Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (7 page)

“Town life isn’t for me, either.”

“You said that boy in there laid for you,” Farr said after a companionable silence. “Seems like he was taking a big chunk to chew for a kid.”

“He thought he had a right. His family was killed by a raiding party, and someone convinced him I was one of them. It was your old friend, Hammond Perry, by the way.”

“Perry? I haven’t heard anything about him since he went west with Zachary Taylor.”

“Taylor got rid of him. He’s in the keelboat and trade business now. I saw him in Cahokia a few days back. That’s where he set the kid on me.”

“I was sure someone would’ve killed that bastard Perry by now,” Farr snorted, remembering how Perry had tried to get him hanged for treason seven years earlier.

“He’ll get it. He doesn’t have the protection of the militia behind him now.”

With knowledge born of long experience, Rain’s trained ears picked up the sound of soft leather whispering against the plank floor behind him, and his eyes caught a shadow on the ceiling. Even without the faint aroma of rose water he would have known that Amy had come into the room and moved to the far corner behind him. Seconds later he heard the creak of ropes as she seated herself in a chair. Suddenly he had a prickly feeling on the back of his neck, a feeling born from years of caution. Amy’s eyes were on him.

“Perry set the boy on you, huh?” Farr broke into his thoughts.

“This ear with the nick in it was worth fifty dollars in silver to the boy.” Rain touched his earlobe and flashed his friend a shy grin.

“How come you aimed high? You could always put a blade where you wanted it.”

“It was an instant decision. The kid didn’t look like a killer. He looked hungry and scared and kind of reminded me of myself at that age.”

Farr chuckled. “If you were ever scared you didn’t show it.”

“I was scared plenty of times during those first years. Not quite so often now, but it comes on once in a while.”

“Do you have any plans for settling down?”

“A few. I’ve been as far west on the Missouri as I want to go, and as far north on the Mississippi. I’ve got a liking for a warmer country, where the streams run all year, the summers are long and the winters short.”

“I’ve thought of it myself when I break the ice on the pond so the animals can drink, and when I watch the honkers going south for the winter.”

“I found a place that suits me. It’s wild and free, Farr, with clear streams, mountains, game, grass that reaches the belly on a horse, and trees that grow straight as an arrow. It’s a place untouched by man.” Rain’s expression softened and his eyes came alive as he spoke.

“This place was that way when Juicy and I first came here. Only the Indians had been here before us.”

“I didn’t find even Indian signs in my mountain valley, although there are plenty of Osage and Cherokee in the area.”

A murmur of voices came from the other room. The boy had called out in his sleep and Liberty was soothing him. It had been a while since Rain had been in the midst of a family. The peace of sitting in a warm cabin in front of a fire on a cold night with the sounds and the smell of women and children about brought forth a restlessness in Rain.

“Farr, do you still have the yen to cross rivers and climb mountains?” Rain asked quietly. His words were like a searching hand reaching out.

Farr was looking into the fire as if his mind was somewhere far away. “At times,” he said slowly.

Rain leaned forward and knocked the bowl of his pipe against the stone of the fireplace.

“I had a letter from Colby waiting for me when I got to Saint Louis. He wants to move on and make a place for himself. I thought to tell him he was welcome to come with me to Arkansas if he had a mind to.”

“He spoke of coming here and building a gristmill.”

“He mentioned that too.”

“I’ve heard of Arkansas. Is it filling up as fast as it is here?”

“People are moving into the southeastern section and planting cotton. My mountain valley is to the west and south of the Arkansas River. I spent two years in the area with Will Bradford. Last year he established a fort at Belle Point to keep the peace among local Osage, Cherokee and non-Indian settlers who have tried to take up land in the Indian Territory.”

Farr’s head rested against the back of his chair. “How far west is your valley?” he queried softly.

“Three, maybe four hundred miles west of the Mississippi and about that many miles south.”

“Rivers and mountains,” Farr said, low-voiced.

“Clear sparkling streams and tall pines.” Rain stared into the fire. “It’s peaceful and quiet. Deer came down to drink not a dozen feet from where I sat on the bank of a stream watching fish as long as my arm. It’s a land of resinous pine, cedar, juniper, long green meadows and unexpected canyons. I spent a month there. The only smoke I saw was from my own fire. I didn’t want to leave.”

Rain glanced at Farr. He seemed to be totally absorbed in his thoughts and he wondered if by speaking of his valley he had stirred up a buried restlessness in his friend. He remembered the plans the two of them and Colby Carroll had made years ago during the long winter evenings. He remembered how distance had called to them. They had talked of strange valleys, of canyons where no man had gone, of far heights and lonely places. They had dreamed of climbing mountains, crossing rivers and trekking to the shore of the great water that was said to be beyond the mountains.

“I suppose you’ll be heading back in the spring,” Farr said, breaking the long silence.

“I’m hoping to get an early start, but first I’m going to Louisville. Will Bradford has asked me to escort his intended bride and her aunt to Belle Point, which means it will take me almost twice as long to get back there.”

Farr chuckled. “Escorting a bride? I don’t envy you the job.”

“Hell! I’d not do it for anyone but Will Bradford. I owe him a favor. He can’t get away for at least another year. The girl is a second cousin and alone except for the aunt. Will thinks a wife would help bring some refinement to the fort.”

“If all he wants is a woman, I’d think he could find one closer than Louisville.”

“It’s more than that. Will doesn’t even know Miss Woodbury, but he feels responsible for her. He’ll wed her and kill two birds with one stone. He sent money to outfit a wagon. I’m hoping to find a couple of good men to go with me.”

“And if you don’t?”

“I’ll go it alone.”

Liberty came into the room and placed Mary Elizabeth in the cradle. She covered the sleeping child and pulled the cradle back away from the light.

“The boy’s name is Mike Hartman,” she said when she turned. “The homestead where he lived with his family was attacked by a band of renegades who have been raiding up and down the Missouri River. Everyone was killed, the homestead burned. He blames himself because he was in Franklin at a turkey shoot and not at home to help protect his family. The way his mother and sisters died is tearing him apart.”

Farr caught her hand as she passed him to go back into the room where the boy lay.

“Sit with us for a while. Daniel will call you if the boy needs you.” He pulled her down on his lap and she rested in his arms. Her head dropped forward against his chest. His lips touched her forehead, his cheek lay for a moment against her hair.

“I feel so sorry for him,” Liberty murmured. “He’s really alone. All his kin are dead.”

“He’s lucky it was Rain he was after, sweetheart. Any other man would have killed him.” Farr placed gentle kisses on his wife’s brow and played with her hand.

“I know. But I think it has just now come home to him that he’s alone, and he’s scared.”

Rain turned his eyes away from the couple in the chair. Their demonstration of affection was something new to him. He’d seen trollops fondled in taverns, but this was different. Every gesture, every look that passed between Farr and Libby spoke of their love for each other. They shared their thoughts, their sorrows, their dreams.

Rain’s thoughts turned to the more intimate side of married life. How would it be to have a woman come into his arms so willingly, share his life, his love, his bed? He had seen a lot of country, and he had learned a lot, but what was the use of that unless it could be shared with somebody? When the first sap of youth was in him he had wanted to challenge the world, but there was a time when any man worth his salt wanted a wife and a home and a son. The thought surprised him. He had to admit that he liked the warm feeling of the house, the sound of the fire, the comfortable sounds of a woman moving about. A man had to put down roots, build something to call his own. He would do that in his mountain valley. What was a life worth if it was wasted in idle drifting?

Amy hadn’t moved since she came to sit in the back of the room. Rain remembered how talkative she used to be. What had happened to change her? Had she remembered the last private words that had passed between them and was now embarrassed? Rain hadn’t expected to see her in Farr’s house. She must not have remarried after Juicy’s death. He wondered why. In a place as settled as this, there were five men to every woman. More than likely several woman-hungry men had camped on the doorstep before Juicy was laid in the ground, so it couldn’t be for the lack of opportunity that she had remained unwed.

Behind him the rope chair squeaked. Rain heard the swish of slippers on the board floor, and then smelled the faint aroma of rose water as Amy passed.

“Good night,” she murmured.

“Stay and visit with us, Amy.” Liberty would have gotten up, but Farr held her on his lap.

“No. I think I’ll go to bed. Call if you need me to help with the boy.”

Rain watched Amy go up the stairs. She was no longer the coltish girl, but a woman who moved with a casual, natural grace that was pleasant to watch. Like a blade of tall prairie grass swaying in the wind, he thought. He felt a stirring in his body and had to remind himself that she was just a pretty woman he’d known a long time ago when she was a child.

Amy felt Rain’s eyes on her back. She held her head up and forced her trembling legs to carry her up the steep stairs to the loft. She felt her way along the wall to her bed and sat down, holding her palms to her cheeks. Her chest hurt, her throat felt as if a hand were squeezing it, and her eyes burned. For years she had dreamed of Rain’s homecoming and it hadn’t been at all as she had imagined it would be.

Rain, the stubborn dark-haired boy she had known and loved, had changed. He was taller and heavier than Farr, but more than that, she had seen in his eyes during the brief time she had looked into them that he was different on the inside as well. He wanted no one, needed no one, depended on no one but himself. He was strong, very strong, not only with the muscular strength that came from living in the wilderness, but with an inner toughness like tempered steel that would bend but not break.

He had changed, but she could still see glimpses of the boy she had loved. His hair was still as black as a crow’s wing, his eyes still saw everything without seeming to. He still moved with the grace of a wildcat; head up, proud and aloof. And, like a wildcat, Rain Tallman would never be tamed. Inwardly he would always have that toughness of purpose, that leashed fury that could break loose, as it must have done when he knifed the boy. Amy remembered another time when Rain, the boy, had sprung as quick as a cat on to the back of a man who had taken an unfair advantage of Farr. He would have plunged his knife into the man’s throat had Colby Carroll not intervened.

Amy stood, and despite the cold, undressed slowly. She pulled her nightdress from beneath her pillow, slipped it over her head, crawled between the blankets, and consoled herself with the knowledge that Rain hadn’t married. If he had, he would have surely mentioned it to Farr.

Rain was home. Her waiting was over and she was more miserable than she had ever been in her life. Tears of disappointment flooded her eyes. One of the foolish dreams that had sustained her since Juicy’s death had been of herself running down the lane to meet Rain when he returned. He would see her coming and open his arms. She would run into them and he would swing her high into the air and laugh joyously before he smothered her with passionate kisses. He would tell her he had come to her as soon as he heard she was a widow, and now nothing on earth would keep them apart.

Rain’s homecoming had been the very opposite of her dream. He had not even recognized her when they met on the road. Amy rolled over on her stomach, buried her face in her pillow and gritted her teeth. He had scarcely looked at her when she came into the room. All he had said was hello, Amy. I’m surprised he even remembered my name, she thought angrily.

He hadn’t come
home
at all! He had just stopped by on his way to Louisville, then he was going back to his damned valley! Amy felt a spurt of anger for the wasted years. She was nineteen years old and she had waited for him for seven years. She wouldn’t wait any longer. She hated him, she told herself. He was so self-centered he didn’t know the first thing about loving or needing anyone. A stubborn, independent, know-it-all jackass. That much about him
hadn’t
changed.

“Damn you, Rain Tallman,” she cried silently. “I made a real fool of myself putting on a dress, splashing myself with rose water, letting my hair hang down. I did it so you’d notice me and all you said was, ‘hello, Amy.’ Oh . . . I wish I didn’t love you!”

She fell into a fitful sleep and dreamed of a tall, thin boy with serious dark eyes who whispered close to her ear. “Don’t cry, Amy. I’ll be back.”

Four

An hour before dawn Amy slipped out of the house and went to the barn to milk. While doing so she came to a decision: She would not make a fool of herself by wearing the blue dress again or letting her hair hang down as she had done the night before. If she did, Mercy would be sure to ask her, no doubt in front of Rain, why she was getting all gussied up. He would know then that she was doing it for his benefit. Even if she was, she couldn’t bear for him to know it, she thought, her heartbeat quickening.

Amy looked down at her worn buckskins and moccasins and wished Uncle Juicy were here to tell her what to do. Rain wasn’t like any other she had known. He was not even like the boy she used to know. He had always looked at her with those fathomless eyes and read her every thought. He would be sure to know how her heart ached for him. . . .