Page 14 of Wild Sweet Wilderness (Missouri #1)

Simon sat his horse on the crest of the hill and watched the mules pull the heavily laden freight wagon up the steep grade. The two milk cows, tied on behind a lighter wagon that followed, walked placidly along, swishing their tails at the pesky flies. The crate of chickens tied to the side of the wagon were not so patient. They clucked and squawked angrily and, for lack of anything else to do, pecked at each other.

Simon took off his hat and wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his shirt. It had been seventeen days since he had left Fain’s homestead. He felt a deep satisfaction at all he had accomplished in that short time. First and foremost, he had turned his trading business over to Ernest after taking the goods he wanted from the storehouse. The stock in the warehouse had been inventoried and the purchase price agreed upon. Ernest would pay an amount yearly in gold coin. Simon felt free for the first time in years.

He had also traveled to Kaskaskia for a long talk with Zebulon Pike. He would have to make a decision within the next couple of weeks whether to go up the Mississippi with the expedition. Pike planned to leave in the middle of August. This trip, requested by James Wilkinson, governor of the Louisiana Territory, was a forerunner of an expedition into the country to the southwest. Pike talked enthusiastically about this journey and the fact that Manuel Lisa, a prominent Saint Louis merchant, also had ambitions for such a trip to establish a trade route. Pike was sure that Lisa would do everything in his power to sabotage his expedition.

Simon had listened to all this innuendo with only half an ear. He had been surprised at his disinterest. He was there only to deliver the last of the supplies Pike had ordered and to find out when the territorial government would come through with payment. Soon, Pike had promised.

Now that the wagons had reached the top of the hill, Simon gave himself up to the luxury of thinking about Berry. He wasn’t sure that what he felt for her was love. He told himself that this strange emotion stirring beneath his breast was nothing more than the age-old desire to procreate, to leave something of yourself behind to show you had spent time on earth. He admitted to himself that what he had felt when he held her in his arms and kissed her was a sensation he had never felt before. She had seemed so vulnerable at that moment, not at all like the proud girl he had seen standing up to her pa and fighting off the attentions of Linc Smith.

He thought of her almost constantly—pictured her standing in Fain’s house yard waiting for him. He felt a thrill of excitement knowing that by sundown he would see her again. He chuckled aloud. What would she think of all the fixings he had brought for their home? She would spend only one winter in that small cabin, but she would be comfortable. His wife would have things to do with, he thought with satisfaction. Early next spring the materials and the craftsmen would arrive to build a fine new house on the bluff overlooking the river.

Simon had always intended to do this sometime in his life. He supposed that seeing Fain happily married, knowing he had a woman in his cabin doing for him, waiting for him, a woman he could turn to in the night for warmth and comfort, had spurred him into the decision to marry Berry. He laughed aloud—a strange sound amid the jingle of harnesses and the clip-clop of horses’ hooves.

Berry wanted love. What was love, anyway? He had never loved anyone and no one had ever loved him. He’d had good companions and friends. Wasn’t it enough that he liked to be with her, liked to look at her, and that the sound of her laughter made him want to laugh, too? He supposed he would love a child if he ever had one. The grin on his face was continuous. He could picture it in his mind—Berry walking about, holding her beautiful head high, as if she were royalty, with her stomach swollen with his son. Then the smile faded when he recalled the agony Rachel had gone through giving birth.

Simon supervised the crossing of the Missouri, and when the second wagon and the cows pulled up onto the bank from the ferry, he rode to the freight wagon and told Lardy he would ride on ahead to Fain’s place. One of the cows was a wedding gift for Fain and Rachel, the other for him and Berry. He wanted to be there to see Berry’s face when she saw the cow, the chickens, the cast-iron oven, and the rocking chair.

Suddenly conscious of the silly grin on his face, he gave himself a mental shake, disgusted with himself for acting like a callow youth. In spite of this stern self-discipline, excitement put his heels to the stallion and urged him into a gallop.

Rachel was standing beside the entrance to the dogtrot when he rode up the trail and into the yard. His eyes quickly scanned the clearing for signs of Berry, then turned back to Rachel. Something was wrong! Rachel stood quietly, Fain’s long gun cradled in her arms. He tried to stifle the feeling of dread that shot through him and swung from the saddle. Rachel ran to him and burst into tears.

“What’s happened?”

he asked anxiously and took the heavy gun from her hands.

“Berry . . .”

she choked.

“Berry? What’s happened to Berry?”

Simon felt as if all the air had left his lungs and he would never be able to fill them again.

“Berry’s . . . gone! She went to pick chokecherries yesterday morning . . . but Israel says she went north and . . .”

“She’s been gone since yesterday morning? Where’s Fain?”

“Looking for her. Israel told us he saw her ride out on the sorrel mare before daylight. She had a blanket and the musket and he thought he saw a bag of food.”

“Did Fish ride out to look for her?”

“He left yesterday morning before we knew Berry was . . . gone. We thought she was in the chokecherry patch.”

Simon swore viciously. The stupid little chit had gone looking for the land her pa had filed on. He tried to recall the details of the map Rachel had shown him. More than likely she had gone north and then followed the creek west.

“Why didn’t Fain go after her?”

he asked sharply.

“Eben is reliable. He’d’ve looked after the place until he got back.”

Rachel wiped her eyes on the hem of her skirt, straightened up, and tried to steady her voice when she spoke.

“Israel found Eben . . . dead. His throat was cut.”

Her face crumbled again and hot tears ran down her cheeks.

“Simon . . . I’m so afraid something terrible has happened to Berry!”

Rachel’s desperate words sent a pain through Simon’s heart that was almost unbearable. His arm went out and drew the sobbing woman to him for a brief, sympathetic hug, then he held her away from him. Bitter lines formed around his mouth.

“When was Eben killed?”

“Sometime yesterday. Israel and Eben were down by the river when Fish left. Fish told them he was going to Saint Louis and didn’t know when he would be back. Eben went back to work on his fishnets and Israel went to the garden. When Berry wasn’t back by noon, I got worried and told Fain. He went to the patch and she wasn’t there. Later, Fain sent Israel down to get Eben to come up here and stay while he looked for her. Israel came back and told us Eben was in his shack and that he was . . . dead.”

Rachel glanced toward the house when she heard Faith begin to cry.

“We buried Eben last night, and this morning Fain went out to look for Berry. Israel is around somewhere, but he’s so scared he’s almost out of his mind. I told him to keep out of sight and call out if he saw anyone coming.”

Rachel’s voice was trembly with the fear that gripped her.

“Please find her, Simon. Fain don’t want to leave me and Faith here alone for long. He don’t understand why anyone would kill Eben, unless it was for the gold he got for his furs this spring.”

Unreasoning rage was a bitter taste in Simon’s throat. Damn fool girl! He’d thought they had an understanding. He’d told her he would wed her! She’d not said no, so why couldn’t she have waited here for him? If this was an example of what it would be like if he had a woman, he didn’t know if he wanted one! He’d been gone only seventeen days. She’ll get herself killed! Killed or worse! The thought sent a spiral of fear down his spine. He pushed it from his mind so he could think clearly. He felt sick and empty inside. Then his feelings swung to anger.

Damn her!

Fain returned at about the same time the freight wagons pulled to a stop beside the pole corral. Israel appeared and took charge of the cows and the chickens. Fain went immediately to the house to see Rachel, then returned to report that a meal would be ready shortly. After the mules were unhitched, watered, and fed, the men squatted down beside the wagons.

“I trailed her to the first creek,”

Fain said.

“She turned west and I came on back. Hellfire, Simon! I couldn’t risk leaving Rachel here alone after what happened to Eben.”

Irritation made his voice gruff.

“I can’t for the life of me understand why she went off like she did. I thought somebody took ’er after we found Eben, but the mare’s tracks are plain as day and there ain’t no others.”

“Then you don’t think there’s a connection between her leaving and Eben’s death?”

“None that I can think of. ’Pears Berry was gone from here before somebody got to Eben. That’s queer, too. It ain’t natural Eben’d get his throat cut. He was strong as a bull ’n’ knowed how to take care of hisself. He’s been on the river three, four years.”

Fain shook his shaggy head.

“I hate what happened. I purely do. It’s a pity when a man has to die for a few coin.”

“Eben had no coin,”

Simon said slowly and thoughtfully.

“He always took credit for his furs.”

“That’s worse yet. The bastard killed him fer nothin’.”

Simon didn’t comment. Presently, after he removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, he got to his feet.

“I’ll eat a bite and be off. Fain, you and Olson better stay with Rachel.”

He nodded toward the quiet, bearded freighter he had hired to drive the light wagon.

“If Rachel will draw a map, the best she can remember, Lardy can take it and go upriver to Saint Charles. He might run into Light. If anyone can find Berry, it’d be Light.”

“Did ya hear anythin’ of Linc Smith when ya was in town? If’n he lived, he’ll try ’n’ even the score with the girl for shootin’ him.”

“Nary a word. The riverfront bunch was het up a bit about the shooting at the campgrounds, but nothing will come of it. Linc and George had spread word the women were whores and visits were welcome. Ernest is putting out the straight of it.”

“Goddamn bastards!”

Fain swore.

“Goddamn sonofabitches! I oughtta’ve nailed their balls to a stump!”

Rachel came to the end of the dogtrot and waved her apron.

“How come Fish took off? Did he decide he wasn’t no gunsmith after all?”

Simon asked on the way to the house.

“I think he give up on gunsmithin’. He’d been hangin’ ’round ’cause of Berry. Guess he figured he didn’t have no chance o’ courtin’ her. It’s pure queer, him a-goin’ off, Eben gettin’ hisself killed, and Berry a-doin’ the fool thin she done, all in a day. I’ve got no notion at all about one havin’ a thin’ to do with the other.”

When Simon was ready to leave, Rachel brought out a food pouch. Her trembling hand caught and held back the wisp of blond hair that the breeze had torn loose from its knotted roll. She looked toward the north, her eyes anxious. Shaking her head, she muttered, “Oh, Berry, why did you go?”

Then, to Simon: “Please find her.”

Darkness was approaching when Simon rode the stallion into the thick forest of tall oak, cottonwood, and elm trees.

Soaring willows, their thin branches hanging to the ground, grew along the backwater of the river, making a solid curtain to the east.

The need to hurry pressed heavily on Simon as he made his way over the familiar trail.

Had Berry met with an accident? Had she been taken by rivermen? Linc Smith? Indians? Or was she merely camping out, roaming the wilderness looking for her pa’s contract land?

If that was the case, by God, she’d get the shaking and the tongue-lashing of her life! Stubborn, mule-headed little baggage! He whipped up his anger to dull the edge of worry that plagued him and listened to the soft sounds made by the stallion’s hooves as he moved over the needle-strewn ground.

* * *

The first night was dreadful. Berry sat on the ground, her arms around a small sapling, her wrists bound together with a thin strip of rawhide. Moonlight filtered through the trees in ghostly patches, feeding her imagination. She could not sleep and periodically she shivered violently. Her teeth chattered, intensifying the pain in her jaw, which the Indian had struck when he knocked her to the ground. The whole side of her face ached and at first she had feared her jaw was broken.

Ugly was the only word to describe the younger of the two Indians. It seemed to Berry that the bone structure of his face had gone askew. His eyes were scarcely an inch apart. The rest of his face was broad, with a small lump for a nose. His mouth was wide and flat. However, he had a magnificent physique and was well aware of it. He strutted and preened when he saw her watching him. Once he went a few yards from her and let water. He laughed when she hid her face against the rough bark of the tree.

The older Indian paid little attention to her. She thought of him simply as “Old.”

She didn’t think he had looked at her since he had teased his companion about his difficulty in subduing her.

Berry was afraid; more than afraid—she was terrified. She was also tired after the long ride from Fain’s homestead. Weariness and despair began to crawl through her veins. Enveloped in hopelessness, her shoulders slumped. She leaned her forehead against the tree as silent sobs wrenched her body. She fought the tears. The other time she had cried, Ugly had curled his lips in contempt and spat on her as if he despised her.

I’ll never see Rachel or . . . Simon again! Simon . . . Simon . . . She felt the warm, thick flood of tears rising to her eyes, and she was helpless against them.

After a while she quieted and went to sleep.

* * *

Berry awoke when it was just turning daylight.

Heavy eyelids opened instantly.

She was stricken with terror! A dark face loomed close to hers.

She stared wildly, jumped, and tried to pull herself backward.

Fear, like a great dark shadow, moved down over her, and she screamed.

Once she started, she couldn’t stop.

The sound of her screams breaking into the silence was so frightening that she tried to get to her feet so she could get away from it. Her legs wouldn’t hold her and she fell to her knees.

Reason returned and she realized that the old man had untied her hands and was holding out a strip of dried meat.

He had a puzzled look on his face.

Berry looked beyond him and saw Ugly loping through the clearing toward them.

With an exclamation and a movement so unexpected that she had no time to shield her face, he hit her with the flat of his hand.

Unmistakable insults and threats spewed from his lips.

Berry cried out and braced herself for more blows, but they didn’t come.

With aching arms she pushed herself up. Her hair hung like a curtain over her face. She felt sick and dizzy. She licked her lips and tasted salt. Her senses were now too numbed for her to feel the pain.

It was sometime later in the day that Berry’s tired mind began to wonder why she and the older Indian were riding her mare and the ugly one was walking up ahead.

He had flung her up behind the old man and tied her hands in front of him.

Her skirts came up to her knees, but the Indians seemed not to notice.

Now her back and buttocks ached and she was tempted to rest her head against the Indian’s thick back, but she resisted and held herself erect.

Ugly coveted the mare.

Berry could tell by the way his small eyes roamed over the horse.

He was notably zealous in the care he took of the animal.

Then why was he walking and not riding? The old man must have a higher rank in the tribe, she decided.

“I’m thirsty,”

she said to the back of Old’s head.

He gave no sign he heard.

After a while she said, “I’m thirsty and hungry. And . . . I’ll kill you the first chance I get!”

Still he ignored her.

They followed no trail that she could see. They left the creek and went down a ravine and into a forest so thick with trees that the sun came through only in small, isolated patches. The scrub and underbrush were thick and scratched her bare legs, now almost numb from hanging over the sides of the horse. They crossed a stream and climbed a rough, steep hillside. It would be impossible for anyone to follow, Berry thought with a sinking heart.

Hours passed and by evening she was lulled into drowsiness by the rhythmic rocking of the seemingly tireless mare. She was truly weary now, with an increasing ache and soreness throughout her body. They stopped, but she was scarcely aware of it until the thong was removed from her wrists. Her arms fell to her sides. She couldn’t suppress a moan as pain shot through her shoulders. The old man helped her down. She stood for a moment, then her knees collapsed and she fell.

Every muscle in her body quaked with weakness and she wondered if she would have the strength to ride away if an opportunity did present itself. Soon she realized that she would have no opportunity. Her hands were retied and she was led like a dog on a leash to a spring where she was allowed to kneel and drink. As soon as the old man had had enough water, he jerked on the leash and she stumbled after him to a sapling that stood like a stake in the earth. He tied her to it.

Ugly took charge of the mare. He wiped her down with grass, led her to water, and hobbled her before he drank.

Berry didn’t even think now, because she was incapable of anything but sleep. She took the food the old Indian brought her and before she could finish eating it she fell asleep.

She was awakened almost at once—or so it seemed. It was dark. She realized with a shock that they were preparing to move again. Ugly lined her up behind the old man and tied her wrists as he had done before. The Indians seemed able to see in the darkness, for they traveled at the same pace as before.

They need not fear pursuit, Berry thought, and tears gathered on her lashes. Simon had said he wasn’t going to come chasing after her again. She should dread to face him, fear his wrath, despise him for leading her on to think they would wed and then deserting her. But she couldn’t—not now. She would get down on her knees to him if only he would ride up and rescue her from these savages!

Berry had long since lost all sense of direction. They went up hills, down hills, through briar patches and thickets. It seemed to her that Ugly was making it as hard as possible for rescuers to follow. It occurred to her that if he’d been alone, he would have killed her, because he didn’t want the burden of a captive. He wanted only the horse. But the old man wanted her. The young Indian ignored her most of the time, although he would stand and stare at her during the humiliating times when she was forced to relieve herself in full view of the two men.

They traveled all night and Berry lost all sense of time, too. Several times during the night she would jerk her head erect after finding she had let it rest against the Indian’s back. The pace Ugly set never seemed to slacken. When the going was exceptionally rough, he moved back to the mare’s head and led the animal.

The darkness overhead had begun to pale when they finally stopped at the end of a steep climb. Berry had feared she would slide off the rear of the horse and drag the old man with her. The blanket they were sitting on was wet and her legs and thighs were raw from gripping the sweating horse’s sides.

When her wrists were untied she was pulled off the mare and fell in a heap on a thick mat of dead leaves. A great longing swept over her to simply lie there and sleep. She felt weak in every bone in her body and thought it would be simpler if she went to sleep never to awaken. At that moment she felt the hopelessness of her situation more than at any other time since she had first looked into Ugly’s face. Surely she must wake from this nightmare!

Berry struggled to raise her head, to lift her leaden eyelids. It was turning daylight. She lay where she had fallen, weak and exhausted. Pains stabbed her back and buttocks. The old man was laying a fire and paying no attention to her. The need to relieve herself forced her to get to her feet. She backed slowly toward a bush. The old man looked up and nodded. She felt a surge of relief before other thoughts crowded her mind. He knows there’s nowhere for me to go, and if there was, I’d be too weak to make the effort. The thought brought her will to survive into her full consciousness like the pounding of a hammer on an anvil.

She had to start using her mind—to think, to take better care of herself, to eat and drink when she could. When the time came for her to make a break, she would have the strength to do it. She went back to the old man, straightened her back proudly, and looked him in the eye.

“I want a drink of water.”

He looked at her with piercing black eyes, and it occurred to her that he wasn’t as old as she had at first thought he was. The desire she saw in his eyes made her skin crawl, but she was determined to not cower before him even if he killed her. She put her hands on her hips. Resentment and anger flared in her eyes.

“I said I was thirsty, you old . . . coot!”

she shouted.

The stoic face broke into smiles. Then loud cackles of laughter came from his almost toothless mouth. He laughed and slapped his hands against his dirty buckskin leggings. He jabbed her with his forefinger.

“Coot . . . coot . . .”

“Not me! You, you dirty old buzzard!”

She jabbed him with her finger.

He continued to laugh, stomping his foot on the ground and waving his arms.

Angry and frustrated, Berry walked to the edge of the clearing. She saw a small stream of water oozing out of the rocks to form a small puddle before it went on down the rocky slope they had climbed in the dark. She fell to her knees and drank, scooping up the water in her hands. It was cool and delicious. After she drank, she splashed her face and pushed back the tight curls that framed it. She tore a strip from the hem of her dress and tied her hair at the nape of her neck. She longed to remove her shoes and cool her feet in the water, but she saw the ugly one coming up the slope. Just the sight of him made a chill slither down her spine. She stood, not wanting him to tower over her.

He threw two rabbits at her feet and then stared at her contemptuously. Berry looked at the rabbits and then at his face. His flat lips were curled in a sneer.

“You think I can’t clean and cook a rabbit!”

she said, “You’d like an excuse to kill me.”

Her green eyes flashed a confidence she didn’t feel.

“You ugly, disgusting, stinking polecat! What do you think I’ll clean them with? My teeth?”

To her surprise, he reached for the knife in his belt. With a flick of his wrist he sent it into the ground at her feet. She had heard somewhere that most Indians knew a little English. She wondered just how much these two knew.

Berry dressed and washed the rabbits and took them back to the fire. The Indians were sitting cross-legged on the ground—arguing. The young one was angry. The sounds he made were clear and distinct. The old one mumbled, but Berry got the impression that he was having the last word. Their talk exasperated her. Instinctively she knew they were arguing about her. Damn them! She would do some talking herself and see how much English they knew.

“When Simon Witcher comes to get me, he’ll cut off your heads and feed them to the wolves. Simon Witcher . . .”

She said the name slowly and distinctly.

“He’ll bring Fain MacCartney, Zebulon Pike, Manuel Lisa, and soldiers.”

She kept her back turned to the now-quiet Indians and searched her memory for names of prominent people.

“The people in Saint Louis will be looking for me. I’m the daughter of Auguste Chouteau. The scout called Light will send his knife into your backs.”

She heard a small grunt but didn’t look around. She bent her head over the rabbits and repeated, “The scout called Light . . . will come for me.”

The hand on her shoulder spun her around and slammed her to the ground. The ugly Indian, his face twisted in anger, wrapped the thong about her wrist and tied her to a tree. What had she said that made him so angry? Which of the men she had named did he fear? He knew at least a few English words—she was sure of that now.

The meat on the spit was done, and the smell of it caused Berry’s stomach to rumble and her mouth to water. She watched angrily and resentfully as the two men ate. Finally, when they finished, the old one came to her with a hind leg and a piece of the back that was crusted and blackened from being so close to the blaze. Berry took it gratefully and her sharp teeth tore into the meat.

The young Indian stamped out the fire, muttering angrily at the old one, who sat and watched impassively, the calm expression on his face never changing. Berry also watched, amazed at how completely he erased all trace of the fire. He doused the coals with water, carried the blackened pieces of wood away from the camp, and buried them under a thick layer of leaves. Then he covered the place where the fire had been with dirt, raked it, and laid leaves over it until it was impossible to tell that a fire had ever been built in that place. He also removed all traces at the site where she had cleaned the rabbits. Berry now wished she hadn’t been so neat. She could have splashed so much blood over the rocks that it would have been impossible for him to remove it.

Ugly stood over the old man, glowering, arguing, and pointing toward the distant hills. The old man folded his hands over his stomach and belched. Ugly grew more insistent, raising his voice. Berry watched in terror as he drew the knife from his belt and brandished it with swift, unmistakable motions. He wanted to kill her! A thousand tiny hammers pounded in her head while she waited to see what the old man would do.

Finally he got slowly to his feet and folded his arms over his chest. He straightened himself proudly and shook his head. The word he spat out was the harshest she had heard him utter. He shook his head and pointed to his chest.

Ugly stared at him and walked away. Berry realized that a crisis had been averted. When the old man came for her, she got to her feet and walked behind him down the rocky slope. The mare was chomping on the grass at the bottom of the hill and Ugly stood waiting.

They traveled all day. They waded upstream in a creek that stopped abruptly when they came to a spring. The country is full of springs, Berry thought absently. They pushed through green meadows. Bees hummed thickly in the air. Elk and deer suddenly bounded from the shadows as Berry and the Indians passed through wooded valleys, but she was too miserable to see the beauty.

After three days and nights of riding, the pain that would have been unbearable was somewhat dulled by the curious blanking of mind that nature provides to carry one through suffering. Days and nights, trees, hills, and streams—food she determinedly swallowed. Snatches of sleep. They rode on and on. The whole world seemed contained in the movement of the mare, the slap of the brush against her legs, the sound of the hooves—the Indians. Her head hung forward and she didn’t have the strength to straighten her neck.

Hours after she had passed the desperate need to lie down that had plagued her for these past days and nights—when she thought she would go on and on forever like this, and that there would be no end—they stopped. She was powerless to move. Strong hands pulled her from the horse. She lay crumbled and dazed. A curious cone-shaped shelter danced before her eyes, but its meaning eluded the grasp of her mind.

Her eyes closed. She drifted into darkness.