Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (40 page)

The rain had waned to a fine drizzle, but no one noticed. Addie stood in the back of the wagon looking down on the scene. She couldn’t believe the risk Trisha had taken to jump out of the wagon and sink her knife between the shoulder blades of the man who had come to kill her.

Addie heard a shout and saw John running toward them.

“Addie?” His voice was filled with anxiety. “I heard a shot. Are you all right?”

“We’re all right. See about Trisha.”

Buffer’s arms were around Trisha, her face against his wet shirt. She was quiet and appeared calm.

“I knowed it was him . . . that
devil man!
I wasn’t going to let him cut ya up, Buffer. He’s . . . so mean—”

“Sweet girl. Ya scared the hell out of me.” Buffer’s arms cradled her. “Don’t ever do that again!” he said gruffly. “I’ll do the fightin’ for both of us. Hear?”

“I wasn’t gonna let him cut ya, Buffer,” Trisha said again.

She stood still in Buffer’s arms while he told John what had happened. Buffer blamed himself for not keeping a closer watch.

“Trish said he’d be back to finish the job. Guess I got careless, thinkin’ he’d not come out here.” His arms tightened around Trisha. “Damn vulture was in the judge’s camp all this time.”

John knelt beside the man on the ground.

“He isn’t dead!”

“I can fix that!” Buffer’s blood was still at the boiling point.

John turned cold eyes on Buffer and said curtly; “No, you won’t! That would be murder, and I’ll not stand for it.”

“Gawddammit, John. The son of a bitch was gonna use that scatter gun. He wasn’t carin’ who he hit, just so he got Trisha. He tried to kill her . . . twice! He ain’t fit to live!”

John ignored Buffer’s outburst and showed no sign of how shaken he was to learn that the man was going to fire into the wagon.

“Throw out a ground sheet, Addie. We’ll get him under the wagon out of the rain.” John unlaced the back flap and swung it open.

“Get in the wagon, my sweet brave girl,” Buffer muttered for Trisha’s ears alone as he lifted her up in his arms and carried her to the end of the wagon. “Put on some dry clothes. Me an’ John’ll take care of this heap a horse dung.”

Huntley, Paco, Colin, and Cleve arrived in time to help lift the man who had been rolled over on the ground sheet. They placed him beneath the wagon. Cleve looked at him and shook his head.

“He’ll last an hour, maybe two. The knife went into his lungs. They’re fillin’ up with blood. Should I notify the other camp?”

“Let him die first,” John said without feeling. “They can come get him and bury him. How is the stock doing?”

“They stirred a bit, but held together. That was some turd floater. The stream ahead will be out of its banks till mornin’.”

“Guess we’ve gone as far as we’ll go today. Any of the freight get wet?”

“Rolly’s checkin’ it.”

The dying man beneath the wagon lay alone, gasping for breath. John ducked beneath the wagon to speak to him, not out of compassion but decency.

“How did you find her?”

“Wasn’t hard. Missed her at Freepoint. Some fellers . . . told me some gal had crippled a man . . . she’d gone with a bull train. Knowed it was . . . her. Almost got ’er . . . once.”

“The Renshaws?”

“Didn’t ask ’em no . . . names. Hee-hee-hee! Told me to bring ’em a ear . . . they’d give me a . . . horse.”

“You’re not going to make it, you know. Is there anyone you want notified?”

“Never . . . thought I’d be brought down . . . by a damned nigger wench!” Blood trickled from the corner of the man’s mouth and disappeared in his thick black beard.

“If you’d shot into that wagon and hurt my wife, my kids, or Trisha, I’d not have waited for you to die. I’d have stomped the life out of you where you lay.”

“Big talk. Ya ain’t . . . got the guts fer it,” he said with a sneer.

“You tried to kill Trisha in Van Buren. What’s she done to you that you’d follow her all the way out here to try it again?”

“She’s a nigger! And she run!” Black brows drew together. “Ain’t never . . . lost one. I always get ’em. Miss Amelia had to give . . . the buyer his money back, ’cause the bitch run.”

“The war is over. Slaves are free people now.”

The man’s face was ashen, causing his eyes to look brighter. His lips curled again in a sneer.

“They ain’t got sense . . . enough to be free! They’re dumb animals. Only good to . . . work. Some ain’t worth feedin’.”

“You’re the sorriest piece of shit I’ve come onto in a long time. If you weren’t dying I’d be tempted to kill you where you lie.”

The dying man gave a derisive snort and blood came out of his mouth.

“Miss Amelia’ll send somebody else to get that . . . bitch.”

“Let her try. They’ll get what you got.”

“I got them . . . other bastards . . . them high-yeller boys. I made sure they knowed . . . it was me that . . . got ’em. If I’d-a got
her,
Miss Amelia’s Hector would have all a Satinwood Plantation, best cotton . . . land on the river.”

“You didn’t get Trisha. Trisha got you.” John’s voice was heavy with contempt.

“I . . . ain’t never failed Miss Amelia.” The dying man’s voice was weakening.

“You did this time.”

“Gawd! I hate them white niggers. They . . . so . . . uppity. Mr. Du Bois . . . ride ’em and get more white niggers . . . outa ’em. He call the wench
La
Trisha . . . like she was . . . somethin’ grand.” He lifted a bony hand and clutched at his chest.

“Du Bois is dead?”

“In the . . . war.” His head and shoulders heaved as he struggled to breathe. “Left Satinwood to Hector and them . . . three nigger bastards. It wasn’t right a’tall. Ah . . . poor Miss Amelia. I got them . . . studs. Almost got the wench. Tell Miss Amelia, I almost . . . got the—”

Blood gushed from his mouth. His eyes remained open and staring.

John waited.

To be sure he was dead, John moved one of the man’s eyelids with the tip of his finger. It stayed closed. The other remained open. He closed it and placed the man’s hat over his face.

*  28  *

T
he wind blew away the clouds and the sun came out. The rain had washed the dust from the white canvas tops of the wagons, and now they gleamed in the sun.

Colin took the two younger children to Bill to stay until the dead man could be removed from beneath the wagon. Addie reminded them to thank John for the presents. Afterward they insisted on giving him big kisses on his cheeks. John was wonderfully patient with them. He smiled up at Addie, clearly enjoying hearing them call him “papa.”

After the children left, John repeated word for word his conversation with the dead man.

“What’s his name?” Addie asked.

“I didn’t think to ask him.”

“It’s . . . David Blessing.” Trisha’s golden eyes had a sparkle when she looked at Buffer. “Nobody ever called him that but Miss Amelia. Us slaves said, yassuh, nawsuh. But when he wasn’t around we called him devil man.”

“ ‘Blessing’ certainly doesn’t fit the man from what you’ve told about him,” Addie commented before turning to John. “Does that mean that Trisha owns half of a large plantation?”

“I reckon it does.”

“I ain’t goin’ back there!” Trisha’s voice rose. “I ain’t wantin’ any a that Satinwood.” She turned pleading eyes to Buffer. “Ya said we’d fix us a place—”

“We’ll do it if that’s what ya want.”

Trisha was close to tears.

“I’m goin’ with ya, Buffer. Hector and old Amelia can have it all. Them folks that work it hate ’em both. They’ll go somewhere else. Let nasty old Hector hoe cotton in the sun till he’s so tired he can’t eat.” A smile came into her golden eyes. “I hope he has to slop hogs, cut cane, and carry out the slop jars too.”

“We’ll start us up a little place, sweet girl.” Buffer’s voice was husky with relief. He’d had a moment of panic when he realized that Trisha could claim part of a big plantation. “We ain’t gonna have no
big
place—”

“I ain’t carin’ about no
big
place, Buffer.” She held on to his arm with both hands. “I ain’t never goin’ back to Orleans or Satinwood. I was thinkin’ ya was tryin’ to back out on . . . on . . .”

Buffer grasped her shoulders with both hands. “I ain’t never backin’ out on what I tell ya. I just want ya to be shore ya won’t be sorry ’bout missin’ out havin’ . . . all that.”

“All that
misery?
All them folks lookin’ down on me? I ain’t never gonna miss
that.
’Sides, Buffer, ya promised to show me how to throw a knife so . . . it’ll be easier for me to stick folks.” She failed in her attempt to get him to smile.

“I’m goin’ to. Lord, ya scared the water outta me when I saw what ya was up to.”

When Buffer realized what he had said, his face turned fiery red. He could feel the laughter in the girl snuggled close to him and wanted to shake her.

“If you can take your eyes off Trisha for a minute, Buffer, we’ve got one more thing to decide.” John’s serious tone drew their attention. “I don’t think anyone outside the four of us and Cleve knows why Blessing was after Trisha. I told Cleve after she was attacked. You can trust him not to say anything.” He looked at Trisha and she nodded. “I don’t think Blessing would have told anyone at the other camp because he wanted to get away after he had done his dirty work. He seemed to be quite taken with his Miss Amelia and wanted to get back to her.”

“They was thick as eight in a bed,” Trisha commented dryly.

Addie frowned. “That’s right. What reason can we give the judge for his trailing Trisha and trying again to kill her? Her background is her business . . . and, I think now, Buffer’s.”

John’s dark blue eyes twinkled with love for her. His Addie took everything in stride. She, Trisha, and the children had just escaped death at the hands of a madman. No screaming, no crying. Calm . . . and beautiful. Lord, how had she become so important to him so fast?

With an effort John brought his mind back to the conversation.

“I agree, honey. Why don’t we say the man was obsessed with her. It’s true that he was . . . in a way. They’ll think he was captivated by her beauty, and that when she would have nothing to do with him, it drove him crazy.”

“I go along with that.” Buffer grinned at Trisha. “I can see how she’d drive a man outta his mind.”

“Some men ain’t even got one, so they ain’t got nothin’ to worry ’bout.” Trisha tilted her chin at a sassy angle and gave Buffer a sidelong glance.

Buffer Simmons, the big bear, was clay in the hands of this slip of a girl. John shook his head in amazement.

“Let me say one thing, then we’ll drop the matter. When you get to New Mexico, Trisha, there may be a few people, a very few, who will be interested in whether you’re a full-blooded Caucasian. A lot of white folks out there are part Indian or part Mexican. Go with Buffer. Be happy and be proud of
yourself.
”

It was as if a weight had been lifted from Trisha’s back. Her eyes sparkled when she looked at Buffer. He looked at her as if she were the most precious thing on earth. They would make a great pair—if they didn’t end up killing each other. Addie stifled a giggle at the thought.

John decided that this wife would make a terrible poker player. He could read every expression that flickered across her face. She turned her beautiful violet eyes toward him, and he felt something warm deep inside him. He looked at the sun and wondered how long it would be until he could be alone with her. When he spoke, his words were miles from his thoughts.

“I went through Blessing’s pockets. He had a little money and some papers. Nothing of interest. But he had this.” John took a heavy gold watch from his pocket. “It’s got the name Paul Du Bois engraved on it. I thought Trisha should have it.”

“Daddy’s watch.” Trisha reached for it. “He let me play with it when he came to see me and Mama.” She held the watch in both hands and looked at it lovingly before she pressed the stem. The cover on the face popped open and she read the words engraved on the inside:
“ ‘I’ll always love you.’
Mama had that put there one time when Daddy left his watch at our house. He was . . . so tickled.” Trisha looked off into the distance, her eyes misting as she remembered the happy times of her life.

John’s eyes sought Addie’s.

“We’ll have to get some canvas and fix those holes in the top before it rains again. Come on, wife. Let’s leave the lovers alone. I’ve got to send someone to tell Van Winkle to come get his man and bury him.”

Trisha and Buffer, standing close together, their heads bowed over the watch, were not aware of their leaving.

*  *  *

The scowl on the judge’s face should have been a warning to Addie that he intended to raise serious questions about the death of one of his men. It had not occurred to her that he and the captain of his patrol would accompany the men who came to take away the body.

John and Buffer were repairing the wagon top when the judge, the captain, and two other men rode up leading an unsaddled horse. They dismounted. The captain stooped and lifted the hat from the face of the dead man.

“It’s Hopkins,” he informed the judge. “One of the last men we hired.”

“His name isn’t Hopkins,” John said to the judge, ignoring the captain. “It’s David Blessing.”

“How do you know that? Did he tell you?”

“No. Trisha, my wife’s stepdaughter, did.”

“Her stepdaughter?” The captain looked from Trisha to Addie.

“Her stepdaughter,” John repeated smoothly. “Do you have a question about that?”

Forsythe shook his head.

“How does she know that?” the judge demanded.

“He’s been following her for . . . about a year. He’s the one who tried to kill her back at Van Buren.”

“Why?”

“Look at her and look at him.”

“Stop talking in riddles. Someone here killed one of my men and I want to know why.”

“He was determined to have her. She didn’t want him.”

“Seems clear to me, Judge.” Forsythe was anxious to leave. Addie had not taken her eyes off him. Sweat rolled from his temples down the sides of his face.