Claimed on the Frontier (5 page)

“Pearl,” I heard Aaron calling me, but I pretended I did not hear him, lifted the nearly empty bucket of water and spoke over my shoulder.

“I’m going to fetch water from the creek.” We never drank the water straight but used it daily to brew strong, bitter coffee that masked the flavor of the water, and we’d need it for cleaning. Aaron was still busily tying up the horses, so I took my escape while I could. I knew if I scurried away, he’d be forced to tend to the animals without my aid, and I’d buy myself more time. The dinner break was typically our longest one of all. If we had leftovers from breakfast, we’d eat them then, and we’d all have a bit of a break before we continued our journey. The plan was for us to shorten our stops so that we could meet up with the wagon train Aaron had heard was ahead of us.

We’d been following just a stone’s throw from the creek for a good long while. It was savvy to travel near a water source. Aaron knew well how far we had to journey beside the creek, and a ready source of fresh water was crucial. Hunger we could bear, but running out of water was a bigger danger.

Feeling ornery and hot, hungry, and thirsty, I traipsed through the woods toward the creek, but out of sheer stubbornness, went further than I really should have, up along the bank to a quieter clearing, and just down below I saw what I was looking for. It was a pool, crystal clear and beckoning me in the hot summer sun, ringed with greenery. I longed to dip in that pool. Just one little dip. If I were quick about fetching the water, my journey would be two-fold—I’d be able to take a quick dip in the cool water as I longed to do, and if I raced back to where we’d set up a makeshift camp, I’d be able to exercise my limbs.

I scurried, ignoring the little voice that pricked at my conscience. We were not allowed to wander alone far from where the others were and certainly never to a water’s source without company. Samuel usually accompanied me to fetch water, and sometimes Matthew, but my hope was that my going alone would be ignored as the others focused on meal preparation and tending to the animals. I knew Aaron would be furious if he knew. There were too many dangers lurking at every turn, and just two days prior Matthew had been taken to task by Aaron for lingering by the water’s edge. But I was beyond rational thought, and so eager for the cool water, freedom, and just a moment of solitude, that I did not heed the warning voice. And if I were quick enough, how would he know? Though not a dishonest person by nature, I’d learned well at the Fitzgeralds’.

One could only get in trouble if one were caught.

My skirts were heavy, the gingham skirt I wore atop two petticoats fairly smothering me in the hot sun. But I didn’t want to risk them getting too wet either, so as quickly as I could, I stripped my dress and one petticoat off and laid them atop the branches of a nearby birch. I wore just my chemise and one petticoat, feeling lighter than I had in days. Off came the boots and knit socks, the bucket tossed haphazardly to the side, and I fairly raced to the water.

Oh, how cool and crisp the first touch of water felt on my bare feet. It was a balm, and I felt the frustration leeching out of me as the water lapped at my toes. It was quiet here, so quiet, and I wished I could stay for hours, but knew I had only a few stolen minutes. I scooped water in the palm of my hand and let it trickle through my fingers, running my cool, damp hand along my neck and forehead. I sighed with pleasure. It was delightful. I hiked my skirts up further, as far as possible, and waded in deeper.

It was foolish, and if I’d had my head about me, I would have known better. Unknown waters were dangerous. What looked shallow could prove to be above my head. I could not swim. And looking back I’m not quite sure I can even summon up sympathy for my stupidity. Maybe it was part stubborn pride, but I was caught up in the freedom of the moment and a strong desire not to do what I was supposed to.

I stepped forward. But no longer did I feel solid rock and sand beneath my feet in the water, but a cool depth. I know seconds after it was too late to turn back that I’d made a terrible, foolish mistake. My skirts had caught the edge of the water and hindered me, my feet unable to pull back from the current, and I plunged into the cool depths, my scream muffled with a mouthful of water.

I tried to twist my body and turn back. The shore was just feet away, and if I could just manage to claw my way back to solid footing, I could get back on the shore, but it was hopeless. I flailed in the water, reaching for something, anything that would pull me back but to no avail. I managed to lift my face one last time and scream before water gurgled in my mouth and nose. Unaware of anything but the peril I was in, I did not hear his approach nor witness him coming, but simply felt a large, powerful hand grasp the bodice of my chemise and pull.

I was being rescued. Oh, praise the Lord above, I was being hauled out of the water and dragged to dry land. I coughed and sputtered, but strong hands held me, and I knew it was Aaron. I could hear his voice though I couldn’t hear what he said, and could feel the strength of his arms beneath my legs as he carried me to shore and dumped me unceremoniously along the edge.

If I thought I’d seen him angry before, I’d been mistaken. Nothing could prepare me for the fury I saw written across his face. His eyes were thunderous, his cheeks red splotches of fury, his entire body shaking with anger as water dripped from his sodden clothes.

“Foolish girl!” he growled, even as he knelt before me and lifted my skirts. “Never,
never
go to the water alone, much less wade in! You have no idea the dangers or the depths, and what would have happened if I hadn’t followed behind you?”

“I just wanted a dip,” I protested feebly, as he shook his head and yanked me up by the arm. I stood wearing nothing but my thinnest undergarments and chemise.

“Strip off your clothing behind the birch and put your dress on. We need to dry your clothes and mine by the fire before dusk.” His voice shook, his anger a radiating presence between us, and I cowered like a naughty child caught stealing. He turned his back to me, still raging, to give me some privacy as I pulled my dry dress over my body with shaking hands. I felt nearly naked but no help for it. I was mortified, and more than a little fearful of what he would do next. He’d promised he’d wear me out if I disobeyed him, and I had.

He did not seem the type to make idle promises.

When I was dressed, he spun back around and his eyes smoldered. Both of his hands gripped my shoulders, so tightly it almost hurt, as he shook me and asked, “Are you unharmed?”

I nodded.

With stark determination in his eyes, he grasped my elbow and hauled me to where an overturned log lay. I knew I was going to be punished, and it seemed my fear at what he would do next easily rivaled the fear I’d felt just moments before as I feared drowning. He sat heavily and hauled me straight across his lap, my belly over his firm legs, my hands flailing in front of me. My cheeks burned, my eyes blurred with tears of mortification, and it seemed only natural to protest.

“Please, sir, I won’t—I can’t—I didn’t mean—” I could hardly form the words, but it did not matter. When I was sufficiently draped over his lap, my hair still dripping on the ground in front of me, he pinned me down with one firm hand on my back while the other raised my skirt, leaving one thin petticoat to protect my modesty. His hand descended with a loud, stinging, resounding
smack
that echoed across the creek. I howled and twisted, but he held fast, and another painful smack landed with little to protect me from his punishing palm. The swats landed in rapid succession, one after the other.

“Don’t you
ever
go to the water alone,” he growled, punctuating his words with one hard slap after another. “Or put yourself in danger like that!” Two more furious smacks of his palm on my backside had me sniffling quietly as the torrent continued. I knew I deserved it even though I protested, but other, inexplicable emotions had begun to surface. The way he lectured me as he punished me touched something in me that had lain buried but I wasn’t quite sure what. I knew I felt awful for having disobeyed him.

“I’m so sorry!” I wailed, but he continued.

“You ought to be,” he growled, with another sound wallop, swat after swat landing in rapid succession. I lost count, no longer able to focus on anything but the searing pain of his palm. “Every time you sit over the next few days, you’ll remember how important it is to obey me.” He landed three more hard swats. “Have I made my point, or must I cut a switch?”

“Ohh, no, sir, please don’t. You’ve made your point!” I insisted. He administered one last, hard lick.

I lay over his knee, repentant, quietly crying, riddled with foreign emotions. His fierce determination to teach me to obey him was so completely new, and it baffled me how it affected me. Though he had been angry when he punished me, the anger had been justified, and anchored to his fear for my well-being. I’d disobeyed him, risked my life, and he saw fit to punish me so that I would not repeat the same mistake. He did not strike out of malice or pride, but out of duty, and he’d only struck the flat of his palm on my backside. It was a far cry from the vicious backhanded slaps from the Fitzgeralds, and left me feeling quite different.

I was humbled and chastened, ashamed at how I’d behaved, and embarrassed by having been punished.

He stood me in front of him, both of my hands in his, and his touch made me shiver. With a stern nod, as though satisfied he’d made his point, he stood, holding onto my hand, and he grabbed my wet clothing and marched me back up to camp. When we arrived, Matthew and Samuel watched us with wide eyes, but kept their own counsel and said nothing as Aaron simply pointed for me to sit, and draped my clothing on branches by the fire for them to dry. He turned to his brothers. “We camp here for the evening.”

The delay was a blow. Our plan had been to expedite our travel—taking far shorter stops than most travelers did—in the hopes of joining a wagon train. But now, my foolishness would further delay us. Samuel worked his jaw angrily, not unlike his older brother, but Matthew just looked from me to Aaron with mild curiosity.

“Go gather the chips,” Aaron instructed Matthew. We would need a good supply of buffalo chips for our fire. The chips burned steadily and with little smoke, and were fairly easy to come by in our travels, but needed to be gathered in the light of day. I meekly hung a rope by the trees and strung the clothing to dry by the fire. The day was warm and the sun shone down, and I hoped everything would dry quickly. I kept my back turned to Aaron—I could not look at him—as Matthew trotted away and gathered buffalo chips. Samuel took the ax to a fallen log a good distance away, and I heard the echoes of the ax splitting the log in two. Lost in my own swirling thoughts and emotions, I fairly leapt out of my skin when I heard Aaron’s low voice just behind me.

“Are you all right?” came his low drawl. I shook as he stepped in front of me and dipped his head. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

My eyes dropped to the clothing, and I swallowed hard as my fingers trembled on the damp cloth.

“Yes, sir,” I said, not entirely sure it was true.
Was
I all right? My hands shook so badly, my petticoat slipped and he grasped it just before it hit the ground, his large hands smoothing the fabric over the line. His eyes met mine as he adjusted the clothing.

“You had a scare,” he said, with a pause as his voice dipped lower. “And I punished you.”

At his words, my heart stuttered, a jolt of something almost like fear but not quite fear causing my face to grow warm, and a deep, instinctive warmth to spread low in my belly. I met his gaze. He was not apologizing, and I knew with certainty not only did he not regret punishing me, he would do it again if he felt the situation warranted it.

“Yes, sir,” I repeated, unsure of my voice. My mouth felt parched and my voice shaky. I wished I didn’t have to speak, but I was loath to disrespect him with a lack of response. “I’m fine.”

Was I fine? I still felt so embarrassed I wished I could cover my face with my apron and run from him, but my feelings were conflicted. I remembered the touch of his hands on mine after he’d punished me, and my body longed to feel his touch again. What would it feel like if, after he’d punished me, he’d gathered me in his arms? If my tears had dampened his shirt as he held me, pressed close to his chest, his whiskers up against my skin? I could not name my feelings. I had no reference to explain or begin to understand the wild torrent within me. Why did I feel shy and quiet and he, so much stronger? Why did my body long for his touch, and not the chaste touches he’d given me, but something more?

All these thoughts and more tied my tongue, and the words “I’m fine” hung between us as he stood opposite me, the damp clothes flapping in the wind, a distance between us but the memory of being intimately strewn over his lap vivid. He crossed over to me then, pushing past the wet clothes, and to my shock, his hands spanned my waist and pulled me close to him. His arms encircled me, and one firm hand pressed my head against his chest. I sighed, and tears stung my eyes from the unexpected tenderness. Tentatively, I placed my hands around him, embracing him back as he held me. He smelled like smoke from the fire, a strong woodsy smell. I knew then he was no longer angry. Releasing me, he put one finger under my chin and lifted my face. His honey-colored eyes looked deeply into mine, unapologetic and possessive. My breath hitched. He was so close. What would it feel like if his lips met mine? My entire body hummed with need.

“You be careful,” he whispered, his finger still under my chin. “Will you be careful, Pearl?”

He asked as if taking care of myself was a favor to him.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered. He released me then. My breath caught in my throat and my hands hung helplessly by my side, as if they couldn’t remember what to do. I faced the clothesline again, and my hands shook as I tried to finish hanging the clothes. One of Aaron’s large hands closed over mine.

“I’ll finish this,” he said softly. “Go rest in the wagon before you’re needed again. This is the only time we’ll have to rest before we continue home. “