The Seekers (14 page)

“Elizabeth. Elizabeth, dear heaven, how I love you,” he murmured. His mouth sought her breasts as she caressed the back of his head.

“And I love you, Abraham. Husband,” she laughed. “Isn’t that a grand word? I love to say it. Husb—
ah!
”

She arched her back, rolling out of his embrace. Her left arm came up across her forehead, her wrist resting over her eyes. When he reached for her face—“Dearest, what is it?”—he felt an unexpected clamminess on her skin.

“A little dizziness again, that’s all.”

“The same as you felt on the ferry?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. The rains last week made the roads so rough—”

“And in my haste to get you here”—he tried speaking lightly, to hide his dismay—“I drove too fast.”

“I seem to be a poor traveler, don’t I?”

“All the furor of the wedding—it’s bound to be tiring—”

He tried not to let her hear his disappointment. But his body registered that disappointment. Reacted by cooling, changing, diminishing—

“Abraham, I wouldn’t spoil tonight for anyth—”

He pressed tender fingers against her mouth. “Hush, hush. Don’t fret about that.” Again he feigned lightness. “It’s not as if we’re missing something we’ve never tried before.”

“Yes, I realize. But even though we’ve been together, tonight is—well, important.”

“Of course it’s important. We’re married at last. Here”—he shifted his body to let her rest in the crook of his left arm—“lie back. Be comfortable. We have the whole week—and all our lives—for making love. One night missed isn’t that important.”

“Yes, it is. I’ll be fine in a few minutes,” she promised.

“Elizabeth, don’t worry!” he said, ashamed of his own inward bitterness.

He found himself wondering where she’d come by this physical weakness. Did it spring from the same source as her passion for rebelling against authority? From the same source as her vindictive streak?

From her father, that unstable man who had lived a profligate life, and only cleaned up a little of the blotted ledger by the manner of his dying?

Abruptly, he was ashamed of the speculation too. Yet he couldn’t help feeling that something had robbed him—and Elizabeth—of the mutual joy that should have been theirs this evening.

Presently she stirred, started the love play again. It lasted only a minute or so. She gave a small, and unhappy cry when her hand glided across Abraham’s lifeless loins.

Without warning, whatever pain had seized her before struck her again. She doubled over, knees clenched against her belly, hands locked around her legs. For a confused moment, he thought of one possible answer. Pregnancy.

No, that was absurd. They’d had no opportunity to be alone since well before the southern tour. And once they agreed to marry, she stopped visiting his room secretly—as if the defiance that had driven her to his bed in the first place was no longer necessary, or even quite proper.

In misery, Elizabeth straightened her legs. She clutched her naked stomach, cried out. Then she began to sob an incoherent apology. Abraham didn’t know what to do.

All at once she struggled up to a sitting position, left the bed. She staggered toward the screen on the far side of the room.

Abraham raced after her, reaching out to steady her. Almost screaming, she threw off his hand. “I don’t want you to touch me when I’m this way!”

He stepped back, horrified by the ferocity of her cry. Still hunched over, she started to weep in earnest. “Abraham, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. But I’m ill. I can’t bear for you to see me—oh, I’m so ashamed—”

She disappeared behind the screen. Abraham watched it totter and almost topple before she caught it. A moment later, he heard the ugly sounds of his wife being sick in a basin.

Standing naked in the moon glare at the foot of the bed, he felt as if winter had closed in outside the open window. He recalled his father’s warning, and experienced a consuming fear that Philip was right: Elizabeth
was
entirely unsuited to the sort of life awaiting them in the Ohio country—

Even more appalling was his certainty that he’d never be able to change her mind about the future.

He could hint, argue, plead—and he would. But he knew her nature, knew his efforts would prove futile in the end.

Frozen and frightened, he stood staring at nothing, listening to the terrible sounds of sickness from behind the screen.

T
HE WAGONER’S NAME WAS
Leland Pell. He stood nearly a head taller than Abraham, thin but broad-shouldered, with immense, dirty, scarred hands. Wind and weather had burnished his cheeks to the color of mahogany. His eyes were brown, his hair the same, sleek and pushed straight back over his high forehead. Abraham judged him to be about forty. White stubble showed against the dark skin of his jawbone.

Pell’s clothing certainly didn’t justify arrogance. He wore old leather boots, linsey trousers, a faded blue flannel shirt, a broad-brimmed wool hat heavily stained with grease. At his feet crouched the fattest, ugliest bulldog Abraham had ever seen. The dog’s wet eyes and underslung jaw looked downright threatening.

When Abraham first approached Pell in the tavern yard, the wagoner struck a pose. Thumbs hooked in his belt, he gazed at the sky with lofty indifference. Fortunately, Abraham had been warned to expect such behavior. A passenger in the coach from Lancaster to Harrisburg told him the wagoners considered themselves “sea captains of the road.”

Instead of an answer to his question, Abraham got a continuation of the pose. Irked, he said, “I asked you the price, Mr. Pell.”

Silence.

Abraham shivered in the chilly autumn wind. Nearby, the Susquehanna flowed with a cold yellow sheen. Beyond, the western hills rose black against the clear blue sky of the changing season.

Pell’s cronies inside the tavern shouted for him to come share whiskey and cigars. The wagoner ignored the shouts, but finally deigned to glance at Abraham—then past him, to Elizabeth. Bundled in her heaviest traveling clothes, including a shawl and bonnet, Abraham’s wife still looked frozen as she waited beside the five large trunks stacked under the tavern wall.

“Six pieces of baggage,” Pell said, then grinned. “Counting your missus, I mean to say. She’s the handsomest piece o’ the lot.”

Angered by Pell’s insolence, Abraham pivoted away. “I’ll find someone who wants to discuss business, not crack jokes.”

“Suit yourself,” Pell called as Abraham walked off. “But there ain’t a wagoner on the old Forbes Road who’ll take you on—haul you to Pittsburgh before the snow comes down. I know every one of ’em. Passengers ain’t their business—and they all got full crews.”

Abraham halted as Pell took a couple of steps in his direction.

“Only reason I’m even botherin’ to talk is because my Conestoga needs two men. My second—he got a mite chopped down a while back. So far I ain’t found a new second, y’see—”

Reluctantly, Abraham went back. If this was an elaborate game, he supposed he had to play it if he wanted to make a deal.

“What do you mean, he got chopped down?”

“Cut.” Pell showed his right hand. “Lost three fingers in a fight. Dumb son of a bitch was nineteen years old. But up here”—he tapped his head—“more like six. Shoulders like an ox, though. I was right sorry to lose him.”

Pell wiped his nose with the back of his hand, eyed Elizabeth again. “You was askin’ about the price—”

“Several times.”

“First of all, you realize no coaches can make it over the mountains to Pittsburgh?”

“That I already know. What’s your price?”

But the wagoner wouldn’t be hurried. “And you also got to realize I’m a regular, not a sharpshooter. I get you there in good shape, fifteen steady miles a day. I don’t shake your teeth out like them gypsies that pull a farm wagon outa the field and try to turn a fast dollar pushin’ twenty, twenty-five miles a day—wreckin’ everything aboard. Besides, don’t look to me like too much speed would suit the lady. She don’t appear any too strong.”

By now Abraham’s temper was raw. “I want your price, Mr. Pell, not a discourse on customs of the road.”

“
‘Dis-course!’
I don’t believe I ever heard that word before. You must be a mighty educated young fella—”

“Your price!”

When Abraham shouted, Pell’s brown eyes grew unpleasant. “A hundred dollars. Cash.”

“Ridiculous!”

Pell shrugged. “Shit, nobody’s forcin’ you.”

“A hundred dollars—” Abraham repeated. “That’s four times what it should be—”

“Sure, based on the fare from Lancaster to here,” Pell agreed with a frigid smile. “But they’s hard country ’tween Harrisburg and the old fort at the Ohio. You want to get to Pittsburgh ’fore next spring, mister, you ain’t got but three choices. Shank’s mare. Buy your own wagon and team—which’ll cost you plenty more’n a hundred. Or pay my price. I’m doin’ you a favor the way it is—”

From his height, he downgraded Abraham with a single glance. “I ain’t even sure you’re big enough to handle the chores on a Conestoga. Well, it’s up to you. I already got nigh to a full load of freight, so you won’t skin my ass any if you say no.”

The frosty smile revealed a mouth with only half the teeth left, and those were browned by tobacco. With another look at Elizabeth, Pell added: “I need some segars. I’ll be inside if you want me. Come on, Chief.”

He ambled toward the tavern door, the bulldog at his heels. Drool dripped from the dog’s lower jaw. Pell paused at the entrance for one last bit of persuasion.

“You want to try to hire a smaller rig for them rough roads up ahead, go on. But I warn you, you’ll spend six or seven times what I’m askin’. And you’re liable to get to Ohio two years from now—and find somebody else squattin’ on them twenty acres you say you bought. Your business, I guess—”

Shrugging again in that arrogant way, he started inside. The bulldog got between his boots. Pell kicked the dog’s ribs. Chief yelped, fell, but finally trotted after the tall man as he vanished into the tavern’s yellow haze.

Abraham stuffed his hands in his pockets, walked morosely to Elizabeth.

“You look cold,” he said.

She tried to smile. “I’ll be glad to reach the lodging house.”

“That man wants—”

“I heard. Abraham, let’s find another way. He’s loathsome.”

“But from what I’ve observed, he’s not much different from any other wagon driver.”

He knew he was trying to convince himself. He could hardly blame Pell for staring at his wife. In spite of her pallor, Elizabeth was by far the prettiest woman he’d seen since the coach pulled into Harrisburg. Just about the only young woman, in fact.

He thought of Pell’s warnings about squatters. Thought of his auction deed to twenty acres of prime bottomland on the Great Miami near Fort Hamilton. The deed would be next to worthless if he and Elizabeth found other settlers already occupying the tract of ground. Forged deeds weren’t uncommon. It could take months—even years—to validate his claim in the frontier circuit courts.

Reluctantly, he said, “I’m going to accept his offer.”

“No. No, Abraham!”

He touched her arm. “We’ll be all right.”

But Elizabeth wasn’t reassured. She closed her eyes, shivering in the autumn wind. Swiftly, Abraham stepped forward, supported her with both arms. “You’d better sit down a minute. I’ll find a boy to help with the trunks. I can come back and see Pell later. Sit down, Elizabeth—we’ll be at the lodging house soon. Then you’ll be warm.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again,” she said. The forlorn look in her blue eyes chilled him more than the wind off the river.

Only a closed pan of coals warmed the bed, and the lodging-house room, that night. Elizabeth put on a second bedgown over her regular one, then snuggled in the curve of Abraham’s arm.

They had been traveling since early September, down to Philadelphia and then westward. But the hardest terrain lay ahead. He still questioned whether they should go on.

Elizabeth had already been stricken with spells of nausea and abdominal pain. Each time, for his benefit, she tried to conceal or minimize her discomfort. But she couldn’t conceal the fact that she was losing weight. The coarse fare served at the coaching stops wasn’t to her liking.

So, as they huddled together with their feet near the warming pan, he voiced his doubts. “Perhaps we should turn back.”

“My answer to that is the same as it was in Salem. Nonsense. I’m stronger than you think. I’ll prove it.”

“But things seem to grow a little more difficult every day. Dealing with clods like Pell doesn’t make it any easier—”

“Are you saying
you
want to turn back, Abraham?”

Shamed, he answered quickly, “Only for your sake.”

“Put it out of your mind, then. I’m sorry I carried on at the tavern. I was just tired. That Pell fellow is probably all bluff and boast.”

In his mind’s eye Abraham saw the arrogant brown eyes and thought otherwise. Elizabeth’s first assessment had been the correct one. But he said nothing.

“We can deal with him,” she went on, her voice firm. “With him and with any other difficulties we encounter.

I want our children to be born out here, Abraham. It’s beautiful country. Beautiful—”

Murmuring, she drifted off.

Abraham lay awake for more than an hour, listening to the noise drifting from the Harrisburg riverfront. Elizabeth had inadvertently raised another troubling question. Thus far, their efforts to conceive a child had failed.

Lately, he had even grown hesitant about making love to his wife, much as his body urged him to it. He was afraid that on top of the other rigors of the journey, the burden of carrying a baby would prove too much for Elizabeth.

Tormented by his anxieties, he stared into the darkness. His father’s gift of five hundred dollars was dwindling. Another hundred paid to Pell would leave only three hundred and fifty in reserve.

And even if they got to Pittsburgh, there were many long, arduous miles yet to travel before they reached the land whose deed was tucked away in one of the trunks.

They had to make a start before bad weather closed in. Much as he disliked the idea, he’d look Pell up in the morning.