna couldn’t help but worry. His words from the night before were still going round and round inside her head. Had she pushed him too far? Had he decided to accept the job that man had offered him and leave the wagon train here instead of going on to Oregon? Would he have left her if she had given herself to him as he wanted?

If she could only know that he loved her, nothing else would matter. But he had never said those words, and she could only assume that it was because all he felt for her was lust. Why was it that lust from Nigh suddenly seemed more attractive than love from any other man she knew?

As the thoughts tumbled in her mind, she barely noticed the acres of prairie dog towns they passed, humped with mounded burrows where the small rodents stood on hind feet, watching for predators. On one mound several tiny burrowing owls lined up at the mouth of the hole and stared at the passing wagons with round eyes.

“Look, Mama,” Francois called. “They look like old men with skinny legs and brown coats like Papa wears.”

Francois and Jean Louis raced out into the prairie dog village, laughing as they tried in vain to catch the owls and rodents before they could dive into their burrows.

Three miles west of the fort they passed a squalid assembly of mud huts called Dobytown. Several of the town’s residents stepped from their doors to watch the wagons pass. Lilith, walking beside Brianna, frowned and said, “Goodness, there are a great many women here, aren’t there? But they haven’t a decent dress among them, the poor things. Why, they’re half naked.”

Brianna smiled. “1 believe those are ‘ladies of pleasure,’ Lilith, and they dress that way on purpose.”

Lilith’s eyes widened. “Oh, my. Francois, Jean Louie, come here at once.” Hustling the children into the wagon, Lilith tied the covers tightly closed, refusing to let them out until the wagon was well past the town.

Hearing horses approaching from behind, Brianna turned. Her heart leaped into her throat at the thought that it might be Columbus. Then he was there, tying the reins to the back of the wagon.

“Col,” she said. “I-I was worried.”

“Were you?” He glanced around before giving her a quick kiss. “I like the idea of you worrying about me. Here.” Nigh handed her a bundle wrapped in the stained brown paper used by the fort sutler. “Open it.”

She plucked at the string and ripped the paper in her eagerness to see what he had brought her. The package fell open, revealing a straw hat with a wide brim trimmed with ribbons the same blue as her eyes. There was also a tin of English tea.

“Oh, Col, it’s beautiful.” She whipped off her old black bonnet and placed the straw hat on her head. “But you shouldn’t be buying me gifts. I’m—”

“Nothing wrong in a brother buying his sister a hat. Now you can throw away that ugly black thing you been wearing.”

He was right; no one would think the gift unseemly. She smiled. “Thank you. For the tea, as well. We’ve been out for so long, I can’t wait for supper so I can brew a cup.”

A soft mewing sound came from the bundle Nigh still held. Her questioning eyes met his. Grinning, he folded back the worn leather.

“Oh. oh!” she cried, reaching for the tiny kitten. “Where on earth did you find him?”

“The sutler had a whole passel of ’em someone had traded for goods.”

The cat was black except for one white patch over its eye and four white paws. “He’s adorable. I’ll name him Patch. Oh, I love him, and the hat, too. But you really shouldn’t have spent your money on me.”

“Didn’t. The sutler sold my carvings right off and asked if I had more.”

“That’s wonderful. Even so, you should have gotten yourself something, instead of me. Like trousers that would cover your . . . well, all of you. I do appreciate your thoughtfulness, though.” Standing on her toes, she kissed him. The kitten, crushed between them, yowled and climbed onto her shoulder. Brianna laughed. “He’s feisty, isn’t he?”

“It’s a she, not a he.” Nigh caught her around the waist to keep her from moving away and whispered, “I’ll go back and get the whole litter if you’ll give me a kiss for each one.”

Brianna colored and slapped away his hand. “Behave yourself, Columbus Nigh. You’re my brother, remember?”

He gave her a ferocious scowl. “Yeah, and finding it damned inconvenient, too.”

“Here, you need something to occupy your hands as well as your time.” She handed him the whip. “I haven’t seen Dulcie since last night, so I’m going to see her and show off my new hat and kitten.”

“Take a burlap sack with you and pick up any buffalo chips you find. We’ll need them for the fire tonight.”

“Buffalo chips?”