Uncivilized Page 3

  No full moon lit her way as she walked past the night guard. She hated this. Hated how every evening before it grew so inky dark, no one else could manage to get water for the morning. She wasn’t the only adult in her family. Too exhausted to stay angry, she forced her thoughts into a positive direction, like how she’d soon have a fresh drink of water. Ellen took her time in going to the river’s edge, allowing her eyes to adjust to starlight. Prior travelers had worn a trail in the grass and she followed the faint path, careful with each step. A stumble and fall might mean hurting her wrist again or worse, a dented or torn up pail. Glancing up, stars filled the night just like campfires dotted the land. She wondered at how the sky seemed hazy in between the brilliant pinpoints. It seemed even light could be dusty out here. Various insects hummed to the faint tune the river gave them. If she listened close, Ellen could hear voices carried from where others sat around their little worlds of brightness.

  She closed her eyes, breathing in deep the cool night air with its scent of sage and broken weeds. Others had said earlier today that the Oregon Territory promised more than this camp. Yet, Ellen couldn’t see how. Before she could take another breath, a sweaty hand clamped over her mouth and pulled her to the ground. Essential seconds ticked by before she recovered from surprise. Only then did she start to struggle.

  He rolled her over, pinning her under him. “Mon coeur, promise you won’t scream.”

  “Mm hmm,” she tried to say against his palm. How dare he? Trust a dirty brute such as Adelard to attack her when least expected. If he’d been even a little less gentle, she’d have tried to bite his hand. She put her hands on his shoulders. He wasn’t wearing a shirt! She gasped and moved away from him. Ellen tried to remember if he’d worn one at dinner. Of course he had or she wouldn’t have let little Skeeter sit there all evening with him. An Indian at dinner was one thing, a near naked Indian intolerable.

  He whispered in her ear. “You won’t cry out for help?”

  Ellen paused, unwilling to sentence them to either fate, but also unwilling to be kidnapped. No matter which she chose, she deduced having her mouth covered stalled any convincing Del to get off of her. Nodding again, she asserted, “Mm hmm.”

  “Very well.” He slid his hand from her mouth to behind her head and kissed Ellen’s forehead.

  She kept her voice low, hissing to him, “You might have whispered a hello or bonjour.”

  “Maybe so, but my way is more enjoyable.” He eased up off of her, pulling her into a sitting position then closer into a tight embrace. “I think the punishment might be worth this.”

  “Please, let me go. My wrist is injured.” She held up her arm for him to see in the very dim light then regretted doing so when he took her hand.

  “Mon petite coeur,” he whispered. “Ou est, ah, where are all the places you hurt? I would kiss them all.” His thumb rubbed the palm of her injured hand before he let his fingertips slide to her elbow, cupping it gently. “I saw you with your family, saw what happened. I am the cause, yes?”

  “Yes,” she murmured before catching herself. “Um, well, yes, a little.” Ellen didn’t want to admit it, but confessed, “If not you then something else might have set off his temper. Usually, I’m better at avoiding a slap or two, never mind a shove.” She felt the man’s emotions change without him moving a muscle. In fact, he scared her. He moved so little, Ellen wasn’t sure he still breathed.

  “You did not fall, but were pushed onto the ground?” He stood, pulling her onto her feet at the same time.

  “Oh! I’d assumed you saw everything.” She reached out for his shoulder to steady her. “Forget what I told you. It’s family business and nothing that concerns you.”

  Del took her good arm, turning Ellen to face him. “Is it your father who hit you?”

  She guessed he must have only seen what happened after Pa pulled her off the ground. Del’s fingers dug into the same bruises Jack had pressed into her skin. “Please, you’re hurting me.”

  Shocked, he let her go and whispered, “Mon Dieu! I barely…I would never….”

  “Oh, no, don’t worry.” She didn’t want to tell him the truth. “My arms were sore already from chores. You didn’t know.”

  He ran the back of his fingers down a painful spot on her upper arm. “This is warm. Tomorrow, it will be purple.” Del paused for a moment. “Even in the dark and behind the glass, your eyes tell me you’re a terrible liar.”

  She crossed her arms in front as if to block him learning anything new. “Pa didn’t mean to hurt me. Most people never understand a person with a quick temper. They either ignore what they see and try to pretend everything’s ok, or put their nose in and try to fix a situation that isn’t broken.”

  “Then I must be in the fix category because I want to help.”

  “Oh.” Ellen shook her head with impatience. “No, there is no fix. My father doesn’t need it. I knew better than to stay with you at dinner tonight, but did anyway.”

  “You made the meal a pleasure.” He leaned in toward her. “I merely sought a private conversation with you, not to cause harm.” He retrieved Ellen’s buckets for her. “You’ll need to return before you’re missed.” When she took them, he said, “Au revoir until tomorrow.”

  A little tremor of something ran through her. Excitement or disgust, she didn’t know but filed away the feeling to examine later. “Goodnight.” She ignored the urge to watch him walk away and focused on filling the water pail before washing Sam’s cook pot. The earlier anger from Pa, her hot and cold skin, the violent outburst, and at last Adelard’s attack all churned her stomach. She paused in her washing and bowed her head. A couple of tears fell onto her lenses before Ellen sniffed and sat up. She shook off the nausea and sadness while cleaning her spectacles. Neither feeling could ever help anything.

  When finished and back at their camp, Ellen checked on her brothers. They slept soundly as did her parents. She hoped to take a page out of Del’s book of stealthy movement and worked at placing the water near the wagon and getting into her bedroll without a sound. Once her body was settled in for the night, her mind couldn’t keep away from him. Plenty of men lived in Oregon Territory. Most of them had to be white and thus acceptable to her father. She gazed at the coals. Tomorrow always crept in too early. Ellen closed her eyes, forcing out her questions and feelings. No sense in mulling over a man most likely riding away tomorrow to his next warpath.

  From habit, Ellen woke a little before daybreak. She stretched her sore muscles and put on her glasses. She glanced around at her sleeping family while rubbing her hands together for heat. Little Buster and Skeeter slept between their parents, all huddled for warmth. The low fire jogged her memory. She’d forgotten to scout out firewood for this morning’s breakfast. If not fixed soon, her father would be furious. She stood. Every muscle ached and what didn’t hurt was too cold to feel. She chewed on a chapped part of her lip. The pain served her right for being curious about forbidden fruit in male form during supper last night.

  Her father stirred, redirecting her attention. She stoked the fire a little. The flames stopped just short of flaring. She crept away from camp towards a far off grove. The more she walked, the further the trees seemed. She’d be late fixing breakfast at this pace. Unease, like bile, began to rise in her throat. Now breathless, Ellen forced herself to be calm. She had long legs and that meant big steps. She ignored the knot in her stomach, certain she’d get there and back before breakfast. Worry made everything seem worse and she tried to calm her heart. Ellen counted one, two, with each step to keep her mind focused.

  She reached the small stand of trees to find the firewood already scavenged. Nothing remained but kindling sized twigs and she needed more than that. Ellen wanted to sit and cry in frustration but couldn’t afford the luxury. Battling the fear growing in her chest, she tried to think and looked up for any sort of dead branches hanging from the trees. Nothing. She glanced to the east. The sun still hovered below the horizon. Plenty of time to fi
nd something and be back soon. Ellen kicked away tufts of long grass under the young trees only to find damp earth instead of hidden sticks. A shock of panic gripped her stomach. There was nothing here to use.

  “Mademoiselle? Why are you so far from camp?”

  She turned and saw Del leading his horse. Ellen didn’t want polite conversation and used a clipped tone so he’d ride on down the road. “Good morning. I’m having no luck finding firewood for this morning’s breakfast. I’m also in a hurry, so, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to searching.”

  “You found nothing?”

  “No, and I need to get back. Please excuse me.” She stopped just short of yelling at him as her father would her.

  “One moment, I can help.”

  “I don’t see how, unless your saddlebags are full of dry firewood.” Urgency harshened her tone and she already regretted her rudeness. She watched as he scooped a long tuft of prairie grass. He wound the blades around, twisting them. Though interested in what he was doing, Ellen continued, “I apologize to be so curt, but I’m in such a hurry this morning, so please excuse me.” When the twist looped in on itself, he let it bend and held the top and the bottom together. In a quick motion, he drew his knife and cut off the bottom from the clump from which it grew.

  Del tucked in the ends like Ellen would have a skein of wool and handed the results to her. “Voila. It’s not wood but will be good for heating a meal. I’ll cut a couple for later if needed.” He worked up one more, then another. Handing both to her, he added, “Close your mouth, s’il vous plait. The mosquitoes are bad here and not tasty from what I’ve heard.”

  “Oh!” She laughed a little too loud. “Yes, of course.” Ellen inhaled and realized she’d been too scared to breathe. “Thank you so much. This will help me so much this morning.” She hugged the fuel he’d made for her. “I need to run I’m afraid, but again, thank you.”

  “Would you like me to take you back?” He patted his horse. “Pomme doesn’t mind.”

  “Ha! No!” She caught an odd expression on his face, as if she’d hurt his feelings with her refusal. “I can’t let you.” Ellen wanted to explain her answer but took a few steps toward camp. “I’m in enough trouble for dinner last night, and now breakfast will be late no matter how fast this burns.”

  “I’ll walk with you.” He kept pace with her, leading his horse.

  She wanted to beg him to leave her alone, but her innate courtesy proved too strong. “All right.” Nervous, she chewed on her chapped lip until tasting blood. If she were quiet, if the sun stayed low, if everyone still slept, the smell of their own coffee and bacon cooking would wake them. They’d sleep through Del escorting her back.

  “Were we on a casual walk, I would ask what or who waits at the end of this travail.” He shrugged. “Alas, you are almost home and so I must wait until later.”

  Ellen stopped a few yards short of where her family lay. “Thank you for this, Monsieur Du Boise.” She indicated the improvised sticks.

  “You’re welcome, mademoiselle.” Del continued on, skirting her campsite.

  She glanced at him as he walked. He wore a shirt again, the same one as yesterday evening. He still had on those buckskins. She almost tsked aloud at him being such a wild man. One of the boys stirred, reminding her of chores. The sun just now peeked over the horizon. She placed one of the grass sticks on the embers. It flared and settled into a slower burn. Ellen sighed in relief at how he’d been right. Now to start cooking and let the aromas wake everyone. She worked as fast and as quiet as possible to gather the coffee, bacon, and biscuit fixings.

  Her father and mother woke when the meat began sizzling. The boys still slept. By now, the entire camp buzzed with the activity of a new day. Ellen sprinkled a pinch of sugar into her coffee. She justified the luxury by allowing it lightened their oxen’s load.

  Pa commented while watching her, “You know I always have my coffee black. That way, I’m not wasting sugar or cream. You never know if you’ll always have enough out here. Better to do without, I say.”

  Ellen nodded, having heard this every morning before now. One day she’d learn to add sugar without him seeing and lecturing. Checking the food and finding it ready, she fixed her Pa’s plate as her Ma fixed Buster’s. Today, as every day, Ma waited until Pa had a couple of bites and nodded at her to make her own plate. This left Ellen to fix Skeeter’s and hers out of the leftovers.

  Her dad pointed his fork at her. “Don’t be hanging around that damned Indian today.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He’ll be back if you keep encouraging him.” Winslow took a couple of bites. “Next thing you know, he’ll be dragging you and Lucy here off by your hair to the others to be used as slaves. When he’s done with ya, you’ll wish you’d not given him the time of day. By then, it’ll be too late. You’ll be ruined, scalped, and left for dead like his other victims.”

  “Jack, please!” Lucy covered Little Buster’s ears.

  “I’ve seen it before now.” He scraped the bacon grease with his biscuit. “They’re called savages for a reason. They act like men but live and fight like animals. Remember that.”

  “I will.” Ellen felt ill. If her father knew what happened last night and this morning, he’d be enraged. She wanted to reassure him. “I’ll not talk to the man.”

  In a sudden fit of rage, he threw his plate into the fire “You sure as hell won’t!” The dish knocked over the coffee, putting out the fire and soaking the remaining food. “What have I been telling you? Leave him the hell alone! You’ll get us all killed or worse. Now shut up about that damned Indian and clean up this mess.” He stomped off, cursing as he went.

  “Isn’t that nice?” Lucy remarked. “You’ve ruined lunch for us. I hope you think of something for us to eat by noon, or he’s going to be angry then too.” She stood, scooping up Little Buster and leaving the plates and a wide-eyed Skeeter behind.

  “He sure is mad.”

  Ellen gathered the dirty plates. “He is, but he’ll get over it after a few miles of walking. That’ll cool him some.”

  “Hope so. He scares me when he’s mad.”

  She reassured the little boy, “Me too, but he’s the same as a thunderstorm: all flash and dash that doesn’t last long at all.” Ellen steadied her hands so her brother couldn’t see the shaking. Like a storm, Mr. Winslow often struck like lightning, fast and hard. She never got used to his tantrums.

  Breakfast dishes washed, Ellen hurried to put them away. Her father would need help with the oxen. This far into the journey, she knew exactly what to do. Unless an ox misbehaved, she could expect a peaceful departure. Mr. Winslow already had the younger animal ready to go. She wiped damp hands on her skirt and hurried over to lift the yoke. As she’d hoped, the oxen behaved and she sought out Skeeter before their wagon started rolling. He played at a distance with others his age.

  Lucy carried Little Buster and walked up to Ellen. “Other ladies say the ferry costs at least five dollars. Your father isn’t going to pay that, I’m sure.”

  Fear raced through her at the implication of them going across on their own. “Does he have a choice? The river is rather swift.”

  “He always has a choice and will do what he reckons is best.”

  She didn’t want to argue with her. “Of course he will.” Ellen tried not to say anything else but couldn’t help herself. “It’s just that the water could—”

  “Shush up. Your daddy’s right; you need to talk less and think more.” Lucy walked away.

  Ellen stomped her foot. She hated how Pa and Lucy left during a discussion. So maddening and yet what could she do about it other than stand there in mid-sentence, mouth agape? She put a hand to her forehead and took a deep breath. If her father didn’t take a ferry across, she needed to prepare for a possible sinking. The very idea scared her. Her father and Lucy knew the consequences of their actions, but if the worst happened, Buster and Skeeter shouldn’t have to pay for their parents’ bad judgment. E
llen gritted her teeth in determination. She’d helped them across rivers many times before now without incident. She could do it this time too.

  Rushing, she secured all their dishes and easy to reach food. The prior experiences readied her for this one. Ellen had cut ropes in exact lengths to tie down the trunks and everything else. She checked the oxen and loosened their yokes just enough to allow them escape if necessary. They could still pull the wagon but might not drown if it overturned.

  She went to the water’s edge where others waited for the ferry. Trees grew on the opposite bank but too far for her to throw a hook and rope she’d made. She paced. Maybe it’d been a bad idea anyway. The ferry carried over a wagon from another group. But still, she mused, there had to be a way for them to cross and somehow guarantee safety. She went a little distance up the river hoping to find anywhere shallow. As she walked, Ellen thought of the futility of her attempt. If a way to cross existed, there’d be no ferry right now. She sighed, wishing the day was already done and they were already safe at a new camp. Wishing wasn’t doing, so she searched for a plan.

  Jenny came within earshot, almost needing to shout above the noisy people behind her. “You have to tell me! What do you think of…? Goodness, I hesitate to call him mister, but what do you think of Mr. Du Boise?”

  Her friend’s enthusiasm pleased Ellen. She admitted, “I think he’s a very interesting person.”

  “Ooo, do tell!”

  “He’s a bit of a puzzle.” She fell in line with Jenny as they walked back to the others. “Mr. Du Boise seems very civilized, despite the fringed trousers.”

  “I know! He’s so mannerly, and yet you don’t know when he’ll turn savage or anything.” The girl picked a wildflower and plucked off the petals. “I wonder if he fights with himself, being both kinds of people and all.”