The Reluctant Bridegroom (10 page)

Sky held the big man’s gaze steadily, then nodded. “All right, Poole.”

“Don’t see you much. Maybe we can have a drink later.” Matthew Poole, the mayor of Oregon City, was an easterner who had made a place for himself in the wilds of Oregon. He had come to Oregon City ten years earlier and gone into business, turning later to politics. His long frame was raw-boned and had a cadaverous face and a shock of rough salt-and-pepper hair.

“A little later, maybe,” Sky murmured, looking at the other man who had silently fixed his eyes on Winslow. “Hello, Rolfe.”

Rolfe Ingerson was a burly man with a star on his vest. He was sheriff of Oregon City, but like Poole, he had a hand in other pies as well. He had curly red hair, and his powerful neck flowed into a massive torso. He carried a gun, but his fists were enough for most trouble; his small eyes were fixed on Sky with a steady dislike.

“Winslow, you got off easy last time. Walk soft when you’re in my town.”

He walked out, and Poole smiled ominously and spread his hands. “Rolfe is an unmannerly brute, Sky. Steer clear of him.” With a final nod to the others at the table, he left the cafe.

“Fine pair of crooks!” Birdwell snorted. “But Poole’s right about one thing; you’d better steer clear of Ingerson, Sky. He’s been like a bear with a sore toe ever since you faced him down last month—he’ll be looking for an excuse to bust you up.”

“I’ll try to oblige.” Sky looked over at Joe, who had been taking it all in. “Finish up that pie, Son, then scoot off for your
lessons. I’ll be checking with Mr. Wilson to see how you’ve done.” Bob Wilson had been a logger, but an accident in the woods had crippled him. Fortunately, he had some education, so he made his living clerking. He worked at his house, which was just off Main; Joe schooled with him as long as Sky was in town. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Watch out for that pretty little daughter of his, Joe,” Sam grinned. “Mr. Wilson says she’s got her eye on you.”

Giving Birdwell an offended glance, Joe shot up out of his chair, grabbed his stack of books, and bolted from the restaurant.

“Musta hurt his feelin’s,” Sam observed, adding, “Boy don’t get to spend much time with folks, Sky. Wish you’d leave him with me sometimes. I’m no teacher, but I could give him some pointers on business—and he’d be company.”

“I’ll ask him,” Sky said shortly. Picking up his coffee, he took a swallow, then set the cup down with more force than necessary. He stared into his coffee, his lips tight. After a while he raised his head and gave Sam a bleak look. “I’m sick of the way we’re living, Sam! Like hermits! Never see anybody, the place is never clean—and my cooking is worse than you’d believe!” He shook his head sadly. “It’s makin’ Joe into something I don’t like, Sam. I’ve even thought of going back to the Mission.”

“Hate to see you do that, Sky.” Birdwell understood his friend’s thinking, for Sky’s father was a missionary to the Sioux in the North, and his mother had been half Indian. “Might be good for the boy, being around his kin and all—but I’d hate like blazes to see you go!”

“Can’t keep on like this. I’ve got some bad memories back there, but Joe and me are at a dead-end here. Wish I’d never come!”

“You need a wife, Sky,” Sam told him.

“I had a wife.” The words were cut off short, and the dullness in Sky’s blue eyes reflected an inner anger. “You know what she was like.”

Sam bowed his head and considered his answer. He had known Sky Winslow for five years; his thoughts flew back to their first meeting. Sky had entered the store with his wife Irene; Birdwell still remembered how beautiful she was—how bright and outgoing—and how he had envied the dark young man. “We’ve got a place in the Willamette Valley,” Sky had said. “Be coming in as often as we can for supplies.”

Sam thought regretfully of the rumors that had come only a short time later—rumors about Irene Winslow. Sky had been out trapping most of the time, and one day a drunken logger had let Irene’s name drop in a saloon. Oregon City was a small town, and word spread fast, though Sky never seemed aware of what everyone else in town already knew.

The rumors were further fueled two years later when Sky left Irene and Joe in town for a month while he went north into the hills for better furs. Irene had taken up with a gambler; the two of them openly carried on a romance. Sam had gone to Irene and begged her to show better judgment, but she’d ignored him.

And so, it had been Sam’s job to meet Sky when he came back to Oregon City and tell him that Irene had left town with the gambler, leaving Joe with him. He would never forget the flash of rage that leaped from Sky’s eyes, and he feared that Winslow would take off after them. “You’ve got Joe to think about, Sky,” Sam had reminded his friend. “I’ll help you.”

Now Birdwell looked across the table at Sky and recalled a dinner they had eaten here nearly two years ago; after the meal, they’d walked back to the store to find a letter from San Francisco for Sky. He’d opened it, read it silently, then looked up to say, “Irene’s dead, Sam.” There had been neither hatred nor regret in his tone—only a sense of defeat.

“You know, Sam, this is why we left to come to Oregon in the first place.” Sky had reflected aloud. “She never could leave the other men alone. But it sure didn’t help to come here, either—did it?”

Breaking out of his reverie, Sam rose to his feet. “Let’s get
out of here, Sky.” He paid his bill, and they both walked out into the cold air. “You got business to take care of, I reckon.”

“Sure.”

“Get it done, then meet me at the Rainbow later.”

“Not much in the mood for that,” Sky remarked quietly. The Rainbow was a noisy place, the biggest saloon in Oregon City.

“I’ll get us a back room. We’ll have a quiet game—just a few of our friends.” Sam slapped Winslow on the back. “Come on; it’ll do you good.”

“I’ll come for a while.” Sky glanced up, saying distractedly, “Hmm . . . looks like snow tonight,” then walked down the muddy street into the falling darkness.

****

The five men gathered in the back room of the Rainbow were a diverse group. Sitting out a hand, Sky sat loosely in his chair and considered the men around him. Each of them had the potential to greatly influence the growing town, he knew. It also occurred to him that there might be more to the meeting than just a friendly poker game. While there was nothing strange in the gathering itself—the men at the table were old friends of his, and it was a long-standing custom to have a game whenever he came to town—there was something watchful about them this night. He leaned back in his chair and studied them through half-shut eyes.

Judd Travers was the oldest, a tall skinny man with a craggy poker face. He was a crafty businessman; not a dog barked in Oregon City—or in the Willamette Valley, for that matter—that he did not know about. No one knew how much property he had, and those who tried to compete with him in business soon found out that his rustic appearance was deceptive, for his brain was as sharp as a razor.

On his left, Henry Sellers, the banker, was of a different stamp. The well-dressed fat man had brought the manners of the East with him. He was the only banker in Oregon City,
and a man to be reckoned with; for those who wanted to do business usually had to go through his bank. He was a deacon in the Baptist church, and supported most of the benevolent activities of the town. His charity, however, stopped at the card table, for there he was a carnivore.

Clay Hill threw down his cards and glared at Sellers. “Blast you, Henry! You’ll break your back trying to fill an inside straight someday.” Hill, though not over twenty-five, was one of the sharpest lawyers in the territory. He had a thin face and a pair of sharp blue eyes. In the courtroom, he was a predator; he hated to lose, and would do anything necessary to win his case.

Sam laid his cards down and laughed. “An agreeable way to die, Clay.” He took out his watch, looked at it, then snapped it shut and replaced it in his vest pocket. “You’ve won enough of my money for one night, Henry.”

Sky started to rise, but Clay reached out and pulled him down, grinning. “Wait a minute, Sky. You don’t know yet why we’ve got you here.”

Sky sat back, looked over at Birdwell, and smiled slightly. “I’d guess it’s another one of your wild schemes, Sam. I hope it’s a far cry better than the one you had last year. Mink farming!”

A whoop of laughter filled the room, and Sam said loudly with a red face, “You just wait! Somebody’ll do it one day, and it’ll put you trappers out of business!” He waited soberly until the laughter stopped, then leaned forward and said, “Sky, this town is startin’ to grow. The whole territory is going up—it’ll be a state one day, and not too far off. But what we’ve got right now in this country is a mess!”

“You talking politics, Sam?” Sky asked.

“Partly. Matthew Poole may be polite, but he’s crooked as a dog’s hind leg, Sky! And he’s in the saddle!”

“That’s gospel!” Clay Hill spoke up. “I’ve been in politics all my life, and I’ve never seen a man get such a grip on a town in so short a time!”

“He sure gets the votes,” Travers said.

“Yes, and when he can’t get ’em honestly, he has Rolfe Ingerson tend to it!” Hill snapped. “Poole, Ingerson and Dandy Raimez have got a death grip on this town!”

“You fellows come here to make campaign speeches?” Sky asked.

“No—listen, Sky,” Sam insisted. “We’ve got a good thing here in this country. Plenty of water, good farming, more timber than any place on the planet. But we’re going to lose it if we don’t do something about the way things are.”

“Tell him your plan, Sam,” Travers urged.

Birdwell glanced at the others awkwardly, and Sky could not imagine what was coming. He was fond of Birdwell, but wary of some of his ideas. “Out with it, Sam. Can’t be completely crazy if you’ve got these three interested.”

“All right, here it is,” Sam swallowed. “What we need in this country is families. What we’ve got is a bunch of hard-nosed men. Got to have families to make a territory work, and . . . and . . .” He stumbled for a moment, then blurted out, “And you gotta have wives before you can have families!”

Sky stared at him. “Well, who’s arguing with that?”

“Nobody, Sky—but nobody’s doing anything about it, either!”

“And you’ve got some plan to get women here?”

“That’s it!”

Clay Hill laughed shortly. “Sky, I thought it was crazy at first, but Sam’s kept at me until I agreed to it.”

“Nah—it’s a good plan,” Travers spoke up. “ ’Course, it’s got its drawbacks—like all plans—but I’ll back it.”

“It all sort of depends on you, Sky,” Henry Sellers explained. “The four of us can put up the money—but we need a man who can give some time and who knows his way around.”

Sky grew irritated. “Look, why don’t you just tell me what this great plan is and let me make up my own mind?”

“All right, Sky,” Sam said quickly. “Here it is. There’s lots
of men who want wives in Oregon—and lots of women back East who want husbands. All we have to do is fix it so as they can get together.”

Sky stared, unbelievingly, then whistled softly. “This is
much
worse than mink farms, Sam!” He watched the serious faces of his friends closely. “I expect this sort of thing from Birdwell—but how in the world did he suck you fellows into it?”

“Let me explain,” Sellers told him with the air of authority that usually clung to the banker. Sky had always respected the man, and liked the fact that his religion was not all talk, so Winslow leaned back and listened carefully.

“Sam is right about families. We must have them, Sky! I hate to see my own children grow up in a town like this—full of rough men! Now, what we propose is to form an association that will arrange for transportation to this territory for those women who would like to find a husband and a home. It will all be handled in a very businesslike manner, Sky.” He saw a doubtful frown knit Sky’s brow. “Believe me, I’ve asked myself most of the same questions you’re thinking of. ‘What kind of woman would come under such conditions?’ Well, some bad ones I suppose, but I’m thinking that there are decent women who—through no fault of their own—have no home and can’t get a husband. We’ll screen them, though I recognize we’ll make some mistakes.”

“What if they get here and don’t see a man they like well enough to marry?” Sky objected.

“Then we’ll pay their passage back—with no hard feelings,” Sellers assured him.

“It’s going to be expensive,” Sky remarked. He was only mildly interested, and could not see why they had asked him to sit in. “Passage around the Cape is high.”

“Well, that’s another matter,” Travers said quickly. “I’ve come up with a plan that will get the ladies here free of charge. What we do is bring them here on a wagon train—making
enough off of the goods we bring in the train to pay all expenses.”

Sky gaped incredulously. “Judd, you’re proposing to bring a bunch of women
by wagon train?
It can’t be done!”

“Sure it can—if
you
lead the train,” Sam responded simply.

“Me?” At first Sky thought he had misunderstood, but a look around the table told him he had not. “Why, you’re all crazy!”

“You could do it, Sky,” Travers told him confidently, his dark eyes alive with interest. “You’ve got your furs in for the winter, and you know the country better than any man alive, I suppose. And it would be to your advantage to have Oregon City become a more civilized place. You have a son who needs such things.” He paused and suggested tentatively, “You might even find yourself a wife back East, Sky.”

Everyone saw immediately that Travers had gone too far. Sam said, “Well, that’s it. Think about it, Sky.”

Sky got up. “It’s not for me,” he replied evenly and left the room.

“You shouldn’t have said anything about his getting a wife, Henry,” Clay said as soon as Sky was gone. “You know he hates women.”

“Guess I did make a mess of it,” Sellers admitted ruefully. “Well, he’ll not do it now—but I don’t think he would have gone anyway. Looks like it’s all off, Sam. I wouldn’t put money into a thing like this unless we had Sky.”

“I’ll talk to him, Henry,” Sam said. “Maybe I can change his mind.”