The Promised Land (Destiny's Dreamers Book 2) (7 page)

“What about the supper? The women were planning on a picnic meal~’’

“You can make some porridge. We’ve no dearth of that these days.’’ He dragged her away from the fire she’d just been laying out, and Charlotte toddled after. When the child stumbled and fell, Maggie broke away from her husband and carried her daughter the remainder of the way to the wall of rock. Jamie was already there, marveling at the inscriptions as high as his neck could crane to see, reading some off to a crowd of admiring youngsters.

“This fellow Whelan must have been a sailor. He’s left an anchor for his mark. And there’s lots of ladies’ names.’’ He turned to his approaching father. “Did that many ladies come already, Pa?’’

“That would be poetic exaggeration, son, or maybe just wishful thinking. I suspect men added their sweethearts’ names, as a sort of reminder. Like I’m fixing to do now. Although my mark’ll be a little different because your mother is actually making the trip.’’ He smiled. “A fact she’ll not let me forget.’’

Johnny shoved the stick into the gunk and laboriously began to paint an inscription. Maggie watched as it grew:

John Stuart, 4 July, 1846

4 - buffalo

Maggie Stuart

1 - Pawnee chief

“What kind of inscription is that?’’

He grinned at his wife as she removed Charlotte’s fingers from the grease.

“Score-keeping, you might say.’’

Maggie wasn’t sure she wanted to be remembered to posterity by that particular inscription. Is that how Johnny now chose to recall the whole incident? And why hadn’t he added `1-scalp’ to his buffalo count? But it was done.

“Me too, Pa! Don’t forget me!’’

Johnny handed the stick to Jamie. “Write it yourself, boy. You’re big enough and able.’’

Jamie took the stick and added:

‘Jamie and Bacon and baby C. was here to.’

“Leaves something to be desired, grammar-wise, but the point is made.’’ Johnny turned to the boy. “You are now in charge of your sister. See that you keep her out of the hog grease. Your mother and I are going to climb this rock.’’ And leaving the boy complaining, Johnny grabbed his rifle and his wife and took off in search of a reasonable access point.

Maggie protested all the way up, but once on top lay flat on her stomach admiring the view. Ahead of them more bluffs of rock stuck up from the land, hazy in the sun.

“That would be The Devil’s Gate just ahead, Meg. They say the Sweet Water barrels through the narrow canyon something fierce. We’ll have to go around it.’’

He was easier now, the climb having burned off some of the alcohol in his blood. His eyes were almost returned to normal. Maggie fervently hoped the jug was finished and no more would appear. She knew the men needed a little diversion, but Hal Richman’s death was still in her mind. She tried to push that thought back, swiveling around on the smooth surface to look towards the East, from whence they’d come. There was a trail of dust rising from the hard-packed wagon grooves in the distance.

“More emigrants coming,’’ Johnny noted for her. “They must have moved right on out from Laramie. They ought to join up with us tonight if they keep at it.’’

“Then we won’t be the first anymore.’’

“Does it bother you?’’

Maggie raised her shoulders and let them drop in a silent shrug. “I know it shouldn’t, but it does.’’

“So you’ve finally invested some sentiment in our undertaking.’’

“What are you talking about, Johnny? I’ve invested everything in this journey!’’

“That’s not what I mean. You’re getting caught up in it. In the idea itself. Being first for the season is all part of that.’’

“I had more in mind being first for what little grass remains in the God-forsaken way ahead.’’

He slung an arm around her casually. “I’ll have to try and break you of this worrying habit, Meg. There’s no point in it whatsoever.’’

“Easy for you to say,’’ she shot back, more crossly than she’d anticipated. “Have you taken a hard look at Checkers and Brandy recently? They are not thriving. Other folks have extra teams. We’ve been working all of ours right along. Lose the animals and you’ll be adding your precious printing press and type to the pile of discarded dreams along the trail.’’

Johnny withdrew his arm. “I expected a little more enthusiasm on the Fourth. Here we are striking out for new territory, expanding boundaries~’’

“Since when have you taken a patriotic view of this whole enterprise? I thought we’d dropped most of that when the `54-40’ signs began wearing off the other wagons!’’

“Margaret McDonald Stuart.’’ He sighed. “I can’t seem to say anything right to you today. Maybe it’s best just to give it all a rest for a while.’’ He inched his way into an upright position. “Would you care to take my free arm on the way down, or have you enough righteous anger left to manage it on your own?’’

“I’m not convinced you’ll be seeing straight enough to be of much assistance.’’

“
Ouch
. Each word thrusts like an arrow. Pawnee. Straight to my heart.’’ He started sliding down. “I will leave you, then, Madam.’’ And he did.

The day did not improve for Maggie. She returned to her children and her wagons with fresh bruises from the descent. She ungraciously watched~from a distance~the new group of wagons pull into the Chandler camp while other members of their party milled around the newcomers, anxious to socialize on this most gregarious of days.

Long after she’d gotten the children to sleep, the sound of guns fired in random bursts of enthusiasm still peppered the night. It was beginning to seem like a waste of good ammunition.

Johnny had not returned to their camp, and Maggie had ignored the picnic, feeding the children their evening meal alone for the first time in months. Then she’d sat by the fire, stitching at Jamie’s Indian vest. It was Gwen who finally approached, looking like she had something to spill, but afraid to let it out. She sat by Maggie too casually.

“I haven’t seen you at any of the festivities.’’

“There were things that needed doing.’’

“Apparently.’’ Gwen waited a few long moments, then, “You haven’t met any of the newcomers yet, I gather?’’

“No.’’

“Pleasant enough group of people, for the most part~’’

Maggie pulled her eyes from her stitching. It was mostly a charade anyway. It was far too dark to continue with the sewing.

“What’s on your mind, Gwen?’’

It poured out.

“You really should be at the dancing, Maggie. The new people~the Donner Party?~they’ve got a fresh widow with them. Young. Pretty. And she’s not mourning too hard.’’

“So?’’

“Use your head, Maggie! Need I spell it out for you? She’s making a play for every man in sight. Especially your Johnny. He’s danced with her thrice already!’’

Maggie pricked herself with the needle. “If she’s that dangerous, you’d best be heading back to Sam, hadn’t you?’’

Gwen flounced up. “I’m sure I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately! I will be getting back to Sam. But if it were my man out there dancing with that
Annabelle
thing I surely wouldn’t be sitting all alone here.’’

Maggie waited till Gwen had disappeared toward the other end of the campground. The music she’d been trying to ignore came more clearly than ever to her ears. She lifted the pricked finger to her lips and sucked on it. She was being as stubborn as a mule, and she knew it. Finally, she got up and peeked in at the safely sleeping children. Bacon was on watch and gave her a silent wag of his tail, as if to say, `Don’t be silly. I’ll take care of my charges. Go where you’re needed.’

She went at last. But she did not immediately penetrate to the light of the fires around the musicians and dancers. She stood instead in the shadows of a wagon, picking out the new faces before her, searching for the woman who was after her husband.

It didn’t take long for her eyes to find the two. They were dancing again. For the fourth time? Or was it the fifth? Where was Johnny’s sense? Didn’t he know that a man danced only once~and perfunctorily at that~with any woman but his own? There would be talk starting already.

She couldn’t tear her eyes from their figures. The woman was, indeed, attractive. She was tiny, with darkly flowing hair that swirled around her petite, but evident charms. Johnny was entranced. The new party must have brought more whiskey with them. There were jugs sitting around on the ground. Johnny had obviously helped himself. He was more animated than she could ever remember seeing him.

She and Johnny had never danced like that together. They’d never danced at all. It was not something in the frame of Maggie’s experience. Her father had forbade such expressions, and their travelling ways had never brought them to such a social before. She wasn’t even sure she could dance. Not like that woman out there.

Maggie continued to stare while newborn emotions sprang up in her breast. If she’d stop to figure them out she’d know that chief among these emotions was jealousy. But she did not stop to work it out. Instead, she pulled at the pins remaining in her hair and shook it all out. Before she could change her mind she emerged from the shadows and strode into the midst of the merrymakers. She was about to create a scene, and felt just fine about it.

Her eyes flashed as she walked by Johnny and
the woman
. But she didn’t interrupt them. Instead, she moved to where a handsome man was standing, cheroot in hand. He was dressed like a gambler, his cherry vest and string tie flashy in the glints of light, his whole person impeccable, as if he’d just stepped off a flourishing river boat. Dark eyes drank in Maggie’s form with interest. The cheroot was dropped and he bowed low.

“Would you favor me with a dance, Mademoiselle?’’

“It is
Madam
, but it would be my pleasure, indeed.’’

And they were off, swinging into the melee, Maggie’s eyes catching the frowns of disbelief on the faces of Irish and Sue standing nearby. She had made a good choice. The man could dance. He led her feet carefully, smoothly in pursuit of his own. For a moment Maggie forgot her purpose and actually began to enjoy herself. Then his hands enclosed her waist more tightly, his lips whispered close to her ear.

“Who are you? You came from out of the night like some mysterious, beautiful wraith. I think you’ve enchanted me.’’

Before Maggie could answer, the music stopped. The firm hands began to lead her away, but were interrupted.

“I’ll thank you to unhand my wife, sir!’’

The older man~he must have been almost forty, for Maggie could now see specks of gray decorating his sideburns~turned on Johnny. They were the same height, but the gambler’s breadth was greater. He smiled superiorly.

“Perhaps you’d best learn to tend your own henyard before turning to others, young man.’’

Maggie saw Johnny’s fingers ball up, and before she could stop him his fist had shot out, squarely into her partner’s patrician nose.

Unbelieving, Maggie waited for what would happen next. It took no time at all. A fine linen handkerchief was removed from a pocket to dab at the injured nose. It was returned with a small flourish, followed by a great fist that smashed into Johnny’s face, sending him reeling to the ground.

Aghast, Maggie stared at the grinning stranger. His face had a wicked cast in the night light. He offered a hand to her, and she could see that it was clean, uncalloused by any work on the trail.

“The music begins again. Would you care to join me?’’

Maggie shook her head dumbly and sank next to her husband. She was out of her league. She’d been a fool to start this thing. Maggie tugged at Johnny, but he didn’t move. He’d been knocked unconscious. Other hands came to her rescue. Soon Sam and Irish were hoisting Johnny between them and Max was gently taking her arm, leading her back to their own camp. Johnny was slung down by the fire and Sam paused before her.

“You don’t want to be messing around with that man, Maggie. Goes by the name of Jack Gentry, but I suspicion he’s had others. He ain’t like us. Lots of them ain’t like us.’’ Sam turned his eyes on Johnny who was now snoring gently. “He’ll be feeling his head in the mornin’, but should come back to his right senses.’’

Maggie was left alone with her husband. She was still angry, not only with his choice of partners, but also with his attempts to stop her from the very thing he’d been doing himself. They’d never played at double-standards before. It was upsetting and frightening. She banked the fire, slung a buffalo robe over Johnny and went to sleep in the wagon with the children.

When the Chandler party travelled past the Devil’s Gate the next day Johnny was in no mood to enjoy it. They stopped for the nooning on the far side, and several members of the group went off to explore the chasm. Johnny just collapsed in a sorry heap next to the fire.

Maggie was not sympathetic. She had other things on her mind. The Donner Party had elected to travel in tandem with Chandler’s group, and aside from
la belle
widow~who’d been snooping around their fire that morning, offering unwelcome solace to
Maggie’s
husband~she’d picked up quite a bit of further gossip on the new people.

As Sam had said, they were a different breed. That gambler’s hands had been soft and clean because he’d hired someone to drive his wagon. Most of the members of the Donner party appeared very well off, indeed. They travelled with two or three wagons a family and hired drovers. Their well-kept women were stuffed into couches from whence they sniffed at salts and perfumes to keep the dust of the road from touching their dainty nostrils. They probably had gold bars secreted under their wagon beds. They certainly had no dearth of food. One of the men was even rumored to have brought his entire cellar of fine French wines and brandies with him. Maggie, miffed at such largess in a world of hunger and struggle, hoped it would all turn to vinegar. In short, her mood had not improved with the new day.

Johnny finally stirred, groaned, and raised his head to her.

“I didn’t know you could dance.’’

“I can’t. Where did you learn?’’

“I had to do something all those long winters in the cities with my pa.’’

“
Hah
! And you told me you spent them pining for me!’’

“Well, I did some of that, too.’’

“Not enough, apparently.’’

“Come on, Meg. What’s wrong with a little harmless dancing?’’

“What you were doing with that woman last night was not harmless!’’

“You were off in a wretched humor. What was I supposed to do?’’