Wilderness double editio.., p.8
Wilderness Double Edition 18, page 8
“No, thank you. Don’t stay up long, though. You know how irritable you get when you don’t have enough rest.”
“Nag, nag, nag,” Carson said, going off down the hall. The dog went with him.
Nate listened for Agatha’s rhythmic breathing to resume, and when it did, he crabbed to the window, raised it high enough to fork his leg over the sill, and eased back out. Lowering the window again, he darted to the fence and was soon at the road, disappointed at the outcome.
He couldn’t very well go from cabin to cabin searching for the Weavers. The risk of discovery was too great. As much as he would like to take them along, it was now out of the question.
Nate bent his steps toward Huntington Manor. He was abreast of the last homestead on the right when an ominous growl from behind the picket fence took him to ground once again. Too late. A pair of glittering eyes were fixed on him.
Hoping the dog would lose interest if he simply lay there, Nate bided his time. Time he didn’t have to spare.
When the animal’s growls elicited no reaction, the dog paced back and forth, trying to catch his scent on the wind. When that failed, it moved toward the cabin and roosted on the porch beside a rocking chair.
Nate crawled northward until he was far enough off to rise without being seen. The manor, the mercantile, and the stable were as quiet as they had been when he left. After pausing long enough to insure that Private Bell and the bloodhound were nowhere in the vicinity, he sprinted to the entrance and was inside in the blink of an eye.
Through the parlor, down the hall. Nate slowed at Ezriah’s room, the walls still resounding to his snores. A little farther, and Nate gripped the latch to Evelyn’s door. He glanced over his shoulder, then opened it and stepped inside, saying, “I have bad news, I’m afraid.”
“So do I, Mr. King.”
Nate stopped dead. Perched on the edge of the bed was William Harrison Proctor. Nearby stood Sergeant Braddock. Private Yates was by the window, a cocked pistol in his right hand. “Where are my wife and daughter?”
“Safe,” Colonel Proctor said. “Just down the hall in another room, being guarded by Private Danvers.”
“You had no right—” Nate began, but New Eden’s future governor wouldn’t let him finish.
“Please, sir, no feeble protests. No mock indignation. We both know what you’ve been up to, and frankly, I had hoped for better. To skulk about in the middle of the night like a common footpad is reprehensible.”
Rankled by the man’s gall, Nate responded, “We can leave any damn time we want, Proctor.”
“Would that it were true. Unfortunately, I have need of your services. Yours, and your wife’s. Until such time as I no longer require them, none of you are going anywhere.” Colonel Proctor jerked a thumb at the noncom. “Sergeant Braddock, would you relieve our guest of his guns? And his knife and tomahawk, while you’re at it.”
“Sorry, Mr. King,” Braddock apologized as he warily stepped to one side so as not to get between Nate and Private Yates. Reaching around, he helped himself to the four pistols and the other weapons.
Raw fury pumped through Nate’s veins. “You shouldn’t have done this,” he said. Were it not for the pistol leveled at his chest, he would have lit into Proctor like a berserk wolverine.
“I beg to differ,” the colonel said. “New Eden’s welfare comes before all else. I will do anything—anything—to realize our dream of a new state. If that necessitates detaining you and your wife against your will for a while, so be it.”
“There will be a reckoning,” Nate declared.
Proctor chuckled. “Oh, please. Juvenile posturing is unbecoming. You are in no position to threaten me, no position to do other than what I require of you. Accept the inevitable, Mr. King, and your stay here will be more bearable.”
Nate would never accept being deprived of his freedom, of being held a virtual prisoner. Proctor had broken the bounds of all propriety. “For your own sake, let us go before it’s too late.”
“Or what? You’ll rise up in righteous wrath and slay us? Instead of indulging in threats you can’t possibly carry out, you should be inquiring about the services I referred to. Or aren’t you the least bit curious?”
“You’ll tell me anyway.”
“That I will. But I would rather do so as your friend than your enemy. I would rather you helped me willingly than under duress.”
“That will never happen,” Nate said. The man was unbelievably arrogant to think he could force others to do his bidding and not have them resent it.
“Why not? You said, yourself, we must take steps to protect ourselves from the Blackfoot Confederacy. To that end, I intend to have you scout the country to the north. If you see any sign of hostiles, you’re to ride like the wind and warn us. In the meantime, we will fortify our defenses in case of a mass attack.”
“And where will my wife and daughter be while I’m off scouting?”
Colonel Proctor grinned. “Why, right here at Huntington Manor. Your wife, Mr. King, is even more essential to my plans than you are. As a linguist, she will act as my interpreter at the peace council. She speaks half a dozen tongues, correct ?”
Nate didn’t answer, which struck the officer as humorous.
“Be petty if you wish. It won’t change the inevitable. You will leave at first light. Sergeant Braddock will provide you with enough food to last eight to ten days, but you will not be permitted to take weapons. A frontiersman of your caliber should have no difficulty surviving without them.”
“Not even my knife?”
“And have you sneak back here in the dead of night and slit my throat?” Proctor rejoined. “Now that I think about it, as an added measure I’ll have a couple of my men tag along for the first day or so.”
Nate’s rage was potent enough to choke on. Were it not for Yates’s pistol, he would gladly have thrown himself at the colonel and beaten him within an inch of his overbearing life.
“Try to put yourself in my boots,” Proctor said. “Think of all the people who depend on me, whose lives rely on my judgment. Can you blame me for doing whatever I must to safeguard them?”
“You could have asked us.”
“To what end? Both you and your wife had made your intention to leave tomorrow abundantly clear. I was content to wait until morning to impose my will, but when you snuck off, you forced my hand.”
“You saw me leave?”
“Not I. Rufus. I’d instructed him to spend the night in the stable’s hay loft and keep an eye on the manor. He was to report to me if he saw anything out of the ordinary.”
Nate recalled the loft door being open when he snuck off, but he hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Why should he have? Loft doors were routinely left open to air a stable out.
“I must say,” Proctor remarked, “that woman of yours is a firebrand. Had it not been for the risk to your daughter, she would have assaulted us when we burst in on her—I saw it in her eyes. A desire to kill me. Can you imagine?”
Yes, Nate thought, very easily. “What about Ezriah Hampton?”
“The simpleton? What about him? He can stay as long as you do so long as he doesn’t make a nuisance of himself.” Proctor cocked his head. “Listen to him. It sounds as if he is sawing petrified wood. He’s out to the world, and has no idea Sergeant Braddock entered his room a short while ago and relieved him of all his weapons.”
“Ezriah won’t like that.”
“Do you honestly think I care? The doddering old fool is of less consequence to me than a fly. He’s lucky I don’t send him packing on general principles.” Rising, Colonel Proctor moved toward the door, his hands behind his back. “Any last questions or comments before I bid you good night? I have a busy day ahead of me tomorrow and need more sleep.”
“One last time. Let us go.”
“When I am damn good and ready.” Proctor waited while Private Yates and Sergeant Braddock circled past Nate, careful to keep out of his reach. “Scowling like that is most unbecoming. Make the best of the situation, Mr. King.” He started to leave.
“I’d like to speak to Winona and Evelyn before you turn in.”
“Request denied. They’ve quieted down, and I see no need to stir them up again. You can talk to them in the morning before you ride out.”
“Is a glass of whiskey too much to ask for?” Nate said with a taunting smirk, and the ruse worked.
“At this late hour? What are you, a lush?” Colonel Proctor shrugged. “Very well. I’ll send Thomas around. But be advised. Private Yates will be right outside, so don’t try anything.”
The door closed behind them and Nate began to pace like a caged grizzly. Proctor was too sure of himself, too confident, and that bred carelessness. The colonel had made a mistake that would prove costly before the night was done.
Impatient for the manservant to arrive, Nate stopped often to listen for footsteps. When at last he heard them, he scooted to the chair in the corner and sat.
The next second Private Yates poked his head in. “Remember what the colonel said, mister. Don’t get any ideas or you’ll regret them. All the darkie has to do is holler and I’ll be on you like a gator on a suckling pig. Got me?”
Yates withdrew and Thomas came in, carrying a silver tray. “You requested a whiskey, sir?”
Nate indicated the chest of drawers near the chair and Thomas brought the tray over and set it down. The manservant held the glass out to him but Nate shook his head and whispered, “I don’t really want a drink, Thomas. I wanted to talk to you. You strike me as a decent man.”
“Sir?”
“Do you know what has happened?”
Thomas glanced at the partly open door, then bent down. “I was the one who admitted Rufus to Colonel Proctor’s bed-chamber. I heard everything, sir.”
“Do you approve?”
“Whether I do or not is irrelevant, Mr. King. I’m in no position to help.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’d like for you to get a message to my wife.”
“Private Danvers would never let me go near her. He’s lounging out in front of their room, picking his teeth with a knife.”
“He will if you say Colonel Proctor told you to look in on them and see if they require anything.” Nate gripped the other’s wrist. “Will you help us, Thomas? My family is in danger and you’re my only hope. I’m asking you man to man.”
Thomas blinked a few times. “Man to man,” he said softly. “Do you know, Mr. King, that in all the years I’ve been indentured to Colonel Proctor, never once has he shown me a smidgen of the respect you and your family have. He always refers to me as his slave. His servant. His colored help. His Negro. But never a man. Never a human being.”
“I can count on your help?”
“Yes, sir, but not for the reason you think.” Thomas lowered his voice until it was barely audible. “I like your wife. She doesn't look down her nose at me like some of the other women do. So it’s only right I warn you. You’ve got to get her out of here before Proctor lays his hands on her.”
A cold chill rippled down Nate’s spine and into the depths of his soul. “Before he does what?
Thomas spoke rapidly. “Colonel Proctor isn’t the paragon of virtue his men believe him to be. He has a weakness. A powerful weakness. He’s fond of the ladies, Mr. King. Can’t keep his hands off them. You’ve seen Harriet, his personal maid, how he has her dress, how she dotes on him? He took her for the first time when she was only fourteen and she’s been his bed-mate ever since.”
“She doesn’t mind?”
“No, she likes being a kept woman. But even if she did, what could she do? She’s a slave. She has no rights. Even her own body isn’t hers to do with as she sees fit. Colonel Proctor owns her lock, stock, and barrel.”
A slight noise in the hall caused both of them to glance sharply around. When nothing came of it, Thomas went on just as swiftly.
“Harriet isn’t the only woman the colonel diddles. Several of the wives come visit him from time to time when their husbands are off on patrol. It’s been going on for years but none of them suspect.” Thomas radiated disgust. “He also lusted after Mrs. Weaver but she refused to give in. That’s why she and her husband were running away.”
“And now you think Proctor has designs on Winona?”
“I don’t think he does,” Thomas said. “I know he does. I saw him looking at Mrs. King with that peculiar sort of look he gets when he wants a woman real bad. If you go riding off into the mountains tomorrow, she’ll be at his mercy. He’ll concoct an excuse to get her alone and force himself on her.”
“Over my dead body,” Nate growled, and it was all he could do to keep from charging out into the hall to hunt Proctor down. Placing his hand on Thomas’s shoulder, he said, “Listen. Here is what you need to do....”
Seven
Winona King prided herself on her self-control. From an early age Shoshone girls were taught they must always keep a tight rein on their emotions. That in addition to mastering the many skills involved in maintaining a lodge and rearing a family, they must master themselves and be a credit to their husbands and their tribe. They were expected to bear pain and discomfort stoically, as the men did. They were expected to show the courage of a warrior, and lay down their lives in defense of their village and their families, if need be.
Winona’s mother had also impressed on her that a woman must never give in to her baser impulses. A woman should not be petty, must avoid being shrewish, and must not bicker with her husband over trifles. Above all, a woman must control her innermost feelings and never, ever give in to anger. Anger was a bitter venom, eating at the spirit. It destroyed peace of mind and the harmony of a lodge.
By and large, Winona had lived up to her mother’s expectations. Her husband, her children, and everyone who knew her continually complimented her on her poise, on her calm self-assurance. They rarely saw her upset, seldom saw her mad.
But Winona was mad now. So mad she could not collect her thoughts. So mad her body was hot with rage. Mad enough to kill with her bare hands.
The object of her wrath was William Harrison Proctor. Along with Braddock, Yates, and Danvers, he had barged into Evelyn’s room while the two of them were seated on the bed talking, catching her unawares. She had lunged for her rifle but Yates had snatched it. When she tried to draw a pistol, Braddock had pinned her arms while Danvers had confiscated her weapons.
William Harrison Proctor had done nothing except stand there and smirk. After she was unarmed and Braddock released her, Proctor had taken a seat and prattled on about his glorious plans for New Eden and the crucial part she was to play as his interpreter.
Winona flatly refused to help him.
Proctor’s moon face had rotated toward Evelyn and his flat eyes had lit with menace. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to change your mind, my dear?”
At that moment Winona decided she was going to kill him.
Proctor had talked some of his military career, and from time to time Winona caught his eyes devouring her. But he always stifled his lust when she looked at him, as devious as he was degenerate.
Then, at gunpoint, Winona and Evelyn had been marched to another room so Proctor could arrange a suitable reception for Nate. She had balked until Proctor threatened to have her hog-tied if she didn’t comply.
So now here Winona was, seething in rare rage and pacing the floor while her daughter lay curled on the double bed. The murmur of brief conversation outside the door preceded a light knock and a kindly voice saying, “Mrs. King? It’s Thomas. May I come in?”
“By all means,” Winona said. The manservant had impressed her as being considerate and decent. He might be willing to help.
“Who’s that, Ma?” Evelyn said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “Is it Pa? Is he back yet?”
“It is not your father, little one. Go back to sleep.” Thomas entered bearing a silver tray with nothing on it. Behind him stood Private Danvers, a stocky militiaman who wore a perpetual frown. “No shenanigans, lady. The colonel sent him to see if you want anything.”
Winona looked at Thomas, who wore the strangest expression. “No, thank you,” she said. “We are fine.”
“Are you sure, madam?” Thomas said, and then silently mouthed several words.
Winona was at a loss. He was trying to tell her something but she had no notion of what it was. “Well, I suppose we could do with a glass of—” She was about to say “water” but they had a water pitcher in the room, so instead she said, “Juice, if you have any. Or milk if you do not.”
Thomas grinned. “Juice it is. I’ll be back in five minutes.” He winked at her, then departed as if his britches were on fire.
Private Danvers closed the door after him.
“Thomas didn’t say what kind of juice,” Evelyn said, sinking back down and closing her eyes. “I hope it’s grape. I’ve only had it on that trip we took to Kansas City, but I love grape juice.”
Winona didn’t care what it was. She just wanted to get Thomas alone for a minute so she could ask him to relay a message to Nate. Continuing to pace, she eagerly awaited his return and nearly jumped when the latch rasped without warning.
“Here you go, Mrs. King. Apple cider.” Thomas had brought two tall glasses. He set the tray on the small mahogany table by the bed. “Help yourselves.”
Private Danvers was in the doorway. “Leave it and go,” he said.
“Sorry, sir, but Colonel Proctor was quite specific. I’m to wait for them to finish and take the empty glasses back with me. Something about not letting them have sharp objects.”
“What? The colonel is afraid the squaw will bust one and try to cut me?” Danvers snorted. “I’d like to see her try.” He backed out into the hall, saying testily, “I’ll be right outside. Holler if she so much as looks at you crosswise.”
Thomas held out a glass. “It’s part of a batch we brought from North Carolina. I think you’ll find it quite delicious.
“Thank you.” As Winona reached for it, the manservant bent toward her and whispered urgently.
