Tender Touch (21 page)

Nigh took out his knife and began whittling. Sitting idle had always been difficult for him.

“Why’re you here, Col?”
Jeb asked. “Your sister sick?”

“No, thank God. She and Lilith Beaudouin got to be mighty close. Brianna won’t leave till Lilith recovers or. . .” He let the rest of the sentence hang.

Jeb straightened and tipped his hat further back on his bald head. “Strong woman, your sister. Good’un, too, I’m thinking. Well, best get going. Lemme know if there’s anythin’ I can do.”

Marc and Tom joined Nigh as Jeb trotted from the camp. Overhead a turkey buzzard circled as if he could already smell death in the air, its broad wings black against the weak morning sunlight. Nigh’s hand itched to take out his gun and blast the bird to hell. “Don’t sit well with Jeb, leaving us like this.”

Tom nodded. “Good man, Hanks. Hell of a sight better than Magrudge.”

“The Lord will settle with Magrudge someday,” Marc said. “And Punch Moulton, as well.”

Nigh grunted. “The Lord may have to stand in line.”

Brianna did not rest after leaving Betsy Coover. She visited the Decker wagon, instead, offering Lavinia her help. Next, she visited Sara Goodman and Amelia Shorthill. On her way back to Lilith, she stopped to try to cheer up Francois and Jean Louis. They were sitting by the fire, ignoring the kitten that chewed on their dusty pant legs. The sight of those small, drawn faces tugged at her heart.

Children shouldn’t have to be sad and scared, she thought. They shouldn’t have to lose their mothers the way she had when she was little older than Jean Louis.

As Brianna returned to her seat beside Lilith’s bed, the ill woman reached out a hand. Lilith was a shriveled up imitation of her original self. Brianna swallowed to keep from gagging at the smell of vomit and reached for a clean rag to wipe Lilith’s chin.

“Brianna, listen, please,” Lilith whispered hoarsely, pushing away Brianna’s hand. “Keep an eye on my boys. Marc’s a good father, but children need a woman’s care.”

“Hush.” Brianna stroked the stiff, sweat-soaked hair from her friend’s blue-tinged face. “Don’t worry about any of us, just concentrate on getting well.”

Love shone from Lilith’s sunken eyes as she reached to touch Brianna’s face. “You’ve become so dear and . . . and Col, too. Without you, I couldn’t have stood this trip.”

“Shh, save your strength.”

“No, we both know better. Let me speak while I can.” She licked her dry lips. “Why is it I can see it all so clearly now? The selfishness, the shallowness, of my life. Thought I was so clever. Huh! Wasn’t smart enough to be clever.” She moaned, then said, “Don’t . . . don’t let them leave me in the dirt. Make Marc put me in a box. Can’t bear the idea of .
.
. of wolves digging me up.”

Lilith’s voice weakened. Brianna forced words past the knot in her throat. “You can't give in like this. Think of Marc, and the boys. They need you. I need you. Please, Lilith, fight!”

The woman didn’t seem to hear. “Don’t waste yourself. Marry, have children. Don’t be afraid. Sometimes . . . have to take happiness when and where . . . Never look back. Life’s too precious
. . .”

Her voice faded. Her eyes eased shut and her features went slack, except for a tiny smile on her bluish lips that remained even after she’d slipped away.

“Lilith?” Brianna picked up Lilith’s limp lifeless hand and a wail of grief tore from her throat.

“
Lilith!
”

Chapter Twenty

Coyotes howled and fought among themselves, excited by the scent of death. Brianna shuddered at the sound and looked out from the bluff over the treeless Platte River Valley below. Off in the distance smoke spiraled into the sky from Fort Kearny. She wondered if Dr. Fullwood would take any satisfaction in knowing he had been right about Lilith, and decided no one in the business of saving lives could feel that way.

Jean Louis wiggled his sweaty little hand in hers and she glanced down at the boy. He had Lilith’s straight thick hair and patrician nose and her restless, impatient nature as well. On the other side of the boy, Marc, holding Jean Louis’s other hand, gave it a tug to make the boy settle down.

Brianna knew pain, suffering and death were something Lilith had had little experience with. Though she was sympathetic to the misery of others, she had been at a loss in dealing with her own. Joy had been her element, not grief. So Lilith had not encourage painful confidences from friends or relations. Understanding this, Brianna thought it ironic her friend had been forced to endure so much the last hours of her life.

The steady scrape and thrust of shovels were the only sounds in the warm afternoon air, except for the distant shouting of people and lowing of oxen in the valley below. On the bluff there were only the shovels, the wind in the grass, and the coyotes on the next hill. The eye could see for miles, but something about the endless rolling hills kept sound locked in the swales and hollows, the way Brianna hid her pain in the emptiness of her heart.

Lilith’s coffin had been put together from odd pieces of lumber scrounged from the leavings of others, and from the folding table she had insisted on bringing so as to enjoy some measure of comfort on the trip. Brianna wondered if Lilith would have felt so keenly about her table and crisp white linen cloths, if she’d known to what use they would eventually be put. While the men worked on the coffin the women washed Lilith’s still-plump body and dressed it in her fanciest ball gown. Wherever Lilith was now, Brianna hoped she was dancing and laughing, all pain forgotten.

Once, Brianna had believed in God and heaven and hell. She had knelt next to Julia and their father in the grand St. Louis Cathedral, and felt comforted by the pomp and ceremony. Only during her marriage had she began to question the religious teachings of her childhood. Now, watching the men pile rocks on Lilith’s grave to deter the waiting coyotes, she found herself questioning a good deal more.

On top of the rock pile Jonathan Decker and Columbus Nigh set a larger stone on which Marc had carved,
Lilith Ann Beaudouin, 1817-1849. She was loved
.

Now, as though born to the pulpit, Clive Decker’s crisp tenor voice sliced through the air with the Forty-ninth Psalm, inciting a ripple of movement through the small knot of mourners. As the last words fell away, A
melia Shorthill’
s soft soprano voice took up the first verse of “Nearer My God to Thee,” and was quickly drowned out by Lavinia Decker’s booming alto. Beneath the rise and fall of the melody Brianna heard Marc’s choked sobs and wished she could let go of her own grief as easily.

She knelt to place a bouquet of white larkspur by the headstone. Columbus offered a hand to help her up. Hesitantly, she put her hand in his. If she were to love this man, would he be taken from her too? As her eyes met his, she thought it just as well she was married to someone else. Otherwise, she would be sorely tempted, but she would do anything to avoid risking
Col’s life.

Somewhere behind them, Barret was doing all he could to overtake her, but she no longer felt frightened. She had no tears left, no emotions, nothing. Her heart had shriveled like the dried apples in the pies she and Lilith had often made together.

All the way back to camp, down the ravine that led from the bluff, her hand in Nigh’s sure grip as though he feared letting go of her, the last line of Lilith’s epitaph taunted her: She was loved. She was loved. She was loved.

Glancing at Marc’s haggard face and the boys’ tearful ones, Brianna knew it was true. Lilith had been loved. Brianna chided herself for the envy she felt. She desperately wanted what her friend had known with Marc. A real marriage. Love. Children. Would she have to pay for the mistake of marrying Barret for the rest of her life?

Lilith’s voice came to her as clearly as the howls of the coyotes back up on the bluff.
Sometimes you have to take your happiness when and where it offers, and never look back
.

***

Barret Wight wiped the dust out of his eyes with his shirt sleeve and peered harder at the scribbled notes pinned to the wall outside the sutler’s store. Notices of lost cattle, messages left by emigrants for friends following behind. Letters to families with coins and notes attached, begging east-bound travelers to take the missives to the States and mail them. Even a list of those who’d died along the way. Nothing that hinted of Brianna having passed that way.

Beside Barret, Stinky Harris stuffed his mouth with horehound candy and grinned. “Um, that soothes my sweet tooth. It’ll feel good to sleep in a real bed tonight, too. Captain Ruff was friendly, wasn’t he?”

“Who cares?” Barret growled. “All I want to do is find someone who can tell me something about my wife. What did you say her sister’s name was again?”

“Didn’t get her first name, husband’s name was John Somerville.” Or something like that, he added silently.

Two soldiers came out of the store. Barret put out a hand to stop them, holding up the daguerreotype for them to see. “Afternoon. Trying to catch up with my wife. Either of you seen her, by any chance?”

The first soldier glanced quickly at the picture, shook his head and walked on. The second soldier said, “She’s a looker, isn’t she?”

Barret glared at the man. “Have you seen her or not?”

“Listen, mister, the captain’s been keeping count and says there’s been at least four thousand wagons through here this spring. That’s enough to make even a looker like your wife hard to recall.” The soldier walked off.

“Damn! You’d think somebody’d remember her.” Barret stuffed the photograph back into his pocket.

“Told you it was going to be like searching for a needle in a haystack.” Stinky popped another candy in his mouth.

Barret’s fist caught Stinky square in the jaw. “Blast you to hell, Harris. If you’d done your job right, I wouldn’t have to be making a fool of myself, asking every jackass soldier where my wife is. I’d already know.”

Stinky picked himself up and rubbed his sore jaw, but said nothing. He’d seen enough examples of Barret’s temper to know when to keep his mouth shut.

Barret massaged his knuckles. “Get out of here. Go see what kind of deal you can get trading our horses for fresh ones.”

“Made me swallow my candy,” Stinky whined as he stalked away.

Over by the blacksmith shop a tall man in buckskins sat on a barrel, whittling while he listened to Stinky Harris make arrangements with the blacksmith to get horses shod and pack mules traded for fresh ones. After Harris left to join Wight for supper at a boarding house run by a Mormon family, Columbus Nigh got up and stepped inside the shop. A barefoot boy was working the bellows while the smith fired up a horseshoe. The smith had arms like boulders and a bulldog face covered with black stubble. A large number of horses and mules waited outside for the blacksmith’s attention.

“Got more’n you can handle, ’pears like.” Nigh gnawed on his toothpick. “How ’bout I pick out some mules for that last fellow, save you the trouble?”

The smith wiped his sweating brow with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of soot behind. He was naked from the waist up except for his leather apron and a thick matt of black hair. “You’re Columbus Nigh, ain’t ya?”

Instead of answering, Nigh made a few last cuts with his knife on the carved eagle he held. “Got young’uns?”

“Two. Why?”

Nigh handed him the eagle. He fished another chunk of wood out of a pouch slung from his belt and started a new carving. “Got it in my mind to make sure the owner of them mules has a real leisurely trip.”

The smithy grinned. Here was a good story to share with the boys over the whiskey barrel that night. “Fine with me.” He pointed to a pair of mules snubbed to the rail inside the corral. “Jest don’t be lettin’ them two loose.” He winked. “Bad medicine, them two. Ain’t a picket or hobble been made can keep ’em in camp. Don’t take to packsaddles, anyhow.”

“Thanks for the advice.” Nigh finished up the simplified carving of a mule deer lying down and handed it to the man. Then he headed for the corral and the two snubbed mules.

That evening Punch Moulton and a few men from the Magrudge Company appeared on horseback outside the cholera camp. They were on their way to the fort, they explained, but couldn’t pass by without inquiring how things were going. After expressing their sorrow about those who had succumbed to the illness, they went on their way. An hour later they met Columbus Nigh on the trail.

“Why ain’t you back with the others, squawman?” Punch asked.

Nigh ignored the Kentuckian. He nodded to the rest of the men. “Problems up ahead?”

“Yeah, goddamn buffalo,” Ben Crater said. “Stampeded through camp last night and took half our oxen with them. We spent most of the night trying to round them up.”

“’Cept we never found ’em all,” another man added. “Got to buy more at the fort ’fore we can travel on.”

“Anyone hurt?”

“No, just got the shit scared out of us is all.”

“You been to the fort, spreading the cholera around?” Punch asked Nigh.

Nigh chewed on his toothpick a moment. “Reckon if I could infect anybody, I’d start with you, Moulton. Can’t think of anybody deserves it more.”

The other men chuckled as they watched Nigh urge the dappled gray past them.

“Goddamned squawman!” Punch Moulton muttered. One of these days, if he had his way, he’d get even with Columbus Nigh.

Punch and his party reached the fort well before noon. They dismounted near the blacksmith shop where the corrals were situated and walked over to check out the stock for sale. Punch’s horse had picked up a stone in its left rear hoof. He had the hoof propped on his bent knee and was trying to pry out the stone with his knife when he heard someone come up behind him.

“Punch Moulton! Wha
t the hell are you doing here?”

Punch looked up to see Barret Wight and Stinky Harris. He continued prodding at the stone. “Tolt you I was headed for Oregon. How come you’re here? You cain’t be headed for the gold fields. 1 already made you rich in that poker game at your tavern.”

Wight had no wish to admit his wife had run away from him. “I’m looking for someone, favor for a friend.” He sent Stinky a look, warning him to keep his mouth shut, then brought out the daguerreotype. “His wife ran out on him. Have you seen her?”

The sight of Brianna Villard dressed in a fancy dress, looking all high-toned and proper, nearly caused Punch to swallow the chunk of tobacco he had tucked in his cheek. “Yeah, I know her all right. She’s with the same wagon company as me. Says she’s a widow.”

Wight tried to sound aloof to hide his excitement. “That doesn’t surprise me. Tell me, is she with anyone?”

“A filthy squawman, that’s who. Columbus Nigh. Says he’s her brother.”

“Damn the bitch. She hasn’t got a brother.” Wight’s jaw twitched as his teeth ground together. “Harris, get over to that fool smithy and tell him to get a move on.”

“I already did everything but threaten to shoot him, Barret. He won’t budge, says we have to take our turn like everyone else and it may be tomorrow before he gets to us.”

“Your friend’s ‘wife’ ain’t goin’ far,” Punch said, with a knowing smile. “She’s nursin’ a bunch of folk sick with cholera, ’bout twelve, thirteen miles up the road. Don’t guess they’ll be ready to pull out for a couple days at least.”

Wight nodded. “Well, finally, something’s going right for us. You sure she isn’t sick, too?”

“’Peared fit enough when we passed this evening. Nigh musta jest left here, passed him on the trail.”

“Columbus Nigh? He was here? At the fort?”

Punch nodded. The rock flipped out and he let go of the hoof. Straightening, he pocketed his knife. Barret put his arm around the Kentuckian’s shoulders. “Punch, I’ve got a proposition for you. How would you like to earn some money?”

“Col, where have you been?”

Columbus Nigh studied Brianna as he slipped from the gelding’s back. It pained him to see her looking so tired and bleak. Her grief over Lilith and all the sleepless hours of nursing had taken their toll on her.

She had not cried when Lilith died or any time since. It seemed to Col that she was trying to vent her grief by working herself to death, and he didn’t reckon it was a very healthy way to go about it. Days had passed since he’d last seen even the smallest smile on her face.

“Been to the fort.”

“I knew that much. Why did you go there?”

The idea that she might have missed and worried about him pleased him. Hoping to get a smile out of her, he said, “If you knew where I was, why’d you ask?”

Brianna groaned with frustration. “Never mind.” She whirled and started to flounce off. He stopped her with a hand on her arm.