The Reluctant Bridegroom (14 page)

“In here.” Sky led her to the adjoining door, and shut it after they had entered the room. He turned the lamp up, then turned toward her. She stood in the center of the room, holding the sleeping baby. “What’s your name?”

“Rebekah Jackson.” She was not over twenty, he decided. She was short, but she carried herself with determination; her short upper lip and full lower one were pressed together firmly as she held her head up to look into his face.

“Miss Jackson, you’re too late—and we’re taking only single women.”

“I
am
single,” she insisted.

He stumbled over his words awkwardly. “Well, what I mean is—we’re not taking women with children.”

“I’ve come here every day since the fifteenth, Mr. Winslow,” she said. “But I was afraid. Now I’ve got no other choice—I’ll do anything to get to Oregon! I’ll work hard at any job. I’ll wash clothes for you all—anything!”

Sky cursed himself for agreeing to talk with her, for he knew that there was no way he could let the woman bring a baby on the trip. No baby would tolerate that rough trip. But now as he looked at her, he found it hard to break off the conversation. He avoided her gaze and stared out the window. “It’s a rule, Miss Jackson—for the protection of the whole group. Besides, the trip will be too rough for a baby. What if cholera hits? You’d lose your baby—and you’d blame us for it.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Her voice was firm, and he turned to look at her again. “And I’m going to lose him anyway if I can’t get away from here.”

“Lose him? How?”

“They—they’re going to take him from me.” She hugged the child tightly, in a possessive gesture. “I can’t give him up! Please—let me go with you!”

The baby, her evasiveness—everything about the case told Sky to refuse the woman, and he set his jaw firmly, trying to think of a way to do it. Something about this woman made it much harder to turn her away than any of the others. As he sorted out his words, however, he realized why it was so difficult: Rebekah looked familiar; she reminded him of someone—someone important. He racked his brain to think of who it might be, and then it came to him.
Missy. Rebekah Jackson looks just like Missy.

She was much smaller of course; his stepmother was nearly six feet tall and Rebekah Jackson was less than five. Nor did their two faces have similar features. As he studied Rebekah thoughtfully, it came to him—it was more her attitude and the expression in her eyes that brought Missy to his mind.

He had seen the same expression on Missy’s face as he’d ridden away, and her plea for him to forgive his wife was fresh in his mind. It had hit him as hard then as it did now, for nothing had changed; the hate that had built up over the years was still a part of him. A new thought came to him.
Am I saying no to her just because I don’t like women—and that
makes it easier to stick to my plans?
The thought troubled him, and he shifted his feet and ducked his head, thinking.

When at last he raised his eyes, he said slowly, “All right, you can go—but I think you’re making a mistake.”

She did not thank him as he’d expected. She stood there, hesitant. “I said you could go,” he repeated.

She took a firmer grip on the baby and said evenly, “There’s something else you should know. I’m going to have a baby—about in July, I think.”

His eyes widening, he studied her again. “You didn’t have to tell me that. I wouldn’t have known.”

She stood there mutely, making no response to his words. Recounting the dangers of the journey in his mind, he said, “It’s another reason why I ought not to let you go.”

“Please, don’t leave me here.”

She looks more like Missy than ever,
he thought with annoyance. “The stage leaves at dawn. You got your things?”

She had waited with bated breath; at his word she replied quickly, “Downstairs. I’ll go get them.”

“I’ll do it.” Sky turned and opened the door and found Rita sitting on the bed. “You two will be traveling together. This is Rita Duvall.”

As soon as the door closed, Rita said to Rebekah, “It’s going to be hard for you.” As Rebekah came closer, Rita saw the lines of fatigue on the newcomer’s face. “Let me hold the baby. You lie down.”

Rebekah could barely stand. Rita took the baby and Rebekah sank to the bed, her knees weak. Slowly she lay back and pulled her legs up, her eyes closing. Opening them briefly, she looked at Rita, who was walking back and forth, humming to Timmy.

“Are you with him? Mr. Winslow, I mean?”

Rita stopped humming and looked into Rebekah’s drawn face. “No—I’d guess that nobody’s with Sky Winslow.” Then she smiled and said, “Go to sleep, Becky. It’s a long way to Oregon.”

CHAPTER TEN

THE NUMBER ONE RULE

The stage had pulled out of New York just as the sun began to send red streaks across the dull, gray skies. Sky had brought the two women and the baby an hour earlier, and the last touch of winter in the March air numbed their faces as they waited. None of them spoke more than was necessary, but once as Rebekah pulled an extra blanket out of her bag for Timmy, Sky murmured, “Cold for a baby just now. It’ll be warmer a little later.” Finally the carriage had rumbled down the rough brick street, and he’d helped the women on, then made sure that their luggage was on board. Pulling himself aboard, he took a seat between Rita and a large man in an expensive suit. Rebekah sat beside a window in the seat opposite, with the baby asleep on the seat next to her. A young couple occupied the rest of the seat, the man looking out of the window at the sunrise. The driver called out, “Yup!” and the carriage lurched as it left the station.

Sky planted his feet on the floor, pulled his low-crowned hat over his eyes and promptly fell asleep. As the carriage rumbled on, Rebekah passed the time by watching him sleep and wondering what sort of man Sky Winslow was. Despite the uncomfortable conditions, she could see that he was completely relaxed, and that the long full line of his mouth had softened.

The air warmed as the morning went on, and as the first rush of sunlight slanted through the windows, the big man beside Sky took out a cigar. Lighting it, he dragged deeply
on the smoke, his face growing blander and happier at once. Clouds of smoke spread through the coach, and he made an ineffectual effort with his hand to sweep them away.

The first smell of it awakened Sky. He opened his eyes and glared at the big man, who felt the weight of his gaze but avoided it by looking out the window. The steady gaze continued to smolder until the businessman sighed heavily, took three rapid drags on the cigar, irritably stared back at Winslow and held the glance defiantly—then pitched the cigar out the window. At once Winslow was asleep again.

All day they rolled along the foothills, stopping at noon for a bad meal at a run-down inn, then mounting the coach again for a long afternoon’s ride. When they came to another inn at dusk, Rebekah’s legs were so stiff that she had trouble getting out. She allowed the others to dismount ahead of her before she picked up Timmy and pulled herself to the door. The baby was in an active mood, and she nearly lost her balance as he yelled and pulled at the doorframe.

“Here—let me have him.” She looked up to see Winslow holding his hands up for the baby, which she passed to him with a nod of thanks. The ground seemed to sway as she stamped her feet to get the feeling back, but out of the corner of her eye she saw he was smiling as Timmy pulled at the watch chain on Sky’s vest. He looked up, saw her glance, and seemed embarrassed. “Fine boy,” he murmured, handing him back.

That evening they sat down to a supper of boiled potatoes and tough steak. The large man’s name was Clements, and he paid close attention to Rita during the meal, trying to find out more about her. Both Sky and Rebekah noted that Rita kept him at arms’ length, while at the same time managing to keep him interested.
She knows how to handle men,
Rebekah thought. She’d seen nothing to change her first impressions about Rita, but preferred to make no judgments. Rita had been a help in caring for Timmy, and despite her boldness, she evidenced a real kindness.

“A walk might do us good,” Winslow said as they finished eating. Rebekah looked up and saw that he was waiting for her and Rita. The three of them strolled slowly down the deserted road; Rebekah carried Timmy for a time until Winslow reached out and took him without invitation. “He’s been good today,” he commented, and added, “I’ve got a boy myself, but he’s older than Timmy.”

Both women waited for him to go on, expecting him to say something about the rest of his family, but he didn’t. Instead, he walked a little faster until they reached a grove of huge oaks, where they turned and returned to the inn. “Better get all the sleep you can,” he suggested as they approached the inn. “This is going to be a hard trip.”

“How long will it take?” Rita asked.

“Four days to get to Pittsburgh. We’ll take a steamer up the Ohio, then another stage ride for two days. Got to pull out of Independence by mid-April. The first trains out get the good grass, and that’s when the water’s good.” Handing Timmy back to Rebekah, he added, “This part of the trip may be harder on you than on the wagons. You get to walk a lot then, and this sitting in a coach for ten to twelve hours is hard. I’ll be glad when we get to Independence.”

Rita ventured nervously, “I’ve heard a lot about the Indians, Sky.” She pulled a lock of hair away from her forehead. “I’m afraid of them—and the awful things people say they do!” She saw with surprise that he was smiling broadly; it was the first streak of humor she’d seen in him. “What’s funny about that?” she demanded with a trace of anger.

“Sorry, Rita.” He pushed his hat back on his head absently. “Indians can be pretty dangerous—but I guess this trail will be safer than most in that respect.”

“Why is that?” Rebekah asked.

“Because I’m an Indian myself, or partly.” He grinned again. “Well, only a quarter Sioux—but even that helps a little when you’re crossing their territory.” Then he nodded to them both and said, “Get all the rest you can.”

The two women slept that night in a cramped room on a mattress of corn shucks. It was, they soon discovered, one of the more pleasant inns they would stay in on the trip to Missouri. They rolled out the next morning at five, and the second day was much like the first—monotonous and hard on the muscles. The second night, Rita and Rebekah slept in the attic of a private home, along with two other women passengers. “This is pretty hard going, Becky,” Rita murmured as the two settled down. “I’ll be glad when we get to Independence.”

She lay still for a moment, thinking. After a while she asked dreamily, “Becky—Sky didn’t say anything about his wife, did he?” She waited for Rebekah to speak, but saw that she was already asleep. Rita’s lips curved in a smile and she reached out and touched Timmy’s hair. Settling down as best she could in the cramped bed, she continued thinking about Sky.

The roads grew worse as they made their way west. Each day they endured the rocking of the coach for long hours, then fell out to eat whatever was to be had and to sleep until the next day. Winslow noticed with some surprise that Rita endured the hardships very well as the days passed. He had expected Rebekah to do well, but Rita had been accustomed to an easy life, and he did not expect her to stick with the bargain.
We’ll see what she does when we get to Independence,
he thought more than once.

When they got to Pittsburgh, Sky found the other women at the hotel he had named. “Any trouble?” he asked Edith.

“No.” She was calm, but thinner than Sky remembered her. “I checked on the steamer. It leaves at eight in the morning. “

“It’ll be easier on you than a coach,” Sky encouraged. “I’ve brought you a couple more passengers.” He hesitated, then took her aside and explained the circumstances of each. When he was through, he said, “I should have said no, shouldn’t I?”

She smiled. “You
do
surprise me, Mr. Winslow. My first impression of you was that of a much harder man. Now you put yourself in a difficult position just to help two women
that most men wouldn’t have worried about.” The gleam of approval in her eyes made her almost beautiful. “I like you better for it!”

The trip was slow, but river travel was more interesting than the dusty road trip, and the food and accommodations were better. The women had long days with little to do, and within a few days they had sifted into groups and chosen a few close friends. Sky kept to himself for the most part. The captain had done two seasons of trapping on the upper Missouri, so he and Sky got along well.

By the time they finally pulled up to the crowded wharf at Independence, April heat was in the air. Sky hired several coaches to take them all to the hotel, and when they pulled up in front of the building, Sky announced, “Well, we’re here.”

Rita got out and looked around, saying disappointedly, “So this is Independence. Not much, is it?”

“More than there was ten years ago,” he replied, helping Rebekah out of the coach. “Nothing here then but a few log huts and two or three so-called hotels—and saloons, of course. It was the staging point for everything going down the Santa Fe Trail to Mexico. Come on, let’s go to the hotel and get you ladies settled in.”

From its ragged beginnings, Independence had grown into a richly roistering frontier metropolis of some 5,000 people, most of whom were transients journeying to and from various parts of the West. The original log huts had given way to an assortment of more refined structures: dry goods stores, barbershops, grog houses and emporiums that housed wheel-wrights, blacksmiths, harness makers and every other sort of craftsman needed to outfit an expedition across the country.

After their luggage was put off, Winslow led the women inside the Walker Hotel, a three-story frame building. A clerk sat in a cane-bottomed chair, but got up at once as they entered the lobby. “Yes, sir?”

“I’m Sky Winslow.”

“Ah, well, now!” The tall, thin man had a long face and
false teeth that didn’t fit well. “We’ve been looking out for you.”

“Thanks. It was a good trip. Now, I’ll need rooms for all these ladies.”