A Shelter of Hope (5 page)

“I still don’t understand why you’d be willing to just sell her out like that,” Davis remarked. “Probably plenty of fellows elsewhere that could give you better money than me. Why, some of those mine owners would probably pay a pretty penny to have her there to keep the miners happy.”

Louis shrugged. The thought had never crossed his mind before Davis mentioned it. He supposed he should think the thing through more clearly. He’d never seen Simone as an asset before. Still, he thought of the pelt business and how summer would find him half crazed and bored. “Suppose I could take her with me,” Louis replied, “but I’d rather not be slowed down.” He sighed and made up his mind right there and then. If Davis wanted her and agreed to his price, he’d do the deal and be done with it. “Look, she has to marry someone. At least you’d have the house and trade, and she’d be comfortable. Who knows? Maybe she’ll give you a few sons to help keep you in your old age. And with Simone off my hands, I can tend to my own needs—get me a wife, maybe have a few sons of my own. After all, I’m not much older than you.”

Garvey took all of this in and became so fascinated by the idea that he forgot to cheat at the game and Louis threw down the winning hand. “I’ve had enough of cards. What say we make our way to your place?” Davis suggested hopefully.

Louis eyed the stack of money in front of him. His winnings nearly doubled what he’d started out with, and if he could somehow sell off his place and daughter, he might well triple it. “Let’s go,” he told the man. He hoisted the rifle, which had lain across his lap the entire duration of his stay at the Red Slipper, and threw a gold coin to Ada. “I’ll be back to collect on the change,” he told her with a wry grin.

Simone had taken the event of her father’s absence from the house as a reason for celebration. Her first order of business came in the form of a rare treat—a hot bath. She went to the pelt shed and took down the largest tub she could find, then dragged it back to the house. Next, she drew water and ice from the stream and spent nearly three quarters of an hour getting enough of the liquid heated over the hearth to fill the tub. It took a lot of effort, but it was definitely worth the time and trouble. Sinking into the steaming water, Simone couldn’t remember when anything had ever felt this good.

Using hard lye soap, she did her best to wash her long black hair. Many times she had no other recourse but to use cornstarch to rid the ebony mass of oil and dirt, but most of the time her hair simply went dirty and unkempt.

After her bath Simone tied an ancient robe around her body, stoked up the fire in the hearth, and heated another kettle of water. Her clothes were next to go into the tub. With only two outfits to her name, both having belonged to her mother, Simone had to be careful to keep them as serviceable as possible. They usually went days—sometimes weeks—without a good washing, and yet Simone often worried that if she washed them too much, the poor things might fall completely apart.

She finished the task quickly, then spread them out in front of the fire. With this accomplished she emptied the tub, braving the cold temperatures to walk back across the yard to the pelt shed. The cold wind whipped up under the robe, stinging her legs. Picking up her pace, Simone didn’t even take the time to appreciate the beauty of the day before her. She longed only for the security and solitude that came from the closed door of her cabin. A sigh escaped her as she closed the door and sought out the warmth of the fireplace once again. She readjusted the clothes, then began to comb out her hair, drying it by the heat of the hearth.

If only it could be like this always
, she thought.
If only he would stay away and leave me be. I could live quite happily without ever seeing another human being, if only my father would disappear from the face of the earth
.

Simone always found herself hopeful that her father might one day forget to come back to the little cabin. She didn’t go so far as to pray for this because she had firmly convinced herself that prayer was little more than mutterings and utterances from weaklings and cowards. But she did wish for it and often imagined her life without Louis Dumas. In fact, this became her favorite pastime.

She pictured herself living quietly on the side of the mountain. No one coming or going. No one to even know of her existence. She also considered the idea of loading up the things that were important to her and trekking off across the rugged mountains to parts unknown. She wouldn’t go to Uniontown, however. The men made her uncomfortable there, and the women, mostly mixed race, were quiet and kept to themselves. Naniko told her that it wasn’t good to be alone so much of the time, but Simone thought it the lesser of the two evils in her world. To be alone simply meant the absence of her father, and that cherished state of living held far greater interest to Simone than his companionship.

When her clothes and hair had dried, Simone dressed and went to work preparing a simple stew. Her father could very well spend the night in Uniontown, but it was also a possibility that he would return. And if he did so and found nothing in the way of supper, Simone knew his rage would be endless. Opening several cans of vegetables and cutting up the last of a hindquarter from a bighorn sheep, Simone had the stew simmering in a matter of minutes. She loved canned vegetables. It seemed so little would grow for her here in her mountain habitat. And why should she labor over the poor soil when someone had already gone to the trouble to package the necessary article in a can of tin? Her father, too, seemed pleased with the convenience and never balked at the purchase.

Of course, bread was another matter. Simone didn’t really mind putting her hand to baking. In fact, of all her tasks she rather enjoyed this one. A person could work out a great deal of anxiety and frustration on a lump of dough, she had decided. And she found she had a knack for producing light, fluffy biscuits and golden, crusty loaves of bread that made one’s mouth water just catching a whiff of the aroma in the air.

Simone thought for a moment, then reached for some flour. They would have biscuits tonight. She liked to cut them out and float them atop the stew to bake and brown as the stew cooked. It made a tasty treat that both warmed the body and stuck to the ribs. And it required very little attention on Simone’s part.

Leaning against the single window in their cabin, Simone stared out on the landscape and wondered if her life would ever be different. She found it easy to maintain a stoic reserve in regard to her welfare. She knew nothing else, although she’d heard stories of cities in other places and of people in beautiful clothes riding in carriages. But Simone had done such a good job of keeping her emotions in check that she couldn’t even muster enough imagination to contemplate the possibilities of such a life. Her one and only concession was to consider Naniko’s suggestion that being alone wasn’t good for anyone. But even here, Simone kept a close guard on her heart. Naniko’s friendship had been a welcomed and wonderful thing when Simone’s mother had first left her, but Simone was no fool. She saw the aged woman’s health begin to fail and knew that death would not be far behind. Realizing that, Simone had begun a systematic effort to wean her affections away from Naniko. She never again wanted to feel the pain of losing someone she cared about, and the only way to accomplish that feat seemed to be simple: Don’t care about anyone.

She started to turn from the window but movement in the trees caught her attention. Far down the path that led to the Dumas cabin, Simone could make out the figures of two men on horseback. One was clearly her father, but the other man was a stranger. Simone watched for a moment longer, then gave a shudder. They’d no doubt drink and carry on until all hours of the night, leaving Simone little choice but to seek solace in the pelt shed. The only problem was, her father had just sold off his pelts. The shed would be cold and comfortless.

Thinking on this, Simone went quickly to a small trunk and pulled out her one pair of woolen stockings. They had been darned and mended many times, but they were still warm. Pulling these on and securing them with a garter, Simone dug into the trunk again and pulled out pantalets. They had once belonged to her mother and Simone seldom found a need to wear them, but thinking of the freezing temperatures and a night in the pelt shed, Simone pulled them on as well and relished the added warmth. She slipped on her knee-high moccasins and was just finishing up the laces when she heard her father’s voice in the yard outside the cabin.

“You can see for yourself,” he said in his bellowing way, “the shed is there. Just beyond is a creek with clear water and plenty of fish. Oh, and berries so juicy you’ll thank the Maker for such sweetness.”

Simone wondered at this tour of the property. Her father seemed quite happy, and yet she knew he’d left in a fit of frustration and anger. The pelts were substandard, he had told her, and he was certain to be cheated out of a fair price. Simone had fully expected him to drink himself into oblivion and sleep it off in Uniontown. Maybe even stay with Ada at the Red Slipper Saloon. Yet here he stood, waving his arms in different directions, preaching of the merits of his land and holdings. What could it mean?

Simone went again to the window and, without revealing herself to the men outside, peeked out. They both still sat astride their horses and, to her relief, faced away from the house. The man with her father was a shorter, stockier man with a grizzled look to him. She watched as the men walked their horses in a lazy circle around the yard before returning to the house. Simone could clearly see the stranger now. His face, half hidden by a bushy beard and moustache, seemed leathery and worn. His nose bent to one side before hooking down like an eagle’s beak, and his eyes were deep set and pale. Simone thought him the ugliest man she’d ever seen. Even uglier than Flat Nose, a man in Uniontown whose nose, it was rumored, had been cut off by the Indians some forty years earlier.

The men began to dismount, and Simone, not wishing to be caught watching them, hurried to the fireplace to check on the stew. It appeared to be thickening nicely and already the biscuits were rising amidst the bubbling broth. She straightened up just as the door latch lifted, and with spoon still in hand, she waited to see what might happen next.

Her father came in first, with the stranger close upon his heel. They both just stood and stared at her for a moment, almost as if they hadn’t expected her to be there. Then her father started to laugh and gave the stranger a hearty slap on the back.

“Well, tell me, Davis. Did I lie? Ain’t she a beauty?”

Simone felt nauseous as the man called Davis leered at her and licked his thick lower lip. “That she is. I’ll happily pay your price.”

“What price?” Simone couldn’t help but ask.

Louis Dumas ignored her and went about the room, gathering up first one article and then another while Davis counted out several gold coins.

“What’s going on?” Simone asked, her voice tremoring. Placing the spoon on the mantel, she braved her father’s wrath and went to him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” she asked, swallowing hard. “Where are we going?”

“
We
ain’t goin’ anywhere. I am goin’ to Colorado to seek a fortune and get me a new wife. You,” he said, stopping long enough to motion in Davis’s direction, “are staying with him.”

Simone felt a chill descend upon her body and began to tremble. It was akin to reliving her mother’s desertion all over again. She had no lost love for her father, but at least he was familiar and she knew how to live with him. “What do you mean I’m staying with him? I don’t know this man.”

Louis Dumas laughed and pushed his daughter in the direction of the stranger. “You’ll know him soon enough. He’s your new husband.”

“Husband?” Simone stepped to the side and rounded the table where Davis still counted out coins. Terror seemed to rise from her stomach and choke her. She could scarcely breathe.

Her father joined the man and nodded as he tested each coin to see if they were real. “Garvey Davis is his name. He’s buyin’ the place, the traps, and …” he paused to look at her, as if to ascertain whether she was listening, then added, “you.”

“I don’t understand. I don’t want to marry this man. In fact, there isn’t a preacher around here for miles,” Simone protested. “Mother told me you needed a preacher to marry folks.”

Dumas laughed. “It isn’t the way of the wilds, girl. Folks round here live as married. When the preacher gets around, they do it right—or not. Davis here is your husband now, and you’ll answer to him.” He finished checking the coins, then threw them into a pouch.

“Good luck, Davis.”

“To you as well,” the gravelly voice called back.

“You can’t just leave me here,” Simone protested, unable to keep the fear from her voice. Her breath came in rapid, shallow draws. The last thing she wanted to do was allow him to see how afraid she really felt. Her father might be an oppressive beast of a man, but at least he was a beast she knew and halfway understood.

“I can and I am,” Dumas replied. “He owns you now, same as this place. Do what he says, or it’s my bet you’ll get a worse beatin’ than anything I ever gave you.”