Love and Cherish Read online

  After a hard day’s travel, they found a steep bank with an overhang for shelter. The light was almost gone with just a faint afterglow remaining. Sloan dug back into the bank with his knife, scooped the soft dirt out with his hands and made a nest of the blankets for Cherish. She was asleep at once.

  A short time later, when Sloan placed his hand on her shoulder and called her name, she woke and sat up, and the blanket fell away. The cold shocked her into alertness.

  “Hot tea, Cherish, and meat and mush.”

  She took the cup from him. “I’m too tired to eat.”

  “Drink the tea,” he told her. “Then eat slowly—you’ve got to keep up your strength.”

  She eyed the cornmeal mush and lifted her eyes to his.

  “Where’s yours?”

  “I’ve already eaten. Now eat it all and the meat. We’ll have more meat by morning. I set a few snares.”

  He rubbed the back of his hand gently against her cheek. She took his fingers and pulled his hand around to her mouth. Then, only half aware of what she was doing, she leaned toward him, her soft mouth slightly parted. Her lips touched his and clung, gently tasting the sweetness of his mouth.

  They lay in each other’s arms that night, but did not make love. They were both so weary from the day’s journey that as soon as Sloan put out the fire and called Brown to them, they sank down in the nest of blankets and slept.

  Flakes of ice from the trees fell on Sloan’s face the next morning as he checked the traps. He had caught one rabbit; it was roasted and the tea made when he woke Cherish.

  “We should reach home this afternoon.” That brought a sparkle to her eyes, but then Sloan added, “It will be snowing again soon, I’m afraid.”

  She said dully, “More snow?”

  “I’m afraid so. But we can make it.”

  “But can we make it by night?” Despair tinged her voice.

  “If we keep moving.”

  Suddenly she blurted out: “I love you, Sloan! Somehow I want you to know. I’ve never loved anyone but my mama and my papa.” Her face crumbled and tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Sloan reached out and gathered her into his arms, resting his cheek against her hair. She clung to him fiercely for a moment, the released him and stepped back, her face composed, her eyes averted from his.

  “Are you all right now?”

  “Yes. I’m all right.” She looked at him then, forcing a little smile. “We’d better be moving.”

  Silently Sloan adjusted the shawl and slipped the blanket over her head.

  They had been walking for about an hour and hadn’t gone nearly as far as Sloan had hoped they would when the snow began to fall. A sharp wind came up that seemed to push them backward, and the snow gradually increased. They stopped only long enough for Sloan to wrap Cherish’s head in her shawl and for him to pull down the flaps on his fur cap.

  They walked another mile. It was getting more and more difficult for Cherish to keep up. Once she fell down, but she got quickly to her feet before Sloan turned around. A chill unrelated to the weather rippled through her—a dread that she was losing her strength, that she would be unable to keep up and would be a hindrance to Sloan, that they would die in these swirling drifts of snow because of her.

  “I’ve got to get hold of myself,” she muttered.

  With a new spurt of determination she trudged on, but the storm increased its fury and the wind blowing against her gradually slowed her down again.

  Her weariness was bone-deep. Peering at the forest through a haze of physical exhaustion, she began to imagine strange shapes moving in and out of the trees. For the first time her courage faltered. She tried to force her mind away from her misery and onto other things, but the other things faded quickly as the physical pain she was suffering pulled her back to the present.

  “I must keep moving,” she said aloud. “I must keep my blood flowing. I must not let Sloan down.”

  A little later Sloan heard a faint sound and turned to see Cherish sitting in the snow. He let her rest a few minutes, then helped her to her feet. She clutched the blanket around her, her face grim.

  “Can you go on?” he asked gently. The hand that reached out to cup her chin was warm and brown and strong. She nodded but refused to look at him.

  He stayed beside her, an arm about her waist. They went several more miles before he stopped again. They ate the last of the meat, and Sloan placed a small ball of snow in her mouth to quench her thirst.

  “Not too much,” he cautioned. “Just enough to wet your mouth.”

  He started off again and she followed. They walked for another hour before she stopped.

  “I can’t go on.” She whispered the words, tears glistening in her eyes.

  “You can,” Sloan said firmly, “and you will.”

  “Go on without me . . . please!” she begged.

  He stood looking at her, the light eyes regarding her steadily with growing disgust.

  “I would never have taken you for a quitter!”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just too tired.” She shook her head numbly.

  “You could go on if you wanted to. You just don’t have the guts to put forth the effort. Maybe you should have gone back to Virginia and lived the soft life. You’re gutless, Cherish. Soft and gutless.”

  She reacted instinctively, unaware of what he was trying to do. One small foot lashed out and slammed into his shins. At the same time she balled her fist and hit him a solid blow in the face.

  “Guts!” she shouted, tears of fury streaming down her face. “What do you think I’m made of? You . . . you . . . backwoods dolt! Don’t you think it takes guts to come to this hellish wilderness? Don’t you think it takes guts to follow an uncouth savage like you to God knows where?”

  “Evidently it takes more guts than you’ve got,” he said haughtily.

  “I hate you. Oh, I hate you!” she raged, then stopped, too angry to continue, and glared at him with blazing eyes.

  “I don’t care that much for your hate.” He snapped his fingers, then raised his brows and sneered at her. “I still say—no guts!”

  Cherish closed her eyes tightly. The rage burning inside her made her cheeks flame. Opening her eyes, she saw Sloan’s back. He had started off again without waiting to see if she could follow.

  Her rage boiled over.

  “You . . . you bastard!” she shouted. “You can’t take hearing what you are . . . you uncivilized lout! There’s not a Carroll alive who can hold a candle to a Riley! And not one dead either. Hear me? You’ll be sorry you said that to me. You’ll be sorry.” She scrambled after him, her fury carrying her onward, muttering to herself: How could I have thought I loved that brute? I hate him. He doesn’t care anything for me. All he wants is a nursemaid. But I won’t do it now. Not after this. I’ll take the first boat that comes along. I’m not going to stay with him—I’m going home where people are civilized. Home to Virginia. Oh, why didn’t I go with Pierre? He’d never say such things to me. I know he wouldn’t.

  They hadn’t gone a mile before her anger burned itself out and shame took its place. How could she have been such a fool? What was the matter with her? Was she losing her mind?

  Step after agonizing step, she trailed in Sloan’s tracks. Shame eventually gave way to indifference. Her mind went blank and she followed automatically.

  The snow was getting deeper. Sloan dropped back to walk beside her. He carried his flintlock cradled in one arm and put the other around her waist to support her. She only half-acknowledged him, but he felt her body stiffen with determination. They went on, Brown leading the way now. By late afternoon the storm had intensified, and they could see no more than a few feet in front of them.

  Cherish stumbled and fell, pulling them both down. She looked up dully when he tried to lift her to her feet.

  “Can’t we rest? I’m so tired.”

  His own body was weary and he knew it was a mistake to linger, but he sat and held her while they rested. Brown came
back and lay down beside them, whining softly. When Sloan felt himself getting dangerously drowsy, he got to his feet and pulled her to hers.

  The howling blizzard swept down out of the northwest, making it almost impossible for Cherish to stand alone. The brief rest hadn’t helped. She fell again and again and begged him to go on and leave her. Sloan realized that every delay lessened their chances of reaching home and safety. Finally he had no choice but to sling her over his shoulder and carry her.

  He made better time that way for a while. But gradually his own strength began to decline under the double load. It was getting darker and, as night approached, colder. He began to wonder if he had missed the trail to the homestead, but, no, Brown was leading the way and would make the right turn when they came to it.

  Sloan struggled on, his arms numb and his legs weak with fatigue. Cherish hadn’t moved since he had hoisted her to his shoulder. His apprehension turned to near panic; perhaps he had pushed her too far. He thought of sending Brown on ahead for help, but abandoned the idea. He needed him to find the cutoff trail. And there was the possibility that only one man might be in the cabin and he would never leave the babe alone, not knowing how long he might be away.

  Sloan stopped to rest, easing Cherish gently down into the soft snow. She didn’t move as he peered into her snow-encrusted face. He wiped it dry with the end of her shawl. She was either asleep or unconscious. Either was a deadly sign.

  Wrapping the blanket around her, he lifted her again to his shoulder. It was hard to carry her that way, but he knew he would be unable to get her onto his back. He half-smiled remembering how she had lit into him, cracking him on the jaw. The anger he had deliberately aroused in her had brought her two or three miles. Those miles just might make the difference.

  The cold was beginning to tear at his lungs. He was having difficulty breathing deeply. Again and again he turned his face into the blanket covering Cherish and took several deep warm breaths.

  He staggered on, following Brown, who looked back at his master every few yards to be sure he was coming. Sloan could only guess how many miles they had covered and how far they had yet to go.

  His weary mind dwelled on the cabin and its warm fire, on a huge bowl of stew and a warm bed. Once he veered off to the right, and Brown stopped and barked until Sloan righted his direction. After that he kept his eyes on Brown and didn’t allow his mind to wander.

  Abruptly, all his strength left him and he slumped down in the snow. He knew he must get up, but would he have the strength to lift Cherish? As he sat holding her the thought came to him that he should leave her, go on alone and bring True or Juicy back for her. Anger at himself for thinking it stirred his muscles. He raised himself onto his hands and knees.

  “She’s right to call you a bastard,” he muttered. “She’d freeze before you got to the cabin and back.”

  He gathered her to him and knelt there swaying on his knees. Struggling to his feet, he picked up the limp girl, but he fell again after going only a few feet. He got up and stood reeling. Suddenly he caught the faint elusive whiff of wood smoke. He sniffed it again, and relief flooded through him. He staggered after Brown, Cherish on his shoulder. When he saw the faint glow of light from the cabin window, he called out: “Go, Brown. Go get Juicy.”

  The dog didn’t hesitate. He shot ahead, barking with every leap. Sloan reeled after him.

  It seemed hours, but could only have been minutes, before Sloan heard Brown barking again. Then a fur-clad figure loomed in front of him.

  “My God, Sloan,” a voice rumbled out of the darkness. “Ya done gone and scared the wits outta me, sendin’ that dog in thataways. Whatcha got thar?”

  Sloan tried to speak, but no sound came from his frozen throat. He tried again. The third time he managed to get out: “T-take h-her, Juicy—”

  The bear of a man cradled Cherish in his arms as if she were a babe. He carried her toward the cabin, talking all the way. Sloan staggered beside him, and Brown, happy to be home, circled them.

  “This mite yer woman? Ya ain’t got much, iffn’ ya was to ask me. A fresh-whelped pup’d weigh more’n this.”

  “She may be in a bad way,” Sloan said, regaining his strength and with it his voice. “I’ve carried her for the last five miles.”

  “Well, now, her jist might take on a bit a weight that fer.”

  He called out when they reached the cabin, and the door swung open. A tall man stood away from the entrance so they could enter. He gaped at them.

  “Shut yer mouth, True, ya long skinny jaybird, and take this here young’un. She pert nigh froze.”

  He shoved Cherish into the arms of the astonished man and turned to where Sloan slumped in the doorway. His black-haired face split into a grin.

  “I ain’t never seed ya so tuckered, Sloan.” The booming voice filled the cabin.

  True lowered Cherish to a bunk and covered her with a faded quilt. He straightened to glare at the big man with the loud voice.

  “Now ya just shut yer mouth. Ain’tcha give no thought to the babe? Her’ll be wild when her sees Sloan an’ him pert nigh wore out. Want to be arockin’ her all night? Git on, now. Git Sloan a swig of that thar licker yer allus a-sneakin’.”

  Sloan followed True to the bunk, suddenly feeling stronger now that they were safe within the walls of the cabin. He leaned over Cherish to listen to her heart beat.

  “Is her live?” True asked.

  “Yes, and we’ve got to get her out of these wet clothes. Get blankets. Juicy, get stones out of the fireplace and wrap them for the bed.”

  Sloan began undressing her, his frozen fingers fumbling with her clothing. True brought the blankets, piled them on the end of the bunk and took over the undressing.

  “Why’d ya get such a skinny one fer?” he asked while removing her dress. “Ya ort ta have got ya one that’d keep ya warm on a cold night.”

  Sloan grimaced. “This one will do just fine. Wrap her up, you old goat, and quit looking.”

  Juicy came to stand beside the bed. They covered Cherish with the thick blankets and Juicy slipped the wrapped stones under the covers against her feet and thighs.

  “Ain’t she ’bout the purtiest thing ya ever did see?” His booming voice was hushed, almost reverent.

  “She’s sightly,” True agreed. “I thought the babe’s ma was a fair looker, but this’un puts ’er to shame.”

  Sloan was relaxed in the presence of these men. He could say things to them he would never say to anyone else.

  “She’s not only beautiful, but she has pride, spirit and courage. She’ll make a good mother for the babe.” He looked down at the sleeping girl. “She may be only a little thing, but she’s all woman.”

  His two friends glanced knowingly at each other over Sloan’s bent head.

  There was nothing more they could do for Cherish now but keep her warm. Sloan stood before the fire and stripped off his clothes. True brought him dry ones, and he dressed with shaky slowness.

  “How long’s it been since ya et?” Juicy asked.

  “We’ve been on short rations for a week.” Sloan didn’t mention that he had given Cherish the larger portion of the food, keeping only enough for himself to keep up his strength.

  “Why didn’t ya say so?” Juicy demanded.

  “I was just getting ready to.” Sloan sank down in the fur-lined chair before the fire and held out his hands and his stockinged feet to the flames.

  “We warn’t lookin’ fer ya fer a few weeks yet,” True said. He handed Sloan a cup of hot tea laced heavily with rum.

  Sloan knew they wouldn’t ask why he came back several weeks early and with a beautiful young girl. They had expected him to return with a middle-aged widow, perhaps with a couple of children of her own. He couldn’t help but enjoy keeping them in suspense a while longer.

  “Yes, I did get back sooner than I expected. Hurry up with that stew, True. I’m starving.”

  True swung the iron pot out from over the fire and filled a
bowl with bubbling stew.

  “This’s been cookin’ two days an’ is jist ’bout right.”

  Juicy let out a snort. “Ain’t no stew done till hits been boiled more’n a week, ya scuddle-brained crow-bait. Hain’t I told ya an’ told ya that?”

  “I don’t keer what ya told me, ya ol’ son of a grizzly b’ar. I been studyin’ on hit, an’ hit says clean pot ever three, four days. How’re ya goin’ ter clean the pot with stew in hit?” True’s voice got louder as he got madder.

  Bickering came as naturally to these two as eating. Sloan had been entertained many evenings listening to them. His eyes twinkled now as he watched them. They were more than friends, much more.

  He had met them when he was new out from Virginia. Thanks to them he had survived his first winter on the new frontier. They were with him when he surveyed and bought the homestead, and they gave it his name. They were with him when his brother arrived with his new bride. They helped care for the babe when the mother abandoned it, and they helped him bury his brother. His affection for them went deep, as he knew theirs did for him.

  Sloan finished the stew and asked for a second helping. True brought it to him, smirking at Juicy.

  “Ya starve a man long enough an’ he’d eat a sick dog,” Juicy muttered. “Take Brown thar, he’d ruther have that raw meat I gived him.”

  Brown lay stretched out on the floor, his nose where the cold wind came in under the door, eyes closed, no longer feeling the need to keep watch over his master.

  Sloan ate the stew and went to check on Cherish. He thought he saw a little color creeping back into her face. Sitting down on the side of the bunk, he put his hand under the covers and felt her legs. They were still cold, and he rubbed them until he could feel a little warmth returning. Her feet against the covered hot stones were warm enough. It was a good sign. He breathed a sigh of relief; she would be all right.

  He turned to True. “How’s the babe?”