The Reluctant Bridegroom (32 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHRISTMAS GIFT

A week of false spring freed the frozen brooks and turned the crisp snow into slush, but Winslow knew winter still lurked up in the Cascades. He rose early one morning and said to Rebekah, “I’m going over to the lower pasture and get some of that big oak that fell. Be back before noon.”

“All right.”

The shortness of her reply struck him, but he hitched the team to a sled and drove down the slope that led to a bottom section. For two hours he hacked at the tough white oak that had fallen the previous year in a storm, loading the sections on the sled. The sun came up, heating the small meadow, and he soon took off his coat.

The physical work was pleasant, for he could expend his energy against the wood, see the pile grow on the sled, and take satisfaction in the small accomplishment. He enjoyed the simplicity of the work as well because he had been struggling against things that had no simple answers. Since the night they had returned from Oregon City, Rebekah had been different.

Their marriage was not the usual, he realized. From the start her manner had been subdued, yet he had become aware of part of her that was waiting—for what, he wasn’t quite certain. But he recognized it, and he’d had something of the same expectancy in his own mind. Despite his talk of her being “just a housekeeper,” somehow there had been a knowledge that such a relationship could not go on forever. More than once they had looked at each other, and a keen
awareness had leaped out in a way that alerted them to the fact that they were more than just master and servant.

But that had passed—at least from Rebekah. She cooked, sewed, and maintained the house, but kept to herself, speaking for the most part only of necessary things, the ordinary affairs of keeping house.

Sky had been aware, too, of Joe’s growing resentment for Rebekah, but had not found any way to curb it. Both he and Joe enjoyed Timmy and Mary. It was the one thing that had gone right with their arrangement. Every night Sky would come in from work and spend time playing simple games with Timmy, and often he would hold Mary, rocking her to sleep or marveling at the finely made features that were beginning to take form. Joe did much the same, and his interest in the children made Sky feel better—but he was aware that both he and Joe were shut out from Rebekah more firmly than ever.

Now as he pushed the one-man crosscut saw through the stubborn oak, his head was filled with thoughts; and when a voice spoke right at his side, he almost panicked. His years in the mountains with danger constantly around had given him catlike reactions, but the years spent away had blunted those. Even as he whirled, throwing himself to his left where his rifle lay propped too far away against a stump, he knew he was too late.

“Whoa, Hoss! Don’t get your dander up!”

Sky blinked at the figure who had appeared from nowhere. Recognizing the man, he whooped loudly and threw himself forward, beating the man on the back. “Jim O’Malley!” he shouted. “Blast you! I oughta shoot you for sneaking up on me like that!”

A smile broke across the broad lips of the visitor. “I knowed you’d go to pot if you left the mountains! Good thing I wasn’t a Cheyenne buck, ain’t it now?”

“Jim! Where in the world did you spring from?”

“Brought my furs to Oregon City, Sky. Thought the price might be better—and anyway, your pa told me you was here,
so I thought we might split a bottle and see which one of us could tell the biggest lies.”

Jim O’Malley was two inches taller than Winslow and much thicker through the body. He was wearing a worn set of buckskins, which seemed molded to his body, and a pair of handmade elkskin boots. A coonskin cap failed to hide the reddish thatch of hair that grew down past his ears, and he held a Hawken rifle as if it were an extension of his body. He had steel-gray eyes, deep set and watchful, and his face was heavy and durable like the rest of him. The two men were about the same age, and had spent several years trapping together on the upper Missouri.

“Jim! By the Lord, it’s good to see you!” Sky exclaimed, slapping his thighs and crowing with pleasure. “Let’s go to the house and get something to eat.”

“Stopped by and met your wife and kids,” O’Malley said. “You sure done yourself proud, Sky! Don’t see how an ornery coon like you could talk a fine lady like that into marryin’ the likes of
you.
”

Sky looked for something in the man’s face that would imply a hidden meaning, but he saw only the fine humor characteristic of O’Malley. He hesitated, then said, “It’s kind of a funny thing, Jim. I’ll tell you about how we got married while we walk back.”

But it was not as easy as he had expected. As he tried to put into words the history of his marriage, it sounded artificial even to his own ears. He was also aware of the sidelong glances O’Malley gave him as they made their way back to the house.

Finally the trapper said, “Well, I knew that Irene cut the heart out of you, Sky. I didn’t know she was dead until your folks told me a year back when I went by the Mission to get word about you.”

“Joe needs a mother, Jim. I went east to hire a housekeeper and teacher—but Rebekah was in a fix, so I thought we could work out something that would help us both.”

“How’s it workin’ out?” O’Malley asked.

Sky reflected for a moment. “Well, it’s hard, Jim. I’ve had some doubts—and I reckon she has, too.” Soon he grew tired of talking about his own problems, so he changed the subject. “What’s on your ticket, Jim?”

“Why, you’re looking at a man with a hitch to settle down, Sky,” O’Malley smiled. “I met up with old Charlie Dugan last month—you remember Charlie?”

“Sure. Thought he was dead, though.”

“Oughta been. He’s only about fifty, but he looks seventy, Sky! Living alone in a little hut outside Fort Laramie—plumb wore out! And I can remember when Charlie Dugan could walk the legs off any man in the mountains!” O’Malley shook his head. “I decided right then to sell out, get married, and raise myself a dozen kids!”

Sky laughed loudly. “Can’t see you in that light, Jim. And you’ve come to a mighty poor place for finding a bride. Just told you how I had to bring a bunch clear from the East.”

O’Malley waved his hand. “That’s no problem for an Irishman,” he announced grandly. “I’ve got a pocketful of money, and with my charm and good looks, finding a woman will be a small matter.”

“Well, good luck,” Sky replied, thinking that the man was telling the truth. Jim O’Malley was the finest looking man he’d ever seen; and in their years together, it was always the Irishman who managed to get the inside track on every pretty girl that appeared.

When they got back to the house, Joe was waiting on the doorstep, his eyes taking in the big man, who won his heart by saying, “Joe, is it? Well, now, I’ve got an idea that the two of us might get along. You got a rifle?”

“Sure!”

“Well, I hope to teach you how to shoot it,” O’Malley commented with a grin at Sky. “I remember once your pa and I was penned in by a Crow war party, and he said right there,
‘Mr. O’Malley, if we get out of this thing alive, I’m going to take shooting lessons from you.’ ”

“Gosh! Is that right, Pa?”

“Sure is,” Sky smiled. “Guess you’re looking at just about the best shot in the West—with a rifle, that is.”

“Now your pa is being too modest, Joe,” O’Malley protested. “I can maybe shade him with a Hawken, but there’s no man who could come close to Sky Winslow with a pistol.”

“We can brag on each other later, Jim,” Sky grinned. “You’re stayin’ with us, so get your plunder unloaded.” He hesitated as Rebekah stepped outside. “You say you’ve met my wife?”

“Yes.” O’Malley smiled and pulled his hat off. His teeth gleamed white against his bronze skin, and there was a gentlemanly grace in his manner as he bowed. “Don’t want to be any trouble to you, Mrs. Winslow.”

“Why—you’ll be most welcome, Mr. O’Malley.” Rebekah’s heart thumped, for the presence of the man was strong. His gray eyes danced with life, and she felt his admiration. “We’re a little short on meat, Sky—”

“Why, I’m your man, Mrs. Winslow—and by the way, Mr. O’Malley, he’s my pa. You can just call me Jim.” He put a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Why don’t you and me go out and try to find a buck, Joe?”

“Can I, Pa?” Joe begged.

“Take Jim down to Big Owl Creek, Joe. Deer been feeding in the river bottom there. Try to get a nice tender doe.”

O’Malley and Joe left at once, the man holding the boy’s attention by some tall tale. As Sky watched them go, he said, “Sure is good to see Jim.”

Rebekah’s mind was on the problems of taking in an extra guest. “I suppose he’ll sleep with you and Joe,” she said, a faint flush rising in her cheeks as she turned to enter the house. “I’ll find some extra blankets.” She hurriedly found two thick blankets, and took them up to the loft, which was built much more solidly than in most cabins. The ceiling sloped up so
steeply that there was plenty of room for the two single beds that Sky had built for himself and Joe, as well as a table and two chairs. After she had put the blankets on one of the beds, she was about to go when she saw a sheet of paper under the table and bent to pick it up. Thinking it was one of Joe’s exercises, she held it to the light and read a few lines before she realized it was a letter Sky had been working on. Her face paled and she tore her eyes from the page. Looking down, she saw several other sheets on the table. She put the sheet she had retrieved with the others, then went downstairs. The few lines she had read fixed in her memory:

Rebekah’s eyes burned so badly that she had trouble finding her way down from the loft. When Sky came in a few minutes later, he saw her pale face and asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“You look like you don’t feel well. Not getting sick, are you?”

“No. I’m fine.” She turned away from him and busied herself in the kitchen. “If you’ll milk the cow, I’ll churn the butter and we can have sorghum with our biscuits tonight.”

He left and Mary began to cry. She brought the baby into the warm kitchen and began to nurse her. The words of the letter attacked her brain like knives, and tears formed in her eyes. She felt trapped, cut off from all help; and no matter
how hard she tried, nothing came to her in the form of escape. Joe’s dislike had broken her spirit, and now that she was certain that Sky was already sick of his bargain, her spirit was wounded deeply.

She thought again of the way Sky had come for her at the church, and was more certain than ever that he had been with Rita. Finally, when the baby was fed, she put her in a cradle that Sky had made of smooth saplings, and began pulling the elements of a meal together.

Two hours later Joe and O’Malley came back with a doe, and the men dressed the animal expertly. O’Malley came in with a pile of steaks in his big hands and gave them to Rebekah, saying, “If you can spare a little hot water, I’d like to come out of hiding, Mrs. Winslow. I’m a sight for sure.”

“You can call me Rebekah,” she smiled. Then she studied his beard and said, “You’d better let me trim the worst of that off before you try to shave.”

“Don’t want to be a bother.”

“Oh, I’m the official barber around here, Jim.” She pulled a pair of shears from a peg on the wall. “Why don’t you sit on that high stool?”

When Joe and Sky came in, they found Jim perched on a chair, and Rebekah, having already trimmed the man’s beard, was cutting his hair. A pile of reddish locks lay on the floor, but it wasn’t an easy job cutting straight, for O’Malley was telling her a funny story about a bear hunt. “Jim!” she laughed, pulling the shears away, “you’ve got to stop that or I can’t finish the job!”

O’Malley looked at Winslow and said, “Sky, I was just telling Rebekah about the time you and me and Sam Hawkins got crossways with that bear; you remember—up in Dawes Canyon? But you probably told that tale a hundred times, I bet.”

“No, I never did,” Sky replied. “You go on and I’ll correct your lies, Jim.”

O’Malley sat on the stool, sometimes spreading his hands
wide to illustrate a point, and soon Joe and Sky were as engrossed in the tale as Rebekah. The man was a natural storyteller, and though they had both been there, Sky enjoyed the tale as much as Joe.

“Hey, Joe, why don’t you throw those steaks on the skillet for your ma?” Jim said. “Soon as I get out of all this hair, I’m gonna be ready to eat hair and hoof!”

“Sure, Jim!” Joe leaped to the task with an alacrity that made Sky exchange a startled look with Rebekah. The boy had helped her only when forced to, and to see him so eager made Sky realize that he had been remiss in training his son.

Rebekah worked carefully on O’Malley’s mop of auburn hair, shaping it expertly around the ears and his well-shaped head. He sat quietly after the story was finished; and once when she was working on the front, their eyes met, and the look of admiration in his dark eyes made her feel warm inside. “That’s the best I can do, Jim,” she said when she was done. “There’s plenty of hot water if you want to shave.”

“Best haircut I’ve had in twenty years,” he smiled, admiring himself in the small mirror she handed him. “Didn’t know what a good-looking fellow I was!”

He moved over to a small table in the living area and carefully shaved while Rebekah went over to the stove. “That’s good, Joe. Thank you for your help.”

Joe muttered, “Aw, that’s okay.”

O’Malley went up the ladder to the loft, and when Rebekah called supper twenty minutes later, he came down wearing a pair of gray pants and a soft pearl-colored shirt with a sky-blue neckerchief. “Well—” Sky commented in surprise as the big man came down the ladder, “if you drop dead, we won’t have to do a thing to you, Jim!”

O’Malley shot a grin at him as Rebekah said, “You can sit down; it’s all ready.”