The Reluctant Bridegroom (16 page)

“This meeting won’t take long,” he began. As he described the journey ahead, he outlined the hard rules that must be followed, and warned them once again of the dangers. Rebekah only half listened to him, thinking,
I’ll bet he doesn’t know how handsome he is.
Glancing at the faces of the women in her line of vision, she knew that most of them were thinking the same thing.

For the first time since he arrived in New York, Sky Winslow
had put off his city clothing; the tawny buckskins clung to him, clearly revealing the muscular outline of his body. His dark, wedge-shaped face was broken in the reflection of the lamplight into sharp planes, smooth and strong. Sky was not handsome in the same sense Tyler had been, Rebekah realized; he was too hard for that—the fishhook scar at the left corner of Winslow’s mouth only emphasized his toughness. As she was thinking these things, Sky caught her eye; she knew he couldn’t tell what she had been thinking, but she flushed anyway, forcing herself to pay attention to his words.

“That’s about all—except for two things. It’s still not too late for you to change your minds.” He looked over the sea of faces in front of him, and added, “It was a tough trip just getting here; as you know, Miss Taylor went back to New York yesterday. This thing just wasn’t for her. If any of you have any doubts, for any reason, just tell me or Miss Dickenson, and we’ll see that you get back to your home.”

He waited, half expecting one or more to take him up on the offer, but no one spoke. “All right—now the last thing. The trip ahead is going to be a long one, and we’ll all get to know each other pretty well by the time it’s over. But I want to make one thing very clear before we even start: There’ll be no mixing between women and men on this train.”

A stir went over the crowd, and May Stockton piped up, “What do you mean—‘mixing’?”

“I mean, no walking together, no parties, no friendships.”

“Don’t you trust us, Mr. Winslow?” Karen Sanderson’s face was calm, but there was a challenge in her husky voice, and a rustle went over the women at her question.

It was the challenge Sky had known would come, but he had expected it from another quarter. Aside from Edith Dickenson, there was no woman with the maturity that Karen had, and he wished another had spoken. Nevertheless, he turned to face her and said evenly, his voice edged with authority, “No, Miss Sanderson, I do not trust you.” He waited until the gust of disapproval from the women died down, then added,
“I don’t trust myself either, nor any person in this room. Not under these conditions. I was against this trip from the beginning for this very reason. I can handle Indians—but no man can handle romancing on the trail—and I don’t propose to let it happen.”

“Reckon we’re all grown-up!” A male voice broke across the room, and Sky glanced up to see Jack Stedman rise to his feet in the back of the room, a look of resentment on his face.

“I’m not going to argue about this thing,” Sky announced. “We can discuss the other rules, but this one’s not debatable. If you can’t live with it—man or woman—don’t be in the train when it leaves in the morning!” He looked at the women and asked, “Anything to say about this matter, any of you?”

Edith said firmly, “You know what to expect better than any of us, Mr. Winslow. If you say so, then that’s the way it must be.” A slight smile played on her lips. “Guess I want a husband as much as any of us do—but I can wait until we get to Oregon.”

“I can hold out if you can, Edith!” Mary giggled.

As the women filed out, Rita stopped close to Sky and whispered, “You take care of the womanizers, Sky—but who takes care of you when
you
get romantic?”

“I’ll lend you my gun, Rita,” Sky responded. “You can shoot me if you see a romantic light in my eyes.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said and filed out with the others. Outside, she caught up with Rebekah and laughed. “Never thought I’d be headed out with a bunch of men and a ‘Hands Off’ sign around my neck!”

“Like Edith said, it has to be that way, Rita.”

“Oh, does it? We’ll see how long rule number one lasts!”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

INCIDENT AT FORT KEARNEY

For the first two weeks on the trail, rivers marked their progress. Sky chose to start out easily, so the first day they made only six miles, and by the time they crossed the Wakarusa two days later, a loose order had settled upon the train.

At four o’clock each morning Sky fired a single shot signaling the beginning of the day; in a short time slow-kindling smoke rose from the campfires while half a dozen men rode out to move the stock toward the camp. From six to seven breakfast was eaten, wagons reloaded, and the teams yoked. The fourteen wagons moved out promptly at seven, leaving the camping spot—so lately full of life—to sink back into the profound solitude that reigned over the broad plain.

Sky rode out scouting each morning, leaving Dave Lloyd in charge. There was no danger, he knew, so close to Independence, but he brought back meat every day, and it was good to keep the minds of the drivers and the women alert to the idea of danger.

At noon, the teams were not unyoked, but simply turned loose from the wagons while a quick meal was eaten. This was the time when Sky settled any arguments which may have arisen that morning, and when minor repairs were made.

By late afternoon the men and the beasts were tired, so Sky would choose a spot to camp while there was still daylight. The drivers grew expert at pulling the train in a circle so tight that the hindmost wagon precisely closed the gateway, forming a barricade. Everyone joined in to prepare fires of
buffalo chips to cook the evening meal, pitch tents, and prepare for the night. For the first week, almost everyone went to bed as soon as the meal was over, but as they toughened up, the sound of talk and low laughter scattered in the air as the women gathered in small groups, and the drivers carried on the inevitable card game beside their own fire.

They crossed the Kaw River, and a week later the Big Blue. It was May by the time they forded Sandy Creek and hit the Little Blue early in the afternoon. Rebekah took off her shoes and splashed across the stream, stopping long enough to dangle Timmy’s feet in the water, laughing as he drew them up with a grunt. Swooping the baby up in her arms, she saw Sky Winslow riding back with an antelope across the pommel of his saddle. He unstrapped it and tossed it to Lloyd, who drove the first wagon, then looked up and saw her. Dismounting in an easy motion, he tied his horse to the rear of the second wagon and came to stand beside the stream just as she and Timmy came splashing up to the bank.

“We made good time today,” he said with a hint of awkwardness. He had done no more than greet her in passing since the train had pulled out of Independence. Then again, he hadn’t talked with any of the other women except for Edith Dickenson—and sometimes after supper with Rita Duvall. Rebekah knew that he was skeptical about her coming on the trip, but there was nothing she could say to make it appear better to him.

“Is it much farther to Fort Kearney?” she asked.

“Two days, I reckon.” He reached out, saying, “Here—let me take the boy.” He took Timmy as they walked slowly to the wagons. “We follow the Blue right in to the Platte. It’s not much of a place—Fort Kearney, but they’ve got a store where you can get anything you might need.”

“I don’t need anything now.”

He looked down at Timmy. “Well, I mean things for later—for when the baby comes, I mean.” He seemed embarrassed,
and hurried over his words. “If it’s money, don’t worry about that. We can settle it when we get to Oregon.”

“That’s very nice of you, Mr. Winslow. There
are
a few things that I’d like to have.”

“Look, when you say ‘Mr. Winslow,’ I always check to see if my pa’s around. Sky’s good enough.”

“All right.” She smiled at him, saying, “I’m Rebekah.”

The wagons raised a cloud of dust, and they moved off to one side to avoid it. Most of the women were walking, for the wagons were filled with goods. Sky had packed each of them so that there was space for two women to sleep in the rear, but most of them chose to walk during the day—at least for part of it. Their dresses made spots of color as they walked across the prairie, like the small, colorful desert flowers that carpeted the plain.

“Is it hard on you—all the walking, I mean?”

She looked at him uncertainly, then realized that he was thinking of her condition. “Walking is good for me.” She reached down and pulled a few blossoms, then arranged them into a tiny bouquet. “Later I’ll have to be careful, Karen says.”

“She knows babies?”

“She had two. They both died of smallpox—and her husband, too. I feel so sorry for her!”

Sky marveled that a woman with her problems would have feelings to spare for another’s grief. She didn’t seem to worry about having a baby in the middle of Indian territory without a doctor—although he personally had some difficulty with the idea. Often he wished he had not permitted her to come, but it was too late to change that.

“Maybe we’ll be at Fort Bridger—or at an army fort—when it’s time for the baby. There’d be an army doctor.”

“Don’t worry about it, Sky,” she said. “I know you feel responsible for me, but you’re not. You’ve got the whole train to worry about. God will take care of me and the baby.”

He shot a glance at her, then shook his head. “That sounds like my folks. Everything is in God’s hands.”

“You don’t believe that?”

He weighed his thoughts. “I’d like to,” he said honestly.

“Maybe I better ride on and find a campsite now. I’ll put Timmy in the wagon. He’s too heavy for you to carry.” He walked quickly to the second wagon, lifting the baby over the back gate onto the space reserved for him. “Be careful, Becky—don’t do too much,” he warned, then untied his horse and rode off across the flat plain.

“He’s a driven man, isn’t he, Becky?”

Rebekah turned to face Rita and May who had come up to walk beside her. “He’s got too much to do, Rita.”

“He’s got time to talk to you, Becky,” May grinned. “Wish he’d stop by and give me a kind word. He is one good-looking man, ain’t he, now?”

“Better forget Sky Winslow, May,” Rita said with a smile. “He’s woman proof.”

“No man’s woman proof,” May shot back. Her red curls danced in the sun as she tossed her head. “Just have to catch ’im off guard, that’s all.”

Rebekah liked May, though some of the other women said she was too outspoken. “How’d you do it, May?”

“Why, I’d just buy me a red ten-dollar dress, put some French perfume here and there,” May confided. “And then I’d be real helpless and lean against him, innocent as a newborn lamb! I’d have that gent in front of a preacher before he knew what hit him, I tell ya!”

“That’d work with most men,” Rita agreed, “but not with Sky. He had a bad wife, I think, so he’s gun shy—he’ll run like a deer from any woman who’s thinking marriage.”

“He told you about his wife?” Rebekah asked.

“Oh, he’s never said a
word
about her. Talks quite a bit about his boy, though—and that’s why I think she let him down.” Rita shrugged. “His eyes got cold when I mentioned her, so I let it go—but he doesn’t trust women. You can bank on that. I’ve been around a few men who had good wives, and you can always tell.”

“Well, maybe I can’t have our fearless leader,” May said. “But I’ll have a husband when we get to Oregon—even if he’s cross-eyed and has only one leg!”

“You want a man that bad, May?” Rita asked curiously.

“I want a
home,
Rita,” May responded, and for once she was totally serious. “Just give me a man who’ll treat me decent, and give me some kind of house, and some babies. That’s all I want.” She looked at Rebekah. “Fact is, I wish I was having the baby instead of you, Rebekah.”

“You’ll be having your own, May,” Rebekah replied calmly. “And you’ll make some man a fine wife.”

“What about me, Rebekah?” Rita asked. “Think I’ll find some man and settle down to washing diapers for the rest of my life?” Her laughter was hard. “Nah—I don’t see myself doing that. You two will fall right in with some man—but I’m not like you, am I?”

“You’ll feel differently when you meet the right man, Rita,” Rebekah said firmly. “Don’t you want a home and a family?”

Rita gave an angry shake of her head. “Can’t see myself as a nice obedient little wife!” She walked off rapidly before either of them could speak.

“Know what, Becky?” May queried as she studied Rita as she marched away. “I think she’s gone on Sky. Notice how she manages to get him all to herself every night after supper? She’s out to get him—and before we get to Oregon, she’ll have him wrapped around her little finger!”

Rebekah changed the subject, but the scene lingered in her mind, and for the next two nights she noticed that every time they set up camp, Rita changed her dusty clothing for a fresh dress, and each night after supper she managed to engage Sky for a short talk. There was one brief flare-up when Jack Stedman stopped to grin at Rita, and she smiled back at him; but they had said only a few sentences when Sky walked by and observed the pair.

“Jack, get back to your own fire.”

Stedman’s face reddened. “You the only one who can talk to a woman, Winslow?”

“That’s it.” Sky turned to meet the challenge of the big man with an easy self-assurance. “You knew the rules before we left Independence, Jack. Now, you can either get back to your fire—or you can make your way back home. Tonight. Alone. Which’ll it be?”

The challenge came so abruptly that Stedman was taken off guard. He thought about the pistol he had holstered at his belt, but Sky had one as well—and a reputation as a sure-shot to boot. But Jack Stedman was not one to back off from any other man, and for a brief moment, he stood there, weighing his options as the others held their breath.

Stedman glared at Sky, the desire to fight in his eyes and his hand hovering over the gun at his hip. But there was something about Winslow that made him suddenly cautious; with a curse he wheeled and walked back toward the fire where the other drivers had been watching.

A hum of talk rose up, and Dave Lloyd murmured to Tom Lake, “Stedman just about run his string out that time.”