The Reluctant Bridegroom (34 page)

He stared at Rebekah, noting how her hazel eyes were turned almost blue by the rich color of the material; he also noted how she had regained her figure, for the dress was well-fitted. Her auburn hair caught the light of the morning sun that now streamed through the window, but most of all he was struck silent by the light air of pleasure that emanated from her eyes as she moved around the room, admiring O’Malley’s gift.

Later on, after breakfast, the two men took Joe out for target practice. On their way back, Jim said, “Guess I went overboard on the presents, Sky—but I sure have gotten attached to your family. Makes me want my own awful bad!”

“You’ll get one, Jim,” Sky assured him. He was still feeling downcast, for the morning’s activities had depressed him.
He looked at O’Malley. “Guess you’ll be moving to the new mill pretty soon.”

“Oh, I don’t take over for a month or two, Sky,” the big man said cheerfully. “Guess I’ll impose on your hospitality for a little longer—if that’s all right with you.”

Winslow didn’t know what to say except, “Glad to have you, Jim.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

JOE’S MA

The warm weather that came in the middle of January thawed the frozen crusts of the earth and filled the streams with melted snow water. Oregon City’s streets once again became rivers of thick mud, and as the temperature soared, so did election fever. Sam Birdwell and Tom Lake campaigned strenuously as the Poole machine spent money recklessly. Now, a few days before the day of the election, there was still an air of uncertainty concerning the outcome.

Sky brought five yearlings into town, and Noll Turnage, the butcher, bought them all. As he counted out the cash, he said, “These won’t do me, Sky. You got four more you can bring me next week?”

“Guess so, Noll.” Sky put the gold coins into his pocket. “Business must be good.”

“Oh, these are for Mayor Poole. He’s throwing a big barbecue on election day. All the food you can eat and all the liquor you can hold.” Noll observed dryly, “Gonna be hard for Sam to top that, Sky. Don’t rightly see how him and Lake got a chance to win this one.”

Later that day, Sky stopped by and got some supplies from Sam. He found the two candidates and their chief supporters having a war council in the back of the store. “Come have a drink, Sky.” Clay Hill waved him into the circle. Sky got a cup of coffee out of the pot, and Hill sat back, his thin face florid. “Tell these birds we’re losing this blasted election,
Sky. I’ve talked myself hoarse, and it’s like casting pearls before swine.”

Sky looked around, noting that none of them looked particularly happy. “I take it the saints are losing out to the sinners?”

Birdwell slammed his fist down on the counter. “We ain’t licked yet, Clay! There’s more folks in this town who want law and order than you’d think.”

Hill shook his head gloomily and took a drink from his glass. He was finely tuned to the politics of the whole state, and the others were disturbed by his fatalistic attitude. “We’re going to lose,” he said quietly. “Poole has spent a bundle on this race, and by election time he’ll have every no-good and deadbeat in the county so filled up with promises and booze that we won’t have a show. Lots of good folks will just stay home—and those are the only ones who could put you in office, Sam.”

Sky sat by the window sipping his coffee, not taking part in the talk. He still felt like an outsider; while he trusted the men in the small circle, the larger aspects of government left him cold. After a while he’d had enough and got up to go. “Got to get home.”

“That fellow O’Malley still roosting at your place?” Henry Sellers asked.

“Sure.”

“Tell him he can come by and sign the papers on that mill any time.” Sellers paused and added, “They’ve been ready for a week. I’m surprised he’s not been by to close out.”

Sky shrugged, “Oh, Jim’s that way. I’ll tell him what you said, Henry.”

He left the store and, throwing the sack of supplies behind his saddle, rode slowly out of town. Passing by the Silver Moon, he had an impulse to go inside and see Rita, but turned away from the thought at once.
Just what I need—for someone to tell Rebekah I’ve been going by to see her.
He could not shake off the gloom that had plagued him for
the last week.
Life used to be a lot more simple,
he thought, spurring his horse down the streets onto the main road that led north. On his return journey to his ranch, he thought of his carefree days in the mountains with a mixture of regret and longing.

When he got close to the house, he caught the sound of a rifle and froze in his saddle, pulling his mount up. He quickened his pace, for there were still a few Indians roaming the foothills who had been known to attack lone settlers.
Although,
he conceded with a grin as he urged his horse down the muddy road,
it’d be a sad Injun who tried to move in on James O’Malley!

****

O’Malley had risen early that morning and gone squirrel hunting with Joe. They returned at eleven, and Joe had rushed into the house, holding up a sack and shouting, “Look at this! Jim shot them right through the head—and I got two myself—not in the head, though!”

Rebekah looked at the furry bodies that Joe began pulling out of the sack, and smiled at his excitement. “Better take them outside, Joe, and I’ll clean them for supper.”

“Why, I expect Joe will want to do that little chore for you, won’t you, boy? We do the killing and cleaning, and your ma does the cooking.” O’Malley let his large hand fall on Joe’s shoulder and gave him a warm smile.

“Sure, Jim,” Joe said instantly. He whipped out his pocket-knife and dashed out, crying, “I’ll have these varmints ready ’fore you know it.”

Rebekah smiled at O’Malley. “He’d stick his head in the fire if you told him to, Jim. For a bachelor, you have a real way with boys.”

“Guess I’m still about his age on the inside, Rebekah.” He leaned over and picked up a dry cloth from the counter and wiped her cheek. “You’ve got some flour there.”

“Oh, I’m making an apple pie—your favorite.” She had no
idea how fresh and pretty she looked. The morning sun caught her hair, the rich auburn shade redder than usual. Her cheeks were glowing from the heat of the stove, and the shapeless brown work dress could not conceal her womanly figure.

“Wish you always looked as happy as you do right now, Becky.”

She looked up in surprise, and saw that he was studying her intently. His sleepy gray eyes were now sharp under his bushy eyebrows, and she thought again what a handsome man he was. But his statement brought a flush to her cheeks, for she was sure that he was commenting on the strange life she and Sky led.

“Don’t worry about me, Jim,” she replied quickly. “I’m not unhappy.”

There was a gentle rebuke in his answer. “Reckon I’ve got eyes, Becky.” She dropped her head suddenly, unable to meet his gaze; and he reached out and put his finger under her chin, forcing her to lift her head. “Your eyes are like windows—clear as light, Becky—and when I look at you, it grieves me to see you sorrow.”

He was a big man, and she felt very small as she stood there looking up at him. “Jim, don’t—don’t pity me,” she whispered. She retreated a few steps backward. As his hands fell to his sides, she saw that her own were trembling. Holding them together to conceal her weakness, she said, “Sky and I made a bargain. He’s kept his end of it, and I’ll do the same.”

O’Malley shook his head, stating flatly, “You’re not a housekeeper, Becky. You’re a beautiful, desirable woman, and for that to be wasted—why, it’s a sin!”

He took a step toward her, but she stopped him. “No, Jim. I’m Sky Winslow’s wife.” Her lips trembled, but she spoke firmly. “You’re a good man, Jim. Go find yourself a wife and forget about me.” He started to argue, but she interrupted him. “If you want to do something for me, teach me to shoot a rifle.”

“Teach you to shoot?”
The corners of O’Malley’s eyes crinkled with concern. “Sky never taught you?”

“No. And there’ve been a few times when I’ve wished I knew how, Jim. Once a wolf came after a calf when Sky was gone.”

“Come right with me, young woman,” Jim grinned. She followed him outside, and he called out, “I’m going to the clearing to give your ma some shootin’ lessons, Joe. You stay clear.”

For the next half hour the two of them stood beside a large stump, and he showed her how to prime and load the rifle. Placing a can on another stump fifty feet away, he showed her how to hold the rifle. It was too heavy for her, but she closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. “Did I hit it?” she asked hopefully, rubbing her shoulder.

“No—but if it’d been a varmint, you’d have given him a scare,” O’Malley said cheerfully. He loaded up again, and showed her how to take a rest on the fork of a convenient sapling. “Now, try to keep your eyes open this time, Becky,” he admonished; and when she fired, he cried, “Didn’t miss it by more than a couple of inches!”

“This is fun, Jim!” she exclaimed. “Let me load this time.”

Once his pupil had gotten down the basics of loading and shooting, O’Malley began showing her some of the finer points. “You’re pulling to the right, Becky,” he told her. “Most folks do that at first. Let me show you how to cure that.” He handed her the rifle and said, “Take a bead on that can, but don’t fire.”

She put the rifle in the fork of the tree, as he had shown her, and peered down the length of the barrel. He came to stand behind her and put his left arm around her, his hand on hers to steady the rifle. Reaching around to put his hand on her right, he said, “Now, this time, aim at that can, dead center—but don’t
pull
at the trigger.
Squeeze
it, real slow.”

His voice was in her ear; locked in with his arms around her, she could not concentrate on the target. Although she
tried to keep her eye on the can, the muzzle of the rifle began to wander. He laughed softly and held her a little more firmly, whispering, “Steady, Becky. Remember—don’t
jerk
the trigger, just
squeeze
it, real easy—”

“A little shootin’ lesson, Jim?”

Rebekah pulled free and looked around to see that Sky had approached and was regarding them soberly. “Oh, Sky,” she said quickly, “Jim was just showing me how to shoot.”

“So I see.” The words were even, but his voice was flat. “You should have told me if you wanted to learn how to handle a rifle, Rebekah.”

“I—I didn’t want to bother you.”

“She’s got a pretty good eye,” O’Malley said, his gray eyes fixed on Sky. “Thought it might be a good idea, Becky learning to shoot. Never can tell when she might need to let off a shot.”

Sky’s nod was almost imperceptible. “Maybe so, Jim,” he said, walking away.

O’Malley watched him walk back toward the house and said regretfully, “Sky’s a little jealous, Becky.”

“No! It’s not that, Jim,” she assured him, knowing that such words were useless; he knew Sky too well to be fooled. She handed Jim the rifle. “I’d better go get supper started.”

That night Sky had little to say, except to relate the news from Oregon City in as few words as possible. After supper he picked up the Winslow journal and read while O’Malley entertained Joe with tall tales of the mountains. When Rebekah finished cleaning up, she said, “Joe, we need to work on your geography tonight.”

Joe scowled rebelliously. “Aw, I don’t need to know that stuff! I know the woods around here like the back of my hand. I ain’t never gonna go to China—so why do I need to know where it’s at? It’s dumb!”

Sky looked up from his book, frowning. “Boy, you do what Rebekah tells you or I’ll cut a piece out of your hide, you hear me?”

Joe glared at Rebekah sullenly, then went to get the book. When he sat down at the table, rebellion was written in every line of his thin young body. Rebekah began going over the lesson, but he stubbornly refused to answer when she asked him questions. O’Malley watched the scene without comment. The dissatisfaction on the boy’s face, he thought, was a mirror of Sky’s, and Rebekah’s valiant efforts to engage Joe’s attention soon flagged in the face of his stubborn refusal to answer.

“Now, Joe, we went over all this yesterday,” Rebekah sighed tiredly. “Don’t you remember
anything
about where the first people from England settled in this country?”

Joe did not even bother to shake his head, and Jim suddenly had an idea. “Hey, Sky, this is something you could help with. Didn’t some of your ancestors come over on the
Mayflower?
”

“Two of them did—Edward and Gilbert.”

Jim waited for him to continue, and when he saw that was all Sky intended to say, he urged more strongly. “Well, come on! I reckon most of my ancestors came over on a cattle boat, but if one of those Pilgrim gents was
my
relation, I’d be shoutin’ it all over the place! Come on, Sky, give Joe a hand here about those days.”

Sky had been fuming ever since he had found O’Malley teaching Rebekah how to shoot, though he had tried to convince himself he was overreacting again. He envied the way Jim could bring Rebekah to life—and the fact that Joe had followed the man around constantly ever since their visitor arrived. O’Malley was able to do the things Sky wanted to do, and felt that he could not; this was the final straw. “I’m not the schoolteacher around here!” Sky snapped. “That’s what I brought Rebekah here for.”

As soon as he said it, he could have bitten his tongue off, and he saw that his reply hurt Rebekah and even shocked Joe. Sky got up, tossed the book on the table, and left the house without another word.

“Gosh!” Joe said uncertainly, “what’s he so mad about?”

“He’s probably worried about the way things are going in town, Joe,” Jim replied quickly. “Look, I need to brush up on some of this stuff myself. Would it bother you if I sort of sat in for this lesson, Pardner?”

“Gee, no!” Joe would have enjoyed anything that involved him with O’Malley, and soon the three of them plunged into the lesson. Joe discovered that Rebekah had been to the very spot where the Pilgrims had landed, and asked, “Does Pa know you’ve been there?”