The Queen Of Cherry Vale

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The Queen of Cherry ValeTHE QUEEN OF CHERRY VALE by Judith B. Glad ISBN: 1-928670-87-3 Published by Awe-Struck E-Books Copright ©2000 Dedication To Neil with love. If you hadn't believed, this book would never have happened. Acknowledgement Cherry Vale doesn't exist, but if it did, you would find it along the South Fork of the Payette River. I would never have discovered it without the many wonderful folks who've shared the splendor of Idaho's mountains and forests and rivers with me. Prologue:1844 The women wept for family and places to be left behind while the men spoke of new lives and unexplored lands. The women dried their tears and sorted the minutiae of their lives, discarding memories and treasures, weighing each thing against the knowledge that it must be carried two thousand miles and more. Food was more important than foofaraw, needles and pins more valuable than velvet bonnets and shoes with French heels. Chests and trunks were packed with sturdy clothing and underwear, potions and simples. They mourned the chiffoniers they left behind and made room for the chests and chairs they took. And if an empty corner was found for grandmother's china platter or the family Bible, well, no one would know until they reached Oregon. They learned much along the way. Shoes made for country lanes were too frangible for the mud and rocks and endless miles of the trail. Food tasted just as good cooked over buffalo dung and dusty bodies felt clean when washed in a cupful of precious water. A circle of spread skirts was enough for privacy, and no one noticed soft cries of completion when the ever-present wind soughed around the wheels and canopies of clustered wagons. The prairie and the mountains taught hard lessons. That life was more precious

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html than the china platter or the butternut cabinet, that a plowshare might mean survival while a silver teapot did not. That there were hardships far worse than leaving behind all they knew and loved, for Oregon was far away and many of them would never see its rich green valleys. For Hattie Rommel, the journey West was but one more move in a life filled with moving. She hid her tears from Karl, for he had no patience with women's vapors. A wife went where her husband did--it was her duty. Perhaps, in Oregon, she would find a home. Chapter One: 1845 "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. And may God have mercy on your soul." The muted chorus of "amens" still shivered in the chill of early morn when Colonel Whitehead shut his Bible with a snap. "Let's get rollin'," he said. A light touch on her arm roused Hattie from her stupor. She let dusty soil dribble from her fingers onto the blanket-wrapped form that had been her husband. A gentle arm turned her away from the grave. The women around her murmured their sympathy. She let them lead her back to the waiting wagons, didn't resist when she was urged to climb onto the high seat of hers. Dust choked her as the first wagon slowly swung into the broad track across the empty prairie. The oxen stepped out in line, big, gentle Odin not needing the touch of the goad carried by young Japhet Stone. The white ox was so intelligent that he hardly needed guidance, but Colonel Whitehead had nearly had a conniption fit when she said as much, back when Karl had first taken sick. She was so tired, so numb. So empty. It seemed like she'd been nursing the sick forever. The cholera had caught up with them along the Platte and Annie had been one of the first to sicken. Poor little tyke, she'd not suffered much. It had taken her so quickly. Hattie still looked for her among the children of the train, until she remembered once again that the child she'd raised from babyhood was gone, left in an unmarked grave beside the trail. Karl hadn't grieved any more for his daughter than she had. Than she did, for her arms were still empty, her heart still aching. And now Karl was gone too. She grieved, but she was angry too. With him. With herself. He'd promised to protect her, to give her a home. Then he'd left her alone, halfway to Oregon, where she hadn't wanted to go in the first place. No one had taken sick for more than a week now, so maybe they'd left the bad water and the miasmas behind them. The air in these high valleys seemed cleaner somehow than it did back home, or even on those endless plains before the divide. Soda Springs tonight, the colonel had said. Hattie had promised Japhet and Silas some of her precious store of sugar to sweeten the soda water that was supposed to gush from the ground. They, at least, were still young enough to be able to laugh and play at the end of a long, hard day. She was too tired, too old, even though she was scarcely twenty. She felt a hundred and twenty. She could still turn back. Almost every day they encountered a group

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html returning to the East. To civilization. To safety. No. She could not--would not--go back. She'd left nothing behind. Her future, no matter how bleak, was somewhere out there. Toward the sunset. In Oregon she could put down roots and build a place of her own, somewhere she would belong for the rest of her life. * * * Emmet topped a rise and halted, looking across the rolling countryside. A line of white shapes in the distance marked still another wagon train. Would they never stop coming, these seekers after paradise? He'd been looking forward to a bath in the hot pools at Soda Springs. There was still a sliver of castile soap in his possibles, left from a long ago week in Paris. He had a hankering to feel its spicy scent on his skin, instead of the reek of wood smoke and horse. He'd been in the mountains too long. He nudged his horse into a walk, letting the gelding find its own way down the hillside. Back when he'd come up the Mississippi with Clymer and Jones, he'd figured a year or two in the wilderness would be enough. The life had suited him, though, and he'd stayed until the itch in his feet grew too intense to resist. He'd found a certain peace in the cold, wet, difficult work of running traplines in frozen forests, a contentment in long winter nights in a smoky log cabin while he and Buffalo Jones spun impossible tales and repaired gear. But it was time to move on again. He wanted music and laughter and most of all, he wanted silky, clean women who smelled of flowers, not of fish and bear grease. Emmet waited until dark for his bath, certain the emigrants would be in bed almost as early as the chickens they carried in cages tied to the sides of their wagons. His moccasined feet made no sound on the hard-packed ground, nor did his well-worn buckskin pants rustle as wool would have. The sounds of the night were soft around him, usual sounds, nothing to alarm his well-trained perceptions. Until he heard the splash. It was not a fish, not a beaver. He froze, each sense on the alert. Another splash, followed by a formless cry. Emmet stepped off the path, into the sagebrush. Slipping from one tall shrub to another, he approached the bank that overlooked the creek. In the moonlight, white shoulders gleamed with droplets of water, slim arms lifted a dark cloud of hair, dripping, from the water. Even as he watched, she stood, her body tempting and perfect in the pallid light. She wrung water from her hair, stepped carefully toward the shore. As she bent and turned, pulling on a white chemise and a dark dress, he almost wept at the beauty of her. His sex strained at buckskin, demanding, hungry. His body all but trembled at the force of his sudden desire. She was within three feet of him as she climbed the path. He could have

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html reached out and grabbed her, could have silenced her alarmed cry and carried her far from the security of her wagon, there to ravish her until his body was drained and empty. He could almost feel the satin of her warm skin, taste the sugar of her hot mouth. She smelled of lilac and he let her walk on. * * * For the first time in weeks, Hattie felt almost alive. The long sleep, almost all day, as the wagon jolted and swayed along the trail, had healed her body of its crippling exhaustion. As for the other, the loneliness that she was all too familiar with, well, there was no cure for that. She'd known it before and survived. She'd survive again. What a relief it was to feel clean once more. Karl had never understood her love of swimming, and had forbidden her to bathe in the pond, even wearing her chemise. As if anyone but him and Annie would have seen her, but that hadn't mattered to Karl. It was indecent, he'd insisted, for her to want to undress herself like that. If she had to immerse her whole body in water, a tub before the kitchen fire was enough, just as long as he was warned so he wouldn't embarrass them both by walking in on her. "Silas? I'm back," she called softly as she approached the wagon. "Yo," the lad answered, and she saw him lay down the shotgun he'd carried ever since the day Karl took sick. He crawled under the wagon, to the thin pallet where he slept, a boy who'd done a man's work for too many of his fourteen years. Hattie climbed into the wagon, grateful that Karl had insisted that no wife of his was going to sleep on the ground. Now that he was gone--she tasted the word again.Gone . It was bitter on her tongue. Karl was gone, just like everyone else she'd ever cared for, and she was alone again. She forced her mind away from self-pity. Now that Karl was gone, she was going to have to be careful. Already she'd seen hunger in male eyes, read speculation and intention. Japhet didn't come to her wagon in the morning. Hattie helped Silas hitch the oxen instead of fixing breakfast. She gave him cold biscuits with bacon and milk instead of coffee. Before she could do much more than finish loading up, the colonel blew the starting horn. She wished someone would steal that blamed bugle. It was bad enough that the colonel--an honorary title, she was sure--ruled the train like a petty martinet. His not having a bit of music sense was the final straw. He hadn't hit a true note since they left Westport. Without Japhet, Hattie had to walk alongside Odin. She had no chance to check on the boy, so was relieved when Eli Stone slowed his big gelding beside her later. "Mornin' Mrs. Rommel," he said, his leathery face solemn. "I hope you're feelin' more yourself today."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "I am, thank you, Mr. Stone. I think it was all that time nursing...." A sob caught in her throat and she bit her lip to hold it back. "I didn't get much rest, those last few days," she said, after a moment. "Karl was so restless, you see, and...." "Well, glad we could help out," Stone said. "Japhet appreciated the chance to earn some money all his own." "He's not sick, or anything?" "Fit as a fiddle. The colonel put him and some of the other boys on the herd today." Then, as if the idea had just then occurred to him, Stone said, "You didn't need him any longer, did you? The colonel said...." "No, I won't be needing him," Hattie said, wondering how on earth she and Silas would manage, without any help at all. But she'd seen what had happened to Elizabeth Wright after her husband died. It was not going to happen to her. The colonel wasn't going to force Hattie into anything she didn't chose to do. Nobody was, ever again. Having expected him all day, Hattie was not surprised when the colonel appeared as she was preparing supper. "Evenin', Mrs. Rommel." Winston Whitehead made himself at home, sitting on the tongue of her wagon as if he had a right to be there. Hattie wiped her forearm across her face, knowing she was leaving streaks of dirt but not particularly caring. "Good evening, Colonel." She used the poker to replace the cast iron lid on the Dutch oven, squinting her eyes against the heat from the coals. The coffeepot sat at the edge of the fire, still hot, still partly full, but she'd be blessed if she was going to offer him any. Not after he'd decided she no longer needed Japhet's help. He sat silently for several minutes, watching while she finished the supper dishes and put them back into the chest at the back of her household wagon. She turned the spider upside down on a rock near the fire, after rubbing it with lard to maintain its season. Hattie wondered if he ever did anything but look important. Certainly she'd never seen him turn his hand to a task more strenuous than blowing his fool horn. "You recall the agreement about single women?" Hattie had almost forgotten he was there. She still had milk to skim and a big tear in Silas' second best shirt to mend. Cautiously she nodded. Surely the agreement didn't apply to her? "Well, then, I don't need to explain your duty to you, now do I? It's been four days since your husband passed on. I calculate that gives you until the fourteenth, but I'll not pressure you." "You'll not pressure...." Hattie sputtered, clenching her fists and her jaw. Hattie had signed no agreement, had been completely unaware of its contents until just the other side of the Chimney Rock when, in the course of forty-eight hours, strong young Leland Wright had died of the cholera and the colonel had insisted his grieving and pregnant widow be wed within two weeks. Dazed, lost, Elizabeth had complied, and now she was married to a dour, middle-aged wheelwright who'd been the only man willing to take her and her little brood of three on, given that everything she owned was in the single wagon pulled by

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html three oxen and one old milch cow. Yes, Hattie knew about the agreement, signed by all the men in the train, but affecting the women so much more. And she knew her only alternative was to leave the train at Fort Hall and hope that the next one to come by would take her on. Or she could go back. Back to Missouri, where they'd wintered, waiting for the spring? Back to Pennsylvania, where Karl's farm now belonged to someone else? Or back to New York, where all that was left of her family was a line of headstones in a cemetery? No. She would get to Oregon, come hell or high water. She was more than halfway there already, Her aunt Nettie had always said she'd catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Hattie forced herself to smile. "I didn't think... well, we're so close to Oregon. I guess I figured I wouldn't need to remarry. After all, Silas...." "Now, Mrs. Rommel, you know better than that." The colonel's voice was soothing, patient. "It's just not fair to the other men in the train, having a pretty young woman like you alone and needin' help with her stock and her wagon. Why, what would happen if you broke a wheel, or your cattle strayed? Without a man of your own, you'd be forced to call on the others, with no way to pay them back." "I have money!" "Money don't make much difference out here in the wilderness," he said. "What's needed is help in kind. Your neighbor helps you, you help him. But you can't. You're just a woman. It takes a man to do what's needed about a wagon." "We've been managing," she said, knowing they hadn't. Both she and Silas were near to dropping from exhaustion. It was all she could do to cook them a decent meal at the end of the day, and they hadn't had anything but cold collations for breakfasts and dinners since Karl took sick. Two wagons, fourteen oxen, a horse and a milch cow were simply too much for a woman and a boy to manage. Hattie tested the bread, tipped it out onto the dishtowel she held. She set it on the wagon seat to cool. The colonel went on as if she hadn't spoken. "We'll be getting to Fort Hall tomorrow. It's been a while since we took a day of rest, so I'm thinking about a layover there. We'll have a dance, kick up our feet a bit. It's time you got to know your neighbors better, so you'll come along to it instead of sitting here and brooding." "I don't dance." Karl hadn't held with dancing, although she'd often thought it sounded like fun. Imagine prancing around in time to music, just for the enjoyment of it. "Well, you can't learn any younger. There's four or five real nice fellas who'd be willing to take you as a wife. This'll give you a chance to look 'em over without makin' any promises." There was steel in his voice, for all its unctuous

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html tones. "I'll be there," she said, knowing if she wasn't, he would send his wife to fetch her. He nodded in satisfaction and departed, no doubt to bedevil some other poor unsuspecting soul. She'd seen the "nice fellas." There wasn't a one she'd marry, not if her life depended on it. There would be men eager to marry her, she knew. She was rich, by the standards of this train. There were only a few families with more than one wagon, even fewer by now with extra oxen. The gold Karl had hidden in his tool chest was a secret, but her wealth was nonetheless obvious. What was she going to do? Hattie forced herself to prepare supper, to plan tomorrow's noon meal. She skimmed the milk and poured the cream into the churn for tomorrow's travel to shake into butter. After washing the bucket and the skimmer, she sat on the tongue of her wagon, needing time alone. Most evenings there was a neighborly gathering at the Whiteheads' wagon, one she'd seldom attended since Karl took sick. It was happening again--the dictating of her life as if she had no right to a say in it. And this time, she might not be so fortunate as she had been when Uncle James had sold her to Karl. There wasn't a man in the train she would trust to have a care for her, aside from her wagons and livestock and Karl's precious hoard. She would not--could not--go back, but was she willing to pay the price of going forward? * * * Emmet told himself he was going to Fort Hall to replenish his supply of coffee and bacon. It had nothing to do with the memory of white shoulders against black water. Riding overland, not burdened with the problems of a wagon or a team, he would be there and gone again before the train arrived. And he would never see her again, the lilac-scented woman. Hell! He wouldn't know her if he saw her. He had glimpsed the curve of a cheek, an angle of chin, but had never seen her whole face. The only way he'd recognize her would be if he encountered her buck-naked. Nonetheless, when the train finally arrived at Fort Hall, he was still there. And he sniffed as each woman passed him where he sat at the entrance to the post. She wasn't among them, these women trading for more flour, more sugar, more coffee. Emmet felt a relief, and a disappointment. As the afternoon shadows lengthened, he followed the stream of women and men back to the meadow where this latest train was camped. Halfway there, he heard the brazen call of a bugle. The women he was following walked faster and two boys came running from behind him. Curious, Emmet followed to the grouped wagons, finding a place at the edge of the growing crowd. He watched as a portly man in black broadcloth and a blindingly white shirt climbed onto a wagon seat and lifted his arms for silence. "Since it's the Sabbath, there will be a short service at sundown," the speaker said. "Afterwards George Anderson and Bruce MacLeod will play some music for dancin'."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html A cheer, quickly tapering off, as the arms were raised again. "You all know that Karl Rommel died a few days back." There was widespread nodding, some long faces. "Now Mrs. Rommel has got herself a couple of good wagons and some nice cargo, and she's needin' a man to help her out. I want you single men to think about what kind of husbands you'd make. She don't need a lazy man, nor a drinkin' man. She wants a home out there in Oregon and she needs someone who'll help her build one. If you think you're able, come see me." Emmet looked around the crowd curiously, trying to find the needful widow-woman. She must be a mean old bat, not to be able to catch herself a husband. Like most trains he'd encountered, this one seemed to run about five men to every woman of marrying age, and most of the men were young and apt to be horny as hell. He decided to attend the dancing tonight. Maybe he'd catch a sniff of his lilac-woman. * * * On dragging feet Hattie walked across the squared circle of wagons to where George Anderson and Bruce MacLeod were tuning up, standing on two wooden chests. The wail of Bruce's fiddle sounded as lonely as she felt. Silently she entered the firelit circle and found a place between Martha Stone and Tillie Whitehead. She looked around the crowd, seeking Elizabeth Wright--no Elizabeth Coonrad, now. The frail young woman was even more pregnant, even more frail than the last time Hattie had noticed her. And there were new lines in her face. The music began, light, happy music, but to Hattie it was ominous, dark, mournful. Couples swung into the circle formed by their neighbors, faces bright with laughter, eyes sparkling. The last time they had rested an entire day had been at Fort Laramie, nearly six weeks ago. Tomorrow they would again face the unrelenting trail, the merciless sun, and the unknown future. Tonight they set care aside. Bert Lytle took her hand and swung her among dancers without a single word. His dark face, with its twisted upper lip and dirt-lined creases, always seemed to be the evil visage of her childish nightmares. Karl had not trusted him, either, having suspected him of petty pilferage ever since Missouri. Surely he wasn't a contender for her hand. After Bert, Matthew Clark led her through a round dance, patiently showing her the unfamiliar steps. He at least attempted conversation, although she found little to say to him. He was nice enough, but always stank of the tobacco that seemed permanently lodged in his upper lip. Jeremiah Thomas was next, his wooden leg making him awkward and clumsy. Then Bruce MacLeod danced with her to the haunting melody of George's flute. He was really a nice man, fatherly and gentle. Breathless, she let Bruce escort her back to the colonel's side. She

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html wondered about the family he was supposed to be joining in Oregon. Why had Bruce stayed behind, when his sons and a daughter braved the trail last year? When other men asked her to dance, Hattie refused, pleading exhaustion. She had washed all of Karl's bedding today. The hours of bending over the steaming kettle, of squeezing the heavy linen sheets and wool comforts, and of draping them across willows and wagon tongues to dry had indeed worn her out. "You should dance, Mrs. Rommel," the colonel told her after she'd refused the second man. "You'll never find a husband by being shy." "I'm not...." She took a deep breath. The last thing she wanted to do was offend this man who held her future in his hands. "I'm really tired, Colonel. I think I'll go to bed." "You've made up your mind then?" Whitehead said. Tillie interrupted him. "Joseph, leave the child alone tonight. Can't you see she's about dead on her feet?" "This is your only chance to get to know the candidates, Mrs. Rommel. I'll wait until Rock Creek Crossing. No longer." "You can't force me to marry!" "I can and I will. There'll be no women onmy train distracting the single men, causing trouble." Before she could say more, a masculine voice broke the tense silence. "Could I have a word with you, Colonel?" Hattie looked up. And up. The man standing at her elbow was tall as the sky, his voice deep and rich. A faint odor of exotic spice wafted across her nostrils. Surely it couldn't come from him. Colonel Whitehead answered impatiently. "Yes? What is it?" "I heard tell you're lookin' for a pilot." The colonel inspected the stranger. So did everyone else nearby, for he was indeed a sight to behold. He wore buckskins, as many men did on the trail. But his were stained dark, supple and clinging, as if they were a second skin only slightly looser than the one he'd been born with. His hair was fair, gleaming golden in the firelight. Pale eyes stared back at the colonel, unblinking, unflinching. The tall rifle at his side seemed a part of him, an extension of his arm, and the heavy knife looked as natural on his belt as her apron did at her waist. "We might be," the colonel admitted. "I'm headed that way." Hattie slipped back into the shadows, taking advantage of the distraction to escape any further attention from the colonel. She stopped, still near enough to watch and listen. Searching the stranger's face for signs of dissipation, of evil living, of cruelty. There were none. His eyes met the colonel's straight. His mouth didn't smile ingratiatingly nor did it sneer in contempt. His stance was easy, as if he saw no threat from any man or beast present. Firelight glinted on his face, golden brown and weathered, but breathtakingly handsome. "Is there anyone who can speak for you?" the colonel said. The stranger's mouth tightened. "I need no man to speak for me. I've nothing to sell, nor have I anything to gain, beyond ordinary neighborliness, offering

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html to guide you to the Columbia." It did Hattie's heart good to see the colonel buffaloed. "I'll think on it," he said, clearly grudging the concession. "Don't think on it too long," the stranger told him. "I'll be riding out in the morning, and I'll make better time than your wagons." He turned and walked into the night. * * * Emmet didn't know why he trailed along behind the wagon train. In the time it took them to reach Rock Creek, he could have been halfway to Grande Ronde. He watched from a nearby promontory as nine wagons left the main train at the Raft River. The word was more and more emigrants were choosing to head for California. He didn't blame them. If he had to winter in the Willamette Valley, he'd be ready to wrestle a cougar barehanded, just for excitement. It was one thing to spend months inside a snowbound cabin in the high country, another entirely to listen to the never-ending drip, drip, drip of Oregon's winter rains. Seeking silence and solitude, he went up into the hills. For three days he camped in a high valley, walking the bare ridges by day, counting the distant stars by night. Lonely, yet wanting no man's company, Emmet was restless, but no destination called to him. Eventually he'd reach Fort Vancouver and take ship for somewhere--there were fortunes to be made in the China trade. The life of a sailor was one he could follow again, but he thought instead of being a trader, with solid ground on which to set his feet. Three seasons of trapping had given him a stake; it was time to move on. He'd been halfway around the world, and he'd a hankering to see the other half. When he came down from the hills, he again followed in the wagon tracks. His mule carried a bundle of freshly dried venison and Emmet wondered in passing if one of the women would trade for warm bread and fresh-churned butter. It had been a long time since he'd eaten such vittles and he had his mouth set for them. As so many had before them, the train halted at Rock Creek Crossing. Emmet set up camp on the far side of the shallow, steep-walled canyon, not wanting to be too close. He'd go over after supper, see about making a trade. * * * Hattie saw her salvation coming over a hill. Dropping the Dutch oven carelessly into the coals, she ran to meet him. He halted as she came up to him. She thought his nose twitched, and she wished she'd known he was coming. She could have washed her face with her precious lilac soap. She stood before him and looked up into those far-seeing blue eyes and wondered if she had the courage to do what she must. "Evening, ma'am," he said, and his voice was the same deep rumble she remembered. "Good evening," she said, hearing her own voice high and trembly. "It's Mr. Lachlan, is it not?" The colonel had spoken to the factor at Fort Hall and learned that Emmet Lachlan was a man to trust. If he couldn't get them safely

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html to the Columbia, Captain Grant had said, no man could. He inclined his head, and his lips moved into that mocking smile again. "It is indeed. And how may I be of service to you?" From the gleam in his eye, she had a feeling she knew exactly how he'd like to be of service to her, but he made no threatening move, nor was there disrespect in his voice. Hattie bit her lip, wondering if she was mad. She'd been ready to go to the colonel, to plead with him for a few more days to decide. Of all the possible candidates for her husband, only Bruce MacLeod came close to someone she could imagine in her bed. The others made her cringe with disgust or shiver with loathing. And while Bruce was hale and hearty, he was still nearly sixty and set in his ways. "Ma'am?" He was watching her, until Hattie felt like a mouse under a cat's scrutiny. "I'll tell you what you can do to help me, Mr. Lachlan. You can marry me." Chapter Two The ruddy firelight showed Emmet enormous eyes, a tip-tilted nose, and a mouth made for kissing. He smelled her fear and something more. A faint echo of lilacs. There was no fear in her face, though, only resolution, as she lifted a proud chin. "Why?" he demanded. Any notion this crazy had to have a pretty good reason and he wanted to know what it was. She nibbled her lower lip with white teeth. He waited. Finally she looked up at him. "Because I need a husband and you look like a good man." A man's voice raised in anger, a woman's shrill reply, came from the wagons circled not fifty yards away. "Come on," Emmet said, grabbing her wrist and leading her back the way he'd come, down the narrow trail to the creek and up the other side. He had no idea what she was up to, but he'd have no eavesdroppers while he found out. She followed, unresisting. When she stumbled he slowed, reminded that she was a woman, and small. And weak. The bonfires between the wagons were mere sparks in the darkness and her face was only a paler shape floating in the night when they reached his camp. "I don't need a wife," he said, "but I'm willin' to listen." His hands itched to touch more than her wrist. He settled on one of the angular black rocks that littered the canyon's edge. "Talk." He sensed, rather than saw, her rubbing the wrist he'd pulled her along by. "I said it all," she told him. "I need a husband." This time her voice trembled slightly. "As far as Oregon, anyway." The last was spoken over her shoulder as she turned away from him, to face into the night. "Why? Are you breeding?" His eyes, once more adapted to the night, were held by her fragile nape as she shook her head. Thus he saw, rather than heard, the deep sigh that lifted, then lowered her shoulders. He saw how worry or exhaustion weighed them down. And again he caught the faintest odor of lilacs, more like a memory than a scent. Her bowed shoulders drew his hands. For an instant he wanted to pull her to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html him, to feel the soft length of her against his awakening body. Instead he turned her to face him, lifted her chin with one finger. "Ma'am?" She stared at him, her eyes dark smudges in her pale face. Eventually she shook her head. "Never mind," she said, defeat deadening her voice. "It was a crazy notion." Perversely Emmet found he wanted to argue with her. "Like I said, I don't need a wife," he told her, tracing his finger across her cheek, "but I sure could use a woman." She jerked her head aside, tried to step back from him, but he caught her by the shoulders again and pulled her forward. He wasn't going to harm her, but he wanted a taste of this lilac-woman before he sent her back to the safety of her wagon train. And he wanted to scare her good, so she wouldn't be asking any more drifters to marry her. A woman could get hurt doing that. Hungrily he kissed her, tasting her sweetness, easing his tongue between her lips. He lifted her against him, so that his hard sex was cradled against her soft woman's belly. For a moment it seemed like she was going to respond, and then she went dead still. He held her, showing with his tongue what he wanted, how he would bury himself in her welcoming heat. She struggled, her cry a muffled protest against his mouth. Reluctantly he released her, for Emmet Lachlan took no woman against her will.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, she hauled off and swung at him, her flailing fist catching him a good clip along the jaw. He caught her arm on the backswing, twisting it behind her back only far enough to protect himself. "Let me go, you big oaf! Let me go or I'll scream fit to wake the dead!" She swung at him with the other arm and this one connected with his ear, sending waves of pain down the side of his neck. Angry now, Emmet flung himself on her, carrying her down onto the grassy slope. Holding her, covering her mouth with his hand, he waited while she threshed and bucked beneath him. "Stop it!" He kept his voice low, knowing what would happen if she did scream. Her teeth sank into his finger. "Owww! Damn you!" Eventually he had her pinned, legs held in the vise of his thighs, hands

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html stretched above her head. Still she struggled, but he held her securely, one hand again across her mouth, for she had let go with several healthy yells before he could muzzle her. Panting, for despite his greater strength she'd given him a run for his money, he glowered down at her. "What'd you do that for? I turned you loose!" She squealed against his hand. "Look, I can sit here all night if I need to. Tell me why you need a husband and I'll let you go. But if you yell, or try to run away, I'll have you hog-tied so quick you won't know what happened. Understand?" Her eyes were still enormous, now with a glare that like to took the hide off him, but she nodded. Cautiously he released her mouth, but held tight to her hands. She had a wicked swing. "Talk." "Get off me!" "Not on your life." He didn't trust her far as he could throw her. Besides, she felt good. Soft and womanly. She struggled again, but with less energy. He hoped she was getting the idea he meant what he'd said about staying here all night long. Finally she quit, but he didn't relax. "There's a rule in the train," she said, her voice tight and bitter-sounding, "that there's no single women allowed. If I don't choose my own husband tonight, the colonel will choose one for me. I don't like any of his candidates, so I chose you." "How'd you manage to stay unmarried this long?" he said, thinking that the men in the Whitehead train must be curiously blind not to have seen her beauty, her fire. "Two weeks?" She grimaced. "Back where I come from, a widow gets a year to mourn." Emmet hadn't had much schooling, but he could add two and two. "You'rethe widow?" She nodded, and he thought he saw the sheen of moisture in her eyes. "My husband--Karl--had camp fever. He died the day before we got to Soda Springs." Aw, hell! Emmet released her hands and swung himself off her legs. She was a grieving widow and he'd treated her like a tart. This was the first time he'd heard of a rule like that, although he knew some of the trains were like petty dictatorships. Pegleg Smith had been yarning one night they'd camped together. He'd told of a train where the captain decreed all dogs were to be shot. Most had, before some of the members stood up for themselves. And there was the one in which each family had to have a testimonial from a pastor, that its members practiced humane and Christian principles. "Why didn't you go back," he asked, "when your husband passed on?" "I can't. Not now. Not after it's cost me so much to get this far." Her eyes closed, her mouth twisted. "And there's nothing to go back to." "What will you do when you get to the Willamette Valley? You can't farm alone." "Why can't I? Karl wasn't really a farmer. He was a cabinetmaker. I took care of the livestock and the orchard. Silas and me, that is." "Who's Silas?" he demanded, knowing her too young to have a son to help her

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html farm. "He's...he's my hired man. And he's my friend." Conscious of an unreasonable jealousy of Silas, Emmet said, "I'm no farmer." She looked away, showing him a profile so pure, so lovely he ached. "I don't want a husband who'll stay with me, just one who'll get me there." "I reckon there's something in it for me, if I do what you ask?" Without meeting his eye, she said, "I've gold...." "A man doesn't marry for gold, nor from the goodness of his heart." He wished he could see more of her than one round cheek, silhouetted against the still pale western horizon. The memory of her softness, of her womanly warmth, against his body sent rivers of fire into his loins. "Nights in the desert get mighty cold," he said, laying a hand on her shoulder and turning her to face him. She flinched, but didn't pull away from his touch. Not quite. "Say I was to marry you and see you to the Willamette," he said, pushing his luck. "Would you share my bed on the way?" Damn! Just thinking about her naked and writhing in his arms was getting him hard. He felt her tension as she pulled away. He let her go, having trapped more than one frightened critter with patience and gentleness. "I need a man to drive my wagon," she said, standing just out of reach, "and to help with the chores. That's all. Thank you kindly for considering my proposal, Mr. Lachlan. I should have known you weren't interested." A small sigh came to his ears, so faint that he might have imagined it. "I'll be going now. We start out early in the morning." She all but disappeared in the darkness. "Wait!" His single word stopped her before she'd gone twenty feet. "I didn't say I wasn't interested." He couldn't let her go. Aside from the residual ache in his loins, he was still curious. While a few coins jingling in his pocket wouldn't be amiss, Emmet had ample funds on deposit in St. Louis and wasn't looking to work for wages. "How much gold?" "Fifty dollars?" He laughed. He couldn't help himself. Fifty dollars wouldn't even buy a good mule. "I'm sorry. It's all I can spare. And the other... I can't...." Her voice broke. "It's too soon. I just ca...." He strode after her, catching her as she attempted to pick her way along the narrow path that slanted along the canyon wall. "Wait," he said again, holding her with a light touch on her arm. "You've got to chose a husband tonight, or the colonel will do it for you?" He deliberately put his contempt for the pompous train leader in his voice. He sensed rather than saw her nod. "Whoever he picked, you'd have no choice about where you slept?" This time he felt the movement of her head as her hair tickled his chin. "So why not me?" "Because...." Her words came to his ears like a whisper of wind. "...because I'm afraid I could come to care for you." Once Emmet had found responsibility thrust upon him, and when it ended he'd

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html sworn he'd never again take another's fate into his hands. Now he saw the trap he most dreaded yawning at his feet. Saw it, and still he stepped willingly off the edge and into its teeth. He couldn't help himself. She was so brave. So comely. And she smelled of lilac. "I'll see you to the Willamette and I'll hunt for you and guard your stock," he said, taking her hand and guiding her along the trail until the wagons were again in sight. Before he released it, he pulled her briefly against him, wanting just one more hint of her lilac scent. "And I'll sleep alone," he said into her hair, knowing it was about the most damfool promise he'd ever made. "But you know nothing about this man!" Winston Whitehead was as close to speechless as she'd ever seen him. "I know all I need to know," she snapped. Oh, but it felt good to be able to stand up to the colonel. He'd been telling her what to do ever since the day Karl took sick, and she'd had no choice but to obey, since she'd needed his help. "I know I'd rather be married to him than to anyone I've seen in this train," Hattie said. "Now, will you do the ceremony, or do I just let him move into my wagon?" "I'll marry you," Colonel Whitehead said, disapproval in every word. "Tonight." "This morning," she told him. "Before we start." The sun was still below the eastern horizon, but the train was almost ready to depart. She didn't want to have a full day to think about what a mistake she might be making. Last night had given her far too many hours to question her own sanity. The colonel's lips thinned and his eyes grew hard. "Fetch him, then," he said, "and call your witnesses." No, she knew nothing of Emmet Lachlan except that he was a good man and that his hands on her made her feel as if she could melt like hailstones under a July sun. She'd looked into his eyes and listened to his words and seen and heard honor and decency and respect. Enough at least, to get her safely to the Willamette, where she would tell him good-bye and hope he didn't take her heart with him when he left her behind. Five minutes later she and Emmet Lachlan were standing before the colonel, flanked by Martha and Eli Stone. And three minutes after that, she was married. "That's that, then," the colonel said, turning away. He snatched his bugle off his wagon's seat and blew a long, off-key blast. "Move out," he called. "Move out!" "Wait," Emmet said, laying his hand on her arm as she stepped away from him. "We're not married until we seal it with a kiss." He lowered his head toward her and she closed her eyes, not wanting to see into his. She was afraid of what she might read--desire or contempt. Either would hurt. Emmet's kiss was gentle, promising companionship, comfort, and care. For a brief moment, Hattie wondered what would happen if the passion she sensed in him were unleashed. But she would never know. A stab of regret pierced her vitals for the promise

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html she had exacted from him. "You did the right thing," Martha Stone said, embracing her after Emmet moved away. "He seems a good man and he'll take care of you." Eli shouldered his wife aside. "Let me have my turn, Mother. I don't often get to kiss a pretty girl." He bussed her on the cheek and hugged her until her ribs ached. "God bless you, Mrs. Rom... Lachlan." He turned to shake her new husband's hand, repeating his blessing, and advising Emmet to treat her with gentleness and respect, "just like a good horse." Since Hattie knew Eli loved his horses almost as much as his wife of twenty-two years, she took no offense. * * * Emmet rode beside the train for the first hour, then went far afield, seeking the big-eared mule deer hiding among the tall sagebrush. Aside from the bacon she'd brought from back east, there was no meat in Hattie's wagons. The dried apple pie she served him for breakfast--in celebration of their marriage, she said--had been a treat, but he was a man who wanted his fresh red meat. That evening he cut up the deer carcass while Silas set up camp. The boy was efficient, for all his youth. Emmet wondered how old he was, with his long skinny legs and arms sticking out of outgrown pantlegs and shirtsleeves. Thirteen, maybe? About the age he himself had been when he finally escaped to sea. He was ready to like Silas, seeing the way the lad tried to take on all the heavy work to spare Hattie. "I'm grateful for the meat," Hattie told him as she dished up his plate. She'd cooked beans too, and there was a cold biscuit to sop up the meat juices "I didn't feel right, taking from Mr. Stone, what with all the mouths he's got to feed." "Didn't anyone else offer to hunt for you?" Her smile was mocking. "They did, but the price of their hunting was more than I was willing to pay." "I got a couple of grouse," Silas said. "And snared rabbits whenever I could." "We had bacon, too," Hattie added, "though I'd liked to have bought some more at Fort Hall." "We can pick some up at Fort Boise," Emmet said. "Anything else you need?" Mentally he counted how far fifty dollars would go at the prices charged at the Hudson's Bay Company forts. What if he'd taken her money? Would they have run short before The Dalles? They spoke of necessities and of duties to be done. Hattie was at her tasks well after sundown. He returned from his after-supper reconnoiter to find her just pulling the dutch oven off the smoldering coals of the cookfire she shared with three other families. She tipped it on its side and let the round loaf fall onto the folded towel she held. Emmet's mouth watered at the smell, for all his belly was still full. He hadn't had real bread since he'd left St. Louis, nearly four years ago. "That speckled ox," he said. "He's got a split hoof." "I know," she told him over her shoulder as she carried to bread to the wagon.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Silas has been putting pitch on it of a night, and we won't put shoes back on him until he's better." He followed her and leaned one shoulder against the wagon as she climbed onto the tongue, then onto the seat. "Good thing you've got spares." "Karl wasn't one to be caught short, if he could help it," she said, her voice slightly muffled. He wondered what she was doing, behind the canvas curtain. Was she unbuttoning the faded calico dress, removing the ugly, ill-fitting moccasins? "Is that why he brought two wagons?" Her head poked through the curtain, followed by her body, still decently clothed. "No. One's for tools and seed, the other's for household goods and food," she said, turning and stretching a foot toward the tongue. Emmet caught her waist and lifted her down, wondering at her fragility. She didn't feel strong enough to walk a mile, let alone the twelve or so they'd covered today. "Thank you Mr. Lachlan," she said. She held a bundle of cloth in her hand. "I thought these might fit you." She shook the bundle open, revealing it to be two shirts, both calico, one faded red, the other pale blue. "They were a mite big on Karl." Touched, he took the shirts. He preferred buckskin to cloth most of the time, but looser, cooler shirts might be nice during the hot, dry, windy days here along the Snake River. "I'm obliged," he said, removing his belt. The long buckskin shirt fell loose, clear to his knees, the folded-up part light and clean compared to the rest. He started to pull the shirt over his head, but her hand on his arm stopped him. "I think you'd better go inside," she said, her cheeks pink and her eyes darting everywhere but at his half-bared chest. "The colonel doesn't hold with immodesty." "The colonel be hanged," Emmet said, skinning the cat and tossing the buckskin aside. He reached for the red calico. "It's not like I'm takin' off my pants." Her cheeks really did flame then. He wondered how she could retain so much maidenly shyness after having been married. He wondered how deeply she might blush if he were to take off his pants and do to her what he suddenly wanted to do. * * * She had been married two full days. And nights, although her husband hadn't come to her bed to claim his rights. Having insisted on his promise, Hattie knew she should be grateful that he was a man of his word. She was grateful, so why had she lain awake half the night, waiting for him? She shook her head. A body would think she didn't know her own mind. A body would probably be right, although it hurt to admit it. Silas appeared around the end of the wagon. He leaned the shotgun against the wheel and lowered the dipper into the water barrel. "Mr. Lachlan, he don't know much about wagons and oxen, but he's a good hand with horses and right handy with that big knife of his." He drank deeply. Hattie smiled. Perhaps she'd made a better bargain than she'd had any reason to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html expect. Just then her husband appeared at the edge of the wagon circle, astride his big gray gelding. My! What a handsome man he was. Tall and strong, shining golden in the westering sunlight like one of those German gods Karl had been fond of reading about--the ones he'd named the oxen for. She watched him stop to speak to Eli Stone, saw him hand the older man something. Then she lost sight of him as he guided the gelding off to the south where the livestock grazed the dry grass. It was close to an hour before he returned. In that time she'd made biscuits, and gravy from the pan drippings. Oh, it was good to have meat again, and plenty of it. She looked up from where she knelt beside the fire, smiling in welcome. "Supper will be ready by the time you've washed, Mr. Lachlan." "Here's something to go with it," he said, holding a dark bundle toward her, "and some flowers to decorate your table." The daisies and brilliant sunflowers he held out to her were slightly wilted, but Hattie couldn't remember seeing blossoms more lovely. She took them with both hands and buried her face in them, for all they smelled strong and slightly acrid, of dust and dry pollen. "I... I thank you kindly, Mr. Lachlan," she said, fighting the burning behind her lids. No one had given her flowers, not since she'd been a laughing child in her father's house. "I brought you some watercress," he said, drawing her attention to the package he held in his other hand. It dripped, the water making dark spots on the dusty ground. "Oh, where did you find it?" She'd had a hunger for something fresh, ever since they'd eaten the last of the greens she'd traded a china bowl for at Fort Laramie. "Other side of the river. Did you see the springs across there?" He poured a scant inch of water into the washpan and set the soap beside it. "There are some big ponds where it grows so thick you can't see the water." Hattie turned away, as politeness demanded, when he stripped off his shirt and washed his chest and arms. He was the cleanest man she'd ever seen. Even her pa, who'd taught her to love the feel of water on her naked body, hadn't washed as often as Emmet Lachlan did. But she watched from the corner of her eye, wondering how his warm skin would feel against her palms. "Hat? Where's the ax?" She felt herself blush, to be caught ogling a half-naked man. "I haven't got it out yet," she told Silas, willing the hot blood to recede from her cheeks. "There was still wood from last night." One thing her new husband had done was insist that they carry enough wood to start the cook fire at each new camp, so that supper could be prepared quickly. With what she'd been able to pick up along the road, she'd had plenty of fire to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html warm up the venison and beans from last night. Seeing that Emmet was once again decently covered, she set the plates and utensils on the chest they used for a table. "Supper's ready," she called. "Silas, you can cut wood later. Come eat, now." The menfolk set to with a will, both filling their plates with huge mounds of beans, circling them with several chunks of cornbread. Hattie understood how Silas could eat and stay skinny as a rail--he was a growing boy, after all--but her new husband must have a hollow leg, to put so much food away and still be whipcord slim. Emmet held his plate before him but didn't touch the food upon it. Instead he watched her expectantly. Remembering, Hattie filled her own plate and sat across the chest from him. Only when she had taken a quick bite did he spoon food into his own mouth. Again Hattie smiled to herself. Fancy her, Hattie Holmes that was, finding herself a real gentleman to wed. Karl would have though she was stepping out of a woman's place had she sat with him at table instead of hovering ready to provide more food or drink. Emmet treated her like she was something precious, someone important. Already she was beginning to care for him, fight it though she might. * * * Emmet did not stay close as they traveled through the rolling, sagebrush-covered land, to Hattie's disappointment. Most of the time he was scouting the route, having been hired by the colonel who wasn't one to waste an able bodied man. She rarely saw him between breakfast and supper, no matter how often she found herself looking for him. Aside from scouting the road ahead, he did his part on guard duty and brought in game when he found it. She found the venison, faintly flavored by the sagebrush over which she grilled it, not at all unpleasant. It was more dry than buffalo, but equally tasty. She didn't know where he slept, only that he was at her wagon each morning when she arose. She felt pampered, awaking to hot coffee. His insistence on fixing breakfast was even more of a kindness, since the smell of burning sagebrush seemed to upset her stomach in the early mornings. Salmon Falls was behind them. She'd found the pink flesh of the salmon, so delicious to many of her fellow travelers, dry and strong. The Indians who were camped around the falls had been eager to trade and Emmet had advised her to do so. The salmon, dried over sagebrush fires, would keep, would feed her through the winter if game was scarce. Hattie had never given thought to what she and Silas would eat once they were in the Willamette Valley. For the first time, she wondered if Karl's gold was enough to keep them until they could harvest their first crop. Were the trading posts at her destination better than those she'd encountered so far, or would

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html flour and coffee and bacon be so dear that by spring she would be destitute? Once again they were rolling down a long slope to the Snake River. This time they would cross it, although some of the men had advised staying on the south side. Emmet had sided with those advising the crossing, saying that water was often scarce on the southern route. Hattie was amused when the colonel, wavering until then, had elected to go across after her husband offered his opinion. It was early afternoon when they arrived at the river's edge. They had made better time than anyone expected to the Three Island Crossing, almost as if the oxen and mules had been looking forward to reaching the river once more. Hattie assumed they would make camp and cross in the morning, but Colonel Whitehead immediately ordered them to make ready to cross. There was another train about half a day behind and he said he wanted to leave the south shore clear for them, in case they arrived tonight. Hattie knew better. He didn't want to take a chance on the other train's passing them, somehow. She and Silas guided their wagons into position and unhitched the teams. Her oxen would be used at least once before they pulled her wagons across, doubling up with other teams for safety. It would be a good two hours before she was called to make the crossing, hours she could spend making sure her wagons and their cargo would arrive safely on the far shore. She hoped Emmet would be back from his scouting before it was her turn. She finished stuffing cloth into the cracks of her freight wagon just as the first Stone wagon, three places ahead of hers, rolled into the river. She left Silas to spread tar over the last few newly caulked cracks and went to the household wagon. It was in better shape, having kept most of its caulking since the Green River crossing. Regretfully she tore the soft pink calico into strips. Annie had loved this little dress, even though it had become almost too short for modesty. She'd been so happy when Hattie had surprised her with it, her first brand new dress, not cut down from one of her dead mother's. Hattie wondered if she would ever have a child, though Annie had been as good as hers. She'd been scarce three months old when Hattie married Karl. The colonel rode by, halted beside her wagon. "About ready, Mrs. Lachlan?" "Just about," she said. "Have you seen Mr. Lachlan?" "Not a sign." From his tone and expression, the colonel wasn't in any hurry to see the man she'd married. She had a feeling needing her husband to guide them over what she'd heard called the most difficult and dangerous part of the road to Oregon grated on Colonel Whitehead something fierce. "But don't fret," he continued, "we'll get you across just fine, whether he's here or not." His reassurance was easily given, with no real feeling behind it, and meant about as much to her as wind in the sagebrush. Hattie finished stuffing the wagon's seams with rags. While Silas was

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html applying the last tar, she fixed fat sandwiches, using the rest of the roast venison and some bacon grease to moisten them. She wrapped them in oilcloth, against a busy afternoon. Heaven only knew when she'd get a chance to fix supper, or if. She detached the chicken coop from the side of the freight wagon and set it inside, followed by the churn and the bucket. When the rooster began squawking, she tucked her Aunt Nettie's Sunburst quilt around the coop. Finally everything was ready for her crossing. She looked around for something more to do, wondering why she felt unprepared. Ever since Emmet had disappeared into the distance this morning, she'd been apprehensive, as if she were waiting for some dread event. She sat on the wagon tongue, grateful for a moment's rest. It was hot again today, although the river seemed to release some of its coolness into the moisture-sucking breeze. She wondered at the Indians who dwelled in this god-forsaken land. No civilized person would ever chose to live here. Silas brought four yoke of her oxen back across from the far bank. She would ride the household wagon across, as she always had. Karl had not wanted his wagons ridden by folks who wouldn't care what happened to them. Eli Stone and the oxen would return afterward to help with another wagon while Silas brought her freight wagon. She mounted the seat, waited until Eli touched Odin's shoulder with the goad. The wagon moved and Hattie almost called out for Eli to stop the team. There was something wrong, and she didn't know what. "Nonsense," she told herself under her breath. "You're being silly." She held to the edge of the seat as the wagon tipped and swayed its way down the bank and into the water. Another wagon was just ahead of her, a little upstream. The first channel was easy. Eli swam beside the lead yoke, giving Odin his head as often as not. Jeremiah Thomas and one of the herders were on either side of the second yoke, but had little to do, so well trained were her oxen. They swam strongly, fighting their way upstream even as the current carried them down. But their feet found bottom soon and in moments they were pulling the wagon up the low slope to the center of the first island. Hattie climbed down and helped the men check the wagon and harness. Everything seemed secure, and she remounted. The emptiness was still lodged in her belly, a cold hollow of dread, but she was determined to ignore it. The worst was over. The second crossing went even more smoothly. They drew a little ahead of the other wagon, the old, battered one, she realized, belonging to Elizabeth Coonrad. Water was draining from several cracks in its sides, showing that it hadn't been properly caulked. Hattie hoped it would get safely across. She counted her blessings as Odin's feet splashed into the water for the third, and last, crossing. At least she hadn't had to marry a man like Wilbur Coonrad, crude, profane, and unwashed. Poor Elizabeth, too meek to say boo to a

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html butterfly, and trapped with a man who, Hattie suspected, was as cruel as he was lazy. She watched as Mr. Coonrad cracked the whip over the oxen pulling his wagon. One was her Loki, the speckled ox with the split hoof. She wondered if Silas' pitch applications had improved its condition. She must remember to ask him tonight. Even as she watched, the whip touched Loki's back and he bawled, jerking his head upwards and pulling his yokemate, a smaller ox, to one side. Silas should have warned Mr. Coonrad that Loki didn't take well to the whip. But would the man have listened to a mere boy? She doubted it. Her own team lost its footing and the wagon bobbed in the swift current. Unlike the other two channels, the water here was roiling and churning, with undertows and eddies, a dangerous reach indeed. She held tightly to the seat, gasping when a wave broke across her feet. Her gaze glued to her swimming team, Hattie didn't see what happened to the Coonrad wagon. She only saw its tangled team, struggling to free themselves of the drifting, overturned wagon, sweeping towards her. Then she was in the water, fighting to stay afloat, as her own wagon loomed over her. Tipped. And slowly rolled to smother her in the folds of its canvas. Chapter Three Emmet's horse topped the hill, giving him a view of the crossing. The colonel hadn't wasted any time. At least half of the wagons were across, the rest lined up ready for their teams. But what was the fool thinking of? Letting two wagons cross side by side. Even as he watched, the upstream wagon began to drift, its team having lost its footing all at once. Some of those holes in the far channel were big enough to drown an elephant. He kicked his horse into a run. The bonneted woman on the seat of the second wagon was in mortal danger. As soon as those oxen got tangled.... He wove through the herd, placidly grazing the bottomland. With a yell, he tossed his rifle to the ground and forced his horse through the camp, cursing when men, women and children didn't get out of his way fast enough. As his horse splashed into the water, the one wagon collided with the other, tipping it, throwing its passenger into the water. The teams fought to hold both wagons against the river's inexorable pull, but they rolled together, one on its side and the other completely upside down. Where were the drovers? And where was the woman? Splashes and shouts mixed with the bawling of the oxen. At least some of the drovers were safe and attempting to bring order out of the chaotic tangle. He forced his horse downstream of the wagons, seeking some sign that the woman had been able to swim free. Nothing. Then he saw a billow of fabric, a white limb, caught against a still turning wheel, held just under the water's surface. He slid from his horse, swam

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html strongly toward the wagon. Diving, he sought whiteness in the clear water. The woman's leg was twisted into the wheel, held between a spoke and the wagon's bed. Her body floated back under the wagon, a mass of dark hair concealing her face. From somewhere higher on her body, a pink cloud of blood spread in the water. Emmet surfaced and gulped great gasps of air before he returned to the woman. Feet braced against the wagon bed, he managed to turn the great wheel, releasing her leg. But she was unconscious--or dead?--so he had to pull her free. His lungs were near to bursting when he finally broke the surface, her limp body held against him. He stroked downstream, away from the confusion of men and horses that now surrounded the tangled wagons. Once a sufficient distance away, he aimed himself and his lax burden toward the shore. Finally, despite the current's grip on them, he was able to pull her into the shallows. That was when he finally saw her face. Hattie's face. Willing hands drew them both from the water and took her lifeless body from his arms. He crouched, breathing deeply, on the shore. After a few moments, he followed the men who'd carried her away. He was almost certain she was dead. There had been no tension in those drifting limbs, no life in the body he'd held against him as he swam. The women who worked over her were silent as Emmet approached. He was turning away, without hope, when he heard a choking cough, the painful sound of retching. "Thank the Lord!" a woman cried. Another said, "Don't touch her leg!" just as a thin scream sent shivers up his spine. "There's blood," a third said, unnecessarily, he thought. Without thinking, Emmet thrust his way among the women. The way they were going, they'd kill her with kindness. He dropped on his knees beside the still form of his wife. Her face was white, her eyes closed. A bruise shadowed the side of her face; by tomorrow it would be red and swollen. But she breathed. Great God, she breathed! Blood stained her skirt, which someone had pulled decently around her legs. Without thinking, he lifted it, ignoring shocked gasps from the surrounding women. A wicked wound marred her calf. Sluggishly seeping blood stained the pallid, cold skin. A jagged end of bone protruded. Bitter bile rose in his throat. He had seen injuries like this before--and the men who'd suffered them had died, more often than not. Falling on his knees, he touched her face, cold and still. She was so fragile, he thought, and so small. A hand reached to pull her skirt down again. Just as Emmet opened his mouth to forbid it, another voice sounded. "I've had some experience settin' bones, and I'd be glad to help out." Gratefully Emmet moved out of the way and let the other man kneel beside

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Hattie. He watched, his throat still tight with fear and suppressed anger, as thick

fingers gently probed the wound. He'd set a few bones himself, but he'd never before felt this weakness at the very thought. The big man--someone whispered he was a blacksmith--worked at Hattie's leg until the bone slipped back below the lacerated flesh. Emmet kept his eyes on her face, not able to watch, even though he'd never quailed at the sight of wounds far more serious, far bloodier. He smoothed tangled, wet hair from her face, grateful she was unconscious. When someone laid a blanket across her upper body, he reached to tuck it around her. "Her arm!" one of the women warned, and Emmet finally noted the unnatural angle of her shoulder. Gently he probed, finding what he expected--a sharp end of bone lifting delicate skin. He manipulated her arm, pressing on the bone until he felt it slip into place. Without letting loose, he said, "I need something to bind her arm to her--a scarf or a shawl." "But her dress," one woman objected. "She's all wet." Before he could open his mouth to curse silly conventions, a linen towel was thrust into his hand. He used it, doubled, to wrap around her, holding the arm tight against her body. "But she's wet." The protest came again. "So cut her clothes off," he commanded, "but don't touch that arm. And keep her warm." He forced himself to look at her leg. Strips of cloth bound two thick willow sticks to her at ankle and knee. The awful wound, its edges now pulled together but still seeping, was uncovered. "I've done all I can," the blacksmith said, sitting back on his heels. His face told Emmet all there was to tell. Hattie's chances were not good. Feeling helpless, wanting to curse and yell and hit someone, Emmet stood. "I've got to see what I can salvage of her wagon. Take care of her." He took two steps, turned back to face the blacksmith who was wiping blood from his hands onto the bib of his blackened leather apron. "I'm obliged. I... ah, thanks." It was a godawful mess. Three of the oxen were dead, drowned as they were dragged downstream by the wagons. He wasn't sure whether they were all

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Hattie's, but no matter. It was a loss the company could hardly afford. Someone had gotten a rope on the wagon and pulled it to shore, but it was wrecked. Two wheels were gone, just the hubs and a few splinters of spoke remaining. He would have thought the canopy would have prevented the wagon's turning over in the water, but the splintered hickory staves showed why it hadn't. The impact with the Coonrad wagon had been at such an angle that the entire side had been broken free, the bent staves sprung straight and the canvas ripped loose. Emmet cursed when he saw the empty wagon bed. This had been the household wagon, full of clothing, food, and bedding. Even the water barrel, lashed to the side, had been torn away. "It's a shame," Eli Stone said, laying a comforting hand on Emmet's shoulder. "Some of the men are downstream, trying to catch whatever's floating." "Good luck to 'em," Emmet replied, knowing the treacherous currents of the Snake. "Did you see it happen? Why did she try to cross with another wagon in the channel?" "We though the colonel was going to hold Coonrad back. He must have got impatient. He's never taken kindly to waiting in line." "He's not going to take kindly to a beating, either," Emmet snarled. "He damn near killed my wife." He shook off the restraining hand and strode in the direction of the other damaged wagon. It had suffered less from the collision than Hattie's. Emmet held his temper in check while he listened and watched, wanting to catch Coonrad alone. The bastard was uninjured, but two of the other men who'd helped with his team were battered and half-drowned. "Your goddamned wagon!" Coonrad shouted at his cowering wife. "I don't know why I bothered with you, taking on a worthless woman and her snot-nosed brats. If you'd kept your wagon in repair, we wouldn't be in this mess now. Look at this! We ain't got another wheel, and it's not likely anybody's gonna lend us one, either. How you expect us to get to Oregon, with only three...." He said no more, for Emmet's fist hit him squarely on the chin. With a quiet sigh, he measured his length on the ground, unconscious. Emmet nodded reassuringly at Mrs. Coonrad. "He was a mite upset, ma'am. Don't you let it bother you. After he's had a little nap, he'll be in a better mood." He concealed his grin until he was out of Coonrad's sight. It wouldn't do to let her know how good it had felt to hit her husband. All afternoon, Emmet worked with some of the men, salvaging what they could. More than once he heard Coonrad swearing at his bad fortune, cursing the fact that their few chickens had drowned, their possessions had been soaked. Later, when he inventoried the few barrels and chests that they'd been able to save, Emmet felt like doing a little swearing of his own. Except he'd learned long ago that cursing fate did little good and only wasted time. Silas found him as he was pulling linens from a trunk, draping them across the willows to dry. "Is she gonna be all right, Mr. Lachlan?" the boy said, his fear showing in every line of his stiffly held body. "I hope so," Emmet said, not stopping his labors. "She's hurt pretty bad." He wouldn't lie to the boy, but at the same time, he wasn't going to tell him

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html how worried he was. Hattie lay like the dead, her breathing slow and shallow. Her face was a grotesque mask, with red and purple bruises all across one side and half the other. Both eyes were swollen shut, even if she were to wake up and try to open them. And already her leg was red and swollen. "I got her other wagon across," Silas said. "Didn't even get wet inside." "Good lad," Emmet praised. "You had supper?" Silas shook his head. Emmet was sure his chin trembled, but he would not shame the boy with noticing. "Neither have I. Let's see what I've got in my saddlebag." He rested one arm across Silas' shoulders. "Then we've got us a pile of work to do." The implement wagon was, as Silas had said, entirely safe. The speckled ox was dead, drowned in the disaster. The other two dead oxen were Whitehead's. Emmet was sure he'd be asked to pay for them, but he'd be damned if he would. A safe crossing was Colonel Whitehead's responsibility. He should have prevented the accident. By dark the truth was clear. There was no way on God's green earth they could get the trunks and chests and what-have-you he'd salvaged into the wagon with the farm implements and supplies and Karl Rommel's tools. Something was going to have to stay behind. "You've known Mrs. Lachlan longer than I have," he said to Silas. "If you were her, what would you throw away if you couldn't carry everything?" "She wouldn't care much about the tools," Silas said. "Hat, she likes green, growing things. She told me once that Mr. Rommel had a gift for making pretty things, but it was a pity all he could see in a tree was wood to be cut and planed flat." "How about the farm implements? I don't know anything about what's useful and what's not." All he knew of farming was that it kept a man in one place. In the end they decided to keep the plowshare, the scythe blade, and any other iron parts, discarding all attached wood as easily replaced by a man handy with a carving blade. The fine black walnut chest of cabinetmaker's tools would stay behind, as would the bed frame and the mirrored birds-eye oak dresser. They'd leave the barrel holding the set of flowered dishes, but they'd take the cornmeal that cushioned the dishes. He opened each chest and box to check its contents before choosing to keep or discard it. Emmet remembered his mother's sorrow at the loss of her family treasures and he regretted that Hattie had to suffer a similar loss. After the first few he stopped searching through each one, for Karl Rommel had been a methodical man. A list of contents lay beneath each lid. He packed the floor of the wagon solid and built a nest of blankets for Hattie. There was no way he could prevent her being bumped and rocked, but by God she'd ride as soft as he could manage. At last everything was packed and ready for her. But he didn't immediately fetch her. Climbing from the wagon into the star-strewn night, Emmet was overcome with a feeling of suffocation. For an instant, he thought of grabbing his rifle, his saddlebags, and riding into

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html the darkness, never looking back. He wasn't fit to have the responsibility of an injured woman, a stripling, and wagons and livestock. He couldn't do it. He could not do it! Hattie would be better off if he left her with the Stones and disappeared into the wilderness. If he stayed, if he tried to care for her, sooner or later he would fail her. Hadn't he proved that, over and over, with his mother, with Sheila and Jonathan? * * * The first three days, Hattie seemed to hold her own. She roused enough to take a little broth, to sip at the tepid water he held to her lips. Martha Stone kept her dosed with an infusion of boneset and willow-bark, and she usually seemed better for a few hours after each dose. But on the fourth day, she worsened, the mild fever she'd had since the first developing into melting heat that dried her out like a dead coyote in the sun. Her cheeks became sunken and her eyes hollow. She tossed and muttered all day, until Emmet set Silas in the wagon beside her to make sure she didn't harm herself. Mrs. Stone came to dose her when they stopped for the night. A few minutes later she climbed from the wagon, a worried frown on her face. "I don't like the look of her leg, Mr. Lachlan," she said. "It's swollen pretty bad, and startin' to suppurate." "Any smell?" Mrs. Stone shook her head. "Not yet, but it's not draining, either," and her implication was that it was only a matter of time before the infection turned to deadly gangrene. Emmet checked her leg himself, cutting the strips that held her splints after he had tied new, looser ones on, relieving the constriction of her puffy flesh. Once satisfied with the splint's rigidity, he carried Hattie to the hot springs, about a quarter-mile from the circle of wagons. "She's going to be all right," he told Silas, when the boy came in from milking, "if we can get the infection down." Again the ominous feelings of inadequacy washed over him. What would he tell Silas if his planned action didn't save Hattie's life? The boy was depending on him. All night long he kept hot, wet cloths on the injured leg. He saw little result by dawn, but the inflammation hadn't spread, either. And Hattie had taken several cups of water and broth during the night, so that her cheeks and eye sockets no longer seemed so hollow. "You're damn right we're going on," he told the colonel the next morning. "She's no more likely to die on the trail than she is out here. I've got the wound open and draining." If he had to, he'd stop at noon to boil water for more hot compresses, but he thought morning and night might do the trick. * * * The motion woke Hattie. That and the heat. She felt stifled, hardly able to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html breathe in the dusty, closed wagon. She was bound, a prisoner in her own bed. And her eyes were stuck shut, as if the lids were glued together with matter. Had she been ill? She couldn't remember. Annie had been so wretchedly sick that they had despaired of her...no, Annie had died. An image formed in her mind of a pitiful mound of fresh-turned earth, waiting for the wagons to be driven over it to conceal it from scavengers, both two-and four-legged. She ached in every bone. Her face hurt, as it sometimes did when she had a head cold and felt as if her brains had swollen like a bladder full of water. And her right shoulder ached something terrible. She tried to shift to be more comfortable, but the bindings wouldn't allow her to move, not even to turn on her side. One eyelid came slightly unstuck. The light in the wagon was brighter on one side than on the other, and golden. Dust-defined beams shone almost horizontal through tiny holes in the canopy, so it must be late afternoon. Almost time to stop for the night. Hattie drifted, hearing but not paying attention to the sounds of encampment. Would someone come in soon, to help her outside? Her bladder was full to bursting. She must have slept then, for the next thing she knew was a hard palm across her tender forehead. She struggled to open her eyes, but only could see through the single slit. "Hattie?" It was a voice she did not recognize. "Hattie, are you awake?" A large shape, a masculine shape, was between her and the light now streaming into the wagon. Her tongue felt big and awkward in her mouth as she tried to lick her lips. And dry. Her mouth was as dry as the bones they sometimes saw lying alongside the trail. In a moment a hand was beneath her head, lifting it slightly, and a cup was at her mouth. She reared up, wanting to gulp the cool liquid she could feel at her lips. "Slowly," the voice said, gentle, but with a raspy harshness. "Just a sip at a time." She sipped. Sipped again. Each drop gave her new life. With infinite patience, the owner of the voice held the cup as she slowly imbibed its contents. At last, when she felt as if she would burst if she drank more, he took it from her lips. "That's enough, I think. Don't want you to be sick." Her head was lowered and she found she hadn't the strength to lift it again. "Sleep," she was told. "Sleep. It's the best medicine." The stranger came to her again in the night, to change her linens, to replace her sheet. She woke only enough to know what he was doing, but not enough to be embarrassed. And once more he gave her water. Precious water. Wonderful water.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html There was a woman too. Her mind sought and found a name. Martha. Martha Stone. And a boy. She knew the boy. Silas, who was the next thing to a brother to her. Silas, who'd understood her need for a place of her own, for he, too, was an orphan, without family, without a home. But the one who came to her the most often was the stranger. As her vision gradually grew clear, she came to recognize him. He was tall and hard. His face could have been cut from stone, his eyes from clear blue crystal. He never smiled, but his voice was full of compassion and caring. She felt cherished, protected, even amidst her pain. Karl never came, and Hattie wondered why. Somehow she was afraid to ask. * * * Emmet sat with Hattie long after sunset. Tomorrow they would reach the Boise River, only a few miles from Buffalo Jones' place. He would have to make a decision--whether to keep her there until she recovered or risk taking her on with the train. Even if he went on, he wouldn't take her down the Columbia. They'd overwinter at the Whitman mission, go on to the Willamette in the spring. He hadn't looked for the responsibility, but it was his. He'd given his word. She was restless tonight, tossing her head and muttering. The fever was less than it had been, but there was no light of recognition when she looked at him through the narrow slits of her still-swollen eyelids. He could have been to The Dalles by now if he'd gone on, instead of being beholden to an injured, insensible wife, bound by his own promise, freely given. He, Emmet Lachlan, who'd never owned more than a horse and a rifle in his life. And the horse he could have walked away from, if he'd needed to. He came alert at the sound of a footstep outside the wagon. "Lachlan?" It was Stone's voice. "Here," he answered, rising and making his way to the front. "There's a meetin'," Stone told him. "I think you'd better be there." Emmet followed Stone to the fire but didn't enter the circle of its light. Instead he stood in the shadows of a wagon, listening unseen. "...hardest part of the road ahead," the colonel was saying. "We'll be going up the Burnt River canyon, then crossing the Blue Mountains. We'll need to lighten our wagons as much as we can, but we'll need to make sure we have enough food, too. We can restock at Fort Boise, but supplies are apt to be more dear than at Fort Hall." Emmet snorted softly. Hell, yes! Considering the cost of packing in flour and coffee from Fort Vancouver, it was a wonder they didn't cost their weight in gold. The colonel went on and on. "If your livestock is ailing, you might be able to trade at the Fort, like we did at Laramie. Check your ropes and harness. Get your wagons mended...." Emmet agreed, silently thanking the dead Karl Rommel for not stinting on the quality of his wagons or his oxen. Mentally he checked the wagon's contents. There was little he wanted to leave behind, but there was much he could abandon. Seeds and plows meant little to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html him. But to Hattie they might be all the difference between success and starvation. He would keep what he'd brought this far. One way or another, he'd get it all over the Blues. If Hattie lived. His attention was caught by Wilbur Coonrad's nasal whine. "What about the Rommel woman? Are we gonna let her keep on holdin' us back?" "Yeah," another man, one Emmet had noticed was rarely about when hard work was to be done, said, "she's already slowed us more than once. We're not gonna wait on her any more." There were other agreements, only a few who defended Hattie's right to stay with the train. Eventually the colonel held up his hands for silence and said, "All right. All right. We'll hold a vote. All you who believe Mrs. Rom-- I mean, Mrs. Lachlan should be let to stay with us, step over on that side." He pointed to the left of the bonfire. "And them that thinks she ought to be expelled, step over here by me." The crowd separated. From the first, Emmet saw that Hattie's supporters were outnumbered by those who had no compassion for her circumstances. And these people called themselves Christians. He'd known so-called savages with more of the milk of human kindness. He walked into the light. "Don't I get a say in this?" All motion ceased. He stood before the colonel, looking up at the pompous bastard, daring him to say no. Before Whitehead could answer, someone called out, "He didn't sign the agreement." "Got no claim on us," another said. "Mrs. Rommel's husband was one of us," the colonel said, a frown on his face, "but you aren't. You can talk, but it won't do you any good. Not if our people vote against you." Emmet wanted to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off his face. With a fist. He looked around. Fully two-thirds of the men of the wagon train were on Whitehead's side of the bonfire. The women huddled together in the middle, some of them looking pleadingly at their men. Sneering at their selfishness, Emmet said, "So be it. We'll cut our stock from the herd first thing in the morning." "I... ah... I don't think I can let you do that," the colonel said. "The agreement was that if we saw fit to expel someone from the train, a portion of their stock and their supplies went to compensate us for the inconvenience of reorganizing." Emmet looked at Eli Stone, one of Hattie's supporters. "Is that right?" "I think so," Stone said, "but I never meant it to be used that way. It was to protect us from cheats, not to punish the helpless." "Right." He looked back at the colonel, still standing on his wagon seat, still as imposing as ever, but somehow looking less noble and brave than he had a few minutes ago. "Well, let me tell you this, old man," Emmet said, stalking toward him. "Let just one man lay a finger on anything belonging tomy wife--just one

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html little finger--and he'll pull back a bloody stump." He pulled his knife free of its sheath and inspected its shiny blade. "Is that clear?" "You can't threaten us like that," the colonel blustered. Emmet laughed. "I just did," he said, fading back into the darkness. Chapter Four Emmet approached Buffalo Jones's cabin slowly, on foot. The old man had a habit of shooting first, although Emmet didn't think he'd ever killed a caller outright. He just believed that it was good to let people know where he stood--and Buff stood for being left alone and not bothered. When no bullets whistled above his head, he crept closer. The corral at the mouth of the short canyon was empty, in disrepair. Buff's bathtub was likewise empty, a sure sign the old trapper wasn't at home. Buff did like his soaks. Still, it didn't hurt to be cautious. Kicking open the door, Emmet stood quietly beside it for several moments, out of the line of fire. But the only sound he heard was a scurry of tiny, clawed feet. He entered, unsurprised at the mess. Little rodent teeth had gnawed through the lid of an almost empty flour keg, busy critter feet had scattered its contents across the packed sand floor. As usual, loose sand extended out from under the back wall, built flush against the eroding sandstone hillside. Mouse biscuits lay on every flat surface and crunched under his feet. But the wooden pole bunks were intact and the rawhide-laced chair still sat before the river rock fireplace. While Silas brought the wagon closer, Emmet used a handful of willow branches to sweep the place out. It would do. There was water close at hand, and it wouldn't take more than a few minutes' work to have Buff's bathtub ready to fill. There was firewood easily come by, deadfalls and snags in the stand of cottonwoods extending from here to the river, more than a mile away. And there was food--fish in the river, roots and berries if he had the patience to collect them, deer in the valleys and elk and bear in the higher hills. He'd hunt before sending Silas on to Grande Ronde. It would be a while before he felt right about leaving Hattie alone. * * * Hattie remembered pain. A feeling of burning up. There had been weight on the screaming agony in her leg, and hot pressure that somehow silenced the scream. Days and nights had flowed together, the only difference the brightness of the red haze behind her swollen eyelids. And there had been gentle hands and a deep voice, pulling her back from a morass of hot, red agony. Through it all had been the rocking, swaying, bouncing that tossed her tormented body back and forth, back and forth, until she wanted to beg, to plead, to pray for rest. She moved, thinking to ease the ache in her leg. Immediately he turned, this man--this stranger--who was her husband.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Hattie froze, feeling his eyes staring through the dim light. Staring at her. "Awake?" His voice was deep and gentle. It made her think of distant thunder, too far away to threaten, close enough to suggest its power. Snapping her eyes shut, she peered through the barest slit between her lashes. He was standing still by the crude table in the middle of the room, his hands holding a long knife. Watching her. She kept her breathing as soft as she could. An itch began in the bottom of her left foot, spread across the sole until she wanted to scream with the need to scratch. Forcing herself to lie still, Hattie hoped he'd believe she was still asleep. Or unconscious. She wasn't yet ready to speak to him, for she'd only just remembered who he was. For an indeterminate time she simply drifted. Smells assailed her nose, meaty smells, piquant smells. When they grew stronger, she heard her stomach growl. The next thing she knew, her shoulders were being supported and a cup full of the most delicious smell of all was suspended just under her nose. The cup touched her lips and warm, rich broth seeped between her half-open lips. She swallowed, sipped, swallowed again. When the cup was removed, she cried out in protest. "Hush." You need water too." And another cup replaced the first, full of cool, sweet water. It seemed like a long time to Hattie that he held her and fed her, in tiny sips that seemed all she could manage at one time. The light dimmed even more. She grew exhausted, until the effort of swallowing was more than she could make. "Enough?" She tried to nod, but her head was so heavy. Her eyelids refused to obey her and her eyes seemed to want to roll back in her head. "Nuff," she breathed, even as she felt reality slipping away again. * * * "You don't need to tell Craigie where you're goin'. Just get enough cash money and supplies to get you to Grande Ronde and have him put the balance on the books." But for Hattie, he'd be doing the trading himself. He wasn't sure Silas had it in him to hold out for a good deal. "I wish we didn't have to sell them," Silas said, checking the jerry-rigged panniers on the big black ox. "Hat, she's gonna be awful mad when she finds out." "What are we going to do with eleven of the damn beasts?" Emmet said, impatient with the boy's reluctance. "I don't know about you, but I'm not feedin' any more stock through winter than I have to." If he had his druthers, he'd not be feeding any oxen, just his gelding and mule, maybe the milch cow. He'd already felt the weight of responsibility, just with Hattie and Silas. How was he going to deal with chickens and cows and.... He knew now how beaver felt in his traps. He ought to be on his way to China by now, not planning for winter here on the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Boise. For a moment, he wondered what would happen if he loaded Hattie back in the wagon and took her on to Waiilatpu. Surely the kindly, Christian Whitmans would care for her until she was healed, then send her on to her destination. If she survived the trip over the mountains. No, he couldn't do that. He'd given his word. For better or for worse. Emmet lifted the last log into place, hoping he'd found all the weak spots in the fence. His gelding didn't like to be penned and would do his best to escape. Silas scuffed his toe in the dust. "Yeah, I guess so. It's just that I hate to see old Ajax, or even that cranky Janus go to somebody who won't treat 'em right." He looked Emmet in the eye. "They've been raised like pets." Emmet grunted. Damn, but it was muggy, here by the stream of hot water. "You'd better get started. Tell Craigie I'll be along in a few weeks, to get the supplies." Silas tossed a canvas bag full of dried venison onto the broad back of the black ox--Thor, for God's sake! For a moment, Emmet felt guilty, sending the boy off across unfamiliar country. Then he reminded himself that the lad was older than he himself had been when he first signed on as an able seaman. Of course, Emmet had been man high and strong. Silas was scarcely taller than Hattie, and skinny as a rail, for all he ate like a bear in the spring. "Guess I'll be goin'," Silas said, laying the goad gently across Ajax's shoulder. His voice trembled, but his chin was set. "Take care of yourself." Emmet heard a certain gruffness in his own voice. "I'll be lookin' for you before snow flies." For a long time he stood watching the oxen plod away from him. He surely hoped he wasn't making a mistake, trading Hattie's five spare oxen for flour and coffee, gunpowder and lead. He had a feelin' he'd be grateful he had, come winter. * * * Silas was gone. He'd said he was going after someone to care for her. She'd be safe with Emmet. So now she was alone with a stranger and she knew absolutely nothing about him. Except that he was her husband. The sunlight lying across the sandy floor was blocked by a tall figure. Hattie turned her head. She gasped and he turned to look straight at her. With eyes adjusted to the interior dimness, she could see very well indeed, and what she saw made her forget the pain in her leg, the ache in her head. Made her forget the embarrassment she felt when he tended to her as carefully as any sickroom nurse. He was naked, his clothing bundled in one hand, the other holding his long rifle. Hattie tried to look only into his face, but her eyes betrayed her. She could not keep them from seeing the width of his shoulders, the dark patch of hair on his chest that narrowed, then spread, to provide a soft nest for the jutting vitality of his sex, now rising to a bold height. She could not help but

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html appreciate the narrowness of his hips, the supple strength of lean arms and legs, where long muscles rippled and shifted with his every movement. Heat kindled in her belly as she stared at him, the first man she had ever seen entirely unclothed. Try as she might, she could not help but wonder how his skin would feel against hers. Would it be cool and dry? Or hot and damp with sweat? Would their bodies slide against each other, like soap against a wet hand? And what would he taste like, were she to touch her tongue to the hollow at his throat where she could see the beat of his heart? Waves of heat swept over Hattie until she all but groaned. She clenched her hands against the comfort, closed her eyes against temptation. And in the darkness, she once again became aware of the pain that seemed her constant companion. Emmet moved when she finally closed her eyes, as if freed from unbreakable bonds. He could have sworn she was touching him, the way his skin burned everywhere she looked. He pulled on his buckskin pants, ignoring the discomfort when he forced his sex into their tight confines. Too bad there was no cold water for Buff's bathtub. He had a feeling he'd be needing it right regular for a while. Thoughts of wading in icy streams did little to alleviate his body's reaction to her gaze, but shaving without soap or a mirror held his attention for long enough. By the time he could find no more whiskers with his searching fingers, he figured he could do what he had to do. He sat on the edge of her cot, careful to keep to the frame and not jostle her. "Wake up, Hattie." He reached to touch her, but stopped the motion, incomplete, and let his hand hover an inch above her face. It was still near enough that he could feel her heat. "I'm awake," she said, though her eyes remained shut. "Are you dressed?" He almost laughed. So she'd been layin' here afraid to look for all this time. "Sure am," he told her. "And now it's your turn." Her eyes flew open. Her eyes were enormous in the dim light. He could have swore he saw fear lurking in their dark depths. "My turn?" she whispered. "For a bath." Without further explanation, he swept her covers aside and slipped his arms under her shoulders and knees, carefully so as not to twist her still splinted leg. "Good for what ails you," he said, carrying her outside, trying not to notice the warmth of her against his bare chest, the soft weight of her in his arms. She struggled, but with no more than a sparrow's strength. "Put me down!" she demanded, then cried out as he was forced to tighten his grip on her legs. "Damn it, stop wigglin'! Do you want me to drop you?" He carried her, quiet now, across the way to the cluster of willows screening the hot spring and Buff's bathtub. It was a rock-lined pool, filled with steaming, strong-smelling water. Earlier he'd hitched up Odin and Baldur to drag a fat log up beside the tub,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html and he'd wedged it so it wouldn't roll when she sat against it. He let her down into the nest of blankets, silently cursing himself when a cry of pain burst from her lips. "I wish you didn't have to do this for me," she said as he moved her nightgown above her knee and unwrapped the ties around her bandaged leg. "So do I," he admitted, knowing his reasons were not hers. The linen towel was stuck fast to her leg, stained with blood and pus. Lifting it, he checked the gaping wound, noting that he could no longer see the whiteness of bone in its depths. There was no smell, thank the Lord. No gangrene, but it was too soon to count his blessings. She was not yet out of danger. He retied the splints, lifting her gown even higher to do so, hating the wounds and bruises that marred her white skin. Her thigh, slim and tempting, was impossible to ignore, even though he filled his mind with images of looming icebergs and towering, icy waves. While he unbuttoned her gown, he did his best not to notice the fullness of breast under his hand. He reached for the bottom of the gown. "Stop!" she cried. She clutched his hands, held them in place against her thighs. "What are you doing?" "I'm taking your clothes off," he snarled, driven beyond his limits. "What the hell does it look like?" He ignored her one-armed struggles and her protests. The tub was about six feet across and three feet deep, with a big, squared-off rock at the near end, serving as a step. He eased into the steaming water, wishing he could have left

his pants off. Buckskin took forever to dry. Slowly, still ignoring her weakening struggles, he lowered himself. The hot compresses he'd been putting on her leg for the past week had worked pretty well. On the assumption that if some is good, more is better, he figured soaking would drain off the infection in her leg twice as fast. Hattie stopped struggling as soon as he had her in the water up to her neck. "Oh, my," she said, her voice just above a whisper. "Oh, my, that feels good." She closed her eyes and her lips spread in the first smile he'd seen from her since she was hurt. He'd been able to contain his desire as long as he had to pay attention to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html her struggles and the need to avoid hurting her. Now she was soft and pliant in his arms and the raging need returned, swelling his sex, drying his mouth, making his heart pound against his ribs. Quickly he turned and slid her from his lap onto the step-rock. "Can you hold yourself there?" he said, aware that his voice had a weakness about it. Her good foot went to the bottom. "I think so," she said, in tones as wobbly as his, "as long as I've got something to hold onto." She scrabbled with her free hand at the stone wall behind her but her fingers slid across its wet surface. "Just a minute," Emmet said, rearing out of the water. He went to the corral, knowing she watched every move he made. There were still some peeled poles he hadn't used when he was repairing the fence. After a couple of tries, he had the pole laid across the tub, close enough for her to drape her arm over. Between it and her foot on the bottom of the tub, she should be able to sit there for quite a while. He did his best not to look below the surface of the water while he was fixing the pole. Seeing her like this, her breasts floating high, their dark pink nipples pouting and seductive, was a far cry from taking care of an unconscious, limp, feverish woman. Especially one whom he resented for keeping him where he didn't want to be. "There." He tested it with a push. The rocks he'd set at either end held it in place. "Lean on that. And call me when you get tired." He headed back to the cabin, removing himself from temptation. * * * "You're a good man." Hattie had managed not to flinch when he dressed her after her soak. As long as she kept telling herself that he was her husband, with the legal right to touch her body intimately, she could keep herself from burning up with embarrassment. Now she lay quietly in the wide bunk, watching him, thinking on her good fortune. He raised his head at her words. Now he stared at her across the room, his face in stark half shadow from the light of the fire. "You think so?" "You're decent. Honest. Caring." Most men didn't like soft words like those applied to themselves and Emmet was no exception, she saw. His mouth tightened, became a thin, hard line. He had a temper, although she'd only seen it once, that night she'd gone to him with an outrageous request. "I'm none of those things," he said, looking back at the chunk of wood. He'd begun carving at it at their nightly camps, his hands competent and strong in the flickering light of the fire. Hattie had never gotten a good look at it, because he always returned it to his saddlebags. It looked like an animal of some sort. A dog? "You don't know me. I could be a thief. A murderer." Another slim curl of wood fell from his hands onto the pile below. "No." She yawned, feeling entirely safe with him. "No, you couldn't." When,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html she wondered, would this terrible lethargy leave her? "You're a good man. But mysterious." His grin flashed in the firelight. "Mysterious?" He gave the word a sinister sound. "I don't know anything about you." She paused. Yes, she knew one thing about him. "Except that you're a man of your word." He had stripped her of her clothing, handled her naked body, and he'd done it all with impersonal gentleness, although more than once she'd felt the unmistakable swell of his desire against her hip or leg. "I'll tell you my life story," he said, putting down his carving and coming to the side of the bunk, "another time. You sleep now." He laid his hand on her forehead, slid it lightly down to cover her eyes. Surprisingly, she felt herself slipping into a doze. "'Nother time," she agreed. * * * They spoke little of an evening. Hattie wanted to ask him the thousand questions that bubbled in her mind, but had already learned that he was a private man who would reveal himself only in his own good time. The irresistible need to sleep lessened over time. She hadn't counted the days, but she thought it had been somewhere around three weeks since he'd brought her to this dark little cabin with the musty smell of mice and moldy fur when he stopped tying her arm to her body. "Don't try anything fancy," he warned. "Your collarbone's probably not knit solid yet." She was so relieved to have the use of two hands that she almost wept. Emmet left the door open if he was working just outside, but too often he closed it behind him, leaving Hattie in semi-darkness for hours at a time. She understood he could not leave her undefended, yet she hungered for sunlight like a starving man might crave food. She treasured the brief times when he carried her to the bathtub and left her to soak. She considered the day she was allowed to stand on her good leg while she dressed a major event. Another was when he allowed her to occupy the great chair with its woven rawhide seat for meals. Last night he'd let her sit there after supper until she nodded and nearly fell off. Emmet returned to the cabin that morning, shortly after he left it, carrying a long stick with a fork at one end. "Here, he said, handing it to her. "Try it for size." Hattie tested the crutch. She was sure that, with a little practice, she could get around nicely on it. "Thank you," she said. "I was so tired of being carried everywhere. Then she bit her lip. Would he take her words as a criticism? He'd been so touchy lately, snarling at her if she said boo, spending most of his time cutting firewood or fishing. "You'll probably want to wrap some cloth around the top, so it won't bruise you." He took the crutch back, ran his fingers along the smooth wood shaped so

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html carefully to just fit under her arm. Apparently satisfied to its smoothness, he handed it back to her. "Don't go outside until you've practiced. Ground's pretty rough." With those words, he simply turned around and walked out. Hattie stared after him. Did he really expect her to stay in the cabin now that she had the means to get around on her own? As soon as she had the hang of walking with it, she intended to do some exploring. Surely there were places to go other than the bathtub and the outhouse. She managed to take care of herself all morning long without mishap. It felt so good to be doing for herself that she didn't notice how tired she was getting. When a check outdoors showed her the sun close to the zenith, she decided to make biscuits for dinner. They would go with the stew Emmet had set to cook this morning, the stew that even now was filling the room with its mouthwatering aroma. She worked harder making those biscuits than she'd done for many a full dinner back in Pennsylvania. Filled with satisfaction, she set the Dutch oven in the coals, stirred the stew. The door opened. "What the bloody hell!" She'd scarcely opened her mouth to speak when he was scooping her off her feet. Two quick strides took him to the side of the bunks where he deposited her unceremoniously in the bottom one. "I told you to practice, not try to commit suicide." He laid a cool, callused hand on her forehead. "I'm fine," she said, twisting to escape his hand. But he caught her chin between thumb and forefinger. "And I'm the Queen of England. Your fever's back." Again that touch to her forehead. "You're burning up." He flipped her gown up above her knees, ignoring her gasp of outrage. "I hope to God...." His fingers probed lightly along the splints. Hattie hissed between clenched teeth when he came too close to the open wound. To distract herself, she raised onto her elbows and looked too, wanting to see again the source of the still-nagging pain. After gazing a long time at the ugly scar, still red and puckered, extending from just below her knee to her anklebone, she shuddered. "I've never had anything hurt that much," she said. "It's all I could feel, all I could think about." "You had us scared," he said. "Silas was afraid you were going to die." "And you were determined I wouldn't." She stopped, remembering a voice in the dark commanding her to hold on, to fight. To live. "You took care of me," she said, wonderingly. "You saved my life." "I did what I had to do," he told her, his voice tight and hard. "I'm just glad it worked." Standing, he turned away. "Now, can we eat? My belt buckle's rubbin' my backbone raw." He gathered up bowls and spoons. With an economy of movement she couldn't help but admire, he dished up the stew.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "There's biscuits," she told him, "in the Dutch oven." He nodded. Within a few minutes she had a bowl of stew and a buttered biscuit sitting on a bark slab on her lap. She wanted to talk to him about what he'd done for her, but this was not the time. His tone, his movements, his forbidding frown told her to eat, not talk. Just as well. If she were to start talking now, she might tell him of the terror she felt whenever she considered her fragile hold on him. What if he tired of nursing her before Silas returned? Would he simply walk away from her, leaving her alone and abandoned once more? * * * Emmet had done his best to avoid talking about how he'd done for her while he'd fought for her life. He felt a certain embarrassment at the way he'd handled her body. Although most of the time he hadn't cared whether she was naked or wearing cloth of gold, his body had always been aware of hers. And that was a source of shame to him. It was one thing to lust after a woman in the best of health, another thing entirely to want one who was helpless and dependent. The only good thing about his animal lust was that he'd split enough wood to last them the winter through. "How much did you save?" She hadn't spoken to him much as he was in and out during the afternoon. Now he wished she'd stayed silent, for he dreaded the moment when he'd have to tell her of her losses. This moment. "Let's get you into bed first." When he went to help her undress, she stopped him. "I can do it," she said, her hand holding his away from the buttons at her throat. "If you'll just hand me my gown and step outside?" With great relief, he did so. Staring up at the moon, he noticed it was surrounded by a ring. It would get cold tonight. Winter was coming. She called him and he went back inside. Avoiding the sight of her. It was almost dark, the early dark of October. Soon the days would be too short to do anything but the necessary tasks to stay alive. Hunt. Fish. Mind the livestock. Damn the livestock! He wasn't a farmer! He paced, three steps from the sand wall to the door, four steps from the fireplace to the bunks. "What did you save?" Her quiet voice came out of the darkness of the lower bunk. He could see nothing of her save her pale face. "You said the wagon rolled. Did... could they save it?" "We saved two wheels--sold 'em to that bas... to Coonrad. And the canvas. It wasn't torn too badly. A couple of staves, some hardware, and the harness. I traded all but the canvas for food." "None of the cargo?" Her words were tremulous. And resigned. "A few chests and boxes. What floated free. A lot of the stuff sank." She said nothing for long moments. Finally, "What was in them? The chests and boxes, I mean?" "All your bedding, and one chest of clothes--your...Mr. Rommel's, I think. Most of the food--the kegs were attached to the sides of the wagon. But we lost

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html some flour and sugar anyhow, because it got wet." This time there was no doubting the hopelessness in her voice. "That's all?" He listed the rest of what they'd salvaged, mostly furniture, nothing that might be called her treasures. "I'm sorry I couldn't find a Bible, or letters, or any of that sort of family keepsake." He waited. At last she said, "What about the other wagon? Did we lose anything there?" "It came across slick as a whistle. So Silas and I went through everything and picked and chose what to bring. We had to have space for you, and wanted to bring what you'd need most, in the Willamette Valley." He was aware that her hand, which he'd somehow taken hold of, had tightened on his. "We got rid of a lot of your hus... of Mr. Rommel's tools. Left 'em hid under a pile of sagebrush and rock, up a side canyon about a mile from the river. Didn't figure you'd have much use for them, if you're plannin' on farming." "That's all right, although they were probably worth a fair amount. As long as you found Karl's gold, that's all that matters." "Gold?" Emmet said, an empty sensation growing in his belly. "What gold?" Chapter Five Hattie stared at him. She felt his hand clasping hers, warm and hard. She heard the soft crackle of the fire, saw its lights flickering on the rough log walls of the cabin. And she was aware of the lingering ache in her leg, so shewas awake. Licking her lips, she said, "Karl's gold. A whole bag full. In the black walnut chest with his best tools." When Emmet said nothing, she tried again. "You couldn't have missed it. He packed it so carefully. I remember, he said nobody would pay mind to the weight of the chest, because his chisels and files were so heavy. And he showed it to me--almost two hundred coins, old coins his pa had brought from Germany. His pa was a rich man, you know. A goldsmith who made fine jewelry for dukes and kings. But he made enemies, too, so he had to escape to America. And he sickened on the ship, coming over, so he never had a chance to teach Karl the craft, but that was all right, because Karl's uncle knew wood and he...." She shivered, "Oh, please, Mr. Lachlan, tell me you found the gold. Please!" "Hattie, I...." He shook his head. "You didn't," she whispered. "Oh dear God, what are we to do?" To still her shaking hands, she clasped them against her lips. This was worse than ever before. Karl was dead, she was crippled, and the money was gone. And there was no Uncle James and Aunt Nettie to take her in, this time. Even Silas was gone, God only knew where, maybe dead along the road like so many others she'd known.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html She was alone again. All alone. She felt him gather her into his embrace, but it didn't matter. All she could think of was that she had no one, no place. Nothing. * * * Emmet glowered at the sky, smelling snow. Where the hell was Silas? If the boy didn't get here soon, he'd not arrive 'til spring. They didn't need Flower now, not with Hattie better each day. Although he imagined she'd be happier with another woman for company. But he wished Silas had returned for another reason. He needed to get to Fort Boise to pick up supplies, a journey he judged too difficult for Hattie yet. And as soon as he could, he was heading back to the crossing. Emmet didn't want Hattie fretting over her gold all winter. She'd not mentioned it in the three days since learning of its loss, but he knew it was eating at her. As he picked up the bucket of milk, Hattie hobbled up the path, graceful even with the crutch beneath her arm. She wore an old coat of Rommel's, shapeless but warm. Her breath was a cloud in the cold air. "That coyote's been after the chickens again. He almost got the door open this time." Early on Emmet had woven willow branches together into a cage for her three hens and one rooster. That was after the fourth hen had disappeared, leaving nothing behind but some bloodied feathers and scuffle marks in the sand. They'd seen coyote tracks since then, mostly around the cage. "I still think we should eat 'em before he does," he said, holding the door open for her. As she went by, he smelled lilac and his gut tightened. He ought to steal that damned soap for his own peace of mind. He'd held to his word, sleeping alone, for almost three months. Each night he found it more difficult to stay in his bunk, just inches above her. He wanted her with an ache that threatened to consume him. She leaned against the table as she slipped out of the coat. "I think it's colder than yesterday, don't you?" "It's going to snow," he said. "Tonight." Her hands went to her mouth. "But Silas isn't back yet." "Do you think that'll stop the snow?" His voice was harsher than he'd intended. The very thought of spending the winter alone with her was almost more than he could face. To take his mind off what his body couldn't forget, he said, "Can you shoot?" She looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. "Of course I can." "How well?" "Well enough to serve squirrel whenever I had a mind to," she said, pride in her voice. "My grandpa taught me." "We'll see. Tomorrow." Her mouth tightened and she turned away from him. In a few minutes she had his supper on the table and had retreated to her bunk, where she sat with her leg stretched out and the bark slab she used as a tray on her lap. Emmet ate, hating himself for the way she brought out the worst in him. It seemed like the closer she came to good health, the meaner he got. And he

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html knew it was because he was afraid of what he'd do to her if he stopped being mean. "I'm goin' for a walk," he said, as soon as he'd shoveled the last bite of cornbread into his mouth. Since she'd insisted on taking over the cooking and household chores, he'd spent his evenings with the livestock, or walking the gullies and hillsides behind the cabin. Anything to avoid being alone with her in the quiet of the firelit cabin, when all there was to do was listen to the rustle of her clothing. Or worse yet, listen to the murmur of her sweet voice. "Wait!" He turned back, his hand on the latch. "We need to talk, Mr. Lachlan. Please don't go out tonight." "Emmet," he snarled at her. "My name's Emmet, damn you. I'm your husband, not some goddam shopkeeper!" Even as he spoke the word, he felt sudden relief that he was husband to her only in name. His responsibility was to get her to the Willamette, nothing more. "It doesn't feel right, somehow, to be so familiar," she said, "but I'll try." Her quick smile was so fleeting he almost missed it. "Will you stay in, please?" He spun the chair on one leg and straddled it, resting his arms on the back. "You want to talk," he said, wishing he wasn't so easily lured by her voice. "So talk." "I somehow can't remember.... well, I really don't think we... I mean, before I was hurt, did we...?" Her hands were twisting together and even in the fire's flickering light, he could see how she blushed. He remembered how she had blushed all over, when he'd helped her into the bathtub. Briefly he regretted those days, before she insisted she was capable of getting in without his help. He'd never been so close to hell in his life, nor had he come so near to touching heaven. There'd never been a woman in his life who tempted him as this one did. "What the hell are you trying to ask me?" "Don't swear," she said, primly. "It's not gentlemanly." "Talk!" "Yes, well, what I wanted to ask you was if, well, are you absolutely certain we've never... I mean, I'm not really your wife, am I?" Her last words were barely above a whisper. "You're asking me if I had you?" Great God above, this woman was going to send him into gibbering madness. He swung the chair aside and took the two steps to the side of her bunk. Dropping to one knee, he reached for her, grabbing her shoulders before she could scuttle back into the corner. He pulled her close, so close he could have counted the pale freckles across her slim nose. If he hadn't already known there were thirteen. "Woman, if I'd had you, don't you think you'd know it?" She nodded, her eyes wide and frightened. "Well, I haven't, but don't push me. I'm on a pretty short fuse." He released her, hating the way she could make him mad quicker than anybody. "Or are you askin'?" She shook her head. "No," she said. "No, I'm not asking." Still angry, he went back and picked up the chair. Resuming his previous

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html position, he waited. She'd wanted to talk, which meant she must have something to say. So far she hadn't said a hell of a lot. He heard, more than he saw, her take a deep breath. "Then I must be farther along than I thought. Since before Karl...." He didn't need a translation. There was no doubt what she meant, and it was the very situation he'd thanked his lucky stars he'd avoided. Unconcerned with offending her, he cursed long and fluently. Finally he wound down. "How long have you known?" "I just realized, today. I was washing my... I was washing uh, garments, and realized I hadn't washed any...." She cleared her throat. "I just realized today." "So how much time do we have?" He couldn't remember anything about his mother's pregnancies, except the misery they'd caused her and that most of them ended in heartbreak. He wasn't even sure how long the whole process took. "Have for what?" She laid her hands protectively on her belly. "Until the birth? I don't know." "Until you get sick. Until you take to your bed. Hell, until you lose the brat. I don't know." "If I were going to get sick, Mr. Lachlan, I'd have done it long since." Hattie had listened to more than one pregnant woman telling of her morning sickness and knew it usually struck early on. In fact.... "I think I already have been," she said aloud. "The smell of sagebrush was making me queasy, oh, ever since Karl...." She counted back. "And he took sick just before Fort Bridger." She'd had her last monthly when they were at Independence Rock. She remembered, because her cramps had been bad that day and she'd been grateful the train had halted early. "It will be April," she told him. "My baby will be born in April." Tears flowed then, streaming down her cheeks. Tears of joy, tears of sorrow. She'd wanted a child of her own, had given up after waiting for so long. She would have her child now, but she had nothing else. Even Emmet would leave her, once she reached her long-delayed destination. She had not minded being Karl's wife because she knew that he would always provide well for her, for any family they might have. He'd not been rich, but comfortable. A frugal man, but not a stingy one. A responsible man, if not an affectionate one. He would never have left a bag full of gold coins lying beside the trail, just so he could bring barrels of seed and rootstocks. She recognized Emmet's tentative attempts at comfort, but paid them no mind. "Go away," she told him, choking out the words between wracking sobs. "Just go away for a while." It felt good to weep, to let all the pain and loss and loneliness flow out with the tears she'd held inside for so long. The slam of the door shook the entire cabin.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html * * * Fortunately one of her few possessions that had been saved was her sewing kit. The round wooden box was warped and its lid no longer fit, testimony to its immersion in the Snake River, but someone had seen to it that her precious needles and scissors had been taken out and dried. As soon as she'd cleaned up after breakfast the next morning, Hattie set about cutting a pair of Karl's britches down to fit her. When Emmet came in at noon, he found cold corned venison sandwiches and baked beans left from the day before. Hattie hadn't felt quite right about neglecting him so, but if she was to get her alterations done, she had to stick right with them. He sat and began eating without a word, just as he had at breakfast. She continued sewing, not trusting herself to speak. This morning she'd realized just what the loss of Karl's gold really meant--and it was worse than simply that she would lack luxuries at the end of her journey. It could mean the defeat of all her dreams. She was angry, so angry she feared driving him away if she spoke her mind. Not with Emmet, exactly--he had not known about the gold. No, she was grateful to him for doing what he had done, for living up to his unwanted responsibilities. After all, he'd agreed to see a healthy woman to the Willamette Valley, not to be nurse to a desperately injured one. Her anger was at the same unkind fate that had plagued her all her life. She pricked a finger and sucked at the drop of blood that welled up, welcoming the tiny pain. There was nothing she could do but what she'd always done. Once she was through complaining, she'd do the best she could with what she had. After dinner Emmet disappeared again. She wasn't sure what he did all day long, but was just as glad he did it somewhere else. Sometimes she would hear a shot and later he'd bring in a haunch of venison, having traded the rest to the Indians down the valley for dried berries or the strange, shriveled starchy roots he called camas--they cooked up into delicious vegetables. Once a week or so, he'd come home with fish, more of the salmon she still found dry and tasteless, or silver trout. Hattie finished the britches before the light failed. She tried them on and was wishing she had a mirror when Emmet entered. His eyes went immediately to her breasts, covered only by her thin, almost threadbare, chemise. Then they traveled down, over her hips where Karl's britches clung like no skirt ever had, and on to her legs, covered, but still feeling more exposed than ever they'd seemed when she was naked. "Well, well," he said, smiling, "what's all this." She liked neither the heat of his gaze nor the hunger in his voice. "I'll be too cold riding in a skirt," she told him, suddenly not certain she had the courage to do what she'd decided she must. He leaned his rifle beside the door. "And who says you'll be ridin' anywhere?" "We're going back to the crossing," she told him, forcing her voice to be

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html strong and steady. "We're going back to look for Karl's gold." "The hell you say!" "Don't swear." Clenching her fists, she stood as straight and tall as she could on one leg. "We have to. It's all I have, and I'll need it, for the baby." He loomed over her, face half lit by the fire, eyes sparking from under lowered brows. "You're not goin' anywhere." As if there was no more to be said, he turned to the fire and held his hands out. "That snow'll be comin' tonight. It's warmer, and the clouds are gettin' lower." She ignored him, dishing up the dodgers she'd prepared out of chopped venison and cornmeal. She went to the corner at the foot of the bunks, where firelight never reached, and slipped out of the britches and back into her dress. Tomorrow she'd take in a couple of Karl's shirts, but not too much, because she'd be needing plenty of fullness in a month or two. Already the britches buttoned snug across her belly. They ate in silence. While he was out doing his nightly reconnaissance, she prepared for bed, but didn't climb in. Instead she waited on the chair, ignoring the fact that her feet didn't reach the ground, that her bottom would bear the marks of its woven rawhide seat for hours. Her feet were cold, but her body, wrapped in her Aunt Nettie's quilt, was warm despite the dying fire. It seemed like hours before he returned. When he did, he frowned at seeing her waiting. "Why aren't you in bed?" "Because we are going to have to decide whether to take the wagon with us, or leave it and rig pack saddles for the oxen." "We're not goin' anywhere." "Mr. Lachlan," she said, putting all her considerable determination into her voice, "I'm beholden to you, and I need you to get me to Oregon...." "We're already in Oregon." "Yes. To the Willamette Valley, I meant to say. But I also need to have something to live on when I get there. Now you said you'd take me there in the spring, and that's all right. I know I'm not able to cross the Blue Mountains yet." She swung her leg, feeling the tightness and the ache. She'd tried to work without the crutch today, just to see if she could, and now she was paying the price of her experiment. "Couldn't get across anyhow. The passes are likely closed by now." "I understand that. But there are no passes between here and the crossing. You said yourself it took the train seven days to get here, and we could surely do that well." "Will you listen to me, damn it! You. Are. Not. Going. Anywhere." "And I say I am." She glared up at him. "I need that gold and I'm going after it. If you won't go with me, I'll just have to go alone." "No you won't." His voice was hard, threatening. Inflexible. Hattie turned her back. Argument with someone whose mind was made up never accomplished anything. She knew what she had to do, and she would simply do it. * * *

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Damfool women.Emmet slung the packsaddle on the mule's back.Never happy. Always after a man to do what they wanted and never mind what made sense. He tied on the shovel, the pickaxe.Ground's not frozen here yet, but it might be by the time I get there, if this cold doesn't let up. The mule was fractious this morning, sidling away each time he tried to attach anything to the saddle.Hold still, you son of a bitch, before I kick the daylights out of you. It was cold this morning, and damp. Gray clouds sat low, pregnant with snow.Pregnant. How the hell could she not have known? But in all fairness, he had to admit Hattie had had plenty else to think about, what with her leg and all. Maybe a woman wasn't supposed to notice until she started throwing up. Or swelling up.Hell! He didn't know about such things. Sure hope she wasn't lyin' when she said she could shoot.He was pretty sure none of the Indians would bother her. Just before Silas had left, Emmet had met with the band that frequented this upper end of the Boise Valley, giving them tobacco and assuring them that he was only here because his woman--if shewere really my woman, I wouldn't be sleeping cold and lonely--was injured and unable to travel. He gave his word they would be gone before summer. He and Buff had gotten along just fine with Goat Runner and his band before, minding their own business and letting the Indians mind theirs. But there were the occasional renegades, red and white. He'd run into a bunch of them last spring, up on the Gallatin. They'd thought to take his furs, until he showed 'em the error of their ways.A little thing like Hattie wouldn't have a chance against a gang like that, no matter how good she could shoot. His imagination considered what could happen to her while he was gone. He still had half a pound of that trade tobacco in his pack. He'd been saving it for an emergency.Aw, hell, I've given up everything else for her. Might as well give my tobacco too. The creak of the cabin door warned him. By the time she'd reached the corral, he was mounted. "I'll be back in a week or less," he said. "Carry the shotgun whenever you're outdoors and bar the door when you're not. Don't let anybody come closer than fifty feet, and kill 'em if they try." "You're leaving me alone?" "You're in no shape to ride a hundred miles. I'll get one of Goat Runner's people to keep an eye on the place." He prodded the gelding's flank. "There's meat aplenty and enough flour to last you. I'll stop by the fort before I come back from the crossing, to pick up the supplies Silas traded for." "Wait. Mr. Lachlan, please! Wait!" She was hobbling along behind him, fast as she could. He stopped. Looked down at her. "I didn't mean for you to go back there alone. It's my gold. I was planning to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html go after it. With your help, of course." "You were figurin' to take the livestock?" "No. But why...?" "Woman, there's not an Indian west of the Rockies who'd leave those oxen alive for ten minutes if we weren't here to guard them. They don't see any difference between a good ox and a fat buffalo." He thought a moment. "Except buffalo tastes better." "Oh." She sort of shrunk within herself. Looking up at him, she seemed to be

searching his face for something. Reassurance? Probably, because she said, "You'll be back in a week?" "More or less. Depends on the weather. Ten days, outside." Her brow wrinkled, as if she was thinking hard. "I guess I can't stop you from going, Mr. Lachlan. And I do appreciate your willingness to do so. But please try not to be longer than ten days. If you are...." She did her best to smile. "Well, if you're not back by then, I'll just have to come after you, won't I?" "If I'm not back in two weeks," he said, realizing she was frightened and doing her best to hide it, "you get yourself and the oxen downriver to the fort. Shouldn't take you more'n three, four days. You've a credit there, from the oxen Silas traded, and Craigie will see you get to the Willamette." With each word, she had gone whiter. Damn it, what did she expect him to do? He couldn't go after her gold and stay here to take care of her at the same time. He wouldn't be going at all if he didn't know as well as he knew his own name she'd take off on her own, bad leg and all, if he didn't. Either the gold was there or it wasn't. And if it was where he'd left it, it wasn't going anywhere before spring. Try convincing her. "If I follow the river, will I come to Fort Boise?" I'll be damned!His respect for Hattie's courage went up several notches. "Yeah, but you won't need to. I'll be back. You can bet your bottom dollar on it." Nodding, Hattie stared at him for a long moment. "Be careful, Mr. Lachlan. God be with you." She turned around and hobbled back to the cabin and went inside. Seconds later she reappeared, carrying the shotgun. Standing in the doorway, looking small and helpless, she waved. Emmet lifted his hand in farewell. He'd never wanted so bad to stay in one place in his life as he did at this minute.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html She'll be fine.It was as close to a prayer as he'd made since the day his mother died. * * * The bray of a mule woke Hattie. She had her hand on the door when she stopped and thought. Emmet had been gone only five days. He wasn't likely to have returned yet. And if he had, he'd be here soon enough, calling to her through the barred door. She dressed quickly, waiting for the sound of his voice. Instead, someone tried the latch, pushed against the door, cursed in unfamiliar, querulous tones. She stood to one side of the door, holding the shotgun in her hand. This wasn't the first time she'd wished there were windows in the cabin. Almost she asked who was knocking, but it would be stupid to let her unwelcome caller know she was a woman, alone. The cursing degenerated into a mutter. She caught an occasional word, many of them unfamiliar. After a while, the voice faded, as if its owner had moved away. She waited, no longer trembling, but still frightened. The fire burned low. Hattie realized she had made a potentially fatal mistake. It had been raining yesterday when she was done with her afternoon chores, a cold, hurtful rain, half water, half ice. She had hurried inside, confident she had enough wood within to last her through the night, hoping the morning would be warmer. Now she had none. Soon it would be dark, and shortly after that, it would be cold. She put her ear to the door. There wasn't a sound. Perhaps he'd gone away. With extreme caution, she lifted the bar, leaning it against the wall just beside the door. She eased the wooden latch up, pulling the door open a bare inch at a time. Fortunately she'd grown tired of its constant squeaks, and had greased it with butter just the day before yesterday. One of the chores she'd set herself to help the lonely hours pass more quickly. When the door was scarcely six inches ajar, she held it still while she let her eyes adjust to the waning November sunlight. Her heart was pounding in her ears, all but drowning out the soft whisper of wind in empty branches. Soon she was able to see across to the corner of the corral. Jupiter was standing under the biggest cottonwood, contentedly chewing his cud. None of the other cattle were in view, but then they generally went into the brush of an evening. It was warmer there. She pulled the door open a little farther. Now she could see the trail to the outhouse and the bathtub, but not far along it, because the leafless willows were so dense that their yellow osiers were as good as a wall. The little black-capped birds that reminded her of autumn leaves were searching among the weeds, a sure sign that no intruder was present. Shotgun in hand, she stepped forth. And screamed as an arm went around her waist, a knife appeared at her throat. "Wal, lookee hyar what we've got ourselves. As purty a leetle gal as we've

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html ever seen." The words might be unthreatening and the tone might be gentle and friendly, but the arm was iron hard and the knife never wavered. "Now you jest drop that there gun and stop your wigglin, gal." She did both, not resisting when he pushed her inside and kicked the door shut behind him. He walked her across the floor, kicking her crutch aside. When she was before the bunk, he released her, pushing her so she fell on her face across her blankets. She lay still, dry-mouthed and shaking, hoping he wouldn't stab her in the back. "Where's your man?" he demanded. "I... he's out hunting. He'll be back anytime." "Turn over." She did, looking up at him. He was wide, that was her first impression. Old. And hairy. A cloud of white hair encircled his head, only two bright eyes and a big nose showing from behind it. His buckskins were almost black, their fringe straggly. They were cinched at his waist by a wide belt hung with numerous pouches. Another knife, almost as long as the heavy one he held carelessly in one hand, was stuck behind it. She could smell him, a combination of sweat and smoke and something strong and musky. "Where's your man?" he said again, "and don't tell me he's about somewheres. I saw his tracks and they're three, four days old." "He really is out hunting," she said, doing her best to keep her voice from shaking. "He was supposed to be back yesterday." Oh, dear God! She hoped he believed her. "How'd he find the cabin?" the old man demanded. "It... it belongs to a friend of his. A Mr. Jones." "MisterJones?" The cackle was genuine. "MisterJones ? And who mought thisMister Jones be?" He hooked the chair with his toe, pulled it to him. Without taking his eyes off her, he sat, began to pare at his fingernails with the knife. When Hattie didn't answer, He prodded her with his foot. "Answer me, gal." "I don't know who he is. Mr.... my husband said he was a trapper, a good friend. He'd not mind if we used his cabin." "Your husband said that, hmm? And how does he know this Mister Jones?" He seemed to take great delight in the proper name, repeating it again, several times, cackling with each repetition. Hattie began to wonder about his reason. "They were partners, I understand, for several years. In the fur trapping trade." "They was, huh? And what mought your man's name be, then?" He leaned close to her, peering into her eyes. "Lachlan," Hattie said, wishing she could hold her breath. "It's Emmet Lachlan." "Ahuh! Can you prove that, gal?" "No. I.... Yes, I can!" She started to get up. His hand came out and stopped her. "You jest set right there and prove to me who your man is." "I'll have to get his knife," she said. "It's got his initials on the handle."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Emmet had given her his smallest knife when she began doing the cooking, jeering at her paring knife as "a toy for little kids." "Where is it?" Hattie told him. He went to the shelf Emmet had built beside the fireplace without taking his eyes off her or his hand off his own knife. Holding Emmet's knife at arm's length, he studied it. * * * His caution was instinctive. Emmet approached the cabin on a roundabout path, going the last quarter mile on foot. It was a good thing he had. There were two strange mules in the corral. He faded back into the cottonwoods. cursing himself for leaving Hattie alone. There were damn few men in this empty land who would leave a tender morsel like her untouched, given half a chance. Did she still live? Making certain was the first thing, before he killed the men who'd taken her. Killed them slow and hard. He returned to his horse and mule, led them away. A mile and more from the cabin, he found a grassy glade near the river. He unsaddled both animals and hobbled them, knowing there was always a chance he would not return. He rummaged inside his bedroll, pulled out two more sheathed knives. One went down his shirt, in back, held convenient by a string around his neck. The other slipped inside his high moccasin. He checked shot and powder, loaded his rifle. For the first time he wished he had another shotgun, instead of his trusty Henry. But he'd sooner rely on his knives any day. He found an opening within a willow thicket and slipped inside. For the next few hours, he sat, still and observant, watching the closed door of the cabin. Hattie was alive or she wasn't. He'd do her no good either way by rushing in and getting his fool head blown off. From his hiding place he could see the corner of the corral. It still held some of Hattie's oxen, as well as the strange mules. He let himself hope. If the oxen were still here, could Hattie be safe? If so, where was she? And where was Odin, her pampered favorite? Or had her captors butchered the big, tame ox? Were they holding Hattie inside the cabin, using her before they killed her? There was no activity at the cabin throughout the long, cold afternoon. His butt grew numb from its contact with the damp earth. Occasionally he'd flex a foot or rotate a shoulder, knowing that when something happened, it was apt to happen quickly. He had to be ready to move. The winter's dusk was closing in when he heard them. First a man's laugh, broken by a cough. Then a woman's, high and clear on the still air. He tensed. Could Silas have returned, so long after he'd given the lad up for lost? No, for his voice would never have deepened so. The voices drew nearer. Their owners were coming in from a gully off to the east

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html of the cabin. He watched. Waited. The old man who stepped into his field of view was familiar. Emmet watched for his companion. When Hattie appeared, sitting astride Odin's broad back, he relaxed for the first time since seeing the mules. Hattie was alive! Laughing. Emmet stood, pushing his way through the willows. He was going to beat that woman for taking up with Buffalo Jones. Hadn't he told her to shoot any intruders? He met them at the corral gate. Before either could say a word, he said, "Woman, I've been sittin' on my butt thinking on ways to rescue you for the better part of the afternoon. Now I'm hungry, and I'm cold, and I'm still decidin' whether to beat you or to kiss you. I reckon hot coffee and some food might convince me in your favor." He helped her off the ox's broad back, but deliberately didn't let his hands linger at her waist. Hattie, whose eyes had grown enormous at his quiet words, didn't even stop to take her crutch from where it leaned against the corral, but hobbled up the path toward the cabin. He watched her for a moment, then turned on the old man who was leaning against a tree. "As for you, you damned old he-coon, where the hell have you been? And where's your girl?" Buffalo Jones chuckled. "Oh, I've been around, lad. Jest here an' there." He patted Odin on the flank and sent him into the corral. "Don't look like I've been up to as much devilment as you, now does it? If that don't beat all! Em's got himself up and hitched." His laughter filled the quiet woods, big as the man himself, free and unrestrained. "And a finer filly you couldn't have found, I'm thinkin'. She's prime, Em. Right prime!" His congratulatory swat nearly knocked Emmet off his feet. "She doesn't lead any better than that girl of yours, either," Emmet growled. "Stubborn and willful, that's what she is. I told her not to let anybody close." His stomach was still tight with the fear he'd had when he thought of what might have been. "Don't reckon I give her much choice. I played possum for the longest time afore she snuck a peek out the door. That's when I caught her." Buff held the door open and followed Emmet inside. Immediately the rich smell of stewing elk meat filled Emmet's nostrils. His belly rumbled. "Next time you do what I say, you hear, woman?" he said, glowering at Hattie. She simply smiled. "I'm glad you're home," she said. Later, sitting on a thick chunk of wood he'd dragged inside, Emmet listened as Buff told of his adventures since they'd parted in the spring. "I headed on up to the Spalding's mission, up there at Lapwai for a while, found my leetle Flower there." He paused to draw on his pipe. "She went on up after havin' some trouble with a couple of fellas at Grande Ronde. Seems they

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html thought she oughta be available, just 'cause she's a 'breed. She took exception to their friendliness, cut one a mite." He chuckled. "Told me it was easier to take off for a visit with her mother's kin than to stay around and convince folks she was the injured party." Buffalo went on telling of his adventures, but Emmet's mind drifted. He watched Hattie, cleaning up after supper. She hadn't said much when he told her the gold was gone, had only gone white and still for a moment. He'd wanted to tell her he'd take care of her, stay with her. He wasn't much of a substitute for a bag full of gold coins, but he should be able to take care of her and her child so they wouldn't starve. He had said nothing, instead. Sooner or later he'd let her down. The less she was expecting from him, the less hard she'd hit when she reached the bottom. And now he had to give her one more disappointment. "You'd better not count on seein' Silas before spring," he told her. "Not if he had to go clear up to Lapwai. Even if Flower was still there, they'd never get across the Blues this late." Chapter Six Buffalo Jones refused to share the cabin. He and Emmet built a leanto up against the back side of the river rock fireplace for him. "I'm a noisy creeter," he told Hattie when she objected to taking an old man's home. "An' I don't want to be makin' you uncomfortable with my spittin' and hawkin' and snorin'." As if he could. As soon as Buffalo had accepted her as Emmet's wife, he'd turned from a cranky old bear into a courtly and kind protector. He insisted on carrying wood and water when he saw what effort it took her to manage her crutch as well as a bucket or the canvas wood carrier Emmet had made her. In the four days they had been alone before Emmet's return, she'd come to love him as she had her maternal grandfather, who'd died when she was eight. He did consent to take his meals with them, when he was at home. It was his habit to disappear for a day, or two or three, sometimes taking one of his mules, sometimes on foot. He usually brought back food--dry, shriveled, but still sweet berries found in a secret, sheltered rock cleft, starchy roots which baked up as tasty as any potato, watercress gathered from cold, sweet springs. Although Hattie had been picking the miner's lettuce that grew near the hot springs and Emmet had introduced her to the versatile cat-tail root, she welcomed the variety Buffalo's offerings added to their diet. Buffalo was gone when the first big snowfall occurred. Hattie found the air almost warm when she went out for her morning soak, but thought nothing of it until Emmet, commented that it smelled like snow. Since the previous falls had been light, leaving less than two inches on the ground, she wasn't worried about Buffalo. He was a mountain man, after all, and far more experienced in taking

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html care of himself than she would ever be. The first flakes fell before noon. She kept busy indoors after dinner, leaving the door ajar, saving their precious candles. She sorted Karl's underclothing into garments that Emmet or Buffalo might be able to use and those old enough, soft enough to use as baby clothes and blankets. As she did so, she found herself wondering what she would do if Silas didn't return with Flower, or if he brought the young half-Indian woman after the baby came. Hattie knew little about caring for a newborn. She had married Karl when Annie was three months old, and she'd had little contact with her neighbors' children until they were older. Both of her older sisters had helped with the babies that their mother bore every year or so. Hattie had not, for she was usually in the farmyard, following her father like a shadow. By late afternoon she was using one of their precious candles to augment the light from the fire. It had been burning almost an hour when Emmet came in. She was picking apart a nightshirt, thinking that she should be able to get a nightgown from the sleeves, several diapers from the front and back. He stamped the snow off his feet, just outside the open door, startling her. Her stool, a sturdy three-legged one Buffalo had built when he saw how her legs didn't reach the ground in his big chair, wobbled. "Gettin' blustery," he said. His shoulders were white with snow and his hair was all but covered with a dripping white cap. Hattie reached for her shawl. "I'd better get the oxen in," she said, thinking how difficult it would be for her to make her way through deep snow. She hadn't given up the crutch for outdoor work yet, since her leg still tended to give way when she got tired or if she put weight on it too suddenly. "They're in," he said, shedding his coat and hanging it on one of the pegs beside the fireplace. He wiped a hand across his head, flipping snow and water onto the packed sand floor. "As soon as I saw it was going to snow more than a skiff, I gave 'em some hay and put 'em inside." She knew how he hated using any of the scant supply of grass hay they'd been able to lay by for the winter. "What about Buffalo?" He knelt before the fire, pouring himself coffee from the pot that sat on the hearth all the time. "What about him? He'll be back when he gets here." He shook himself. "Damn cold out there!" "Don't swear," she said, knowing it would do no good, but determined to keep trying. He ignored her. "I've been thinkin'," he said, standing with his back to the fire, "and I've decided it's time we were man and wife." Hattie almost dropped the scissors. After a moment's shock, she folded the half-dismembered nightshirt, placed it and the scissors in the leather sack she was using for her sewing, and set the bag back under her cot. She returned to her stool, still speechless. When she found her voice, all she could say was,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "I thought we were," knowing full well she was ignoring his unspoken thought. "You've got the marriage lines, but you've never been my wife." "You promised," she said, remembering his exact words. "You agreed to see me to the Willamette Valley and hunt for me and guard my stock. And you said you'd sleep alone." Even as she reminded him, she admitted that the thing she'd feared had come to pass. She cared for Emmet Lachlan far more than she wanted to care for a man who'd leave her as soon as he could. Each day she fought her growing love for him, knowing that, for her, to love someone was to lose him. Quick as a cat he was on his knees before her, his ice-blue eyes looking straight into hers. "I promised," he said softly, "for two months. Not for a winter alone with you." His hands were like steel bands on her shoulders, his breath hot and coffee-scented in her face. "Great God, woman, I see you, smell you, every blessed day until I'm like to lose my mind!" "We're not alone." It was a feeble rejoinder, but all she could think of, with him so close. "We are at night. And that's all that matters." The smoky passion in his voice spoke to her of sensations she'd only suspected, delights she'd had only hints of. Her own body betrayed her as it readied itself for him. Heat blossomed in her belly, her breasts seemed to swell and become even more tender. The smell of him--sweat and smoke and desire--filled her nostrils, spread throughout her until it eroded her will like rushing water against a sandy bank. Warmth emanated from his fingertips which now stroked her cheek, now traced her hairline across her nape. Flames and ice, shivery, fiery, disturbing and tempting, shot through her, from her curling toes to her empty hands, her yearning mouth. "Ah, Hattie," he whispered against her mouth, "you are so sweet." His tongue slipped between her lips, traced a line along her teeth and teased her tongue, luring it into soft play, advance and retreat, touch and withdraw. He suckled her lips, pulling them between his teeth for tiny nips, painful in their sweetness. He retreated, laying soft kisses along her lips, across her cheeks, at the point of her chin. His hand, still at her shoulders, tightened and pulled, until she was in his lap, her legs spread across the gritty sand. His arms closed around her, drawing her upper body close to his until her flattened breasts against his chest almost hurt. In a moment she felt his palm on her bare back, under the shirt she wore untucked and loose over her ripening body. She arched, wanting its warmth over each spare inch of her skin, feeling like a stroked cat must feel. When his hand found her breast, she sighed, relishing the stroking, squeezing, caressing of his fingers as they circled ever closer to her throbbing, erect nipple. And when, at last, he took the swollen bud between two fingers and rubbed, she gasped with the shocking pleasure of it. Hattie felt a cold draft and realized he'd unbuttoned her shirt. When his hot

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html mouth closed over the aching nipple, she gasped anew at the sensation, for she'd thought nothing could feel so good as the tugging and kneading of his fingers. She was aware that he had eased her shirt from her arms. His fingers fumbling at the rope she used as a belt registered in her mind. She knew when he laid a callused palm across her rounded belly. And she didn't care. All that mattered was the shower of bliss his mouth sent though her. Until he stopped. He was dead still for a long moment, his spread fingers heavy against her belly. She felt the tension spread through his body as he slowly withdrew his hand. "God!" The word burst from his with explosive force. "Oh, God, Hattie, I didn't mean to hurt you." He rebuttoned her britches, retied the belt, while Hattie lay, dazed, in his arms. All the while he muttered apologies, regrets. When he lifted her upright and reached for her shirt, she came to herself. "What are you doing?" She heard a quaver in her voice, one that was reflected in her limbs. "You didn't hurt me." "Only because you're lucky," he snarled. His face was set in harsh lines, made doubly fierce by the flickering firelight. "Why didn't you stop me?" She still didn't understand. "Stop you? Why should I stop you? I'm your wife." No longer could she deny that she wanted him with a desperate need she'd never felt for Karl's lovemaking. "And you're pregnant. How could you forget? I did, but how could you?" Again he held up her shirt, reminding Hattie that she was nude to the waist. And cold, despite the fire only a few feet away. As she obediently slipped her arms into the sleeves he held, she realized that she had been on the brink of the most horrible mistake she could make. Silently she buttoned the shirt, pulled herself onto her stool. Without a word, she turned her back on him and stared into the fire. She wanted him. Wanted him with a stormy, compelling hunger. She wanted to plead with him to alleviate the hunger, quench the fires, appease the desire. She wanted to thank him for having the strength she lacked, for if she gave herself to him, she would never be able to let him go. The only sound in the room was the hiss of the fire, an occasional pop as flames found a knot or a pocket of pitch. He sat on the floor, his head bent, arm resting across one upraised knee. Also staring into the fire, as if it held answers. "Why?" she said finally, once she could speak without weeping, without pleading. No matter how right it was, his rejection hurt. For a moment she though he was not going to answer. When he did, his voice was low and full of sorrow. "It could hurt your child." "I don't think so," she said, having more than once heard other women speak of their husbands' demands, no matter how heavy with child they were, or how tired

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html from their daily toil. "But I thank you for stopping. It just wouldn't be right, somehow." She couldn't tell him why it would not be right, for he was not a man who wanted to hear he was loved. Hadn't he already told her he wanted nothing to bind them, beyond his promise to her? Emmet forced his body into repose, waiting while desire ebbed and was replaced with anger. Anger at Hattie, of being so tempting. Anger at himself, for wanting her. Anger at fate, which had led him here and kept him here. As soon as he'd felt the swell of her belly, he'd remembered his mother's tears. Again and again, from his earliest memory, he'd heard her weeping for children who would never be born. As he grew older, he understood that she had lost them, one by one, brothers and sisters of his, long before they were old enough to be more than a bloody smear on her linens. Always she'd cursed his father, for his male desire, for his inability to control his baser urges. He would do nothing to make Hattie grieve as his mother had. Nothing, even if he had to sleep in the snow every night. Would it be breaking his word, he wondered, if he were to leave her in Buffalo's care through the winter. He could go into the high country, run a few traplines, and return with the spring. Buff knew about babies as well as he did. Maybe more, for at least Buffalo's child had grown and thrived, while the child in his care had died. * * * Buffalo didn't come home that night, or the next day. The snow continued to fall sporadically, until nearly a foot lay on the level. Hattie worried about the old man, but Emmet told her she was wasting her energy. "He's a savvy old coon," he said, "and likely laid up in a cave or a blowdown somewhere, waitin' out the storm." That was about all he said to her beyond informing her he'd take care of the stock. He went out early, taking a pack of food, and she didn't see him again until well after dark. She set the morning's milk near the hearth to clabber, then went back to her sewing. By dinnertime she had two tiny sacques made and a pile of soft rectangles set aside to be hemmed for diapers. As the afternoon lengthened, she began to wonder when Emmet would return, where Buffalo was and if he was warm and well fed. No matter how she tried to think of other things, her thoughts kept returning to her situation. What would she do if neither man ever came back to her? A familiar terror welled into her chest, until she could hardly draw breath. "Please," she prayed. "Please let them come back. I can't do it again." It was a long time before she could pick up her sewing again and go on. If she were to be left alone again, she told herself when she finally conquered

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html the awful feeling of panic, she would do what had to be done. She would get herself and her livestock to Fort Boise, insist that they give her a place to stay until spring. Once the passes were open, she'd go on. That was all she could do. Go on. A stamping outside announced Emmet's return. Even as she turned, the door opened wide enough to allow the milk bucket to be set inside. "I'll be along directly," he said, closing the door again. Despite her determination to keep her self heart-whole, his voice sent shivers through her. She wanted to go to him, to welcome him home with open arms and sweet kisses. She wanted him to hold her and caress her and lead her to the delights his mouth and hands and body had promised her. What she did was turn her back and scoot the spider full of sliced cornmeal mush over the fire. "Supper will be ready by the time you're washed up," was all she said when he returned. Hattie guessed she should be grateful he was a strong-minded man. She just wished he could see the difference between affection and lust, for she had a powerful need to be hugged. * * * Emmet drove the oxen and the milch cow down to the river's edge, where there was still some dry grass for them to graze and the snow was thin enough for them to scrape aside. This latest fall didn't show any signs of melting soon, and he hadn't put by enough hay to feed the stock indefinitely. His horse and the mules could forage, hobbled, but the cattle could not. They were too prone to wander, and Goat Runner's people were not likely to resist that kind of temptation. Damn! He wished he had a dog. While the stock grazed, he cut wood. He'd felled a big dead cottonwood just before he went looking for Hattie's gold and wanted to get it sectioned and as much split as he could while the weather held. Three days now of bright sunshine, and he couldn't count on much more. There'd been a ring around the moon last night. Likely they'd have more snow tomorrow. He wished he could let Hattie watch the livestock while he tried to backtrack Buff. He hadn't admitted it to her, but he was becoming worried himself. The old man hadn't taken much food with him and his snowshoes were still hanging on the wall of his leanto. If he'd gone anywhere near the mountains--and Buff was always one to go up, not down--he'd have a hard time of it without the rawhide-and-withe contraptions that let a man stay on top of the snow instead of sinking to his knees or beyond. Buff could take care of himself. Unless he'd managed to bust a leg or somewhat. Even then Emmet could not imagine his old friend lying on a snowing hillside, patiently waiting to die. No, Buff would be crawling along on bloodied hands and knees, determined to decide his fate until there was no more breath left in him. He stopped cutting when the cold white sun was overhead. Hattie had packed him a lunch, looking relieved when he once again said he'd be gone all day. Cold

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html roast venison and biscuits. He sniffed. The meat was getting a little old. Time to hunt again. If Buff were here, he'd head up the river a ways, to where the elk came down to winter. The tender meat of a yearling elk would be a welcome change from tough and gamy venison. When Buff came back, they'd have to have a little talk. He didn't want Hattie troubled like she was with worrying over his extended absence. Buff was going to have to let them know where he.... Damn that woman! Emmet tore off a chunk of meat and chewed fiercely. She had him so tamed he was actually thinking of telling an old he-coon like Buffalo to ask permission before he took off. If he had the sense God gave a goose, he'd take her to Craigie and let the Hudson's Bay factor take care of her for the rest of the winter. She'd be better off there anyhow. There were women at Fort Boise--Paiute and Bannock women, but women anyhow. She had money, even if he had thrown away her gold. The credit from those seven oxen was only half used. The rest would outfit her to cross the Blues, if she was willing to do it on horseback. And that'd be the only way she'd get across with him, so she'd better be prepared. She could leave the rest of her oxen with Craigie, have him send her their price after he'd sold them to next year's emigrants. By the time the trains got to Fort Boise, there were many who needed replacement stock and Hattie's would be in prime condition. Emmet picked up his ax, confident that he'd figured out a way of getting free of the trap into which he'd worked himself. This time next week he'd be on his way to Fort Vancouver, thence to China. No more lying awake, listening to her soft breathing. No more fighting his body's reaction to the rustles and whispers of her dressing, back there in the darkest corner of the cabin, while he sipped his morning coffee and tried to ignore the pictures his mind created. And no more standing guard, resolutely facing away from the thicket surrounding Buff's bathtub, while she soaked her leg, buck naked in the shimmering hot water. He was halfway through the next cut when he recalled the feel of her swelling belly under his hand. Hell and damnation! The ax fell, uncontrolled, and came close to cutting off his toes. Emmet stood, staring across the clearing, breathing as if he'd run a race. He couldn't do it. He couldn't abandon her to the precarious life at the fort, nor could he leave her behind in Buff's care, even if the old man were to volunteer. She was pregnant, and he could not leave her. He would not bear the guilt of another child's senseless, needless death. * * * It was snowing again, the third fall in as many days. The fresh white powder lay

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html thick on the growing pile of split wood against the cabin wall. Hattie stood at the door, watching Emmet as he drove the cattle into the corral. She'd offered to help unload the sledge he'd made from her wagon bed, but he'd refused. He was

particular about what work he would let her do, telling her he didn't want her taking a chance on losing her child. She didn't think moving a few chunks of firewood would cause her any harm, but she'd learned better than to defy him when he got that stubborn look about his mouth. There was more to his care of her than he'd say. She wondered, once again, what his life had been before he chose the solitary life of a trapper. What had happened to him that he believed a pregnant woman to be so fragile? One of the mules brayed. Emmet had brought them in with the cattle, although he usually left them out. Their hobbles prevented them from wandering far. Another bray, the sound coming not from the corral but from the west. Quickly she stepped inside, picked up the shotgun that always stood just beside the door. Without showing herself, she held it ready at her waist. She would have called a warning, for Emmet likely hadn't heard the mule, but she knew her voice would carry to whomever approached as well. She waited, watching through the narrow slit of the partially open door. Another bray, answered by one of the penned mules. Then a third mule came into her field of view, black and rangy. Familiar. She set the gun inside, snatched her coat from its peg. Throwing it across her shoulders, she hobbled to meet Buffalo, not bothering with her crutch. He was hunched over the neck of the mule, his wrists tied together by a thong that looped around the mule's neck. His face was white as the snow that covered his bearskin coat, cold as the air she breathed. He opened his eyes when she took hold of his hand, sobbing. "Hey there, missy, don't you be takin' on. I'm just a mite tired." His voice was weak and his eyes closed as soon as he stopped speaking. "Emmet!" she screamed. "Emmet!" With one hand on the saddle, she limped beside the mule as it plodded toward the corral. Before they reached the pole enclosure, Emmet was at her side, cutting through the thong that held Buffalo on his mount, catching the old man in his strong arms.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html She was of little help as Emmet carried Buffalo inside, so she tended to the mule, wiping him down, giving him an extra portion of their precious hay. When she went inside, Emmet had Buffalo propped in his chair, was working him out of the heavy coat. Despite his inner clothing being dry, he was shivering uncontrollably. "Move him closer to the fire," she told Emmet, tugging on his sopping moccasins. "I've got a better idea," he said. He lifted Buffalo in his arms, tendons straining and jaw set, for the old man was a big as he and much broader. "Open the door." "What are you...? Oh, of course." Hattie pushed the door open and stepped back to let him pass. "I'll bring blankets," she said as he walked out into the snowy night. She took time to set some cherry bark to steeping. She didn't know what ailed Buffalo, beyond being half-frozen, but he'd rest better for a dose, once they got him warm. Besides, he'd get warm sooner with heat inside as well as out. Pulling the quilts from her bed, Hattie wound them around her shoulders. She hoped the new snow hadn't made the path to the tub too slick. Stepping carefully, testing each position of her crutch, she started down the path. Emmet had Buffalo in the tub, both of them fully clothed, when she got there. The old trapper still shivered occasionally, but the constant shuddering had ended, nor were his teeth still chattering. She laid the blankets under a willow, far enough away that they were unlikely to be splashed, yet still close enough that Emmet could reach them. "What can I do?" she said, thinking that the blueness of Buffalo's lips was less pronounced. "Go make up some broth. He's cold clear through." Emmet was working to peel the wet buckskin from Buffalo's upper body. Rabbit fished from the stew she'd fixed for supper went into the soup pot, along with a few shavings of bacon--this was almost the last of it and she wanted to save enough for a meal--and slivers of dried salmon. She dipped a spoon into the cherry bark infusion and tasted it, making a face at its bitterness. There was just nothing on earth more bitter. But it would do him good. Emmet carried Buffalo in and laid him on the pallet she'd made up before the fire, blanket and all. Then he tucked the quilt Hattie handed him over the blanket. Buffalo's eyes opened when she knelt beside him. "Aww, missy, I didn't mean to be troublin' you like this." She shushed him. "You're no trouble. We're the ones who are putting you out of your own house." Tucking the blankets more firmly about him, she pulled the soup pot toward her. It hadn't cooked long, but there was bound to be some nourishment in the broth. "Can you eat?" "I can," he said, "but it won't do me much good." The spoon at his mouth prevented him saying more. She got several sips inside him before he turned away. "No more," he said, "else I puke it up." His eyes

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html closed. "All right," she told him, "but when you've let that settle a bit, I want you to have some of this." She tested the infusion's temperature with the back of her hand. Too hot to drink, but it would cool. Emmet knelt beside her. Laying his hand across Buffalo's forehead, he nodded. "He's warm now." He shivered. "Got some more of that soup?" Guiltily, she scrambled to her feet. In a moment she had supper sitting before him--hot coffee, rabbit stew, and a bowl of cottage cheese. He sipped the coffee carefully, emptying his cup slowly. He was no longer shivering when he took the first bite. Hattie filled a bowl for herself and sat on her stool, placing it where she could keep an eye on Buffalo. The old man rested quietly, unmoving except for the even rise and fall of his chest. "I hadn't counted on anybody's bein' hyar." Buffalo spoke into the silence that accompanied supper. "An' I figgered on it being longer before I had to stop huntin'." "What are you talking about, old man? You're going to be huntin' for a long time yet," Emmet said. "No, I ain't." Buffalo turned his head and stared into the fire. Hattie saw lines of pain on his face. Had she not noticed them before? "This was the worst time yet," Buffalo said, after a long silence. "I didn't think I was gonna get myself back hyar." He winced. "There's a critter gnawing at my vitals, Em, and nothin' I can do seems to make it stop." Again the wince. "Sometimes it hurts so bad I jest want to take a knife and cut it right out. I ain't never had anything hurt so bad in all my born days." Hattie looked across the table and saw her fear reflected in Emmet's eyes. Buffalo was a fine storyteller and not at all averse to telling of his adventures. His favorite--but not hers--was the time he'd been half-scalped. If this was more painful than that, he must be in great pain indeed. "I ain't a'gonna be doin' much of anything no more. The reason I went up there to Lapwai to see my leetle gal was to tell her good-bye. I was hopin' to run into you somewheres along the way, 'cause I wanted to give you somethin' and to ask you a favor." He moved restlessly, his mouth tightening again. "What I'm tryin' to say, boy, is that I had me a reason for showing up here like I did. I've done come home to die." Chapter Seven At first Hattie didn't believe Buffalo. He seemed so alive, so healthy. The morning after his homecoming he was up at dawn, stretching the three skins he'd brought in, scraping the flesh from their undersides, then rubbing in a mixture of fat and brains. Weasel, Buffalo named them, but Emmet told her they would be called ermine in the fur markets of the world and would bring a good

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html price. Buffalo talked as he worked, telling her of his younger years when he'd trapped the empty land west of the Missouri with men whose names even she had heard: Williams, Fitzpatrick, and the legendary Jedediah Smith. "Ol' Jed, now, he was a smart 'un. I was with him when he headed down thar to California back in '27. He'd been thar the year before and figgered he'd go back and stay awhile. Wal, we got to the Colorado and ran into a band of Injuns--Mojaves, they was. Jed had met up with 'em before, but this time they wasn't feelin' hospitable. Lost ten men and most of our supplies afore we got away." He set the third skin aside after inspecting it. All three now leaned against the wall, stretched on circles of supple willow. Hattie finished hemming a diaper while Buffalo stuffed his pipe. He lit it with a splinter from the fire and puffed in silence. "What happened then?" He chuckled. "Seems like luck warn't with ol' Jed that time. He'd plumb wore out his welcome the year before, I reckon, 'cause the next thing we knowed, we was in a greaser jail. Didn't get out 'til a fella there in Monterey made bond for us." He went on to tell of their trapping along the Sacramento River, describing the broad, flat valley between the mountains that abounded with beaver. Hattie's hands ceased their motions as she listened, trying to imagine the places Buffalo had been, the sights he'd seen. "We taken a good haul of beaver out of the Sacramento. Jed was allus one to look for new trails to walk, so we headed on up north, figgering to make our way to Fort Vancouver. It took us a while to git thar, though." Again he paused, puffing on his pipe. "Why?" She leaned forward. as if she could pull the rest of the story out of him. "We made it to the coast--folks call it Pacific, but that there is one fierce ocean. Then we was ambushed whilst we was camped on the Umpqua. If'n some of us hadn't been out scoutin' a trail to the north, we'd 'a been dead along with the rest of 'em." He spoke of the loss of their season's work as if it was minor damage, but Hattie knew, from other tales, how difficult and exhausting that work had been. "If it hadn't been for the White Eagle, we'd 'a wasted the whole two years. He sent his men down there and got most of our furs back. Bought 'em off us, too, and paid us in good British gold." "Who was White Eagle, an Indian?" "Wagh! He's the biggest he-coon of 'em all. Ol' John McLoughlin, factor at Fort Vancouver." And he told her stories of his stay at the fort on the Columbia, where he'd parted with Jedediah Smith, who'd gone north, to Flathead Lake while Buffalo had gone home to his family in the Grande Ronde Valley. Emmet was frequently absent, sometimes for several days at a time. He claimed

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html to be hunting, but Hattie knew he was often simply wandering. Oh, he brought home meat--there were two frozen elk carcasses hanging high in the trees. She tried to tell herself she didn't miss him. The cold weather that persisted until the only water they had was what Buffalo dipped from his bathtub, just below where the hot spring boiled from the hillside. Everything else was frozen solid, even the river. The oxen were on starvation rations, eating willow twigs and scant handsful of hay, carefully fed to each one every morning. The milch cow got a larger share of the rations, since Emmet insisted she be kept fresh until Hattie reached civilization. She had been keeping track of the date, although she might have lost a few when she was burning with fever. So it was not completely a surprise when Emmet rode in and unloaded a small pine tree from his mule's back. "Tomorrow's Christmas," he offered in explanation. He seemed almost embarrassed. "Wal, that's prime," Buffalo said when he saw the tree. "I ain't had a Christmas since I came West." Hattie was surprised. "You didn't celebrate with your daughter?" "Injuns celebrate a powerful lot of things," Buffalo told her, "but Christmas ain't one of 'em." He stepped to Emmet's mule and removed the saddlebags. He peered inside one, then held it out to her. "This'll do you more good than me." Hattie took the bag. She looked inside, but all she saw was a mass of dark, shriveled pellets. "What is it?" "Dried gooseberries," Emmet said, "and underneath, there's some honey. I stopped by the Bannock camp and traded some tobacco." He slapped the gelding on the flank, sending it into the corral. Reaching down, he held up a gray-and-black bird. "Ever cook a goose?" Hattie clapped her hands. "Not in a fireplace," she admitted, "but I can learn." She took the bird, surprised at how heavy it was. Oh, but it would taste good, after months of venison and fish. She spitted the goose and let it cook slowly above the fire, her mouth watering at the smell. Craving fresh vegetables, she made a salad of cat-tail root, pickled and sliced. As the goose cooked, she steamed the crisp root with chunks of elk bacon and baked a dressing of corn bread flavored with tiny dried onions, slivers of smoked trout and leaves of the sagebrush that grew everywhere. For desert she served dried gooseberry pie, sweetened with honey and thickened with the ground root of the camas, and topped with honey-laced clabbered cream, much to the men's delight. "Wal now, that was jest about the finest dinner I ever et," Buffalo told her after wiping a crust of bread around his plate to pick up the last trace of berry juice. Emmet said nothing, but his smile, when he looked across the table at her,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html was reward enough. "I've made you some surprises," Hattie said, carrying the plates across to the waiting dishpan. "I'll just set these to soak first." Emmet rose and helped her. She would never get used to his assistance around the house. Karl had never lent a hand to any household chore, even when she was so sick with the ague two winters back. Buffalo rose too. "Be right back," he said, stepping outside. When they'd cleared the table, Emmet lifted the tree back onto it. "You sure prettied it up nice," he told Hattie. "I like those little bows." He touched one of the bows she'd fashioned of fabric scraps left from her baby clothes. "And the rose hips are pretty, too." "The best thing about them is that they make such good tea," she said. Buffalo had brought them in last week when she'd mentioned using the last of the rose hips she'd been able to collect nearby. Instead of storing them in muslin bags as she usually did, she'd had the thought to string them on thread and use them to decorate the cabin. When Emmet brought her the tree, they'd been all ready. She looked up at him, struck again by what a handsome man he was. If only he were not a wanderer. Buffalo opened the door, stamping his feet before entering. "Snowin' again," he said. He carried a peculiar object, a flat board with attached leather straps and pouch. "This here's for you," he said, thrusting it at Hattie. She took it, not wanting to admit her ignorance. He chuckled. "Not sure what it is, are ye, missy?" Shaking her head, Hattie smiled up at him. "No, but I'm sure there's a story to it." "Wal, thar sure is, but it'll save," he said. "It's a cradleboard, that's what it is. Jest like the one I made for my leetle Flower." He took it back and showed her how to sling it on her back. With a little adjustment, it was made to fit her and she was amazed at how comfortable it was. "This way you can take your young'un with ye and still have your hands free to work with." Hattie slipped her arms from the straps and held the cradleboard so she could look at it. The wood had been shaped and smoothed with a loving hand and the leather parts were soft and strong. Even the black-and-red plaid wool that lined the pouch was soft, obviously the remnant of a well-worn and oft-washed coat. She set it carefully on the table and embraced Buffalo. "You are so good to me," she whispered in his ear. "I love you so much." She kissed his cheek above the bristly white of his beard. "Thank you." "You jest go on now," Buffalo said to her, his face as red as the wool. "Twarn't nothin'." "'Twar too," she contradicted, smiling. "Now, you sit yourself in your chair and I'll get your gift." She pushed him toward his great chair, pulled cozily close to the fire.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "I got to git your man's present," he said, resisting. Emmet laid a hand on his shoulder. "Tell me where it is and I'll go after it myself. I can't wait for an old turtle like you to drag it in here." Surprisingly, Buffalo didn't protest. He told Emmet he couldn't miss his gift, if he was to just look inside the leanto. "Fetch it in hyar so's you can use it." Emmet left. "Come here, gal." Buffalo reached out to her, pulling her close to him. "I been watchin' you and Ol' Em. He's runnin' scairt, and that's why he's off wanderin' so much. You jest be patient and he'll settle. He's got mighty strong feelin's for you." She wished she could tell him the truth, that Emmet would only stay with her until she was settled in the Willamette Valley, but she hadn't the heart. Before either could say more, the door opened again. Emmet entered, carrying a mate to the peeled-pine and rawhide chair that was Buffalo's, but not so large. Of course, not many men were as wide as the old trapper, or as heavy. Beside him, Emmet looked slim and boyish. "I'm beholden," Emmet said to Buffalo after he'd placed it on the opposite side of the fireplace from Buffalo's. He sat, squirmed a bit. "Fits just like it was made for me," he pronounced with a grin. "Figgered it was the least I could do. I got mighty tired of seein' you squat there beside the fire to eat your supper." Emmet had used a section of log as a seat ever since Buffalo's arrival, refusing to take either the old man's chair or Hattie's stool. During the men's bantering, Hattie had gone to the bunk and pulled her wooden box from underneath. She removed two folded linen rectangles from it and held one out to each man. "These aren't much," she apologized, "but I though you might like them. My mother...." She cleared a throat suddenly grown tight. "My mother always said every gentleman needs one fine handkerchief." Emmet took his without a word. He laid it on his thigh and smoothed it with one finger. Buffalo was more vocal. "Wal, I swan! Ain't that jest as purty a leetle rag as ever was!" He unfolded it and held it up to the light. The embroidery in one corner caught his eye. "Lookee that! 'B-J.' Now ain't that fine!" Like Emmet, he smoothed the handkerchief across his thigh, stroking it with a rough hand. "When I was a leetle tyke, I wanted one of these," he said, his voice more subdued than Hattie had ever heard it. "Then I got a mite older and knew... wal, never mind. Thankee, missy. Thankee kindly." He carefully folded the handkerchief into a small square and stowed it in the bag suspended from his belt that he called his "possibles." "Thank you, Hattie," Emmet said when Buffalo eventually fell silent. "I've never

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html had anything so fine either." There was a note in his voice that she'd never heard. It was almost as if he cared for her. But she couldn't help but notice that he'd had no gift for her. * * * Emmet cursed as he saddled his gelding. The cabin was simply too small for the three of them. It would be too small if Buff were not here, for it held Hattie. If he stayed nearby, sooner or later he would weaken. And once he laid a hand on her, once he tasted her again, he'd not be able to stop himself. Not until he'd lost himself in her. Great God, but he wanted her! For a week and more he wandered, seeking beaver sign, until another snowstorm made the going rough for his horse. Then he went overland, calculating he'd strike the Boise River somewhere along the upper valley where wagon wheels had left a scar across a hillside. The river was still frozen, even though the snow had blown in on warmer winds. But the ice was rotten, soft and thin in places, treacherous. Emmet was glad he didn't have to cross, for to do so would be courting disaster. He made his way along the valley, in and out of the willow thickets, dismounting to cross the marshy pockets of bulrush and cat-tail. He would be glad to get home--to the cabin--where he could warm his feet and fill his belly with something more than pemmican and jerky. A sound, barely heard, brought him to a halt. He put hand over the nose of his horse, his eyes searching the distance. For a long time he waited, still as a stone, listening, watching, sniffing the breeze. Finally he heard it again. A dog's whine. Looping his horse's reins on a branch, he stepped lightly across the frosty ground. He chose each footfall carefully, for there was ice on the frequent puddles, ice which could crack with a sound like a pistol shot. The willow band bordering the river was wide here, perhaps a hundred feet. Emmet slipped between the slim stems, often detouring where they formed an impenetrable screen. Eventually he drew near enough to see the dog. It was a big, brindle beast, part hound, part God-knew-what. Crouched over something on the ground, it at first appeared to be feeding. Then Emmet saw a round, dark shape between its front paws. He almost turned away. Any dog out here was more than likely one of the half-wild ones belonging to the Indians. Then he saw the collar--a braided hank of fabric, faded blue and red bandannas, it looked like--wrapped around the thick neck. The dog was gaunt, half starved. He could count its ribs. While he watched, it nosed the dark object, then stood and pawed at a bundle, whining again. And all of a sudden Emmet saw what the dog worried. The dark, rounded object became a woolly head, the bundle a wet, filthy coat, rent and stained. Emmet slipped his boot knife free of its scabbard. He took one, then another stealthy step in the dog's direction. He managed to approach within ten feet before the dog noticed him. When it did, it crouched over the limp figure, snarling protectively.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Emmet had never had a dog, but he knew when one was warning him off. He stood perfectly still. Softly at first, he spoke. "It's all right, boy. I'm not going to harm your master. I just want to see what I can do for him." He wasn't certain the man was alive, for he'd once seen a trapper's dog keep everyone away from the cold carcass for three days before letting it be buried. The dog lowered its head, its black lip still lifted in a snarl. It kept its eyes on Emmet. Well, hell!Emmet was cold and he was hungry. The last thing he wanted to do was stand here, facing off a dog near as big as himself, acting the Good Samaritan. He took a step forward. The dog snarled. Another step, and the dog lowered itself, almost lying across the man, but it still snarled. Emmet reached out a hand, wondering if he'd pull back a bloody stump. "There boy," he murmured. "There. Just let me see if I can help." He inched forward. The dog continued to bare its teeth, but made no other threatening sign. When he was close enough, the dog became silent, its ominous rumble fading away. It slowly eased forward until its nose all but touched Emmet's hand. For a long moment they posed, still as two statues. Then the dog whimpered again and gently nosed Emmet's fingers. The man was damn near frozen, but his breathing was deep and even, almost as though he slept. A few minutes shouldn't matter. Emmet backtracked, hoping to find a pack or anything that might belong to the enormous Negro. There was nothing to mark his passing except a trail through the last ten or so feet of rotten, broken ice, showing where the man had struggled to escape the tenacious hold of the icy river. With nothing but scrub willow growing nearby, Emmet knew he'd never make a fire big enough to warm the unconscious man. He'd have to take him back to the cabin. There was nothing like Buff's bathtub for warming a man all the way through. He wrapped his blankets around the big man's legs, his bear robe around his body, and tied him across the gelding's back. All the way to the cabin, a tedious journey lasting half a day, Emmet alternately swore at his own damfoolishness and the half-drowned stranger's desperate attempt to cross the frozen river. He ought to be looking for ways to reduce his responsibilities, not increase them. It was enough he had the care of a wife and a sick old man. Of course, he hadn't exactly taken on Buff. He and Hattie had moved into the old man's house, never mind Buff had since given it to Hattie, even offered to write her out a deed so no one would question her right to live there. But if Emmet hadn't been forced by Hattie's accident to take refuge in Buff's cabin, he'd not now be feeling responsible for the old man while he waited to die. Emmet wasn't even sure he believed Buff. There were all sorts of ailments that could make a man feel like something was chewing his guts to shreds. They weren't necessarily fatal. Were they?

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html All he knew was that Buff looked fit enough, if a mite skinny. Of course, he wasn't eating enough to keep a jackrabbit alive, let alone a big old fella like he was. Come spring, he'd get his appetite back, then he'd be hale and hearty again. And if he doesn't, what then? Emmet did his best to ignore the small voice of doubt. He was going on to Fort Vancouver come spring, Hattie and Buffalo be damned. If they wanted to come along, he'd get them there. If they didn't, well, they had the choice. The dog ranged wide of his path, coming back every few minutes, seemingly to check on their progress. He was ugly as sin, looking like somebody had taken the broad head and floppy ears of a hound and tacked 'em onto the body of one of those curly-haired dogs he'd seen so many of in France. And then they'd screwed a little stump of a tail on the hind end, just for trimming. His coat looked like it had been taken, one hair at a time, from three different dogs--one red, one white, one black. He called out as he entered the clearing around the cabin. Buff came to the door and Emmet motioned him outside. "What in tarnation?" "What's it look like? I found him down at the river." With Buff's help, he slid the man off the horse. They half-carried, half-dragged him to the tub and undressed him. When Buff pulled his ragged shirt off him, Emmet gasped at the sight of the man's back. He'd seen the results of flogging at sea--there were few captains, even today, who didn't believe that a few stripes with a whip were incentive to work harder and better. But he'd never seen the kind of determined viciousness that would leave a man scarred like this. It looked like he had been whipped within an inch of his life--more than once. The stranger was still unconscious when they bedded him down in Buffalo's leanto. Hattie made broth for the men to feed him, but didn't object when they wouldn't let her help. He was so big, so dark, that she feared him. Instead she went outside and called to the dog. She thought she caught a glimpse of the animal, out among the cottonwoods, but she couldn't be sure. So she set out a tin plate piled with scraps of venison and the heads of the fish Buffalo had caught for supper. A dog would be welcome. She would feel safer when the men were absent with a dog to protect her and warn her of approaching strangers. The next morning, Emmet warned her to keep the door barred, while he tended the stock and Buffalo cared for the stranger. "But it's so dark," she protested, and you'll both be nearby." She'd planned to sew again today. Now that Emmet was back, she wouldn't be running to look out the door every time she imagined hearing a noise. "Woman, we don't have the foggiest idea of who that man is or where he comes from. Do you want to be murdered in your bed?" She shook her head, not looking at him. Even the mention of bed was more than she needed. Last night, while Emmet slept in the bunk above hers, she had

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html lain awake, imagining his shape in the sag of the ropes supporting him. She had thought of the feel of his hard body against hers, wondered if she would ever feel it again. It wasn't that she wanted him in... well, in an intimate way. She just missed his touch, for he'd not laid a hand on her in weeks. "If he's unconscious, I doubt I'm in any danger." "Maybe not, but you keep that door barred, all the same," Emmet said, "You can't ever tell. He's been beat more than once, so he may not be a real peaceable fella." "How did he get here? How could he get here, this time of year?" She shuddered to think of anyone walking alone across that empty land between here and Missouri. "Hell, I don't even know where he came from," Emmet said. "All I know is he's one more goddam ball and chain, holdin' me here!" As soon as he'd spoken, he regretted his words. Hattie recoiled as if he'd struck her. Chapter Eight "I'se Weeyum," the black man said, once he'd been persuaded that all Hattie wanted to do was doctor his feet. His eyes were huge in his face, whites gleaming in the flickering firelight. He shrank back against the peeled wood of Buffalo's chair but didn't try to bolt. She doubted if he'd get half a mile if he did. Last night the immediate thing had been to warm him, to keep him alive. Now it was time to doctor the torn, bloody feet he'd wrapped in ragged cloths. Again she shuddered at the magnitude of his journey, across God only knew how many frozen, empty miles without shoes. It was a wonder he still had his toes. "Well, Weeyum, you just put your feet in here and they'll get better much faster." She set the basin of warm water before him. Into it she poured the hot infusion of boneset, wondering if she would find replacement for it in this new land. She only had a scant handful left. While his feet soaked, Weeyum was persuaded to tell his story, although his accent was so thick that Hattie missed much of it. He was, as Emmet had suspected, a runaway slave. His journey had begun somewhere in the South, where moss hung on the trees like old men's beards. Traveling alone and at night, he had somehow avoided all contact with human beings. Hattie suspected he was barely into his twenties, although she had no way of telling for sure. She hadn't seen more than four or five people of his color up close in her whole life. This was the second winter since Weeyum had walked away from the cotton fields. Hattie silently marveled at his persistence. His goal? To reach a place beyond the mountains where "nobod' gone whup me." She wanted to promise that he'd found that place, but how could she? This cabin was merely a way station to somewhere else for both of them. Emmet hovered--that was the only way to describe how he stayed at her elbow--still suspicious of Weeyum. He said little to her, not much more to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Buffalo all that day. Hattie wanted to challenge him, to tell him she was no man's shackle, but she kept her peace. She'd not have Buffalo witness their brangling, nor poor, frightened Weeyum, either. Sooner or later, though, she'd catch him alone and they'd have it out. She was tired to death of being blamed for the things his sense of honor demanded of him and she intended to tell him so in no uncertain terms. * * * As he regained strength, Weeyum insisted on being given something to do. He took over the feeding, hobbling to the corral several times a day to murmur to the oxen, with whom he seemed to feel more comfortable. His feet healed well, with no sign of infection. Buffalo gave him some old moccasins to cover his bandaged feet, the first shoes he'd ever had, he said, tears in his wide, dark eyes. His distrust of humans remained strong. As soon as he could, he built himself a shelter of woven willow branches and river rock in the cottonwood grove beyond the corral. After that Hattie rarely saw him, unless she went to the corral. Nor did she see the dog, although she knew he was still skulking about. He took the table scraps she set out for him every night. The cold intensified over the next week, until Hattie went outdoors only when she could not avoid it. Buffalo kept her company in the dark cabin, moving slower, eating less each day. She worried about him, but said nothing, knowing how he hated for her to notice his weakness. He often sat beside the fire all day, staring into the flames, speaking occasionally, dozing often. They had light now, for Buffalo had taught her to use the bulrush that grew in stiff clumps along the river's edge. Soaked in rendered butterfat, the rushlights burned slowly, if smokily, giving off a yellow light. But enough of them could light the cabin, much to Hattie's delight. "Yon babe's gettin' purty big," he said one afternoon, startling her. She'd thought he was asleep. Hattie kept her hand on the mound of her belly, feeling the small but vigorous movements of her child. "She's getting more active every day. I'm wondering if she won't grow up to be a trick rider or something like that." Neither Buffalo nor Emmet had ever spoken of her pregnancy. It was almost as if they were ignoring it.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Gonna be hard on you, birthin' that babe with no womenfolk about." Buffalo's voice seemed weak today, a sure sign that he was in pain. "I've pulled a couple into the world, but Ol' Em, he ain't. And there's no tellin' if that lad o'yours ever got to Lapwai, let alone he'll be able to talk my leetle Flower into comin' back here with him." Since Hattie had often thought the same thing, she merely nodded. She'd trust Buffalo to help her when the time came, and said so. "But I'm not likely to be here, gal." "But where...?" "Hattie, gal, I'm dyin'. The gnawin's gettin' worse every day. I doubt I'll see spring." "Oh, no, Buffalo! Surely you'll feel better soon." "Don't be lyin' to yourself. This here's gonna be my last winter." He fell silent, while Hattie tried to think of something to say, to do, to give him hope. To reassure herself. "Y'know, gal, my leetle Flower, she's a good gal, but she don't know nothin' about money," he said after a long time. "Her ma's folk ain't got no use for gold." Hattie thought of Karl's gold, lost forever. Would that she had no use for it. As if reading her thoughts, Buffalo said, "Em told me about your man's gold. How he missed findin' it when he sorted your load." "It wasn't his fault," Hattie said, quickly, not wanting Buffalo to think she blamed the man who'd saved her life. "O' course it warn't. But that'll be no never mind when you get out there to the Willamette. You'll need yourself some cash money 'cause that's the way the world is." "I'll manage," she said, wondering if she really would. Again her hand went to her belly. She could take care of herself. She had no doubt of that. But could she take care of this tiny, precious life? "I'm a'gonna think on it," Buffalo said, and fell into a doze. Emmet stamped inside shortly thereafter. "Gettin' colder," he said, his breath a cloud in the gust of icy air he brought with him. "Where's Weeyum?" "He wouldn't come in," Emmet said. "Says he's snug as a bug." Hattie doubted that. The last time she'd gone out to the necessary, it had seemed like her breath froze in her nostrils. "Can't you let him come inside? He's apt to freeze out there." "Tried," Emmet said, shrugging out of his bearskin coat. "He's got a fire burnin' in his lodge and near a foot of snow piled up on top. He'll do just fine." "Told him to move into my leanto," Buffalo said. "Wouldn't do it neither. Don't know whether he's afeared he'll wake up with chains on or just leery of white folks in general." Hattie poured hot coffee into Emmet's tin cup and handed it to him. "Well, at least I can put my foot down with you," she told the old man. "You're staying in here tonight." "She's right," Emmet said before Buffalo could do more than sputter. "The

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html wind's rising and your leanto leaks like a sieve. I'll fetch your bedroll soon's I'm warm." Even through the thick cottonwood logs that formed the outside walls of the cabin, Hattie felt the cold. In bed that night, she prayed that both Weeyum and their livestock would survive the bitter cold and the biting wind. * * * Emmet woke in the night. Rolling over, he dropped from the upper bunk with a soft thud. Hattie murmured in her sleep but didn't rouse. He was pulling the bearskin coat across his shoulders when Buffalo spoke softly. "Varmits?" Emmet could see him as a dark shape in front of the flickering fire. He'd been aware, in a kind of half sleep, that Buff had twice added wood. "Nope. Just want to check the stock." He picked up his rifle and slipped quickly through the door. Great God, but it was cold! The inside of his nose was dry and raw, as if the very air held sharp, cutting ice crystals. He squinted, afraid that his eyeballs would freeze. Even in the high mountains where he and Buffalo had spent the winter two years ago, he had never felt cold like this. The crusted snow held his weight, creaking and groaning under his feet. He went first to the corral, slipped between the poles. The horses and cattle were in the far end where young cottonwoods and willows formed a dense thicket which provided shelter from the elements. They were huddled together, heads hanging, mingled breaths crystallizing around nostrils and on muzzles. He moved among them, giving a pat here, a scratch there, a word to each. It was only then he realized how well he could see. The sliver of moon he'd noticed as he came in for supper was long gone, but there was still a paleness about the night. He looked up. And caught his breath. The sky was alive. Great streamers of red and yellow reached past the zenith. Even as he watched, another ribbon of brilliant crimson arched overhead, cutting through the blackness, dimming the stars. The mountains behind the cabin loomed in shadowy silhouette, looking as if they were afire with leaping, arctic flames. Heedless now of the cold, he returned to the cabin and went inside. "Wake up, Hattie," he said as soon as he was kneeling beside her bunk. "I've something to show you." She came awake immediately. "What? Is something wrong?" "No," he soothed. "Nothing's wrong. Just put this on." He held out his bearskin coat. "Come outside with me for a few minutes." Moving clumsily, not entirely awake, she did as she was told. At Buff's questioning grunt, Emmet said, "Northern lights," and the old man subsided back into his blankets with another grunt. Emmet put on Hattie's heavy wool coat before he led her outside. It wasn't as warm, but it would do for him. She needed the warmth of his fur more than he did. "Shut your eyes," he told her, opening the door. "I'll lead you." Following him, unquestioning, Hattie's perfect trust reminded Emmet again of the responsibility he had assumed.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html He led her away from the cabin, away from the corral and the cottonwoods. When they were well clear of anything that would occlude their view, he turned her to face north and said, "Now. Open your eyes and look up." "Oh! Oh, it's so beautiful!" Her face, rosy in the cold light, was filled with wonderment. Emmet wanted to kiss her. Wrapping his arms around her from behind, Emmet murmured, "Don't want you to get cold." She made a small sound. Of protest? No, for she snuggled back into his embrace. She smelled of woodsmoke as they all did, cooped up for so long inside the cabin. But underneath was a faint, lingering scent of lilac. A vision bloomed in Emmet's mind. A woman, naked in the moonlight, her wet skin gleaming. Arms lifted, full breasts crowned by erect nipples, a patch of shadow at the apex of her thighs. Thus he'd first seen her. Thus he'd first wanted her. He leaned his head against hers, still wanting her, aching with need of her. Knowing there could be no appeasing that need tonight. "I saw the Northern Lights once before," she said, sounding on the edge of tears. Emmet remembered his first sight, from the deck of a ship on the north Atlantic. He'd been enthralled, so much so that he never noticed the cold or his lack of sleep. When he was relieved of his watch, he'd stayed on deck until the pale light of dawn concealed the bright curtains of green and yellow that had undulated across the sky for so many hours. "It was the night they all died." Her words hung in the night. "They? Who?" "Mama. Papa. Lizzie and Harry and Tilda and Sarah." She sounded almost childish. "Harry had the croup and Mama was up with him. I couldn't sleep and was looking out the window. The lights were so bright and I hadn't seen anything like them, ever before." He turned her in his arms, pulled her close. "What happened?" He didn't want to know. Sharing her grief would be one more burden added to the many he reluctantly carried. "I went out to the haystack. I wasn't supposed to be there, but it was so soft and so nice smelling. And the lights--they moved like ribbons in the wind. I watched for a long time." One of the animals snorted, but otherwise the night was silent. Emmet felt the cold creeping into his feet, through the thick leather and wool socks--Karl's socks, for he'd had none when he married Hattie. He should take her inside, but he delayed, wanting to keep her in his arms, to feel her warm breath on his chin. "Mama had been leaving the light on in the kitchen--that was where she had Harry's cradle, because it was warm. I could see it, through the window. But she must have gone back to bed, because the next time I looked at the house, there

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html was fire in the window. There was fire in all the windows. Oh, God, there was fire everywhere!" She turned and burrowed against him, her voice high and strained. "There was fire everywhere, and I watched it burn." He cupped the back of her head with one hand, reached inside her coat and rubbed along her spine with the other. Words failed him. How did one give comfort for the loss of everything? "They must have all been asleep," she said, after a few minutes. "The neighbors looked for them and found them all in their beds. They didn't suffer. That's what the preacher told me. They didn't suffer." But you did, Emmet thought. "How old were you?" was all he asked. "I was eleven," she said. "And I would have gone to the poor house--Papa was a hired man and everything we had burned. But the preacher wrote to Mama's brother, my Uncle James. He sent money for me to go downstate, to live with him and Aunt Nettie." "Is that where you met your... Karl?" He had to get her to talk of something else. He couldn't stand hearing the pain in her voice. "I didn't meet Karl until the day I married him," she said, sounding, if possible, even sadder than before. "Uncle James owed him money, so when his wife died in childbirth, he took me to care for Annie." Emmet was aware of anger such as he'd seldom felt. "But he did marry you?" God! She'd been all but been sold to the man! "Oh, yes. He was a good Christian man. He wouldn't have me in the house--I was fifteen, and a woman grown--without marrying me." Her voice was steadier now, and she no longer rested her face against his chest. With a careful hand, he lifted her chin so he could see her eyes. Tears glinted on her cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumb, thinking, as he did so, that he'd never felt anything so soft as her skin. "He was a good man," she said, as if she were reassuring him. "Karl was a good man, and I loved Annie like she was my own." No matter how good Rommel had been, he had still bought her like a slave at auction. Just like Emmet's sister, Hattie had traded her body for food and shelter. But at least Hattie received kindness in return. The last time he'd seen Sheila, her face had been bruised, but still stubborn, still angry. Without thinking, he did what he'd been wanting to do for weeks. He bent his head to hers and kissed her. Hattie felt the heat of his lips on hers. She should stop him. Oh, she should, for each time he kissed her, the hunger inside grew more demanding. But she did not. There was something unworldly about the setting, about the situation. Perhaps it was the flickering of the lights in the sky, perhaps the glitter of the snow, ever changing as rays and curtains flowed and shifted across the night. Whatever it was, she knew she didn't want him to stop kissing her. As his tongue slipped between her lips, she met it with her own. As his hands found her tender breasts under the heavy fur, she leaned into his grasp. She forgot the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html beginning numbness in her feet, the iciness of her fingertips. All she knew was the wonder of his caresses as his hands rubbed the heavy linen of her gown across nipples grown incredibly sensitive. When his hard thigh eased between her legs, she parted them for him, as far as her nightgown allowed, feeling hot moisture gathering. His hand left her breast and trailed across her belly, noticeably swollen now with her advancing pregnancy. And he hesitated, his palm resting across the upper swell, as her child moved. Instantly he pulled back so that he could see her face. "Was that...?" "Yes. It was my baby. She's been moving for some time now." Hattie rested her hand over his, holding it in place. After a moment, the baby moved again, a gentle but distinct drawing of a tiny limb across the inside of her womb. Emmet's eyes were dark in his shadowed face, his mouth a grim line. She touched his lower lip, wanting to kiss it but not yet daring enough to pull his face down to hers. "She becomes more real each day." Already she knew she would have a girl. The certainty had come to her the first time she'd felt the baby move, a butterfly-touch unlike anything she'd ever felt before. "I'm going to name her Ellen." "Ellen. That's a pretty name." But he seemed distracted, as if he was thinking deeply of something else. "It was my mother's name." What she didn't tell him was that it was also the name of the fair maiden in her favorite poem. Or that he reminded her of the hero of that same poem. He rode out of the west, he rode all alone. And he was bold and brave and strong. Removing his hand from her belly, Emmet pulled the coat closed under her chin. "Let's get you inside before you freeze." The warmth was gone from his voice and she shivered. For the first time since he'd kissed her, she felt the bitter cold. He followed her back to the cabin, regretting the impulse that had led him to wake her, to share the beauty of the night with her. He'd forgotten--had made himself forget--her pregnancy. Ever since the cold had set in, she'd worn loose wool shirts belonging to her dead husband, so he hadn't really seen her shape for some time. Otherwise, he'd have noticed the swelling of her breasts, of her belly, would have been reminded once again of the fragile life she carried. Now he watched her in the dim light from the fireplace as she took off his heavy coat. Always before he'd been careful to step outside while she changed, while she got herself settled in bed and decently covered. For his own defense, not her protection. Even the glimpse of a black-stockinged ankle sent waves of heat through him, brought memories of her slim, naked body to him. He didn't need to see the sweet curves of her body under her loose clothing to further inflame his

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html imagination. The linen gown--one of the few garments of her own to have survived the disaster at the crossing--curved over her breasts, hinted at the swell of her abdomen. It skimmed her feet, so that only when she swung them into the bunk did he see more than pink toes, a high arch. "Are you coming to bed?" Great God! Would that he could come to her bed, could bury himself in her warm body, find forgetfulness in her womanly heat. "Later. I'll set a while." "Thank you for showing me the lights, Emmet. They were beautiful." "Go to sleep." Every rustle of her bedclothes was loud to his ears. He could hear the quiet whisper of her breath. He almost thought he could hear the steady beat of her heart. He pulled the bearskin coat off its peg. "I'm goin' out to see how Weeyum's doin'," he said, knowing that if he stayed in the cabin with her a second longer, he'd be in her bed. * * * "You and Em havin' trouble?" Buffalo asked her the next morning when he came in from his daily soak. Hattie shook her head. She was trimming mold off the last of their pork bacon. Emmet had said he doubted he could get any more from Fort Boise. In winter no one had food to spare so far from civilization. She supposed she should be grateful that they never lacked for meat. "He ought'n to go off and leave you alone in the middle of winter," Buffalo said after a while. "It ain't like he needed to hunt today, and his traps are likely all froze in." "I guess he figures you and Weeyum can take care of me," Hattie said, not looking at him. She rather thought she could take care of herself, but it would never do to say so. Buffalo, like all men, liked to feel important. "Huh! A sick old man an' an ignorant boy! Fat lot of good we'd do if a ba'r decided to come through that there door." He gestured at the unbarred door. Hattie had left it open for Weeyum, who had finally gotten to the point of coming inside for the noon meal. He still sat on the floor next to the door, though, as if afraid someone would try to make him prisoner. "He's a good man, Em is," Buffalo opined. "A mite restless, but that ain't all bad. He won't be underfoot all the time." Hattie wanted a husband whowas underfoot all the time, so she said nothing. "O' course, if you was to be nicer to him, he mought stay about more 'n he does." Buffalo lit his pipe with a splint from the fire. "A man likes to feel like his comin' and goin' matters." Hattie chopped the small chunk of salvaged bacon into bits and put them into the Dutch oven to brown. Weeyum had brought her some cat-tail roots this morning. Where he'd found them, she had no idea. She would have guessed there wasn't any unfrozen ground anywhere about. They didn't taste much like potatoes, but they'd do for a soup.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html She sat on the stool beside the fire, grateful for the heat against her face. When she went out to the outhouse this morning, she'd just about frozen. Although the cold had moderated somewhat, white fog had moved in to crystallize on everything--the ground, the trees, the oxen and horses' shaggy coats. Buffalo scooted his great chair closer, until he sat across the mouth of the fireplace from her. "Hattie, gal, you ain't still thinking to go on to the Willamette, are you?" He was watching her with a sharp, curious gaze. "Of course I am. I can't stay here. Emmet promised Goat Runner that we'd be leaving next summer." "Em ain't gonna like livin' in the Valley. He's a man who likes space." "I can't help that." She hesitated. "Buffalo, I can't raise my daughter here, where the nearest neighbors are...." She paused, remembering that his wife had been Indian. "So far from civilization." She pulled the Dutch oven away from the flames. "I didn't want to come in the first place," she confessed. "It was Karl. He was never satisfied. He sold the farm--it had been his first wife's--after we'd been married about two years, and we went to Philadelphia. He was a good cabinet maker." She didn't want Buffalo to think Karl had failed to care for her or for Annie. "But he kept talking to people who were moving west and he decided that he'd do better there. So we went to Missouri." She paused to pull some tiny wild onions from the braid that hung in the far corner. Without even peeling them, she tossed them into the pot. "We farmed there too," she went on as she added the crisp cat-tail roots to the sizzling bacon grease. Actually she had done most of the farming on the small acreage they'd rented for a little over a year. "Then Karl decided to move on to Oregon." "You're in Oregon now, gal," Buffalo said. "You don't have to go any farther." "I'll go on to Oregon--to the Willamette," she said. "I have to go on." "Wal, maybe he'll settle," was all Buffalo would say. Shortly thereafter he fell into a doze, Hattie went on with her soup making. She was worrying more and more about the old man. Since Christmas he'd seemed to worsen rapidly. Now he rarely went anywhere but out to his "bathtub." And he didn't do that every day. There was no longer any denying what he'd told her. Buffalo Jones was dying, despite all her prayers. Chapter Nine Hattie knew it was somewhere around the middle of February, although she couldn't have said whether it was Sunday or Thursday. Just this morning she'd seen green in the grass along the little stream that drained from Buffalo's bathtub. And the air was warm with promise. She could almost smell spring. It was a perfect day for washing. "Mornin' Missus," Weeyum said as she arrived at the corral. "Mighty fine day, ain't it?" Dawg backed off, ears laid back, but at least he no longer ran from her. Hattie let the basket of laundry drop the last few inches. Standing, she rubbed the small of her back. Bending over the bathtub was getting more and more difficult. Perhaps she should take Buffalo's advice and just sit in the hot water while she washed herself and her underclothing. Hattie knew Weeyum was watching as she draped her nightgown and chemise over

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html the peeled logs. He often watched her, seeming fascinated with the most ordinary things--as if he'd always lived apart from civilized people. Although back East she would have hung sheets on lines to either side of her underclothing, here she simply didn't care. She didn't even blush when Weeyum said, "My mist'ess, she had herself some duds like that, with all that fancy stuff on 'em." He touched the lace at the top of her chemise with a hesitant finger. The gesture made Hattie notice the ragged sleeve of his shirt, the threadbare trousers that ended mid-calf. The fabric that had heretofore been covered by his equally ragged jacket was gray, stiff. She realized it was beyond filthy. No wonder she could often smell him when he came inside the cabin, to sit quietly by the door. "Come with me to the cabin," she told him when she had finished smoothing the cuffs of Emmet's shirt so they wouldn't wrinkle as they dried. Buffalo lay on her bunk now, rarely leaving it except with Emmet's help. He seldom ate more than simple broths, and even those sat uneasily on his stomach. Emmet had brought some herbs from the Indians downriver which seemed to ease his pain, but they made him drowsy. Hattie sank to her knees beside the bunk. "Buffalo, are you awake," she said softly. "Jes' restin' my eyes," he said, a trace of the old humor in his voice. "I need you to do something for me." "Gal, I'll do anything you want, jest so long 's I don't have to do it standin' up." "I want you to talk Weeyum out of his clothes. They're filthy." "Now if that ain't jest like a woman, wantin' to clean a man up and make him smell like roses and petunies." He struggled to sit up, until Hattie wrapped an arm around his shoulders and helped him. "You old fraud," she told him. "You know you like to soak in your bathtub." "Yeah, but not so's to get clean. I do it to ease the rheumatiz in my bones." "Well, you can just go ease your rheumatiz with Weeyum this morning." She knew he often felt better after a soak, and Emmet was upriver, checking on the livestock. Why had she never thought to have Weeyum take Buffalo into the bathtub before? "And while you're in there, I'll just take those filthy clothes of his. He can wear some of Karl's old pants, and maybe Emmet...." "Give him my 'skins," Buffalo said. "I ain't never gonna use 'em again." "Oh, Buffalo, of course...." "Gal, don't lie to either one of us. I'll never need those 'skins again and they're likelier to fit the lad than anything Emmet has." Hattie had to agree. While Emmet was almost as tall as Weeyum, he was slim where the Negro was wide and heavily muscled. Buffalo's buckskins were almost as disreputable looking as the rags Weeyum wore, but they did not smell. According to Buffalo, that was because the leather "jest naturally don't take on a man's scent." She called Weeyum inside. Shortly he and Buffalo were hobbling down the path to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html the bathtub, the young man taking most of the old trapper's weight. But at least Buffalo was on his feet, a matter of pride, Hattie knew. She busied herself about the cabin while they soaked, grateful for the warm weather. The firelight was not enough for her to sew by, and she had used all the rushlights she'd made. As soon as the afternoon sun struck the front of the cabin, she could do the mending she had been wanting to get to. Emmet had taken the elbow out of the red calico shirt, and she needed to do something about the wool trousers she was wearing most of the time. Her knees were entirely too visible through the threadbare cloth. The men returned after about an hour. Buffalo looked better than he had earlier, although his skin still had a grayish tinge to it. Weeyum filled out the trapper's buckskins well, although they were a little short in the arms and legs. No matter. At least he was clothed and didn't smell. Weeyum eased Buffalo into the mound of skins that served as a seat against the outside wall of the cabin. Hattie tucked a blanket about him, for a slight breeze reminded them that today was only a brief respite from winter. Once Buffalo was settled, she looked at Weeyum. Had it not been for his dark skin, she would never have known he was the same man. He stood tall in the borrowed buckskins, as if he'd donned Buffalo's pride along with his clothing. His smile was so wide, she was afraid it would split his face in half, and his eyes met hers straight on instead of furtively. "Don't you look just fine," she told him. "Turn around now, and let me see it all." He rotated slowly. "Get my pack, gal," Buffalo said from behind her. Hattie went into the leanto where Buffalo's gear was still stored. She tried to lift his pack, found she could not. So she dragged it outside and around the corner of the cabin. "What have you got in there, rocks?" she said when she'd placed it at Buffalo's feet, where he could reach it. He rummaged about in its depths. Finally he pulled out a sheathed knife, smaller than the big Bowie knife Emmet carried, but of a respectable size nonetheless. He pulled the blade clear of the sheath. Hattie saw that it was shaped much like the butcher knife she'd lost along with the rest of her household goods. "I traded me a nice plew for this up at Lapwai last summer," Buffalo said, running a finger carefully along the blade. "It's a Russell knife. There ain't none better." He flipped it in his hand, holding the handle out toward Weeyum. "You take good care of it, hear?" Weeyum made no move to accept the knife. "Take it, boy! Take it!" Buffalo snapped. "Don't jest stand there with your mouth open, catchin' flies." A tentative hand reached out. Weeyum's fingers closed carefully about the handle. Hattie wanted to weep at the wonder shining in his face. "You givin' to me?" "I shore am, boy. I ain't got no use for it no longer, and you're gonna need somethin' more than that leetle, bitsy blade you carry."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Immediately Weeyum was suspicious. "How you know 'bout that?" "Wal, how'd you think? Me and Em, we looked you over when he brung you in, half drowned. You had that leetle foldin' knife stuck down yore pants, we left it thar. Figured you couldn't do no harm with it, and a man's needful to go armed." Buffalo coughed and a grimace of pain contorted his face. "Here, now, you take this too. No sense in ruinin' a good blade for lack of a sheath." This time Weeyum didn't hesitate. He took the sheath. Shortly it hung at his waist, looking as if it had always been there. Hattie could have sworn he stood even taller, even prouder. "You know," she said, "you ought to have a man's name to go with your new clothes." Weeyum looked at her, the suspicion back in his face. "What you mean?" "Well, 'Weeyum' sounds to me like a boy's name. Like, oh," she shrugged, "'Tommy' or 'Bobby' or 'Sammy.' I think you should be 'William' from now on. That's a proud name." "Weel-yum." "No. Listen." She pronounced the name carefully. "'William. Will-yam.'" This time he got it almost right. "William. William. "I'se William now. No more Weeyum." His smile, if possible, grew even wider. "I'se William and I'm a'gonna be king." Hattie sat on a log next to Buffalo, who was watching with bright interest, even though he slumped tiredly against the cabin wall. "King? How will you be king?" "I hearin' me a story," he said, "'bout how there be a land a long way off where a man can have his own land and not b'long to nobody." He looked off into the west, as if seeing something far beyond the horizon. "I hearin' that story time and time again. So one day I made up my mind to go and find it, that land where's I can be king. So I goed." He shrugged. "I just up and goed." He looked back at her. "Took me a long time. But I reckons I'se almost there." A lump in her throat, Hattie nodded. "I reckon you are, William. And so am I." "You wantin' to be a king, missus?" "Well, I'd rather be queen, I think," she said, laughing a little, "but yes, I want to live where I have land of my own and belong to nobody." At least not the kind of belonging that made her bound to another's will, without a voice in her own fate. "We go there together, us two," William said solemnly. "Come spring." "Yes," Hattie said. "We'll go there together." She knew a great sense of relief. No matter what happened with Emmet, she and her child would have William to help them find their way to the Willamette. And Silas, if he was still alive. Come spring. * * * Emmet returned about sundown. "We lost one of the mules. Your big piebald," he told Buffalo. "Injuns?" "Cat, I think." He leaned his rifle against the wall beside the door. "I found

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html some sign. Up on the hill." "You're gonna have to bring 'em back," Buffalo said. "I hate to. There's just no feed here." He and Weeyum had driven the livestock upriver as soon as the big cold spell a month ago had moderated, all but the milch cow. They'd been checking on the animals every few days. "But it looks like it's either guard 'em all the time or bring 'em back." "I'd be proud to stay up there, Mist' Em," Weeyum said. Emmet looked at him. For the first time he saw that the Negro wore Buff's old buckskins. He no longer looked like an escaped slave, uncertain and cringing. He stood straight as any man. There was even a knife at his hip. "It's up to you. I'd not send you alone." "I'se been alone a lot," Weeyum said. "And Dawg, he'll more'n like come wid me." "We can't spare a gun," Emmet warned. "And if that cat comes back, you'll not have anything to use against it." William shrugged. "Wouldn't know what to do wit' no gun nohow. 'Sides, I got me some tricks that maybe'll keep that cat away." He almost seemed to be looking forward to pitting his skills barehanded against a panther. Emmet hesitated. "I be leavin' at first light." Emmet knew when to stop arguing. He swung his chair around and pulled up to the table. "There's still some miner's lettuce down by the creek," Hattie said, setting a plate before him. It's not much, but at least there's something besides venison." Emmet ate the pitiful helping of greens in one bite, but he had to agree that it was a welcome taste after a month of nothing but venison. "The ice is gone. I'll get you some cat-tail root tomorrow." "That would be nice," she agreed. "William, would you please bring the coffee pot? I think Mister Lachlan's cup is empty." "William?" he said softly, as the black man was fetching the coffeepot. "I thought it fitting," she said, equally low-voiced. "It gives him dignity, and a man needs dignity." "That he does," Emmet said. How many women would understand just how important dignity was to a man, when that and his name were all he had? Damn few. * * * That was Buffalo's last soak. The next day he didn't get out of his bunk, being content to lie there in the increasingly short periods after waking from one relatively pain free stupor and before needing the Indian medicine to send him into another. For the next while Emmet was always present, taking care of the old man's personal needs, holding him while Hattie poured the bitter infusion into his mouth. One morning Hattie came with his medicine. "Not today," he said. "I got to have me a pow-wow with Em, here." Emmet nodded to Hattie's questioning look. "I'll take care of him." "You, gal, you go have yourself a soak. This is man talk." Buffalo's voice was tight, as if he were holding back the curses that sometimes seemed to relieve

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html his pain. Emmet pulled the shotgun off its pegs. You'll need this," he said to Hattie as he opened the door for her.

"I will?" She frowned. "I never have before." "That was because me or William was always somewhere close. If I'm going to listen to Buff, you'll be alone out there." She took the gun. "We haven't seen a soul in months." "I saw cat sign yesterday. Probably the same one that took Buff's mule." He walked ahead of her along the path to the hot spring. The cat sign had been in the rocks high above the cabin, but he was taking no chances. Hattie was as tempting a morsel to a hungry panther as a horse. And a damn sight easier to catch. He made sure she would keep the shotgun within reach before returning to the cabin. When he got there, he found Buffalo had dragged his pack onto the bunk. It had been sitting on the floor within his reach ever since the day he gave William the knife. The old man was holding a hard leather wallet, but his eyes were closed. They opened when Emmet pulled the stool to sit beside the bunk. "You're a good man, Em. You take fine care of your woman." "What kind of low down skunk would abandon a pregnant woman?" He had told Buffalo the truth about their marriage a while back, when the old trapper had apologized for intruding on the couple's privacy. At the same time, he knew that he would miss Hattie when the time came to leave her. He had grown used to hearing her gentle voice, to smelling the trace of lilac that lingered about her, no matter how the stale odors of confinement, woodsmoke and cooking pervaded the air in the cabin. But he had to go. He could not take responsibility for her one moment beyond that required by the promise he'd made her. Buff untied the thong holding the wallet closed. "My Flower, she don't have much sense about money. I tried to make her understand about it, but you know her ma's folks don't buy and sell like we do." "No, they don't." But they were catching on quickly. He'd been offered horses, women, and furs for the rifle he carried, a much finer gun than anything the would-be purchaser could lay his hands on. "So I need me somebody to take care of my leetle gal. And Hattie, too, for that matter. She's as dear to me as my own flesh and blood." He paused to take several deep breaths. Emmet saw how the creases in Buff's cheeks deepened. He reached for the small pot Hattie had left on the table. "Let me give you this. There's no need for you

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html to suffer." Buff pushed his hand aside, almost spilling the infusion. "Damn you, Em! Let me have the time I need. I'll sleep long enough purty soon." "So talk fast. You're going to drink this if I have to tie you down and pour it in." Buff's hand went up in a gesture of surrender. "Jest as soon's I tell you." He stopped, took several deep breaths. "Y'know I've spent a passel of years out in these mountains," he said, his voice growing stronger as if by force of will. Emmet nodded. He wondered if there were a valley, a river, or a mountaintop Buffalo hadn't explored in his more than thirty years of wilderness living. "I've wondered why you keep coming back here. These Bannock weren't your wife's people." "Wal, they allus treated her like she was one o'them, so it don't really matter. But that ain't why." Another pause. "I been watchin' more and more folks come across the mountains, knowin' that soon enough this whole land's gonna be crawling with farmers and settlers. Why I wouldn't be surprised if someday there warn't a town sittin' right here." Emmet doubted it, but he wasn't going to argue. "So I built me this cabin and summered here as often as not. Made me a deal with Goat Runner to keep an eye on things when I was gone. Cost me plenty, too." "So that's where you took those horses you bought at rendezvous." "Yeah, but that ain't what I want to tell you." He pulled a folded paper out of his wallet. "I wanted to give you this." Emmet reached for the paper, curious, but Buff held on to it. "I thought about givin' this to Hattie, but she's got more on her plate than she needs without taking on the care of Flower. So I'm givin' it to you." He extended the paper, but didn't relinquish his hold on it. "Now I heard what you was sayin' about not wantin' obligations that'll hold you in one place, and I understand. Me, I never did like to feel penned in neither. But I ain't got anyone I can trust but you. And I'm worried about what's gonna happen to my leetle Flower when I'm gone." "Buff, she's a woman grown and doing just fine for herself." His voice became querulous. "I don't want her marryin' no Injun. She needs herself a white husband. One who can build her a house and buy her books. Did I ever tell you how much my gal likes her books?" His eyes closed and his head fell back onto the mounded furs that served as a pillow. He still held the paper. Emmet worked it free of his grasp and unfolded it. In the dim light coming in the door, he could read nothing, but he did see that it was covered with lines and cryptic marks. "That's her fortune," Buff said, almost in a whisper. "That's my leetle gal's fortune and I'm askin' you to take care of it for her. Her and Hattie, 'cause I want Hattie to share it with Flower." "Fortune?" "You know that basin up north of here?" Buff said, his voice growing

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html stronger. "The one I told you was trapped out?" Emmet nodded. He'd not really believed Buff, having seen plenty of beaver sign, but since there were other streams to be trapped and other drainages to be explored, he hadn't cared when they went east and left the pretty little basin behind. "Wal, it ain't. That's what I been keepin' watch over, ever since I found it. Wanted to be here to lay claim to it, if'n people started movin' in." He laid a hand on Emmet's arm. "Give me that damned stuff now. I ain't got much more to say." Relieved, Emmet dosed him, making sure he swallowed the entire contents of the pot. After a few minutes, Buffalo began speaking again. "There's gold up thar, Em. Gold layin' on the ground, gold washin' down the creeks. More gold than you or me ever thought of. And it's all theirs." "Theirs?" "Flower's and Hattie's. All you got to do is fetch it for 'em and get it to Fort Vancouver. Load all the oxen--it's a good thing Hattie's got them critters. They'll let you carry enough for both gals. The White Eagle, he'll know what to do, how to get it to a bank or whatever's needed." He fell into a doze. Emmet didn't move. Great God! What was he going to do? He couldn't take on the responsibility of Buff's daughter, nor could he do anything for Hattie beyond seeing her safely to the Willamette. "You're allus wantin' to go to China. Take some of that gold and buy yourself a ship. Go tradin' and make 'em rich." Buff chuckled, a pale imitation of his hearty laugh of yesterday. "But take care of my gals, Em. Take care of my gals." Again he fell into sleep, this time deeply. I can't, Emmet thought.I can't do it. But he knew he would. He owed Buffalo Jones, and Emmet Lachlan always paid his debts. * * * Buffalo was sleeping and Emmet was outdoors somewhere when Hattie returned from her soak. That was fine with her, because she might have troubles of her own. The rocks lining Buffalo's bathtub were big round river cobbles slick with the minerals that gave the hot water a slight sulfur smell. The bottom was a good three feet below ground level, no problem to her when she'd been slim and agile. But now she was big and clumsy. Three feet was a major obstacle. She had fallen, trying to climb out, fallen on her belly. It hadn't hurt, not then. But now, every so often, she could feel it harden, a painful contraction that made her back ache. It was too soon! As near as she could figure, she still had the better part of a month before her child would be ready to be born. Perhaps if she were to lie down.... Climbing into her upper bunk was considerably easier than getting out of the bathtub. When Buffalo needed the bottom bunk, Emmet had fashioned her a ladder

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html of sorts by binding fat peeled branches to one of the bedposts. Quietly she lay down and snuggled into the quilts. Of all the things saved from her wagon, she was most grateful that her trunk of bedding had been. Furs were all right for coats and rugs, but she didn't think she could ever get used to sleeping on some animal's hair! Buffalo's stertorous breathing prevented her from sleeping, so Hattie did her best to lie quietly. She'd been lying there for close to an hour when Emmet returned. Seeing her in bed, he came quickly to her. "Are you all right?" "I think so." In a quiet voice she told him what had happened. "It's been a while since the last one. Maybe I've stopped." He cursed under his breath, but Hattie recognized the cadence of his words. For a moment, anger overcame her fear. She needed to be held, to be told that nothing would come of this. "Do you think Silas and Buffalo's daughter will ever get here?" She was beyond being frightened at the thought of giving birth with no one to help her but Emmet and William. She was terrified. "I should have gone to the fort to see if any word's come from Silas," he said, squeezing her shoulder. "Try not to worry yourself, and I'll go as soon as I can." "Don't leave me!" She clutched at his hand. Suddenly she couldn't bear the thought of his being away, even over night. "Hattie, I must," he said. "Even if I thought it was safe to send William, I couldn't do it. He's too scared of being caught." "Then wait," she pleaded, "until we know if I...." "I won't go until we know everything's all right," he promised. Hattie had to agree that he was the one to go, but she didn't have to like it. It wasn't herself she was frightened for, but her child. What would happen if she was alone when her time came? Would she be able to do what was necessary? Emmet watched over her long into the night, long after she slept, still not completely certain that the alarm had been a false one. He had done his best to reassure her, not letting her know his fear for her was probably no less than hers. Once he was certain she was asleep, he stepped outdoors to look upwards. He didn't like the looks of the sky. It was too clear, the stars too bright. And he smelled snow. He had to get to Fort Boise soon, no matter what. She needed a woman with her. They were out of bacon, of cornmeal, of flour. There was just about enough coffee for two more days, if he was careful. Hattie needed more than elk and venison. At least they had plenty of milk. There had been a hint of green on the hills today, shining in the bright sunlight. In another week or two they could bring the livestock back from the broad meadow upriver. Then William would be here and he could go to the fort with an easy mind, knowing Hattie was being cared for. No, his mind wouldn't be easy. He would worry every moment he was gone. About Hattie, and what would happen if she gave birth so early. About Buffalo, growing worse every day. About William and the livestock, easy prey for a determined and hungry panther.

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Chapter Ten The threatened snow came, a thick, wet fall that piled up all afternoon and all night. Hattie heard the drip of its melting each time she awoke, as she often did, to listen for Buffalo's breathing. When she climbed out of her bunk in the morning, there was a fan of wet sandy floor in front of the door; water had never before seeped inside, even in the heaviest rain. Emmet lifted the bar and pulled the door open carefully. Even so, a great gob of snow fell inwards, plopping onto the floor like a dollop of cold gravy in a pan. "Shit!" he said, "I hate gettin' my feet wet." Since she'd seen him come in dripping and soaked during a rainstorm, Hattie had to stifle laughter. "I suppose you could just wait here until it melts," she said. "But if you do, shut the door. I don't want it melting all over my clean floor." He shot her a look, as if wondering if she were in her right mind. "I'll fetch the shovel," he said, stepping out into the drift. It came up to his knees. With the door wide, Hattie could see that it was still snowing, despite the warmth of the air wafting in. But the flakes were big and almost transparent, melting even as they fell. It was almost as if winter was fighting a last battle with spring. Oh, but she would be glad when it was warm enough to be outdoors without a heavy coat, to leave the door open so that the interior of the cabin was light enough to sew. She had seen winters far worse than this one, but she had never lived through one that felt longer. As if seconding her wish for spring, the babe in her womb moved vigorously. Hattie pressed a hand to her belly, "Soon, little one," she said. "Just don't be in too big of a hurry. We want Flower to have time to get here, don't we?" Just last night Emmet had said he doubted Silas and Flower would get over the Blues for another month. He must have seen the fear she tried to hide, for he'd quickly said, "That's not to say there won't be word of them at the fort." She appreciated his consideration, but it hadn't made her feel any better. In a month, she would be a mother. Sighing, she went into the corner to dress, hating the heavy wool trousers and shirt that she could barely wrap around her swollen body. The fire was burning briskly, water was heating for Buffalo's infusion, when she realized she hadn't heard him stirring. Heart in her throat, she rushed across to the bunks. Almost afraid to touch him, she stretched out a hand, laid it on his shoulder. After a long wait, she felt the slight movement that accompanied a shallow intake of breath.He's alive! was all she could think. Immediately she scolded herself for her selfishness. Buffalo was in terrible pain. He would, she knew, welcome death. But she was afraid to be alone with only Emmet and William. Buffalo had, at least, been a father. The thought of

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html caring for a newborn babe without anyone to turn to for advice terrified her almost as much as the birth itself. She went back to preparing breakfast. Slicing smoked elk bacon into the spider, she wondered how long it would be until they had real bacon again. She added a dab of butter--elk was so lean it tended to be dry--and set the spider on the fire. It was time to churn again. As soon as she had this morning's milk skimmed, she'd begin. "Hattie, gal." She turned, relieved that Buffalo had finally wakened. "I'm here." "Need some tea," he said, his voice cracking with pain. Quickly she poured his infusion into a tin cup, testing it on her lips to make sure it was cool enough. She held his shoulders while he drank it, conscious of the acrid odor of his sickness, the mustiness of his bedding. How did one clean furs, she wondered, watching to see that none of the bitter drink dribbled from the sides of Buffalo's mouth. He swallowed the last and his head dropped back. Carefully she eased him down and pulled the robe over his chest. "Not much longer, now," he said, his voice a half-whisper. "Thank the lord." That frightened her more than anything. Buffalo was not a reverent man. For him to voice anything remotely like a prayer, he must be more than ready to pass on. Impulsively she leaned over and kissed him. "Sleep now," she whispered. But she didn't go back to the fire, even though she could hear the meat sizzling. Instead she sank to the floor and leaned her head against the side of the bunk. "Oh, Buffalo," she whispered, "how will I go on without you?" A gentle hand touched her head. "You'll do what you gotta do, gal. And you ain't gonna have to worry about losin' that gold no more. I fixed that." He fell silent, although his hand still rested on her hair. Hattie wanted to scream, to rage at the injustice of life. Each time she'd found someone to love, they up and died. After a long while, Buffalo said, "Em, he's gonna take care of you and Flower, so don't you worry yourself. I knew if'n I looked long enough, I'd find somebody I could trust with my leetle Flower. I jest didn't know I'd find me another gal to love like my own child." "Oh, Buffalo," she said, taking his hand and kissing it, "I love you too." She wanted to say more, but the words choked her. All she could do was hold his hand and weep. "That's prime, gal. That's jest prime." Those were the last words he spoke. * * * They buried Buffalo on the hillside above his cabin. Hattie wished she had a Bible, for she remembered none of the verses Karl had been so fond of reading to her after supper. Instead she recited a poem, one of her favorites from the single book that was all she had salvaged from the fire.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "...One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more. Death, thou shalt die!" She stood in silence for a few moments, looking not into the grave but across the valley before her. The broad line of cottonwood and willow that marked the meandering river was misty green. The ground was no longer sere and barren. What a lovely place to live, if only there were other people nearby. "He was a good man," Emmet said, startling her out of her reverie. He dribbled a handful of soil into the gaping hole. Hattie wept then. Wept because she was lonely, because she had no one who loved her. She wept in fear of the future, for no matter how strong she was, she was but a woman alone and the world was a huge and merciless place. And she wept for the past, for all those she'd loved and lost. Emmet took her into his arms. "Don't grieve, Hat. He's better off." She sniffled. "I know that," she said into his shirt. "I still miss him." "I do too," he admitted. He held her for a while, tenderly, patiently, with none of the passion that had marked their last embrace. Finally he released her. "Why don't you sit over there?" he said, pointing at a huge angular black rock. "Keep an eye out while I fill this in." She sat and watched the valley. Mired in self pity, she thought of all the times she had watched as graves were filled in. Perhaps the way to avoid this horrible feeling of loss was not to care about people to begin with. If you didn't love, then you didn't hurt so much when they died. Her child moved just then, a roisterous turning that left her gasping for the breath that had been pushed from her lungs. A reminder that sometimes you didn't have a choice about loving. She looked back at Emmet. No, sometimes you didn't have a choice. Even if you weren't loved back, you didn't have a choice about who you loved or when. Nothing moved below them. She had often seen members of Goat Runner's band at a distance but today there was not even a hawk circling to show that other life existed in this lonely valley. Hattie sat with her hands spread across her belly, wondering if she would ever reach the Willamette. Or would she, too, end in a lonely grave so far from civilization? "Can you give me a hand?" She turned. Emmet had set the shovel aside and was pushing on another of the big boulders that had broken from the black cap rock above. She went to help him move it over the grave. They completely covered the freshly turned earth with rocks. "Surely the Indians wouldn't bother a grave," she said. "It's not Injuns I'm worried about. That damn coyote's still hangin' about." "He wouldn't...." "Sure he would. They'll eat anything. I saw one drag off a panther's kill once." He took her hand and started them down the steep path. "Good size deer. It

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html was just getting ripe--that's the way the cats like 'em--and the coyote dug through the brush the panther had pulled over it and just hauled it off." He chuckled. "I'll bet you that was one mad cat." Hattie didn't answer. She was needing all her concentration to keep her footing on the slippery, sandy path. Once they were at a more level stretch, she said, "Promise you won't leave again until... until after the baby's come." Emmet stopped and turned. "What makes you think I would?" he snapped. "Well, you did a lot of hunting and exploring this winter. You haven't been around much." He walked faster, pulling her along behind him. Although she had no trouble keeping up, she found that her wind was not as good as it had been. Probably because she had so little room left to breathe these days. At the cabin, he released her. "Sit down." He gestured at the upturned log that sat outside the door. "We're going to talk." She sat. "When have I left you alone?" He held up a hand when she would have answered. "Besides that time I went to look for your gold?" "You've been gone more than you've been here," she said. "It's been almost as if you couldn't sit still, all winter." "And where was Buff all that time?" "Well, he was here, but...." "And have I left you since he got so bad?" "You know you have," she said, angry now. "You took off with the livestock and I didn't see you for a week." "I left Wee-- William here." "You left a man who was scared of his own shadow. William spent half his time hiding in the trees, the other half playing least in sight." "He was watching over you." "I was watching over me. I had the shotgun and I could have taken care of myself. I would have, if needful." By now she was furious, wanting to say all the harsh, resentful words she'd thought through the cold, depressing winter. It was almost as if, now that she was released from the darkness and the snow, she found the strength and spirit that living in the crowded, gloomy cabin had sapped from her. "In fact, if you want to just go, you can. I'd hate to be keeping you here against your will." "You've been keeping me against my will ever since I fished you out of the Snake River," he said. "I could have been in China now." He turned his back and stared off into the distance. "I didn't ask you to stay." "I gave my word." "You promised to take me to the Willamette. You could have done that. You didn't have to bring me here." "If I'd tried to take you over the Blues, you'd be in the same place as Buff. You weren't in any shape to go anywhere when I got you here." Hattie dimly remembered hours of scarlet, shrieking pain, hours of rocking motion that tortured her body. She remembered wondering if she had died and gone

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html to Hell, was burning in the eternal flames. Would she have died if he'd insisted on going on? She probably would have. "All right," she said, grudgingly, "so you saved my life. Why didn't you leave when Buffalo arrived?" "I thought about it," he admitted. "But I gave you my word." Hattie walked around him, stopping where she could look into his face. "And so you gave up your own plans for me." He refused to meet her eyes. "I gave my word," he repeated. "Of course. And I'm obliged to you for staying. I doubt I could have gotten through the winter without you. And I certainly couldn't have gotten my stock through." Shewas grateful to him. She had a credit on the HBC books from the sale of her extra oxen, she still had six healthy oxen and the milch cow, a wagon in good repair. "As soon as the passes clear, I'll be seein' you to the Willamette." Hattie hesitated. Then she decided there was no sense in letting him continue to plan. "I'm afraid you won't be seeing me anywhere for a while," she said. "I'm not going anywhere until my baby is older." She'd seen two newborns left in tiny graves beside the trail, one other that had failed to thrive because its mother was too worn to produce the milk it needed. Her daughter would have the best start Hattie could give her. "I thought, perhaps, June." "June! You want me to hang around here until June?" "No. I said I wasn't going anywhere, but you're free to leave. The way I see it, you've done more than you agreed on. I only ask you to stay with me until after the babe... for one more month." She bit her lip, willing the fear back into its hiding place. "I know I can't pay you like I said, but I'd still be obliged. Someday...." Emmet wanted to take her between his two hands and shake some sense into her. There was no way she and William could make it over the Blues without his help. Why she wasn't any bigger than a minute and William probably didn't know the first thing about wagons, for he'd been a field slave, not a carter. But she needed to stay and he couldn't leave her behind. Neither could he force her to go and risk her child on a trail that took all the strength and luck a man could bring to it, and often much more. "I'll stay. But only until June." He started to stride away, but her hand on his arm stopped him. A small, gentle hand, but it stopped him more surely than a manacle of iron. "Emmet, I can't ask...." "You didn't. I said I'd stay and that's all there is to it. Tarnation, woman, what kind of man would I be to go off and leave you here? What kind of man do you think I am?" He knew he wasn't great shakes when it came to protecting those who depended on him, but he'd have no one, especially not Hattie, thinking Emmet Lachlan wasn't a man of his word. Then she was in his arms, pulling his face down to be kissed. Involuntarily Emmet tightened his arms about her, liking the warmth of her against him. Her

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html full breasts pressed into his ribs and her belly against his groin. He felt his body waking, even as he pushed her away. "There now," he said, holding her a hand's breadth from him, "there's no need to slobber all over me." Her expression made him think of a whipped pup. "You really hate me, don't you?" she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I've kept you here and you hate me for it." "Aw, hell!" Hating himself, he pulled her back into his arms. With one hand, he tipped her face up. "Hattie, girl, I'm so far from hatin' you it ain't even funny." Swinging his hips slightly, he let her feel the strength of his desire. "Feel that?" He dipped to take her mouth, tasting the sweetness of her. Against her lips he said, "Woman, if I weren't an honorable man, I'd have you on your back and me deep inside you, right here. Right now." Once more he ground himself against the firm roundness of her belly and felt the babe respond to the pressure. "But I gave you my word to do more than get you to the Willamette. And I mean to keep it." Once more he thrust her away, but this time with gentleness and real regret. Great God, but she had felt right against him! "I'm goin' for a walk. See you at supper." He strode off toward the river, wondering if the spring salmon were running yet, knowing they were not. * * * Hattie watched Emmet with new respect when he returned that evening. His desire was no surprise to her, for she'd known several times how much of a rein he kept on it. What had surprised her was his insistence on staying with her, when she knew he chafed at his voluntary bonds. The cabin seemed empty without Buffalo, but fortunately the next few days were clear and warm. Hattie stayed outside as much as she could, airing Buffalo's bedding, washing every stitch of clothing and linen in the cabin, even cooking their meals over a campfire rather than in the fireplace. She felt newly freed from imprisonment and she had no intention of going back unless forced. William came in three days later with the livestock, fat and sassy. "That there bottomland's as good a pasture as I'se ever seed," he told Emmet over dinner. They'd brought the table outside at Hattie's insistence, to take advantage of the balmy spell. "If'n I wasn't bent on goin' on to that there Orygone, I'd jest stay here and build me a house." He looked at Hattie and smiled and she knew he was thinking of his kingdom. "You're already in Oregon," Emmet told him, smiling as well. He explained that the goal of the westward migrants was not just Oregon that extended from the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific Ocean, but the Willamette Valley, still far to the west. "You might be better off here than there," he said, "considering that there will be a few settlers from back where you come from." William's eyes grew round, as if he'd never thought of that possibility. "You mean they'd make me to be a slave?" "They might," Hattie said, also surprised that the idea had not occurred to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html her either. "People don't change just because they move on." Recently she'd wondered how many more times Karl would have moved before he finally found what he was looking for. William's expression was gloomy. "I ain't never gonna find me a place," he said. Hattie reached across the table and touched his hand. "You have a place, William. You can stay with me. You can be my friend, not my slave." "You could do worse," Emmet agreed. "As long as people think you belong with Hattie, you shouldn't have any trouble. And you could still...." He stared over William's shoulder for a moment. "Hattie, get inside. Get the shotgun. William, you head out into the brush" Hattie didn't move. "Go, woman! Somebody's comin'!" She went, slamming the cabin door behind her. William disappeared as well. Emmet stood, holding his rifle easy, but with his finger on the trigger guard. He watched the two approaching horses, wondering if this would be the encounter he'd been dreading ever since the snow cleared. Goat Runner had passed on talk of a band of renegades--white and red--that had raided a village up north, killing men and children, carrying off women and older girls. But no. One of the riders was a woman. He watched until he was certain. Then he called out, "Hattie, it's all right. You can come out now." She did, stopping in the doorway to stare at the newcomers. After a moment, she dropped the shotgun and ran forward, awkwardly. "Silas!" she cried, and Emmet wondered what it would be like to hear that much love in her voice when she spoke his name. "Oh, Silas, you're back. You're back!" * * * "It was like a wild goose chase," Silas said, his grin wide and proud. They were finally sitting together around the campfire. Hattie had stopped weeping, the horses had been tended, and Flower-in-the-Rock had been introduced. When Emmet told her of her father's death, Flower had said only, "He had not expected to live so long." Hattie had heard the slight tremor in her voice, had known she was hiding her pain. Flower was a tall, slim woman with clear gray eyes like Buffalo's and straight, gleaming black hair like her mother's. She looked exotic and mysterious, and so beautiful it made Hattie almost sick. But Emmet, bless the man, seemed to think of her as a younger sister and treated her accordingly. William was speechless, and Hattie wondered if it was due to Flower's beauty or because he couldn't get a word in edgewise. "So what happened after your horse was stolen?" she said. "Well, I latched onto a train headin' up towards Whitman's Mission," Silas said. "They were goin' pretty slow, but I figured I couldn't make no better time alone and afoot. When I got to the mission, Mrs. Whitman, she said she hadn't seen Flower up that way for more'n a year. She was the one sent me on to Lapwai. Said

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html I must'a heard wrong?" "Had you?" "No'm. That Injun at Grande Ronde told me sure as I'm sittin' here that Flower had gone up to Waiilatpu. He didn't say nothin' about the Spaldings." "So you went on to Lapwai?" "I sure did, and got caught in a blizzard halfway there." He shivered reminiscently. "Had to hole up for better'n a week." A chuckle. "I got mighty hungry, but at least I never froze to death." Emmet brought the coffeepot to the table and filled his cup and Silas's. Hattie was sure he'd been almost as glad to get the coffee they'd brought as he was to see Silas and Flower. "How long did it take you to get to Lapwai?" "I'm not sure, 'cause I never did know what day it was until I got there. Mrs. Spalding, she had herself a calendar and she told me it was the twelfth of November." "He was ragged and half-starved," Flower said. "I was afraid of him, so wild looking." She smiled at Silas and he at her. "It took him a long time to convince me to come with him, even though he had the letter from you, Emmet." "We couldn't have gone anywheres anyhow," Silas countered. "Winter really settled in once I got there. Reverend Spalding, he wasn't going to let us go nowhere until spring." "As soon as the snow started to melt he was raring to go," Flower said, "and nothing was going to stop him." Her pride in Silas's determination was evident. Hattie knew how she felt. Although she'd always thought Silas extraordinarily

competent, she'd not really appreciated him. All winter long she'd wondered if he was capable of completing his mission, and now she was learning how much more he'd done. Silas, who she'd learned to think of as a little brother, was very close to being a man. "I'm so glad you're here," she said, smiling. "Both of you." And particularly Flower, for just having another woman present had eased her mind more than anything she could imagine. * * * "How long is this going to take?" Emmet said, aware that neither of the others knew even as much as he did about the process of birth. At least he had dim memories of his mother screaming in pain for what had seemed like hours before he was told he had a brother. Hattie hadn't screamed once. Did that mean something was going wrong? "I don't know," Silas said. "I've never been around a woman before, but I know

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html some calves are born real quick and some take a long time." He sat on the upturned log, apparently unworried, but Emmet had seen the way he chewed at his lower lip. "Flower, she seem to know what she's doin'," William said, digging the blade of his knife deeply into the willow branch he was reducing to long slivers. "And Nigra women, they much like cows, I guess. Some take a long time, some get done real soon." His teeth flashed in a smile, but it was not his usual wide grin. Jaws clenched, Emmet forced his hands to continue their task. The ax was sharp enough to shave with, but he still worked on its edge, needing something to do besides following Silas, back and forth, from the corner of the cabin to the edge of the clearing. Finally he could stand it no longer. He shot to his feet. "I'm going in there." William clamped an iron-hard hand around his forearm. "No you ain't Mist' Em. You's a gonna stay outdoors here with me 'n' Silas, like Flower done tol' you." "Take your hand off me," Emmet snarled. He reached for his Bowie knife. "Nossir, not unless you sit yourself down and stop frettin'." Black eyes stared back at him, implacable. They might have stood like that, face to face, neither giving an inch, if Hattie hadn't yelled. It was a yell, not a scream. There was no agony and terror in that cry as there had been in his mother's. Hattie's yell held determination and triumph. "Nossir," William said again, stopping Emmet's tentative motion toward the cabin door. "You jest rest right here 'til Flower call you." A second yell sounded, this one long and drawn out, as if the woman who made it was straining with all her might. And then, in mere seconds, he heard another sound. A high-pitched cry. Suddenly his legs might just as well have been wet rope. Emmet sank to his knees, an unspoken prayer in his heart. It was over. After that the waiting wasn't so hard, although Emmet still worried for Hattie. Women died in childbirth. Even strong, healthy ones. At last the door opened, "You can all come in now," Flower called. "But only for a minute." They crowded through the door. The room was, as always, dim, even with two candles on the table adding to the flickering light from the fire. But they could see Hattie's pale face in the dimness of the lower bunk. And she was smiling at the bundle in her arms. Again Emmet fell to his knees, but this time because he wanted to see, up close, that she was truly all right. For a moment he saw only Hattie, for a moment he knew that had she died, he might just have well have done so too. "Isn't she beautiful?" Hattie said, her voice soft and tired sounding. She touched the dark, damp hair on the baby's head. "Isn't she just about the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" Emmet reached out and touched Hattie's cheek with a careful finger. "Not any more beautiful than her ma," he said, wondering how he would ever be able to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html leave them behind. Chapter Eleven Hattie was never sure whether it was Ellen's birth, the end of the longest, darkest winter in her memory, or simply having another woman about that made her life take on a brighter hue. Of course, it probably was simply the weather. Within a few days the hillsides turned green and the last hidden snowdrifts disappeared. The infrequent rains occurred with dispatch, as if the clouds wanted to drop their burdens quickly and move on to unknown places. And when frost whitened the ground, as it did most mornings, it was gone by noon, except in the most secret dells and canyons. She recovered from the birthing quickly. She insisted on resuming her cooking chores within a few days, aware that however good an herbalist Flower was, she had no talent with a spider and a stewpot. The young woman would let her do nothing else, though, and so Hattie often sat, nursing Ellen or simply enjoying the feel of her child in her arms, while Flower stitched or swept or scrubbed. "Mother and I spent one winter at Fort Vancouver," Flower said as she used the point of Emmet's throwing knife to make a line of holes along the edges of a piece of deerskin. "I did not like it because I could not understand much of what the other children were saying. And Mother didn't like the rain." "I've heard it rains quite a lot there." "Oh, Hattie, you have never seen rain like it rains in the valley. It begins in the fall and does not stop until summer." She seemed to look at something far away. "Like most children I did not notice the weather as much as an adult, but looking back I can remember being cold and wet most of the time." "I thought it never got really cold there." Flower shook her head. "It does not. But when you are wet, even a little cold seems to sink bone deep." Putting down the knife, she picked up one of the long, narrow leather strips she'd cut earlier and began lacing two of the large pieces of cured skin together. The skins, from the first few deer Emmet had brought in before winter, were cured to a soft, creamy color. Buffalo had worked on them before he got too sick to care. There were five of them, enough, Flower said, to make new garments for both herself and Hattie. "If the men want new shirts, let them bring me more cured hides," Flower had said when she found the deer skins hanging in the leanto. "You need these far more than they do." "I guess no one ever talked about the rain," Hattie admitted. She wasn't sure she could adapt to never seeing the sun for months on end. Even in the fiercest winters, back in New York and Pennsylvania, there had been periods of clear weather--bitterly cold, but gloriously clear and sunny. "All I ever heard was that the valley was like a garden, where everything grows twice as big, twice as fast, and all year long." Flower shrugged. "I suppose that is all true, in a way. But why do you think everything grows so well?" "Plenty of water," Hattie said, smiling. "And I guess it has to come from somewhere, doesn't it?"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Hattie watched Flower as she laced, admiring the grace in her every movement. Buffalo's daughter had inherited only his pale gray eyes. In every other way she looked much as her mother must have, with golden brown skin, coal black hair, and exotic features. She was tall, several inches taller than Hattie, another legacy, she'd said, of her father, and enviously slim. "I feel like a cow," Hattie said, looking down at her body. The wool shirt she'd worn all winter was stretched across breasts achingly full of milk. She'd tried her only dress on the other day and the bodice had lacked several inches of closing. "You look like a mother," Flower said. "That is when a woman is most beautiful." "How did you get so wise?" Hattie demanded. She knew Flower was only a few months older than herself, but she seemed to have lived a lifetime longer. Flower flashed Hattie a rare smile. "That is not wisdom. How could a woman be anything but beautiful when she is doing what she is meant to do?" Hattie snorted. "I've seen many women do what they were meant to do so many times that they were anything but beautiful," she said thinking of poor Elizabeth Wright on the wagon train. She wondered if the woman had reached her destination safely, or if hers was another of the many graves beside the trail somewhere. With a shrug, Flower admitted the exceptions. "I still say you are beautiful," she said, as if there was to be no more argument. She tied off a lace and cut the dangling end. Holding up the joined skins, she said, "Stand up. I want to see if this will fit you." A few measurements and she was back to joining another piece to the first two. "This will be much better for you than that shirt," she said. "Buckskin is cool in summer, warm in winter, and it never gets dirty." "That's what Emmet and Buffalo said, but I don't believe it. Why, look at Emmet's pa... uh, trousers. They're black as coal." "Yes, but they are not 'dirty,' merely seasoned." Flower leaned closer and took hold of the fabric of Hattie's shirt. "Smell this," she said, pulling it up to where Hattie could. It smelled of woodsmoke, of damp wool, of sweat, of sour milk, and even, faintly, of lilac. And underneath was a lingering moldy odor, the same smell that clung to the interior of the cabin. Hattie shrugged. "It smells like I've been wearing it for a few days." Which she had. "Now smell this." Flower offered a shoulder, covered with rich tan buckskin. Hattie could detect the same woodsmoke odor her shirt held, but nothing more than the sweet, clean scent of Flower's skin. She touched the leather. It was smooth, soft, and warm, like the human skin underneath it. "I have worn this dress since before Silas and I left Lapwai," Flower said. "I would never have guessed," Hattie admitted. She laughed. "I'm convinced. How soon will my new clothes be ready?" "Tomorrow, if you do not mind your shirt being plain, with no pretty decoration." "As long as it will cover me decently and doesn't smell, I'll take it any way I can get it," Hattie said, excited at the prospect. She hadn't had a new dress

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html in ever so long. * * * "Walk with me," Emmet said to Hattie one evening when Ellen was about a month old. She had just finished tucking the baby into the padded box William had built for her at the foot of the lower bunk. Since Buffalo had built the bunk to fit his tall frame, there was still ample room for Hattie to stretch out. Hattie pulled her coat over her shoulders but didn't slip her arms into it. The nights were still cold, even though the days were growing steadily warmer. She followed him out the door and along the path toward the river. When they were among the cottonwoods, he finally spoke. "I'll be takin' off for a while," he said. "Silas and William can take care of things now that the cattle are nearby." With the coming of spring, there was no longer need for the cattle to be in the upstream valley. Plenty of forage was right at hand. Not wanting to know but knowing she must, Hattie said, "Where... where are you going?" He'd sent Silas to the fort for supplies a couple of weeks back. "I thought I'd see what's left of your goods," he said. "When I went back to look for the gold, I cleaned things up and left 'em all pretty well hid." Hattie remembered his telling her of repacking Karl's scattered tools, of concealing everything he found under a pile of sagebrush branches. "Do you think there will be anything worth salvaging?" "William's ears perked right up when I told him about those tools. He's done some woodworking and he thinks he can clean 'em up, no matter how badly rusted they are." "Why isn't he going with you?" By now they were in her favorite part of the woods, a glade surrounded by enormous trees, carpeted with short, bright green grass. Hattie thought that if there were fairies in this harsh new land, this was where they would be. Emmet seated himself on an enormous fallen limb. "I don't like leaving you women alone." Hattie sat beside him. "What nonsense! Flower and I can take care of ourselves. And we'd have Silas to help." "I'm not takin' him and that's that." Emmet's tone said he'd not argue the topic. "But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about." She waited. It was nice simply to be here, away from the cabin, where the only sounds were a whisper of wind and the rustle of new leaves in the trees above. "You and Flower will be movin' to the fort after I get back. I've got something to do for Buff--I promised him just before he died--and I'll need William and Silas to help me." Stunned, she stared at him. "So while I'm gone after your goods, I want you to see that everything gets packed up. We'll not be comin' back here. And I'll need the mules to... to do what I have to do." "But what... where are you going?" "I'd just as soon not tell you. I don't want word to get to the folks at the fort, and if you don't know--you and Flower--you can't let it slip." He rubbed a

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html hand across his chin. "What I'm going to do is go after a cache Buff left up yonder." He jerked his chin in the direction of the mountains to the north. "He told me to fetch it before he died. It's sort of an inheritance for you and Flower." "Why do we have to go to the fort? Why can't we go with you?" Hattie found she was definitely uneasy about his leaving her at the fort. It would be too easy for him to never return, to trust that she would find a place on a train when they came through in late summer. "Too dangerous," he said. "We'd have to leave the wagon here. And most of the goods." "So what's wrong with that? Buffalo left most of his possessions here and they were never bothered. Goat Runner's people watched over the cabin; surely they would again." "It won't do. You're goin' to the fort and I'm not listening to any argument about it." "And I'm telling you I'm not," she snapped. "I don't care a whit about things. But I do care about Silas and William. About you too, although I'll be blessed if I know why. And I'm not letting you three go off somewhere dangerous--you said it yourself--without us." She clenched her hands, wanting to clutch him, to hold him. "I've kind of gotten used to having you around." She was too proud to beg, but a part of her wanted to plead that he stay with her. He took her hands in his own. "You knew I'd be leavin', someday." Nodding, she said, "I've never forgotten that for a single minute. But until you do leave me, I want you to stay with me. I'm not afraid...." And she wasn't, not of being left alone. "I'm really not afraid, but what if something happened to you? I don't think I could bear it if you just never came back. I'd never know... I'd just never...." She couldn't go on. Why had she come to care for him like this? Had she not learned, from all the others? "Emmet, once you go, go for good. But until that day, I'm not letting you go off alone again." If she had begged him to stay, he would have gone. But her concern--he could see that she really meant it when she said she'd worry--very nearly unmanned him. No one had ever worried over Emmet Lachlan before. "It'll be rough," he warned. "We'll have to leave the wagon here, and most of your things." "I've walked before," she reminded him. "I can do it again." "What about Ellen?" He felt himself wavering, knowing he just wanted to be convinced. "Women have carried their babies wherever they went for a long time. I'll manage." "I believe you will." He stood and turned his back on her.Hell and damnation! If he and William went up there to get that gold, they'd be back in a week or less. If he dragged Hattie and Flower along, they'd take forever. He wanted to be on the trail by early June. The passes would be open, there'd be plenty of feed for the oxen, and the waterholes would be full. Emmet felt a pang

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html when he thought of saying farewell to Hattie and the rest at Fort Vancouver. He had chafed at feeling responsibility for these people, but he had also come to care for them. As much as he could care for anyone. "We'll leave in a week. Sort out your things. What we can't take on the oxen, we'll store in the cave behind the cabin. We'll give the mules to Goat Runner." "But won't we need them?" "We'll need the oxen more. We can buy more mules at Fort Vancouver if you need 'em." "But...." "If you're goin' to argue with everything I tell you, it'll take us a month just to get goin'. And I'm not waiting that long." She closed her mouth, but he could see she still had plenty to say. The thing was, she'd learned he wasn't to be fooled with, so she'd hold onto her arguments until she figured she could win. He liked that better in a woman than whining and nagging. They began their preparations the next morning. Emmet showed William how to set up a fire for smoking the salmon that had just begun appearing in the river. Red meat would be easily come by up in the gold basin, but he had his mouth set for salmon. Once he saw that everything was going well, he took off for the Crossing. He made good time, traveling alone and unburdened. Hattie's goods were undisturbed, not surprising since there was little traffic along the trail during the winter. He loaded all of her husband's tools--rusty but surely salvageable--and the few books he found onto the backs on the mules. There was a large tin of gunpowder and a bag of shot that he'd somehow overlooked. He took that as well, hoping he wouldn't find a use for it. They were almost ready to go when he returned. The natural cave concealed behind the cabin was filled with the winter's take of skins and Hattie's precious store of seeds and cuttings. Emmet doubted the cuttings would be worth anything when they finally reached their destination, but Hattie insisted they would sprout as soon as they got sunlight and water. He added the tools and books to the cache, wondering how long it would be before someone returned for them. Finally everything was ready. Each ox wore a pair of loaded rawhide panniers across his back. Emmet still refused to tell the others why they were taking the oxen rather than the mules. What they didn't know, they couldn't tell, if there was anyone to tell. His horse carried a large canvas sack of supplies tied across its saddle. Even Dawg wore a pack, a small bundle of William's meager possessions. Emmet had decreed that none of them would carry anything but

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html their guns or, in William's case, the long, iron-tipped spear he'd fashioned. Goat Runner had readily agreed that two mules were ample payment for keeping watch on the cabin. He warned Emmet that the renegade band had struck a Paiute village down by Swan Falls just a few days earlier. They had taken food and women, killing the children and the men. For the first time Emmet was glad he'd given in to Hattie's plea. She might be far safer with him than at Fort Boise. They left the cabin on an overcast morning that Emmet figured was the fourteenth day of May. Their preparations had taken far less time than he'd anticipated. Both Hattie and Flower knew how to sort and pack. He figured it would take them the better part of a week to work their way upstream to Buff's basin. Figure no more than a week to fill the saddlebags, and he could still be at Fort Vancouver by the middle of August. Free once again. * * * "Shhh." Hattie soothed Ellen who had been cranky all day. The baby suckled a few seconds, then again turned her face away and whimpered. "Hush, child. Hush." She hummed a wordless melody, softly so as not to bother her sleeping companions. Until today, Ellen had been an ideal child, rarely fussing unless she was hungry or soiled. But this was the first time she'd spent the whole day in the cradleboard, for Hattie had much preferred to hold her in her arms whenever possible. Again she took the breast and again gave it up after a few tugs. Hattie wanted to cry. She was so tired--walking all day last summer had been something she'd grown used to gradually. Now her feet were sore and her back ached. A winter's relative inactivity was taking its toll. Ellen struggled in her arms. Her whimpers turned into wails and nothing Hattie could do would silence her. "Give her to me," Emmet said, appearing suddenly at her shoulder. Hattie had thought he was sleeping on the other side of the fire. Hattie had, from the first, been careful to avoid any appearance of expecting Emmet's help with the baby. She had been grateful when, on the rare occasion, he had taken her while Hattie prepared supper or spent a carefree half-hour in Buffalo's bathtub. But whenever she needed help, she'd gone to Flower or Silas, or even William. Emmet must never think she depended on him as she would on her child's father. He was doing far more for her than he had ever bargained for as it was. As soon as he had hold of Ellen, Emmet unwrapped her. Hattie voiced a wordless protest until she saw how the baby quieted once her legs were free to kick, her arms to pump. Although the sliver of moon did little to light the narrow canyon in which they were camped, Hattie's eyes were well adjusted to the dark. She watched in amazement as Emmet lowered himself to sit on a big rock beside the embers of their cookfire. He laid Ellen across his lap where she wriggled and waved her hands and feet. "How'd you feel to be tied up in a blanket all day?" Emmet said, his grin

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html bright in his shadowed face. "Awful," Hattie admitted, "But I never thought...." She yawned. "Why don't you get some sleep? It's my watch. I'll take care of her." He kept his eyes on Ellen, happily squirming across his knees. Hattie was suddenly aware that she hadn't covered herself after Ellen's last rejection of her breast. Quickly she pulled the buckskin shirt closed. "But...." "But nothin'. I'm due for another hour's watch. She'll keep me company." He stood, holding Ellen across his forearm, her little bottom wedged firmly against his hip. If Hattie didn't know better, she'd think he'd carried babies that way before. Again she yawned. "If you're sure." "I'm dead certain. Go to sleep." Gratefully she did just that. Ellen was tucked into her bed the next morning, but Hattie didn't remember her getting there. * * * Damn but she was gettin' to him! Emmet tightened the cinch and let the stirrup fall. Last night he'd come as close to losing the steel control he kept over his need as he'd been since the night he'd first seen her. He could have her now. She no longer carried another man's child, and she was nursing, so she wasn't likely to catch. But he would not take the chance. Emmet might be able to walk away from every other kind of responsibility, but there was one thing he'd never do, no matter what it cost him. He'd never walk away from a child of his own. Hattie walked across his field of view, loading panniers with her things and the baby's. She moved with easy grace, her stride long and free, her body swaying naturally. Her beauty was much more evident in the soft, pale buckskins than in the dark calicos she'd worn on the wagon train or the equally drab men's clothing she'd worn all winter. Emmet was finding it next to impossible to keep his hands off her. He checked the panniers on Hercules. "You all about ready?" he called. "Yo!" Silas said, parsimonious with words as always. "Jest about, Mist' Em," William agreed from where he was strapping similar bags across the backs of Baldur and Hero. Within minutes they were on the trail again. Emmet led, winding his way along the creek's edge. They had left the valley of the Boise two days ago, entering the foothills by way of the canyon behind the Indian village. The climb to the first ridge had been hard on Hattie, but she had not complained. She would not, Emmet realized, no matter how rough the going got. He knew she must be feeling the strain of travel far more than the others. She refused to allow anyone else to carry Ellen's cradleboard, had even kept walking when the baby demanded to be fed late this morning. He'd strode close beside her, keeping a hand on her elbow so she wouldn't stumble. They came to the mouth of the canyon they had followed down from the ridge

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html late the afternoon of their third day on the trail. It opened into another, wider canyon where the creek they'd been walking along joined the swiftly flowing water of a larger one. Emmet scouted upstream a ways, until he was satisfied that this was the drainage indicated on Buff's map. "We'll camp here," he told the others when he returned. When Hattie moved to help Flower prepare supper, Emmet stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "You sit," he said. "Tend to Ellen. We'll take care of everything." She nodded, gratefully, he thought. When William brought the bearskin robe and spread it on the sandy ground, she removed the baby from her cradleboard and laid her, uncovered, on the dark fur. Ellen immediately began kicking and threshing, as if she were shaking the kinks out. Emmet knew how she felt. He'd spent many a day on horseback that left him feeling he needed to shake himself loose before he could move normally. "How much farther?" Hattie said as they were relaxing after supper. Emmet shrugged. "A couple more days, I'd say. We're goin' slower than I'd figured." "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't mean to slow you down." "You're not," he assured her. "Last time I went through here, I was on horseback. We're makin' as good time as we can expect, going afoot." "I still do not understand what we're going after," Flower said. "I cannot believe my father would have cached anything up here. I thought he stored everything he owned in the cave behind the cabin." "Not this," Emmet said, stirring the fire to send flames into the new wood he'd added. "This cache is something he intended for you." Again he poked at the flames. "You and Hattie, for he took a great liking to her." "Of course he did," Flower said, smiling crookedly at Hattie. Her voice was tremulous. She'd never grieved openly for her pa and Emmet knew they'd been close, for all they went their separate ways after Flower's mother died. "I am happy you were there," she told Hattie. "I would not have wanted him to die alone." This time her voice did break and she turned slightly away from the fire. Flower sighed. "I wish he had let me come back with him. But like any wild thing, he wished to die alone. Still I could have...." "Of course you could have," Hattie said, laying a sympathetic hand on Flower's arm. "Your father knew that. But he didn't want to burden you." "So he burdened you instead. As if you hadn't enough troubles." Resentment and anger filled Flower's voice. "He was awful surprised to find me in his cabin," Hattie said, smiling at the memory. She laid the sleeping Ellen back onto the bearskin robe and moved to sit beside Flower, enfolding her in a healing embrace. "He frightened me at first, but it wasn't long until I saw beyond the fierceness. I loved him." She had to swallow twice before she could say more. "And no matter what Emmet says, I have no intention of sharing whatever your father left to you." "Buff wanted you to share in it," Emmet said, finding himself envying Flower Hattie's embrace. "He had strong thoughts about that." "We'll see." She scooted aside so that Silas could sit beside her. William squatted across the fire. "Stock's all bedded down Mist' Em." He

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html smiled widely. "I tied 'em good so's we won't have to be findin' 'em come mornin'." Emmet would have left the stock to graze free but William insisted on tying them each night. He'd braided ropes of deerhide while Emmet was fetching the rest of Hattie's goods, making a tether about ten feet long for each ox. Emmet still hobbled his horse. It saved them the trouble of rounding up the stock each morning, but it also made the animals more vulnerable to attack by the panthers, bears, and wolves inhabiting these mountains. Emmet had, just this afternoon, seen fresh sign--grizzly from the looks of it--in the sandy creek bank. With any luck they wouldn't have to face off with a hungry bear. He didn't fancy that kind of risk. "Emmet, what is in my father's cache?" Flower said. "He sent his furs to Fort Vancouver last summer. Any why are you being so secretive?" He looked around the circle of faces, all alive with curiosity. These people depended on him, trusted him, and were dearer to him than his own long-lost family had ever been. He relished the fabulous gift he was about to bestow on them. "It's gold," he said. "More gold than you can imagine, if Buff wasn't lyin'. "I figure if we fill up half the panniers, we'll none of us ever go hungry again." Chapter Twelve The silence lengthened. Hattie couldn't believe her ears. From the looks on her companions' faces, neither could they. "You're not joking?" she said, searching Emmet's face for a sign of humor. "I wasn't joking when I dragged you all up here," he said, mouth hardening. "If I'd had my druthers, we'd be headin' west, not north." "Oh, Emmet, I didn't mean...." Now he was upset. Darn him! The man had skin as thin as Ellen's. "Does you mean we's all gonna be rich, Mist' Em?" The scowl turned into a smile. "I don't know about that, William, but if Buff wasn't fooling, we'll have enough to get by, that's for sure." He stood, a tall, grim man whose rugged face was cast into sharp shadows by the light from the flickering fire. "But there's one thing you've got to remember. You're going to have to be real careful about letting anyone know where you got this gold. And how much you've got." "But why?" Hattie said. "I can understand why we'd want to be careful about how much gold we have--Karl always said that where gold was concerned there were few honest men--but what does it matter where we got it? We're going to be leaving here as soon as we can." "If someone wicked thought you knew where to find a fortune," Flower said, "he might try to make you show him." "Oh! But how could anyone expect me to know...?" "Hattie, just take my word for it," Emmet told her. "Be real careful about where

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html you spend your gold and do it a little bit at a time." She nodded, thinking here he had her spending gold already and she hadn't seen the color of it. For all she knew, Buffalo's cache was another of the tall tales the old man had been fond of telling. Emmet used a stick to break the fire apart. "Time to turn in," he said. "I'll take first watch." They had two more days of difficult travel before the valley widened enough that they no longer had to take to the slopes each time the willows along the creek grew too dense for them to penetrate. The valley was wooded, with enormous pines scattered over wide meadows, tall cottonwoods and willow thickets along the stream. The surrounding hillsides were covered with dense forest--pines, firs and hemlock, all looking just a little different than any Hattie had seen thus far. She wondered what it would be like to live in a house tucked just under the edge of such a forest, with deer and elk grazing the meadow in front, bear and wolf hiding in the dark woods behind. She rather thought she would like living that way. As long as Emmet was there with her. They camped about a mile above a fork in the creek, in a small meadow surrounded by willows so thick they had to chop their way in. "You'll get eaten alive by the skeeters," Emmet warned, "but it's better than being out in plain sight." He'd been watching their back trail all the way from Buffalo's cabin, although he'd admitted he hadn't seen any sign they were being followed. Once their camp was set up, Emmet and William took off, walking upstream. Seeking the gold they'd come after. Hattie and Flower explored as well, staying within sight of their camp as Emmet had insisted. Flower was seeking potherbs and whatever else she could find. "It is too early for much of anything to be worth harvesting," she told Hattie, "but we might find some of last year's seeds yet." She poked into thickets and looked under fallen logs, but they found little beyond a few extremely unripe berries--looking like raspberries, but on trailing vines along the ground. "Blackberries," Flower confirmed. "The leaves make a good tea when they are dried. But the berries will not be ready to pick for another month yet." "Do you really think we'll find gold?" Hattie asked her as they were picking young shoots of horsetail. Flower shrugged. "I suppose. Buffalo usually knew what he was talking about. But whether there will be as much as Emmet seems to think, I do not know." Another shrug. "I am not counting on it." Ellen fussed and Hattie swung the cradleboard off her back. As she unwrapped Ellen, she said, "Doesn't the thought of having enough gold to last you the rest of your life mean anything to you?"

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"I have what I want," Flower said. "All this--" She spun around, her arms held out from her shoulders. "All this is free. I do not need gold to purchase it." "But what about other things? Things like coffee and sugar and flour?" Hattie could remember enough of her happy but impoverished childhood to know that she didn't ever want Ellen to go hungry. Or to go barefoot in the winter for lack of shoes. "The earth will give me what I need," Flower said. "My mother's people have lived since the beginning without coffee or sugar or flour." "So you intend to live with the In... with your mother's people?" Hattie had wondered. Flower spoke English as well as she did, was probably better educated. Buffalo had once told her that a young HBC free trader had spent several winters with them, teaching her formal English and a smattering of French. "I do not know," Flower said, doubt plain in her voice. "I don't fit with them." She bent to look under another fallen log. "No more than I fit with my father's." Her voice was soft. Hattie heard loneliness. "You fit with us," she said, touching Flower's arm. "You can come with me to the Willamette Valley." Of course! Why hadn't she thought of it before? "Oh, yes, Flower. Come with me. Please. Say you will?" Turning back, Flower sank onto the ground, not seeming to mind its dampness. "Hattie, you and Emmet do not want another woman in your house." Hattie shook her head. "Emmet won't be in my house," She said, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. "It will be just me and William and Silas." "But he is your husband!" "Only until he sees us safely there. Then he'll leave me." "And you will let him?" Outrage was plain on Flower's face. "I made a bargain," Hattie said. "All I asked him to do was get me safely to the end of the trail. After that he's free to go if he chooses." "But you love him!" Hattie shook her head, not in denial, but in resignation. "I can't love him, Flower. Because he's going to leave me, whether I do or not. And when you love, it hurts too much to say good-bye." She thought of all those she had loved and said good-bye to. She couldn't do it again. Somehow she would overcome her love for Emmet Lachlan so that when he left her, it would be easy to say good-bye. * * * The water in the creek was icy, proof that there were still pockets of snow

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html hidden in the high valleys. Emmet's feet were as cold as they'd ever been, even in those winters he and Buff had trapped beaver. The gold was here. Emmet had seen glimmers of color in several pools, but he wasn't after the fine granular stuff. He wanted nuggets, big enough to hammer into a semblance of coins. The less like raw gold the stuff looked when they went into a trading post, the less trouble they'd have spending it. And afterward. William splashed into the creek ahead, stirring up the water, sending clouds of sand and silt downstream. Emmet cursed when he could no longer see into the water. "I found some! Mist' Em, I done found me some gold!" Emmet hurried upstream. When he reached where William was kneeling, hip deep in the cold water, he shared William's excitement. The boulder was larger than most of those lining the stream. Other, smaller rocks had, over time, piled up against it, until a small diversion, extending nearly halfway across the creek, had formed. And behind it, spring floods had been slowed, to drop their loads. William lifted a double handful of pebbles and sand. "Looky here, Mist' Em. Jest you looky here!" Emmet looked and knew that Buff hadn't lied. In William's dark hands was a fortune in gold. Not sand, but fine gold. Nuggets from pea-sized up to as big as a walnut. Theirs for the taking. That night they planned. "Buff's map shows another valley over west of here," Emmet said. "I'd like to check it out." "I'll go with you," Silas said. "No, you stay with Flower and William," Emmet told him, without thinking. "I'll take Hattie and a yoke of oxen. You three can work these creeks." He told himself that he couldn't trust either of the others to care for Hattie as well as he could. She needed protection as Flower did not, for Hattie had Ellen to hamper her ability to flee or fight back. Silas was inclined to argue; Emmet could see that in the stubborn set of his chin. But the lad said nothing, only turned away from the fire and busied himself fixing his bedroll. He wondered if Silas would be more talkative if they were alone and was almost tempted to change his mind and take him rather than Hattie. No. She needed him. "We'll take tomorrow to rest up, then the day after we'll head out. I don't think it'll be much of a trip. Buff's map shows a low ridge, not much to cross." "I'll be ready," Hattie said, a strange expression on her face. They agreed that he and Hattie would return in a week, no matter whether they found another gold-filled basin or not. While they were gone, Silas, William and Flower would explore this basin and amass as large a store of nuggets as they could. "You'll need more moss," Flower said to Hattie when they all headed toward their beds. "I'll help you gather it in the morning." "And I'll wash...." Her voice faded as Emmet walked away from the dying fire. It was his habit to make a wide circle around their camp each night, to make

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html sure they were indeed alone. * * * Hattie filled the worn canvas bag with the partly dried moss. She would be glad when the cat-tails were ripe for plucking. Moss wasn't nearly as satisfactory as cat-tail fluff as a diaper substitute. "I'm almost ready," she told Emmet when he led his horse over to stand near Bessie and the oxen. She handed him the bag when it was fastened, then lifted Ellen's cradleboard and worked her arms into the straps. "I don't know what I'd do if Buffalo hadn't made this for me," she said. "It works so much better than a shawl for carrying her." Soon they had everything they needed. While Emmet stood patiently, Hattie hugged Silas, William--the big man seemed uncomfortable when she did--and Flower. "Take care of yourselves," she advised. She felt almost disloyal, being so excited about leaving them behind. It wasn't leaving them that filled her with bubbling anticipation. It was going off alone with Emmet. "Now I'm ready," she said, picking up the shotgun. She hated having to carry it, but Emmet had insisted. He was taking his rifle, leaving the others with nothing but Karl's gun, for which they had pitifully little ammunition. Hattie didn't think it was fair, but as Flower had pointed out, she and William were both adept with knives, while they wouldn't know what to do with a gun. William also had his spear, and Silas preferred the .44 caliber Patterson revolver that had been Karl's pride and joy. And they had Dawg, to warn them if any creature, human or animal, approached. She only hoped they would be safe. The path Emmet chose was easy, slowly winding up a steep hillside and through the dark woods. It followed a game trail for part of the time, although he often chose an alternate route when the narrow trail went straight uphill. By noon they were over the first ridge. After a brief stop for her to nurse Ellen, they turned more in a northerly direction, still climbing. Hattie was taken with the dark, silent forest. Its floor was carpeted with pine needles and the thick trunks of the great trees gave it the appearance of a deep cavern, its ceiling supported by rough black or red columns. Wherever there was a break in the canopy, shrubs reached for the sun. Mostly, though, there was little undergrowth to hamper their progress. Neither spoke often. Hattie found the sound of human voices a raucous counterpoint to the soft murmur of the wind in upper branches, the occasional chitter of a squirrel or melodious birdcall. When at last they topped the highest ridge and started downward, it was late afternoon. She caught glimpses of more mountains ahead, not too far away. "Do we cross them too?" she wondered aloud. "Nope," Emmet said. "So far Buff's map has been accurate. This should be the other valley it showed." He halted. "You tired?" She was, but she'd rather save her resting for level ground. "I can make it," she said. "Let's keep going." "Isn't it about time for her to eat again?" "Soon. But with any luck she'll sleep until we're there." Her feet hurt and her

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html back ached, and all Hattie wanted was to sit down and never walk anywhere again. "And maybe there will be a creek for me to soak my feet in while I feed her." "You missin' the bathtub?" "I am indeed." Oh, yes. If she were at the cabin, she would take all of her clothes off and lower her aching body into the hot water until she was as warm and limp as a piece of cornbread soaked in milk. She had never known such luxury as Buffalo's bathtub--probably never would again, either. The new basin seemed less wide as the one they'd left, and there were fewer openings in the forest cover. As they descended, Hattie caught the glint of water among the trees, but she never did get a good view of the creek until they broke out of the woods at its very edge. Ellen woke almost as soon as they arrived, so Hattie fed her while Emmet found firewood and got it burning. He'd chosen a secluded campsite, shielded from view on all but one side by the huge root mass of a fallen pine and a tangle of leathery-leaved shrubs. They ate cold biscuits and venison, left from last night's supper, not bothering with plates, washing it down with sweet, cold water from the creek. Ellen kicked and squirmed on the bearskin, gurgling happily to herself. She was adapting to days of confinement and no longer fussed, as long as Hattie released her as soon as they stopped traveling for the day. "Do you want me to milk?" Emmet said when they were done with supper. "No, I'll take care of it. You go ahead and unpack." He'd slid the saddlebags off his horse as soon as they'd arrived and now they lay against a sapling. If it weren't that she was afraid to risk doing without milk as long as Ellen was too little to eat solid food, she'd let Bessie dry up, Hattie thought as she was milking. They didn't need the milk now--she'd made enough butter and cheese to last them a couple of weeks before they left the cabin. She didn't like milk for drinking and so she was pouring most of it out. She fell into the familiar rhythm, leaning her head against Bessie's warm flank. Would she have the courage to do what she decided she must do before Emmet left her behind? She just didn't know. At first, when the thought had occurred to her, she had doubted her ability to carry it out. Then she'd realized that even if she were brave enough, she might not have the opportunity. Once Flower had moved into the cabin and Emmet into the leanto with Silas, there had been no more opportunity. And too she had not been sure how long after Ellen's birth she had to wait before... well, just before. Finally everything was done. The spring evening lingered, the light pale and shadowy, long after the last rays of the sun dissipated as it sank behind the western hills. Hattie sank gratefully onto the bear robe beside Ellen who now slept, her tummy full. She really should go and help Emmet make up their beds,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html she thought. And she would, in just a few minutes. A touch on her face roused her. When she opened her eyes, it was into night. Emmet's face was a pale shape just before her. "You gonna sleep here all night?" he said, amusement obvious in his tone. "No, I...." She yawned, a great, jaw-cracking yawn that took her completely by surprise. "I didn't mean to sleep," she said, embarrassed. "I really meant to help you finish setting up camp." "You don't have to," he said gruffly, moving away until he was a shadow in the dark, more sensed than seen. "You do your share." Once more she wondered at her good fortune. Karl had been kind, but he'd also held strict ideas of man's work and woman's duties. And anything that smote of housekeeping had been, in his mind, a woman's responsibility. Emmet didn't seem to have such rigid ideas, just one more reason why she couldn't resist her growing love for him. "I made your bed," he told her, "over there." She barely saw the direction of his pointing arm, for the gibbous moon was still low in the sky. "But it's so nice right here," she said, sitting up and stretching. "The fire's still warm, and I'd have to move Ellen. Likely she'd wake up, and...." She smiled. If only he would come to her, here on the robe. There was room for the both of them and Ellen too. He hesitated. "Don't see any reason why not," he said, his voice, if possible, even gruffer. "I'll fetch your bed." "Emmet," she said, hearing how the word trembled on her lips. "Emmet, come here." She was going to do it. Right now. While she still had the gumption to. She had wanted him for so long. So very long. "I'll fetch your bed," he repeated. She heard him move off in the direction he'd indicated. In a moment he was back, his arms full. He dumped her bedding on the buffalo robe and went back. She heard him muttering but couldn't tell what he was saying. "I don't need the branches," she said. "The robe's really soft." But he was back again, his arms full of freshly cut fir branches. He arranged them a few feet back from the glowing embers that were all that was left of their fire. Then he went back for another load. Shortly he had a springy mattress prepared for her. He flipped the canvas ground sheet he usually used across the branches. "Wait. What will you use?" His bed--that's what he called it--was a single blanket over the canvas. She'd often wondered how he kept from freezing. And now he was giving her his ground sheet. "I'll be fine," he said. "If you'll take the babe, I'll be spreading the robe over this." Tucking the canvas along one side of the mound of branches, he sat back on his heels. "It's not cold." "There will be frost on the ground, come morning." "Don't matter," he said, not turning to look at her. "Now, are you gonna give me that robe?" She picked Ellen up and moved off the robe. In seconds he had it draped across the canvas-covered mound. Then he spread her comfort over that. "There. You got yourself a bed." He stood and stepped back. In seconds she had lost sight of

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html him as his dark figure blended with the shadows under the trees. Hattie was suddenly seized with unreasoning fear. "Emmet? Emmet, come back!" "Hush! I'm right here." His voice came from behind her. "I'm takin' a look around. I won't go far." She did her best to keep track of where he was, but he slipped through the woods as silently as the other shadows. It was all she could do to force herself to tuck Ellen into the small nest Emmet had created for her, to one side of Hattie's bed. She could not convince herself to join her daughter. Not until he returned. Emmet circled their camp, not because he believed there was a need to but because it delayed the moment when he would have to return to Hattie. He'd made a bad mistake, bringing her out here like this. As long as they were with the others, he'd had no trouble keeping his hands off her. Now it was like asking a bear to stay out of a honey tree. She was his, in the eyes of God and man. He had the lines to prove it. Now that she no longer carried another man's child, there was no reason he should not take her to his bed. Great God, how he wanted to! He wanted to feel the velvet of her skin under his hands, to smell the faint lilac scent that clung to her no matter what. He wanted to taste the sweetness of her mouth, to swallow her moans as he lifted her to unexplored heights of passion. He wanted to bury himself in her, lose himself in her. The cattle were quiet and his horse slept, hipshot, under a giant pine. Night sounds surrounded him, but they were familiar, not to be concerned about. The only thing he needed to worry about was the woman waiting for him in a bed too big for her. He slipped though the night until he was at the edge of their camp, unseen and unheard. A faint splash alerted him. It came not from the creek but from the camp. He leaned closer to the root mass, inched around until he could see into the dark hollow the tree had made when it fell. She was standing beside the barely flickering the fire. The milk bucket was at her feet and she dipped a cloth into it even as he watched. Her skin, bare as the day she was born, was gilded by firelight. Her slim arms lifted a dark cloud of hair, piling it atop her head. She secured it with a quick twist. Kneeling, she scooped water up and let it fall across her breasts. Then she dipped again and again, until her firelit body glistened with shimmering, silver droplets. The soft splashes she made came to his ears like an invitation to paradise. Gritting his teeth, Emmet stood where he was, but he could not bring himself to close his eyes. At last she stood, her body tempting and perfect in the flickering light. When she bent to pick up her towel, her full, rose-tipped breasts swayed

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html invitingly. She dried herself with a ragged length of fabric, and his hands twitched with wanting to touch where the soft linen did. As she bent and turned, he almost wept at the beauty of her. His sex strained at buckskin, demanding, hungry. His body all but trembled at the force of his sudden desire. Once before he had stood in the dark and watched her bathe. That time he had stood aside and let her walk away. This time he would not. Chapter Thirteen Hattie knew he was there. She sensed his presence as she felt the soft nighttime breeze, as she smelled the faint tang of the pines and firs. She turned as he stepped into the hollow. Clothed only in night, she had no sense of shame. She dropped the wet cloth onto the ground and stood, eyes downcast, waiting for him. He approached, but stopped a scarce foot from her. The heat of him warmed her, as if she were standing close to a fire. "Look at me," he said. She looked. Even in the pale moonlight, she saw the desire in his face. "You're my wife." "Yes." The word caught on a tongue grown dry. "I'm tired of sleepin' alone." Hattie felt herself sway towards him. "So am I," she whispered. "Oh, Emmet, so am I." She took one fateful step, knowing as she did that it could be the worse mistake she ever made. And the best. His arms received her, pulled her close to his body. For a moment they stood quietly, but for hearts that pounded as if to escape their bony cages. "I'll be leavin', no matter what," he said, finally, his voice husky, heavy with hunger. "I don't want you to be hopin' for anything else." "I don't," she told him, the words like acid in her heart, "hope for anything but right now." She slipped her arms up from where they were captured between their bodies, linked her hands behind his head. "Kiss me," she demanded. "Kiss me and don't think about anything else." Hattie had already made her decision. She would take whatever of Emmet he was willing to give and not ask for more. Better that than never know what it was to belong to him. So when his mouth joined with hers, she gave herself up to pure sensation, with no thought to regret. He was gentle, not fierce as he had been before. She sensed a resignation, an acceptance, in his kisses. They spoke of a battle fought and gladly lost. But he left her little time for thought as he explored her face with his lips, leaving a trail of tingling skin behind. He kissed her eyelids, her brows. His tongue laved her temples, explored the whorls and hollows of her ear. His teeth nibbled at her lobe and along her jaw. Her knees became soft and weak, until she sagged in his arms. At some point he must have lifted her, for the next thing she was aware of was being lowered

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html to the springy, fur-covered bed he'd made for her at the edge of the hollow. A glow was born deep in her belly, as if a spark had been struck to waiting tinder. He fell onto the bearskin at her side, his lean length pressed against her from shoulder to feet. While one arm enclosed her and held her to him, the other hand touched her. His fingers encircled her throat, caressing as they moved and stroked. He felt of the shape of her shoulder, his fingers traced along her collarbones and rested in the hollow at the base of her throat. "Hattie, girl, you're not lookin' at me," he whispered. Again she opened her eyes, opened them to look into his. It was too dark to see more than a gleam, so she imagined, just for this moment, that he looked at her with a promise of love, now and forever. Surely it would harm no one if she clung to her dream for this one night. She had never been a partner in the act of love, although she had always wondered what it would be like to take as well as give. Hesitantly she touched his face, outlining his well-defined lips, discovering with a fingertip the cleft in his chin. She grew more bold and inserted her finger between his slightly parted lips, seeking the hot wetness of his mouth. His teeth caught and held, his tongue teased. Immediately she jerked her finger back, afraid she'd made him angry. "I'm sorry." He caught her hand and brought it back to his mouth. Kissing the errant fingertip, he then gave the others equal attention. "Don't be sorry," he said, nipping the pad at the base of her thumb. "Don't ever be sorry for anything you do to me like this." He laved her palm, then tickled it with the tip of his tongue. The seething heat in her belly grew, tiny flames bursting from smoldering tinder. Still more emboldened, she touched the neck of his shirt. "Once I woke up and you had this off. I'd never seen a man like that before." He raised up on an elbow, staring down at her. "You've never seen a man without a shirt?" Disbelieving. "Well, of course I have," she said, miffed, knowing she had never seen one who looked like him. "But you didn't have your pants on, either." Stroking her fingertips down his strong neck, she touched the laced opening of his shirt. "I wish...." No, she couldn't say it. His laughter was rich and understanding. "You want me to take my pants off?" Feeling the blush all the way from her feet, she nodded against his chest. Was it so very wrong to want to feel his naked body against hers? Karl had said nakedness was a sin, when he'd forbidden her to bathe in the pond. "Hattie?" His breath was hot on her ear. "Take 'em off." He lifted himself away from her. She forgot her embarrassment in amazement. "What?" "You want my pants off," Emmet said, wondering if he was going too far, "you

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html take 'em off." He lay back, careful to avoid disturbing Ellen, and locked his hands behind his head. If he'd kept his hands on her, it would have been all over in seconds. Her shy admission that she'd seen him naked--and the unspoken admission that she'd liked what she'd seen--had pushed him dangerously close to the edge. He remembered that morning, but he'd thought she'd forgotten. A tentative finger touched the laces at his throat. He didn't move, concentrating on holding his desire in check. But she didn't loosen the laces. Instead she traced that single finger down across his chest, across his belly, pausing at the buckle of his wide belt.Open it! his mind screamed. Emmet forced himself to remember being hip deep in an icy stream, his hands nigh to frozen from setting beaver traps. "So big!" she breathed as her finger hesitated again, this time a scant hair's breadth above his throbbing, aching manhood. Even through layers of buckskin he could feel her not-quite touch. "Take 'em off," he gasped, the sound grating against the tight-held lining of his throat. One more touch and he'd forget his intention of taking her slowly and gently. Again he brought a memory of cold, this time freezing saltwater against his bare face, until his skin was flayed and bloodless. The claws of his desire retracted, and he was once more in control. She rose to her knees, never taking her eyes off his. With trembling fingers she loosened the laces at his throat. The buckle of his belt was tight, even when he sucked in, and she had to work at it a moment before the prong slipped free. All the while his body thrummed like a fiddle string harshly plucked. "You'll have to sit up," she said, once the tail of the shirt was free of the wide belt which held it folded against his waist. He rose and pulled the shirt over his head with a quick motion. Her breath caught as he did, sending another immense wave of desire through him. Tossing shirt and belt aside, he caught her again in his arms. Her mouth was sweet and hungry. Chest to breast he held her while he plundered. Her skin was hot against him, burning hot. This time he didn't stop at her chin. He kissed his way down the fragile column of her throat, dipped his tongue into the hollow where her heart fluttered under delicate skin. Her hands gripped his head, fingers thrust through his hair as he found her breasts, full and heavy with milk. He had watched her, many times, as she fed the babe, wondering if her milk was sweet and rich. He tasted and it was! He molded the fullness of her breasts in his two hands, burying his face between them and smelling her faint scent of lilacs. Only yesterday he had heard her tell Flower that she had but a sliver of the fine French milled soap left and he had thought of bringing her more--a barrel of the white, scented bars, so that she would always smell of lilacs. "Emmet," she said, half gasp, half cry of desperate hunger. "Oh, Emmet, please! Please!" "You like this." Not a question but a statement of fact. "Great God, but so do

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html I!" He tasted again, teased, flicking his tongue against the swollen nipple. Her hands tightened against his scalp. "What... what are you doing to me?" Her legs flailed against his, wrapped and held. "I can't stand it. I can't...." He gave up her breast. Sitting up, he slid out of his pants, cursing the tight buckskin as it clung to his legs. Hattie tried to help him, but her frantic tugs and pushes only complicated matters. He had one leg free when her help brought her hand against his manhood, halting all their movements. "Touch me," he commanded. "Touchme!" Slowly her fingers touched. Stroked, retreated, stroked again. Closed about him. And that was all. He reared against her and exploded. Nothing mattered. Not that she was stiff in his arms. Not that his seed was smeared across her thigh. Nor that he'd intended their first time to be gentle and sweet and memorable, for he knew women needed all those things. Those thoughts came to him later, when he lay gasping against her, relieved but not sated. "Hattie, girl," he said, "I'm sorry." She kissed him, softly, kindly. "Don't be." She stroked his hair back from his forehead. "It's all right." But he heard resignation in her voice, and acceptance. That was worse than shock or disgust. Did she think he cared nothing for her pleasure? He held her while his body recollected itself. She lay passive, her breathing erratic. He could tell she was exerting control to stay inert. The wanting was still there, inside him, like a smoldering fuse. Pure physical release wasn't enough. He'd feared it wouldn't be. He wanted more of her. All of her. And he was afraid he'd never get enough. Slowly he began stroking his hand along the curve of her spine. She was still stiff, resisting the seduction of his touch, but gradually she relaxed. His hand cupped a buttock, slid over the roundness of her hip. She moved restlessly. "You don't have to do this," she said, attempting to pull away. He found her nipple and teased it with his teeth into full awareness. "I want to do this," he told her. "I want to keep doing it and doing it, as long as I can." He suckled briefly, feeling her body fighting her will, trying to respond. "How can you? You've had your pleasure. Aren't you sleepy?" "Sweetheart, I've never been more awake in my life," he said, laying a palm across her belly, firm now with a womanly curve to it. Slowly he moved it down, toward the delta of curly brown hair hiding her feminine secrets. He sought carefully, feeling her need to resist. Hattie held herself rigid in his embrace as his hand explored her belly.Oh, God! This felt even better than his mouth at her breast. She had imagined this, time and again. Night after night, her in the lower

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html bunk and he in the upper, she had lain awake and imagined his hands and his mouth upon her. Karl had never touched her more than he had to. Once her nightgown was up to her waist, he'd gone about his business with no more to-do than if he'd been shaping a cabinet molding--less, actually, for she'd seen his hands caress fine wood, touching it with a sensuousness he never brought to their bed. Her body liquified as Emmet's hand rubbed slow circles. The fire in her belly burst into full flame and she writhed, wanting, needing.... "Emmet!" His fingers slipped lower and he touched the fire. "Emmet,please !" She wanted him and she wanted him now! He rolled atop her, holding himself above her with stiffened arms. Hattie wrapped her legs around his hips, raising herself to meet him. But he was not to be hurried. With tantalizing slowness, he pushed against her, his sex hard and insistent against her yearning flesh. Then he was within. Still moving slowly, he entered her, each tiny thrust driving her ever higher, ever wilder. Hattie moved and he answered, pressing himself even deeper. Another movement and she felt him against her womb. When he withdrew, she followed, arching up, crying out her protest. He returned, faster, and withdrew again. Now he moved in a timeless rhythm, and she with him. Until the fires broke free and consumed her. As she burned, she heard his shout of completion, felt the spilling of his seed within her. She didn't feel him pull the comfort over them, but it was there when she woke in the palest dawn. He was warm beside her, warm and safe. His arm was across her middle, his hand lying lightly on the bundle of furs containing her daughter. They were safe with him, she and her child. He would never let anything happen to them that he could prevent. Not while he was with them. He instinctively protected those weaker than he, dependent on him. This past winter she had seen how he fought his need to be free, to wander, because she needed him. But once she was in the Willamette Valley, she would no longer need him, at least not in the ways he was willing to be needed. Then what? Then she would just have to go on living a life without color, without laughter, without love, for she could not imagine ever finding a man who could replace this one in her heart. But she would have her memories. They would be enough to warm her soul for the rest of her life. They had to be. Ellen stirred, her mouth moving in a suckling motion. She would be awake soon--Hattie was surprised she'd slept through the night. But until she woke, the time was hers--and Emmet's. She turned to him, slipping a hand across his bare chest. How could he sleep thus, without cover on half his body? And stay so warm, too, for her hand was colder than his skin. He woke with no confusion, turning to take her into his arms. As his mouth touched hers, his hands were moving down, to tempt her, to ready her for him. "I've dreamed of this," he said, sleep making his voice thick, "for a long time."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Emmet found her ready for him, wet and soft. Unable to wait, he sank into her humid depths, feeling her tighten around him. She met him, thrust for thrust, as he lost himself in her. And when completion came, he collapsed atop her, as if he could hold her next to his heart by the sheer mass of his body. Their cries woke Ellen. She fussed for a few moments, then stated her demands vociferously. Emmet rolled away, freeing Hattie, who pulled her babe to her breast. Ellen suckled hungrily, making little grunting-pig noises and kneading tiny fists against the blue-veined flesh of Hattie's breast. Emmet rose to his elbow and watched, enthralled as always, at the miracle of this woman and her child. His mother had borne her children with difficulty, when she bore them at all. She had never had enough to feed them, neither from her own body nor from their always meager larder. Nor had she been able to give her children love, as Hattie so clearly could.

He reached out and lay a hand on Ellen's head, almost bald now, for she'd lost the thatch of silky black hair she'd had at birth. "You're beautiful," he said. "She is," Hattie agreed. "I meant her mother." He smiled up at her, wanting to tell her how he felt at this moment, but not having the words. His heart was full to bursting with unfamiliar emotions. "I watch you with the babe, and I think I've never seen such a sight." His hand moved from Ellen's head to Hattie's breast, touching lightly. "Sometimes I envy her, the way you hold her, look at her." "Don't," Hattie said. "Don't envy her. She's my child. You're my husband, and I... I feel different things for you." "What kind of different?" Clearly flustered, not meeting his eyes, she said, "Oh, just different." "Tell me." He touched her breast again, catching a droplet of milk and bringing it to his mouth. Yes, it was indeed sweet! "You tempt me," she said, still looking away, "and I'm afraid of you." "Afraid." He grasped her chin and forced her to look at him. "You're afraid of me?" She nodded. "Why?" Of all she could have told him, he could think of nothing that would cut deeper. "Why are you afraid of me?" "Because you're going to hurt me," she said, "and because I can't stop you." "Hattie, I'll never do anything...anything to hurt you. Not on purpose." Hattie smiled, because this was the closest he'd come to telling her he cared

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html for her. "Someday you'll go," she said, clasping his taut wrist. "Someday you'll leave me." Letting go of her chin, Emmet turned his gaze into the woods behind her. She kept her hold on his wrist, for she needed to be touching him. Although there were words she wanted to say to him, she kept her lips pressed firmly together. She would not beg. "Aye," he said, finally. "I'll leave you. I... I have to." His voice was strained. "You warned me," she told him, wanting, inexplicably, to comfort him. "I've never had any ho-- never believed you'd stay." Emmet could stand no more of this. "I'll build up the fire," he said, rising to his feet. "As soon as you're ready, we'll start looking around." She did not reply, only nodded, her face lowered and concealed by strands of silky hair escaping her thick braid. Damn her! He had never promised anything beyond getting her to the Willamette. Did she think to hold him with sexual ties? Was that why she had all but seduced him? She must have known what would happen, once she showed him her naked body. A married woman would know what need did to a man, how it robbed him of all sense, made him a slave to desire. Oh, yes, she had planned it well. All winter she'd seemed afraid to let him kiss her, hold her the way he longed to do, but now--now that it was only weeks until they would be on the last leg of their journey--now she was all sweet submission and warm kisses. Hattie was no fool. Emmet blew on the smoldering tinder, wishing he'd banked the fire last night. He was a man, old enough and experienced enough to be far beyond being led into negligence by youthful randyness, yet he'd forgot the fire, forgot to watch for intruders, forgot everything in her arms.Damn her to hell! Slamming the coffeepot onto the two rocks he'd placed to hold it above the fire, he cursed again when it sloshed and spilled, wetting the wood he'd placed beside the tinder. He heard the rustle of her movements on the bed. Resisting the urge to turn around and watch her dress, he pushed the wetted kindling aside and laid dry sticks in the firepit. Doing his best to ignore her, he nursed the fire until it was well started, then he strode to the creek, sixty yards away. "I'll be back," he called over his shoulder, still not wanting to look at her. He wanted a deep pool for his bath. What he settled for was one in which the water barely reached his knees. But it was deep enough, and cold enough, for him to bathe his body and cool the intemperate desire that seemed almost a part of him anymore. That burned even stronger for having been eased--not once but thrice! Great God! He'd been worse than a horny lad with his first woman. Going off like that at her slightest touch. But afterward--and the memory forced him to smile in spite of his seething anger--afterward they'd reached completion together,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html in a wild, free flight going nowhere he'd ever been before. For an instant--just an instant--he'd actually thought of telling her he would never leave her. And that would have been the most damfool thing he could possibly do. If he stayed with Hattie, sooner or later she'd see him for what he really was. A man with no sand. Hadn't he shown, time and again, how he could not be depended upon? Pa had asked only one thing of him, that he care for Ma and Sheila and Jon. And look what happened to them, because he wasn't man enough to keep his promise. And his crew--no! He wouldn't think about that. He flopped over onto his belly, sending sprays of water onto the bank. Dipping his face, he gritted his teeth, had a sudden, unbidden memory of hot towels and steaming water in a basin. He sat up, water streaming from his beard. He fingered it. Getting pretty long, and he'd bet it was straggly as hell. Hattie had a little mirror, just a scrap broken from a larger one, that she'd found on a shelf in Buff's cabin when she first started getting around. Maybe he should borrow it and shave himself. Or maybe he should just have her give him a trim, head and chin. He shook his head, feeling how long his hair had become. He shivered. Not from the cold water in which he sat, but from the thought of Hattie's hands on his face, on his shoulders, as she snipped and shaped. Her breasts would press against his back. Her lower lip would be caught behind her teeth, a sure indication of her concentration. And she would step to the front to shape his beard, would stand between his thighs, her breath warm on his face, her scent filling his nose. She would.... Emmet submerged his entire self, knowing it would do him no good. He was well and truly aroused, and nothing but Hattie in his arms, himself buried in her, would calm the storm that engulfed him. Well, he'd be damned if he'd let his body dictate his life. Rising, shaking himself like a dog, he strode to the bank, feet slipping on the cobbles lining the streambed. And there it was! In a pool almost hidden under the overhanging bank, the water held a golden gleam. He knelt, no longer caring how cold the water was, and reached. Great God! It was like holding a handful of peas, except these particles were far from vegetable in origin. They had been born in the hot bowels of the earth, plucked from their rocky crypt by probing fingers of water, ice and wind. Rounded by countless decades of tumbling and rolling along the bed of the stream when melting snow swelled the creek to a surging torrent. He dropped the handful carefully on his shirt, then went back to sift the pool's lining again. Once more his hand was filled, but this time the particles were smaller, more like shot than peas.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html For the first time Emmet understood the voracious hunger men could feel for gold. In his hand he held every dream he'd ever dreamed--passage to exotic ports, fine horses and beautiful women, books with leather bindings and uncut pages. A home--a house on a hill somewhere, so he could see the far blue mountains--where he didn't have to stand watch at night or wake with rain in his face. A big house, with rich woods and carved balusters and colorful carpets. A home for Hattie. With a sneer at his own fantasies, Emmet flung the second handful onto his shirt and stepped out of the water. Shaking himself again, he pulled on his buckskin pants, thinking it was high time he moved on. He was starting to believe there was a place in the world for him, like any decent man had a right to expect. But there wasn't. Not for a man who failed everyone who ever depended on him. Chapter Fourteen Hattie was combing her hair when he returned. Again he stopped at the edge of the hollow and watched. She seldom freed it from its tight braid. It was a nuisance, she'd told him, always getting caught on things, falling into her food, tangling until she considered cutting it off rather than fussing with it. So he'd rarely seen it flowing across her shoulders as it was now, reminding him of dark, moss-tinted water running silently through deep, shady woods. His hands clenched at his sides as he thought of catching the fluid mass and raising it to his face, to see if it smelled of lilacs, too. She looked up. "Good morning." Her smile was bright, inviting. "I... ah, Emmet, I'm sorry." "Sorry?" "I promised I'd never complain about our bargain," she said, not quite meeting his eyes, "and I've tried not to." Biting her lower lip, she paused, the cords on her neck the only evidence of her distress. "I've really tried to accept it, and mostly, I think, I have. But for a little while there, this morning, well...." "Never mind," he said, laying his shirt carefully beside his unused bedroll. "You don't have to say anything." He was still angry with her, for trying to tie him to her. He was, no matter how she tried to apologize. One hand closed into a fist against her mouth. Her head turned slowly, side to side. After a few moments, she said, "Yes, I do. I want you to understand." The deep breath she took lifted her breasts and Emmet could almost feel them filling his hands. "A body can't help wanting what makes her feel good," she said, still avoiding his eyes. "That doesn't mean she expects to get it." Her smile this time was truly amused. "When I was a little girl, I used to get into the molasses barrel, no matter what my ma did when she caught me." He had to smile back when she rubbed her bottom. "I still love molasses better than anything, but I've learned not to eat it with a spoon." Her giggle was childlike. "At least not very often."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Emmet remembered a little boy who'd stolen a whole jar of preserves, long ago. Again he smiled. "I can't resist strawberries," he admitted. "You're better than molasses," she said, the words coming out almost as one, "and I just have to learn I can't have all I want of you." He came to his knees beside her, heat flooding through him. "Sweetheart, you can have all of me while I'm still around." He pulled her against him and kissed her, letting his hands tangle in hair that was as silky as he'd imagined. She pulled back, laying a finger against his mouth. "I promise I won't hold you when it's time for you to go, Emmet Lachlan. But can we pretend--just for this week, while we're alone--that we're like any other married folk, together for always?" Licking at the fingers that lay so sweetly against his mouth, he agreed. "No more talk about what comes next. For all we know, this week is the only always we'll ever have." No one knew better than Hattie how true his words were. Never again would she believe in forever. They made love again, there in the morning sunlight. Ellen slept quietly beside them while they reached new heights of passion and satiation. Hattie was able to put her fears of the future aside, wanting nothing to ruin this perfect time. The sun was nearing its zenith when she finally admitted to hunger of another kind. Emmet went to the fire naked, as natural and easy as if he'd never worn clothes in his life. Hattie watched him, loving the flow and shift of muscle under his sleek skin, the length of his legs, the breadth of his shoulders. His chest was almost bare of hair, but at his belly a narrow line arrowed downwards to the golden nest in which his now relaxed manhood rested. "It's a good thing," he said over his shoulder, "that I wasn't paying much attention to what I was doing this morning. If the fire hadn't gone out, we'd have fried grounds." He shook the coffeepot. Hattie could hear how little water it held. She rolled to the edge of the bed. "I should be doing that." Reaching for her skirt, she wondered if the stream would be too cold for her to bathe. She was sticky with the residue of their lovemaking. As if he read her mind, he said, "Go on down to the creek and wash yourself. I'll take care of breakfast." When she hesitated, he warned her, "Hurry now. Ellen's not going to sleep all day." Hattie hurried. When she returned he had meat warm in the pan and coffee cooling in her cup. And Ellen on his still bare arm, awake and content to be held and talked to. "Eat," he told her, "while she's happy with me." Hattie did, gratefully. She wondered if all babies hungered at mealtimes, or if only her child was determined that her mother would not enjoy an uninterrupted meal as long as she nursed. Emmet shifted Ellen to his other arm and picked up his buckskin shirt, letting Hattie see that it was wrapped around something small and heavy. He dropped

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html it carefully beside her. "Take a look," he said. Hattie finished her fried venison, wishing they had some bacon, some eggs, even some oatmeal. Once she got to the Willamette, she would never eat venison again. Setting her plate beside her, she reached for the shirt. "Careful. Don't spill it." She opened the bundle. And gasped at the pile of raw gold it held. "Yeah. And that was only in one little hole." He grinned. "You'll have yourself a mansion, Hattie girl. And a stable full of horses, a carriage with red velvet cushions. Whatever you want." All I want is you.But she smiled, "I told you Buffalo wouldn't lie about this." "That you did." Just then Ellen decided she'd been patient quite long enough. Hattie held out her arms. * * * They harvested the gold almost as they would watercress, with bare hands and a bucket. For a few hours each day Hattie made her way along the creek bank, carrying the bucket, receiving the handsful of nuggets and golden sand Emmet dug out of quiet holes under mossy banks, picked up from eddies where the creek showed its fickleness by taking off in a new direction. In the other hours, they learned of each other. They spoke of childhoods different as night and day, of places Emmet had been and Hattie only dreamed of. Oh, yes, and they loved. It took only a glance, a touch, sometimes simply a word, and they were in each other's arms. They came together on grassy banks with the music of the creek a joyous counterpoint to their loving. Once he took her up in his arms, her legs wrapped around his hips, in too much of a hurry even to find a place to lay them down. Another time she pulled him atop her on a huge gray boulder--a soft rock, she insisted later, because it had no sharp edges--while her babe gurgled and sang in the cradleboard, hung from a sturdy branch. "I remember the sky," Emmet said, one afternoon as they lay, naked, in filtered sunlight. The creek here split into branches, and one followed a narrow cut through a grove of the tall firs. "It was gray, like before a rain, but all the time." He was telling the little he remembered of Manchester, before his parents had used every cent they had to purchase the cheapest of passages to America. "And everything else was gray, too, it seemed like. I don't remember any color at all." He reached out to touch a tiny pink blossom, the miner's lettuce that had been their only fresh food so much of the winter. "No flowers, no grass, no sky." Rolling on his back, he pulled her close. "On our second or third day at sea I can remember looking up and seeing the sky. I was frightened--such a

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html strange color." "Strange?" she murmured, tracing a finger across his chest. She loved the hard feel of it, always warm, vibrating faintly with each beat of his heart. He chuckled. "It was blue," he said, "blue and clean. And the sea was green. I was so excited I rushed back down after Da, tried to drag him on deck to see for himself." He fell silent and his eyes grew distant and sad. "But he was seasick. They all were." Hattie knew pity for a child full of the thrill of discovery and no one to share it with. She remembered how her mother and father had always taken time to listen to their children. They had never had much, beyond happiness. But that had been enough, for her memories of those years before her whole family was snatched away from her were mostly good ones. "We went through some towns in Pennsylvania where there were mines and mills--I don't know what they were mining--and the sky was like that. It was hideous." She had commented then on the dreariness of people's lives who lived like that and Karl had reminded her that she would not like a world without tools and modern conveniences--like fine steel needles and comfortable wagons with iron-tired wheels. "Da talked about going to the coal fields," Emmet said, "but we never did." He was silent a long time and Hattie felt his regret. "When we got to Boston, we had nothing and he had to work at whatever he could find." Another silence, shorter this time. "It wasn't much. There were three or four men for every job." We slept in the streets for, oh, I don't know. Two or three nights maybe, until we found a room to share with another family." "A room?" For once Hattie was grateful that her father had been a good cowman. While the houses prosperous farmers provided for their hired men were rarely more than hovels, at least Charles Holmes had never failed to provide food and shelter for his family. "One room, maybe twice as big as Buff's cabin. Altogether there were nine of us--ten after Jonathan was born." Now Hattie understood why he had spent so few daylight hours in the cabin through the winter. It must have reminded him painfully of a time he would rather forget. "Was Jonathan your brother?" She'd never heard him speak of brothers or sisters and had assumed he was an only child. The only one that had survived to grow up, at least. Emmet nodded. "He was born a little while after we landed in Boston. I don't know how long, but Ma had showed her condition on the boat, so it couldn't have been too long." Absently he touched her body, cupping her breasts, then stroking across her belly. "She always seemed to be pregnant, far back as I can remember. But Jonathan was the only baby born. The others always came too soon." "Oh, no!" Hattie said, wondering how she could have endured losing Ellen before she even held her. "So there was only you and Jonathan?" "And Sheila." A hard note came into Emmet's voice. "She was older than me.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Three or four years, I guess. And pretty as a new penny." Hattie was afraid to ask what had become of his family. The way he spoke of them, they were all gone. That or he had lost touch with them as he wandered the world. "We never did get to the coal fields," he said, after another of the long, bitter silences. "Da finally found work with a carter. Delivering beer. In barrels." He told her how they'd moved into a larger room, all theirs, and how his mother was slow to recover from Jonathan's birth. "I tried to help with him, but mostly he was hungry and I... I didn't know what to do about that. I did my best." Emmet's best was far more than most men were capable of. Hattie wondered if his family had appreciated what he had done, a mere child burdened with responsibilities beyond his years. He went on. "Sheila found work too. She said it was in a fine house where she was an upstairs maid. Since she bought a few pennies home every Sunday, nobody thought too much about it." The story unfolded, filled with hopelessness and defeat. Emmet's mother had never recovered from childbirth. Her cough, which had been only a nuisance for several years, had worsened as winter caught Boston in its freezing grasp. Soon she was unable to move from her pallet, unable to feed the tiny, wizened boy who lay wasting beside her. "Da bought milk and I tried to feed him, but the cow's milk didn't agree with him. We tried gruel and broth, and they helped. Then one day Da didn't come home." Oh my God!Hattie didn't want to hear any more. She laid her hand on Emmet's mouth, but he merely lifted it off, unkissed. "I went looking for him. I knew his delivery route, so I backtracked when they told me at the brewery that his wagon was still out. When I found him... oh, God, I can still see it!" Turning his face away from her, Emmet covered his eyes with his forearm. Hattie wanted to hold him, to comfort him, but suspected that he would not accept her sympathy. It was too much like pity. It was almost as if he had to tell the rest, no matter how it hurt him to speak the words. "He was lying in the street. They'd moved the barrel off him, but he wasflat . His eyes were open and he saw me." His voice broke, but after a few deep breaths, he went on. "'You'll have to be the man now, son' he said. Then he just... he just stopped." Hattie soothed, speaking meaningless syllables, touching him with love and tenderness, but without seduction. Although she had seen other children thrust into adult responsibilities as a tender age, it never failed to affect her. How fortunate she had been to have Uncle James and Aunt Nettie, for they'd let her ease gradually into adulthood, for a while at least.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Emmet accepted her sympathy this time. She felt his body slowly relax, gradually lose the rigidity it had taken on as he related his family's fate. She hoped he'd sleep, here in the grassy meadow, under the warm spring sun. Instead he turned to her and took her, fiercely, hungrily, as if seeking solace of another kind. * * * "It's a good thing," Emmet said, one afternoon as they lay naked under the sun, "that the gold does 'jest lay on the ground for the takin'. Else we'd end up in the poorhouse." Hattie laughed at his imitation of Buffalo's style of speech. Pulling a green, feathery grass head from the clump where his head rested, she drew it across his bare chest, laughing again when he snatched it away from her. They wrestled for the tickler, but it was soon forgotten as Emmet felt still another surge of desire for her. He wondered if he would ever slake this enduring thirst for her. She brought him joy as well as soul-deep contentment. But it could not last, this special time. It was too good to last, too intoxicating. He had not laughed--had not had such reason to laugh with sheer joy--so much in his entire life. Soon enough they would return to the others. But until then he would not willingly give up one single moment of his time with Hattie. "Look!" Hattie pointed upward. A dark shape circled above them, its white head and tail shining in the sunlight. "Do you suppose it can see us?" She rolled into the shelter of his arm, rested her head on his shoulder. "I reckon it can," he said, "and it's probably wishing we'd go away so it can hunt its supper." "Wouldn't it be wonderful to fly? To be so high above the ground, so free?" "Hattie girl, nothing's free." Emmet had, more than once, thought he'd found freedom, only to discover that he'd found another sort of unwanted responsibility. Her voice was thoughtful when she finally answered. "Oh, but with some things you don't mind the cost." He refused to pursue that thought, and set about distracting her in the best way he knew. The days slipped one into another as gradually their panniers became filled with gold, until it was time to go back. The night before they would return to the others, Emmet took Hattie again and again to the peak, wanting her to have incomparable memories of him, no matter who she married, there in the Willamette. For she would marry. He had no doubt. A woman like Hattie was meant to be a wife, to be a mother. Emmet all but forgot his own throbbing need as he pleasured her. There was not a fingertip's breadth of her body that he did not touch and kiss and taste. She screamed when his tongue found the center of her womanhood, then subsided to tortured, formless cries as he teased and tasted, inhaling the musky scent of her. He loved her until he could stay his own release no longer. Plunging into her, he forgot everything else in the timeless cadence of love. And all too soon it

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html was over. He collapsed atop her, exhausted, satiated, but still unsatisfied. Into his numbed mind a single thought crept. Would he ever find this sense of belonging again? Holding her close, Emmet stared into the star-filled sky. Hattie slept, having fed Ellen and tucked her again into her little nest at the edge of their bed. He held her and wished to slow the turning of the planet, the advance of night. But morning came, and nothing was the same. Hattie was withdrawn, almost as if she were afraid to let herself touch him. Ellen was cranky, hating the cradleboard in which she'd spent so little time this past week. Even Bessie gave him trouble, attempting to kick him as he milked and swiping her tail across his face until he was tempted to take his knife to it. At least Odin and Hero were their usual placid selves, even when he loaded their panniers heavy with gold. It seemed to take twice as long to get back over the ridges as it had to come, even though Emmet knew, from the sun's position, that they were making good time. They stopped for nooning in a grove of enormous firs, at the summit of the highest ridge. Emmet left Hattie feeding Ellen while he moved ahead, checking out the trail, looking for any sign that others had come this way since their passage. The trail showed no sign of having been used since they had trod its dusty surface and he was relieved. Still, he had a feeling that something was wrong, a faint prickling at the back of his neck, as if the hairs were wanting to stand on end. He'd be doubly cautious as they descended into the basin where they'd left the rest of their party. They were still in the woods when he became certain something was not right. It was quiet in the meadow. Too quiet. Quickly he went back to where Hattie waited with the livestock, a good hundred yards behind. "I want you to take the animals and go off trail. Find yourself a place to hide--but not someplace you'll be trapped in. And stay there!" "But...?" "Hattie, don't argue. Something's wrong and I want to know you're safe before I see what it is." She looked at him for a moment, a straight, measuring look. "How will you find me?" Gesturing at the cattle, he said, "They'll leave a trail a child could follow." "Then it won't do me much good to hide, will it?" She was right, damn it. And what could he do for the others now that could not be as well done after he got Hattie to safety? Hattie and Ellen. "Let's go." He led her back the way they'd come, to a faint game trail he'd noticed when they passed it. "Keep 'em in line," he instructed, leading Bessie, the least docile of the cattle, by her halter. The thick pine needles would make

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html it easier to conceal the animals' tracks. With luck anyone who followed would see nothing beyond the expected elk and deer sign. They found a hidden glade, a place where, under other circumstances, he would have been tempted to while away the afternoon loving her. Surrounded by young trees no more than thirty feet high, with branches still brushing the ground, it was green-carpeted and sunny. An elongated mound of soft and rotting wood, the carcass of a tree fallen long ago, filled the center of the glade. Emmet unloaded the cattle, then scouted up the hill beyond the glade. To his great relief, a continuation of the game trail led that way and down into the next drainage. Hattie could follow it until she found the creek where they had lived for the past week. If she had to. If he failed to return. "If I'm not back by tomorrow," he told her, once he was satisfied she had a bolt hole if needs be, "forget the gold. Go back along the way we came and...." "If you're not back tomorrow, I'll be coming to find you," she told him, glaring up into his face. "Will you risk Ellen, then?" Her expression told him she had not considered the danger to her child. "Look, it could be that they've moved camp. Gone upstream maybe, because they'd taken all they could from the creek." He didn't mention the spiral of smoke he'd seen, coming from a willow thicket a good mile below where they'd left Silas, William and Flower. It bespoke a far larger fire than they would have made. He wondered if they were still alive. Hattie didn't argue this time when he showed her, pointing, how she would find the way back to the trail they'd followed coming in. "When you figure it's safe--a couple of weeks ought to be enough, you come back here. Follow this creek on down to where the little stream comes in from the west--remember?" She nodded, frowning. "Take your time," he told her, his hands busily checking the leather bags of gold. It wouldn't for her to lose them. They might be the only future she had. "You can live on roots and berries if you have to. And water." His belly clenched at the thought of her having to live off the land. At least it was late spring, and there would be berries ripe soon. "When you get to the head of that creek, you should be able to see where we came in. I raised a marker there, pointing the way." "I saw it. I wondered..." Her voice trailed off, but her chin was firm. Keeping his face averted, he slapped the faithful Odin on the shoulder. "Take care of her, he whispered." Aloud he said, "Once you get to the ridge, you'll see the trees along the Boise. Head for them, and follow them down to Fort Boise." She made a small sound of denial. Emmet turned and faced her, taking her chin in his hand. "Hattie, girl, you've got to. Buff's cabin won't be safe for you, if you're all alone. Promise me you'll go to the fort." "I promise," she said. "But what if...?" Emmet laid a finger across her lips. "This is because I'll feel better for

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html knowing you'll be able to take care of yourself, not because I think there's any danger," he said, knowing he lied. He handed her his Henry. With it and the shotgun, she'd have a decent chance to defend herself. "You rest here and I'll be back before you know it." She nodded again, her lower lip quivering. But she met his eyes straight on, chin high. If there was a woman alive who could get herself back to the Boise River alone, it was Hattie. He kissed her once, a hard kiss, then walked away. Had he stayed a second longer, he could not have gone. The smoke still climbed toward the sky. Emmet crept around the margin of the meadow, approaching the campsite carefully. He stopped several times, to listen, to sniff. Finally he heard voices. Unfamiliar voices. Moving even more cautiously now, Emmet continued his stalk. When he was no more than fifty yards downstream, he stopped again and sniffed. The smell he'd noticed a ways back was stronger here. Meat. Cooked meat. Beef. He went to ground, crawling and slithering among the tightly packed willow stems. And then he was only feet from the clearing. There! The thin screen of willows allowed him a full view. Directly across from him, William lay upon the ground, his arms above his head. Looking closer, Emmet saw the rope holding them to the nearest willow. Another stretched loosely from his feet to other willows. A dirty rag was stuffed into his mouth, held by a leather thong tied wickedly tight around his head, cutting into his dark cheeks. His clothing--the buckskins he was so proud of--was torn and muddy, although the mud was dry. So he'd been there at least a day. Where was Silas? Ah. There, a quarter of the way around the clearing, gagged and tied hand and foot just like William. He looked to be in worse shape, his face bloodied and one pants leg dark with moisture, probably more blood. Only one man sat by the fire, a big, hairy man whose rank smell Emmet could detect even at this distance. Three others were doing something off to the left, one crouched over something on the ground, the others standing above him, watching. Wondering if he could find an opening in the willows wide enough to ensure that his thrown knives would not be deflected, Emmet crawled a few feet in that direction. He could pick off two of them quickly, but if either of the others had a gun within reach, his action would be for naught, for he had but three knives. And where was Flower? One of the standing men kicked at the one on his knees. "Hurry it up, Wilb. If Short Leg and Pyzen get back anytime soon, I ain't a'gonna have my turn." The leafy branch before him barely moved as Emmet touched it with a cautious hand. Great God! There were two more of them! Six altogether. And him with but three knives and no gun. Then the man's words registered, and Emmet saw what he was doing. It was not a leather bag or a pack the crouching man was working with. It was

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Flower, her clothing half off, her body bruised. The crouching man was pumping himself into her, using her roughly, his face an ugly mask of lust. Emmet's hand clenched around the handle of his Bowie knife, but he forced himself to be still. There was nothing to be gained by haste, and everything to be lost. He could attempt to save the woman, but to do so would sacrifice both Silas and William. He watched until dusk, watched the four of them take Flower in turn, and was enraged. He saw blood on her thighs, dry blood, and hoped it was from the rending of her maidenhead and not from their brutal use of her. And he saw that she was passive rather than defeated, for her movements when at last they left her alone were slow and painful, but deliberate and self-protective. More than once he tensed, preparing to leap into the clearing and each time he reminded himself that he wanted all three of his people safely free, not just Flower. And there was Hattie, too, waiting for him, trusting in his return. So he waited. Two more men appeared as the sun was sinking behind the hills to the west, Indian and white. Emmet recognized the white man. Pyzen Joe, he called himself. A vicious, lazy man who'd not lasted his first season on the traplines, who had turned to preying on the weak and the helpless as a better, easier way. As Emmet listened, he realized that Pyzen Joe's companions were cut from the same cloth. Their conversation confirmed his suspicion that they were the renegades Goat Runner had told him about. Raiders of isolated Indian villages, probably robbers and murderers of solitary travelers of any color. They were more dangerous than the panther that had taken Buff's mule, more deadly than the silvertip grizzly respected by all who wandered the western mountains. And more treacherous than the rattler that struck from concealment. The renegades ate, not bothering to feed Silas and William, or even loosen their bonds so that they might relieve themselves. Afterward they again took their turns with Flower, all six of them this time, leaving her limp and possibly unconscious before they were finished with her. Emmet buried his face in the dusty detritus under the willows and worked to contain his rage. He would kill them all, he swore. Slowly. Painfully. At last it was dark and silent. The creek's soft murmur was the only sound

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html besides the almost soundless scratch of willow litter against Emmet's buckskins. For what seemed like hours, he crawled, slithering along on his belly, rarely rising to elbows and knees. At last he reached William. Quickly he sliced through the braided rawhide rope that bound William's legs and arms. "Don't move," he breathed. "Just lie here and let the blood get movin'." He knew the black man's pain would be great when life returned to his limbs and hoped he would be able to contain his moans. "When you can, sneak off to the west. Follow the trail me'n Hat took." William nodded, his mouth already tightening with the anticipation of pain. He repeated his actions and instructions when he freed Silas, glad the renegades had chosen to doss on the other side of the fire, where the ground was less damp. Before he left Silas, he felt of the lad's bloodied leg, making sure it was not broken. Once he was sure Silas and William were capable of taking themselves to safety, albeit slowly, Emmet began the patient crawl that would take him around the perimeter of the clearing to where Flower lay in a crumpled heap. It took him nearly an hour, an hour in which the big Indian--Short Leg, he guessed from the man's limp--woke twice and raised up to look around. But he did not see Emmet, who had used mud to hold twigs and leaves to his pale hair and more mud to darken his face and who kept to the very edge, under the overhanging willows. "Give me your knife," Flower said, her words little more than a breath, as soon as he reached her. "I will kill him." Her passivity had been deliberate. So must her unconsciousness have been feigned. But Emmet had only three knives and he had a need for all of them. He shook his head. "Go," he mouthed, not making a sound. He pointed into the willows behind them, toward where he had spent the evening. She shook her head. "I will kill him," she whispered again. "Not with my knife," he said, hoping she would be sensible. "Then with my hands." Flower began creeping, every bit as silently as he had, toward Short Leg. Emmet twisted, reached, and pulled the knife from his high moccasin. Silently he held it out to her. She took it and resumed her crawl. Emmet crawled beside her, Bowie knife in hand. Chapter Fifteen Hattie tied the cattle and Emmet's horse to trees, afraid they would wander. Then she fed Ellen, even though the babe was barely awake. A baby's hungry cry was nothing like an ordinary forest sound and she didn't know how far it would carry. After that she waited. Ellen was wakeful for a while, but Hattie didn't leave her out of the cradleboard. What if she had to move quickly? She waited through the waning afternoon, through twilight. When it grew too dark for her to see farther than a foot or two, she fed Ellen again, returned her to the cradleboard, then settled against a tree. She would sleep, for she might

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html need her strength tomorrow. She did sleep, though she had no idea how long. Or what woke her. But suddenly she was wide awake, entirely alert. The sound of something heavy moving through the woods came to her ears and she held the rifle at ready. Emmet had made sure she knew how to use it, but she didn't trust it as she did Karl's shotgun. How could she possibly hit a moving target at night with only one bullet? Before she could bring the rifle to her shoulder, she recognized the snorting, panting, tromping noise of running oxen and breathed a sigh of relief. She stepped from behind the tree and onto the edge of the trail. "Whoa," she called softly. "Whoa, boys. Whoa, now." The second animal halted immediately, bless his great heart. "Oh, Jupe," Hattie felt the torn ear rather than saw it as he snorted against her chest. The other two had halted too, and now stood, panting, on the trail. Hattie laid a hand on Jupe's shoulder and led him back into the glade, wondering where her fourth ox was. And who had been driving them? Surely they wouldn't have taken it into their thick heads to stampede up that particular trail for no reason at all. She stayed with the livestock for a few minutes, until the newcomers seemed to settle down. Then she returned to her watching post beside the trail. No sooner was she concealed again in the skirt of the giant fir than she heard human footsteps. Faltering, limping, and more than one person, if she was not mistaken. She held her breath as they came nearer, peering through the branches. It was dark as pitch, here under the trees. But she recognized them, no matter that they were only darker shapes among the shadows. William. Silas. And no one else. Again she stepped from her hiding place, holding her breath at the smell of them. "Here," she called, barely above a whisper, before either of them could react. "In here." She led them into the glade, now crowded with restless animals and smelling of the barnyard. "Miz Hattie! I'se sure glad to see you!" "You all right?" Silas said. "Of course, but what about you? Why were the oxen running? Where's...." "Renegades got us. Caught us yest... no, the day before." William was rubbing his arms, massaging his wrists. "They had us tied up tighter 'n a hog at killin' time. Mist' Em, he cut us loose, but we couldn't hardly move, we was so stiff." "Took us better than an hour to find the oxen," Silas said, "'cause we had to get our blood movin' again. We were lucky they'd wandered this direction. Then we had to move 'em real slow, so we wouldn't be heard." Silas looked around. "Where's Emmet?" "You don't know?" The fear Hattie had successfully held at bay was no longer manageable. "Haven't seen him since he cut us loose." "He was goin' after Flower. They done...."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Shut up, William," Silas snapped. "Flower was on the other side of the clearing. He had to crawl real careful. It probably took him quite a while, 'specially if one of 'em woke up and Em had to wait 'til he got back to sleep." "Do you mean he was crawling around in the dark, at the mercy of a bunch of murdering thieves, and you just left him?" "Wouldn't have done us much good to stick around. We was clumsy as all get out and likely to wake 'em all up with our blunderin'." Silas sat on the ground and rubbed at his ankles. "Damn," he said, "this is wore than bein' frostbit." "He'll be along, Miz Hattie. Don't you worry none. Mist' Em, he's a smart old coon." Despite her fear for Emmet and Flower, she had to smile. Every so often William sounded so much like Buffalo, whom he'd admired greatly. She had no water to give them, but there was still some of the dried beef and a couple of biscuits. "They done kilt your ox, Miz Hattie," William said, licking his fingers. "An' et him." "Didn't give us none, either," Silas said. "Didn't turn us loose for anything." That explained the smell. Hattie tried to imagine how she would cope with her body's natural functions when she could not tend to herself and failed, shuddering. It must have been horrible. "One of us should keep watch," she said, after they'd finished the meager meal. "Just in case." Silas picked up the rifle. "I'll go," he said. "You can relieve me in an hour," he told William when the big fellow started to argue. "I sure wish they hadn't killed Dawg." "He done his best, Miz Hattie," William whispered as the boy disappeared. "He tryin' to protect us and that big white bassard, he jest shot him down 'n leave him to bleed." Hattie squeezed William's arm, knowing he grieved deeply for the only companion of his two-year journey. She waited, watched, listened, unable to sleep. It was almost as if knowing the danger Emmet was in was worse than not knowing. She tried to imagine him inching along on his belly, surrounded by brigands.... "How many were there?" she whispered, then regretted doing so when William started. He'd been dozing. She repeated her question. "There was six of 'em, two Injuns and the rest white trash. They caught us unawares, Miz Hattie, and we was trussed up 'fore we knowed it. Flower, she was off gatherin' yarbs, an' one of the Injuns followed her trail. He, uh, he beat her somthin' awful afore he brung her back." "But she's all right?" "I dunno, Miz Hattie. She was hurt pretty bad." If she was seriously injured, that might account for the delay in Emmet's return. Hattie told herself to stop worrying. She said nothing more, letting William slip into deeper sleep.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html She must have slept as well, for the next thing she knew, Silas was calling softly, "Wake up. Wake up, Hat. William." "What? Emmet?" Then she heard a shot and knew Emmet had not returned. Silas knelt before her, his face a pale shape in the dark. "Hat, Em said there was a back way out of here. I want you to take the cattle and go as fast as you can. Take the shotgun." He slipped her butcher knife behind his belt. "William, you and me will watch her back trail. Let's go." He left, followed by a larger, darker shadow. "We'll catch up," drifted back to her as they disappeared almost soundlessly. "But... but what about...?" "Miz Hattie, I reckon Mist' Em got his hands full," William said. "Me an' Silas, we figure you and the babe u'd be better off far off as you can get. We'uns can catch up with you later." Another shot broke the night's silence. Hattie bit her lip, but nodded. She couldn't risk Ellen. Not even for Emmet. Making sure Ellen's head was covered, she slung the cradleboard onto her shoulders, then caught up Bessie's lead rope. She hoped the rest of the oxen would follow. Odin would, she knew, and Jupe, but Baldur, Hercules and Hero weren't such pets. Pushing through the screen of branches, she set her feet on the unfamiliar path.Dear God, don't let there be a cliff at the end of it. With every step she fought the need to return, to go back and help the men. And knew she could not. She had a slim chance to save herself and her child and she must take it. Ellen must live. * * * He should never have given Flower the knife. Vengeance had no place in survival. She'd taken care of Short Leg while he'd been dealing with the others. But he had hurried, and his third blow was poorly aimed. The bald renegade moved, cried out, when Emmet's knife sliced into the meat of his chest and glanced off a rib. The other, the restless one, wakened. So did Pyzen Joe. And all hell broke loose. Restless rolled over and grabbed his gun just as Emmet took care of Baldy. The bullet struck Emmet in the meaty part of his shoulder, throwing him forward, his face buried in the bloody shirt of the man he'd just stabbed. Fighting the pain, Emmet rolled away, hoping the restless one was slow to reload. He reached the edge of the clearing and took a quick look back. Pyzen Joe seemed to be tangled in his blankets; his cursing was the only sound to be heard. A hand touched Emmet's wounded shoulder and he winced. But he forced himself to wriggle through the willows, following Flower. Behind them Pyzen Joe was still cursing as he crashed into the tangled willow branches. Emmet and Flower emerged near the creek. Without looking back, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along into the shadows of a copse of giant pines. She

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html stumbled once and he dragged her until she got her feet under her again. "Let go," she gasped. "I can keep up." "You'll have to," Emmet said, feeling the hot blood trickling down his back. "This way." He turned to the left, not wanting to lead the renegades to Hattie. Had William and Silas found her? And would they have sense enough to get her and the cattle away and not worry about coming to his aid? He hoped so. He ducked behind a thick tree trunk and peered back. Pyzen Joe was still coming, dodging from shrub to tree, too close for comfort. He touched Flower's shoulder and pointed. She nodded and dashed silently to another tree, even farther from the trail. Five feet from him, she disappeared into the night. With any luck he could do the same and his pursuers would be unable to track him until daylight. Slowly, ever more wearily, he followed Flower. Another shot sounded, but he doubted the shooter had seen him. Again he looked back. Pyzen Joe and the one he'd dubbed Restless were dark shapes against the lighter grass of the meadow. They were standing a few yards from the trees, conferring. He wished he could hear what they were saying. While he watched, Emmet noticed that the stars were dim in the sky. Dawn was not far off. They must go now or not at all. He motioned for Flower to follow him and he crept deeper into the trees. He had a choice: watch his back trail or make the best time he could while he was still able. He chose to make time. They set out across country, roughly paralleling the route he'd told Hattie to take. By the time they topped the first ridge, Emmet was finding each step a struggle. His shirt was soaked with his blood and his vision was poor despite the lightening sky. "You'll have to go ahead," he told Flower, sinking onto a convenient log. "I'll only slow you down." She said nothing, just used the knife she still held to cut his shirt away. Quickly she cut it into strips and wrapped his wound tightly. "There. I will tend it when we can stop. Now we go." She took his arm and pulled him to his feet. "Don't be foolish," Emmet told her. "Save yourself." All he wanted to do was sink to the ground and rest. "Hattie would kill me," she said, almost smiling. "Come. This way." She slipped between two trees, and Emmet, too tired to resist, followed her. He followed her all day, stumbling along behind her as they made their way through the woods, avoiding game trails. He rested when he fell, until she forced him to his feet again. Once they reached the stream where he and Hattie had found first gold, Flower called a halt long enough to catch a trout. Emmet had fished that way when absolutely necessary, using nothing but his wits and his bare hands, but he had never succeeded as quickly as she did. It seemed to him like only seconds before she pulled a fair-sized fish from the water. She gutted it quickly, then sliced thick filets from each side.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Tossing the rest back, she handed him one filet. "Eat," she said, and he did, not needing fire or flavoring. The rest did him good. When they started walking again, he discovered a store of energy he didn't know he still had. Emmet knew that sooner or later the demands he was making on his body would take their toll, but as long as he could keep going, he would. Somewhere up ahead were Hattie and Ellen. They needed him. They found the trail in late afternoon. Three people, six cattle, a horse. Plain as day. "Hell and damnation! Once Pyzen Joe gets sight of this, he'll be right behind us," Emmet said. "Then let us hurry," Flower said. "The more of us there are when he catches us, the better off we will be." She strode away and Emmet followed, willing to let her take charge. His wound no longer bled, nor was it particularly painful, but he'd give all the gold he and Hattie had found for a night's sleep. * * * Silas led Hattie and William upstream once they reached the next valley. Buffalo's map showed no detail to the west, but it showed a large stream north of them, one that emptied into another that flowed west, then south. "With any luck," Silas said, "it'll run into the Boise." "Are you sure?" "Hat, I ain't sure of anything except that I wish Em was here," the boy said. "But we can't go back the way we came." "But Emmet said to head south, over the mountains. He said...." "Those bastards came from the south, Hat," Silas told her, sounding patient, and not at all like the boy he was. "So we'll go north." "It make sense, Miz Hattie," William agreed. They went north. They took no chances, even though they saw no sign of pursuit. Resting when they had to, they traveled all day, going upstream, crossing meadows and pushing through willow groves, traversing bands of forest that fingered down into the ever-narrowing valley. Near sundown they came to a major forking of the creek. Hattie knew the others were as ignorant as she of the lay of the land, and were exhausted besides. "We'll follow the left fork," she decided. "But first we'll rest. William, you scout up that way and see if you can find us a place where we won't be easily seen. Silas, you've always been able to catch fish. Can you get us some supper?" She drove the oxen across the creek, then returned to lead Bessie and Emmet's horse. Wearily she plodded in the direction she'd sent William, trusting that he would find a place for them to rest, knowing that there was no way they could hide their trail. Luck was with them. William found a hollow, much like the one in which she and Emmet had stayed, where a giant pine had fallen away from the foot of a steep slope. Great, tumbled rocks, gray and sparkling with flecks of a shiny mineral,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html helped to conceal the hollow from anyone walking along the creek. Even better, there was nearby grass for the livestock. Hattie milked Bessie, grateful now for the milk. It might be all the food they had. Soon Silas appeared, carrying three medium-sized trout strung on a willow whip. And so they dined on raw fish and warm milk, and decided that few kings had ever fared better, particularly when Silas presented her with half a dozen tiny strawberries. They were not quite ripe, but delicious nonetheless. "You reckon we're gonna get away, Hat?" Silas was tense, his head turning at every sound, his eyes never still. Hattie looked at him--really looked at this boy who'd been like a brother to her ever since Karl had taken his bond when he was a skinny ten-year-old. And she saw a man. Oh, he was still reed-slim and unformed, beardless and scrawny. But he had a man's strength of purpose and a man's pride, and he would protect her with his last breath. "We'll make it," she said softly, wishing she really believed her own words. William appeared at the edge of the hollow. "Somebody's comin'," he said, his voice barely carrying to where Hattie sat. "I'se goin' to keep the stock quiet." Silas was away before William disappeared. Quickly Hattie wrapped Ellen and put her back into the cradleboard, slipping her arms into the straps. Then she waited, holding the shotgun at ready. She heard nothing. There was no wind, no birdcalls. It was as if the whole forest were waiting for something. Something good? Or something evil? The next thing she knew, Silas was helping Emmet into the hollow. Flower was right behind them. "He's hurt," Silas said. "I'm fine," Emmet contradicted, but his voice was strained. "He was shot," Flower said, "and still carries the ball." That was when Hattie saw that she was half naked, her buckskin shirt entirely gone, her skirt ripped up one side. "You're hurt too," she said, seeing the bruises on Flower's golden skin, even in the dim light of late evening. "Never mind that," Flower said. "Help me!" She was behind Emmet, cutting away the leather strips which had sunk deep into the swollen flesh of his shoulder and back. "I'll keep watch." Silas disappeared again. Hattie caught Emmet's wrist and was amazed at the heat of it. She laid a hand across his forehead and found it even hotter. "He's feverish," she told Flower at the same time she managed to capture his other wrist. "Hold still, Emmet! We're trying to help you." "No time," he said. "Gotta move. They're close behind." Hattie looked up at Flower who was prodding at Emmet's back with cautious fingers. "Are they?" Flower nodded. "They are following you, not us, I think. But they are not more than an hour or two behind." "But won't they stop for the night?" Flower had stopped her examination of Emmet's wound and was gathering pine needles into a small pile. "I need fire," she said, "to cauterize. And yes, Hattie, they will probably stop for the night, but so must we. The moon won't rise until late." William returned. "They's quiet. Didn't even.... Lawsy, gal, you need

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html doctorin' your own self." He pulled his shirt over his head. "Take this, and soon's you're done with Mist' Em, you let Miz Hattie fix you up too." He handed Flower the shirt and took the flint and steel from her. "I kin do this. You jest get yourself dressed." Flower slipped into William's shirt, rolling the sleeves up several times before her hands appeared from within them. She held the knife just above the small fire as soon as it showed flame, wiping it again and again. "It must be cleansed," she said, almost to herself. "His blood would poison even a skunk." Hattie thought the knife looked clean enough, but the savage expression on Flower's face kept her silent. When the Indian woman said, "Hold him, now," she did, straddling the now prone Emmet and leaning on his wrists with all her weight. "He'll need this," William said, showing Hattie a chunk of wood. He knelt beside Emmet. "Open your mouth, now, Mist' Em. We don't want you a'yellin' when she finds that there ball." Emmet obediently clamped his teeth on the wood and nodded slightly when Flower said, "You ready?" Hattie could not watch. It wasn't that she minded the sight of blood, but that the flesh being cut, the flowing blood, was Emmet's. She concentrated on keeping him still, but he was too strong. She was grateful when William knelt beside her and said, "You ain't gonna be able to hold him when Flower finds that there ball, so you jest go set on his feet and I'll do this." They traded places. She knew when Flower found the ball, for Emmet's feet lifted under her and William nearly lost his hold. "Deep," Flower said. "Real deep." She flicked the ball aside and picked up the narrow-bladed throwing knife, almost red hot now. "I must cauterize, Emmet," she warned, just as she laid the blade into his wound. Again he bucked under her, but not a sound escaped him. And then Hattie felt him relax. He had passed out, thank the Lord. She crawled to his head and stroked his face. It was, if anything, hotter than before. "Flower? His fever...." "I know," she answered. "As soon as I can get some willow bark into him, I will. And I will need some mud, to draw the poison." She wiped the knives and laid them aside. "I will tend him. You all need to sleep." "But...." "Hattie, you have Ellen to think of first. I will tend him." Hattie gave in. Reluctantly. * * * They tied Emmet to Odin's back in the morning, Hattie trusting the gentle white ox far more than the half-wild horse. Emmet was intermittently conscious, telling them what to do, warning them to move quickly, ordering them to leave him behind for he would only slow their escape. They ignored him. After a quick breakfast of raw flour stirred into milk, they set out, still to the north, still climbing. By the time the sun rose, they had reached a place where the creek veered east.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Hattie called a rest, sending Silas to look at their back trail. In the light, Hattie could see Flower clearly. "They raped you, didn't they?" she said, quietly so William wouldn't hear. The big Negro had been walking protectively close to Flower, but now he was filling the bucket, for Flower had said they must get Emmet to drink. The fever was driving all moisture from his body. Flower nodded. "But they will not, again." The savagery in her face made Hattie's breath catch in her throat. "They'll never rape anyone again." "But they're following...." "Only two or three. The others are dead." Hattie said no more. Flower's tone had said enough. But she wondered how many had died by Flower's hand. And found she could not fault the other woman, no matter how many wicked lives she had taken. "They're there," Silas said when he returned. "But a ways back." He snorted. "Damfools. They're still camped. I could see the smoke." "They probably think they'll have no problem catching up with us," Hattie said, wondering if they were right. "Or maybe they know something about the country ahead we don't," Silas said. "I hope not." Hattie only knew there was a river; Buffalo's map showed nothing more. Pray God it would take them to the valley of the Boise. After a long, difficult climb, they came to the edge of the world, a treeless promontory below which the land fell in steep folds to a thin blue line of water, winding crookedly between steep walls. Hattie gasped. "Holy shit," Silas said. William stared. "Lawd a' mighty!" "We can do it," Flower told them. "Look, there is a path." She pointed to the east, where a ridge stretched its sharp spine almost to the river. A narrow game trail led into the trees, slanting downwards. Hattie felt as though she would have to have one leg shorter than the other to follow it. That or cling to the grass on the hillside, else she would go rolling head over heels. But she followed where Flower led, walking beside Odin where she could, just ahead of him where she must. The other cattle followed easily, but Emmet's horse fought William's grip on his halter, nearly sending them both careening downslope. "Turn him loose," Hattie ordered. "We can do without him." William didn't even argue. He held the horse while Silas transferred the saddle to Jupiter's back, securing it as best he could. "You gonna follow us, horse, or you gonna go back an' let yourself git caught by them bassards?" The horse shook its head, but stood quietly, now that it was no longer held. When William removed its bridle as well, it lowered its head to snatch at the grass beside the narrow trail. "We should kill it, if we are not going to keep it," Flower said, "else they might catch it." Hattie shuddered at the thought of giving the renegades any sort of advantage, but she could not allow the horse to be killed. "No," she said. "It will follow us." She hoped. They went cautiously, making several stops so Hattie could feed Ellen, who was cranky and not easily satisfied. But they didn't dare let her cry, for her

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html high wail would carry far. The horse followed, but kept a ways behind. Emmet roused now and again. More than once he insisted that they leave him behind and escape, but no one paid mind to his incoherent demands. The slope grew steeper. They were low enough now that they could see how the river boiled along its narrow, boulder-strewn channel. At dark they halted, but made no camp, for they were still following the narrow trail. Hattie tied Emmet to a tree and sat close to him. William had found a seep late in the afternoon and had filled the bucket, so she patiently held the cup to his mouth, encouraging him to sip again and again. Although he took far too little to please her, at least he was responding, so she held hope that he was getting no worse. But he was hot. So hot! William tethered the livestock to convenient trees. The humans wedged themselves uphill behind others, and did their best to sleep. Late the next morning they came to an open stretch where the hillside moved and slid and supported no trees. With great care they picked their way across the slide, nearly a half-mile wide. They were almost at the edge, almost among the trees again, when a shot sounded. They ran. Ignoring the slipping, sliding rock under their feet, they dashed for solid ground. And made it. Immediately Silas was on his belly, aiming the rifle, which had scarcely been out of his hands since Hattie handed it to him. "Ahh, damn it! They're too far away." He jumped to his feet, tossed the rifle to William. "Go! All of you! Get as far as you can." Hattie hesitated, even as William and Flower dragged the oxen away. "Go, damn it, Hat!" Silas headed upslope and was quickly out of sight. She went, driving the milch cow ahead into sheltering trees. Once she looked back, but she could not see Silas, only the horse, trotting in their wake. Then they were in the open again, facing another long open stretch, steep and sliding as the first. "We'll stand," Flower said, coming up beside her. "We must." Hattie nodded. She slashed the thongs holding Emmet to Jupe's back, giving the ox a chance if none of them survived. With Flower's help, she lowered her wounded husband to lie beneath a pine. "You can't die," she whispered, laying her palm briefly on his cheek. "Not you, too." Leaving him there, all three of them turned back, made their way through the woods until they could see the first slide. Two dark figures cautiously worked their way across, drawing nearer with each step. "Wait," Hattie told Flower, who now had the rifle. "Wait until they're so close you can't miss." Wondering if she would be able to shoot, she held the shotgun with damp hands. She watched, dry-mouthed, as the men drew nearer. Yes, she could, she decided, seeing their faces clearly for the first time. Filthy, unshaven, bestial,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html they held nothing of mercy, of human decency. She would shoot and shoot to kill. Without hesitation. Without regret. A rumble came from above. Then a roar. The ground beneath her feet vibrated. Hattie froze, looked upward. It was as if the entire hillside was in motion. Rocks plummeted and bounced, flew and rolled. Huge boulders and tiny pebbles, gravel and cobble and shards and fragments, they cascaded downward. Although she was still well within the fringe of woods, Hattie knew she was in almost as much danger as if she were on the unprotected slope. But she could not move, except to shrink against a nearby tree, hoping it would not be carried away by the rocky torrent. The cascade became a flood. Dust filled the air until Hattie could see scarce two yards in front of her. She clung to the tree, feeling it sway and tremble with each rock striking it. Eventually the sound faded to a mere rumble. The dust slowly settled. Hattie wiped grit and dust from her face and opened her eyes. The hillside before her seemed unchanged, as if the awful cataclysm had never occurred. It was still steep and still crumbling. It was empty of life.

Chapter Sixteen Silas caught up with them, dusty, with scratches and dried blood on his face and hands. "Almost got caught," he admitted, "when I rolled a big boulder." His grin was boyish, delighted. "Wasn't that just a show," he crowed. "I never figured so much would slide. And it looks like it took care of 'em, too. No sign of anything but that fool horse of Emmet's, tryin' to decide whether to follow or not." They made their way among the ridges and ravines all the rest of that day and most of the next, none of them quite believing their pursuers had been vanquished. The ravines were brush-choked, often with piled boulders through which the party had to pick their careful way. Emmet was still feverish. Hattie tried to force water into him each time they halted to rest or for her to feed Ellen, but she had little luck. He was often unconscious now, and when he awoke he seemed to have no awareness of his surroundings. William was sometimes able to pry his mouth open and pour liquid into him, often sending him into paroxysms of coughing. Finally Hattie told him to stop trying; she feared he would drown Emmet.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html The second day they descended into a wider ravine that gradually widened out onto a forested bench. The roar of the tumbling river was less, leading Hattie to hope that perhaps they were past the terrifying stretch of rapids they had seen from above. With leaden arms, she pushed her way through the willows marking still another creek, wondering how much longer she could do this. All she really wanted to do was collapse, sleep until she could sleep no more. The creek was wider than those they had crossed earlier, its gradient easier. Boulder strewn, as every stream she'd seen in the mountains had been, it still offered an easier path. She followed William and Flower, falling farther and farther behind, noticing that neither of them were walking quite steadily either. How could they? Abused, exhausted, half-starved, they seemed to pull endurance from deep inner sources, sources she lacked, for she truly felt she could go no farther. When Ellen began fussing, she was grateful for the excuse to stop walking. She called ahead, telling the others. To her surprise, William came back to her. "Don't stop now, Miz Hattie. There ain't much farther to go." He pulled her arm around his waist and half supported her. "Jest a little bit now and you kin sit and rest." She allowed him to pull her forward, although each step was an effort. The stream curved and so did they, slipping on wet cobbles in its bed, avoiding larger boulders around which the water frothed and gurgled. "Look there, Miz Hattie," William told her after what seemed an impossible journey. "We done made it." Ahead of them the bench sloped to the river, gentle and broad. Hattie did what she had been promising herself she would not do. She collapsed. William helped her slip out of the cradleboard straps, laid the board on her lap. She released Ellen who was squalling loudly now, hoping she still had milk. Twice today she knew her baby had found all too little nourishment in her breasts. As Ellen was feeding, Flower brought her water and stood over her until she drank it all. It was cool and sweet, reminding her that she had seldom taken time to drink while she was trying to force Emmet to do so. Emmet! "Where's Silas?" She sat straighter and looked back along the trail. "And Emmet?" "They're coming," Flower said. "Listen!" Hattie did but she heard nothing. Soon, however, Silas came around the bend of the stream, followed closely by Odin, on whose back Emmet sprawled. Bessie and the other oxen followed, as did the horse. Silas touched Odin's shoulder once they were on the grass and the ox halted, its head drooping. All of the cattle were gaunt, their eyes dull. Flower helped the boy untie Emmet who slid bonelessly onto the grass. His face was pale, except where dark bruises circled one eye and covered his cheek. But he was alive, for once he was lying on the ground, he opened his eyes. "Give me my knife," he said, his voice a faint croak. "I won't let 'em take Hattie." He half sat, clearly an effort. "Give it to me," he demanded. "I can fight." His hands scribbled at his belt, found the empty scabbard. "Where's my knife?"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Flower caught his hand. "They're dead," she said, forcing him to look at her. "They're dead, Emmet. They won't hurt Hattie." "No!" Another croak. "I didn't... he was still breathing... Baldy...." He fought Flower's hold, but was clearly too weak to prevail against her strength. "I'll tend him, gal. You take care of your ownself." William knelt beside Emmet, raising his shoulders and holding a tin cup to his mouth. "Mist' Em, you drink this here, now." Patiently he held the cup, shaking Emmet gently every time he sank into unconsciousness. Feeling helpless, Hattie watched. Was it her imagination or did he seem to revive as he drank? Despite their exhaustion, they managed to put together a meal--the first they'd had for how many days? Hattie stirred flour and milk together over the fire and dropped in the sliced cat-tail root Flower gave her. Silas caught three fish, which he wrapped in grass and buried in the coals. William brought in a double handful of bright red strawberries, none larger than the tip of her little finger, but exploding with flavor. Hattie could not remember a better meal in her entire life. After they ate, they slept, all of them, huddled together for warmth. * * * Emmet woke to a clear head and a body shrieking with pain. His shoulders felt as if they'd been pulled apart, as if someone was twisting an auger into his back. His wrists and ankles were rubbed raw. He lay still, attempting to clear his memory, which was full of disconnected images. He could tell it was nearly morning by the scent of dew-wet vegetation. A few tentative birdcalls added to the impression, for all it was still pitch dark. No, not quite. He could see the tips of conifers silhouetted against a deep lavender sky, could see that the stars were fading before the oncoming dawn. He moved, ignoring the protest of shoulder and hip joints, moved and felt a warm body wedged against his side. Immediately he froze. Had he been taken captive by the renegades? He'd been wounded--now he remembered. That was the auger. Flower had bound the wound, but had had no time to do more. And then they'd run. They'd caught up with Hattie; he remembered that as well. And so had the renegades. He saw Pyzen Joe clearly in his mind's eye, coming toward him as he waited, helpless, weaponless, knowing he had no way to save Hattie beyond bare hands and a body bled almost dry. A squeak broke into the ever-increasing birdsong. Another, then a familiar gurgle. Ellen! And if Ellen was nearby, so must Hattie be. Ignoring the stiffness and pain, Emmet forced himself half-upright, pushing back the covering fur which he now recognized as Buff's bearskin. No sooner did he move than the figure beside him did as well, turning to face him. "Emmet," Hattie whispered, "how are you feeling?" Emmet Lachlan had not wept since his father died, for a man held his tears inside. But he wept, pulling Hattie to him, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her sweet mouth. Murmuring her name over and over.Safe , he told himself,she

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html is safe . She gave him back his kisses with fervor, whispering her thanks that he was conscious, was no longer burning with fever. And with her words, he remembered a timeless period in which he lay burning in a hell of his own making, regretting as much the sins he hadn't committed as the ones he had. Ellen interrupted their mutual welcome, demanding sustenance. Emmet fell back onto his bed, closing his eyes. He still didn't know how they had escaped the renegades, or if they had, but he was immeasurably relieved to know that Hattie and Ellen were safe. For the time being, at least. Experimentally he moved his shoulders again. He felt as if he'd been tied, somewhat in the same manner as William and Silas had been in the renegades' camp. But he had not been a captive. How? And why? No matter. As soon as he could move with any ease, he struggled to his feet. Standing there, feeling himself sway like a pine in a high wind, he admitted that he'd felt better a time or two. Hattie watched him as he worked his shoulders, attempting to ease the ache. "I was afraid you'd be sore," she told him, "but you were too far gone to hold on." "Hold on?" "You've spent the last two days tied on Odin's back like a big sack of cornmeal," she said, her smile flashing in the dawning light. "Your horse wouldn't carry you." Emmet sniffed. He stunk like a pile of rotting beaver pelts. "Can't say as I blame him." He bent and stretched, wincing whenever he felt a pull on the wound in his back. "Have you been watching our back trail? They're bound--" "They're dead," Hattie said, her voice tight and filled with satisfaction. "Silas started a landslide and, well...." He thought he'd dreamed the bounding, sliding, roaring, rockfall, but he hadn't. "All three of them?" Baldy hadn't died under his knife, although he'd lost his urge to fight. "Three?" Hattie sat up, pulling Ellen from her breast. The babe objected. "Hush, sweeting," Hattie soothed, guiding her nipple back to the questing little mouth. "There were three of them?" "We only killed three." He'd never slain in cold blood before. It had not been easy. It had been necessary. "I saw Pyzen Joe and one other... somewhere on a hillside?" "That was when they caught up with us. Just before the slide." Hattie frowned. "But you said three?" "I cut one, but I don't know how bad." Emmet resolved to go back and find Baldy, make sure he'd never find them again. "The others... don't worry about them." "Flower said she killed the man who... who found her," Hattie said, her fingers stroking across Ellen's head. "Oh, Emmet, she looked so fierce when she told me. So unforgiving." "Can you blame her?" "Of course not. I'd want to kill anyone who did that to me, I think."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "You wouldn't have to, Hattie," Emmet vowed. "I'd kill him for you." * * * They rested. Emmet insisted he was able to stand--or sit--watch and allowed William to help him onto his horse. The wretched animal was perfectly tame and docile, now that its master was once more in command. He rode back up their trail early on, promising to shoot first and ask questions later. "That way you'll have some warning so you can get across the river," he told Hattie before he left. She watched him, concerned. He could hardly stand without support. What a stubborn man! His wound had closed, although the skin around it was red and hard. She worried that it should be draining, despite Flower's assurance that the lack of fever indicated his body had defeated the infection. Silas and William went downstream to bathe and wash their clothes, much to Hattie's relief. She'd gotten used to the way they smelled, but she couldn't imagine they were comfortable. Flower also bathed and washed her skirt and William's shirt. She was in the water a long time, so long that Hattie finally went to make sure she hadn't drowned. What Hattie saw nearly broke her heart, for Flower was scrubbing herself with handsful of sand, scrubbing so hard that her golden skin was red and raw. Hattie quickly slipped away, knowing this was a time to leave Flower alone. "I'll watch Ellen if you want to bathe," Flower said when she finally returned to camp. Gratefully Hattie accepted her offer. She loved her buckskin clothes--true to Flower's promise, they stayed much cleaner than the wools or cottons she'd worn all her life--but she didn't much care for the body underneath. Too much exertion and fear had given her skin an acrid, musty odor. She took Ellen's diapers with her and washed them in the icy water, beating them against stones until they were clean once more. She vowed to use moss and cat-tail down whenever possible in the future. "I feel absolutely blue," she said later, warming her numb hands at the cookfire. "That water should have chunks of ice floating in it." Flower almost smiled. "They probably got broken up in the canyon." She motioned upstream. "I don't think I have ever seen rapids like that." Crooning softly, she rocked Ellen, who stared up at her with wide eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?" Hattie blurted, not knowing how to be tactful about something so awful. Turning her head toward the east, Flower said, "No. It is done." There was infinite sorrow in her voice. "They are dead and I am alive. That is what is important." Unable to imagine herself being so calm about rape, Hattie shook her head. "I wish we hadn't left you. Maybe...." "If you had been there, they still might have caught us unawares," Flower said, again rocking Ellen. "Emmet would have fought--he is a warrior born--and possibly died. Or been sold as a slave to the Blackfeet, as they planned to do with Silas and William. And this one--" she touched Ellen's nose-- "would have been in great danger. Beasts like that have no use for children." Shuddering, Hattie agreed. "It just seems so unfair." Nothing that had

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html happened to her compared to what Flower had suffered. "It is done," Flower repeated. "I do not want to speak of it." Nimbly she rose, handing Ellen to Hattie. "I will look for food. Today we eat well." Hattie looked after her as she disappeared into the willows. "I could never be that brave," she mused, "or that strong." * * * Emmet guided his horse back along the trail. How could he miss it, torn up as it was by the passage of the oxen? He had not allowed himself to wince when he mounted his gelding, but he still felt the strain of two days on Odin's back in his shoulders and hips. Worst of all, he was weak. It was an effort to stay upright. If the gelding should take it into its head to go in a direction of its choosing, it would go and that would be that. Emmet had no strength to turn it aside. But the horse was obedient this morning. Emmet found a cluster of rocks just above the trail, giving a good view east and with a decent field of fire. If Baldy came after them--or if there were others in the renegade band he didn't know about--he would see them in plenty of time to warn his people. He settled in, not getting too comfortable. It wouldn't do to fall asleep. He had failed again. Once more he'd been given the responsibility of others' lives and once more he'd failed them. It was mere chance that William, Silas and Flower lived, not any of his doing. Hell, it was pure fool luck that Hattie and Ellen had not been taken--and he knew all too well what would have been their fates if they had. They'd be better off once they were shut of him, that was for certain. As soon as he had his strength back, he would take them back to get the wagon--to hell with the gold--and get them to Fort Vancouver as fast as he could. He'd give the money he had banked in St. Louis to Hattie to get her started, to make up for all the ways he'd failed her. The day dragged by. Emmet grew thirsty, but there was no water nearby. Once or twice he found his thoughts wandering, saw things--people and sights--that could not possibly be there. His back hurt--Flower claimed she got the entire ball out, but he wasn't sure she had. The wound hurt like the very devil. And it was hot--he could feel the heat of it burning through his body, until he wanted to strip off the calico shirt and let the breeze cool him. His little party was too vulnerable where they were, he realized. And he was in no condition to take them back to the valley of the Boise. Not yet. A fine protector he'd be, too feeble to walk, having barely enough strength to lift his rifle. He raised it, experimentally, aiming at a crooked branch on a pine not far away. The barrel wavered and swung, drifting away from his target and back again, but never long enough to allow him an accurate shot.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Fine guard he was! They should have sent the horse alone. He'd have done as good a job. He was fighting sleep when something moved in the shadows where the trail was shadowed by tall firs. Starting, Emmet sat forward, keeping his head below the top of the rock which concealed him. He watched, wondering if he'd been seeing things. Fevers often brought hallucinations to a man. The flicker of motion again, still deep in the trees. Emmet waited, his hands sweating on the rifle. He would have one chance. Just one. It was a dog--the ugliest dog he'd ever seen. Emmet stood, grabbing at the rock beside him when the world swam before his eyes. "Dawg!" he called, not too loudly. "Here, Dawg!" The animal just kept coming, limping, clearly at the limit of its endurance. Its nose was close to the trail. Again he called. This time Dawg lifted his head and looked ahead, but made no other move. Emmet wasn't surprised. Except for Hattie and William, the mutt paid little attention to humans, unless they stepped too close. Then he growled. Dawg halted when he came abreast of Emmet. Sat down on the trail and looked, his yellow eyes questioning. Emmet wished he had food to offer, but he had none. Not even water. "They're on along there," he said, motioning. "Go on, now. Git!" Dawg got, still moving slowly. Emmet saw traces of dried blood on his chest, near the left front leg he was favoring. His brindle coat was nearly obscured by mud, making Emmet think he'd probably been shot, then crawled off to die. Except he was too mean to die. Near to dusk Emmet heard a soft whistle. He waited. Soon Silas appeared skirting the trail, slipping from tree to tree. The lad was learning. "Figured you'd like some supper," Silas said when he crouched beside Emmet. "Flower snared a couple of squirrels and I caught some fish. What with the berries William and Hattie got, there's a pretty good feed laid on." Saliva flooded Emmet's mouth. For the last couple of hours, his belly'd been growling fit to kill. "I'm obliged," he said. "You'll be all right here?" "Figured I'd string this across the trail, get me some sleep." He showed Emmet a thin strand of leather, dark and nearly invisible in the dusk. "We cut it off'n that shirt William gave Flower. 'Twas too long anyhow." "I'll see you come morning, then," Emmet said, handing the rifle to Silas. Walking carefully, he headed uphill to where his horse had been tethered all day. The gelding, however, didn't feel like leaving the tiny meadow where the grass was green and tall. It shied away and Emmet nearly fell. "I'll hold 'im," Silas said, grabbing the hackamore. "You need a foot up?" Emmet grasped a handful of mane and told his legs to spring. They ignored him. Feeling shame for his weakness, he said, "I'd thank you for it." Even with Silas's boost, he had trouble getting astride. Tarnation! Would he never regain his strength? Supper filled his belly, even if it didn't satisfy his craving for red meat. Afterward Emmet sipped the coffee Hattie poured him, marveling at their good fortune. They had flour and coffee, an ax and two guns, a shovel, a bucket, and

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html four knives. Everything, in fact, that he and Hattie had taken with them. It was too bad they'd not been more sparing of the flour. He doubted that they had enough to last for more than a week. And only one handful of coffee remained in the pouch. "I'll be going back," he said, "to see if there's anything we can salvage." "They had themselves horses," William said. "But the boss...." "Pyzen Joe," Emmet said. "Yeah, him. Anyhow, him and the Injun, Short Leg, took the horses off somewheres and we never saw 'em again." "They hobbled them," Flower said, from the shadows where she'd made her bed. "I heard them talking. They hobbled the horses and left them in that meadow upstream. Do you remember the place, William? Where you found that big nugget?" "I'll find them," Emmet said. "You can't go back," Hattie said. "You can hardly walk!" Emmet had to admit she was right, but only to himself. "I'll be fine," he assured her. "Give me a couple of days and I'll be good as new." "I think we oughta go 'cross the river," William said. "They's a real nice place over there. I swum across this afternoon and looked it over. Areal nice place." Since Emmet had been thinking how much easier it would be to detect pursuers if they had the river between them and their back trail, he said, "As big as this?" He gestured around the small meadow in which they were camped. "Oh, Mist' Em, this is a little piss-ant place beside what I seed. It's like a big pasture, bigger'n the meadow where I found that nugget. An'real nice," he repeated. We'll move," Emmet decided, "first thing in the morning." * * * Hattie looked at the river and swallowed. She was a good swimmer. It was just that the last time she'd tried to cross running water too deep to wade.... Well, she didn't remember much of what had happened, but the aftermath had been painful. At least by swimming, she remained in control of her fate. Emmet pulled his horse to a halt beside her. "Sure you don't want to ride behind?" he said. "Plenty of room." She passed the cradleboard up to him. "No, I'll swim. Your horse doesn't like me." She watched as he slipped his arms into the straps of the cradleboard. Ellen was asleep, completely unaware of the danger she faced. Hattie hoped she would stay that way. William and Silas were already on the other side. They'd gone with the cattle, swimming alongside them, herding them around the end of the island that divided the river into two deep channels. She'd watched them until they were out of sight among the scattered trees. Flower stepped out of her skirt, stripped the too-big shirt over her head as soon as Emmet was in the water. "Ready?" "No," Hattie said, watching as his horse started to swim. She should have insisted on carrying Ellen. Odin would have let her sit astride him, she was sure. "You go ahead. I want to watch until he's safely across." She honestly didn't know who she was the most worried about, Emmet or her daughter.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html This morning he moved easier, but she'd seen him steady himself against a tree or his horse's side more than once as they were packing their meager supplies and gear. He'd not even offered to help Silas and William load the two leather bags of gold, although he had commented on the weight, saying they'd have made better time if they'd left all the gold behind. Hattie had thought of doing so, except it seemed a shame to abandon it all. Baldur and Jupe had had no trouble keeping up with the other oxen, despite their load. And neither of them would suffer a rider, so they might as well have carried the gold. Flower stood with her as she watched. "He's better, I think," she said. Hattie nodded. Last night she'd made room for him in her bed, as she had the night before. But he had not come to her. He had slept under a tree, uncovered except for some fir branches piled over him, the red calico shirt little protection from the cool spring night. And this morning, he had been kind, helpful, courteous, and completely impersonal. "He wouldn't let me look at his back." "Or me," Flower agreed. "But he will tonight, or he will not eat." Hattie had to smile. "How many of us do you reckon it will take to hold him down?" "You will ask him," Flower said, "and he will do it. If you tell him that you are concerned that he is not fit to care for us." So she wasn't the only one who'd noticed Emmet's strong sense of responsibility. "I am," she said. "His hand felt hot." "There is fever again. I will dose him with willow bark, I think. And you will speak to Silas?" "About going back? Yes, I'd already decided to. I'll ask him to leave this afternoon." "Good. By the time Emmet notices he is gone, it will be too late. And I will ask Dawg to go with him." "Dawg? But he can hardly walk." "He can still bark. And he grows stronger with each bite." Hattie shared her amusement. This morning Dawg had eaten a rabbit and a squirrel raw, bones and all. Afterwards, in uncharacteristic friendliness, he had begged from each of them, until each mouthful they did not share with him caused guilt. "Flower, what's going to happen to us?" Hattie ordinarily didn't let herself think of the future, having long ago learned that nothing and nobody could be depended upon. Lately, though, since Ellen's birth, she had come to hope. Perhaps she could, finally, have the home and the family she'd wanted ever since that morning when she watched flames consume everything she loved. "Do not ask for promises," Flower said, apparently understanding what Hattie was really asking. "We have this day and these men who will give their lives for us. How can we ask for more?" Holding her clothing in one hand, she stepped into the river. "Come. Emmet is safely across." Hattie looked. Sure enough, he was on the other side, waving her and Flower

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html to follow. She removed her clothing, feeling both intensely free and greatly embarrassed. The water was so cold it hurt. Chapter Seventeen As she climbed from the water, cold to her very core, Hattie had the strangest feeling. Not even bothering to dry herself first, she struggled into her clothing, which she had managed to hold above the water as she swam. All the while she wondered why she felt as if she'd found something she'd been seeking for a long time. She saw what William had meant when she and Flower stepped out from behind the shrubs serving as their dressing screen. The grassy meadow extended to the base of the hills, broken by scattered clumps of the long needled pine that was so common. The grass was tall, knee-high at least, and rich. Already the oxen had their faces buried in it as they fed. Even as she looked around in awe, a shot sounded. "Oh my God!" Where was Emmet? "Ellen?" "Wait," Flower said, stopping her headlong rush with a strong hand. "That was ours. Up ahead." Could the last renegade have been waiting for them? Hattie wrenched free of Flower's restraint just as Emmet appeared, still mounted, still bearing the cradleboard. He seemed unconcerned, and the terror within Hattie lessened. She forced herself to stand still and wait for him. As soon as he was in calling distance, he said, "Everything's fine. Silas took a shot at an elk." Hattie's knees suddenly were weak and trembling. She forced them to support her as she walked to meet Emmet. By the time she stood next to his horse, she was strong again. Holding up her arms, she said, "Let me have her." She had to touch Ellen, hold her, to be certain she was safe. Emmet shrugged out of the cradleboard and lowered it to Hattie. Once she was reassured by a touch to her sleeping daughter's warm cheek, she looked up at him. "You look like death warmed over," she said, finally seeing his pallor, his still-gaunt cheeks. He grimaced. "I'm not feelin' exactly spry," he admitted. That frightened Hattie as nothing else could have. "Well, for pity sakes, get off that horse then, and rest yourself." "Can't," he said. "We've got to set up camp." "And why," Flower demanded, "can Hattie and I not do that? Are you so important that we cannot decide on a site without you?" He glared. "I was going to ask you to set some more snares. And Hattie's got Ellen...." "Nonsense, Emmet," Hattie said. "She doesn't take all my time. Didn't you learn that back there?" He remembered how she'd spent her free time as well as she did, for a faint

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html flush darkened his unnaturally pale cheeks. Before he could argue, Flower said, "We will not need anything I can snare if Silas shot an elk. But I will seek other food. After Hattie and I find a suitable campsite." "Then I'll go along and help dress out the elk," Emmet grumbled, clearly galled at being deemed unnecessary. He turned his horse and rode away. "I wonder how long it will be before he falls out of the saddle," Hattie said, watching him go. "He will not. Pride keeps him there." Flower led the way across the meadow. "Men have no sense." Hattie had to agree. * * * "You seen Silas lately?" Emmet asked Hattie when he and William came up from the river. They'd bathed after finishing with the elk meat. Strips of it were drying over a fire not far from the campsite the women had selected. Tomorrow he hoped to add trout to the drying rack, for he'd seen some good sized ones as he crossed the river. She nodded, not looking up from the dough she was shaping into flat cakes. She'd used the last of the saleratus the day before they'd returned to the others so there would be no more biscuits until he got back with the supplies they'd left in the gold basin. If he got back. Emmet admitted to himself, as he would never admit to others, that he was no stronger today than yesterday, that the pain in his back was worse, not better. "He was here a little after noon," Hattie said. "Then he left." "Sit down," Flower told him, "and take off your shirt." "Haven't got time," he said, thinking how much he'd like to do just that. "Got to milk." "Hattie already has." Flower pointed to a log conveniently lying near the fire. "Sit." She stood over him while he lowered himself, then struggled with the shirt. He heard her gasp and Hattie's as he pulled the shirt over his head. Then he came close to screaming as she touched his back. Nothing had ever hurt that much. A steaming cup appeared under his nose. "Drink this," Flower said. He sniffed. "What is it?" "Willow bark tea. Yarbs. Drink it." The puckery sourness of it stung the tissues of his mouth. Hattie came to kneel beside him. "Emmet, she's going to have to open your wound. It needs to drain." "Do it," he said, locking his jaw in anticipation. If a gentle touch had hurt so bad, what would...? No. Better not to think about it. "I wish we had some whiskey," Hattie said. "But Flower said she gave you something to make it easier." Her eyes held his. "I hope so." He did too. Her face--a face he'd never forget, no matter how far he traveled or

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html how long he was away from her--became indistinct. He shook his head and the world spun. "Lie down," Hattie said, her hands cool on his bare body. He wanted to resist, but found he could not. It was easier to let her push him in the direction she wanted him to move, bending him like he would a willow withe. He felt the coarse-soft tickle of a bearskin on his belly, smelled its smoky, slightly musky odor as his face sank into it. He heard Hattie's voice, wordless now, but soothing, promising him peace and an absence of pain. He believed her until a flaming sword carved him in half. * * * "He's going to be furious when he wakes up," Hattie told Flower the next morning. She'd slept close to Emmet all night, feeling the heat of him, touching him a hundred times to make sure he still breathed. "But I think he's better." She had been amazed when Flower showed her the ingredients of the infusion she'd given Emmet. Willow bark, of course. She'd used that herself, assuming that willow in the west was no different from willow in Pennsylvania. But vervain and chamomile--well, it looked something like chamomile--where had Flower foundthem ? Hattie had learned what herb lore she could from a neighbor in Pennsylvania, but she was aware of how little she knew. Boneset and yarrow for infection, macerated mallow leaves for irritated skin, simples like that. Thank the Lord Flower had been here. She wasn't certain she could have made that deep cut into Emmet's back, even knowing that not doing so would have been the death of him. She had never seen such an infection, not one that didn't kill. Pray God Emmet would live. She would give anything to ensure that he did.Anything. She could even hide her love for him and let him go when the time came. Although their brief spell as lovers had given her hope, time and sober consideration told her that there was none. She believed Emmet would stay if she asked him to, but to do so would be like caging a wolf. A few months in captivity and he would die of a broken heart. Emmet Lachlan was a man born to wander. Bound to a single, small plot of land--the farm she dreamed of having, for instance--he too would die of a broken heart.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Stroking her hand across Emmet's forehead, cool at last, she leaned forward and kissed him lightly. "I love you," she whispered. "Forever and ever." Emmet slept most of the next day, but no one else did. Flower went out again seeking fruit, greens and medicinal herbs while Hattie did her best to make the camp more comfortable. She also watched Emmet, checking him often, not for his sake but for hers. The morning was well along when William returned to camp. "Miz Hattie, you jest gotta see what I found." His grin spread across his face, he looked happier than she'd ever seen him. "Can you come for a little walk?" "Not until Flower comes back." She gestured at the bearskin-covered mound where Emmet lay. "I don't want to leave him alone." "He's gonna be fine, Miz Hattie. Flower, she's about the bes' medicine woman I ever seed, and he's a strong man." "I hope so," Hattie said, feeling tears prickle at the backs of her eyes, as they'd been doing all morning. "I pray so." "You need to get yourself away for a spell. I'll be workin' on the cow pen for a whiles yet, so when Flower comes in, you come out and git me." He was right. She needed to do something besides hover over Emmet, counting his breaths, touching his fevered brow every few minutes. "I'll do that, William." So when Flower came in with her arms full of herbs about an hour later, Hattie went to find William. He led her north across the meadow, still damp with dew in the shadows of the pines. "They's a crick comes down that canyon," he told her, pointing at the gap in the mountains ahead of them, "an' another from over there." Again he pointed in the direction they were walking. He led her through the meadow and into the pines that bordered it, tending east, staying well back from the often steep riverbank. They crossed a creek, then another, both rushing along rocky beds, eager to join the river. Ahead of them the mountain encroached on the canyon, narrowing it with a rocky shoulder. William led her up a faint game trail into the tumbled boulders, some as big as a house, until they stood on a ledge easily a hundred feet above the meadow. From there she could see how the canyon narrowed again to the west, could see how enclosed their sanctuary was. How isolated. "You 'member I tol' you how I was lookin' for a place where I could be king?" William said, gesturing toward the west. "Well, this here is it." Hattie saw what he meant. The bench on which they were camped was perhaps a mile wide, nestled in a cove between two steep ridges. Although there was ample meadow, much of the bench was covered with the enormous pines with their thick, plated, yellow bark. A second bench rose a few hundred feet from the mountain's foot, a perfect place for a cabin. She imagined sitting at the door of a cabin built from those very pines and watching the cattle graze in broad green pastures. The feeling she'd had when she'd first set foot on this side of the river returned, and Hattie saw, as if for the first time, the richness of the grass on the meadow floor, the magnificence of the forested hillside across

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html the river. Through the gap to the southwest she could see distant mountains, rising in dark, hazy ridges to meet the sky. This was the place she had sought, the home she craved. She didn't need to go on to the Willamette Valley, for there could be no place there that equaled this in its appeal to her. "William, did you mean I could come with you? Did you really mean it when you said you'd share your kingdom with me?" "Miz Hattie, you and Mist' Em done save my life. I'd share anything I got with you." "We could be partners," she told him. "I have seeds, shoots--I'm sure some of them are still good. And Bessie--if we could get a bull calf and another cow, we'd have the beginnings of a herd. Tools, too. All those tools of Karl's that Emmet brought back. Silas knows how to use them. He was Karl's... he worked for Karl." "I don't have nothin'," William said, sobered. "Best I be your hired man." "Nonsense. You used to work in the fields, so you know about farming. And you're strong. That will be your contribution. And Silas's will be his knowledge and experience. We'll all be partners." The more she said, the better it sounded. She knew there would be those who would censure her for treating William as an equal, for not holding Silas to his bond. But here there were no others. No one to criticize, none to tell her that what she proposed was impossible. "And we'll live here." She spun, pointing at the upper bench. "Right there, we'll build our house." "What about Mist' Em," William said, "an Flower?" Hattie sobered. "Mister Em will be leaving," she said, feeling the pain of his departure already, "as soon as he sees me settled." It was time William knew the truth. "Emmet only married me to protect me," she explained. "He never promised to stay with me forever." At William's frown, she quickly added, "He's a good man, William, just not a staying one." "Flower, she'll maybe want to stay, too," was all he said, but his frown lingered. Hattie was grateful to change the subject. "Do you think she will? I'd love to have her." "She'll stay," William said again, this time positively. "I oughta' bring her up here, too." "You should. Let's go back, and you can do that." Relieved that he had asked her no more about her relationship with Emmet, Hattie started down the slope. William caught up with her. "This way. Somethin' more I wants you to see." He led her back and along the base of the slope, until they were in the narrow ravine down which one of the creeks tumbled. Hattie paid little attention to the dense shrubs around them until she found herself face to face with a cluster of almost-red berries. "Chokecherries! William, these are all chokecherries!" The band of

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html chokecherry bushes extended for some distance up the ravine, all but clogging it. They were thick with fruit, still unripe but full of promise. He nodded, his dark eyes sparkling. "Make might' fine jam, won't they?" Her ebullient mood restored, Hattie followed William back to their campsite. Her mind was filled with details of what must be done before they could settle in here. She had no doubts. This was home and here she would stay. And she even had a family to share it with. Ellen would grow up here. Flower was her sister, Silas her brother. And William was the best of neighbors. If only she could share it with Emmet as well. Hattie sighed and told herself, for perhaps the thousandth time, that she was only wasting time and effort, wishing for what could not be. "As soon as Silas comes back, we'll send him for the wagon. Maybe Flower could go with him." She didn't want William to go among people just yet. There was always the chance that someone would see his color and force him back into slavery. "He seems to be resting better," Flower told her before she could ask about Emmet. "I think his fever is down, too." "I wondered, but was afraid to hope," Hattie said. "I'll put on a new poultice." She did not say what she would use, not certain of Flower's approval. This morning she had found some of the tiny wild onions just outside the camp and had chopped them and boiled them. Flower's Indian remedies were all well and good, but there was nothing like a good onion poultice for drawing poison out. Alone with Emmet, she had to resist the temptation to sit beside him, touching him for her own reassurance. He was cooler, his breathing more regular, his heartbeat slower. Hope began to grow, although she told herself it was far too soon to be counting any chickens. * * * Emmet opened his eyes to the sound of water dripping. He turned his head toward the light and saw why. Above him there was a crude framework of woven willow withes holding piled evergreens. All along the edge of the framework, water poured in a hundred tiny streams. And beyond he could see the rain, a curtain of water turning the day dark and filling every depression with ponds and puddles. He was alone; had he been abandoned? The fire ring was just beyond the shelter, its blackened rocks and broken charcoal glistening in the pale gray light. Two empty panniers and the parfleche he'd made for their food lay next to his saddle, empty. A man didn't last long in the wilderness if he didn't use his senses before he went off half-cocked. Emmet listened, but could hear nothing beyond the rain's incessant drip. He sniffed and smelled wet vegetation and wet ashes and just a hint of lilac. That was from the ragged quilt that covered him. And there was a

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html strong odor of onion as well. On the second try he managed to turn onto his back, barely. He was weak as a day-old kitten. Raising his head, he grew dizzy from the effort. A dull ache radiated from the place, just below his left shoulder blade, where he'd been shot. His last clear memory was of unendurable pain in that same place. He was about to struggle to his feet when he heard movement. Splashing. In a moment William appeared out of the wet gloom. He was soaked to the skin, water dripping from the fringes of his shirt, running down his ebony face. He entered the shelter and knelt beside Emmet's bed. Only then did he notice Emmet's open eyes. "Well, howdy there, Mist' Em. I done tol' Miz Hattie you was gettin' ready to wake up." His grin was wide and happy. "I come to fetch you." "Fetch me? To where?" This was a good campsite. Why were they moving? "Up the hill. Can you set on Odin, or does I need to carry you?" Emmet moved experimentally. Maybe not a day-old kitten. More like a blind, newborn mouse. "If you can get me up there, I can probably hold on." William was a big man, but so was Emmet. He doubted the other could carry him farther than a few yards. He came close to passing out more than once before he sat safely astride the big white ox. When William suggested tying his hands and feet together to keep him there, he had to agree. He wouldn't mind falling, but not in the mud. "We got us a place up a ways," William told him, walking beside him and steadying him with a strong hand on his leg. "It's mighty nice, and a lot better for watchin' who's comin'." Emmet thought about how Baldy might still be following them. "How long was I sick?" He had dreamed of pain filled nights and endless days in which people poked and pulled at him, forced bitter concoctions down his throat. "Four days, I reckon. You wasreal sick." "Four days! Great God!" In four days even a wounded Baldy could have caught up with them. "Who's standing watch? Where's Silas?" "Now you jest calm yourself, Mist' Em. Silas, he'll be back when he gits here and not a bit sooner. Flower, she's watchin' right now, but we all keeps our eyes peeled." Emmet seized on the one thing he didn't understand. "When he gets back? Where the hell is Silas?" "Why he done went back to git our stuff, back there where we found the gold. Him an' Dawg. They took your horse and that Herkalees ox." Emmet swore. The fools. Sending a boy to face down a merciless bastard like Baldy. And all because of a little food and that damn gold. And there was nothing he could do. He wasn't so stupid to deny that he was in no shape to do anything more energetic than hold his eyes open. That and pray that he'd wounded Baldy severely enough that Silas would be a match for him. Despite his concern, he was alert enough to see where William was taking him. He'd intended to explore up this way. Obviously William had done so. The original campsite had been too exposed. Up here they had the steep hillside at their backs and looked out over the river approach. In clear weather Emmet thought they might see into the gaps to east and west, as well.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Bessie and the black ox lifted their heads as William led Odin past. Shortly thereafter Emmet felt the ox begin to climb. Wishing he could wipe the water from his face, he tried to see ahead. Only when they topped the hill did he see Hattie standing under a shelter, larger but otherwise just like the one he'd awakened in. Hattie cut the thongs that held his wrists and ankles. Emmet stifled a curse when he slid into William's arms, hating the fact of his inadequacy. Hattie took his other arm and with their support he managed to make his feet work for the few steps he needed. As soon as he was settled, Hattie started unwinding the leather strips around his chest. He tried to push her aside but he had as much success as trying to stop the rain from falling. Frustrated, he demanded, "When did Silas leave?" With any luck he'd be on his feet tomorrow and able to catch up with the lad before he ran into trouble he couldn't handle. "Four... no, five days ago now," Hattie told him, laying aside the leather strip. She prodded at his back and, amazingly, it hardly pained him. "Hell! That was before...." No. William had been wrong about how long he'd been unconscious. "Yes, it was the same afternoon we opened your wound," Hattie admitted calmly. "He left right after dinner. You were helping William with the pen." He remembered. He'd been determined to have some sort of enclosure so the cattle wouldn't wander off, so he and William had dragged deadfalls and fresh cut saplings into a rude corral. It had been just about the hardest work he'd ever done, given his weakness. "I didn't tell him...." He jumped, for she'd put something cold against his skin, startling him. "Hold still," she said. "No, you didn't tell him, but I did, Emmet. We need that food we left behind, and we need to know if any of the renegades survived." "I would have gone." Even to his own ears he sounded sullen. "You would have dropped off your horse within a mile," she said, picking up the strap. "Lift your arm. You were half dead." She began wrapping, silently. Emmet let her finish, thinking yet again how little he could be depended upon. A fourteen year old boy was doing his work. A woman had made a decision he should have made. And an ignorant ex-slave was the only protection two women and a babe had from savages both red and white. A pressure came to his back and he was aware that Hattie was leaning her head against him. "Oh, Emmet, I thought we wouldn't save you. You were so terribly sick." Something cold trickled down his spine and he realized it was a tear. He bit his lip, wishing he had the strength to turn and take her into his arms. But it was all he could do to stay upright, as the world spun around him. Hattie pushed him backwards onto the bed. "Sorry," he said, unresisting, wanting to say more. "Sorry." * * * Hattie was astonished at how quickly Emmet grew well. The next day he was on his feet, moving slowly, but staying erect until late afternoon. The second day after they moved him up to the new shelter, he was dressed and standing

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html guard. His wound was draining nicely, with little swelling and no inflammation. She really believed that the only thing keeping him from full energy now was the fact that they'd been unable to get much more than broth into him for the better part of a week. But he was making up for it now, eating great quantities of the elk meat and the stewed greens Flower prepared each day. Silas returned late the third day after the move, followed by three heavily loaded horses and an equally burdened Hercules, and at some distance behind, Dawg. Hattie saw him enter the meadow below the shelter and ran to meet him. She forced herself to let him eat before he told his story. Flower volunteered to stand watch while Silas talked, but Silas said, "No need. He's dead." And so they sat around the fire while Silas told of an uneventful journey back to the gold basin. "Dawg found one of the ones that was followin' us at the bottom of the slide," he said. "Didn't ever find the other. But I found the one you cut, Em. Just the other side of the divide." He paused to sip at the coffee, no longer so much a luxury now that they had eight or ten pounds of it. "You killed him." Emmet said it as if it were a foregone conclusion. "Didn't have to. He must have met up with a mama bear, 'cause he was tore up something fierce. Been dead a week, easy." Another sip. "So I went on back and found our stuff. Found theirs too. Their horses was still hobbled and mighty restive. "Was that all they had? Three horses?" "That's all I found. Saw the bones of another, no sign of any more. But I'm not much of a tracker." Silas shrugged and took another sip of coffee. As they ate supper, Silas related how he had caught the horses and sorted through the supplies that had been scattered across the clearing. "Looked like more than one critter had been at it. But the flour barrel was all right, and the coffee hadn't been torn all the way open. At least they were smart enough to hang the bacon high. It hadn't been bothered much, but not for lack of trying. There was bear sign all around the tree." "What about the gold?" Hattie didn't really care, since what she and Emmet had found was a fortune beyond her wildest dreams. But the other three had spent a week gathering nuggets--Flower had told of the one William had found that was as big as his closed fist--and it didn't seem fair that their work had been for naught. "I found me a cave and buried it," Silas said. "Figured we'd get more use out of the lead and powder and the food than we would out of the gold. Besides, we can always go back for it, when we need it." He told them where he'd buried it, taking a full day to pack it up a hill to the cave he'd found earlier. "I'll make you a map," he said, "soon's I get me something to write on." "Now that we know we're not being followed, we can head on back to the valley of the Boise," Emmet said, when Silas had completed his account. "It shouldn't take

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html us over a couple of weeks, if we're where I think we are. Give us another week to pack up the gear we left in the cabin, and we can start for Fort Vancouver by the end of June." Hattie looked at William who stared back at her. Then she looked at Flower, whose expression was carefully blank. "I'd like to leave the wagon behind, but I suppose we'll need it for the tools and such. But even so, I figure we can be at The Dalles by early August." "Emmet," Hattie faltered, "there's something you don't know." "With any luck there will be somebody there who can take us on to Fort Vancouver in a flatboat...." "Emmet, I'm not going." "You ought to have a place of your own before September. Give you time to... what's that?" "We're not going anywhere, Emmet," Hattie repeated. "We--Flower and Silas and William and I--are staying here." She gestured around the valley. "Right here. This is Cherry Vale and it's our new home." Chapter Eighteen Hattie saw his anger in the tightening of his mouth. She'd dreaded telling Emmet of her decision, knowing he wouldn't understand. She had made such a fuss about getting to the Valley of the Willamette, had insisted that there was no place on earth she would rather be. Now here she was intending to stay in a godforsaken vale so far from anywhere that she wasn't even sure where she was. How could he understand? There was a long silence, then Emmet held out his cup and said, "Flower, got any more of that coffee?" She waited until the last few drops dribbled into his cup. "I think I'll go to bed now," she said, forcing her voice to be steady. "I'm awfully tired." There was a murmur of good nights, but no one else moved. Hattie went to her bed, miserable and lonely. Even cuddling Ellen was less satisfying than usual. What she really wanted was Emmet beside her. But he'd avoided any close contact with her since his awakening. And now he hated her. She knew he did. He was gone the next morning. Hunting, William said, but Hattie believed it was due more to his wanderlust than from any need to find meat. They still had dried elk, and there were always fish. He returned in late afternoon and sent William after the elk he'd killed a couple of miles up the north fork. Entering the shelter, he nodded at Flower, said, "Can you take the babe? Hattie and me need to have a talk." Flower scooped Ellen into her arms and went out. Hattie made to follow, but Emmet caught her arm. "Sit. I want some answers." Hattie sat. Emmet set his foot on the section of log William had cut to serve them as a bench and leaned an elbow on his thigh. He glowered at her. "Were you serious?" She nodded. "Almost as soon as I saw this place, I knew it was what I'd been looking for. It's home." Looking over his shoulder, she gazed across the meadows to the western gap beyond. "My home." Another pause, while she sought the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html right words. "I told you about how my parents died?" This time he nodded. "Well, what I didn't tell you was that was the fifth or sixth house I could remember. Pa was... well, he wasn't content to stay in one place for long. He was a good farmhand--I can remember one place they offered him a share in the crops if he'd stay. But he always got restless, come fall." Hattie remembered the first time she really understood that they would be moving on again. She'd made friends--the farmer who employed her father had two little girls, just older and just younger than she. She had wept when she said good-bye to Charity and Hope. "So it wasn't only going to live with Uncle James and Aunt Nettie that made me long to have a place of my own. Or even the way Karl kept moving west. It was something inside me...." She pressed a hand over her chest, where the ache for a place to belong had so often become almost more than she could bear. "Here--something inside just hungered to be home." "You wanted to settle in the Willamette." It was almost as if he was arguing that she didn't know what she wanted. "That was before I found this place." Again she looked into the distance, seeing the dark green of the trees, the bright green of the meadows. Seeing the deep blue sky framed in the Vee of the gap. Seeing the future in which she would wake to the same vista each day. She would watch that twisted little pine grow to a great tree, watch the river slowly change its course as it ate away at one bank and added to the other. She would count the winters and the springs, grow old here. And do so in loneliness. Hattie bit her lip. "William says I'll be the Queen of Cherry Vale. How could I resist a promise like that?" She did her best to show a brave smile. "What about the wagon and goods you left down in the cabin?" "I'd hoped you would help Silas fetch it before... before you left." There! She'd said it aloud. And that made it real. Emmet considered. "I reckon I could. It's not as if I'm in a hurry." He rubbed a hand across his chin, bearded again. "If I get over the Blues by October, I guess that's soon enough." Hattie wanted to sing. To shout. To throw her arms about him. Instead she said, "I'd be obliged if you'd show me how you planned on working the gold so it wouldn't look newly found. I'll need to send to The Dalles for supplies before winter." "I can take care of that when I go to Fort Boise. Just give me a list of what you need." She agreed that she would. "So that's that. I'll be staying until September." Until September. Less than three months to store up a lifetime's worth of memories. And he would be gone a good bit of that time, what with fetching the stores from the cabin. What was she complaining about? She'd already had him far longer than she'd expected.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html * * * They built a cabin in a week. Emmet found a stand of pole-sized timber scarce a mile downriver. It looked, he told them, as if there'd been a snowslide some years back, clearing all but a few trees from a swath some hundred yards wide. The poles were regrowth, all about the same size and age. William swung a mighty ax. Silas and Emmet used the oxen to snake the poles along a trail they'd cut. Hattie and Flower dug the trenches for the foundation logs and the pits for the corner poles, using a pick salvaged from the renegades' equipment. Hattie wondered what rabble like that had been doing with a pick. Had they known of the basin filled with gold? Or was it just another of their spoils, taken from a murdered traveler's wagon? They built two rooms with a covered passage between. Both rooms had shuttered windows opening onto the view to the southwest, at Hattie's insistence. "It's easy to close shutters," she told them, "but impossible to see through log walls. And I'll never spend another winter in the dark, even if I have to freeze." They lacked the tools to split logs for a puncheon floor. William promised to pound the earth flat as soon as time allowed, although they would have to remove the protruding roots and level the disturbed soil first. That was all right. The important thing was getting a roof over their heads. Using the panniers Emmet had fashioned to carry gold, Hattie and Flower brought rocks from the creek while the men laid up the walls. They laid a simple fire ring in the middle of the passage, not having found anything suitable to serve as mortar for a fireplace. There was a way to build without mortar, Emmet said, and hy would surely have time before he departed. Right now they just needed a place to cook. Silas found a bee tree high on the hillside behind the cabin. Although it was still early in the season, he was able to extract sufficient honey to sweeten the cream Hattie whipped the night they moved into the cabin. Flower contributed wild strawberries to the shortcake they celebrated with. Although they had yet to build bed frames, Hattie made her bed inside her cabin. The bearskin, washed in the creek and hung for a week to dry, covered her mound of springy branches, dipping into the nest she fashioned for Ellen. No matter the nights were warmer, she still liked a roof over her head. It made her believe she really was home at last. Flower chose to sleep in the open, as did the men. Their cabin was still unroofed. It was late when Hattie woke. The almost full moon, which had been just rising above the hills to the east when she retired, was overhead, flooding the land with its silvery light. The door creaked. She saw a line of light as it opened, a line quickly obliterated as a body moved into the opening. "Hattie?" The whisper was soft as a spring breeze. "Emmet? Come in." She sat upright, wondering what new calamity had overtaken

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html them. A faint scuffling as he approached. He was a paler shape in the darkness of the cabin. "I couldn't sleep," he said, "thinking about you in here all alone." Her sleep had not come easily either. "I'm fine. Snug as a bug." She lied, but he didn't need to know. She had slept, but her dreams had been of him. Troubled, lonely dreams. Dreams of abandonment. He touched her face. "I was thinking about us. Back there. In the gold basin." "I've given it some thought myself," she admitted.Some ? She'd thought of little else, night after night as she tossed and turned, too aware of her lonely bed. "You're still my wife." Half statement, half question. "I am, and I need you, Emmet," she said. A man shouldn't have to beg for what was his by rights. She held out her arms. "Come to bed." He groaned as he took her in his arms. "I can't help myself," he said, kissing her face, her throat. His fingers were clumsy as they worked at the buttons of her gown. His hands were not, as they skimmed her breasts, framed her waist, and stroked across her belly. Hattie arched to his touch, knowing that she was risking far more than a broken heart. Her mother had become pregnant twice while nursing, contrary to common belief. She still remembered overhearing the complaint that a woman oughtn't to conceive until the last one was old enough to fend for itself. They loved with a desperate urgency. Hattie knew she would never get enough of him, but she had to try. She savored the scent of him, the taste of him. She told her hands to remember the roughness of his hairy legs, the satiny power of his manhood. And she knew she would forget, just as she had forgotten the warmth of her mother's arms, the strength of her father's. * * * Once he had his strength back, Emmet couldn't rest. Each day he drove Silas and William as he drove himself. If he was to depart with a clear conscience, there was so much Hattie would need. He helped them fence a good-sized pasture, enclosing their original shelter. As soon as that was done, he set them to constructing a shed beside the cabin in which the livestock could take refuge from weather and marauding predators come winter. One thing he worried over was a source of water for the cabin, something none of the others had thought of when they chose the site. It took him several evenings of exploration when the others were resting after a hard day's work, but he found a spring high on the hillside above the cabin. He'd show William how to use the hollow stems of elderberry to make a pipe, so that they'd have water nearby in all but the coldest weather. He set Flower and Hattie to digging at a root cellar when they were done with their woman's chores, hating himself for not having time enough to do it for them. It wasn't right that a woman had to grub in the earth when there were

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html men about to do it for her. But the other half of the cabin needed a roof and both halves needed fireplaces. The lofts needed floors, but that was beyond him until he retrieved the saws and other woodworking tools they'd left at Buff's cabin. After three weeks of hard work, he figured they were far enough along that he and Silas could depart. Although they still had a little flour, they could use almost everything else. He hadn't seen a bean in so long he'd forgotten how they tasted, and some real bacon would set just fine in his belly. Salt, too. The salt they'd had was gone, scattered and consumed by the critters that had raided the camp in the gold basin. He showed Silas what to do and soon the lad presented him with a crude rock mold with which he could hammer and shape raw gold. The result was a poor imitation of a coin, but it looked worn and scratched rather than counterfeited. Silas ruined a good blade chipping at the rock, but at least no one would realize they had taken the gold themselves. After all, hadn't Karl Rommel been a wealthy man? Emmet made eighteen coins before the rock broke. They left on a cool June morning, sometime in late June. Silas was riding one of the horses he'd brought back from the gold basin, leading the others. Emmet hoped to be able to trade them for mules at Fort Boise. They also took four of the oxen, leaving Hattie's pet, Odin, with William and the women. Hattie held him tightly as she told him good-bye. He kissed her long and deep, hating himself for resenting her clinging. If she was so troubled at the prospect of his temporary absence, what would she do when he left for good? He was tempted to bring Silas part way back and take his leave. It was easier to disappear than to make long farewells. The last he saw of her, she was standing before the cabin, watching him on his way. * * * Dawg gave them the first warning. He was lying in the passage while they cooked one evening. Suddenly he raised his head and growled. Hattie paused, looked where he stared, at the woods on the other side of the nearest meadow. Nothing. Not a movement, not a sign of anything unusual. "He probably hears a bear," Flower said. "I saw some sign this morning, up the creek." She gestured to the north, where Frog Creek--so named by William for the nightly chorus of frog song--emerged from the hills. Hattie set the spider on the two rocks that supported it over the coals. The elk steaks within immediately sizzled. "Will it bother us?" She had yet to see a bear in Cherry Vale, although both William and Silas had sighted them at a distance. She would just as soon not ever have the experience. "No, but it could frighten the cattle. I'll go down after supper and bring

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html them up here." One of the best of Emmet's ideas was the leanto and small pen beside the cabin. Later, when they had poultry, it would be the hen house. For now it was a safe place for the cattle, since William insisted on staying close by at night. "Be careful," Hattie said, determined not to let Flower see how frightened she was. If she intended to stay here forever, she must conquer her fear of bears and panthers. Neither, she told herself firmly, would bother her if she didn't bother them. Dawg relaxed as quickly as he had come alert. Neither Hattie nor Flower gave the incident any more thought, except that Flower did as she'd said and brought the cattle up before sundown. William agreed that it was better to avoid any risk to them. After supper they sat on the log benches before the cabin. This was her favorite time, Hattie decided, when she was tired from a good day's work, yet not so much so that she couldn't appreciate her good fortune. "I got the shoring done in the root cellar," William said when he joined them. "I'll be puttin' together a door soon's I can." He spoke with pride. Although he had done little building as a field slave, he showed talent in fine axwork. Emmet had said he believed William could do things with an ax that most men

would need a saw and a plane to do. "I wish we could find a moose." Flower had made elkhide hinges for the shutters and the cabin doors. They were not strong enough, she insisted, for the thick door that William planned for the root cellar. "We'll need better moccasins for winter, too." "Mist' Em says he don't think they's any about. But I'm keepin' my eyes peeled." William picked up the piece of wood he'd been carving on for the past few evenings. It was a trencher, a long narrow platter cut from the heart of a fallen log. In time, William promised, they'd have a full set of dishes. They sat talking of the day's activities, of tomorrow's plans, until it was almost too dark to see. Eventually William said, "Guess I'll take a look around," and departed. He did this each night, not content to sleep until he

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html was certain all was well. Dawg went with him. Hattie and Flower stayed where they were. It was a balmy night, full of summer sounds and smells. Somewhere wild roses were flowering, their scent faint on the night breeze. "William wants me to marry him," Flower said into the silence. Since Hattie had seen the way the big former slave followed Flower's every movement with his eyes, she was not entirely surprised. "Will you?" "No, I cannot." Pain was in her voice. And regret. "Why on earth not?" Hattie demanded, sure she knew the answer. "He's a good man. And who would care? It's not like we're in a city, where people would ostracize you for marrying a man of color." Flower chuckled, although Hattie heard little humor in the sound. "Oh, Hattie, bless you. Nobody, even in a city, would care if a half-breed married a Negro. If anything, they would think he had lowered himself, I suspect." "Then you don't love him?" "I have little experience in what your people call 'love'," Flower said, "but I have feelings for William. He is a good man. Strong. Honest. Brave. Decent." Even in the gathering dusk, Hattie could see her hands twisting together. She waited. "My body and my spirit are defiled." Flower's voice was flat and hard. "Because I chose to live instead of die, I feel as if I will never be clean again." Her hands rubbed against her upper arms much as they had when she'd all but scrubbed the hide off herself. Remembering her cold declaration that the first man to assault her was dead, Hattie protested. "Surely you can't be expected to kill yourself instead of...." "Oh, no! But had I fought, I would have died. I did not fight. I traded self-respect for survival." "I think you were wise." She reached and pulled Flower into her arms. "Oh, Flower, I couldn't bear it if you'd been killed." But Hattie felt the rigidity of her friend's body and knew that she had not convinced Flower that life was preferable to the loss of honor. "And Emmet. He would have died without you. Think about that, while you're blaming yourself for your so-called weakness. By choosing to live, you saved him, too." Flower pulled away and Hattie let her go. "I will think on your words," she said, "but I cannot marry William." "You'll break his heart," Hattie warned. "Better that than freezing his love with the ice that is in mine," Flower replied. She stood and turned toward the passageway. A shadow leapt from the corner of the cabin. The next thing Hattie knew, a gruff voice was saying, "You jest sit thar, Missus, and don't make a move. Else I'll slice this squaw's throat clean through." Flower stood rigid, unnaturally straight. Her head was arched back and firelight reflected off a shiny blade at her throat. Hattie didn't move. Couldn't move, even if she hadn't been warned against it.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html The man was just a dark shape against the darker night. She shook her head. "What do you want?" she whispered, unable to find her voice. "Grub," the man rasped. "Grub and a gun." He shoved Flower before him and she stumbled. A dark line formed on the golden skin of her throat. It dripped. "Yes," Hattie said. "Of course. I'll just...." No. She could not take him inside. Ellen was asleep. She thought frantically. "I'll have to get the meat. It's in the tree. Down there." She pointed toward where they hung their meat, dangling from a line strung between two trees, out of reach of bears. "Git it," the man commanded. "Quick!" Stumbling down the slope, Hattie tried to peer through the darkness. Where was William? And Dawg? She knew it was William's habit to check along the river for signs of human approach, but it was far too dark for that now. He should have been back long since. She lowered the elk haunch, wrinkling her nose. Even Dawg would turn up his nose at meat this ripe. But perhaps the man would take it. They had no other, save the dried elk and fish hanging in the rafters of the men's cabin. The haunch was too heavy for her, so she dragged it up the hill, wishing the moon would rise. It had been full shortly after Emmet and Silas had left, and was now in its last quarter. They would have no light tonight. The man sniffed. "Hell, that ain't fit to eat!" He moved and Hattie heard Flower gasp, but she could see nothing in the dark of the passageway beyond indistinct shapes. "Dried meat. We have dried meat. And fish. I'll get it," she stammered. Oh, God! Had he killed William? "Don't hurt her." "Yore mighty particular about a filthy Injun," the man said. "'Specially one who'll fuck any man comes along. But don't fret. I'll leave her be." Hattie gestured toward the men's cabin. "The meat's inside. I'll need a light." Perhaps she could find a weapon. A club. Anything. "No you won't. You kin feel around 'til you find it. Now git." Another scuffle. "Hurry up now." Hattie wished she could see what he was doing to Flower. She went inside, feeling her way along the walls. The dried meat hung far above her head, but William had made a rude stool so she and Flower could reach it. Somewhere here. Please, God, she prayed as she dragged the stool to the center of the floor.Please don't let Ellen wake . Her hand found a bundle. It smelled like fish. She pulled it free of the slipknot holding it, swung her arm in search of another bundle. Found one and pulled it down as well. Quickly she carried them to the door. "Here," she said, holding them out. "Take them. And let her go." "Not on yore life. She goes with me." "No!" "Less you'd ruther take her place." She heard the leer in his voice. "Please. You said you'd let her go when I gave you food." "Changed my mind. Git me some rope." "Do as he says, Hattie," Flower said, suddenly. "I will go with him." "No you won't!" The shout came from behind the intruder, even as Hattie heard a hard crack of

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html sound as wood struck bone. Dimly she saw the pale shape that was Flower pull free of the falling darker figure. Then he was on the ground, motionless. "You all right, woman?" William said. "He didn't do you no harm, did he?" Hattie heard more than saw Flower fling herself into William's arms. Hands still shaking, she stepped to the fire ring and lit several of the rushlights they kept beside it. Her legs shook and her teeth chattered, despite the warm summer night. Behind her William murmured to Flower and she replied, their words indistinct because of the buzzing in her ears. The intruder would have killed them both, she realized. He would have raped them and killed them. Her hand closed around one of the cobbles of the fire ring. With returning strength, she swung around and crawled toward the shadowy figure on the ground. She came to a stop beside it and reached out a hand. Hattie touched a leg, covered with ragged cloth. Light touches led her to a torso, to a bearded face. She moved to kneel beside his head, touched it and found blood-soaked hair. She checked again. Yes, he still breathed. If he woke he would only threaten them all. Taking a deep breath, Hattie lifted the rock above his head. Chapter Nineteen The stone was plucked from her hands. "No, Miz Hattie, you mustn't do that." William knelt beside her and enfolded her in his strong arms. "You let me take care o' him." She shook with the force of her anger. "No!" cried, pulling herself free. "No! Let me." She scrabbled on the ground for another weapon. "I have to kill him!" If she didn't, he would kill her, would kill Flower. He would kill Ellen with no more thought than she would swat a mosquito. "I will kill him for you," Flower said. Her voice was distant, cold. "For all of us." Hattie saw the flash of the blade, heard the sound it made, like ripping silk. And she heard the thud when Flower dropped it to the ground. "It is done," Flower said. "I am revenged." A pale blur in the dark, she rose and moved away. "Now I must cleanse myself." Hattie heard her footsteps until she was on grass, then she might as well have been a ghost for all the sound she made. William helped Hattie to her feet, then released her. He started to turn away, in the direction Flower had gone, but Hattie grabbed his arm. "Wait! Let her go. She needs time to come to terms with what she did." "She all alone, Miz Hattie. Maybe she needs me." "Oh, William," she said, hearing the pain in his voice, "I'm sure she does. But until she admits to herself that she does, you mustn't try to help her." She wasn't sure she could explain it to William in terms he would understand, but she knew that Flower needed to be alone, to make peace with herself.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html She tried to put herself in Flower's place, to know she had killed two men--two defenseless men--in cold blood. Never mind that if either had been able they would have raped her--and worse. She hadn't given them a chance. Good for her! Hattie didn't know how she would have felt if she'd been allowed to bash the renegade's brains out, but it would have taken her a long time to come to terms with it. She put her arms around William and held him close, patting his back gently. "Be patient, William. Give her time to heal." He nodded. Before she released him, she felt the long, shuddering breath he took. Three days later, they still hadn't seen Flower. "She went, Miz Hattie," William said, his voice low and choked. "She went off and left us!" "But she'll come back, William," Hattie promised, not entirely believing her own words. "She'll be back." * * * Emmet stopped at Goat Runner's village, finding the Bannock chief and his band preparing to move into the mountains for the summer. "I bring you tobacco," he said, signing to supplement his sketchy knowledge of the Bannock tongue. "It is good," Goat Runner agreed, "that gifts are given freely among friends. "My woman has a gift for yours." He gestured and his wife brought forward a pair of beaded moccasins. "We saw your woman from afar," Goat Runner said, "and she was bare of foot. Now she will be well shod." "I also bring news," Emmet said when he had thanked both Goat Runner and his silent wife. "The renegades are dead. They thought to enslave my friends and found that not all of us are weak and helpless. The daughter of Buffalo Jones fought with us." "Ahh," Goat Runner said, "she is as brave as her father. Tell her she will always be welcome in our village, as you will." He stood silently for a moment, then said, "When you departed you gave us mules in return for guarding your lodge. Now you have done us a great service. I shall return your mules." "Thank you," Emmet said, "but I have no need of them. Instead I will ask of you another great favor." "Come," Goat Runner said. "Let us smoke and talk on this." Hours later Emmet finally was asked to speak of the favor he sought. In the meantime, he had been feted and had met one of the men who'd escaped when the renegades ambushed a hunting party. Any lingering doubts that he'd been justified in cold-bloodedly killing them fled when he heard of the torture they'd inflicted on the Indians before killing them. "My woman has found a place to call home," he said, when Goat Runner eventually asked him what favor he desired. He went on to describe the canyon and the wider valley downstream. "I know the place," Goat Runner agreed. "The valley is a place where we meet the Nez Perce in peace, to hunt elk and deer. As long as your people remain upriver, they will not be molested."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Emmet again thanked Goat Runner. "My woman may remain for many years," he warned, "but she will respect your hunting grounds. I give my word." They parted with mutual assurances of eternal friendship. Not that it mattered to Emmet, who would soon be gone, but Hattie would profit by the Bannock's goodwill. The cabin had not been disturbed, nor had the wagon. It was a matter of a day's work to reattach the wheels and pack the wagon--Silas did most of the packing, for he'd plenty of experience. "We ain't gonna get this to the valley," the boy predicted, pushing a chest of hand tools onto the tailgate. "Not up that river." "We've got to," Emmet said, wishing they didn't. The river flowing through Cherry Vale had turned west again, instead of flowing south into the Boise. So they had cut overland, a simple matter without a wagon. Going back they would go a more roundabout way, forced to find easy grades and wide passages. "With any luck we can take it a good ways above where the river makes that big horseshoe bend. I'm hopin' to go up that wide drainage to the east." Because of the narrow canyon downstream of Cherry Vale, they would leave the wagon somewhere reasonably concealed and pack its contents in. Emmet wasn't looking forward to the many trips that would require, even with four oxen and two mules carrying loads. No, make that five oxen, for once they got to Cherry Vale, they would have the use of Odin as well. He wondered if Hattie would be pleased with the surprises he had for her. It took them three hard days to reach the horseshoe bend, then the better part of a week to make their way up to where the wagon would go no farther. They loaded the oxen and mules and made their way uphill, following winding game trails ever higher. The night they topped the divide, they lingered over a sagebrush fire. "Hat says you'll be leaving come September," Silas said as they sipped coffee after the meal of spitted rabbit stuffed with wild onion. "Where you headin'?" Emmet stirred the embers with a stick. "West," he said. "I don't know. Australia, maybe. China." He shrugged. He'd seen Europe, northern Africa, Greece. He'd been in Panama one Christmas, Cairo another. "Anywhere I haven't been, I guess." "Want company?" He sat up and looked across the dying fire. "You? I thought you were wanting a farm." "That was before. I figure now I have some gold, I can go see the world before I settle down. You did." "Yeah, but...." Emmet heard the implication, even if Silas hadn't put it there. He'd seen much of the world and it was time for him to settle down. What Silas didn't know was that there was no settling down for him. A home, a place to belong, was for them who could accept responsibility. Not for care-for-naught wanderers like him. "I'd like company," he told the boy heartily. "We'll have us some grand adventures." At least he was capable of seeing that Silas came to no harm until

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html he learned the ways of the world. He wasn't entirely without a sense of duty. Silas went immediately to sleep, as the young and the innocent were liable to. Emmet watched the stars slowly wheel overhead. Luck had been with him when he signed on theHilda Jane , after a miserable year as a cook's helper on a coastwise trader. Caspar Knowles had been the pattern of a Yankee trader, a godly man who treated his hands with decency while demanding excellence of them. Emmet, who'd never been asked to extend himself, found unknown depths of strength and intelligence under the tough captain's tutelage. After a year of trading in the Baltic and the Mediterranean, Captain Knowles had told the no longer scrawny boy that he had a future at sea, asked him to sign on for another voyage. Emmet had, and when they returned once more to Boston, he was second mate. He and Captain Knowles were not quite friends--the Captain's sense of fitness would never allow that--but they respected one another. When Abner Masterson found himself a wife and retired from the sea four years later, Emmet had been offered his post. At twenty, he became first mate of theHilda Jane . That was the year the captain decided to try the China trade. He'd tired of fighting the British for markets and cargoes in the small world of eastern Europe. So they'd rounded the Horn and sailed to Hawaii, carrying cargo for the missions there, as well as two dedicated couples who would do their best to convert the happy heathen to the burdens of Christianity. Then on to the fabulous East. But they never reached their destination. A storm blew them off course. Bad water, taken on at Honolulu, had caused recurring bouts of bloody flux, until no man on board was fit to man the lines. They were easy prey for the pirates who came alongside one dark night. Emmet had suffered a recurrence of the debilitating ailment and had been unable to stand his watch. He was asleep in his bunk when the first shout came, was staggering along the passage when the battle came to him. And he was too weak to prevent the taking of the ship, once Captain Knowles and half his crew had been butchered and shoved overboard. The few who survived did so because they were too weak to fight, but not so sick to be killed out of hand. Emmet and his fellows soon found themselves chained in a stinking hold with no idea of the fate intended for them. Their captors spoke a singsong language completely incomprehensible to them. Oddly enough he recovered on that hell voyage, despite too little food and water. By the time they reached land, he and most of his shipmates were as close to good health as a man could be, given the oppressive heat, inadequate water, wormy rice twice a day, and bodies bruised by random kicks and blows. Perhaps that was why he'd taken the chance when he saw it. They were herded on deck the morning after they docked, still manacled, but otherwise unchained.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html There were only five of the yellow-skinned, stocky pirates in sight when he swung his chains at the nearest and yelled for his men to fight. They fought. Emmet was able to pull a short, curved sword from a pirate's hand and he used it well. Two more went down before him, even as one of his crewmen fell with the blood spurting from a head all but severed from his body. They fought, but the outcome was predetermined. Two American sailors still stood when the rest of the pirates, who had only been on the dock, not far from the ship, returned and overpowered them. The captain--if that's what the mustachioed pirate was--paced before the two remaining captives, ranting and raving in that curious singsong language. Suddenly he stopped and swung his sword at Emmet's companion, nearly cutting the man in half. Then he looked at Emmet and smiled. And lifted his sword. Without thinking, Emmet broke free and dashed to the rail. A shot sounded as he sank into the warm water, but he felt no bullet's impact. He wondered how far he could swim with manacled hands. Far enough, for he found a hiding place under the dock where he stayed until dark. Apparently the pirates believed him dead, or didn't care. He hid out for the better part of a week, pounding his chains with a rock until they parted. And all that time he wondered what he could have done to save his shipmates. He had been responsible for them and he'd gotten them killed. He was incredibly, undeservedly fortunate, he realized later. The small port city where the pirates docked was a shipping point for two major Dutch nutmeg plantations. Within a month he was on his way to the Netherlands, filling an able seaman berth on a ship redolent with the scent of exotic spices. From Amsterdam he'd shipped aboard an American merchant vessel for New Orleans, where he'd met Buffalo Jones. At that time he'd never wanted to see another ship, nor to have the responsibility for another person. * * * Hattie saw them coming. She was picking early blackberries in the copse when she heard the unmistakable bray of a mule. Running into the meadow, she looked toward the river and there they were, both of them, trying to persuade a stubborn mule that it should step into the water. She stood and watched as Emmet finally lost patience and whacked the mule with a good-sized chunk of deadwood. It leapt forward into the river, and immediately began swimming downstream. Emmet splashed after it and caught its lead rope, swimming ahead and pulling it along. When he reached the shore where she waited, he climbed the steep bank and wrapped the rope around a convenient willow. "Great God, but I missed you!" he said, pulling her hard against him. For a moment he simply stood there, holding her. Then he was kissing her--her mouth, her eyelids, her nose, her temples. He dug his fingers into her hair and held her face between his hands. "Is everything all right here?" "Everything's fine." She pulled free of his arms. "But your mule's going to lose that load if you don't get it out of the water." Laughter threatened to spill over the brim of her joy.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Emmet cursed. "That damned mule!" I should have traded it for more coffee. It's been a curse on us both ever since the first time I loaded the flour on it." She helped him pull the mule up the steep bank. Emmet hitched it again, this time on a short tether. "I have to help Silas. Can you keep an eye on the mule?" "Of course." She would just stand here and feast her eyes on him. For the first time since he and Silas had departed, nearly a month ago, now, she felt the cold globe of dread in her belly melt. She had made a calendar, scratching the dates on the inner side of a large fragment of pine bark. Calling the day he left the twenty-first of June, she calculated it was now the seventeenth of July. In six weeks he would be gone for good. The oxen swam across without protest. It was only then she noticed that there were five.... "Emmet, a calf! Where on earth...?" She looked more closely as it scrambled up the bank. "A bull calf!" Had he brought her silks and satins, she could not have been more pleased. Now they could breed Bessie next year. "Got another surprise for you," Silas said, shaking himself as a dog would, spraying water for several feet around. "But you gotta wait 'til we unload the oxen and I can go back after it." He looked at Emmet and they both laughed aloud. She walked with them to the cabin. William had managed to floor a part of his room's loft, so they had a place for the bacon--Hattie's mouth watered at the thought of the rich, thick gravy she could make from the bacon grease. "Where's William," Emmet said as they unloaded, "and Flower?" "William's cutting wood," she said, "up behind the cabin. He decided it was high time he got started on the winter's firewood." She hesitated. Time enough later to tell him about Flower. Why ruin his homecoming with bad news? "He's right," Emmet said. "Well, that's that." He dusted his hands together. "Guess we'd better go back for your surprise." "Guess you had," Hattie agreed. She felt like Christmas, wondering what it was. She began on supper while they went back. Unable to imagine what they could possibly have brought her that would put such self-satisfied grins on their faces, she took stock of what they had already unloaded. Four barrels of flour--400 pounds--the same weight of bacon. Four sacks of beans, each weighing fifty pounds, she guessed, and two big bags of salt. One bag of beans had gotten wet. She'd have to open it and spread them out so they wouldn't sprout. And what was this? Hattie laughed. Coffee beans! Trust Emmet to make sure they had enough coffee. She tried to lift the big bag and could not. Enough to last the winter, she'd guess. William came in shortly thereafter, setting the milk bucket on the bench. "See they're back," he said. Hattie noticed how much more precise his words had become. After Flower left he'd asked her to teach him to read and had begun making an effort to speak without the thick accent that sometimes made him difficult to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html understand. "I wants to be worthy of her, does she come back and decide to have me," was the only explanation he offered. Hattie now doubted Flower would ever return, but she hadn't the heart to tell William so. Emmet called her from the meadow. Wiping her hands on her skirt, she went to the edge of the bench. He stood beside his horse, arms akimbo. "Come down here," he called. Silas knelt at his feet, holding, concealing something. She went, picking her way down the path they'd worn in the hillside. William was right. They'd have to lay some log steps here before winter, else it would be a regular slippery slide. As she drew near the thing Silas was holding became a fat body, a big, snouted head. "A pig? You brought me a pig?" "A real mad pig," Silas agreed, grinning fit to die. "She don't much like water." "She's been bred," Emmet said as she knelt beside Silas. "Ought to have you a fine litter come fall." "That's why Em got her so cheap," Silas added, looking at her worriedly. "It's gonna be hard to raise the piglets through the winter." Hattie couldn't help herself. She burst into laughter, as much at their flagrant attempts to convince her that a bred sow was a wonderful gift as at the gift itself. "Thank you," she said when she could finally control the laughter. "I can't think of a better surprise. She's wonderful." She scratched behind one ear, was rewarded with a contented snuffle. The sow evidently had forgiven them for whatever indignity they had subjected her to. "You really like her?" Emmet said, doubtfully. "I really like her," Hattie assured him. "And I can already taste those pork chops, come spring." But to herself she said,Oh, Lord, what am I going to do with another mouth to feed? Another eight or ten mouths, if she knew her pigs. She would be lucky to bring the piglets through the winter, let alone feed any of them to a size to butcher. "Where's Flower?" Emmet asked again as they sat to supper. There was a guilty silence as William and Hattie looked at each other. Finally Hattie gave a slight nod. "She... she's gone, Mist' Em," William said. "She's gone away." "Why?" He knew Flower, knew her sense of honor. She would not have abandoned Hattie without strong reasons. "It was that man...." William interrupted Hattie. "One of them renegades--the one they called Pyzen Joe--he showed up here a couple a' weeks ago. He wanted food an', well, I 'spect he wanted a woman too." "He said if I gave him food, he'd go away," Hattie said, her voice thin and tearful. "Then he said he was going to take her, threatened to take us both." Emmet forced himself to remain still. "What happened?" he said, surprised his voice could sound so mild. "Dawg, he licked me awake after the bassard knocked me cold, and I slipped up here with a ax handle and paid him back." He grinned. "Miz Hattie, she was plumb

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html mad and I had to keep her from smashin' his brains out with a rock." "Oh, Emmet, Flower killed him," Hattie said, weeping openly now. "She cut his throat and he bled to death. Right beside the fire." He took her into his arms and stroked her back as she gave way to sobs. "God! Why wasn't I here?" Once more he had failed those who depended on him. "Don't see as how you coulda' done much more'n we did," William said. "'Cept maybe you coulda' kept Flower from leavin'." "William was wonderful," Hattie said, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. "He dragged the body off and cleaned up the blood, and everything. But he wouldn't go after Flower. He said he had to stay with me." Emmet reached across the table and clasped William's hand. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for staying." He knew how much it must have cost William to stay when his heart must have gone with Flower. William simply nodded, his big dark eyes once more swimming in tears. * * * The last of the wagon's cargo arrived on the day Hattie calculated to be the first of August. Silas had taken it on himself to make trip after tiring trip back to where they'd left her wagon, two hard days' travel each way. By the time he brought in the last load, the oxen and mules were drawn and tired. The balky mule had been worn into submission, and would now cross the river with only a modicum of urging. There was still so much to do. Emmet and William had enlarged the pen adjoining the house, had built a second leanto so that Ditey the pig--short for Aphrodite--had a snug little home. There were mangers in the shed for the hay Hattie spent part of each afternoon cutting in the meadows. "She swing that scythe as well as any man," William said, as they paused to breathe one afternoon. They were felling two of the big firs on the east side of the largest meadow. William planned to let them cure over the winter and use them for floor boards come next summer. Emmet had no intention that Hattie would be here come next summer. He'd been reluctant to let her stay when it was the three of them: Flower, William, and Hattie. Now, with only William to depend on, Hattie could not stay. He would take her with him when he left in September, no matter how she protested. He would take William too, except that he knew the Negro would never leave Cherry Vale. He truly believed he could live free here, and who was Emmet to gainsay him? Until others came in, William was as free as the hawks that circled on the wind. After that--well, life held few guarantees anyhow. He said nothing, however. Hattie was happy, filled with plans for the winter, for next year when she would have an entire growing season to plant the seeds she was still convinced would sprout. She had planted her carefully packed trees and shrubs, spreading their tender bare roots over the soil she'd mixed with dry elk pellets. Each day she watered them--apple and peach, black walnut and two grapes that looked like nothing more than dry sticks poking from the ground. There were roses too, and lilac. Those she planted near the cabin. To Emmet's amazement, one of the grapes had already put forth a single tiny green leaf. "I'll not plant any seed until spring," she said. "And I'll save some of the beans to plant, too." She left the seed in its sealed keg, placing it far

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html back inside the root cellar where it would stay cool. Part of the magic of those summer days was Ellen. She no longer protested the hours she spent in the cradleboard. Her bright blue eyes were constantly moving, watching the world around her. She could roll over now, and often did. William had built her a bed--a cage Hattie called it--of peeled willow tied together with strips of green willow bark. William was Ellen's favorite, after her mother. She laughed whenever he came near, stretched her tiny arms to him of a morning. She allowed Silas to hold her, seemed to enjoy Emmet's efforts to amuse her, but it was William whom she loved. Emmet acknowledged a petty twinge of envy. She was everything he would want in a daughter. Hattie too was a delight. She worked hard--Emmet had never seen a woman who could match her. Yet she always had a smile ready, never seemed discouraged at the amount of work necessary to prepare for winter. More than once he opened his mouth to tell her it was all unnecessary, that he would be taking her to the Willamette come fall, no matter what she wanted. As many times he closed it, the words unsaid. She was happy. He would not destroy her dreams until he had to. He and Silas made several trips up the canyon through which they'd traveled when coming to Cherry Vale. Staying on the same side of the river, they soon came to a slide area far wider and more unstable than anything the fleeing party had crossed earlier. The rocks there were sharp and angular, broken and rough. They would lay up dry, holding together and needing little caulking. Again using the leather panniers, they hauled several loads back and set about building fireplaces in each of the cabin's rooms. The least Emmet could do, he figured, was leave William with a decent house, after what William had done for the rest of them. Emmet broke into sweat every time he thought of Pyzen Joe and what he would have done to Hattie, Ellen and Flower, had William not been there to protect them. Another reason why he was not going to leave Hattie behind. Pyzen Joe wasn't the only barbarian likely to find Cherry Vale. All too soon August drew to a close. Soon it would be time to leave, if they wanted to get over the Blues. He said so one night at supper. The nights were cooler now and they were christening the new fireplace in Hattie's part of the

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cabin. "When?" was all Hattie said, but he saw how she shrank into herself. "As soon as you can get ready," he said, not meeting Silas's questioning eyes across the room. "Me? I've done all I can. Your shirts are mended, What else do you need?" Damn! He wasn't doing this the way he wanted to. "You're going with me. I won't leave you...." "With you?" He heard her swiftly indrawn breath as she bent over, laying Ellen in her bed. "Why?" The word was soft, almost a whisper. "Because I can't leave you here, alone. You'll never make it through the winter. Not just the two of you." "Mist' Em!" "No, William. Let me." She came to him, standing over him, her arms folded across her chest. "You want me to leave this--all this that we've worked for--and go with you just because...." Her voice broke. He could see the whiteness of her knuckles as she clasped her hands at her waist. "You want to take me to the Willamette Valley?" Emmet nodded. "You'll be better off there," he said, hoping she would see the reason of it. "And where will you be while I'm being 'better off there'?" "I... ah... I don't know," he admitted. "But it won't be with me?" "You know it won't. I told you I'd be leaving...." "You did indeed. Well. Yes." She turned away and stared into the fire. After a few moments she said, "Can we talk of this tomorrow?" "Sure. We've got a few days before we need to go." He figured they'd leave most of her stuff with William. With all the gold she had--he'd hammered out some iron molds and she now had a goodly bag of coins to spend. Coins that were crude counterfeits of every gold coin he'd ever had in his pockets. Silas and William left then, going quietly and leaving him alone with Hattie. She stood before the fire a long time. Finally she turned. "I want to be alone tonight, Emmet. Do you mind?" Hell, yes, he minded. But something in her face prevented him from protesting. "I'll see you in the morning then," he said, going out the door. * * * Hattie did not sleep that night. She fed Ellen when the baby woke, but did not play with her as she usually did. As a consequence, Ellen fussed and refused to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html sleep until very late. It didn't matter, though, for Hattie had much thinking to do. In the end it was easy to make her decision. She rose long before dawn and walked into the meadow, wetting her bare feet, shivering in the morning cold. She watched the sky in the gap turn lavender, then pink as the sun rose somewhere behind the mountains to the east. Come winter there would be little sun reaching Cherry Vale, for there were tall hills to the south as well. If she had her directions right, there would be no winter sunlight in the meadow until near noon, but it would linger there until late afternoon. She envisioned the meadows white with snow. In her mind's eye, she watched the snow pile up in deep drifts, then melt, time and again, until at last it melted one last time and the grass grew tall and green once more. She thought of the elderberry bushes, heavy with fruit, nearly ready to harvest. And of her grapevines--a hardy variety she'd first brought from New York--growing unattended until they were choked by the vining blackberries. Would the black walnut grow tall and straight, or would it die in this new land, unable to adapt? And the lilac, which had just yesterday put forth two tiny leaves, promises for tomorrow. Would someone come here in a future year and see that once a woman had cared enough about this isolated valley that she planted her flowers--and her heart--here? If Emmet were taking her with him because he could not bear to leave her, she would go without a backward glance. But he was not, and she would not. * * * Emmet saw her walk back up the rise and enter the cabin. He was about to follow her when he saw her emerge again with William. They walked to the east and soon disappeared into the woods. She must be going to bathe and had asked William to stand guard. Silas was jogging Ellen on his knee when Emmet brought in the milk. William and Hattie had been gone a full hour now and he was getting worried. "Sure hope Hat'll be back soon. This little one's gettin' mighty hungry." "She didn't feed her?" Emmet couldn't remember Hattie ever leaving Ellen before her morning feeding. "Nope. Just stuck her head in here, asked William to go for a walk, and told me to listen for the babe." Just then Ellen whimpered and Emmet took pity on Silas. He was clearly not comfortable caring for the baby. "Hush, little one," he soothed, taking her and giving her a knuckle to gum. He wouldn't be surprised if she wasn't getting set to cut a tooth or two. She seemed about the right age, if Emmet remembered right. Ellen was content for a while, but soon she was again fussing. Where the hell was that woman? Hattie and William came in before Ellen's cries could turn into full-blown

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html wails. She took the baby and turned her back while she set her to breast. When she turned back, a scrap of cloth covered her bare breast and Ellen's head. Sitting quietly on the bench at the foot of her bed, she seemed to ignore them, concentrating entirely on her child. Emmet could not remember her ever being quite so modest before. Perhaps it was because Silas was here? William fried up some bacon and browned the rest of last night's bread in the grease as it cooked. With cups of fresh, warm milk, it was a delicious breakfast. They ate in silence, except when he offered to take a plate to Hattie. "No thank you," she said quietly. "I'll just have some milk." He set a cup beside her and she nodded her gratitude. When Emmet had scraped the last bite from his wooden plate--another of William's contributions--he reached for the coffeepot. "I've thought about what you said last night," Hattie said, startling him so that he splashed coffee on the hearth, where it sizzled. "And I've talked to William about it." She stroked a finger across Ellen's head, now covered with short, silky blond hair. "We're staying." "Good. We'll start.... What did you say?" "We're staying. William and I. This is our home." "This is our kingdom, Mist' Em. Mine and Miz Hattie's. You can't 'spect us to jest go off and leave it behind." He sat straighter as he spoke and Emmet saw that the shy, unsure slave he'd pulled from the ice-choked Boise River last winter had become a man. A strong man who knew his own mind. Hattie reached out a hand and took William's, ivory skin against ebony. He stepped closer until he stood at her side. "You've done what you promised, Emmet," she said, "and I'll never be able to thank you enough. But this is where I... we belong, William and me." "But you're my wife!" It was a futile objection, but the only one he had. "We never meant for it to last," she said, and Emmet heard sorrow and regret in her voice. "You never intended to stay." He had no more arguments. "I'll be leaving the day after tomorrow," he said. "Silas, you still meaning to come along?" "If Hat's sure she won't need me," the lad said. There was indecision in his voice. And longing. "You're a free man, Silas Dewitt," Hattie said. "Your agreement was with Karl, not with me." "But...." "Go," she told him. "Go and be happy. You've been a good friend to me, but it's time for you to live your own life." * * * "Miz Hattie, I still think you oughta' tell Mist' Em the truth," William said to her that afternoon as the two of them piled the hay that had been drying in the big meadow. "He gonna think you've done chose me over him." From William's tone, that was a fearsome prospect indeed. Hattie laughed, the first time she'd felt inclined to do so since last night. "Yes, and that's what I want him to think. This way he doesn't feel responsible for me."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "But he ain't happy." "William, Emmet would never leave me behind if he thought he had a hold on me--if I was truly his wife. As long as he thinks I've decided I want you instead of him, he feels free to go." "It ain't right, Miz Hattie. It jest ain't right." But William argued no more. Hattie forced herself to act as if there were nothing unusual about Emmet's departure. After all, hadn't he been leaving her behind regularly ever since the day they married? He hunted the last day, almost as if he didn't believe William was capable. He checked every inch of the pasture fence, inspected William's carved hinges on the root cellar, and added more chinking to the back of the fireplace he'd built at her end of the cabin. Every so often, he came to Hattie and asked her about something. "Are you sure you can find the fort?" He'd given her a map of the best route to Fort Boise, knowing she and William would have to go there for supplies at least once a year. She assured him that his map was a masterpiece of clarity. "Remember, if anyone questions you about the gold, tell them it was mine. Anybody who knows me knows I was a merchant sailor before I came to the mountains." She assured him she would be most convincing. "Don't trust anyone, red or white. Goat Runner says he'll tell his people you have a right to be here, but don't count on anybody's listening to him. You may have to fight." And again she assured him she was ready and able to fight for her home. Then it was morning and Silas was mounted. Emmet stood next to his horse, reins in his hands. Each carried a small fortune in gold wrapped in a bedroll, a pair of saddlebags stuffed with food. Neither carried a rifle, for they had insisted on leaving Emmet's Henry, Karl's shotgun, and the two rifles belonging to the renegades with Hattie and William. Hattie stood next to William, watching as Emmet made one last check of his gear. Only a few more minutes and she could relax this rigid guard on her emotions. "Hattie girl, I'm sorry," Emmet said, reaching a hand to her. He didn't quite touch her. "Don't be," she said, stepping closer. "You more than lived up to your part of the bargain." Rising to her toes, she kissed him, gently, softly, on the lips. "You brought me home, Emmet, and that's nothing to be sorry for." His arms went around her, pulling her against his body. Hattie told herself to savor this moment, for it must last her the rest of her life. When he bent his head to kiss her, she willingly gave him her mouth. A long heart-stopping moment later, he released her and stepped back. Hattie swayed, then caught her balance. She forced herself to look into his eyes, to smile. "God go with you, Emmet Lachlan, wherever you wander." He swung onto his horse. Looking down at her, he touched his forehead. "Take care of her, William." "I'll do that, Mist' Em. "I'll do that for sure." William's arm went around her,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html catching her as she swayed. Hattie watched until they were out of sight. How strange it was, she thought, that a woman could go on living when her heart lay shattered within her breast. Chapter Twenty Wasn't that just like a woman? Fickle as a summer breeze. He'd seen his shipmates thus betrayed again and again by the women who claimed to love them, only to toss them aside when someone better looking, richer, or more likely to stay ashore came along. Emmet himself had never taken a woman for more than a night. Not before Hattie. And now he was glad he had not. Oh, she'd been eager enough to come to his bed when she figured it would get her what she wanted. Memories of the week in the gold basin flooded his mind and he forgot, for a while, his anger. Great God, but she was lovely. Passionate. Generous with her kisses and with her slim, agile body. Emmet had never burned so hot for any other woman. Would she have been so eager to please had he taken her on to Fort Vancouver as soon as the passes were open? He snorted. Not bloody likely. She'd played shy and modest until they were in the gold basin, until she saw that he was going to leave her rich. "Wonder how they'll winter," Silas said, feeding fragments of sagebrush wood to the fire. Emmet shrugged, not willing to admit he'd wondered the same thing, had fought his imaginings of what could go wrong, ever since they'd swum the river that morning. "Sure surprised me, Hat turnin' to William like that. I though she was purely taken with you." Emmet leapt to his feet. "Will you shut up!" He stalked off into the dusk, not caring where he went. He wouldn't sleep anyhow. He still found her sudden change of fidelity incredible. By any other woman, such perfidy would not have surprised him. But Hattie? Gentle, steadfast, passionate Hattie who'd been all he could have ever dreamed of and more. How could she? He'd wanted to kill William for laying a hand on her, wanted to kill a man who'd been nothing but a loyal friend. Hadn't he wished happiness for her, even though he could not provide it?Hadn't he? So why did her defection to William seem such a betrayal? The next day was easier, and the day after that easier still. He only thought of Hattie sometimes by the time they left the Burnt River behind. They passed wagon trains every day and each one reminded him of her, but he forced himself to set the memories aside, to dwell on the anger that still smoldered inside. * * * Silas turned and waved before they disappeared. Emmet did not. "You sure you doin' the right thing, Miz Hattie?" William said. He had

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html removed his supporting arm almost as soon as Emmet had turned away and now stood just behind her but not touching her. She shook her head. "I don't think there is one right thing, William, but this is as right as it will ever be." She was as certain of that as she was of her own name. Turning, she looked up the rise, seeing the cabin sitting foursquare on the bench. This was the home she needed. She would put down her roots as the starts she'd planted were doing, slowly, easing them into the new soil, gradually becoming used to the rhythm of days and nights, the progression of seasons, in this new land. And one day she would become part of this valley as surely as the tall firs and pines that had welcomed her. "Yes," she said, more to herself than to William, "this is right--for me." "For me too, Miz Hattie, but I 'spect we're gonna get mighty lonely sometimes." Oh, yes!"Well, then," she told him briskly, "I guess we'll just have to keep too busy to notice, won't we?" If she worked hard enough, made herself tired enough each day, perhaps she would go to her bed at night and not dream of Emmet. Someday. "The first thing we're going to do," she decided, smiling up at the tall Negro on whom she depended entirely now, "is teach you that I'm just plain Hattie." She had to smile at the stubborn expression that immediately crossed his face. "We're partners, William, and friends. How can I feel like your friend if you insist on being formal?" "It don't seem right." She had to chuckle. "Well, it seems to me that what's right and what's wrong in Cherry Vale is going to be pretty much up to us from now on. Please," she said, touching his forearm, "no more 'Miz'?" "If'n you say so Miz... Hattie." His doubt was evident, but she knew he would try. The next weeks were busy ones. There were so many things they had to do before winter. But by the end of October, when they woke almost every day to sunlight on a silver-frosted meadow, they were ready. Elk and venison swung above the fire between the cabin halves, curing in the smoke. Bundles of dried fish dangled from the rafters in William's cabin, along with flitches of bacon and more bundles of elk jerky. An empty flour barrel was filled with dried huckleberries and several of the crates that had once held Karl's tools contained dried elderberries, tiny seedy pellets too sour to eat alone but giving biscuits or cornbread flavor and texture. She'd tried drying the chokecherries, but their big seeds were about all that remained after a week in the sun. So she'd boiled them, day after day, with honey from the tree Silas had found, and now she had jelly in a dozen casings like those that held venison sausage.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html And there were herbs. Hattie had picked and dried all the unnamed herbs Flower showed her, as well as some that she recognized as being similar to those back in New York and Pennsylvania--boneset, yarrow, several mint-like plants, the almost-chamomile and a tiny mustard-like thing that she hoped would serve as well as shepherd's-purse for poultices and the like. The ceiling of her cabin looked like an upside-down garden. Hattie often contemplated it, thinking what a sense of well-being it gave her to be so well-prepared for winter. The root cellar was stuffed full. Altogether Emmet had bought seven barrels of flour, two of cornmeal. He'd remembered dried fruit, but had only been able to purchase about fifty pounds. And coffee--neither she nor William was as fond of it as Emmet had been, so they had enough to last the winter and then some. When the first snow fell in early November, Hattie welcomed it. She was ready for winter. The stock were fat, the fences were tight, and the cabins were well-chinked. * * * Once they were across the Blue Mountains, Emmet saw no reason to hurry. They stopped by the Whitman Mission to see if Flower had been there, but she had not. Silas left a letter, to be delivered to Fort Boise. They both knew it would probably be next summer before William and Hattie received it. They fell in with a wagon train on the lower reaches of the Umatilla River. Emmet knew the guide slightly. Philo Andrews had been in the party he and Buff had traveled with up the Missouri, four years ago. They sat at Philo's fire the first night. "Heard tell you was with a train last year," the guide said, spitting into the flames. "Figured you'd be all settled in the Willamette by now, makin' a farm." "I'm not a settler," Emmet said. "Dirt makes my feet itch, and pretty soon I'm movin' again." "Yeah, me, too," Philo agreed. "I never see me a mountain 'less I want to know what's on t'other side." He spat again. "What about you boy? You a settler?" Silas shrugged. "Not for a while," he said. "I aim to see the world first." Philo swatted him across the back. "That's the lad! Plenty of time when you're old to grow moss." Turning to Emmet again he said, "I'm thinkin' to head on down California way soon's I get these pilgrims to The Dalles. I'd welcome your company." "Not this time," Emmet said. He had been to California. "We're thinking of goin' farther west. The Sandwich Islands. China, maybe." "Australia," Silas added. "I'm hoping to see them big kangaroo critters." "Hey, boy, they're nothin'. Why I recollect the time I saw me an elephant," Philo said. "Big as a house it were. And it had this snake for a nose, and legs like logs...." He went on to describe the wondrous sight. Emmet grinned across at Silas, received an answering grin in response. "Yeah. Well, I've heard tell of dragons in China. Big, long snakes with wings." "Breathe fire, they do," Silas added. "And they go flyin' about the country eatin' up folks." He shuddered realistically.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Wal, that shines! Now, I was down there in New Orleans one time and I saw me a monkey that swung by its tail." He stretched his hands an armlength apart. "Big long tail. Funniest thing I ever saw." Silas was evidently unimpressed. "Aw, everybody's seen little monkeys like that. Back in Pennsylvania I once saw me one big as a man. Ugly as sin, with long shaggy hair." "Did it have a tail?" Emmet tuned the conversation out. He was restless. Ordinarily he would have joined in the aimless talk, topping each new offering of Philo's with one of his own, each more fantastic and boastful than the last. But not tonight. "I'm goin' for a walk," he said finally, tossing the dregs of his coffee into the fire. Silas waved his understanding, but didn't stop in his description of a two-headed calf he'd once seen. Walking until the sounds of the wagon train were indistinct, Emmet climbed a low rise. The river gleamed in the moonlight, the willows and cottonwoods along its banks black shadows. Why was he so restless? Always before he was content with the pace of his travels. Each new day brought new scenes, even on trails he'd covered before. Since joining Buffalo, he'd never worried so much about his destination as the quality of his journey. The first season with Buff, he'd told the older man of his reasons for leaving the sea. "The way I see it," Buff had said that night, sitting across the fire in a tiny cabin high in the Rockies, "a man can go along blamin' hisself for everything he done wrong, until there ain't no more of him left to blame. Or he can jest forget about what's gone before and start every day new." He'd removed the long-stemmed pipe from his mouth and tapped Emmet's arm with the mouthpiece. "Now that's what I do, lad. I got me some regrets--ever'body has, if he's lived any time atall--but I don't carry 'em around with me no more'n I tote me a set of fine dishes." "My crew would be alive if I'd waited--if I hadn't gone off half-cocked." "Pshaw, Em. You saw a chance to get away and you took it. Any man'd done the same thing. Warn't your fault the rest of the pirates was nearby." "I should have made sure." "You should have done just what you did. You got away alive, didn't you? An' that's what's important." "I was responsible for my crew." "The way I see it," Buffalo said, "is that they had the same chances you did. Any man among 'em could'a been the one to swing them chains. But they didn't. They waited for you to do it, and then they followed along." He tapped the ash from his pipe and rose. Looking down at Emmet, he said, "When all's said and done, a man's responsible for hisself first. You couldn't have done them any good if you'd jest sat there and let yourself get sold as a slave. It ain't your fault that you was lucky and they wasn't." Emmet hadn't believed him then and he still didn't believe him. Each time

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html he'd been given responsibility, he'd failed. Each person he'd been responsible for had died. Please God he'd left Hattie before she fell under his curse. * * * William paused in his whittling. "You reckon she's all right?" Hattie lay down the scraper. The hide was beginning to look like those Flower had used for their skirts, but at what cost. It seemed like she'd been working on it for days, scraping, soaking, scraping some more. "I don't know, William. I keep telling myself she'll be back, but the longer we wait, the less sure I am." "It's mighty cold out there." "Oh, William, Flower's spent all her life in this country. She'll have herself a cozy place for the winter." But Hattie listened to the occasional crack of ice-laden branches and wondered. Had Flower gone because she needed solitude to heal herself, or had she gone away to die, like a wounded animal would? Catching Ellen's hand as it reached for the bone scraper, she said, "No, baby, you can't chew on that." She scooped the girl into her arms and distracted her with the necklace of wooden beads William had made. "Give her here," William said, reaching out. "I'll rassel her around so's she's ready to sleep." He took the baby and tossed her into the air. Ellen squealed happily. Hattie returned to her task. She wanted to get this hide finished in time to make William a shirt for Christmas. His was split across one shoulder. It was taking her so long, though. Tanning leather was not something a young housewife in Pennsylvania learned. For perhaps the twentieth time, Hattie regretted not asking Emmet to arrange for a loom and spinning wheel to be shipped to Fort Boise for her. And some sheep. She'd trade all the gold coins buried in the wall of the root cellar for some sheep. Stop it! You've got a home and a child and you'll never have to move again. What more do you want? The answer came readily to her mind. Emmet. Forcing her thoughts to William and away from her futile dreams, she said, "I think she'll come in the spring. Like the Flower she's named for." And as soon as she said it, she hoped she was right. Would Flower return in the spring? Not healed, but healing. And would she stay in Cherry Vale with them? "I hopes you're right," was all William said, but his expression held more hope than she'd seen on his face since the day Flower left them. * * * Emmet and Silas reached Fort Vancouver in early November. Incredibly, a ship was in port and Emmet was able to obtain passage. The British captain agreed to carry the two Americans as far as the Sandwich Islands, where they could find

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html American ships on their way to the Far East. When he saw the color of Emmet's gold, he even managed to find them a cabin. They boarded the night before the ship was due to sail, settling into their minute cabin, careful to avoid bumping each other as they did so. Emmet relaxed on his bunk, fully clothed. Silas blew out the lamp and followed suit. After a while Silas said, "I 'spose there's snow in the vale by now." "I reckon," Emmet answered. He found himself wondering if the meadows would gleam blue-white under the full moon. Or were there low clouds swallowing the tops of the mountains, dropping their heavy white burden onto an already deep snowpack? Were the cattle able to rake the snow from the grass underneath, or was William already feeding them from the haystacks they'd all worked to amass? If they were already using the hay, they'd likely run short before spring. "What's winter like in the mountains? I'll bet it's real quiet," Silas said. Emmet thought back to the three winters he'd spent in the Rockies. "Sometimes. But every once in a while you'll hear a big crack, when a branch breaks under the weight of the snow. Or a far-off roar, when the snow on a steep slope gives way." There were tall trees above the cabin. Why hadn't he insisted they build far enough out from the forest that they would be in no danger of falling branches? He hoped William had the sense not to go upriver as long as there was snow above. They'd already seen how unstable those steep slopes were. "I miss Hat," Silas said after another long silence. "And Ellen. Bet she's got real big." "Babies grow," Emmet agreed. His baby brother had grown slowly, poorly fed from the beginning. After their mother had died, Emmet had done his best, but Jonathan still seemed always ill. Sheila had cared for him, coaxing him to eat, holding him in her arms at night to keep him warm. Emmet had become skilled at picking pockets, at snatching fruit and vegetables from stands when the proprietors' eyes were elsewhere. Sheila waited tables all day, sometimes earning tips, sometimes coming in with bruises where the patrons in the workingman's tavern pinched or grabbed at her. At night she'd worked at a different trade, and never told of the money she'd made from the sale of her body. They lasted through the winter and into summer. Jonathan had improved with the coming of warm weather, although he still coughed at night, much as their mother had. A neighbor--a widow with a little girl--who was as poor as they had agreed to care for Jonathan during the days. She did piecework sewing for a tailor. As long as Emmet was there to watch both children when she picked up or delivered work, she claimed two were no more trouble than one. Of course they weren't, when they were lethargic from poor health. Emmet knew now that both children had been slowly but surely dying, from too little of the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html right foods, from the diseases that lingered in the very walls of the cheap, decaying rooms, from apathy and neglect. Funny. He couldn't remember the widow's name, although he'd cared for her and her child as he had for his own siblings, there at the last. Ellen, now, she was a healthy baby, showing none of the lassitude and pallor Emmet remembered being so common among the children of Boston's slums. She was chubby and happy, rarely fussy. He couldn't remember when she'd been ill, even though the babies he'd known were sick more often than they were well. Even when she'd cut two teeth scarcely a day apart, she'd been little more than cranky, less ready to play, less gluttonous when Hattie offered her breast. "She's probably underfoot all the time," he mused. "Huh?" Silas sounded as if he'd been asleep. "Ellen. She's probably crawling by now." Jonathan had crawled long before he was a year old, a scrawny little animal, filthy from the ingrained dirt of half-century old floors. Emmet had bathed him whenever he had the energy to haul water up the four flights to their rooms, but it had been futile. There was nowhere for the children to play but on the floors. Was Hattie able to keep Ellen clean? He could imagine how dirty the little girl would get on the compacted dirt floors. "You know, I didn't figure you'd really leave," Silas said, long after Emmet assumed he'd fallen asleep. "You and Hat--you seemed so happy, there for a while." "She's better off without me," Emmet said, honestly believing she was. If he wasn't there to depend on, he couldn't disappoint her. Or let her down. "And she's got William." "I guess," Silas said, sounding doubtful. "But you seemed pretty content yourself." He had been, Emmet realized. For a year and more, he had been more content than he could ever remember being. When he allowed himself to be. But he couldn't settle. He had a need to see what was beyond the next mountain, just as Philo did. There was a world out there, half of it still unexplored. He couldn't settle until he'd seen it. A vision of himself came to Emmet, a man destined to wander forever, always seeking something obscure, indefinite, unreachable. He tried to relax, tried to evoke the anticipation in himself he'd always felt on embarking on a new voyage. Each time he'd sailed with Captain Knowles on theHilda Jane , he'd been excited, looking forward to new places, new experiences. And he'd also felt free, as if he were leaving his problems behind. Tonight all he felt was worried. Emmet tried to imagine his future and he could not. An emptiness like he'd never known before engulfed him. He turned on the narrow bunk. The cabin was close, the air still and lifeless.Tomorrow , he told himself.Tomorrow we'll be underway. A few days to the mouth of the Columbia, and they'd be at sea. He imagined himself on deck, breathing deep draughts of sea air, tangy with salt-smell, brisk with an Arctic chill. It would be like going home again. He'd been ashore long enough. Again he turned, wondering why sleep evaded him. Usually he was asleep as soon

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html as he laid his head down. "Em?" "Yeah?" "You reckon those kangaroos are really as funny lookin' as that picture in the newspaper?" Emmet had never seen the picture Silas was referring to, but he'd heard a description of some of the animals in Australia. "Silas, I'd bet they're even more funny looking than you can imagine." "Hard to believe I'm goin' there," Silas said, a yawn interrupting his sentence. "I'm beginnin' to see why you say you'll never settle. There's so much to see, so much to do." A rustle told Emmet he was settling in his blanket. "G'night." "Goodnight, lad," Emmet said.Never again , he realized.I'm never going to see Hattie again. He lay a moment, forcing himself to resist the urge to turn and twist in his blanket. The realization was as painful as the wound in his back had been but this was internal. Somewhere in the region of his heart. Never see Hattie again!The very thought filled him with a desolation he'd never

experienced before. Was this what William had felt, when Flower left? "Did I know where she's at, I'd go fetch her," William had told him one day as they rested briefly from splitting rails. "She'll be back," he'd said, not really believing but hoping, for his friend's sake, that Flower would return. "Maybe she won't, Mist' Em. Maybe she think I ain't man enough for her." William's dark eyes had been filled with tears. "I didn't do nothin' to keep them renegades from hurtin' her." "You tried, William," Emmet had told him. "You did the best you could, but there were six of them and they took you unawares." "Sometimes a man's best jest ain't good enough, I guess." "Sometimes it ain't," Emmet had agreed, "but it's all a man can do." "I loves her, Mist' Em. She's gotta come back to me." William's words, spoken from his heart, echoed in Emmet's mind. He loved Flower, dreamed of the day she would return to him, so why would he suddenly turn to Hattie, who loved.... Who did Hattie love? At that instant Emmet knew it was time for him to do the best that he could do. He rolled to his feet. "I'm goin' back," he said. "Wha...?" He felt for the steel, struck a light. "I'm goin' back," he repeated. Quickly he

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html gathered his few possessions, all but the bag of gold. That he dumped on the small desk built against the wall. "I'll need some of this for supplies, but you can take the rest. There's plenty more where it came from." "But where... what...?" Silas was obviously confused. "I'm through wandering. It's time for me to settle." As he said the words, he knew they were the truest ones he'd ever spoken. "I want to go home." Home to Cherry Vale. Home to Hattie.What a fine sound that had. Done dividing the gold, Emmet placed Silas's share in his poke, replaced the poke in the lad's pack. The rest he dropped into his own pack, hoping it was enough for the bolt of cloth and the wool blankets he'd take back to Hattie along with all the bacon and coffee he could pack onto a mule. It was time she had a real dress again, instead of wool trousers or buckskin skirts. And some French-milled soap, if such were available from the HBC post. Soap that smelled of lilacs. Silas rolled out of his bunk and stood as Emmet finished his preparations. "I'll miss you, Em, but I'm glad you're goin' back." He stuck out his hand. Emmet took it, then pulled the boy into a bear hug. "You keep your knife close at hand, and remember what I taught you about watching your back, you hear." Releasing Silas, he picked up his pack and slipped it on. "You come back this way, you be sure and come see us." "I will," Silas said, holding the door open. "You can bet on that." Emmet went ashore and was quickly soaked by the steady rain. It was raining here, so it was probably snowing in the Blues. He'd have a bitch of a time crossing, but no amount of snow was going to stop him. It took him a day to find a boat heading back upriver. Emmet used that time to gather a load of supplies and gifts. By the time he reached The Dalles, he was fit to be tied at the slowness of travel. He purchased a decent horse and a big, rangy mule and set out the same day, pushing his animals as hard as he dared. It hadn't snowed enough to stick on the flats yet, but he wasn't trusting those low clouds. It was a good thing he hurried. The season's first major blizzard struck when he was climbing Flagstaff Hill, all but through the Blue Mountains. * * * Hattie opened the shutters, shivering in the sudden inrush of cold air. She'd been restless all day, probably because there had been so little sunny weather lately. She didn't remember last winter holding so many dreary days. Despite the storms, there had been brief spells of sunshine, in which the crusted snow sparkled as if strewed with a million tiny gems. This winter was much stormier. She had not seen the sun in better than a week and from the looks of those clouds, it could be another week before she did. She pulled the shutters closed again, glad she had stored all the extra milk as butter, grateful that the rushes that abounded along the river were the sort that burned well after being soaked in butterfat. If she had a choice between butter and light, she'd take light every day. Ellen reminded her that it was morning and she hadn't eaten since last night.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Hattie picked her up, rubbing the baby's nose with her own. "What a big girl," she crooned. "And such a good girl." Ellen was a joy. Content to amuse herself by the hour, as long as she had the smooth wooden toys William had carved her, she babbled and sang to her busy mother for hours at a time. Settling in her chair--it always reminded her of Emmet, for he'd built it for her during his convalescence--Hattie put the baby to her breast. She told the story of Cinderella to Ellen as the baby nursed, knowing she was doing it as much for the sound of a human voice as anything. Hattie hated to admit it, but she was lonely. Perhaps she should have gone with Emmet after all. If she were in the Willamette Valley now, she would have neighbors to visit with. Someone to talk to other than William, whom she rarely saw except at meals. The day wore on and Hattie's restlessness increased. When William came in at noon, he remarked that she seemed fidgety, and she admitted she was. And she didn't know why. When Dawg started barking, along in the afternoon, Hattie immediately took the shotgun to the window. Easing one shutter slightly open, she looked out. The last time Dawg had sounded the alarm, wolves had taken two of Aphrodite's piglets. There were only three left--the others had succumbed to the cold before Hattie started bringing them into the cabin at night--and they could not afford to lose any more. Too much of their precious food had gone to feed those consarned pigs. She saw nothing, but Dawg continued to bark. It sounded like he was down toward the river, a good distance away. And William, she knew, was hunting. The elk didn't come to the lower meadows much any more, so he was probably two or three miles away. Hattie waited, noticing that snow was starting to drift to the ground. Would this be the big storm William kept anticipating? A hint of movement far down the meadow drew her attention. When Emmet and William had felled the two big pines for making floor boards, they had chosen ones that would leave a gap through which she could see almost to the river. The sooner she could see intruders, they'd told her, the sooner she could be prepared to deal with them. A mounted man emerged from the curtain of falling snow. He led a second horse, a loaded one. She pushed the shutter open a little farther, knowing he could not see her, the way the cabin was set under the trees. Checking the shotgun's chambers again, she kept her eyes on him. William, come home, she cried silently, admitting her fear.Please, come home. The man guided his horse across the meadow toward her, as if he knew where he was going. Hattie lifted the shotgun, even though he was still far beyond its range. He sat the horse easily, seeming almost a part of it. Hattie was reminded of Emmet, who was the most graceful man on horseback she'd ever seen. And he was tall, like Emmet, but bulky, not slim. A broad brimmed had concealed his face, although he was much too far away from her to distinguish his features anyway. Then Dawg dashed forward, leaping and cavorting about the horses. The rider pulled his mount to a standstill when it threatened to shy, leaned forward

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html and reached a hand down to the excited dog. And Dawg did not attack him. The scene froze before her eyes. With utmost care, she pulled the shutters closed and latched them. She laid the shotgun on its pegs, next to the front door. And then she opened the door and walked outside, not allowing herself to believe what she desperately wanted to believe. She didn't take her eyes off the rider as she carefully descended the ice-covered steps into the meadow. He waited, standing beside his horse, one hand on Dawg's head. "It's a dream," she said to herself, needing to hear the words spoken aloud. "I've imagined him coming back so many times that I'm dreaming." But he didn't go away, didn't dissolve into insubstantial smoke. She forced herself to walk, not run as she desperately wanted to do. Still he stood there, waiting for her, his broad shoulders in the sheepskin coat covered with drifted snow. Hattie stopped as soon as she was close enough to see that it really was him. "You're back," she said, her voice almost a whisper from a throat gone dry. "To stay," he said, "if you want me to." "Why?" "Because there's nowhere on earth I'd rather be than here, with you. Because I love you, Hattie, girl." And then he was there, his arms around her, his mouth on hers. But she pushed him away. "You can't stay," she told him, "unless it's for good this time. I won't be left behind again." And oh, for all the words tore her heart in two, they had to be said. "It is for good, Hattie girl. It's forever." This time she let him kiss her. This time she believed him. EPILOGUE: 1848 Emmet leaned upon the scythe handle and wiped his brow. Now if the rain would hold off for another week, they'd have all the hay they needed for winter. Great God! Who'd ever thought he'd be fretting over the weather like any farmer? But that was what he was, these days. A farmer. With a sense of accomplishment, he looked across the meadows. The small patch of garden, with its high fence, looked straggly and abandoned now, but he knew there were carrots and turnips under those mounds of straw, braids of onions and clusters of corn drying in the rafters of the barn. Hattie's seeds had survived their two-year storage, giving them an ample harvest. She'd mourned the loss of the black walnut, but they'd all celebrated the appearance of three spindly clusters of grapes on the single vine that had made it through the winter. Hattie still swore her precious lilac would survive, for all it had produced only a handful of leaves this year. Rested, he shouldered the scythe and strode toward the bench holding their cabins. He wondered if he would ever walk this way without feeling as if he were coming home. Anticipation grew in him as he climbed the rise, passed the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html double cabin that had been their first home, that was now a barn and granary. "Papa! Papa home!" Ellen met him at the door of the snug, two-room structure. "Papa home!" He swung her high, laughing with her. "Yes, indeed, Papa's home. You ready to help with supper?" Ellen shook her head, curls like sunlight bouncing. As soon as Emmet set her down, she ran back to the corner in which her toys were stored. "It's warming on the hearth," Hattie said. "Your son decided his supper was more important." She smiled from her chair, nodding at the tiny head half-concealing her bared breast. Emmet knelt before her and touched a delicate ear. "How you feelin'?" "A little tired," she admitted, almost as if she were ashamed. "I don't seem to have much energy." "Great god, woman! You gave birth two days ago. You've got every right to be a little tired. Why aren't you in bed?" "I was, until it was time to heat up the stew." Laughing, she pushed at his hands. "Emmet! Behave yourself!" He continued to unbutton the nightgown until he could pull it off the other shoulder. "I remember how this tasted," he said, leaning forward to take with his tongue the tiny droplet that emerged. "Just checking to see if little Buff's getting the same quality." Her hand caressed his cheek. "Liar," she accused, but the affection in her voice told him how she welcomed his touch. Ellen pushed her way between Hattie and Emmet. "Buffo," she said, touching the baby's head much as Emmet had. "Mama. Papa." Her bright smile turned to an expression of great solemnity as she touched each of them in turn. "Mine." She nodded emphatically. "My Papa, my Mama, my Buffo." Hattie was blinking rapidly as Emmet looked up at her. "My family," she whispered. "My loves." "My home," Emmet said around the clot of tears that almost choked him. Embracing his wife, his son, his daughter, he said it again, for it could bear repeating day in and day out for the rest of his life. "My home." THE END