Noble's Way (7 page)

Noble was not surprised at the shortness of the Osage's round trip. He read the letter Rivers had brought back.

Dear Noble,

Thank you for your order. It is always a pleasure doing business with your firm. While prices are higher now than they were this past winter, perhaps now the war is over, we shall see a more stable economy.

A dependable freight company will deliver your goods in a week or two, depending on weather conditions.

Hope to see you again in person.

Sincerely yours,

Cedric and Alex Patterson

“What should we call our ‘firm'?” Fleta asked after Noble finished reading the letter to her.

“Western Kansas Mercantile?” he suggested, smiling down in her face.

“No, that will never do.” She steered him out of the store onto the porch. “Why not simply call it the Great Western Company?”

“Sounds kinda grand for a little cabin with a high wall around it.”

“You don't see it do you?” she teased.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

“The great business that will grow here?”

Noble felt his face heat up. “You're picking on me.”

“No, I'm not,” she said, her face sober. “I can see, Noble. You're the dangdest builder I've ever known.”

Noble just stood there and savored the kiss she planted on his cheek. She was right. He did intend to have a big business. Some day.

The freighter arrived two weeks later in the form of a double set of wagons behind several span of oxen. The driver-owner wore knee high boots and spat a wad of tobacco as he stomped through the gate.

“Gawdamn, man,” the bull whacker swore with a look around the fort. “Why you got a regular place here. I thought this belonged to the Haskins Docking Company.”

“They abandoned it.”

“Well, when they hear that you're doing this kind of business, they'll be out here to claim it.”

Noble nodded. He must send a letter back with this man for the Pattersons. Surely they knew a lawyer who would settle his claim on the land. There had to be a way to prove his ownership.

The man poked Noble with a thumb. “You let them redskins sleep in here?”

“They're Osage.”

“Savages. All the red bastards should be shot. Now the war's over, we'll get busy on that.”

“Is it really over?” Noble asked, not satisfied with the rumors of the surrender.

“Damn sure is.” The man punctuated his speech by spitting. “Lee hung up his sword. Give it to Grant at Apple something in Virginny.”

“Good,” Noble said absently. He looked away, impatient to get away from the loud mouthed, irritating man.

“Hell, yes. Now I'll have work. Them bluebellies are gonna raise hell with those red devils. Going to put up a bunch of forts so settlers won't be molested by them. Maybe we'll get us a president who'll put a bounty on their red skins.” He spit contemptuously. “Hell, I'll do it for free.”

“Well, don't plan on starting anything here,” Noble warned him with a cold glare. “These people are mine. Don't even think about harming them.”

“You some kinda damn Injun lover?”

Noble's eyes glittered with cold rage as he stared down the man. “You're damned right and don't you forget it.” He turned on his heel, too furious to add anything else. He wanted to hurry and unload the supplies and get the damned Indian hater on his way as quickly as possible. A shudder of anger rippled through him as he stalked inside the store.

Fleta noticed his face looked like a thundercloud. “Noble, what's wrong?” she asked quietly.

“Nothing!.” Noble gritted his teeth to control his boiling wrath. He took a deep breath and stood rigid until he had his rage fully under control.

“Why are you so wrought up?”

“It's nothing. That freighter just made me angry,” he said, dismissing her concerns.

“Why?”

“We'll talk later,” he promised.

Noble involved himself in unloading the freight. The driver's men even seemed to resent the Indians so Noble stayed in the center of the activity. He was not about to allow any of the men to abuse his charges.

With the furs loaded to go back for Patterson's, Noble was relieved when the freighter pulled out to camp beyond the fort's walls.

Noble stood on the porch, his eye squinted to watch them move on.

“I've never seen you so furious,” Fleta said, when she joined him on the porch.

“Hogan—that's his name—is an Indian hater.”

“So? Lots of people in the west are.”

“I guess you're right. I just realized how much those kind of people bother me.”

“Remember how uneasy I was at first around them? Now Mannah and I are close friends.”

Noble looked at her keenly then sighed. “You're right.”

She smiled and looked at him with a twinkle in her eyes, wanting to lighten his mood. “Will my rich husband want to trade me for some grand lady when he gets richer?”

“What?”

“I'm perfectly serious, Noble.” The mischief in her eyes belied her statement. She watched a grin curve his lips with satisfaction.

“I have you, Fleta. What more could I want?”

“You say that now. But what about when you're rich and famous?”

“Don't be silly,” he said curtly.

Fleta accepted his rebuke, noting that all of his anger had not dissipated. Obviously now was not the time to be flippant with him.

May was stormy, but wagons and riders kept coming, making stops at the store. Busy rolling up a bolt of cloth, Fleta looked up when a figure ducked inside the door. He was very tall and carried a black stovepipe hat in his hand. With a gasp of shock, Fleta recognized his gaunt face. The minister from her home town in Wesley, Arkansas.

“Reverend Jordan!”

The dark frown on his face was foreboding. “Mrs.—”

“Mrs. McCurtain,” she inserted quickly.

He shook his head and clucked his teeth. “Oh no, this is a terrible error. Your husband, Wilbourne Corey, has just returned home. He thinks you're dead.”

Fleta felt her knees buckle. Only the reverend's sinewy arms saved her from falling.

Mannah rushed in, upon seeing the tall man bent over Fleta, grabbed the muzzle loader and aimed it threateningly at the minister.

“Get back!” Mannah ordered.

“I'm a man of God,” he protested. “She merely fainted.”

Fleta weakly asserted herself. “It—it's all right, Mannah.” She jerked from Jordan's grasp and pushed herself up to her feet.

“My dear woman, I know this has been a shock, but you must return immediately to Arkansas. Your poor husband needs to know you're alive.”

Noble burst in the room. Having recognized Jordan's silhouette as he had approached, Noble sprinted the gray to reach the store. Fearing the reverend's motives for coming, Noble's face was lined with concern. Fleta's pale face and visibly trembling hands confirmed his suspicions.

“Fleta, are you all right? What's going on?” he asked, crossing to her side and placing a protective arm across her shoulders.

“Oh, Noble,” she whispered looking at him helplessly, “Wilbourne's come home. He's alive.”

Noble's first thought was, ‘So what?' Corey had no claim on her. Fleta was his now and he intended to see that she stayed with him. He glared at Reverend Jordan, his eyes damning the man for meddling.

“I did not come here to upset her,” the reverend said quietly. “In fact I had no idea this was your place. But there is the Christian—”

“What is it you need?” Noble cut him off before he could start preaching. They left Arkansas because of Jordan and his church elders scolding them for living together without the benefit of matrimony. Before Noble came, no one had offered to help feed her and the boy or cut fire wood and see to them. Would it have been more Christian for them to have starved?

“Perhaps some beans. The supplies I carry are meager.”

Noble scooped some dried beans from the barrel into a poke. He handed the small canvas bag to the man.

“How much do I owe you?”

Noble shook his head. “Nothing. You can leave now.”

The reverend sighed. “Very well. But I shall pray for your soul and that you and Mrs. Corey will do the right thing and save yourself from eternal damnation and the fires of hell.”

“It's settled, Reverend,” Noble said curtly. “Good day.” He waited until he was sure that the man was mounted and on his way.

“Are you all right?” he asked her again.

“Yes, I'll be fine.”

“I'll be outside if you need me.” He was anxious to get away so he could think.

“Yes.” The words came out so flatly that Noble found a stab of remorse.

In the sunshine, he leaned back against the fresh post he had used to resurrect the sagging stable.

Spotted Horse rode in and dismounted. “You sick, Noble?” the Osage asked.

“No. My wife's husband has returned from the war.”

“He is here?” the Indian asked.

“No, no. He's at their old home in Arkansas.”

Spotted Horse fell silent for a moment, his eyes stared at the plains as Noble's were doing. Then he spoke softly, “You speak of white man ways.”

Noble studied the toes of his boots. “Her husband went to war for three winters. Now he's home. We thought he was dead.”

“Three winters?” Spotted Horse shook his head, his braids flying around his shoulders, the eagle feather swaying in the wind. “Why so long?”

“He was fighting a war.”

“Perhaps he is a ghost?”

“Maybe. He haunts me,” Noble said aloud, but his thoughts were silent. She can't leave. He wondered how he would convince her to stay.

Having reached his own decision, Noble went back inside the store. He closed the door and leaned against it, not wanting any interruptions. For a moment he felt hopeless looking at her sad face.

“I'll have to go pack.” Fleta's tear-filled words knifed him. Her swollen eyes and air of dejection summed up her torment. “Noble, I am legally his wife. There is nothing else to do but go back to him.”

Noble was frustrated by his inability to do something to assert his rights. He and Fleta had accomplished a great deal together. Their business was thriving; they were building a future together. She couldn't possibly go back to Wilbourne!

He combed his fingers through his hair and frowned. “Fleta, what if ... what if he won't accept you back?”

She sat on the rocker he had traded from a passing settler.

“Then I'll—” she broke off and burst into tears. Putting her hands to her face, she sobbed. “This is all my fault. I wanted you so badly that I sinned. I'm living in sin.”

“No!” Noble rushed across the room and knelt in front of her. “This is no sin, Fleta. God didn't want you and Luke to starve. No kind of God wanted that. Damnation, Fleta! What we did was not wrong.

“Let him find another woman. He left you. If he really cared he would have come back before now. Fleta, I would never leave you like that. Kansas is our home now. Stay with me.”

She drew her hands away from her wet face and looked at him pleadingly. “Noble, I don't know what to do.”

“Stay here.”

Numbly she slipped to her knees and fell into his arms. Her sorrow drenched his shoulder. They held each other for a long time. He knew their problem was not settled, but a firm resolve fermented in his mind. He would not give her up.

The next morning, Fleta was no closer to reaching a decision. She was tense, her nerves stretched tautly. When she dropped a cup and it shattered at her feet, she jumped back as though shot. Her favorite tea cup was in fragments at her feet. To her, it represented her peaceful, secure life with Noble.

Mannah stopped her as she bent to pick up the pieces.

“I will clean it up, Fleta. You are trembling so much you might cut yourself.”

“Am I that bad?” she asked ruefully.

“Yes.”

Fleta had grown very close to Mannah. The Indian woman was accepted by the white customers, and her skills with the Indians amazed Fleta. The Osage wife quickly learned arithmetic and a varied English vocabulary.

“You can never go home,” Mannah said as she rose with the broken porcelain in her hand.

Fleta frowned. “What do you mean?”

“They will not accept you. Even the dogs will bite you. Your first man will wonder how you could have slept with another. He will question what the other man did to you. How it was with him. His jealous mind will go crazy. He will treat you as a used thing.

It will not be the same. Nothing is as it was. It will be very different.”

Fleta's upper teeth cut into her lower lip. Would Wilbourne act like that toward her? Perhaps he would be angry? How did Mannah know so much?

Then Fleta remembered Mannah was not an Osage. Had she returned to her own people one time and had the Indian camp dogs snipped at her heels?

Cold silence would be her sentence if she returned to Arkansas. Wilbourne would busy himself with his farming and expect his meals on time. He would snore at night and ignore her, except when he felt some urge. Then he would use her body to punish her for her sins. And he would be within a husband's rights.

Fleta closed her eyes and silently sorted out her options. God will have to forgive me. I couldn't stand such penance. No, Luke and I will have a better life with Noble. We will stay here with him.

She planned to tell Noble her decision to remain when he returned to the fort. Earlier, Spotted Horse reported an approaching wagon train, and Noble went to meet them. It was now his custom to ride ahead and greet the newcomers. He moved from wagon to wagon, shaking hands and extolling the store goods. He was very proficient at hawking their wares. Sometimes too good, she thought. Business would become so booming that at the end of the day she would collapse into a chair, drained of strength. How long would this new stream of customers be in the store? She wanted a few moments alone with Noble so she could tell him her decision. She looked out the small window and she wished he would hurry.