Brides of Prairie Gold (30 page)

She shook her head so fiercely that her bonnet wobbled atop her blond curls. Business was her purpose here, nothing else.

Sharpening her concentration, she scanned the people inside the fort and crowding the balcony railings. She saw trappers, soldiers, travelers, traders, but the only women she noticed were sullen-faced Indian squaws. The Indian women moved in the shade near the walls, like shadows themselves. Most were wrapped in blankets, the edges raised to cover much of their faces. But some stood hipshot and brazen, touching their breasts and calling in low voices to the men who passed on the boardwalks.

Turning aside in shocked disgust, Augusta examined the other side of the fort. The only white woman she spotted was leaning far over a balcony railing, screaming obscenities at a departing man. Her hair swung loose over her shoulders, and she wore a wrapper that gaped to the waist.

Augusta blinked hard, looked around her, and her heart sank. There existed a very real possibility that she was the only woman in Fort Laramie clad in hat and gloves, or wearing a clean skirt and a waist decently closed to the throat. She had not seen a single female with whom she could bear to exchange a word. The thought of sharing her wagon with such creatures horrified her.

When she realized Cody Snow had called her name twice, she turned blank eyes in his direction.

"Heck will send Lucy Hastings's belongings back to Chastity, and the goods that belonged to Bill Macy and Jeb Holden. Also, he has some items to pick up for the brides. I'll auction the whiskey; Webb will hire more teamsters." He stood on the ground, gazing up at her with coolly expressionless eyes as if totally indifferent to the Boyd name and her own personal charms. Well. She didn't care much for him either. "Meet us by the flagpole at midday. That should allow you time to settle your business."

Nodding, Augusta swept a slow second look around the interior of the fort. Anxiety clogged her throat. She hadn't a notion where to begin. "I thought you would accompany me," she said in a high thin voice.

Tilting back the brim of his hat, Cody frowned in undisguised exasperation. "My duties don't include playing nursemaid, Miss Boyd. You have two choices. You hire yourself a maid or you arrange passage home. Whichever, you'll have to manage it on your own. I made that clear before we left camp."

The mere suggestion of returning to Chastity made her heart lurch. She gripped the edge of the wooden seat and didn't move until the whiskey wagon stopped. Then she halted her descent when she noticed the hard-eyed, bearded faces of the men loitering in the post square. They watched with hot eyes, rape in their stares. They nudged each other and shouted vulgar comments that frightened her half to death.

She could not imagine spending a day in this hideous crude sin-hole of a place, let alone waiting here for a train to carry her back to Chastity. And she would rather die where she stood than destroy her pride by returning to Chastity.

Without thinking, she looked for Webb, her gaze imploring protection and reassurance. But the cold flatness in his gaze informed her that he had observed her disgust at the sight of the Indians sitting on the boardwalks, their bare feet in the dirt.

A flush of embarrassment deepened the color in her sunburned cheeks. Webb was as far removed from the half-naked savages lolling about the post as butter from grass. Still, it occurred to her that one of the ugly squaws could easily be a relative of his. The filthy Indian reeling drunkenly past the wagon might be a half-brother or a cousin.

This reminder of who he was sickened her. He was not her kind. And when she saw his lip curl back from his teeth, she understood that he read her expression perfectly. She stared at him, then swung her eyes away and watched the drunken Indian scratch his crotch. Her backbone stiffened and her chin lifted. So be it. If Coate thought his kind repulsed her, he was right. He would think twice before he attempted to assault her again.

"Miss Boyd?" Heck Kelsey stood below her, his hand extended to assist her from the wagon.

Aware that dozens of male eyes stared, watching for a glimpse of ankle, her heart pounding in fright, she reluctantly stepped from the wagon, holding her skirts tightly to her body.

But she did not go in search of a new maid. She simply could not make herself leave the safety of the wagon. Moreover, hers was a fool's errand; she had understood that for several minutes.

Instead, she passed the morning in hopeless frustration, standing beneath the boiling sun beside the flagpole, quaking like an aspen, staying always within Cody Snow's sight. She waited, perspiring beneath her thin useless parasol while Cody auctioned off the whiskey barrels, waited while he posted letters to Lucy's Oregon fiance, and to Lucy's family and the families of the dead teamsters. Then, after the whiskey barrels had been dispersed, she fidgeted while Cody approved two rough-looking teamsters that Webb had hired, then waited some more until Heck Kelsey finally returned and assisted her back into the wagon. It wouldn't occur to her until later that Heck was taking fresh provisions back to everyone but her. She had completely forgotten about eggs or vegetables or rice powder.

When her tailbone jarred against the hard wooden seat as Heck shouted the oxen back toward the sanctuary of their camp, tears of relief dampened her eyes. Fort Laramie, and the rough men who occupied it, had frightened her badly.

Shortly before they reached the familiar haven of squared wagons, Cody dropped back to ride beside her. He touched his fingers to the tip of his hat and nodded.

"Did you hire a maid or a driver?" he shouted over the rattle and creak of wheels and harness.

He knew perfectly well that she had not wandered more than four feet from the wagon all morning. "I am going to Oregon," she stated flatly. She could not return to Chastity destitute, could not live in some rented hovel within sight of the mansion she had once commanded. Her need to marry Mr. Clampet had not changed. , She could not go back.

But how could she go forward without someone to drive her stupid oxen and do for her?

"I'll spell this out for you, Miss Boyd, so there's no misunderstanding. I can't and won't spare a man to drive your wagon. And the other brides are under no obligation to do your work for you. If you cannot drive, cook your meals, or set up your tent I have no place for you on this train."

She stared into his tanned face and felt her stomach cramp in sudden fear.

"We're leaving in the morning. If you're going to wait at the fort until you can arrange transportation back to Chastity, I'll try to find you a private room, try to discover when the next train heading east is expected. But you need to inform me of your plans immediately or I won't be able to assist you."

She didn't see him touch his heels to the buckskin's side and canter on ahead. Fear, powerful and debilitating, had paralyzed her.

"Excuse me," Augusta called, stopping beside Sarah Jennings's wagon. Sarah and Cora were busily rearranging the wagon, packing Cora's belongings into the space recently occupied by Lucy Hastings's goods. "Moving Cora's things isn't necessary," she added grandly.

"I beg your pardon?" Pausing over a trunk, Sarah wiped her hands on her apron and tucked a lock of dark hair into the bun on top of her head. "What are you talking about?"

"Why, dear Cora, of course." She made her lips curve in a smile that Cora didn't return. The cheeky creature scowled back with suspicion flaring in her ferret's eyes. "I've decided to forgive you," she said, resenting each honeyed word. "You can remain with me for the rest of the journey."

Cora's mouth dropped. Even Sarah blinked in surprise.

Augusta waved a hand in modest dismissal, misunderstanding their reaction. "I know it's difficult to believe that I could find it in my heart to forgive your rudeness and insolence, but forgiveness is a virtue that I've always"

"No," Cora snapped, "what's hard to believe is that you think I'd rather be your lick-spittle than be a bride." She stared hard. "Well, you're wrong! I'm going to be a bride and get me a husband just like the rest of you. I ain't never going to be your slave again!" She bent to a box and lifted it up to Sarah.

Sarah stood on the wagon's tailgate looking down at Augusta as if watching someone who had taken leave of her senses. A flicker of pity darkened her eyes.

"All right," Augusta snapped at Cora, suddenly furious. How dare a mere Jennings look at her like that? "I'll pay you a weekly wage for your labors. Will that satisfy you?"

Cora's fingers tightened on the corners of the box she held against her chest. Her gaze narrowed. "I don't want your ill-gotten gains. I want to be a bride."

Augusta's breath stopped and her stomach looped into a slow roll. "What do you mean, my 'ill-gotten gains'?" she demanded.

A hard knowing look came into Cora's eyes. "You know exactly what I mean. I ain't taking no dead man's money!"

The implied accusation was so unexpected, so paralyzing, that it left Augusta breathless and gasping. Cora knew. Somehow she had guessed. Throwing out a hand, Augusta steadied herself against the edge of the tailgate, and her mind raced. How would Sarah interpret this conversation? Be calm, she ordered herself frantically, be calm. Sarah would believe Cora referred to Augusta's deceased father. Of course.

But she understood at once that Cora had resurfaced as a threat. And Cora was not going to return to Augusta's wagon. A wave of dizziness shook through her body. When it passed, her lips curled back from her teeth.

"You don't know what you're talking about," she hissed. "You're only making wild guesses." The sudden doubt drawing Cora's cheeks told her this was true. "You're nothing but rubbish! Your father digs graves and your mother takes in wash! I wish I'd never brought you with me!"

Sarah jerked as if the desperate words had been addressed to her. Her face went hard and cold. "Excuse us, Miss Boyd. Miss Thorp and I have work to do. Perhaps you do too." Her dark eyes swept Augusta's dusty skirts and curls, drawing a pointed contrast to her own and Cora's freshly laundered clothing and shining clean hair. They had spent their morning at the river.

Turning away, they continued their work, speaking to each other as if Augusta were not standing three feet away.

When the panic eased enough that her knees unlocked, she tossed her head and strolled away as if she hadn't a care.

Ona Norris's eyes widened into an appalled expression.

She gaped as if Augusta had sprouted horns through her hair. "You want me to do what ?" The teacup in her hand jerked and spilled tea down her skirt.

Augusta clucked her tongue and shook her head over the spilled tea, then repeated the offer. "We get along well, you must admit, so I decided it would be agreeable if you moved from Thea's wagon to mine. You're preforming half the chores now," she explained in a reasonable tone. "By expending a little more effort, you could earn a tidy nest egg between here and Clampet Falls. If you save the wages I'm offering, you can begin your married life with something put aside."

She congratulated herself for hitting upon the perfect solution. Beaming, she leaned back in her camp chair and waited for Ona to accept the opportunity to share her wagon. Ona impressed her as clever enough to grasp the beneficial aspects of observing a true lady at close quarters. There was much she could teach the girl.

The teacup slipped from Ona's fingers and fell to the ground. She stood, shaking with offense. Surprised, Augusta gazed at her in bewilderment. What on earth?

"I am not a servant, Miss Boyd!" Crimson pulsed in her cheeks. "I nursed my cousin in response to a signal from God, not because I was paid, and not because I was a servant!"

"Your cousin has nothing to do with I didn't even know that you'd nursed any" Ona's low snarl cut her off.

"How dare you offer this insult!" Fury set Ona's stare on fire. An incoherent sound sputtered from her throat, then she ground her boot on the teacup that had belonged to Augusta's mother before she caught her skirts around her and stormed away from Augusta's fire.

Anger and confusion pinched Augusta's lips. Truly, she didn't understand Ona's response. She had genuinely believed Ona would accept her offer, and happily. Instead the ungrateful chit had broken her mother's teacup. It was unforgivable.

"Well," she said, trying to bolster spirits that had begun to flag. She gave her head a brave little toss. "Ona Norris isn't the only pebble on the road."

Ignoring the nervous cramps in her stomach, she patted her hair and smoothed her skirts, irritated that she hadn't yet solved this matter so she too could bathe in the river.

Jane Munger was her next choice.

Jane raised a hand before Augusta could state her proposition. "Don't bother, Miss Boyd, I've already heard that you're trying to hire a slavey." Her chin lifted and a twinkle of insolent amusement sparkled in her eyes. "I'm not interested in being your lackey, not for any price."

Augusta raised her own chin. She didn't give a fig for Jane Munger's opinion. Who was Jane Munger, anyway? No one had ever heard of the Mungers.

"You flatter yourself if you think I intended to offer you a position," she said haughtily. "I doubt you could meet my qualifications. I have very exacting standards."

"Oh, Cora assured us that you do, Miss Boyd," Jane said with a wink at Winnie.

Furious, cheeks flaming, Augusta spun away.

Halting out of Jane's and Winnie's sight, she tried to think whom to approach next. Bootie? Out of the question; the silly fliberty gibbet burst into tears every time she saw Augusta, then launched into a weepy explanation of why she had spoken to Jake Quinton. Winnie was still too frail to be of any use, and Augusta didn't care for her anyway. Thea was hopeless, capable of burying her nose in her sketchbook and entirely forgetting her chores. Since Hilda had agreed to teach Cora how to speak properlya waste of time, in Augusta's opinionHilda would probably take Cora's side. Sarah was too uppity and held too high an opinion of herself. Mem was too independent and outspoken. There wasn't one of them whom Augusta liked, and they were so consumed by envy and jealousy that none of them would help her. Such spiteful creatures were probably enjoying her predicament.