Love and Cherish Page 15

  Having strained her eyes for so long and having seen nothing unusual, she couldn’t believe what she saw when something did come into view. A woman, her blond hair streaming out behind her, a bright blue cape flapping around her legs, came running toward the cabin from the river. She was screaming hysterically as she ran, slipping and stumbling through the snow. Cherish expected to see someone chasing her, but there was no one in sight.

  Cherish waited until the woman was a few yards from the house, then unbarred and opened the door. She was sure Sloan hadn’t intended for her to refuse to admit someone like this poor frightened creature. The woman flung herself into the house and frantically tried to close the door, almost knocking Cherish off her feet. She seemed to be wild with fear and her screaming had frightened Orah Delle. The child was yelling and crying too, and clinging to Cherish.

  The woman threw herself down on a bunk and pulled the covers up over her head. Clutching Orah Delle to her, Cherish rushed back to the window. The shooting had stopped, and coming up the path now were two men supporting a third between them who was wounded, badly it seemed, for they were almost dragging him through the snow. Walking beside them, carrying a satchel, was another girl. A shawl covered her head and shoulders. Her skirts dragged in the snow. She was not nearly so well-dressed as the blond woman who lay sobbing on the bunk.

  Cherish saw Sloan loping up from the river, Brown at his heels. He handed his rifle to one of the men and picked the wounded man up in his arms. Staggering under the heavy load, he came on toward the cabin.

  Cherish began to turn from the window and suddenly turned back. Something about the man Sloan carried seemed familiar.

  Then she recognized him. With a little cry, she set Orah Delle on the floor and ran quickly to unbar the door.

  The wounded man was Pierre!

  CHAPTER

  * 16 *

  Cherish opened the door and stepped quickly aside for Sloan to enter. He carried Pierre to the bunk nearest the hearth and gently put him down. The two men and the girl entered and stood by the door. Cherish closed it and went to where Sloan bent over the bunk. Her eyes flew to Sloan’s face, but he was busy removing Pierre’s heavy coat and was not looking at her.

  The girl dropped the carpetbag she was carrying and went timidly toward them. She was young. The coat she wore was worn and thin. Her face was pinched with cold, her brown eyes were large with worry—or was it desperation? Cherish was not sure which, but being a woman in love herself, she knew instinctively that the girl was in love with Pierre and sick with worry.

  “I’m Cherish. Let me help you with your coat.” Cherish smiled and spoke in a welcoming, friendly tone. She helped her remove her wet shawl, then her thin coat.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Cherish clicked her tongue. “You must be near frozen. Come to the fire for a minute.”

  The girl shook her head, her eyes on Pierre. Prodding her gently, Cherish nudged her toward the bunk.

  Remembering that she had other guests, Cherish turned her attention to the two men standing by the door. One was quite old, the other only a boy.

  “Welcome,” she said. “Hang your coats on the pegs and come to the fire and warm yourselves.”

  “Thanky, ma’am,” the man said. “Name’s Swanson. This here’s my grandson, Farrway Quill.” The boy said nothing but inclined his head politely.

  “I’m Cherish.” She shook hands with both and urged them toward the fire.

  The blond woman in the bunk was still crying. Cherish wanted to comfort her, but each time she approached her, Orah Delle held her back. The sounds coming from the woman terrified the child.

  Sloan worked quickly over Pierre. The girl was so concerned that her hands trembled as she tried to help. Cherish gently pushed her away, brought up a stool for her to sit on near the head of the bunk and put a cloth in her hand to use to wipe the snow from Pierre’s head.

  The door opened, letting in a blast of cold air. Juicy stomped in. Cherish went to him.

  “Where’s True?” she asked anxiously.

  “He’s a-comin’ soon’s he’s shore the buggers ain’t a-comin’ back. Goldamn riffraff. I allus say, Injins ain’t half so mean as river scum. How bad’s Pierre?”

  “I don’t know. I need to help Sloan, but Orah Delle won’t let loose of me. She’s scared of all the commotion.”

  “Give ’er ta me. Come ta Juicy, lit’l tadpole. Juicy’ll find ya a purty.” The child went willingly to him.

  Juicy stared with disgust at the woman on the bed. “What’s she still blubberin’ fer?”

  “She was terribly frightened. She’ll have to cry it out.” Cherish wondered at the big, gentle man’s lack of sympathy for the woman.

  Sloan had removed all of Pierre’s clothing and pulled a blanket up to his navel. The bullet had caught him in the side and he had lost a lot of blood. Sloan was relieved to discover that the bullet, having been fired from some distance, had been partly spent when it struck Pierre and had been deflected by a rib. There was a small hole in the Frenchman’s back where the bullet had emerged.

  Grateful that he didn’t have to probe the wound to remove the lead, Sloan removed bits of cloth carried in by the force of the bullet. Cherish took a basin of warm water and together they washed the wound, doused it with whiskey, and wrapped Pierre’s mid-section with layers of bandage.

  When he began to shake with shock, Sloan called for blankets and hot stones. They all worked feverishly to keep Pierre warm, for Sloan said that that was one of the dangers with this type of wound. Finally, the shaking ceased; color came back into the part of his face not covered with the heavy black beard, and he lay still.

  The girl stayed beside Pierre. She appeared nervous and glanced often to the bunk where the blond woman lay. She looked so forlorn sitting there that Cherish went to her and draped a blanket over her shoulders.

  “He’s going to be all right. Sloan will see to it.”

  “Oh, I hope so. I do hope so.” Tears flooded her big sad eyes. Her voice was soft and refined.

  “Why don’t you take off those wet shoes. I’ll bring you a pair of moccasins.”

  “No. I couldn’t let you—” She drew her feet back under her skirt.

  “Of course, you can.”

  “No. Please—”

  Puzzled, Cherish patted her shoulder and picked up the bloody linen. Vaguely she thought she should do something for the woman on the bunk, but apparently she had cried herself to sleep, because there was no sound from her now.

  The room was filled with people. Cherish was grateful for the turkey in the oven, the fresh-baked bread, the Indian pudding, pumpkin, and the pies on the shelf. At least she had food for all of them. She took time to go to the bedroom to brush and recoil her hair and to slip an apron over her dress.

  The men were talking by the hearth. Juicy had fed Orah Delle a sweet to calm her and she lay against his shoulder, her thumb in her mouth. The old man was talking, explaining:

  “I wouldn’t a brought them, mister, but I did need the coin. Me and the boy has been up against it lately. The woman was takin’ a boat down river, come hell or high water. The Frenchman couldn’t talk her out of it. I don’t like to say nothin’ against a lady, mister, but if she hadn’t a flaunted herself . . . that is to say if she’d a behaved more like a lady ort to, that bunch of scum wouldn’t followed us. They must a got to talkin’ about her and drinkin’ and set out to overtake us. We were mighty glad when you showed up. We sure was.”

  Mister Swanson paused and shook his head. “I’m downright sorry about the Frenchman. He’d not come, but he knowed the woman and felt sorry for the little gal. Now, that little gal’s real pitiful. She’s a bound gal. I don’t know how long she’s been with the woman, but that one thinks she owns her body and soul.”

  Cherish glanced at the girl beside Pierre. She had heard of bondsmen and had seen a few, but they had all been well-treated and seemed more like favored servants to the families they served. And this
girl was one of those? She looked over her shoulder at the woman sleeping on the bunk; fear sprouted and her curiosity grew.

  Mister Swanson reached out and put his hand on his grandson’s head.

  “I reckon as how I’d sooner see my grandson here dead than be bound like that poor young’un over there. Her might as well be a darkie for the way she’s treated.”

  “Harrumpt!” Juicy snorted.

  “It was a foolhardy thing I done, bringin’ that woman,” Mr. Swanson said. “I hope you see how it was, mister.”

  “I understand,” Sloan said. He added, “Whatever she paid you to bring her here, I’ll pay you twice that if you’ll take her back.”

  The old man scratched his head. “I don’t know about it, mister. I’m thinkin’ you’ll have to hogtie her to get her back on that boat. She’s a corker, that one is.”

  “There’s not many boats going upriver now.”

  “I be knowin’ it. River’ll be freezin’ afore long.”

  “Well,” Sloan said with a resigned slump to his shoulders, “you and the boy are welcome to stay here. That riffraff who fired on you are still around hoping to catch you alone on the river.”

  “We don’t want to put you to no bother,” Mister Swanson said quickly. “We can make out on the boat, long’s it’s tied up.”

  “No need for that,” Sloan insisted. “You’ll be our guests. We have another cabin and plenty of bunk space.”

  “Me and the lad thank ya. We sure do.”

  True came in then, and Cherish went to the door to meet him. She took his rifle and placed it on the pegs while he got out of his coat.

  “I was getting worried about you. Oh, your poor face is frozen! Come to the fire and I’ll get you some hot tea.”

  “Thanky, little purty. I sure do need hit.”

  True stood with his back to the fire. His face was blue with cold. He held the mug Cherish brought to him in his two hands and sipped the hot liquid slowly. The boy got up and politely offered True his chair.

  “Thanky, son.” True eased down on the chair. “I built up the fire in the cabin. Hit’s gonna do fine. I figure we’ll be needin’ hit.”

  Sloan introduced the old man and his grandson.

  “They will be staying for a while, True. They can’t take the boat back up the river alone with that scum hanging around. And I doubt many boats will be coming up from the south this time of year.”

  “Yore welcome ter bunk in with us’uns. That’s iffn the lad’ll make do with a pallet afore the fire.”

  “We thank you kindly, but we don’t want to be no burden. We got sowbelly and meal on the boat.”

  Sloan waved that aside. “We have plenty of grub.”

  Cherish brought over a platter of fresh sliced bread heavily coated with butter.

  “Dinner won’t be ready for some time. Perhaps this will tide you over until then.”

  The boy looked longingly at the bread.

  “Go on,” Cherish urged. “Take some.”

  After first looking at his grandfather for approval, the boy reached out and took the piece nearest him.

  “It’s been a spell since he’s had bread like that, ma’am,” the old man said, as if he were apologizing.

  “Then he shall have all he wants and I’ll fetch him a mug of milk to wash it down,” Cherish said firmly.

  After taking the milk to the boy, Cherish sliced more bread, buttered it and arranged it on a plate. She took it and a mug of milk to the girl sitting beside Pierre. Cherish placed the plate in her lap and handed her the milk.

  The girl looked from the plate to Cherish, her eyes full of fear. She glanced quickly toward the bunk where the woman lay sleeping.

  “Ma’am,” she whispered, “you shouldn’t wait on me. I’m her servant. She’ll be . . . angry!”

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll understand when I tell her that I insisted.”

  The girl shook her head. “She won’t, ma’am.”

  “Maybe you can finish before she wakes up.” Cherish waited until the girl picked up the bread and began to eat hungrily.

  The men were on their feet now, having decided to make a trip to the boat to bring up the baggage—Pierre’s, the woman’s, and the girl’s.

  Juicy handed Orah Delle, who had fallen asleep, to Sloan.

  “We’uns can take keer of it. We’ll see to the fire in the cabin while we’re about it.”

  “Dinner will be ready in a couple of hours,” Cherish said. “Be good and hungry when you come back.”

  “Don’t worry yore purty little head none.” Juicy grinned at her. “I don’t aim ta miss out on that thar pie and them other fixin’s.”

  The old man said, “We do thanky, ma’am.”

  He nudged his grandson in the ribs with his elbow. Cherish could barely hear the boy when he spoke, but she was sure he said, “Thank you, ma’am.”

  She felt a blast of cold air when the men went out. The snow was still falling and the tracks that had been made in it only a short time ago were no longer there.

  Sloan took the child to the bedroom and tucked her into her crib. He put another log on the bedroom fire before returning to restore the fire in the big hearth.

  Cherish watched him, puzzled. His lips were pressed tight and she saw a hardness in his eyes as he passed her to go to the bunk where Pierre lay. He lifted the unconscious man’s eyelid and reached under the covers to feel his legs. He checked the wound to see if it had stopped bleeding. Satisfied that he could do no more for him, he came back to Cherish, took her hand, and led her into the bedroom.

  He paced back and forth the length of the room several times before he stopped in front of her. She turned away from him abruptly, but not before he saw the fear in her eyes. She stood rigid, and he turned her back to face him.

  “Have you guessed who that woman is?”

  “I was afraid it might be . . . her.”

  “It’s Ada all right,” he spat out bitterly. “Now, the question is: what am I going to do with her?”

  His obvious agitation heightened Cherish’s fear. Something more was involved here than merely putting his sister-in-law on the boat and sending her back to where she came from.

  “I just can’t tell her to go!” he blurted.

  Bewildered, Cherish stammered, “Well, I . . . I don’t see why not. That is, if you don’t want her here.”

  “Don’t you see? If I make her go, she’ll take the babe.” Anguish was written on his face.

  Cherish was momentarily stunned by the statement. Recovery was slow and accompanied by a rapid heartbeat.

  “No! She has no right! She ran away and left her. She’ll not have her! Hear me, Sloan.” Cherish grabbed his arms. “I won’t give her up!”

  “She has the right,” Sloan said wearily. “She can bring the soldiers in here, take the babe and give her to the first Indian squaw she runs across, if she wants to. And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  It was something Cherish hadn’t thought about. Anger swept through her. Her chin went up in the old expression of defiance.

  “She’ll play . . . hell getting her away from me!” Surprise widened her eyes. She had never sworn in her life. Then her courage wavered, and her eyes slowly filled with tears. “Don’t let her take Orah Delle . . . please, Sloan!”

  “Oh, honey.” He touched his fingers to her cheeks and gently wiped away the tears. “I’ll do anything short of murder to keep her,” he said quietly. “But, I wanted you to know the situation.” He turned her toward the door. “I’m worried about Pierre. I’m afraid he’s lost too much blood. That poor little thing is sitting beside him. I’m wondering how he got himself tangled up with her. She doesn’t seem to be his type at all.”

  “She’s in love with him.”

  “Yes, I know. I wonder how he feels about her. With Ada holding her bond, it could be difficult for them.”

  They returned to the other room, Cherish to finish the dinner and Sloan to sit with Pierre.

&nb
sp; “Cherish could use some help,” he told the girl gently.

  She stood, still looking at Pierre’s motionless face. “He’s so still.”

  “He’s lost a lot of blood, but he’s strong as a mule. He’ll be good as new in a week or two. You’ll see.” Sloan spoke with a lot more confidence than he felt, but something about the girl—with her thin fingers and haunting eyes—touched him. He thought she looked like a stricken animal. “I’ll sit with him. I’ll call you if he as much as blinks an eyelid.”

  The girl approached Cherish hesitantly. She was slightly taller than Cherish, and terribly thin. Her hair was a rich brown with deep waves. Cherish thought her face would be very pretty if it had not looked so tired and worn. Rest and good food would change that. It was her eyes that drew the attention. They were two very large deep pools that seemed to hold all the sadness of the world in their depths. Her dress was faded and almost threadbare, but neat stitches had repaired it and made it wearable. Her shoes were so worn the sides had split. Cherish scolded herself that she had not insisted she take them off. She went to the other room and returned with a pair of moccasins. She handed them to the girl and smiled.

  “Pierre was going to make shoes for me,” she told Cherish. “Moccasins, he called them.”

  “Sloan made these for me. They’re not fancy, but they’re so comfortable and warm.” She motioned to the chair. “Put them on and leave your shoes by the hearth to dry.”

  Cherish spread the cloth on the table and lifted the pewter plates from the shelf. The girl came to help, after first washing her hands in the basin by the door.

  “What can I do, ma’am?” she asked shyly.

  “First thing you can do is to stop calling me ma’am,” Cherish said with a smile. “Call me Cherish.”

  A look of acute alarm came over the girl’s face. “Oh, no! I can’t do that. Mistress Carroll wouldn’t allow it.”

  “I requested that you call me Cherish. It has nothing to do with her!” Cherish protested.