Chapter 3
Rushing from their wagon to the campfire gave Beth no time to dwell on Nick Granville’s appearance. She focused solely on cooking a midday meal that would taste better than the prior horrible breakfast.
Neither greeted each other as Daggart sat down and took a bite of bacon. “Huh,” he said while chewing. “This ain’t burnt.” After the grudging praise, Dag held up what was meant to be a biscuit. “I can’t eat this,” and threw it in the smoldering fire.
She nibbled on the bread and frowned. Tough and gummy. Of course they couldn’t eat the food. Even if she’d been experienced in cooking over an open fire, she’d still need her cow and at least one hen. Cooking up an egg with Dag’s bacon and using milk instead of water would have improved his meal. Beth glanced over at him rifling through the back of the wagon for something else to eat. If he’d allowed her to stop by the farm yesterday, she grumbled to herself, he’d eat better today and on down the trail. But no. Like usual, he couldn’t be told or even entertain a suggestion to do something beneficial for the both of them.
Beth gathered their plates, forks, and tin cups while keeping her motions slow and even. She tried to find a positive about dinner to help diffuse her anger. The coffee had tasted the same as usual, one small mercy. She searched for the calmest part of the Missouri river. Kneeling, she rinsed the dishes in water where it lapped onto a small strip of the sandy bank. The breeze here blew crisp and fresh from the water’s surface. Minnows darted to and fro as she used her fingertips to scrub bacon grease from the plates. She almost enjoyed how the river smelled fishy. Would Dag have thought to bring a fishing pole? Beth shook her head. He’d shown no such foresight so far.
Last night’s sleep had left her cold and sore. Most of the others slept under oilcloth tents of some sort. They had also used their horses’ blankets as a mattress. She shook droplets from the dishes. Seeing Daggart stiff from sleeping on the ground gave Beth her only comfort after the hours of restlessness. It served him right. They’d had a lot of bedding at home they could’ve slept on here. If he’d thought before selling the farm outright, Daggart’s mood would have been much improved.
She walked farther up the bank to where the ground wasn’t so squishy wet. She could still hear the wagon party chatter from here, but it wasn’t the overwhelming din. Sitting, Beth placed the clean dishes beside her. She stared out over the blue ribbon as it flowed. Seeing Mr. Granville had been an unexpected treat.
He’d spoken to her more today than any other person had in a very long time. Mr. Henry chatted almost as much, but usually stayed too busy to make wisecracks. Drawing up her knees, Beth hugged her legs. Samuel, any woman would agree, was the better looking brother of the two. He possessed buckets more charm, certainly. She wouldn’t have thought of Nicholas as handsome yesterday, but today after cleaning up, he looked ages younger. He even seemed to borrow some of Samuel’s charm along with his soap.
“Soap? Oh heavens!” she exclaimed before thinking. The dishes hadn’t needed soap after breakfast or at the moment, but almost everything else would sometime soon. Beth released her shins and smacked her palms against the ground in frustration. She needed her own soap. Working with lye was grueling, the job she hated most even as the results made the effort worthwhile. Daggart’s wild idea to chase gold ruined everything. The anger helped fuel her, and Beth finished washing up in record time.
She scooped up her belongings and stood to trudge across the grassland to their wagon. Prior generations of her family had worked hard on the farm, all for nothing now but a wagon and two oxen. The sale of the farm, going west ten years too late for the gold rush, and the gambling added to the nightmare. Knowing the Granville brothers pulled her husband out of the card game mortified her. She hated this familiar feeling of burning shame. The men’s sympathetic looks had echoed those from the church members when her husband insulted her in public.
Beth put her palm on her left cheek and eye to cool the hurt. Keeping her head bowed so no one saw her face, she swapped their dishes at the wagon for her small bag of wool. She’d only brought enough to town to finish the first stocking. A little more remained, but not enough for a second. Unless…. She took out the completed stocking. A snip halfway between knee and toe, and the upper portion could be redone into another stocking. Beth smiled. Perfect, she wouldn’t have to switch a single sock from one foot to the other as needed.
Some wagon trains, like this one, didn’t allow dogs. Glad no animal might have marked his territory, she sat down comfortably on the shady ground. Her back against the wagon wheel, Beth began work on her knitting. She snipped a thread, unraveled the yarn, sewed the top of the sock, and began knitting its mate.
With her thinking the word mate, Nicholas sprang to mind. His appearance had surprised her so, she’d said the first thing she’d thought. She marveled at her audacity in calling him handsome. Her sunbonnet not only hid her black eye, it now hid her blushing face and Beth smiled. Thankfully, she’d notice no smell from him, unlike in town. While creating each new round in her stocking, she wondered about Nicholas’s life. What man would let himself become so dirty, but then clean up so completely? Was he really a hermit, or had he traveled from the wilderness to here?
The thoughts buzzed in her head like telegraph wires at a train depot. First she’d dwell on Daggart and their argument, then on Nicolas and his conversation with her. In an effort to still her mind, she forced herself to concentrate on her work. After a few moments, the focus ended and the reflections began again. Nicolas looked wonderful in a crisp white shirt, impractical for the trail though it may be. She wondered if the suspenders would leave white stripes on a field of dusty brown after a day’s ride. Probably, and he’d have to dry the shirt in the sun to brighten it. His pants looked new, too. Odd, since his boots, while polished, were old and a little scruffy. She didn’t blame him. Beth would much rather have her old shoes than these new ones of her deceased sister.
Beth had some quiet time to think and reflect on Nicolas’s speech. He didn’t sound as educated as Samuel, who spoke with more of a posh accent. She’d heard similar speech from another person while in the dressmaker’s store. There, a lady with a plumed hat had compared the sweet and quaint town shops to her sophisticated home stores.
When she looked up at Nicholas this morning, her dress felt much too tight around her chest. Beth smiled, remembering how the rest of his face lacked the slight tan of around his eyes. Such eyes, too. What had looked like steel in town seemed more like the dark blue-gray of storm clouds this morning. She drew in a breath at the memory, thinking he had such handsome lips. She was glad he’d shaved. Like an image in her mind to never forget, she’d hold close the first time he’d smiled at her.
But then, he’d seen what Dag had done and his expression changed in an instant. Chances were he’d known Beth deserved the hit. Her rude actions had broken the promise she’d made to her father on his deathbed. Even if correct in calling her husband a fool, she felt ashamed of yelling it at him like a curse word. People friendly to them last night now avoided her. Whether it was her loud voice or Daggart’s slap, she didn’t know.
“Mrs. Bartlett?”
Immersed in her own musings, Beth nearly jumped out of her dress in surprise at Samuel Granville’s voice. She looked up before remembering her bruised face and then stared down at her lap. Unlike his brother, she noticed Samuel did have new shoes. “Hello, Mr. Granville. I hope you’re well.”
He sat on his heels, eye level with her. “I’m very fine today, ma’am, and think you’ll be delighted to see what I’ve brought with me.”
She glanced up, saw the sudden anger in his eyes, and hid her face again. Daggart must have hit her much too hard this time, considering his expression. “I don’t know. I should stay here.”
“I know accidents happen, my dear. It can’t be your fault. Please, come with me for a moment.” Samuel held out his hand to help Beth to her feet. As she stood, he continued, “It seems my brother and I were rem
iss in helping your husband with his travel list. There are things we assumed he’d bring from your home that aren’t here.” Samuel led her around the wagon to a buggy. “I’ve taken the liberty of packing a few things forgotten in your haste to travel west.” He unloaded a trunk covered with a few blankets and quilts.
“Oh my goodness gracious!” Beth ran over and hugged the fabrics. “I cannot begin to tell you my thanks, sir. This is marvelous.” She rushed to put the blankets in their wagon and went to the trunk. Afraid of the answer, she asked, “Is anything inside?”
“I certainly hope so. It was filled over the top before I left.”
She tried undoing the latch, but her hands trembled too much. Beth wanted to cry with joy. Samuel helped her, and she opened the trunk. Everything she’d missed lay inside. Some items had been wrapped in scrap material, including a large jar she earlier wished they’d had for drinking water. Right off, she recognized and removed it from the trunk. “This is wonderful, Mr. Granville. We can have water or tea whenever we choose.” She smiled at him, hugging the jar close.
“I’m glad to have been of service.” He reached in the buggy one more time. “You two will need this for protection from the elements.” Samuel held a large oilcloth Beth had stored in the barn. “Looks like the mice found this unappetizing, and Bartlett can make a sturdy tent from it.”
“I’m so pleased with everything you’ve brought.” She pointed out various things. “Here are my herbs, some seeds I’d saved from last year’s garden, and oh! The family Bible! Thank you so!” Beth held the book to her chest. “You can’t know how much this means to me. My family brought this from Britain. I’d considered it lost forever.”
“Your pleasure makes the effort worthwhile, my dear.” He turned and nodded to the east. “In a moment, Nicholas will be in your good graces as well.”
She saw the elder Granville on horseback, leading her and Daggart’s cow to them. “Erleen!” Beth ran up and hugged the animal’s neck. “I’ll bet you need milking,” she said. Holding out her hand for the cow’s lead rope, Beth smiled at Nicholas. “I can stake her in some grass. You two have done so much for me today; I’m sure you have chores of your own to complete.”
“I’m sure, too,” he replied, dismounting. “But right at the moment, I can’t imagine anything more important than helping you load up your trunk.”
She glanced at their wagon, unsure of what to do. Daggart told her last night the wagon held almost more than the oxen could easily pull. So much so that he insisted Beth walk to California. “There may not be room.”
He strode over to the wagon, “Has to be. I can’t let you go on the trail without anything of yours.” Nicholas peered at the foodstuffs. “Bartlett agreed, and I’m making all this fit.”
Samuel spoke up, “Nick, let me get Erleen situated and then see if we can figure out a solution.”
Beth heard the warning in the older brother’s voice. It caught Nicholas’s attention, too. She began trembling from seeing their anger. Her voice more shaky than Beth intended, she said, “If my husband has approved, then we can carry everything. There’s no need to fuss.”
Both men stared at her for an instant at her interruption, mouths agape, then laughed. Samuel responded first, with a bow, “But, my dear, fighting each other is our favorite past time.”
She glanced from one to the other, gauging Samuel’s seriousness. Nicholas, she noticed, squinted at his brother in the same manner as when first seeing her black eye. Beth bit her lip and chewed a little. Pushing their banter aside, there may be a fight between them after all.
Dag strode over to them. “Looks like your cow is making the trip with us.”
“Thank you for allowing this.” She watched as he twisted the animal’s ear in an attempt at affection towards her. “I’m sure you’ll like our meals much more, now.”
He scratched under Erleen’s chin. The cow lifted her head, closing her eyes, and leaned into Daggart. “Speaking of dinner, were there any fishhooks in your rubbish?”
“I can look.” She smiled at her animal’s enjoyment, adding, “If not, I might be able to trade for one.”
He gave her a withering look. “You don’t have anything someone would want in that trunk of yours.” Dag turned to the two Granvilles. “Well then, gentlemen, I say let’s head into town and give the saloon one last visit.”
Samuel shook his head. “As much as I’d like to, there are maps to study and plans to make.”
Daggart narrowed his eyes. “What plans are there to make that you two don’t already know? Didn’t you say you’d traveled this route already?”
“Yes, I have, twice.” Clipped words betrayed Samuel’s irritation at the questioning of his credentials. “Nick has covered the trail thrice.”
Also catching the other man’s reaction, Dag softened his approach by asking, “Ain’t it pretty dry between here and California? I’m not trusting Lizzy Lou to make me wine with that dried fruit you made me buy. It’s a full moon tonight, so why don’t we all go and have a round of cards at the saloon?”
She bit her lip. Hearing him call her by Lizzy Lou's name bothered her like the sound from a bent tin whistle. All the fuss over leaving home had distracted her. She’d not been able to introduce herself as Beth Ann to the others before Daggart had beaten her to the punch by calling her Lizzy first. Now if she corrected everyone to her true name, there’d be questions. Those answers would lead to secrets she didn’t feel comfortable in telling anyone.
Irritated by her husband’s voice as he cajoled the others into drinking, Beth slipped away from the group. Erleen needed care first. Her family treasures could wait a little while longer. She led her cow closer to a grassy patch near their new pair of oxen. She studied one of the larger animals. Uncertain if they’d fight, she tied Erleen a little distance away from the duo.
Beth grew hungry for fish after remembering the hooks. If either of the Granvilles had managed to gather all her belongings, there’d be a great meal before they decamped tomorrow morning. So as not to attract attention from her husband, she slipped around the wagon to her trunk. The three men were gone. Not seeing him or his horse and knowing her husband too well, she suspected he led a group to town for one last party. When he wanted to, the man rivaled even Samuel in his charming ways.
Searching her recovered belongings and not finding any sort of fishhook, Beth instead took a steel pin from her cushion. She pushed the pin in between the wood wheel and the metal rim, and bent it. While digging for a strong thread, she heard someone clear his throat behind her.
“If I let you use this, will you use it to catch me something too?” Nicholas handed her a cane pole with string and hook at the ready. “Assuming you can fish, of course.”
“I could try.” She smiled, thrilled to have a real hook instead of needing to fashion one herself. “No guarantees, though. I can bait a hook just fine. It’s the fish that need convincing.”
“I liked bacon and grits all right until your husband mentioned fishing. We’re too far from trout streams, but I’d be glad to settle for bass or perch.” He glanced over his shoulder and added, “Speaking of bacon, you’ll need bait and I can help. Wait a moment.”
She watched him walk away, his strides long and fast. With broader shoulders than his brother, Nick seemed the stockier of the two. Beth decided she liked his figure better. She knew her face glowed with her shame from the improper thoughts about a man’s body. His kindness and good looks combined with her spring fever must explain her odd interest in him, she reckoned.
The two days she’d known the Granvilles seemed a much longer time. She unpacked and sorted her belongings according to need while contemplating her husband. Most other men won out over Daggart in the manners and husband area. Beth smiled when seeing the soap she’d made last year, so glad it had been packed as well. She wondered if the elder Mr. Granville knew he’d been so thoughtful. Beth breathed in deep, enjoying the fragrance supplied by last year’s roses.
&n
bsp; No man she’d ever met led her heart to feel squishy inside as much as Nicholas now did. Maybe not so much when he first arrived into town, but now, she’d place her own wager he was the best looking man in camp. Beth tilted her chin down to hide her face as a family walked past her.
Seeing her sister’s shoes on her own feet, she sighed. It would be best, she thought, to not mistake the Granville’s basic manners for real concern. Disliking her husband wasn’t a good enough reason to fall for another man. She gathered her feelings and thoughts, pulling them into a direction more loyal to Daggart.
By the time Nicolas returned with a thick slice of bacon, she’d silently recited enough bible verses to refocus her wandering thoughts. “Mr. Granville, we have bacon already. You needn’t have bothered.”
“That’s all right, ma’am. Sam and I have two wagons full of supplies to you and Bartlett’s one.” Nicholas held out a handkerchief with cut up cubes. “It’s worth our handing over some meat to you later if you’ll wait for a fish or two today.”
“Very well.” She smiled at him. “If there are any within nibbling distance, I’m sure this will lure them.”
He grinned back at her. “If I were Sam, I’d say something like your face alone could bring in any male, fish or man.”
“Oh heavens!” She occupied herself with her own fishhook and string, pretending to not be rattled. “If I were me, which I am, of course, I’d remind Mr. Granville I’m a married lady with an unruly husband who is quick to anger.”
Nicholas leaned in close to her saying, “Good thing my brother keeps his distance, don’t you agree?”
Beth looked up into his eyes, seeing his gaze brush over her bruises like a caress. What a lovely man, she thought, if someone so male could be such a thing. Beth examined his face. Would he shave every day or let the shadow of whiskers grow into a beard again? Maybe she could convince him to keep his hair trimmed. She sighed, enjoying the chance to really scrutinize him.
“Mrs. Bartlett?” he asked in a quiet voice. “Do you think the fish are hungry?”
“Mm hm.” Fish? she wondered. “Um—” What was he talking about? “Oh! Yes, yes of course. There are fish waiting to be dinner, aren’t there? Yes indeed. All right, good, good.” Beth knew she babbled but once started, couldn’t stop. “I’m sure you have many things to do at the moment. I’ll be down at the river, coaxing fish to try some tasty bacon. I don’t have yours or Mr. Granville’s charm, so this will take me some time. Yes, I must be going now.” Mortified, she turned and headed for the water.
In a haze of embarrassment, she set up the fishing poles. Once done, she only then thought again of milking Erleen. If Beth had not humiliated herself and run away, she could have had butter for frying the fish. Beth turned at the rustle in the grass.
“Ma’am.” Samuel tipped his hat and held out a jar of milk. “Nick mentioned to me you’d not had time to milk your cow, nor had Mr. Bartlett, in fact.” As Beth took the offered jar, he added, “I thought you might like a drink, or to keep this cool in the water.”
She stood. “I have a better idea. While I’m waiting for dinner to jump on the hooks, this can be shaken into butter.”
“Very good.” Samuel turned as if to leave and then paused. “My brother did manage to barter an exchange?”
Laughing, Beth assured, “Yes, bacon for fish and now milk for butter.”
“Thank goodness.” He tipped his hat. “I’ll leave you to securing dinner.”
Hours later, the sun hung low in the sky and smells of other campers’ suppers started her stomach rumbling. Two fish wouldn’t be enough for four people, but no others seemed interested in the bait. At least she’d shaken enough butter to fry the fillets. Once at the wagon, Beth made quick work of starting a campfire, straining the buttermilk, and dressing the fish.
Neither her husband nor his horse greeted Beth. She looked towards town where the full moon rose large and orange. What if, out of habit, Daggart’s horse carried his drunken mass to the farm instead of here? She smiled while stirring crushed, dried dill into the butter. It’d serve him right. With a sprinkle of salt, she rubbed the mixture onto both sides of the fillets. Let Daggart figure out where he was while in a drunken stupor. Beth almost laughed at the thought of his confusion. She couldn’t ever make him pay with a beating as he did her. Instead, she imagined fate intervening to teach him his lessons. Although, Beth sighed to herself, maybe fate worked to teach her not to be so mean minded toward Daggart. How else to explain away all the horrible events of the past few years, she wondered.
“Hello, ma’am. Is supper coming along?” Samuel removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair.
Beth smiled at him to soften the news. “Sadly, I just now put it on the fire.” She turned the biscuits. “The fish were lazy today and very few bit.”
He went over to the pan. “They look fine!” He sat down next to her. “With everyone headed west, the ponds around here are almost fished out. You did well to find these.”
She enjoyed feeling useful. Even better, there’d be the chance of fresh meat further down the road. The last time Daggart hunted, he’d shot off his hat. Any closer to him than the brim and she’d be a widow trying to work the farm alone. She needed to know better fishing lay ahead of them. “Will the fish and game be more plentiful as we go west?”
“At one time, both were far more plentiful than now.” He shrugged. “Easterners, not thinking of those to follow them, shot more than they needed to eat. Between waste and shooting animals for target practice, I’ve seen far less to hunt than in years past.” As Nicolas walked up, Samuel paused to ask him, “Have you had supper, yet?”
“No, I counted on dinner here.” Nicholas removed his hat and combed through his hair as his brother had earlier. He nodded at Beth. “Ma’am. I see you’ve had some success.”
“A little, I suppose. Frequent camping in this area has taught the fish a lesson, your brother tells me.” She lifted one fillet with a spatula. Now cooked on one side, Beth turned each while adding, “Most of them struggled free once realizing they were hooked.”
Samuel winked. “Surely after seeing you at the end of the pole, they jumped into your lap.”
After a wry glance at Beth, Nicholas said, “I believe I mentioned he’d have something horribly charming to say.” He addressed his brother, “All that syrup reminds me, Sam. Let’s have pancakes tomorrow for breakfast.”
She smiled at the retort. “Does this mean if I promise to make breakfast, you two will bring it and maybe an egg or two?”
They looked at each other and Samuel replied, “We’ll taste the fish first before committing our syrup.”
“To see if it passes muster?” she asked.
“That’s right,” Nicholas replied, taking a seat on the ground. “There’re a lot of good cooks in camp this time.” He nodded over at his brother who was finding a spot opposite from him. “I’m sure Sam here can tempt a lady into sharing her cooking with us in case we’re too much trouble for you.”
“Oh? Is that so?” Beth put her hands on her hips. “When you find one so easily bowled over, let me know. If she’s better, I’ll sneak over and steal her secrets.”
Samuel laughed and shushed the other man, “Be quiet, sir. Dinner smells good and if you insult Mrs. Bartlett, she might not share.”
Seeing Nicholas’s suddenly worried expression, Beth laughed. “Don’t fret. We made a deal. You two get dinner tonight, whether it’s fish or foul.”
Though smaller than she’d have liked, Beth served the three of them a fillet each. She also dished the last one up on Dag’s plate, in case he came back early from drinking. Several people on one sort of an errand or another strolled past the trio. Nearly everyone slowed pace when they smelled the food. Beth smiled to herself. Maybe now no one, especially Daggart, would joke about her cooking.
No one chatted during the meal, hunger making everyone chew much more than talk. Nicholas, the first to finish, sighed. “Ma’am, you served one of
the best meals I’ve ever eaten. I recommend you troll the rivers with a net constantly so as to keep us fed.” Samuel nodded agreement while biting into a biscuit.
She smiled while reaching out for their dishes to wash. “Thank you, I’ll have to see what I can do about making a net, then. A little bit of herbs and spice helps anyone’s cooking taste better.” Beth, shy at Nicolas’s attention focused on her, said, “Starving my dinner guests helps their appetite too.”
Samuel grinned back at her. “We may have to concoct another barter very soon to test this opinion of yours.” He held out his own hand. “In the meantime, those who cook don’t have to wash up.”
“I don’t mind.” Beth stood to collect the dishes.
“Neither does Nick.” Samuel took her plate and passed it along with his own to the other man. “He’ll be glad to rinse off everything and return them to you.”
“You’ll want me to wash the pan?” Nicholas asked. At Samuel’s shrug, he shook his head. “I thought so.”
Beth had to protest her guests doing her work. “Oh no, no, I don’t mind cleaning up after. You let me borrow your fishing supplies.”
“I don’t mind either.” Nicholas looked towards the west. “In fact, it’s getting dark, and you need to set up a tent of some sort. Since Sam has ours ready to go, I can help you once I’m done with these, if necessary.”
She handed her items to him, chin lowered. “You’re very kind, Mr. Granville. I’m sure I can manage just fine.”
“Probably so, but I’m helping.”
She watched as Nicholas headed toward the river, dishes in hand. He walked with an easy, purposeful gait she found strong and masculine. Beth shook herself free of errant thoughts to peer in the wagon. The twilight dimmed everything to dark blue hues. Once one end of the cover lay over the wagon’s end and had been secured by a sack of flour, she pulled the other end away at an angle. She pulled out a small barrel of pickles, using it to hold the loose end of the cloth down on the ground. The tent fabric stayed just fine in the still air. Before too long, she’d need tent stakes handy for the windier nights.
From the corner of her eye, Beth saw Nicholas walk up, shaking dry his hands and their dishes. She busied herself with getting a thick blanket to cover the ground and a thinner one to cover herself and Daggart.
“Here you are, ma’am.” He gave Beth her belongings and then looked at her shelter. “Looks like you have some cover rigged.”
“I know it is crude at the moment. I plan on whittling some stakes to hold down the corners. Hopefully Mr. Bartlett can be convinced to cut a post for the middle, fashioning the tent something like a teepee.”
Nicholas offered, “Since your husband is in town, maybe he’ll bring back a set of metal spikes and pole from the store.”
She choked back a snort, turning instead to place dishes in the wagon. “Daggart wouldn’t have thought of doing so.” Beth clenched her hands, working to keep her tone civil and light. “He tends to forget time so much I’m hoping he manages to come back before dawn.”
Frowning, Nicholas shook his head. “Bartlett’ll have to, if you want to join the wagon train this trip.”
Imagining this man riding west without her bothered Beth. She didn’t want to think why, ignoring the odd feelings for now. “We’ll be left behind here?”
“Yes, until next year. As a captain of this group, I can’t allow any unnecessary delays.” In a fidgety move, he tapped a fork against the plate. “If we were to leave any later, we’d be caught in the snows.”
Beth fell silent. Everyone knew of the Donner Party. The group’s brutal fate dampened every wagon team’s cheer as they started their own journey west. “You all couldn’t wait even one more day? Even one morning?”
His gaze scanned the horizon, softly lit by the rising moon. “Possibly one day wouldn’t matter. Then again, maybe tomorrow would be ten days too late.”
“I see.” She didn’t want to see, but knew his and the other captains’ responsibility for every person and animal there had to be a heavy weight. Her duties toward the farm and their four-legged occupants paled when compared to his. A jab of fear hit her stomach. She’d lost the farm, the one last place or thing on which Beth could rely. Swallowing down the rising bile in her stomach, she asked, “Do you have any suggestions as to what I should do?”
He paused, glanced around, and looked her in the eyes. “If Mr. Bartlett doesn’t show tomorrow morning, what you will need to do is decide to stay behind at camp and wait, or to come along on your own.”
“I’d have to be beholden to someone traveling by myself, and I’d rather not. Never mind the impossibility of leaving behind my husband.”
He seemed to think for a couple of seconds, answering, “I don’t know any other woman who has traveled unaided. But then, no one here is truly alone in a crowd. You could drive your own wagon, I suppose.”
Samuel walked over, “Bartlett isn’t back?”
“No.” Nicholas turned to include him in the group.
Beth took a deep breath. She hated saying the words aloud, but admitted to the men, “He may not come back tonight. If he’s sober in time, he might be here by noon.” There. She’d said it. She’d told the two an ugly truth she’d rather never admit to anyone, not even herself.
“I want to wait for him,” Nicholas said, crossing his arms.
Samuel shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t.”
He turned to look west. “I know.” He walked away, saying again, “I know.”
Samuel smiled at Beth. “Well, if you’d be willing to wait a while, I could see about you joining up with a later party.”
“Now that I’ve been forced to give up my farm and animals, the idea of traveling so far isn’t as awful as I’d first thought.” Her wavering voice didn’t seem to convince him, but she had to further try. “I had made pets of my livestock. That’s why I needed some convincing from Daggart to leave them behind. I hated giving up the animals, but he’s assured me that we can get more after we arrive.” She smiled, searching for a positive aspect. “While my husband is finding gold, I could be rebuilding our farm. If he strikes a good vein, we could hire someone to help me work the land.”
Giving her a smile not reaching his eyes, Samuel responded, “Your cow is a good start if she survives the trip. Had it not been an ordeal for Nick to get her, he would have obtained the chickens as well.”
“He rescued Erleen for me?” Beth smiled knowing no other person except her father would have done the same. A slight breeze from across the river sent a shiver through her.
Samuel shook his head, “You’re chilled, and I’m only standing here and telling tales, unfortunately.” He nodded in his camp’s direction. “I promised it was Nick’s story to give, and I’ll let him be the one to tell you when he has time tomorrow.” Taking Beth’s fingertips, he bent as if to kiss the back of her hand. “In the meantime, I’ll bid you goodnight and offer a silent Godspeed to your husband.”
“Thank you, Mr. Granville. I hope he arrives soon too. Otherwise I will have to wait until next year.” She shook her head, not wanting to think about being homeless and living in their wagon. Beth self-consciously admitted to him, “And I’d rather not do that, preferring you and the other Mr. Granville to be our guides.”
“Thank you, ma’am, for your confidence. I’ll be sure to pass on the compliment to my undeserving brother.” He tipped his hat.
She stared at her feet in chagrin. “You’re welcome, Mr. Granville. Goodnight”
After he left, Beth slid in between the blankets she’d set down. All her fears, questions, and speculations over the next several months kept her awake for a while. Once asleep, she dreamed of falling overboard while on a ship at sea. She struggled in her dream to take off the heavy petticoats pulling her underwater. Her grandmother had told her of journeying to America and the storms on the ocean, and the dream matched what Beth had imaginged. The high waves threatened to submerge her, and she tried to scream a
gainst the water choking her.
The pain woke Beth to find her husband trying to mount her while smacking her face when she moaned and shoved him away. He’d pushed her skirt up past the waist and now made loud, grunting noises. She squeezed her eyes shut because he sounded like the pigs they’d butchered a couple of years ago. Did everyone around them know what they were doing? She listened and heard voices outside the tent, could even see other wagons when she looked out the openings. Beth pushed against his shoulders, hard. “Dag, please! Stop it! Stop this right now!”
He continued to grunt, rubbing his lifeless member against her. “Shut up and be my wife.”
Beth felt demeaned and wanted to disappear. Everyone in camp, she was sure, heard his high-pitched grunts as he tried to enter her. She shook him then hit his strong arms to distract him, whispering, “Daggart, stop it! Not here, not now! It’s not private!”
He increased the frequency of his ineffective thrusts and the noise as well. “Damn you, Beth! Be Lizzy. I want my Lizzy Lou back, so shut up and be her.”
She heard laughter from right outside the tent. “Daggart Bartlett,” she hissed, grabbing him by the throat and squeezing to get his attention. “Everyone can hear you, even children, so you’ll stop this right now.”
He slapped her, hard. “I’ll do what I damn well want with you.” With every few words and resting his weight on his left elbow, Daggart hit her again. “You’re my wife, and I’ll take you however and whenever I want.” He grabbed the back of her head by her hair and asked, “How long have we been married? How long are we going to be married?”
Beth knew the answer he expected and gasped through the pain, “’Til death do us part.” Her bruised cheek stung, and she felt her heartbeat in her temple. Trying a change of tactics, she lay there, still, until Daggart considered himself finished with the task.
Her husband whispered against her ear, “You never, ever, tell me no where others can hear, or I’ll make certain it’s death that parts us.”